Search & Destroy

Same 'verse as Saturday Night's Alright (For Fighting) and Ain't No Rest For the Wicked; sequel to Howl, Night of the Hunter, and Was it a Dream?

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Niamh smiled, humming a little tune, as she unlocked her apartment door. It was almost moonrise and she could feel it, her skin tingling as her true self shifted restlessly within her. She soothed it with a half-heard whisper, assuring it that soon they would be true to themselves again.

Still humming, she locked the door and began to strip out of her clothes as she moved across the dark apartment. The French doors that led out to her balcony allowed moonlight to spill across the floor and her belly tightened with anticipation as she moved towards it. Her panties were the last thing she slipped off, kicking them aside before she stepped into the welcoming moonlight. A smile stretched across her face as she stood naked before her mother, her goddess, her world. Niamh felt her true self shift, her skin stretching to accommodate it and she gasped out a plea for it to take her and make them whole again.

Her eyes closed in bliss as her body began to warp then she heard whispered words, loud as a thunderclap in the silence.

“Time to go to Hell,” where the words in an angry masculine voice and Niamh spun. She fully welcome herself, urging it to take her quickly so they could kill the intruder.

Then a circle blazed to life underneath her bare feet and the swift transformation stopped. Niamh gasped and collapsed on legs that were half between human and wolf, the frozen limbs unable to hold up the muscle she'd gained. She sat for a long time, staring at hands that bristled with claws but no fur, in shock.

Because not only had the transformation stopped, she could also no longer feel her true self.

“How?” she growled through a half-formed muzzle.

“I've met other therianthropes before,” answered the voice and with ears now hearing everything she recognized it.

“You...you're Devin's friend. Paul.”

The circle underneath her flared and Niamh screamed as her legs reverted to full human with a snap of bones that cracked the air like a whip. “Yes,” he answered, “and you made a mistake in hurting him, bitch.”

She bristled at the word then snarled, “He had no idea of the power our kind hold. How could I let him be content with only a glimpse at the true wildness of his soul?”

“Oh don't pretend you were doing him a favor!” snapped Paul. “I'm no Jesus and neither are you. What's the saying: like knows like?”

“What do you want?” demanded Niamh.

There was silence for a moment then he stepped out of the shadows enough that she could see his eyes. Niamh recalled then that Devin had vaguely mentioned him being a witch or something and she could feel it. It was underneath her in the circle, around her pressing against her skin, and in her even. And it was there in his eyes, blazing with fury and killing need.

She knew the latter well.

Niamh trembled then and knew fear again for the first time in many long years. And she knew the answer to her question before he spoke.

Paul answered, “I want you to suffer like you've made Devin suffer. You put him from Hell, made him kill innocent people, and I'm not sure his sister and I can piece him back together. He'll be there, oh yes, but he won't bloody well be the Devin before you. You took his control.”

“So what?” asked Niamh. “Are you going to kill me?”

“I'd considered it. But I thought of much sweeter revenge.”

She blinked then screamed as her body exploded with pain. Sobs came pouring out of her as she felt her body changing fully back to her human guise and when it was over she was lying sprawled across the glowing circle.

“H-how?” she managed to stammer out.

“I told you, I've met therianthropes before.” Paul stuffed his hands in his pockets and moved towards her with the smooth hunter's stride of a panther. Niamh flinched as he circled her then laughed before crouching down. He placed a finger on the edge of the circle right in front of her face and flashed a cold smile.

“This,” he intoned, “is a circle of subtraction. One of my nastier former acquaintances liked to use it in fights: lay it down and let his enemy walk right into it. Then he'd activate it and suck all of the magic right out of them.”

Niamh's eyes widened at that. “Wh-what?”

He chuckled. “You are a creature of magic. Therefore this circle can draw every bit of the Wild out of you.”

She was confused as to what the 'Wild' was then remembered that was how Devin referred to his true self. Then she started trembling and asked, “Are you going to take it?”

“Its already taken. This circle doesn't give. It just takes and takes until it's broken -” Paul smiled as he waved a hand in the air, adding, “Then it just goes away.”

“No!” gasped Niamh but she was too weak to do anything.

Paul's smile resembled that of a skull as he growled, “Yes.” She watched his finger start to glow then he drew it across the outer line of the circle. And she felt her soul tear as her true self fully separated and was gone. Niamh started sobbing then and repeating, “You bastard. You bastard.”

She felt fingers on her chin then and looked up through tears at Paul's grim face.

“Devin suffers through the rage of the Wild. And I could never bear the pain of severing that part of himself from him,” he said softly. “So it's only fair that you suffer through the pain of humanity. Of being normal and completely ordinary.”

“No,” she gasped, trying to reach for him but he moved away too quickly. Niamh heard him leaving but she kept reaching and begging, “No, please give it back, give me back. Please. Please.”

There was no answer though and she was left sobbing on her floor, naked and utterly, painfully human.

She had destroyed Devin.

And now his friend had searched, hunted her down, and destroyed her in return.

Was it a Dream?

Same 'verse as Saturday Night's Alright (For Fighting) and Ain't No Rest For the Wicked; sequel to Howl and Night of the Hunter

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Devin woke in agony.

A groan of pain slipped past lips that felt cracked and dry, through a throat that seemed to be tearing from the mere effort of expelling the cry, and he wanted to die. There was a rustle of cloth near him, the sound louder than it should have been, and he heard a soft intake of breath as if it was a loud as a freight train. The sound of water in...a bowl, maybe...was like a waterfall then there was a cool cloth on his lips, across his skin, tiny sips of water sliding into his mouth, and he moaned as his body sagged with relief.

