Title: Memories, Dreams and Hopes

Author/pseudonym: Yeo

Fandom: Original

Paring: Storm/Linden (both original), Linden/m (memory)

Rating: NC-17

Status: repost (earlier posted to the Kix list). It's been changed a bit since then.

Archive: Yes, if you want it.

E-mail address for feedback: egy736p@tninet.se

Series/Sequel: Yes, but I don't have a name for the series.

Other websites: No. My ISP does not allow it.

Disclaimers: Actually, since they are original characters... they are mine!

Notes: Read the warnings!

Summary: This story isn't really going anywhere.

Warnings: Original. Slash. Werewolves. Mention of sex with animals and cannibalism. Torture and rape of underage person. Please don't read it while you are eating. Not beta-read.



MEMORIES, DREAMS AND HOPES
By Yeo

Memories can be wonderful. Linden would never forget the day when Storm had freed him. He still didn't understand why the other man had done it. But it had been wonderful anyway. Some things were like that. Sweet and good and absolutely wonderful, without ever being understood. Like sunlight and love and Storm's kisses. And being freed. Oh, yes, that was the best memory he had.

Memories can be wonderful. They can also be very painful. Linden's first memory was of being beaten with a leather belt. He couldn't remember what he'd done to deserve the beating. But, of course, a Master did not need to have a reason for hurting a slave.

Other memories were equally bad, or worse. Memories of being raped. Well... most people wouldn't call it rape, since he hadn't struggled. But struggling would only have resulted in punishment. So, the first time one of his Masters had decided to use him, Linden had simply let it happen.

It had hurt. The man was large and heavy, almost crushing his helpless victim during the sexual act and then falling asleep on top of him. There had also been the pain of the actual penetration. A kind Healer had given him some salve for lubrication, but the Master's organ had been so large that it had torn him up anyway. It had taken weeks to recover from that. And the memory of the pain still hadn't faded, ten years later.

Storm said it was rape. Storm said it was disgusting and wrong and that, if he ever met the man, he'd kill him. Linden wasn't sure what to think about that. He knew that Storm was capable of killing people, but... To do it for the sake of a former slave? That was crazy.

Of course, he'd heard stories about Storm having killed some Guards, for the sake of another slave, years ago. But that was because of the Werewolf thing, wasn't it? He could understand that Storm would be angry about the Guards having sent in a boy to be killed and eaten. But no one ever killed someone for the act of using a slave as a sextoy. Surely not even Storm would be that crazy?

Memories. The memories of Werewolves did not function in quite the same way as the memories of Humans. At least, Storm's memory didn't, but he was a half-breed. His father had been too insane to be a reliable source of information about purebred Werewolves. And, of course, the Creature had no memories at all.

In animal form, he did not remember anything about his life in Human form. It was like the animal mind was too small to hold such things. Even Linden was forgotten, then.

But, in Human form, he usually remembered everything he'd done as an animal. Everything he'd hurt, killed or eaten. It sometimes took days or weeks for the memories to surface. But they were there and would come forward with a simple reminder.

There were times that he wished his memories weren't so clear. He would have given his entire fortune to be able to forget some of the things he'd done in animal form.

But there were also many good memories, from being in Human form. Most of those came from the last three years. The years with Linden. Years that were filled with love and happiness.

*** Flashback ***

Walking through the Marketplace of a town was very... interesting. There were so many sounds and smells, so many strange people. A part of him was drawn to the commotion, enjoying it. But the wilder part of him hated it. Even in human form, his hearing and sense of smell was a lot better than a Human's. Sometimes, it was wonderful, being able to enjoy things more clearly. And sometimes it was too much, driving him half crazy.

But that day, he was bored and in a mood to have some fun. School was over for the year, but the only Trader's Caravan going near his father's Castle wouldn't leave for a month. So he went down to the Market, with a couple of Guards, hoping to find something interesting.

It was the beautiful, red-gold, hair that first caught his attention. It looked like firelight on spun gold threads. He wanted to run his fingers through that hair, to find out if it was as soft as it looked. The thought aroused him, in a way that nonthing had ever done before.

There were plenty of women with lose morals hanging around the School. Many of them had tried to capture his interest, knowing he was rich. But he'd never felt anything for them and there had always been the fear of Changing during sex. And now there was this young man, this halfgrown boy. He didn't think the youth could be more than fifteen.

Walking closer, he saw the scars. That shocked him. He'd always thought his father was a cruel man, but even the old Werewolf didn't whip his slaves that badly. Killed them, yes, and eaten them, but never mutilated them like this.

Storm reached out a hand, touching the hair. It was soft and clean, smelling faintly of soap. He lifted the face, carefully, to look at it. He stared into the large green eyes, filled with fear and memories of pain. In that moment, those eyes captured his heart.

Turning, he called out a bid. The auctioneer looked at him in shock, and he realized that his offer had been a bit too high. But he wasn't going to take it back. He wanted the young man and would have been willing to pay even more for him, if neccessary.

The auctioneer agreed to the sale. And the slave was placed in his care, bound and naked, trembling with fear.

*** End of flashback ***

Storm had brought his new slave back to the house he was living in at the time. A Healer had examined the young man, declaring him to be healthy enough for whatever Storm wanted to do with him. Then the slave had been bathed and placed in Storm's bed.

He would never forget the look of fear in the other man's eyes that night. Fear that had, slowly, turned to confusion and hope, as the night passed.

Linden had been used often, by many different men, but none of them had ever seen him as anything other than a convenient toy, a tool, to relieve sexual tension. He knew how to please a man, but there had never been any pleasure for himself.

