Current mood:	productive
Entry tags:	fic, smut_69, van helsing

In the Company of Wolves; for smut_69, NC-17
Written for smut_69 challenge prompt #13 Thrust

On the request of lady_green_bat who wanted werewolves. This is unbetaed and written in about an hour.

Summary: Gabriel learns that Anna is never her brother's keeper.

In the Company of Wolves

Gabriel rarely sleeps even inside the sanctuary of the Vatican walls. He sleeps even worse in the Valerious Manor, with its creaking walls and badly crafted windows. He cleans his weapons over and over again, the rags now nearly worn and dirty with oil. There is no light and the days are as endless and dark as the nights. Even when it is morning he does not want to go to the dining room. He does not want to see the cowering and scared faces of the servants, or the hostility written in the tense shoulders of the Princess.

They still set the table for four, lay the food and the drinks and then take away the untouched plates when Anna leaves. He has not even caught a glimpse of the elusive Prince and Carl sometimes suggests under his breath that maybe the man does not exist at all. Though only when the Princess is out of sight.

Gabriel does not like the house. It is silent and deathly, like a ghost house where no-one wants to haunt anymore. He wants action and blood and something to sink his sharpened blades into. The silence and the stillness grates him like nothing ever has, and the Princess does her best to pretend that he is not there. Her cold eyes move over him like he is vermin.

His blade is almost worn away now, too thin and sharp, and gently Gabriel places it back into its sheath. The house moans again, like a dying creature and he can see the floorboards move outside his room. He knows that it is the Princess; the footfalls are too soft and careful to be Carl’s. He follows her down the stairs in the dark hallway. Meticulously she fills her revolver and the bullets gleam silver and sharp in the oil-light.

He follows her into the forest and down the frozen path. She makes no sounds, carefully navigating through the patchwork of roots, the route familiar to her. He hears them long before he even sees the path open into a clearing. The gnarls and the howls and the screaming that slowly dwindles into a gurgle. She carries on, paying no heed to the noise reverberating through the thick trees. In the edge of the clearing she is lit up by the sudden moonlight penetrating into the dark forest. Her black coat glowing in the light, and then she turns and looks right at him, eyes black and unreadable. But she motions him forward and as if on a leash Gabriel follows her.

The opening is not actually a clearing, but a cliff resting atop a small valley. She stands right on the edge, the tips of her boots almost touching the void. The sounds are more pronounced now, thick and they seems to almost float in the air. Gabriel recognises the sickly sound of human flesh ripping, and rushes to her side. Down in the valley three werewolves are feasting. He can still barely recognise the pieces what used to be a man; fingers of one arm still intact on the ground clenched into a tight fist.

Instinctively he reaches for his gun, the cold hilt familiar in his palm, but her hand stops him. Fingernails press into his wrist and Gabriel can feel the slow trickle of blood beginning to ooze around her fingers. He knows that he could easily escape her grip, and so does she. They stand still for long moments and the sounds of the wolves fill the air. When she is finally satisfied in his compliance she speaks, voice strangely hollow and void of her usual anger.

“I come here every full moon with my gun and I look at him.”

Gabriel can see her eyes following a particular wolf. Its fur is silvery and bright. It gleams in the moonlight brighter than any of the others’; he is their prince, gnawing and growling, his teeth sunken into the man’s ribcage.

“And every single time I swear that the next time I will have the will to shoot him.”

They stand still and watch as the wolves clear the meat from the bones, their tongues lazily cleaning the blood out from the joints and crevices. Gabriel feels the rage in him build; fuelled by the torturously slow tickle of time in this dark country and by her withering looks. Still her hand holds him captive, the blood now dried and caked on his wrist. Slowly the wolves leave, abandoning their pack and crawling home in the morning in their human form. All except the silver one, it stays behind and watches up into the ledge its eyes full of intelligence and rage. For a moment Gabriel thinks it will charge up the steep wall of earth, but then it suddenly shakes its head, like a human, and disappears into the black trees.

Her hand still won’t let him go, but the clench of her nails disappear and it is enough to break whatever spell the wolves and her had over him. He has been violent for so long that the action of his hand that grasps her neck and pushes her against the nearest oak feels almost familiar. He can see the pain in her face, can see the difficulty she has breathing, but her eyes are still dark. Her hands are twined in his shirt and he can feel the nails trying to sink into his flesh again, and part of him would not mind. As if she can see the thoughts filtering onto his face, her fingers tear the fabric and her nails press against his nipples.

He doesn’t really know when he stops wanting to kill her and stats wanting to fuck her. Maybe it is when her finger twists his flesh and his hand slides away from her throat and returns the favour over her thin shirt. Her nipples are sharp and hard against his palm and he twists the flesh until she moans. Her lips are open and bitten red, but he won’t kiss her even if he wants to, because this is not about that.

He nearly tears off her trousers and the seam rips under his fingers. He pushes the flesh of her ass harshly against the bark, wanting to draw blood and make her feel it. He feels no compulsion to prepare her and thrusts into her without warning. But she is slick and ready, and smiles wolfishly at his rage. She chants now now now, and bites him on the shoulder so hard that her teeth draw blood. Angrily he pulls her legs around himself, giving her even less control over their movements, and forces her hips tighter against the icy trunk. He wants to hurt her, make her feel his frustration, but each of his hard thrusts is met by her hips and by her teeth on his shoulder and after a while he gives up and just fucks her.

Her climax is such a surprise for him that for a while he just stops moving and presses her against the tree. Her eyes are closed and thin strip of blood frames her open lips as the moans escape her like smoke rings into their air. When she is finally still, he starts again, part of the rage now gone; his motions are slower, gentler against her sore flesh. She licks the wound on his shoulder, and murmurs something against his skin that Gabriel cannot understand. Finally he comes, slowly and painfully, emptying himself inside her body while she whispers his name over and over again.

He leaves her standing by the tree; her legs oddly steady against the ground. She watches him, eyes knowing, but now more forgiving. Gabriel stumbles on the roots on the path on his way back to the house. He never hears her return, but in the next morning Prince Velkan joins them at the breakfast table.




Continued in Small Crimes