The Alpha and the Outcast (BoyxBoy/LGBT)

Chapter 12

Hello! So sorry that this is late, but if you've seen the message I posted, then you'll have already heard about the fried laptop hardrive, the horrible school tests, blahblahblah... Still, I'm nearly on holidays now, so there should be more frequent updates for a while :)

Anyway, I'd like to thank everyone who voted/commented/followed and kept me going through horrible tests and the accompanying writers block. This chapter is dedicated to NotFallingButRising, for all of the lovely comments through out the story ;)

This probably isn't my best chapter, but bear with me- the end's important, and I'll try to update soon enough.

Hope you like it, and please comment/vote :)

[Kieran's POV]

Nicky had been acting very oddly lately. We hadn't spoken hardly at all since the day I'd arrived, almost a week ago now, and he was also ignoring everyone else, even more so than usual. Malcolm was walking around with a permanent pout, and doing his best to stick to Nicky like a determined little limpet, an act made difficult by the fact that Nicholas was constantly vanishing. I'd gone to his room last night to ask him about how things were going with him and Mal, only to find the room empty and the window wide open.

I'd enlisted Nate and Eimear to help me keep an eye on Nicholas' whereabouts, since I had a sneaking suspicion as to why he might be constantly vanishing. It wasn't a happy suspicion, and Nate and Eimear weren't very helpful, since they kept falling asleep in the middle of their watch.

On the nights that I found Nicky's room deserted, I rifled through his laundry and the discarded shirts on the floor.

Blood.

Nicky was still cutting, but I'd known that already if I was honest with myself. I wondered if Malcolm knew, if you could feel your mate's pain. As a half-werewolf, I guessed my experience of mating differed from the norm.

Speaking of my mating, Christopher was being annoyingly persistent in asking me about my various scars, the bruises having healed themselves by now. I was glad that he cared, it was just immensely inconvenient for me.

Nicky had explained to Malcolm and Christopher about how our old pack was 'bloodthirsty', and while I was sure Chris had joined the dots the instant he caught sight of my bruised throat, the last thing I wanted to do was confirm his suspicions. As long as they remained suspicions we were safe- if he discovered the truth, there'd be war.

Now it was Monday night, and I was sitting on Nicky's empty bed and watching the open window, wondering how long it would be until he returned home. I had taken note of the gradual increase in the amount of blood I'd found on his shirtsleeves, and it was rather alarming. Surely Mal must have smelled the blood, or perhaps Nicky did all of his cutting here in his room before leaving for the night. That wasn't really the point.

The point was that over the years, I'd discovered a pattern- the more Nicky cut, the closer he was to another needlessly elaborate suicide attempt. If Nicky killed himself, I didn't know how I'd be able to cope, not amind how Malcolm would feel.

It was one o'clock in the morning, and Nicky still wasn't back. I'd ransacked his room- he appeared to have taken his penknife and razors with him, and the lighter I knew he kept with him was missing as well, although judging by the amount of blood on his discarded clothes, it had been a long time since Nicky had cauterised his wounds anyway.