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Phrases marked with (t) will have a translation at the end of that section.
Ravaged
When the branches parted, and he saw that it was a man and not a wolf, Blair felt a flare of relief. He'd called to Jim, because it had to be Jim. Thank God, Big Guy. Saved my butt again. I'm gonna have to tell you thank you real nice this time. But the looming figure had spoken in German.
Well, that was all right. It wasn't his Jim, but it was someone who could help him get back to his Jim. And how long had it been his Jim? Always and ever from the first time he called me Chief till I draw my last breath, and maybe beyond that.
Then Blair got a better look at the man who was bending toward him in the moonlight. The moonbeams slid over smooth, pale skin. He was naked, and he was rampantly aroused. That was enough to freeze Blair with shock, but what drove him into screaming panic was his eyes. They were black, hot, and soulless. They were the eyes of the wolf that had driven him to this pitifully vulnerable sanctuary.
Before he could throw himself farther back into the bush, his ankles were seized, and he was hauled out under the trees as easily as if he had been a tissue being plucked from a box. As he was dragged over the rough ground his shirt slid up almost to his armpits, his back scraping over small rocks and fallen twigs. He found himself staring straight up into the full, silver moon, the one he had found so romantic only minutes before, as it looked down on him impassively.
The grip on his ankles disappeared. But before he could do more than try to draw breath to fuel his escape, the man thing landed on top of him hard enough to expel what little air he had left. He found himself wheezing desperately for oxygen. Won't do me any good if he doesn't intend to kill me if I go ahead and suffocate.
He had to be at least as big as Jim Wouldn't feel like this with Jim. Jim wouldn't push me down so hard I couldn't breathe and his weight was crushing. Blair told himself to fight, to at least try to throw the man off, but all he could do was pant frantically, dragging in air.
The stranger slid his right arm behind Blair's neck and gripped the right side of Blair's head, then crossed his left arm over and gripped the left side. Hard. In thickly accented English he hissed, "Boy, I can break your neck with one twist. Do you believe me?" Blair couldn't speak, couldn't nod. But he was afraid that if he didn't answer, the man would do just what he'd said. Blair blinked rapidly, hoping he'd understand.
He did. (t)"Vollendeht. Remember that, if you want to survive this night." He released his grip, but his right arm stayed in place, around Blair's neck. Now that hand plunged into the thicket of Blair's hair and rummaged in a rough caress. The stranger lowered his head, and began nipping at the side of Blair's throat, working down.
At last Blair found enough breath for speech. "Please, lemme go! You haven't really done anything, it's not too late. I... I won't tell anybody, I promise." Not even Jim. I couldn't tell him I was thrown on the ground and had a naked man on top of me, kissing my neck and pressing his hard-on against me.
There was a rumble in the man's chest that might have been laughter, might have been something else. "No, little one, it's far too late. You don't understand, but you will. Tonight you will help me in oh, so many ways." He moved against Blair, crawling farther up his body. Blair felt the hot length of his erection press against his belly.
He lost it. "Jim! " he screamed, trying to lift a knee into the man's crotch, trying to catch the vulnerable balls. If he landed a solid blow, the man wouldn't be thinking about sex. He'd be thinking about nothing but pain for a long time.
It was a mistake, oh boy, was it a mistake. The man twisted like a snake, and the intended blow landed on his thigh. He hissed at the pain, but didn't let go. Instead, his hand tightened in Blair's hair till it seemed he would wrench the scalp loose. He ripped at the collar of Blair's shirt, and buried his teeth in the younger man's shoulder. Now Blair screamed in earnest. The stranger bit deeper still, and Blair felt his own blood, hot and slick, spilling out around the madman's mouth. Then the lunatic wrenched his head, and Blair blacked out for a moment from the ripping pain as a chunk of skin and flesh was torn away.
It only lasted for a second or two. It would have been far more merciful if it had been longer. Blair opened his eyes to see the stranger throw back his head, long blonde hair now streaked with Blair's blood, He chewed, blood oozing from the corners of his red smeared mouth, then swallowed. He looked down into Blair's eyes and smiled, sharp teeth glistening red and white. He quickly jerked Blair's head to the side, or the young Guide would most likely have strangled on the vomit that spewed forth. When he was emptied, the man wiped his mouth clean with Blair's own hair, his gesture almost tender.
I'm gonna die. I'm gonna be raped, and killed, and maybe eaten. I'm gonna be a fucking urban legend warning stupid unrequited lovers never to go walking in the wild, wild woods.
The man on top of him was speaking again. "If you try that again, I'll kill you and fuck your corpse while it's still warm. Then maybe I'll go visit your friend. Jim, was it?"
"No," Blair whispered, horrified.
