The Pack's Emissary

Havermouth, Present Time

Tears streamed down Harry‘s face as they rose to their feet. They ran their hands over the lush hide of the weredragon. It was precisely the colour of Jules’ hair. Harry draped their body over the dragon’s chest, pressing their ear to the hide, celebrating the steady beat and rise and fall of the ribs. Alive. Gloriously alive. And they could feel the tie of their mate bond twining them together. With their eyes closed, Jules was a glow within the darkness.

“Oh Jules, Jules, Jules…” They wept the words, stroking and luxuriating in the living creature that surrounded them with its bulk. It did not matter in the slightest that this Jules was not as Jules had been before… Harry’s most fervent wish had been granted and they had their mate back. “I knew it,” they whispered pressing kisses into the fur as they moved along the length of the dragon towards its head. “I knew that you were not gone.”

They stroked over the dragon’s snout and pressed a kiss between his nostrils just as the dragon’s eyes flicked open, the pupil contracting as the dragon focused on the vampire standing at his snout. Jules’ eyes.

The reaction jerked through the dragon, and he lifted his head and tried to rise, finding himself pressed tight within the confined space, tail and body unfurling, wings striking against the walls and ceiling, and the movement pushing Harry into the wall.

The dragon was beginning to panic.

“It’s okay,” Harry caught Jules’ snout between his hands, feeling the hot dry breath of the dragon’s fearful exhale blow up their legs and torso, lifting the strands of their hair. “Jules, it’s okay. Calm down, my lover, my darling, my mate. I have you. You are safe.”

They saw the words register in the dragon’s eyes, their gazes locking. “It’s okay, my heart, my beautiful, beautiful mate,” Harry crooned. “You are safe with me.”

They staggered as the dragon shrank, shimmering away, and the fur beneath their hands became skin. Harry landed on their knees before their mate as Jules regained his human form. Jules’ jaw was stubbled, and his skin was glossy with sweat. He stared at his hand as the bandages drifted away. The wound was even more gory after Fatima’s surgery on it, but the fingers were straight again.

Jules screamed, a shrill shriek of pain, and he propelled himself backward, away from Harry, scuttling across the floor using three limbs, until he all but disappeared into the shelter of the half-collapsed trundle bed, curling in on himself in the shadows and the wall.

“Oh, my love,” Harry’s voice broke in empathetic pain. Within Jules’ shadowy hide-out, his mate was cradling his injured hand, sobbing. “It hurts? Don’t fear. It will heal now. You just need to feed and I will lick it.” They crawled carefully toward Jules, keeping their motions slow, and their eyes on their mate. Jules looked up at Harry through the tangle of his hair, his eyes confused and filled with tears.

Something had been lost, Harry realized with sorrow. Jules did not know who they were. Did he know who he was? How terrifying to wake without such knowledge, in a strange form, in a strange room, and with such a terrible injury.

“It’s okay my darling,” Harry whispered the words, keeping their tone soothing, not revealing any of their fear, pain, and anguish. “I am Harry. Your mate. Your love and lover. You were hurt, and we are… somewhere safe, a place of healing,” they did not know how much was lost, how much Jules understood. “Can you speak to me? Let me hear your voice. Just… Just say my name,” they pleaded. “Harry.”

Jules whimpered, clutching his injured hand by the wrist.

“Oh, my poor baby. Here…” Harry wriggled closer.

Jules tensed, his eyes going to the door.

“Harry,” Fatima’s voice was barely a whisper. “I heard a scream. Is… Is he…?”

“He’s alright,” Harry did not look away from Jules. “Look at me, my darling,” they entreated, and Jules’ eyes returned to theirs as if pulled. “That is Fatima. She is a friend. We are in no danger here.” They eased themselves closed, half under the trundle. Jules sucked in a breath, his eyes widening, and wriggled a little back, uncertainly.

“It’s okay,” Harry sing-songed the words as if soothing a frightened child. “It’s okay. Let Harry help you, my love, my darling…” They propped themselves on one elbow and reached out slowly with their free hand, testing Jules’ reaction, until their mate let their fingers rest, ever so lightly, on his wrist. “Good boy,” they murmured. “Such a good, brave, boy.”

