Saying Goodbye

Havermouth, Five Years Before

Rhett slid into Heath’s bed at just past two am on a cloud of smoke and whiskey. “Too drunk to f-k,” his dark-haired mate muttered. “Stacked it on my skateboard. Probably bleeding in your f-king sheets, but I need to sleep, and f-k knows I can’t do it at home.”

Heath groaned and reached out to turn on the bedside lamp. “Let’s have a look at you,” he flung back the covers. Rhett was naked, his clothing like a bread-crumb trail leading from the bedroom door to the bed.

He was bleeding, one elbow and his knee, but he was already asleep, his mouth slack and drooling, and indifferent to the smears of blood that he was leaving on the expensive Egyptian cotton sheets.

Heath sighed, shaking his head and went to the bathroom for the first aid kit. Werewolves healed faster so by morning what oozed now would be scabbed over, but regardless, Heath spent a moment bandaging up his mate, before dissolving an anti-hangover pill in a glass of water and grabbing a couple o