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The days of his punishment passed slowly. Too slowly. Alexander rose before dawn each morning, as he always had, but now his steps never left the inner grounds. He fasted until his hands trembled slightly during prayer, knelt until his knees ached against cold stone, and recited purification sutras until the words blurred together and lost their edges. Holy water traced symbols across his skin. Incense thickened the air. Silence pressed in from every direction. The rites were meant to cleanse. Instead, they sharpened his awareness of absence. At first, Alex told himself not to think about Alistair. He focused on breath, on posture, on the steady rhythm of devotion. But in the stillness, between chants, between heartbeats, his thoughts wandered anyway. He remembered the way Alistair’s eyes had dulled from fire to brown. The way his voice had lost its performative charm when it spoke honestly. The way he had asked when instead of demanding anything. Alex wondered if the mountain still hurt him. He wondered if he was eating, if demons even ate, or if that was a foolish, human concern. He wondered if Alistair had laughed at him afterward, dismissed the entire encounter as a novelty. And, more quietly, he wondered if he had hurt him in any way without realizing it. On the seventh night, when the final purification ended and the wards loosened just enough for him to breathe freely again, Alexander didn’t hesitate. He waited until the bells marked the hour of rest, until the monks retired and his father’s presence withdrew into meditation. Then, as he had done countless times before, Alex slipped from shadow to shadow, light bending around him like a held breath. He went to the forest. He went to the clearing. He waited. Dawn brushed the horizon pink and gold. Alistair never came. Alex returned to the temple with the sun, heart heavy but stubbornly hopeful. Maybe next time, he told himself. He went again and again, each time, he waited a little longer. Each time, he left with the same quiet ache settling behind his ribs, not sharp enough to be pain, not dull enough to ignore. He did not tell himself that Alistair had abandoned the offer. He told himself only this: He said it would be a choice. A month passed. The first sign came as a tremor beneath Alex’s feet during morning prayer. Not an earthquake, something subtler. A wavering in the wards that wrapped the mountain like a second skin. The incense flickered. A talisman along the eastern wall split down the middle with a sharp, cracking sound. Every priest felt it. The temple erupted into motion, voices calling, sandals striking stone, sacred weapons drawn. Alex rose instinctively, heart already racing, but a firm hand caught his arm. “Stay,” one of the elders commanded. “This may be dangerous.” “I can help,” Alex said, panic threading his voice. “You will remain here,” the elder replied. “If a demon has breached the barrier, you are a target.” The word demon hit him like a physical blow. Alex tried to calm himself. Many spirits tested the mountain. Many failed. This did not mean— A shout echoed from down the path. “Over here!” “Talismans—ripped clean off!” “Get back—don’t let it move!” Another voice, sharp with urgency: “It’s still alive—barely!” Alex’s heart sank. No. He pulled free before anyone could stop him. “Alexander—!” He ran. Down stone steps, past lanterns swinging wildly, through the thinning wards where the air grew heavy and charged. He felt the pressure immediately, the sickening density that pressed against his lungs and skin. This is what it felt like for him, Alex realized distantly. The priests were gathered in a wide arc along the mountain path, weapons raised, chants trembling on their tongues. At their feet .... Alexander stopped as the world seemed to narrow to a single point. Alistair lay crumpled on the sacred stone, body heaving in shallow, desperate gasps. His skin was pale, slick with sweat, fingers clawed weakly against the ground as if trying to pull breath from the earth itself. Two talismans lay shredded nearby, their power torn apart by desperate hands. Alex felt something inside him fracture. He came back. He pushed through the circle before anyone could stop him, dropping to his knees beside Alistair without hesitation. The holy pressure burned against his skin now, but he barely noticed. “Alistair,” he breathed, voice shaking. The demon’s chest stuttered under his palm, too fast, too weak. His lips were tinged blue. His eyes fluttered, unfocused. Why would you do this? Alex wanted to ask. Why didn’t you wait? Why didn’t you choose yourself? But all of it collapsed into one overwhelming truth: He was