At a touch of fingertips on his forehead, all of his senses seemed to explode and his nostrils flared as he inhaled involuntarily. The scent he breathed in was one he knew and in one quick flash the thoughts of home, safety, sister passed through his mind.

"Sar-ah," he croaked out and the fingers moved across his skin to gently touch his lips in a gesture of silence. Just that slight touch, though, was agony against his skin and he hissed as it felt like sandpaper scraping hard against him.

"You're safe," she breathed and her voice was so loud it seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. Devin winced, trying to flinch away from the sound, but his body hurt so much it didn't move very far. "Don't try to talk, little brother, you're still recovering."

From what? thought Devin as he slowly blinked open his eyes. Light seared into them and his throat ached as he moaned in agony, closing them again.

"Sorry," Sarah said and he hear her rise, wincing as her chair scraped across the floor. Every step of hers was agony on his ears and he could only lay there and just try to breath through that pain as well as the rest. By the time she sat back down there were tears welling out of the corner of his eyes and she dabbed them away as gently as she could with the cloth.

"Do you want to try opening your eyes again?"

Devin cautiously fluttered one eye at that and was reward with some pain still but nothing like the agony of before. He blinked both eyes a few times then focused on his sister's face above him, her blue eyes filled with a mixture of emotions that he couldn't even begin to comprehend. After a moment he opened his mouth and mouthed the most important question: What happened?

Sarah's violent flinch and her barely held back sob told him something had gone wrong. But what? He couldn't...he couldn't remember.

He couldn't remember anything from the past few days.

"Do you remember Niamh?" she asked and Devin frowned. The name didn't really ring a bell but...

A pretty little sprite of a woman flared into being in his mind's eye, dark haired and doe eyed with a body most women would kill for. She smiled, sweetly, innocently, then fangs replaced her teeth and she lunged at him with claws out as her body tore itself apart to let a monster loose. He shuddered, closing his eyes to try and will the image away but more just kept coming: her lounging across the couch in his apartment, the memory of her scent, bare skin underneath his fingertips as he explored her back, taste of her in his mouth, her body writhing underneath his as they had wild, needy sex on that same couch. It was the last that snapped him out of it as his brain screeched to a halt when they ended up breaking the back off.

He'd liked that fucking couch.

Devin shuddered again as he opened his eyes and mouthed, I remember.

His sister covered her mouth with one hand for a moment then lowered it so she could speak. "She was like you," explained Sarah. "You really liked her, I think."

Obviously, thought Devin as he sifted back through the revived memories. Otherwise I wouldn't have shagged her like a damn animal in heat.

"But she...she did something. To you."

He arched an eyebrow at that and Sarah said, "You...you changed, Dev. When we found you, there wasn't anything human left. Just the wolf."

That...was impossible. He'd always had control. Always. Even during that first time when it had been activated because Aiden Cormac was trying to rape his big sister. He'd known what he was doing then and every time after that.

That couldn't have changed.

Could it?

Devin frowned and reached tenatively out for that other part of him, immediately slamming the proverbial door shut on it a moment later. He'd felt nothing but rage from that section of himself and this wasn't the time or place to deal with it.

Then he remembered pain, agony, bones cracking, fur spreading across his skin, muscles bulking underneath his skin, anger, rage, and sucked in a gasping breath that tore at his throat. He felt Sarah's hand on his shoulder, skin against skin, and Devin fought to hang onto that sensation as the Wild gave off an impression of stretching as it woke almost lazily. It seemed to smile at him, like predator to prey, then his mind was filled with bloodstained images:

A man torn to shreds, his life bleeding out onto the sidewalk as he gasped out a death rattle.

Woman running screaming in front of him before she looked back and fell. Then he was on her and Devin felt tears streaming down his cheeks as he could suddenly taste her blood and skin as the memory him tore into her flesh.

Stone crunching underneath his claws as he hefted his heavy body through a window into a room where a couple was making love. He wanted to scream, to cry, as he tore them both apart and howled to the heavens later as if he had won something.

Then there was Paul, his expression a mix of fury, revulsion, anger, and sadness as he came sprinting towards him. Devin's throat ached as the memory recalled a roar of rage expelling from him then his eyes fell onto the brass knuckles adorning his best friend's hands. The fight was over before it had even begun as Paul dove under his swift, brutal swipe and he never got another as both fists crashed into his jaw. He felt weightless lying down for a moment as the memory shifted as his body lifted into the air before crashing to the ground in a snarling heap.

"Dev," he heard Sarah saying then. "Devin, stay with me, please. Please, little brother, I can't lose you again." He groaned and somehow managed to fumble his hand upward to grasp hers, opening wet eyes to look up at her.

"Was...it a...dream?" he croaked.

A sob expelled from his sister then Devin was aware of what he thought first was a steady drumbeat until he breathed and caught Paul's scent. Turning his head, he looked up at his best friend and opened his mouth to repeat the question but he never got the chance.

Paul leaned down with a white square of paper in his hand and breathed, "It wasn't a dream." Then he flipped it over, revealing it to be a photograph, and Devin sucked in a agonized breath as he recognized the girl.

"Niamh," he choked.

"Yeah," answered his friend in a voice that was more growl than anything. Then he shifted the photo of Niamh behind another and held it out as Sarah's sobs grew in volume. As Devin stared at the picture, almost unable to believe it, his ears aching from the sound of his sister's cries.

She had been right; there had been nothing human about him when they'd gotten him back. And he remembered now, being that...that...thing.