"Yes," mocked the man. His left hand spidered across Blair's chest. He found Blair's right nipple and pinched hard enough to make him grit his teeth. "I think maybe this Jim is more than a friend, yes? There is such longing in your voice when you call out his name. Is he as fuckable as you, sweetheart?"
"Jim's not... not like that."
"No? More fool, Jim." He pinched the other nipple, even harder, and Blair yelped. "Wasteful man. I'm going to ask you a question, boy. If you lie to me, I'll know. I'll smell it."
Like Jim. No, not like my Jim, never like my Jim.
"Have you ever been with another man?"
"I... I..."
"The truth."
"I..." Blair gulped. "Just... a few times."
A low, rippling laugh. "And what did you do, sweet puppy?"
"Just... touching... some. I..." his voice broke with shame, confessing these intimate details to someone who had no interest but to use him. "I used my mouth, once."
"But you've never been fucked?"
Blair shook his head, thinking I've been saving that for the man I loved. Hopelessly old fashioned, but there it is.
(t)"Ah, ein klein keusche Mann. How sweet. It's been a long time since I plucked a cherry."
The stranger reached down, and Blair heard the pop as he opened his hiking shorts. He jerked hard, and the zipper ripped open, plastic teeth separating. His hand went into the gap, closing over the cloth draped mound of Blair's penis, rubbing. The man pulled up a fraction, and gazed down to where his hand was kneading Blair. "Silk?" He sounded amused. "Full of surprises, aren't you, (t)liebling?"
He kissed Blair, his mouth hard and punishing. Blair kept his teeth clenched as the man's tongue worked it's way past his lips. But a jerk that caused him to lose several strands of hair warned him of what might happen if he continued to resist, and he opened his mouth. The man plunged his tongue hungrily into Blair's mouth, ruthlessly exploring every crevice. Blair almost choked on the taste of his own blood. The man's tongue flickered, darting in and out, plunging deep. Blair groaned. Not like this. Can't he do it without kissing? Kissing is for lovers, not rapists.
The man pulled away, and Blair was suddenly free of his weight. But before he could feel relieved, he heard his captor say, "Up on your hands and knees, pup." Blair shook his head violently, and the man slapped him. Once, twice, three times, rocking his head with vicious snaps. Then he said, "I'm doing you a kindness, boy, taking you from behind the first time. I could go much deeper with you on your back. But I'm trying to be merciful, and what do you give in return? Ingratitude." Another volley of slaps, till Blair thought he might lose consciousness again. No such luck. "Do as I say."
When the slapping stopped, Blair rolled on to his belly, luckily missing his own vomitus. Then he shakily pushed himself up on his hands and knees, as ordered. "Better. Believe me, it will be easier this way for you, (t)mein Schatz. Perhaps you would like to imagine it is your Jim, yes?"
No. Jim wouldn't... He wouldn't humiliate me like this. He wouldn't hurt me,Blair thought miserably.
"Pull down your shorts. Show yourself to me."
Feeling the tears that had been threatening finally spill over and streak his cheeks, Blair obeyed. He slid the boxers down his thighs, then pulled one leg at a time out of them. Finally he crouch, shivering, naked except for the ripped, rucked up T-shirt.
He felt the man's hands on his ass, running over the curves, squeezing. "Lovely, lovely." The man shoved his legs apart, the rough forest floor scouring skin from Blair's knees. Blair felt the heat of his body as he knelt between his spread legs and knee walked till their bodies touched.
He was sobbing openly now, unable to hold it back. Men don't cry, Blair. He hated the man doing this to him, as much for the sense of helplessness as the pain. I can't stop him. He's gonna use me like a bitch, and I can't stop him
His ass cheeks were pried apart by long, strong fingers. There was a hawking sound, and he felt a splash of warm, greasy liquid land in the tender crevice. Then the hands began to massage the fluid in, and Blair hitched with nausea, fighting to keep from vomiting again, because the man would probably kill him. At least he's doing that much* an insidious voice whispered in his mind. *He didn't have to use any kind of lube. He could just mount you dry and let the blood oil you up.
One spit slick finger wormed it's way past the muscular ring of tissue that marked the entrance to his bowels. Blair tensed instinctively, and received a buffet upside the head. "Stupid boy, relax. I'll tear you open if you keep clenching. Because mark me, I will have you, even if I have to rip you."
Blair put his head down, trying to relax. The man kept pushing, and managed to sink his finger in deeply. He sawed it back and forth. "Let go, damn it."
Blair tried. Oh lord, please, it hurts. A second finger joined the first. The man pushed, pulled, stretched. Blair clenched handfuls of loam, trying to feel the sting of grit on his scraped palms instead of the steady probing in his most intimate region. Then somehow the man had worked in a third finger, and continued, massaging Blair internally. Is he doing this to spare me pain, or so I'll be more open for him? It hardly mattered, in the scheme of things. It accomplished both, because gradually Blair's flesh accommodated the rude intrusion, stretching and warming around the plundering hand.