dying. Alex looked up at the priests, panic blazing through his composure. “Stop,” he said, voice cutting through the chaos. “Please ... he’s suffocating.” “He breached the barrier,” one of them snapped. “This is proof of hostile intent.” “No,” Alex said fiercely. “This is desperation.” He turned back to Alistair, hands glowing faintly as he tried to ease the pressure around him, even knowing how dangerous it was. “You idiot,” Alex whispered, tears burning at the corners of his eyes. “You said you were free.” His light wrapped around Alistair, not to purge or to bind—but to shield. Alexander had hoped they would meet again but he had never imagined it would be like this. Alexander barely registered the shouting at first. All of his focus was on the body beneath his hands, on the way Alistair’s breath stuttered and scraped, on the violent tremor that ran through him as the holy pressure crushed what little strength he had left. Alex shifted instinctively, placing himself between Alistair and the drawn weapons, his back to the circle of priests. “Stop,” he said again, louder this time. The word carried. It always did. The chants faltered. One by one, the priests hesitated, caught between training and reverence. Some lowered their weapons a fraction. Others tightened their grips, uncertain. “Alexander, move away,” an elder commanded sharply. “The demon is beyond the barrier. He is contaminating sacred ground.” Alex shook his head, fingers pressing more firmly against Alistair’s chest as if he could anchor him to the world through touch alone. “He’s dying,” Alex said, voice strained but steady. “Can’t you feel it? There’s no aggression. No resistance. He didn’t come here to attack.” “That is irrelevant,” another priest snapped. “Demons deceive even in death.” Alex looked up then. His eyes were wet, glowing faintly gold, but his gaze was unwavering. “He tore through the talismans knowing it would kill him,” Alex said. “No demon seeking conquest would do that. He came here because he had nowhere else to go.” A murmur rippled through the group, unease, doubt, fear. “Alexander,” an elder warned, stepping forward, “you are placing yourself in danger. Step aside.” “No.” The single word landed like a strike of a bell. Alex’s hands trembled now, not from fear, but from the effort of holding his light so carefully, shaping it into something that soothed instead of burned. He could feel how wrong the mountain was for Alistair, how every breath was a battle. “He can’t breathe here,” Alex said urgently. “If you strike him now, you won’t be defending the temple, you’ll be executing someone who surrendered.” A younger priest hesitated, eyes flicking between Alex and the demon. “High Priest Sato will ... ” “I’ll answer to my father,” Alex cut in, voice breaking just slightly. “I always do.” That gave them pause. He looked back down at Alistair, thumb brushing faintly against his wrist, searching for a pulse that felt too weak for comfort. “You came back,” Alex whispered, too softly for anyone else to hear. “You chose to walk.” His throat tightened. “I’m here,” he murmured. “I won’t let them hurt you.” One of the elders raised his staff, indecision etched into his face. “Alexander, if this creature dies on sacred ground—” “Then let it be because the mountain was too cruel,” Alex said fiercely, “not because we were.” Silence crashed over the path. Finally, another elder spoke, quieter. “What are you proposing?” Alex swallowed. “Let me take him beyond the ward’s edge,” he said. “Just far enough that the pressure eases. I’ll bind nothing. I’ll take full responsibility.” His voice softened. “If he attacks, if he resists—I will stop him myself.” It was a gamble. Every instinct his father had drilled into him screamed that this was wrong. But Alexander stayed where he was, kneeling in the dirt, arms around a demon who had crawled halfway up a holy mountain just for the chance to be seen again. The priests exchanged tense glances. At last, reluctantly, the elder lowered his staff. “Five minutes,” he said. “Not a second more.” Alex didn’t hesitate. “Thank you.” Carefully, so carefully, he slid one arm beneath Alistair’s shoulders, the other bracing his back. The moment he lifted him, Alex felt how light he was. How close to the edge. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, more promise than reassurance. As he carried Alistair down the path, every step felt like defiance. And every breath Alistair managed to take felt like a miracle Alex was not willing to give up. [if you want you can play as Alex's father in this situation, how in the mean time some priests or just one went after Alex's father to tell him what happened or something like that]