That monster.

He wasn't aware that he was sobbing until Sarah wrapped her arms around him and laid her cheek against his. Devin clutched at her, trying to claw for support as his world had suddenly been turned utterly upside down, and he realized she'd always been that. She'd been the first who'd found out what he was, had even known something was wrong before he had, and had always accepted him. His big sister was his rock, his shelter, his safe place, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to be the little boy again who'd go running for her room during a lightning storm to hide under her sheets as she whispered stories in his ear until he slept again.

Devin knew though that now, more than ever, he could never be that boy again.

He was broken.

He was a monster for real now, his form twisted by a woman he'd thought had loved him, a woman he had loved and who had been like him.

And there was no going back.

Night of the Hunter

Same 'verse as Saturday Night's Alright (For Fighting) and Ain't No Rest For the Wicked; sequel to Howl

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"What the bloody fuck are you doing just sitting there?" demanded Paul as he stormed into the apartment he and Sarah had shared for nearly four years. She was just sitting cross-legged on a cushioned footstool with her head tilted back, eyes closed, and her fingers clasped around the cross she'd worn since he'd met her so many years before.

Sarah's serene expression didn't flicker as she calmly responded, "Praying."

"Praying," repeated Paul coolly. He snarled and a burst of wild magic caused the flour and sugar containers on the kitchen counter to explode to puffs of white. "You're praying while Devin is out there?! The hell are you praying for that's more bloody important than your brother?"

"Revenge," answered Sarah, her voice dropping into a cooler octave that signaled she was getting angry. "He's gone and that woman has to pay."

Paul scowled then stormed across the room, gripping her face in both hands and hissing, "Look at me, Sarah. Look at me." When her eyes - the pretty blue eyes he'd fallen in love with, the eyes that had given it away that she wasn't related to Devin with his amber gaze and their parents matching blues - opened to meet his, he was torn between screaming and crying. He gathered himself though, settled into calm, and spoke in an even voice.

"He's not gone," he insisted in a rough voice. "Not yet. Maybe he's gotten lost but he's not out of our reach yet and you know that. There's nothing to avenge yet."

"How do you know?" asked Sarah as she stared up at him. Tears stared to well in her eyes as she continued, "You didn't fall asleep every night when he was little and started crying because he wanted to kill something. Or see him that first time!"

Paul shook his head and answered, "No." He was aware of the first time Devin had let what he called the Wild take over though and he completely understood wanting to protect Sarah when some fucking bully was trying to rape her. "But I think I know my best friend since grade school."

Then his hands slipped from her face to fall to her hands where they rested in her lap. He could feel the chain that held her cross pressing against his skin as he folded his larger fingers around hers and added, "And this isn't something you need to pray for."

Sarah stiffened and Paul lifted his head to meet eyes now glaring at him angrily. She tried to pull her hands away from his as she snarled, "So what am I supposed to pray for?"

"Getting Devin back. For Niamh to get her dues. But not for revenge."

As she continued to glare, he shook his head and said, "Sarah, the reason I fell in love with you, the reason why Dev wants to protect you so badly, is because you're the gentlest person we know. You're what kept him sane all those years when he didn't know what he was and thought he would be rejected by his family." Paul paused then finished, "And you're what kept me from going off the magical deep end a few times."

She just frowned at him and he sighed, looking for a better way to explain it.

"Love, Dev's a werewolf and the general consensus is that's a bad thing. Most people would rather see his head mounted on their wall than on his shoulders." Paul paused to see if she had gotten it but judging by her frown she still hadn't yet so he continued. "Much as we might pretend otherwise, we all know the proper term for me is warlock and that doesn't tend bring up happy feelings. I'm a little too willing to walk the darker paths to be a wizard."

"You're what holds us together," he kept on, tightening his grip on her hands as he prayed that she saw what he was trying to say. He didn't believe in God like she did but he hoped that whatever answered her prayers and gave her her power might lend an ear to a warlock just once. "Dev would have lost himself to the Wild a lot time ago if it weren't for you. And I'd probably be worse than dead from going too far into the Black. You're our connection to what's good, Sarah. It's you and only you that keeps us steady and let's us fight against our own nature."

Sarah's frown deepened at that and she intoned softly, "Everyone can fight against their own nature."

Paul sighed at that and shook his head. "They need a reason to though. Trust me, love, I know what I'm saying. I've given in to the darkness before and it doesn't let go once you've gotten a taste. I can pull back because of you."

"And you think Devin can fight off the Wild because of me."

I hope so, thought Paul but he didn't want to say that. Instead he squeezed her hands and said, "If anyone can bring him back, it's you. Niamh may have opened the door but you can close it...maybe not all the way but back near to where it was before."

She nodded slightly then asked, "And how does this all add up to why I shouldn't pray for revenge?"

He laughed at that and leaned forward to kiss the side of her mouth before he breathed, "Because you're all that's good in the world to us and we don't want you to walk the dark paths we do."

"What if I want to?"

"You don't," assured Paul as he rubbed his fingers against the back of her hands. "I've been in love with you since I was fourteen, Sarah, and I know that isn't the place for you. You're too...good...to be there."

Sarah frowned and leaned her head against his as she breathed harshly, "Then who will hurt that bitch for what she did to my little brother?"

Paul felt anger swell in his chest and heard the containers rattle in the kitchen again. He moved one hand to grip her chin and tilted her head up so he could catch her lips with his own before he promised, "I will. And I swear to you on my magic, my life, and my love for you that she will pay dearly for what she's done."