At last the hand was removed, and the big man grabbed Blair's hips. Blair felt a slick nudge at the aching hole, and pressure. Almost before he could register it, the rapist's cock head had spread him open, and popped inside. It wrung a breathless shriek from the violated boy, and a happy groan from his attacker. Then the monster pushed, hard, and his whole hot length impaled the shivering boy.
No amount of preparation could have taken away the pain entirely. Blair wailed, and the man bent over him, encircling his body in an embrace that was oddly gentle. "There, pup." he breathed. "Lost your cherry. It's all right." His hips began to move, pulling back, then grinding forward.
The tears rained down, wetting the grass between his clenching hands as the rapist thrust into him. The man moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm that said he intended to do this for a long time. Maybe I'll just die while he's fucking me. Serve him right.
Rough, warm hands swam over his belly, descending to enclose his cock, which had been swaying limply with each lunge into his ass. They kneaded, stroked. I don't believe it. He wants me to enjoy this?
Apparently so. The hot, mad voice whispered in his ear. "Can't you get hard for me, leibling? Go on, you should enjoy your first time, too." Even though defiance might mean more pain, or even death, Blair shook his head wildly, his glorious hair flying.
"Let's have a bargain, eh? If you come for me, I won't hunt down your friend when we're done. Fair enough, hey? Your lover's life for a few moments of pleasure, and a few drops of sperm."
He means it. He'll do it. And I think he might succeed. Jim's strong, fast, but this... thing... No choice. "No choice."
He didn't realize he'd spoken out loud till the man answered. "No, no choice."
Blair swallowed convulsively, and closed his eyes. Jim. Ice blue eyes, but not icy, not when he looks at me. Jim. Stupid short hair cut, won't let it grow an inch. Jim. Lazing on the sofa in his boxers on a hot day, cold bottle of beer propped in the vee of his legs as he eats pretzels with one hand and works the remote with the other. Jim. Fresh out of the shower, his flesh steaming, the towel around his waist slipping just low enough, just long enough to give a glimpse of that tight, hard ass. Hard ass in the best possible way.
And he started to respond. There was a kindling of heat in his groin, the beginning of that familiar heaviness. But it wasn't enough. He squeezed his eyes tighter, and moved past the memories into the fantasies. Jim, behind me, touching my hair. Moving it aside to kiss my neck. Jim, pushing his hands under my shirt, finding my nipples, feeling that they're already hard for him. Jim, sliding his hand down into my shorts, touching me. Taking me into his hand, his big, warm, gentle hand. Stroking. Squeezing. Like that. Yes, like that.
"Like that," whispered Blair. "Like that. Harder, please, Jim, faster."
He tried to block out the hateful voice that whispered, "Yes, little whore. Whatever you like."
Blair was fully erect now, as complete an erection as he'd ever experienced. His rapist worked his cock with knowing hands, reaching down to cup and gently squeeze his balls, even as he continued to thrust relentlessly. He's pretty talented The thought was nearly incoherent. Think what he could do if he liked me.
He tried to keep the fantasy of Jim going, but the man kept talking to him, never letting him block the experience completely. "Yes, puppy, yes! Move for me, love me. I make you mine tonight. I bring you over, into the pack. You will be mine, and I will give you to Him, and he will love me still. You will be my child, my son. Now fuck, little boy. Fuck your daddy hard!" He slammed into Blair's body with increasing speed, grunting with every stroke.
Sick motherfucker Blair rocked with the assault. But somewhere in his mind, Jim slipped down to his knees, turned Blair, and took his rigid cock into the steaming paradise of his mouth. And Blair found the rhythm, and began to move with his rapist.
When the boy began to push back into his stabbing thrusts, then surge forward into his caresses, the animal lost the last of his control. He stopped trying to prolong the experience, and began to truly seek his release. He had what he wanted now. He'd broken the boy to his will, made him a participant.
He didn't neglect his new child's pleasure as he sought his own. He used all the skills he'd learned through the years. He'd become active at a very early age, and with his blonde good looks had been very popular. He knew how to do things to another man's body that would evoke a physical response, even when the recipient felt nothing but rage, hatred, and in this case, fear.
He climaxed before his boy, filling the young man's ravaged back passage with the hot spew of his lust, listening to his hopeless groans, and his desperate pants for release. "Don't worry, child. I will not let you suffer." Still locked in the furnace of Blair's body, he redoubled his efforts. "Come! Come for your father."
Blair gave a great, shuddering sob, and came, spilling his seed in hot, jetting bursts. As the wave broke over him, he threw back his head, eyes closed, pale neck bowed and streaked with blood in the moonlight, and let loose all the pain and fear and shame in a single, piercing scream.
