The werewolf rolls to his feet, the gashes Rachel caused already healed. He snarls and takes a step towards her.
"No." Ryan walks forward cautiously, sword still at his side. Perhaps if he could remove its head...but no, that's not what needs to be done. There are pools of black blood sinking into the ground, but any specks on the 'wolf are being reabsorbed, disappearing into its already black skin.
He thinks he knows what to do. He can't help but think he's going to die trying. The 'wolf is faster, more lethal. The 'wolf heals.
And Ryan's already dead. He raises the sword, knowing he smells of fear. 'She’s frightened, and she misses you.' He has to at least try.
The black werewolf cocks his head, pausing only a moment before he throws himself at Ryan. The man twists aside, too slow to dodge the claws that rip towards his chest. The pain is sharp and immediate and far too familiar…but the gashes themselves are shallow. And now the human is behind the wolf, sword flashing up as he drives the metal through the creature’s back. And that pain, too, is sharp and familiar.
But then Ryan twists the blade, keeping the wound from staying closed. The black blood, the poison, the rage starts to drain, flowing out in rivulets down the werewolf’s skin and soaking into the ground. He yelps, and spins, trying to catch the man, but Ryan stays behind him, keeping the blade twisting, the blood flowing, staying out of reach. It’s a strange dance, the two of them twirling while one growls and the other grimaces.
The moment the blood flows red, Ryan jerks out the sword and backs away quickly. “I am not prey,” he tells the werewolf as he whirls to follow him, still showing teeth. Ryan flicks the tip of the sword at him, sending a few drops of his own blood sailing towards his muzzle.
“I am not prey,” Ryan repeats, still moving backward with the sword up between them. He had hoped that would be enough. He’d drained it, hadn’t he? But the werewolf was still advancing on him. That’s it, then, he thinks hopelessly. The house is at his back. There’s no where else to go. The sword darts out, poorly aimed.
He catches the blade in one clawed hand, gripping it tightly as fresh blood begins to pour down it. The other clawed hand shoves Ryan back against the house, holding him still. He crouches slightly, his large head coming down to sniff at the slashes in Ryan’s chest. Their eyes are nearly level, and the ‘wolf is still, waiting. Ryan looks at him, still hopeless and now confused. The ‘wolf gently nudges the skin next to the first scratch and looks at him again. He’s asking permission, he realizes. For what? To eat him? No, he knows that’s not right. He wants to…help? Heal? He’s so close to understanding…
Ryan nods, hesitantly, wondering if he’s hallucinating. There’s a sharp intake of breath as the tongue flicks out, but where the last werewolf was intrusive and painful, this one is gentle and soothing. Ryan shudders under the sense memory anyway, even as he feels his flesh knitting together. And then the werewolf has released both him and sword, rearing up to his full height.
You are not prey, the werewolf agrees, head tilted, and Ryan’s surprised to find he can understand. You are pack. He leans forward to nuzzle Ryan and winds up stepping into him. Ryan staggers as the wolf’s senses suddenly return. The night lights up and scents assault his nose, bloodtreesfearmetalangerdespairpain, human smells and wolf smells and house smells and a thousand others, all vying for his attention.
no subject
"No." Ryan walks forward cautiously, sword still at his side. Perhaps if he could remove its head...but no, that's not what needs to be done. There are pools of black blood sinking into the ground, but any specks on the 'wolf are being reabsorbed, disappearing into its already black skin.
He thinks he knows what to do. He can't help but think he's going to die trying. The 'wolf is faster, more lethal. The 'wolf heals.
And Ryan's already dead. He raises the sword, knowing he smells of fear. 'She’s frightened, and she misses you.' He has to at least try.
The black werewolf cocks his head, pausing only a moment before he throws himself at Ryan. The man twists aside, too slow to dodge the claws that rip towards his chest. The pain is sharp and immediate and far too familiar…but the gashes themselves are shallow. And now the human is behind the wolf, sword flashing up as he drives the metal through the creature’s back. And that pain, too, is sharp and familiar.
But then Ryan twists the blade, keeping the wound from staying closed. The black blood, the poison, the rage starts to drain, flowing out in rivulets down the werewolf’s skin and soaking into the ground. He yelps, and spins, trying to catch the man, but Ryan stays behind him, keeping the blade twisting, the blood flowing, staying out of reach. It’s a strange dance, the two of them twirling while one growls and the other grimaces.
The moment the blood flows red, Ryan jerks out the sword and backs away quickly. “I am not prey,” he tells the werewolf as he whirls to follow him, still showing teeth. Ryan flicks the tip of the sword at him, sending a few drops of his own blood sailing towards his muzzle.
“I am not prey,” Ryan repeats, still moving backward with the sword up between them. He had hoped that would be enough. He’d drained it, hadn’t he? But the werewolf was still advancing on him. That’s it, then, he thinks hopelessly. The house is at his back. There’s no where else to go. The sword darts out, poorly aimed.
He catches the blade in one clawed hand, gripping it tightly as fresh blood begins to pour down it. The other clawed hand shoves Ryan back against the house, holding him still. He crouches slightly, his large head coming down to sniff at the slashes in Ryan’s chest. Their eyes are nearly level, and the ‘wolf is still, waiting. Ryan looks at him, still hopeless and now confused. The ‘wolf gently nudges the skin next to the first scratch and looks at him again. He’s asking permission, he realizes. For what? To eat him? No, he knows that’s not right. He wants to…help? Heal? He’s so close to understanding…
Ryan nods, hesitantly, wondering if he’s hallucinating. There’s a sharp intake of breath as the tongue flicks out, but where the last werewolf was intrusive and painful, this one is gentle and soothing. Ryan shudders under the sense memory anyway, even as he feels his flesh knitting together. And then the werewolf has released both him and sword, rearing up to his full height.
You are not prey, the werewolf agrees, head tilted, and Ryan’s surprised to find he can understand. You are pack. He leans forward to nuzzle Ryan and winds up stepping into him. Ryan staggers as the wolf’s senses suddenly return. The night lights up and scents assault his nose, bloodtreesfearmetalangerdespairpain, human smells and wolf smells and house smells and a thousand others, all vying for his attention.
He looks dazed.