Storm had been a virgin, despite being sixteen and a rich young Lord in a city full of cheap whores. Part of it was from lack of interest. But mostly it was from fear of becoming like his father. So he'd stayed away from any temptations.

A badly beaten, broken slave and a virgin Werewolf. Together, they had turned that night into something wonderful. There had been pleasure for both of them and the beginning of a love that still hadn't faded.

Dreams can be good. Or bad. Very bad. Linden sometimes woke up, screaming, from horrible nightmares. And most of those bad dreams were, at least partially, based on memories.

Being held by Storm usually kept the nightmares away. So he'd fall asleep in the other man's arms, feeling safe. But, there were times when Storm was the one who gave him the bad dreams. After all, knowing that your lover was a Werewolf who could easily kill and eat you, was the sort of thing that would give most people bad dreams.

Fortunately, those nightmares were very infrequent. Waking up a Werewolf, by screaming, really isn't a good idea. It is always possible that the Werewolf will react with fear, or anger, triggering the Change. And then you would get eaten.

Linden knew that Storm had killed and eaten people before. He wasn't really sure if the Werewolf would be able to stop in time. A part of him wanted to trust the other man, to believe that their love would be enough to keep him safe. But the more sensible part of him knew that a hungry Werewolf could not see any difference between a lover and a piece of meat.

On the other hand, there had been times when Storm had been Changed in his presence without atacking him. But those times, there had been plenty of fresh meat available. And meat that does not struggle is always easier to eat, even if Werewolves prefer their food to be as freshly killed as possible. But, at night, in Storm's large bedroom, their wasn't always fresh meat close enough to draw a newly Changed Werewolf's attention away. So, it was best not to have any nightmares there.

But there were nights when Linden had to sleep alone. Usually because Storm was Changed. And then the nightmares came.

Humans dream. Animals don't. Werewolves? Storm didn't know. As a half-breed child of a Werewolf and a Human, he could have inherited the ability to dream from his mother. That, and a slightly longer life than purebred Werewolf's have.

He'd probably gotten his conscience from her, too. Purebred Werewolves had no conscience, no morals. Some people said they had no souls, either. Did that mean he only had half a soul?

The old Witch said it all depended on how a person was raised. That things like that could be taught and learned. If that was true, it had succeeded with him. But, it had failed with the Creature. On the other hand, the Creature really didn't have enough of a mind to hold such complicated things.

Storm sometimes thought it would have been better if he didn't have a conscience or an imagination. Then, he would not have felt any remorse over the people he'd killed. And there wouldn't have been any nightmares.

But, since he had a conscience, morals and imagination he sometimes had bad dreams. Not as often as Linden, but often enough to frighten him. There was always the possibility that a dream would scare him so badly that he Changed in his sleep.

It hadn't happened, yet. But the thougt of it scared him and was, quite possibly, the reason for some of the nightmares. In other words, an endless circle.

Some of the nightmares were memories of bad things he'd done. The slaveboy that he'd killed and eaten. The Guards whose deaths he'd ordered. His father...

Other nightmares were of things that hadn't happened, yet. Things that could happen, if he wasn't careful. Killing Linden, for example. That could easily happen, if he lost control of his Werewolf side.

Linden. The focus of both good and bad dreams. The first wet dreams he'd ever had, and the first daydreams, filled with love and desire. Linden was the centre of his life, his thoughts and his dreams.

Hope is an emotion that can be both wonderful and terrible. It can give you a reason to live. But it can also be nothing but an illusion that shatters and breaks your heart. For a slave, hope is a foolish thing to feel. Only the desires of the owner has any meaning. But still, most slaves do feel hope.

There is the hope that maybe, just maybe, this time the Master will be in a good mood. The hope that there would be no punishment that day, or at least that the punishment wouldn't be so bad. Then there is the hope that some slaves feel when they're sold, praying to the Gods that the new owner will be kinder than the last one.

Linden had been bought and sold half a dozen times in his life. Each time, except the last, he'd felt that hope. And each of those times, except for the last time, his hopes had been shattered. It was ironic, really. The one time that he'd given up hope, he'd gotten what he'd never got before. A kind Master, who cared about him. And then, freedom.

That was one thing he'd never dared to hope for. Never. It simply didn't happen. At least, not to male slaves. Girls, sometimes, if they got pregnant and the Master wanted the child to be born free. But even that was unusual. After all, most Masters did not see slaveborn bastards as anything other than new slaves, no matter who the father was.

Linden's father had been the younger son of his first Master. But that had made no difference to the way that Linden was treated. And then he'd been sold, at five. He barely remembered his mother, only her screams when he was torn out of her arms and taken away.

The first few months, he'd hoped and prayed that he would one day see his mother again. But, of course, that had been a foolish hope. She'd been young, yes, but the birth of her bastard child had damaged her health. And having him taken away from her had broken her heart.

He'd tried to find her. Storm had been willing to help. It had actually been quite easy, since all transactions in the slave trade were carefully recorded. But too many years had passed and she was dead. He'd known, in his heart, that it would be too late, but there had still been a faint hope. Having it broken had hurt. Fortunately, Storm had been there to hold him and comfort him.

Storm was the one who'd given him back the abillity to hope. Sometimes Linden wanted to curse him for it. Because now his hopes were for Storm to continue loving him and not eating him. And so many of his earlier hopes had been shattered, giving him no reason to believe that these wouldn't be.



PART SIX SOON