"Jim!"
Translations
"Vollendeht." Excellent
"Ah, ein klein keusche Mann." Ah, a little virgin.
"liebling" sweetheart
"mein Schatz" my dear.
Jim Ellison is not running, not quite. Despite his terror, he is not running. If he ran, he might miss some clue, even with his sentinel visual, and he can't risk that. He can't allow a moment of misdirection, not with that thing stalking Blair.
Now the two scent trails are mingled, running together. Blair has fled, with whatever it is in pursuit. Jim goes faster. The trail is more clearly visible now. In his flight Blair cannot pick and choose the easiest path. He has blundered through tangles, leaving clear evidence of his passing. Here, a strand of long, curly brown hair is snarled in a thorny branch. There, a minute tracing of blood limns a rough switch.
This is so bad, so very bad. Jim hyper-extends his senses, reaching desperately for any clue that will lead him to his endangered Guide. He is dangerously close to zoning out, his mind shutting down in self defense against sensory overload. If Blair was here Jim could focus on his steady, cherished heartbeat, the sound that had pulled him back from the abyss so many times. He could listen to the dear voice: reasoning, sane, urging him back to a closer contact with the reality that threatened to overwhelm him sometimes. He might even feel gentle hands on his back, his hair, soothing him with a caring touch. But Blair isn't here. That's the problem.
Jim pauses and plucks a tuft of reddish brown fur from a bramble. It is almost at hip height. What the hell is chasing his Blair?
Jim doesn't so much hear the scream as feel it. It is as if a red hot knife has scored every living nerve in his body at once. "Jim!" Blair. Blair calling him in agony and terror.
Any semblance of control disappears, and Jim plunges ahead with an answering shout of "Blair!"
Now he runs. He plunges directly through thickets no sane man would attempt. He hurdles dead falls. At one point he crosses a stream, water rising to either side in silver plumes, hardly even noticing the obstacle. He is sure of his direction now, not needing to look for the visual clues. The scent, the scent tells all, and leads him on.
It's horrible. There is the Blairsmell, still clean and fresh, despite the tang of panic and fear. It is overlaid, almost smothered by the bestial odor, the mad stink. And other scents, exquisitely disturbing scents have joined them: vomit, sex musk, shit, blood... Jim plunges toward the small clearing that seems to be the center of the miasma.
As he bursts through he catches a glimpse of a man escaping out the other side. It seems that even Sentinel vision can be fooled because the man seems to be darkening, compacting as he moves, disappearing into the trees. But there is no thought of pursuit, because Blair is here.
Jim throws himself down beside the crumpled red and white figure on the grass, calling his name. There is no movement, no reaction save for the slight lift and fall of his ribs in shallow breaths. Jim reaches for him, hesitates. Red Cross emergency rules skitter along the rim of his consciousness. Do not attempt to move... He crushes the thought ruthlessly, and turns Blair, rolling him into his arms.
Jim reaches out to his friend with all the power of his senses, assessing damages. Body temperature, too low but not dangerous yet. He is naked except for the torn remains of a colorful T-shirt, the one Jim has teased him about so unmercifully in the past. Jim releases him only long enough to strip off his own leather jacket and wrap it around him.
Breathing, rapid, shallow. Pulse the same. Heartbeat strong, thank God. "Blair? It's Jim." Now that the immediate danger of death if lessened, Jim begins to take in the appalling details. The face, always to animated even when he's asleep. I've watched him sleep and his dreams play across his face is beginning to darken with bruises. The beautiful hair, so carefully tended, is a tangled, matted mass. The palms and knees are raw, grit encrusted. There is a spreading purple contusion across his rib cage, signaling a possible broken bone. What worries Jim the most is the wound in his shoulder.
It is half the size of his palm, and Jim has big hands. What the hell could have caused that? No bullet, Jim would have smelled the whiff of smoke and cordite, even if he'd by some alien chance missed the gunshot. A knife? The edges are irregular, torn. He leans closer, and inhales deeply. Immediately his head snaps back with a desperate howl. There is the rank scent of a carnivore's saliva. The lunatic has used his teeth to rip flesh from his partner.
In an agony of grief and horror Jim lets himself recognize the other details he has been avoiding. The smell of sex in the little clearing is thick enough to choke. There is the mad, rutting smell of the thing that raped the man he loves yes love, dammit, but there is also the sweet musk of Blair's arousal.
Jim is familiar with the scent. It has driven him close to the edge more than once. He has lain in his lonely bed, listening to the subtle sounds of Blair pleasuring himself in the night, hungrily sniffing the faint aroma of his sweat, heated by sexual hormones. But now the sex smell is mixed with the scents of pain and fear. Whatever happened here, however Blair's body reacted, whatever his poor, tortured mind might insist or the blindness of the law might say later, there had been nothing consensual. It had been pure rape.