Kaito walked beside Asher in silence, but it wasn’t an empty kind of quiet. It was full. Full of details, of impressions, of the steady weight of Asher’s presence next to him. He took in everything Asher pointed out, but more than that, he listened to how he explained it. The pack house wasn’t described like a fortress or a seat of power. It was described like a system meant to hold people up. Shared meals. Shared space. Choice without exile. Strength without isolation. It surprised him how quickly that eased something tight in his chest. This is not a cage, his wolf murmured, low and certain. This is a den. Kaito glanced at Asher as they moved through the halls. The alpha’s posture had shifted since they’d left Logan’s office. Less guarded. Less coiled. He wasn’t performing authority here. He was simply… Asher. A man who knew this place down to the grain of the wood and wanted Kaito to understand it too. That mattered. “So the pack house isn’t just for rank,” Kaito said eventually, breaking the silence as they passed a common lounge. “It’s for stability.” Kaito exhaled softly through his nose, something like approval settling in his expression. “That’s rare.” They kept walking. When Asher spoke about his parents, Kaito listened closely, picking up on the nuance beneath the words. Respect. Distance. Affection tempered by history. The kind of relationship shaped by expectations and duty rather than cruelty. When Asher mentioned that his father already knew his mate would be a man, Kaito’s step faltered just a fraction. “You told them that?” he asked. "But not your mother, or did I understood that incorrectly?" he asked. After a few more corridors, Asher led him upstairs—higher than the rest of the house. The air felt quieter here, heavier with privacy. Fewer scents. Fewer echoes. When Asher stopped in front of the door and said it was his suite, Kaito felt his pulse tick up. This was his room. The room they will share. Asher hesitated, then nodded and pushed the door open. The room beyond was spacious but lived-in. Not lavish. Clean lines, neutral colors, large windows, shelves with books and personal items that spoke of someone who valued function over excess. There was a sitting area, a desk, a door leading to a bathroom—And the bedroom. The bed was large. Obviously meant for two. Kaito felt his breath catch, just a little. Sharing a room was one thing. Sharing a bed was… another. He didn’t freeze or step back. But the thought of sharing that space, sleeping beside Asher, sent a slow, electric awareness through him. Not fear but awareness. We belong beside him, his wolf said, steady and unshaken. This is right. Kaito crossed his arms loosely, grounding himself. “You’re sure?” he asked, voice calm. “I don’t want to disrupt your space.” The idea of sharing a room, a bed, a space that personal, it was intimate in a way he hadn’t prepared for. But as he stood there, surrounded by Asher’s scent and the quiet strength of the pack house, one truth settled deep and undeniable. For the first time in a long while, he wasn't alone anymore.