Sarah's lips crashed against his then in a kiss that mingled need, thanks, and relief all into one giant ball of emotion. He could feel his skin tingling when it ended and smiled as he gently tugged her hands apart and pressed his fingers down on her cross.

"Pray for him back," he whispered. "Pray for Dev home and safe."

She nodded slightly then her eyes met his as she growled viciously, "Let's go find my little brother. And kick the ass of anybody that thinks they can take him for a trophy."

Paul grinned and began quietly going over every spell he'd ever come across or created in his head as he lifted one of Sarah's hand still holding the cross and pressed a kiss against her knuckles.

"That's my girl," he murmured before he pulled them both to their feet.

They had work to do.

Howl

Same 'verse as Saturday Night's Alright (For Fighting) and Ain't No Rest For the Wicked

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He could feel his skin rippling, flesh roiling from the thing underneath it that was trying to get out. Teeth bared, he clenched his fists and fought down the simple need to let loose, to give in, to just release everything. It was freedom singing through his veins, burning like wildfire, and causing the beast to howl for release.

That freedom, though, came at the price of lives. It was the price of blood and he wasn't willing to pay it.

Not for himself, Paul, nor even Sarah was he willing to go through that. And he especially wasn't willing to pay that price for that bloody bitch.

Devin screamed through clenched teeth as he doubled over as his spine and back attempted to shift. As vertebrae tried to stretch out, the muscles across his back and shoulders swelled with power that had nowhere to go, turning him into a grotesque, hunchbacked monstrosity. Then, just as quickly, it was over and as he straightened with a gasp he was glad he'd refused to share a house with his sister and best friend. He loved them both but -

There had always been the chance of him getting out of control. And he didn't want them to be the first in his reach if he actually did.

He started to take a step towards his kitchen and his legs buckled with the gut-wrenching snap of bone, sending him sprawling facefirst against his floor. Fingers curled in the carpet for a brief second then Devin twisted and began fumbling at his jeans as he felt his legs begin to shift. That bitch had urged him to give in just a little bit further to the Wild and he'd let her play him. Oh he had put paid to the relationship real quick once he realized what she was doing but it was already too late by then.

He'd let the Wild in...and it wasn't letting go of what it had gained.

Bones cracked and shifted around, twisting muscle and skin into new designs, and he just managed to kick his jeans off before the change caught on in his feet. Devin clenched his teeth and howled involuntarily in pain as claws grew before his feet began the agonizing shift to paws.

Let it in, he swore he could hear her sultry voice whispering in his ear as he laid on his floor like some freakish wolf version of a satyr without fur. The memory of her voice and words made his blood sing with the Wild and he wanted wanted wanted to let it loose, let it pour out of him. He knew better though, knew better than to listen, but You are freedom, you're the wind itself when you let the Wild in, nothing can touch you was in his ear now and it was so hard to block it out.

Devin hissed as a shiver tore through his body and was chased by a tickling sensation that he knew well. Fur, thick and dark brown, sread across his legs and paw-feet then began to inch it's way up across his stomach, muscles distending, swelling with each inch covered. His spine cracked and stretched again, this time not reversing itself, and he knew he was losing.

Let go, let it in, we were meant to be free, Dev.

“No,” he croaked hoarsely, shaking his head in a futile negation even as he lost to the Wild song filling his veins. His entire torso was swelling now with heavy muscle piling up as the fur grew higher and higher, shoulders bunching before the change rippled down his arms. A scream tore from his lips as claws erupted from beneath his fingernails, blood everywhere, then the damage was lost as his hands twisted into weapons of destruction, fur hiding the blood.

Suddenly he wanted Sarah, wanted Paul, hell, he even wanted his mother and she'd never done a damned good thing for him except give him up for adoption. Probably because of the Wild, because she knew that someday he'd discover someone else that heard it, that felt it in their soul, and he'd come to this. Bitch. Why did he want her when she'd never loved him enough to take the risks? Sarah did.

He breathed his sister's name before his throat thickened, before vocal cords shifted from human to animal as the change continued it's upward climb. Devin wanted to laugh suddenly at what he must look like right now: heavily muscled, lupine-like body topped by a tiny human head. His throat quivered with the effort and the noise that came from his throat was more canine whimper than it was a laugh.

The change over took his jaw, fur tickling briefly before bones cracked apart and began to painfully reform. He tried to scream but his jaw was broken and shifting all at once so the howl that came from his throat was strangled and muffled. Then he could feel the haze, blood red and pulsing with blind feral need, starting to claw at the edge of his consciousness and Devin knew he didn't have much longer. There was no holding out against this, no fighting it; the Wild was taking him over, body and soul, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

As bones snapped into place, he flexed his clawed hands against the floor and began to push himself up, heavy muscles rippling underneath dark fur as he gained his feet. He drew in a breath, lungs filling deeply, broadened chest puffing outward, then released it as the feral haze began to cloud his mind. Half blind rose in a crouch and moved to his kitchen counter, delicately picking up a fragile looking glass wolf filled with shifting mist that Paul had given him years ago. A precaution, his best friend had said and now it would come in handy. It would warn them that he was gone and maybe...maybe they could find a way to bring him back.

Or they'd kill him. It wasn't the way he'd wanted to die, brought down by friend and sister, but it was better than living as a real monster.

Devin felt his ears shift, crawling up the side of his head as they became pointed, then flung the little wolf across the room with a deep snarl. It shattered against the far wall of his apartment and then his entire body shuddered, muscles quivering violently as the change became complete. The Wild roared in his veins and he had time enough for a single thought, recalling a song he had heard recently that fit just right, before the blood haze took over his mind.