Jim's eyes drop down the length of Blair's body, seeking any further wounds, and he cries out again. "Oh, dear God!" The insides of the lightly furred thighs are dripping with thick blood. He pulls the limp body tight. "I'm so sorry, Blair. I should have been here."
Jim is becoming alarmed by Blair's lack of reaction. What he senses from Blair is not the temporary relief of unconsciousness: that would be a blessing at this point. Jim shakes him gently, "Blair baby? Open your eyes." No response. "Look at me, man. Talk to me." Another gentle shake.
The head rolls limply, but the eyelids flutter weakly, then lift to half mast. The eyes are deep pools of midnight blue, the pupils so enlarged that the iris is only a hairline rim. Blair's expression is slack, bland, but his eyes are screaming. He is finally accomplishing what he could not during his abuse and rape: he is going away.
Jim sees it, sees the utter... absence. "No!" he screams. "Don't you do it, Blair Sandburg! Don't you leave me!" He shakes Blair roughly now.
The matted head rolls limply with the motion, but there is no other response save for another slow blink. "Godammit, Blair!" Jim pulls him tighter still, dropping Blair's face against his neck. "You--can't--go. I won't let you! Do you hear me? If you try to leave me behind, I'll follow you into heaven or hell, wherever you end up, and drag your ass back to earth, kicking and screaming if necessary."
There is a papery sigh. Even with his powerful hearing, it is almost inaudible. "...hurts..."
Jim almost cries with joy, but Blair isn't back yet. "I know, I know, Baby Boy. It hurts, it's horrible. But you can take it, Blair. Everyone thinks I'm the hard ass. Well, they don't know how strong you are. I do. You survived this long, you can survive to see the motherfucker who did this gutted. Come back to me."
Jim rocks him, cradling the poor, mistreated body tenderly, speaking steadily. "Come back to me, Blair. Just listen to me, follow my voice. You've been there so many times for me, buddy. Let me be here for you. This time, I'll be the Guide. Come back to me, Chief."
Blair's face tipped against the warm column of his neck, Jim cannot see the minute, invisible shift of muscles as Blair's eyes slowly begin to focus once more, but he can sense it anyway. His connection with Blair goes beyond the physical realm, and they are in that realm right now. He just keeps talking, holding firm the lifeline that Blair can use to haul himself back to this world.
"You can't leave me, Blair. I need you so damn much. I've lost so much in my life, I can't lose you, too."
Jim feels the butterfly brush of lips against his skin, "You lose everything, Big Guy. Keys, papers, the remote, your fucking temper..."
"Blair?" Jim's own voice is soft, not daring to hope.
Hot tears streak his neck. Blair is weeping, and that's good. Tears bring healing faster than anything else Jim knows. "Blair, baby, are you back?"
There is the faint brush of silken lips again, and the whisper is a bit stronger. "Ain't gonna get rid of me that easy, Sentinel. You can lose everything, but you can't lose me." And a bruised arm reaches up weakly to embrace him as Jim's own scalding tears finally begin to flow.
The Other Hunt
Gabriel
What the fuck am I doin'? Why am I here instead of at a strip club in the Quarter, gettin' drunk?
Gabriel Knight had asked himself this mental question before, many times before, to be honest. He'd asked it as he sat behind the desk in the Schloss von Ritter, staring at the mockingly blank piece of paper rolled into the old standard typewriter. He'd asked it when he woke up, stiff and sore, on the narrow couch in the little cottage that belonged to the bereaved parents of the child whose murder he was investigating. He'd asked it while trying to charm his way past Herr Doktor Klingman at the zoo, and Xavier at the hunt club, and Inspector Lieber at the police station.
Now, pulling on his jacket as he prepared to meet Baron von Glower in the stables in preparation to hunt down and kill the insane Garr von Zell he was asking himself Why the fuck am I about to go out into the woods... at night... and try to track down a man who's possibly a werewolf, most certainly a mad man, and has probably eaten more human beings than I have hot dinners?
The answer was always the same: Cause I'm a goddam Schattenjaeger, that's why. He winced. Had it really been only a little over a year ago that he hadn't even heard of the term?
He'd once led a fairly simple life. He ground out marginally successful horror novels and ran his rare books shop in the French Quarter. His days were spent teasing his assistant, Grace Nakimura, with half serious come ons, charming his beloved Grandma Knight, bullshitting with his friend Mosely Mostly at the homicide cop's office, and riding his motorcycle with his long leather coat flying behind him Grace sure gives me hell when I wear it in July, but dammit, style is style.
