Lance woke in the middle of the night, too-hot and crowded to the edge of the mattress. He shifted slightly, searching for cooler patches under the covers with his feet and curled his hand against the coarse thick fur he was pressed against.
(more) He was half-asleep when he recognized that was unusual, and sat up in bed, yawning.
The blinds were drawn, but still a small sliver of moonlight caught the edge of the slats and fell across white fur beside him in the bed.
Shiro was a wolf.
This wasn't entirely unusual, given that his husband was a werewolf. What was unusual was that he had clearly transformed in his sleep, his breathing as slow and steady as Lance's had been. Lance stroked his hand down Shiro's side, felt the powerful muscles under his tough hide, and smiled.
"Shiro," Lance whispered, the quiet of the dark cabin at night demanding muted tones. "Shiro, wake up."
The wolf heaved out a long sigh, but did not stir otherwise.
"You smell like a dog," Lance murmured, his hand scratching up to Shiro's ear. When that afforded no response, Lance leaned in and kissed the fur along the wolf's brow. "And you're too big for the bed like this," he added.
Shiro wasn't waking up. Now somewhat concerned, Lance tugged his ear and that afforded a low growl, and an eye cracked open. "Hey," Lance murmured, hand slowly scritching that special space between Shiro's ears. "You're a wolf."
Shiro let out a small whuffle, raised his head and yawned, and then without preamble settled his snout back on his paws and immediately went back to sleep.
Lance groaned and accepted defeat, slithering back under the covers. "Keep this shit up, and you're sleeping on the couch," he muttered, as he drifted off.(less)
That was the only thing on Quentin's mind as he watched as the exit gates began to screech open. He was so close, and Meg congratulated him quietly from where she sat, hiding behind a tree. The cloth wrapped around her leg was already stained a brigh(more)t red, but it was the best Quentin could do when they were already short on time. He heard a shriek and his face paled when he recognized the voice to be Claudette's.
"Quentin," Meg began, rising to her feet. He pointed at the wilderness beyond the gate. "Go," he said. "You've already been gotten twice."
The ugly gouges on her shoulder were proof of it. Any more and the Entity itself would come and finish the job.
"Go!" Quentin insisted. Just then David came barreling past them, hand on his bleeding side as he ran. For a moment it was as if his feet weren't even a part of him, thundering past. His head turned and his eyes widened as he made eye contact with Quentin, but by the time he realized it he was tripping over his feet and the Entity was barring him from re-entering the area. "Damn it!" David snapped, kicking at the living spikes.
Meg looked at Quentin. "I'm not going to-"
"Leave, or all three of us are going to die!" Quentin exclaimed. "Please, Meg. Trust me."
She didn't say anything as she turned and left.
He died that trial-the others lived.
Upon waking up in the forest, Quentin staggered back to the campfire. He saw David before the older man noticed him, but not by very long. David jumped to his feet and grabbed Quentin. He felt like he was being smothered by the other man's hug when it finally came, but he definitely didn't mind. (less)