If you could only see the beast you've made of me, he thought towards her, the bitch, flame-haired Niamh.

Then Devin was gone.

Ain't No Rest For the Wicked

Sequel to Saturday Night's Alright (For Fighting)

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“Never seen a man look so all alone,” purred the brunette as she leaned in close. She batted her eyelashes as she added, “Could you use a little company?”

Devin eyed the gorgeously buxom woman up and down, taking in all of her delicious curves as he resisted the urge to drool. She was perfect. Absolutely everything he could ask for in a woman – even if she was a prostitute.

The aura he projected as a werewolf tended to make vanilla humans skirt around him for the most part though, so he couldn't give her the benefit of the doubt. It was likeliest that she was some kind of beastie. And probably one that was looking for a meal.

Smiling, the brunette leaned closer and trailed her hand down his chest, drawing a line of delicious fire in her wake that gave him hints as to what she was. When he hand settled over his crotch and the raw need came to life in his loins, he knew.

Sighing, Devin shook his head and dug his pack of fags out of the back pocket of his jeans, enjoying her look of surprise as he nonchalantly lit one up. As he blew out smoke above their head, he gave her his best smile and moved her hand from his crotch with his free hand.

“Sorry, love,” he purred, “but I'm afraid I can't ask you why you do this to yourself because I already know exactly how.”

Surprise flashing through her dark eyes for a moment then she tried to draw a reaction out of him again. Devin drew on his own supernatural side, cloaking himself in the wolf's mind, and let out a rumbling growl of a laugh at her sudden wide eyes. Oh, yes, she sensed him now.

“Hello, succubus.”

“Dog!” she snarled and scrambled back from him, looking at the hand that had touched him as though it had betrayed her. He took offense at that and affected a hurt look before even going so far as to lift an arm and sniff at himself. In response she sneered and spat, “Your kind would smell foul to mine no matter what, dog.”

Devin just laughed at that and took another drag on his fag before saying, “You weren't saying that a minute ago when you hand was on my crotch.”

“A mistake. I will leave you.”

She turned to go but froze at the sound of a shell being chambered, the sound itself echoing through the alley behind the pub like a cannon going off. The succubus slowly turned her head to look back at Devin and he smiled in false apology as he pointed the double barrels of his sawed-off shotgun at her.

“Sorry, love,” he remarked as he held the fag between his teeth and gripped the gun with both hands, “but I'm afraid I really can't just let you wander off. You might come across some other bloke and seriously bugger up his night.”

“I must ,” she hissed, eyes turning from a rich chocolate to red. “Surely you understand.”

“Oh please don't try to play on my sentimentalizes,” snarled Devin with a roll of his eyes. “I may be something that stalks the night like you but I don't hurt innocent people. And you can't really argue with me on that as I've been watching you for three days now so I've seen that you don't care.”

The succubus let loose with a rattling hiss at that, lips drawing back from suddenly needle sharp teeth, and then she was rushing at his throat in a blur of motion. If she had been hoping to catch him with his pants down, she had another thing coming.

Devin had been hunting things like her since he'd first changed and Sarah had found her calling.

As the shotgun blasted the succubus back against the opposite wall of the alley, making a mess of her face and chest, he hopped down from the trash can he had been perched on. Calmly, he reloaded the shotgun as she slid down the wall in a whimpering heap of only half-alive flesh down and paused to shake the ash off of the end of his fag. She looked up at him, her beautiful face half torn away, and tried to beg through a mouth that was no longer there.

“Sorry,” he said as he pressed the end of the barrels into her chest where her heart would be and pulled the trigger.

Paul found him there in the alley an hour later sitting on the same trash can again and staring at a pile of slowly evaporating ooze as he smoking idly.

“Got one?” he asked.

“Succubus,” grunted Devin. “You?”

“Ghoul tried to bloody mug me. She tried to work her magic on you?”

“Tried.”

Paul snorted and slugged him in the shoulder, saying, “Well you don't have to be so glum, mate! C'mon, let's head inside and have a pint. I'll even buy.”

Devin arched his eyebrows at that. “I thought my dear sister had disallowed you beer buying privileges.”

“Mate...I ain't that emasculated.”

“Could'a fooled me.”

At that Paul took a swipe at his head but Devin ducked the blow this time and landed one of his own in his friend's gut as he slid off the trash can. “Okay,” he said as he tossed away the end of the spent fag, “if you're buying, I'm willing.”

“Bastard.”

“Wanker.”

They looked at each other then burst out laughing, playfully punching and slapping at each other like kids as they made their way to the pub's back door. As soon as Paul pulled it open, Devin went still and earned a confused look. “What is it?”

“Blood,” growled the werewolf in response, his nostrils flaring with the coppery scent. His eyes took on a golden sheen as he added, “Lots of it.”

Paul cursed and reached into his pocket, pulling out the brass knuckles he favored in a fight despite Devin's soft, “I don't think you're going to need them.” Together they slowly made their way from the back of the bar and by the time they reached the front, Devin was holding off a full-on transformation by only the skin of his teeth.

“Jesus bleeding Christ,” breathed Paul as he took in the whirlwind carnage of the pub. There were no bodies, just shreds of flesh and guts amongst all of the blood, and yet the music as well as the television played on through it. “What sodding thing did this?”

“Bugger if I know,” growled Devin in response. “We're not getting that pint though.”

“Shit.” His friend ran a hand back through his hair before nodding. “Yeah,” he added. “Let's get out of here and call the bobbies. Christ. I'll try and perform a tracer spell before we leave.”