Then had come the string of 'Voodoo Murders' in and around New Orleans, and somehow he'd been drawn in. When it was over a beautiful woman was dead, and his life was changed forever. Now, he was the Schattenjaeger, a hereditary supernatural protector and investigator. He was the Schattenjaeger and there really wasn't a damn thing he could do about it and still feel like a relatively decent human being.
Gabriel touched the Schattenjaeger talisman that he wore around his neck. The protective symbol had become almost a part of him by now, integral to his sense of self. He realized with a small sinking feeling that he was probably never going to feel complete again without it. Well, so be it. You played the hand that Lady Luck dealt you. So far Gabriel wasn't exactly in the chips, but he hadn't tanked, either.
He met von Glower in the stable. The tall German nobleman was wearing a handsome leather hunting jacket that might have caused Gabriel a pang of envy in a less stressful moment. The handsome, dark haired man damn near as good lookin' and charmin' as I am was feeding glistening bullets into a deadly looking hunting rifle.
He glanced up as Gabriel entered and for a moment his silver blue eyes seemed to gleam in the moon light that streamed through the door. "Are you ready, Gabriel?"
"Look, I been thinkin'... It might be kind of dangerous with jus' the two of us after Von Zell."
"Yes." Friedrich worked the bolt action, chambering a round. "It will be quite dangerous. Von Zell is... he's rather unique, Gabriel."
"I was thinkin' that maybe we should get at least one or two of the others."
"No!" The baron's tone was sharp. It had the sound of someone accustom to giving orders and having them obeyed without question. Gabriel raised his eyebrows. Von Glower grimaced. "I'm sorry, Gabriel, but you must see that there isn't time to explain things to them. They'd be just as likely to think us mad."
You mean think me mad. They'd accept anything you told them. "Well, maybe I ought to go alone." *d I just say that?
"No, this is my problem. It was I who introduced Garr to the philosophy."
Von Glowere seemed pained by the thought, and Gabriel put a comforting hand on his arm. "You can't blame yourself for his madness, Friedrich."
The Baron looked down at Gabriel's hand, and drew in a long, shaky breath. "No. I cannot." He spoke under his breath. "The madness was there. It would have come out eventually, even if I hadn't..." He covered Gabriel's hand with his own, squeezing it firmly, and looking directly into his eyes, pale blue gaze meeting cool green. "Thank you, my friend."
"Not at all, old son." Gabriel turned his hand and gripped von Glower's, palm to palm, for a moment before releasing it. He glanced at the two horses, stamping and shifting in their stalls. "Look, I never learned to ride."
"It doesn't matter. We hunt afoot tonight." He held out the rifle.
Gabriel held up his hands in a warding off motion. "Whoa now. You better hang on to that. I... uh... I lied about my huntin'. I've never really handled guns. I might end up shootin' you or blowin' my own foot off."
"I see. But it's rather odd that a Schattenjaeger doesn't possess that skill."
Gabriel felt himself deflate. "So you know, huh?"
"Gabriel, you're not the only one who can ask questions, you know."
"It doesn't bother you?"
"On the contrary, it pleases me greatly. And it's so fortunate that you are here now, during this crisis. I'm afraid I couldn't kill von Zell alone." He turned away and whispered something under his breath, something that seemed to bring fresh pain. "A sire may not kill his cub, lest the damage he wreak be returned to him."
"Pardon?"
"We'd better go. There's a young man wandering the woods, I saw him from my window. I greatly fear for his safety, even his very life."
"Let's do it to it, then."
They entered the woods and easily found the place where a chase had begun. Friedrich cursed in fluent German. Gabriel couldn't understand the words, but he understood the tone. "He's after that poor boy. I don't hold much hope for him, but we have to try. The best thing to do is try to lure on Garr toward the ravine. If we can trap him with it at his back, we'll have a better chance of making a shot." As he spoke Friedrich was tamping yellow ear plugs into his ears.
"You're not gonna to be able to hear me with those." Von Glower was busy taking the safety off the gun. Gabriel touched his shoulder, and he jumped. The baron's handsome face was very pale in the moonlight. Gabriel enunciated clearly, so his lips could be read. "What are you doin'?"
Von Glower tossed the packet the plugs had come in away. "My hearing is sensitive. I need those for the gunshots."
"But how will you hear..."
"What?"
"Never mind. Just stay in sight."
But he didn't, of course. That was how Gabriel found himself blundering around in the dark, tripping over roots, worrying that any moment von Zell was going to leap out and rip open his throat. Von Zell would find him, Gabriel had no doubt of that. The big blonde had made his hatred clear before. He wouldn't be able to resist trying something. My only chance is to outrun him and lead him to the ravine. Von Glower will be there with the gun.