“Be careful Harry,” Fatima breathed from where she hovered in the doorway.

Jules watched, his breath panted and his body shaking, as Harry eased the injured hand towards his face. Harry smiled at him reassuringly. “I will just kiss you better, my darling one,” they promised. “I will help take the pain away.” They pushed their tongue against their sharp canines and premolars, collecting the venom that aided with the healing from their bite, and then they flickered their tongue carefully over the back of Jules’ hand, watching for a reaction of pain.

Some of the tension eased from around Jules’ eyes and gradually his entire body relaxed, the gentle lapping soothing him. Jules was still a werewolf deep within, Harry reasoned, and the wolf nature was to bathe wounds with their tongues. Instinctually, Jules would recognize the action as tending to what was causing him pain.

Harry continued to wash the wound, and Jules’ eyes drifted half closed, his head slowly coming to rest against the wall. “Good boy,” Harry murmured over and over between laps. The wound tasted healthy, they noted, without any bitterness of infection. They hoped that it would heal, and that Jules would regain use of it. As they licked, they shifted closer, testing Jules’ response to their proximity.

Gradually they wedged themselves into the crude shelter behind Jules, taking him between their legs so that he leaned back against Harry’s chest. His breathing and heartbeat were steady, and his heavy-lidded gaze followed Harry’s gentle turning of his hand so that Harry could lick over the palm. Harry ached for his mate, the feel of Jules’ body against his, a divine pleasure that was so sweet it was almost painful.

Jules’ head moved against Harry’s chin as his mate looked up at him. “Harry,” his voice was hoarse, rough, and ragged.

“Yes,” Harry’s tears fell unheeded down his cheeks. “Yes. Your Harry, my Jules. Your Harry.”

“Jules,” Jules whispered, his head resting back against Harry, his hand resting, palm up, his arm across their thighs.

“Yes, my love. You are Jules. Someone hurt us. Someone terrible hurt us both, and you have been sleeping for a long time.”

“Hurt,” Jules mumbled, and Harry sensed that his mate was on the edge of sleep.

“Yes,” Harry adjusted Jules so that he was across Harry’s lap and rose carefully to his feet. He felt Jules’ stiffen at the movement. “Shhh, it’s okay, Jules. We could both use a shower and a proper bed. I want nothing more than to lay in a bed with you and feel your heart beat against mine. We are safe, and together, and alive – and that is all that matters. Your memory will come back, or we will make new ones together.”

Fatima was waiting in the hallway, her eyes wide and expression stunned. “Harry!” She exclaimed breathily. “I can’t believe it. I swear you brought him back to life through sheer refusal to let him go.”

“I need… a room,” Harry told her. “And time, and protection.”

“You will have it,” she promised fervently. “Take the first room to your left, up the stairs.”

“And someone needs to call Talen,” Harry added quietly. “Cameron should know.”

“I’ll make sure it is passed along,” she nodded. “Harry… I am so happy for you.”

Harry couldn’t answer, swallowing back the words that they did not want to utter in Jules’ hearing. For all their brave words and heartfelt promises, for all their delight that Jules lived, it was terrifying that he did not seem to know them. They wondered how much he had lost, and whether it would come back. Jules was still their mate, but it was not just his body that they loved, but the man within it, and there was a horrible fear growing in their heart that Jules had returned a shell without that core.

Be grateful for what they had, and just hope that time would heal Jules’ mind and body, they told themselves sternly as they entered the bedroom and carried Jules into the attached ensuite. They set Jules down on the tiles and watched their mate lean towards the mirror his eyes wide and his good hand lifting to touch his cheek.

“That is you,” Harry told him gently as they turned on the shower. “Do you recognize yourself?”

Jules’ eyes flicked to theirs in the reflection. “Harry,” he said softly.

Harry tried to keep their lips from trembling as they smiled. “That’s right, my love. I am your Harry, and I always will be.” No matter what.