Devin nodded as they turned to head through the back again then snorted. As Paul gave him a curious look, he said, “Ain't no rest for the wicked, eh?”

“Not till we close our eyes for good,” answered the warlock with a shake of his head.

Saturday Night's Alright (For Fighting)

The sound of a motorbike roaring to life outside of the bar covered the noise of the switchblade being loosed and the angry growl of its wielder. Devin grinned across the pool table at the man, ignoring the worried the look of his sister from across the bar, and said, "Hey, mate, it was just a game."

"I'm not your mate, nancy boy," growled the man, who looked like one of the trolls right out of an old illustrated version of The Hobbit that Devin'd had as a kid. Well, except for the fact that he didn't have so many boils or yellow-green skin. So he dubbed him 'Troll' since he hadn't been given anything but a heavy grunt when he had come into the game.

He and his pal, who could be dubbed 'Ghost' with how wraith-thin he was, had been cheating his mate Paul so he had felt obliged to step in. Was it his fault that he and Paul had jolly well wiped the floor with them?

Apparently Troll and Ghost thought so.

Devin smiled and laid his hand on the edge of the table, fingers curling around his pool cue where it rested against the edge. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Paul's hand slowly reaching into his pocket for something then he focused on the pair across from them again. This could get messy.

"C'mon, chaps," he said in an easy voice, "there's no need to get violent."

"We had a deal with him," snarled Ghost, his accent betraying him as American as he thrust his chin at Paul. He was holding his arms in a funny way, Devin noticed, elbows bent and far from his body with his hands hovering near his hips. Classic Western gunslinger pose, he realized a moment later. "And now you're both trying to screw us?"

"Can't bugger us over that easy," growled the Troll. His mouth stretched in a cruel smile that looked too big for even his overlarge face and Devin cast a glance towards Paul first then at his sister. She gave him a nod then vanished with a flip of her dark hair, disappearing into the crowd an instant later. "We want the money he promised us."

Rolling his eyes, Devin turned his head to look at Paul and grumbled, "You just had to have a flutter."

Paul shrugged in a way that said 'What can I say?' then opened his mouth. "I can't resist a bet."

"Why am I your mate again?" wondered Devin.

"'Cause I'm a jolly wanker?"

"That's not it."

"Shut up!" shouted Troll as he brought up the switchblade and Devin whipped up the the pool cue without warning, his joking demeanor fading in seconds into a hard-eyed look that would have fit more on a soldier than his still slightly boyish features. He spun it around and thrust it across the table, the wood sliding easily through his hands until he caught it at the tip. The heavy end of the cue hit Troll hard in the nose with the snapping sound of cartilage and blood showered him as well as the pool table.

Troll roared in pain and Ghost snarled, coming around the table with his arms still held in that funny fashion. Devin swung the pool cue around so the same end hit him in the side of the head and Ghost went stumbling away from the blow.

"Leg it!" shouted Paul and they both took off through the crowd in the same direction Devin's sister had gone. As they pounded through the back of the bar, Paul pulled a pair of brass knuckles out of his pocket and slipped them on, before grinning at him. "So, can I have the big one?"

"You're bleeding mad," said Devin matter-of-factly before he kicked open the back door and they entered the alley.

"Oh let him have it before he throws a wobbly," remarked his sister as she hefted a sack in one hand and a book in the other. She grinned at Paul then asked, "So they're coming?"

"Should be raging right behind us," Paul answered with a goofy grin, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Your ole' brother here gave the brute a bloody nose."

Sarah rolled her eyes at that then hopped up onto a trash bin, crossing her stocking-clad coltish legs and opened the book over her knee. Holding out the sack to Devin, she said, "Salt for you." When he curled his lip, she added, "The last time we had to deal with one of these in a back alley, you told me to leave the shotgun in the trunk after we nearly got arrested."

He rolled his eyes at that but took the sack, opening it up and reaching inside as he heard the sounds of crashing and angry snarling from the back corridor of the bar. Glancing over at Paul, Devin asked, "Ready?"

"As ever!" came the chirpy reply and he sighed before the door slammed open hard enough to snap off its hinges. Troll barreled out first, looking larger than he had in the bar and his skin considerably more like those trolls from the picture book, and he dove for Devin with a feral grin, eyes gleaming red. Paul, however, slid into his path with a wild smile and threw a left hook that caught him in the jaw. There was a cartoonish pause in the moment then Troll got tossed like a rag doll across the alley and Paul went bounding after him like a cat playing with a mouse.

Ghost entered the alley as Troll got blown off of his feet and stopped in shock before he turned back to Devin with a snarl, his face turned even more skeletal than it had been inside. His hands tensed in the air then he yelped as Sarah sang out something in Latin and Devin tossed the contents of the sack at him, covering him with a rain of salt. Instantly Ghost screamed in agony and his appearance guttered, briefly appearing as an Old West style cowboy complete with a pair of pistols on his hips.

"Ego incidere vestri bindings ut is terra," Sarah began reading, causing Ghost to scream again - this time in anger. "Everto totus ties vos had hic."

"NO!" shouted Ghost as he twisted, the grains of salt covering him starting to spark with ethereal light. "You can't do this!"

"Sorry, old chap," said Devin as he fished for the packet of fags in his pocket and lit one. As he tossed the used match away and blew out a cloud of smoke, he finished, "but we just did."