If he'd had any doubts at all about killing von Zell they disappeared when he entered the little clearing. The two figures on the ground looked at a distance like a father preparing to carry his child, who had tired from a long outing. When he got closer, Gabriel saw that the 'child' was a young man, his body terribly marked and abused. But the one who held him could not be responsible for those injuries, not with the tenderness with which he stroked the matted curls, his crooning voice, and the silver streaks of tears on his face.
Without looking up the big man said, "He went out the opposite side. Kill him..." He looked up. "or I will." Gabriel was jolted by the power in those ice blue eyes. This wasn't a threat, or even a promise. It was a simple statement of stone cold fact.
Gabe didn't pause to wonder how the man had known that he was no threat. He hadn't looked up from his injured companion till Gabe was almost upon him, but there had been no surprise in his expression, no doubt. He had known somehow that Gabe wasn't a danger to him or the boy.
Gabriel nodded, unsure of how else to reply, and plunged back into the trees. Even as he went, the big man was gathering his precious burden tighter, standing up in preparation to carry him to help and safety.
Gabriel heard a weak voice demanding to be allowed to walk, complaining that he was perfectly capable, had been since he was eleven months old, he'd been an early bloomer... As he started through the trees in pursuit of von Zell, Gabriel shook his head. That was a feisty little booger. The big fella must have his hands full with him.
Ravager
Von Zell
There are so few times now when both the man and the wolf are sated, he thinks. There is always a hunger from one or both: a hunger for blood, for power, for sex. For a brief moment Von Zell has found that peaceful state where the man and the wolf of his nature are both satisfied.
The wolf had exulted in the chase, hunting his prey through the darkness and moonbeams, drinking in the panic. The wolf had tasted blood and flesh, ripping living, bleeding tissue from the quivering youth it had run to earth. Both man and wolf had enjoyed the sex, the wolf as much for the sense of power and domination it gave, which was indeed the true essence of rape. Von Zell had delighted in the tight, quivering body beneath him, so young and fresh and untouched, but not for long.
There had been pleasure in the taking of pleasure. It was exciting when the boy struggled, even more exciting when he finally submitted, after his friend lover? was threatened. Von Zell had perhaps beaten him more than was absolutely necessary, but what of it? The boy was marked as his now, his to take or give as he pleased.
The coupling had been a wonder of tensed, unwilling flesh made warm and compliant. The heady taste of sweat and blood, the toss of long dark curls as his head whipped in pain... Glorious, glorious. Over too soon. Too soon he had squirted his seed deep into the hot core of his victim. Generously he had coaxed an orgasm from the grieving, hurting creature, forcing even the release of physical pleasure, claiming even that as his due.
Now that it is done, he sprawls on the panting form as it quiets beneath him. Well, the pup has survived. He is stronger than he looks, physically and mentally. Many men would have lost their sanity in shivering bits by now. Von Zell strokes the scratched, heaving back gently, pleased. This one will be a fit gift for his lover. He will make von Glower forget the smirking American.
Von Zell reluctantly pulls himself from the furnace embrace of the boy's flesh. He notes that his cock is streaked dark with blood and shit. So, he hadn't lied, he had been a virgin. Von Zell strokes the sticky thighs, coating his fingers with blood, and licks it off his hands.
A crashing in the bushes, from the direction of the lodge, draws him from his sensual revery. Someone is coming. He sniffs deeply, human ears twitching as wolf senses resurface. The scent isn't von Glower's, nor Gabriel's The Slut In fact, it is a bit familiar.
He realizes suddenly that there has been a faint, lingering trace of it around the boy who now lies crumpled beside him. So, this must be the reluctant lover. This will be the boy's Jim Ellison.
There is no doubt in von Zell's mind that he can kill the man. This Jim is after all only a human, and a human who has no idea what he is dealing with, at that. But thinking of the baron and Gabriel has recalled his original purpose to him. The two should be somewhere in the woods by now. It is time to hunt in earnest.
Von Zell flows to his feet, already feeling his joints and sinews creak with the beginning of the change. He will kill the man who has dared attract the interest of his lover. Once Gabriel is dead von Zell will lead his Master back to the clearing and gift him with the boy: another child for his bloodline, another lover to satisfy his whims. If the other man is there with the cub when they return, there can be a feast as well as an orgy.
If the other removes the cub before he returns, well... If the pup survives past this night, the change will begin to work and heal his body quickly. Then the beast will begin to grow within him, becoming stronger with each waxing phase of the moon, till the fullness is reached and it emerges for the first time. When he has fully come over, it will be possible to track him. The Master can always eventually find the children of his bloodline.
As he slips into the trees to begin the hunt, he spares a glance back into the clearing. He is in time to see the big man burst into the space and fall on his knees beside the still, quiet body that now houses the embryonic spirit of a pack brother.