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I am always grateful to you Thank you for sharing!!!

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碧にとけるジェリーフィッシュ / 麻倉唯 2022 ☆ Do not reupload or share anywhere. This will be available to download for 30 days, after which I may reupload with a watermark. Download Until next time!

これはビジネスの恋だから / 七ノ日 2023 ☆ Do not reupload or share anywhere. I'm back with my yearly uploads! With the takedown of a popular aggregator site, I might be more inclined to upload a few more manga this year... This will be available to download for 30 days, after which I may reupload with a watermark. Download Until next time!

Uploading a permanent link for this manga (watermarked). Download

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Sora froze for a heartbeat, caught between the echo of the crash in the bathroom and the quiet gravity of Fang’s words. The world narrowed to the warmth of a hand at his cheek, to breath mingling with breath, to the familiar pull he never quite learned how to resist. Overprotective. Asshole. Boyfriend. The words landed softly anyway. He swallowed, nerves fluttering like a trapped bird, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned in a fraction, letting his forehead rest there, eyes drifting shut. Fang’s nearness was grounding—heavy, yes, but steady, like a weight that reminded him he was here, that they were still here. “You don’t have to bargain with me,” Sora murmured, voice low, careful not to startle whatever fragile balance this moment held. “I was already planning on staying.” His thumb lifted on its own, brushing a slow, reassuring arc along Fang’s wrist—an anchor, not a leash. Sora knew the difference mattered, even if Fang was still learning it. “you can test the fox tomorrow,” he added softly, a hint of warmth threading through the concern. “Tonight… you rest. I’ll handle the chaos.” He opened his eyes then, meeting Fang’s gaze at that impossible closeness. There was fear of loss, of change, of himself. And Sora felt it resonate in his own chest. Loving Fang had never been simple, but it had always been sincere. “I don’t mind you being protective,” Sora continued, honest but gentle. “Just… don’t forget I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to hold on so tight to keep me.” The distance between their lips disappeared as Sora closed it—not rushed, not desperate. Just a quiet, deliberate choice. When he pulled back, barely, he rested his nose against Fang’s again. “I don’t expected your overprotectivness to be over just after one night,” he agreed, a small smile ghosting across his mouth. “we'll take baby steps.” It was much more easier now if Fang was agreeing to try. He wasn’t telling Fang to let him go. Just to start trusting him as an individual, as his pair. Rather than just a little weak bird. Of course it still wouldn’t be a easy task. Especially since Sora was his only real companion. He knew canines were pack animals and the biology behind it. He could kinda recognized some of those traids in Fang. When there were no pack the Loner had to be aware and protective of anything. Even dogs. At the shelter he would never recommend an untrained dog for a nervous person. The dog wouldn’t sense it and be in a constant state of protection. It often made the dog stressed and aggressive towards other people, dogs and even new things in the home. He wasn’t saying Fang was a dog but if he tried to sense him as a wolf in terms of behavior it was about the same thing. Only Fang was way more intelligent and had trauma to boot. But Sora wasn’t gonna give up on him. He wasn’t gonna hurt Fang futher. Ray had said the bond wasn't reversible, that it was until death did them part. But even so he wouldn't just be staying if he didn’t have any genuine feeling for Fang. He did love him. Sora took Fang’s hands in his and stood. "Come, I'll tuck you in first, and join you later okay. Let me take care of you too" he gently tucked on Fang’s arm to encourage him to stand up. He couldn’t exactly carry Fang the same way, as he could easily throw Sora over his shoulder. Little old him? Year right. He was little and although he was the oldest of the two he didn’t look a day over 25. He lead Fang to his bed and nudged him in. The sheets were clean but properly only because Fang had cleaned up after them when Sora had passed out. Honestly he didn’t have bad staying but Fang always had more, even if he was exausted. Trying hard not to think about what they did in this bed reasonly. He pulled the blanket up over Fang’s chest and ran a hand through the other's hair. "Rest okay, I'll just be in the next room" -------------------------- After cleaning up the bathroom, Sora carried the tiny fox into the living room and settled down on the floor with it. He smiled softly, setting the fox beside him. “Okay,” he said gently, “this is my mate’s home. You’re safe here.” He pointed toward the closed bedroom door. “You can’t go in there unless it is urgent, alright? That’s Fang’s personal resting space. Only I’m allowed in there with him.” His voice wasn’t stern, just calm and reassuring. “I’ll get you your own bed tomorrow,” he continued, rubbing the fox’s back, “but for tonight, you can sleep on the couch.” As he spoke, he nuzzled the tiny fox affectionately. V had said the creature was intelligent, so Sora treated it as such, speaking to it like a child who could understand simple word. “We also need to come up with a name for you…” He paused, thinking. “How about Cota? I think it suits you. It’s cute, and it means ‘my family member.’ What do you think—do you like the name Cota?” The fox’s small tail had already begun wagging the moment Sora scratched behind its ear. At the sound of the name, it let out an excited little bark, as if answering him. “Well then,” Sora laughed softly, “it’s settled. From now on, you’re Cota, and you my family.” His expression softened even more. “Things are probably going to be very different from what you’re used to, but I’ll do my best. Let’s take care of each other from here on out.” Cota barked again, pressing its tiny head into Sora’s hand. A moment later, it began hopping around him excitedly, full of energy and clearly eager to play. Sora chuckled as Cota bounced around him, darting in small circles and pouncing at nothing in particular. He scooped up a throw pillow and dragged it across the floor, and the fox immediately attacked it, tiny paws batting and teeth gently tugging at the fabric. “Oh, fierce hunter,” Sora teased, laughing under his breath. He rolled onto his back and lifted his hands, wiggling his fingers. Cota leapt at them with surprising enthusiasm, landing on Sora’s chest before scrambling up to his shoulder. Sora laughed louder this time, carefully catching the fox so it wouldn’t tumble off. They played like that for a while—Sora gently tossing a rolled-up sock for Cota to chase, letting the fox climb over him, and scratching its favorite spots whenever it paused. Each time Sora slowed down, Cota demanded more, barking softly and nudging his hands insistently. Eventually, though, the fox’s movements grew clumsier. Its jumps didn’t go as high, and after one last enthusiastic pounce, it flopped onto the rug with a dramatic little huff. Its sides rose and fell quickly as it panted, tail giving a few lazy flicks before going still. Sora smiled fondly and reached out, stroking Cota’s fur. “Yeah, that’s enough for tonight,” he murmured. “You can sleep.” Cota didn’t even protest. It curled slightly toward his hand, eyes drooping, clearly exhausted. Sora gently lifted the fox and placed it on the couch, tucking a blanket around its small body to keep it varm. The fox let out a soft, sleepy sound and was still almost immediately. “Goodnight, Cota,” Sora whispered. With one last glance to make sure the fox was comfortable, Sora stood and quietly walked away. He paused briefly at Fang’s bedroom door before opening it and slipping inside. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains. Sora closed the door softly behind him and crossed the room, shedding his clothes as quietly as he could. He climbed into bed and eased himself close, careful not to wake Fang. Almost immediately, Fang shifted, instinctively turning toward Sora. An arm draped over his waist, pulling him in, and Fang let out a low, sleepy sound as he settled. Sora smiled, relaxing into the familiar warmth. He tucked himself closer, resting his head against Fang’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Night,” Sora murmured softly, already drifting off as he allowed himself to rest.

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