"Quod transporto vos in ut vestri sileo," finished Sarah as she closed the book and bowed her head. The silver cross hanging around her throat glowed and Ghost shrieked one last time before he disappeared in a burst of light that made Devin lift his hand to shield his eyes. When he lowered it, the alley directly in front of them was empty.

"Good job, sis," he said, turning to punch her lightly on the knee. "Score another soul sent to where it's supposed to be."

She hummed in response then narrowed her kohl outlined eyes down the alley before asking, "Shouldn't you go help Paul?"

Devin rolled his eyes at that and grumbled, "Well he's bloody going to bitch later but if you insist, little sister."

"I'd like my boyfriend alive, you dim arsehole."

"Oh fine then. Hold my fag...and don't smoke it! It's bad for you."

Sarah took it with a glare, holding it delicately between two fingers and giving him a look that said clearly she would rather die than pick up his nasty habit. Grinning wryly at her, Devin shrugged off his shirt and tossed it at her before he toed off his sneakers and took off down the alley, his form shifting with a thought. Wild hunting energy he usually kept tamed filled him and he tugged it down under a swift leash before he leapt, landing on Troll's broad back that was now too large for his shirt and a sickly yellow-green color.

"Oi!" he heard Paul yell angrily from underneath Troll's crouched bulk but Devin ignored it. He leaned down and swept his claws across the brute's throat in one swift motion accompanied by a snarl of satisfaction that he couldn't quell. Paul's angry voice spewing curses in about three different languages swiftly changed to one of disgust a moment later as pale green blood spilled over him from Troll's throat. With a grin, Devin jumped down from Troll's back, giving his slowly going limp body just enough of a shove with his feet to let it fall to the side.

As he landed and helped a glaring Paul up, Sarah came up to them with his shirt and shoes in the hand not holding his almost burned out fag. Devin took them with a grin as he let the change fade away, brushing stray traces of fur that always lingered off of his chest. As he tugged his shirt over his head, his sister moaned, "You just had to kill the troll while he was under it, didn't you?"

"Well, he should have killed it bloody quicker," noted Devin as he pulled on his shoes and brushed the spent end off of the fag. Taking a long drag of it, he blew the smoke out over their heads and added, "Though I am sorry, Paul."

Paul glared at him at that, vainly trying to brush pale troll's blood off of his shirt, then sighed and shoved his enchanted brass knuckles in his pocket. "You're lucky I like you, arsehole," he growled, pointing a finger, "else I'd turn you into a puppy."

"Still be a wolf," answered Devin with a smile that somehow made his teeth look like fangs. He then frowned and grumbled, "Bugger."

"What?" asked Sarah as Paul hissed, "Don't you say you regret the fight. Saturday night's perfectly alright for fighting."

Devin shook his head at that and looked mournfully back at the bar as they moved to leave the alley, heading for home.

"I never got my beer that I came here for in the first place," he answered sadly, making his sister and best friend laugh.

I Will Not Bow

"I will not bow to the likes of you, shukar!"

Alendan lifted his head at the shout from eavesdropping on the whispers of the two merchants behind him who were discussing some sort of backroom deal. He had been planning on listening to all of their plans since they were plotting a trade of a good sum of the realm's coin for a case full of bottles of a powerful healing potion - illegal to sell in the realm what with the laws against the magic that enhanced it. Stealing both separately from each of them would have ended with a comfortable amount of coin in his pockets and enough potion to help those suffering in squalor in the tunnels under the city.

That shout distracted him though, drawing his attention away with its all too foreign flavoring that they got so little of in the realm with the King's hatred of foreigners. Anywhere else in the realm he might not have noticed it but he was in the King's very own audience hall. In the middle of the capital city of Karnath within the forbidding bulk of the Black Keep whose walls bristled with too many severed heads of the realm's 'enemies,' such a voice was all too easy to hear.

Pushing his way slowly through the mass of people between him and the open area before the King's throne, Alendan's eyes widened at the spectacle once he slipped into an empty space on the edge. There were three figures upon the stones before the throne, two standing and one kneeling. The two standing were tall, broad in the shoulders and chest, and heavy in bearing like their King with the brutish features and red hair that seemed to dominate the people of the central provinces. They were even a good arm-length taller than himself and he was from as far south as one could go in the realm, from the coast where the people grew tall with limbs that seemed too long for their bodies, sun-dark skin, pale hair, and sharp features.

It was not really them that caught his attention though. Their absurd heights had merely distracted him from the real subject of his focus.

Kneeling on the stones before the hulking pair with a heavy iron collar clamped around her throat linked to two thick chains that they each held one of, was a Beastling. She was of the feline type of their race that occupied the lands farthest from the eastern borders of the realm beyond the canine and reptile sort that fought for control over the area between the two regions. And, so far as he knew of her race, she was a superb example of her people, who had been described as incredibly noble and intelligent but fierce by his grandfather from a once-upon-a-time meeting with a group of them.

Despite the collar weighing upon her throat and the sorry state of clothes that had obviously once been regally made, she held herself with the bearing of a queen. Back straight, shoulders back, chin high, she stared at the King with jewel blue eyes that gleamed with fierce intelligence and disgust out of her distinctly feline but still slightly humanoid features. Her mouth, though encased in a considerably feline muzzle, was twisted into a recognizable sneer that showed off a hint of impressive fangs with whiskers twitching beneath a dark nose in irritation.

"You will bow," growled the King as he leaned forward, "or you will die like the house pet you so resemble."