Von Zell smiles. It would be a marvelous joke, he thinks, to just let the man take the boy, take him back to whatever lair they share and tend his hurts, perhaps (the still human part of von Zell's mind leers at the imagery), perhaps lick clean the wounds, and then watch as his beloved turns into a snarling, dangerous beast with the rising of the next full moon.
It would be delicious. It is too bad, he thinks as he drops to all fours and lopes into the night, that he just doesn't have time....
Betrayal
Baron von Glower
It is a beautiful night. The air is crisp and cool, clean and sharp. The full disk of the moon glides overhead, gilding everything below in silver. A soft breeze wafts against von Glower's face, bringing the scent of honeysuckle blooming somewhere in the deep green. On such a night, the baron thinks, one might easily fall in love. He has thought much of love the last few hours. He is in the forest tonight seeking his lover, and his child, the beastman who is one and the same. He has come to end his loverchild's suffering and in so doing end the danger to himself.
The gun he carries smells of cordite and oiled wood and sharp metal. It is heavy and deadly in his hands, almost as deadly as his own fangs and jaws when he is in his element, but far less personal. He hates the idea of Garr's death by the silver jacketed bullets that rest in the magazine. How much more fitting it would be if he could perform the deed himself, easing the mad, suffering creature from this world into the next with one bone shattering snap of massive jaws. Surely it is better to die at the hands of one who loves you, who wishes only to give you peace, than to pass from this life through the agency of cold steel?
But this cannot be so. Freidrich may not touch one of his own blood, the ancient texts make that clear. Injure, even mutilate, yes. Discipline, of course. But if the wound should become fatal, von Glower will suffer the same fate that he had inflicted.
So tonight von Glower has brought another weapon other than the hunting rifle. He has brought a weapon of flesh and bone and warm blood, death in luscious human form. He has brought Gabriel Knight. Gabriel will be the angel of death tonight. His first service to his future Master will be to remove the consort he will someday replace.
Freidrich stalks the woods, moving toward the ravine, the spot designated as the killing ground. He does not hear his own footsteps in the underbrush. He does not hear Gabriel's calls, nor the raised voices of the man who has found von Zell's latest victim. Most importantly of all, he does not hear the wavering wolf cries that would make him helpless to resist his own change. The tiny yellow earplugs were an excellent investment.
At the ravine, he waits. Since he does not hear the approach he is taken by surprise when Gabriel and the wolf burst from the trees. He moves quickly. As the enraged brown wolf snaps and snarls at Gabriel, von Glower shifts to block it's only escape route.
Gabriel is wounded, a nasty slash to his shoulder. Bad, that. Freidrich would have preferred to mark him himself, to be the only one to tear into that temptingly creamy, firm flesh. He can almost hate von Zell for denying him that pleasure. Ah well, the results are the same. Gabriel is his now, though he will not know it for some time. Through his child Freidrich's blood, his taint, has been passed on.
Gabriel has managed to throw off the wolf. An impressive feat, for Garr is big, heavy, and a tough fighter. Gabriel scrambles away, and he is screaming at von Glower. Freidrich cannot hear his voice. The earplugs are working too well for that, even at this close range. It is good, because von Zell has thrown back his head in a long howl, hoping desperately to draw his Master into the wolf state.
No, Freidrich cannot hear Gabriel, but he can read the words his lips form easily enough. "Shoot him! Kill him! What are you waiting for?"
Von Zell turns deep, black eyes to Freidrich. Freidrich can read so much in those eyes, those eyes that he has looked into with joy, with pride, with lust, and, yes, with love. There is a desperate plea there. Forgive me, love me, do not abandon me, do not hurt me. No one can love you as I can. Even though you have betrayed and hurt me, I will forgive.
Von Glower tosses the rifle to an astonished Gabriel. "Kill him! Do it now."
Gabriel fumbles with the weapon. He told the truth, he is no hunter, not yet The huge brown wolf looks at him intently and shakes it's shaggy head. It turns black, despairing eyes to the baron, then back to Gabriel, and shakes its head again. Gabriel hesitates, watching the wolf. He looks slowly at von Glower. Is that a glimmer of suspicion in his eyes?
"Kill him! My God, do you know how many innocents he's slaughtered? End it, Gabriel. Finish it now." Von Glower is desperate. Von Zell's agonizing howls have reached such a volume that even the earplugs cannot keep them entirely shut out. He has heard a trickle of sound. There is the familiar prickling all over his body. If the howls do not stop soon he will succumb and enter wolf form. That must not happen. If it does, he may not be able to restrain his rage, and may seal his own fate by killing his errant offspring.
Already his blood is moving through Gabriel, beginning to assert his mastery. It is soon, so very soon, but perhaps he can call on that blood bond. He pours ever ounce of power and command into his order. "Kill him!"
Gabriel gazes quickly between the two, doubt flashing, and makes a decision. He lifts the rifle swiftly, and a shot cracks out.