1 – The Pull of the Beast
Heath had gone to The Den that night for one reason.
He needed to feel it again—the raw power, the darkness that had started slithering inside him since his night with Clay. Since Atlas.
He had changed. He knew it.
The things that once filled him with comfort—his crystals, his tarot, his rituals—now felt weak. Empty.
But this?
This was where the real power lived.
And he felt it the moment he stepped inside.
The air was thick, charged with something feral, hungry. It wasn’t just lust—not the usual Bear Bash energy.
This was something else.
Something alive.
And at the center of it all—
Tank.
Heath saw him immediately, surrounded by a sea of men, hands and mouths clawing at him, bodies pressed close, sweating, grinding.
Heath stopped in his tracks.
He had never seen anything like it.
It was more than sex.
It was worship.
Men were moaning, begging, their restraint shattered the second they touched him.
Their wills were gone.
And Heath—
Heath was not immune.
The second the heat of Tank’s power rolled over him, his breath hitched, his pulse slammed in his throat, and his body reacted.
It was like something reached inside him, grabbed hold of the part of him that craved more, and yanked.
His skin was burning.
His muscles tensed, as if ready to drop to his knees and give in.
For a split second, he almost did.
He almost fell into it like everyone else.
But—
No.
He clenched his jaw.
He was stronger than this.
He had to be.
He dug in, fought it, pushed back against the pull with every ounce of willpower he had.
And slowly—slowly—he forced himself to resist.
The power still throbbed through him, still called to him, but he didn’t lose himself to it.
He wouldn’t.
Couldn’t.
Because he wasn’t meant to kneel.
He was meant for more.
Heath gritted his teeth, heart hammering, and did the hardest thing in the world—
He walked away.
---
2 – Aftermath & The Truth
Heath sat outside The Den, panting, body still buzzing.
The orgy inside was still going—he could hear it.
The moans, the growls, the flesh meeting flesh.
And he had almost lost himself to it.
Almost.
His hands were shaking.
“You lasted longer than I expected.”
Heath’s head snapped up.
Clay stood in the shadows of the alley, arms crossed, watching him.
Heath’s breath was still uneven, but he laughed, short and sharp. “That was Tank, wasn’t it?”
Clay nodded. “He’s awakened now.”
Heath wiped his face. “That was Atlas’s power. I felt it.”
Clay stepped forward. “Not quite.”
Heath’s brow furrowed. “The fuck does that mean?”
Clay tilted his head. “Atlas gives. Tank receives. But that kind of power? It can’t be passed secondhand.”
He crouched, leveling Heath with a look.
“Only Atlas himself can give someone what he has.”
Heath’s stomach twisted, a dark thrill curling inside him.
“So why wasn’t I under his control?” Heath asked, voice low.
Clay smirked. “You were. For a second.”
Heath swallowed. “And then I fought it.”
“You did.” Clay’s eyes gleamed. “And that is because of what you and I did that night.”
A pulse shot through Heath’s chest.
“What?”
Clay leaned in. “Our night together—it wasn’t just sex.”
Heath already knew that, deep down.
Clay’s voice was soft, deliberate. “You touched his power through me.”
Heath’s pulse pounded.
Clay stood, towering over him. “I didn’t give you anything. But you took just enough that you’re not completely helpless.”
Heath licked his lips. “I fought it off. But it wasn’t easy.”
Clay nodded. “It won’t be. That kind of power is made to consume.”
Heath’s breath was shaky. “But Atlas is the only one who can truly give it.”
“Yes.”
Heath’s hands clenched.
His head was swimming, his heart racing.
He had felt it. The pull. The strength.
And he had resisted.
But not because he was meant to.
Not because he was weak.
But because he wasn’t ready yet.
Atlas had given it to Tank.
Heath wanted it for himself.
---
3 – The Obsession Takes Hold
Heath walked the city streets, buzzing with energy, Clay’s words repeating in his head over and over.
"Only Atlas can give someone that power."
"You touched it through me."
"It wasn’t just sex."
His body still ached, his pulse still pounded with lingering need, but his mind was clearer than it had been in days.
He didn’t just want that power.
He needed it.
He needed to understand it.
To control it.
To become it.
He had touched it already.
And he wasn’t satisfied.
Heath exhaled sharply, stopping at an alleyway, leaning against the cool brick wall.
His fingers itched.
His body was restless.
He closed his eyes.
And in the darkness behind his lids—
He saw Atlas.
A massive silhouette.
Eyes burning like embers in the night.
Waiting.
Watching.
Calling to him.
Heath’s breath hitched.
"I’ll be back in a month."
That’s what Atlas had told Tank.
A month.
Heath’s pulse slammed in his throat.
He had thirty days.
Thirty days to prepare.
To find a way to earn it.
To prove himself worthy.
He grinned, exhaling sharply.
He wouldn’t kneel.
He would stand before Atlas as an equal.
Or he would burn trying.
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