Pointed ears laid back against a mane of russet colored hair streaked with ebony stripes matching the fur that covered her skin at those words and Alendan's thief-trained eyes could see the slight change in her posture. She went from indignant queen to insulted warrior in an instant with the slightest squaring of her shoulders and the quick snap-flick of her tail against the stones of the floor. There was a tremor along her lip - the subtle beginning of a snarl - but it swiftly disappeared an instant later, the motion stillborn.

"I am the daughter of the Pride-Lords of Azdulath," she declared in a strong voice that rang with the power of command, "and I bow to no man. You and your ilk cannot break me, not even with the threat of death."

There was a gasp from the crowd and Alendan's eyes flew to the King, who looked like he was about to go into an apoplectic rage from how close the coloration of his face was to matching his hair. He lunged forward then, looking almost about to leap from his throne, and spittle flew from his lips as he snarled, "You can have the death you seem to so desire then! Guards! Take this...foreign filth...from my presence and kill her as you see fit. And place her head on the eastern wall when you are finished."

Now a snarl did curl her ebony-streaked lips and his stomach cramped, twisting itself into knots at the thought of her death. His grandfather's words rang through his skull as the two brutes moved to haul her to her feet and then, before he was quite aware of what he was doing, Alendan was striding forward.

"My Lord!"

The attention of the entire audience hall was on him in seconds but it did not make him falter; he could not afford such a thing, not with the double-life he led here in Karnath. Ignoring them, he moved to stand merely an arms-length from the female Beastling, who was watching him with an interested gaze, and bowed deeply. He glanced up to see the King twitch his hand in a 'move along' gesture and straightened, smoothing down the front of his tunic before he spoke again.

"My Lord, I beg you to revoke your ruling and place this Beastling into my hands. I assure you that I can have her bowing at your feet in a mere seven-day and her foreign sentiments trained from her mind in three times that."

Alendan watched the King's eyebrow twitch in obvious irritation before he growled out, "And why should I revoke my ruling to allow this beast to broken, Sir..."

"Alaric Vraistrin, my Lord," he answered with another bow, supplying the name he went by in his guise of merchant and some-time slave trader. "Any man who has bought a slave of mine will attest that they are the most loyal and obedient of any others on the market." Which was true but that was because they were willing students from beneath the city whom he taught how to act and hide their true selves before they became his eyes and ears amongst the rich upper caste. "And imagine, My Lord, how it would look to have a Beastling such as she at your beck-and-call, eating from the palm of your very hand before the Lords of the West and the Northern King?"

In that instant there was a flicker of change about his face and Alendan knew that he had the King with that idea. Glancing out of the corner of his eye at the Beastling, he found her still watching him, her blue eyes narrowed and suspicious. Her ears, however, were no longer laid flat against her mane and her tail was still so he took her attention as a good sign.

The King lifted a hand and his gaze snapped away from her to the man on the throne. "Very well," rumbled the ruler of the realm. "But I expect to see these..results...of yours in a seven-day, Sir Vraistrin. Elsewise your head will be under the axe next to hers."

"Of course, my Lord," intoned Alendan with a sweeping bow. He then turned and took a step closer to the Beastling, inclining his head slightly to her and tilting it to the side to expose his throat. Anyone watching would simply think he was studying her but he knew by the widening of her eyes that she recognized her people's gesture of respect. The two brutes glared at him but he was not cowed and extended a hand calmly for both of the chains they held.

As they reluctantly turned them over, she tensed but stilled when he reached down and held out his hand. Jewel blue eyes studied it for a moment then she whispered, "You know my people," her eyes watching his face as she waited for his answer.

"My grandfather met them briefly," he answered just as quietly. Alendan then added, "Save your breath, my Lady, we are not out of the woods yet." She nodded at that, looking a little surprised at what he called her, then lifted her arm to grip his hand with her own paw-like one. With a smile, he gracefully drew her up from the floor, turned his head to nod deeply to the now scowling King, and then beat a hasty retreat from the audience hall with the Beastling's paw-hand clutched in his left hand and the end of the chains to her collar in his right.

Once they were out of the hall and in the side streets that he steered them into, she sniffed and said with a sneering curl of her striped lip, "I will not bow to you either. And you are a fool if you think you can break me."

Alendan chuckled at that and smiled. "I know better, my Lady. Our King here is hateful of all things foreign so he knows nothing of your kind and thinks that he can break you with mere words like he can do much of the realm."

"He is a fool," she intoned with a regal sniff that made her whiskers twitch wildly. As he nodded in agreement, she flicked an ear back twice then asked, "So what do you intend to do with me if not what your shukar King wishes?"

"The same thing I have always done with the wishes of fools," answered Alendan with a feral sort of smile. "Twist them around and utterly destroy them. With your help, of course."

The Beastling stared at him for a moment, her nose twitching, then she made a rich, deep rumbling noise in her throat that he took to be the equivalent of a chuckle. Her thick, furred fingers tightened against his, pads rasping against his skin, and she purred, "If it will destroy your fool King, then I will agree to it. You may call me Sharin; it is the least of my names I will trust you with."

"I'm Alendan," he said, tilting his head in the same gesture from earlier, exposing his throat partially. "And I hope in time you can come to trust me with more than that, Sharin. Believe me, I only want to help you get out of this twisted realm."

Sharin's lips quirked into a smile at that. "We shall see what truth you speak, Alendan."

"So we shall," agreed Alendan as he began to lead her in the direction of his home, wondering if he had gone mad. This was likely the craziest thing he had ever done in his twenty-and-six seasons and it felt like, this time, he was really on a path leading to nowhere. Just like his father had always told him his wild schemes to change the realm always were.

By the gods though, even if he really was lost, he wasn't about to give in now.