New Fic: Man and Beast 1/3
Title: Man and Beast
Author:jupiter_ash
Rating: NC17
Beta: trillsabells
Word Count: 20K
Pairings: Sherlock/John
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes created by ACD, Sherlock owned by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.
Summary: Written for this prompt here. Sherlock is a werewolf who is captured by a facility which wants to experiment on him. When John is placed into his cage they expect Sherlock to attack him, but instead, he tries to mate with John.
Warnings: Kidnapping, dubcon, rimming, graphic sex, (were)wolves getting frisky and licky, sex in public, scientific experiments, torture, violence.
Author’s Note: I wrote this when I was very much not writing a sequel to a particular au!tennis fic. I didn’t plan on writing this, I hadn’t even thought of doing a werewolf fic before this, but the prompt grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and refused to let go. So I gave myself a set amount of time to write it in and a challenge to keep it to under 20k words.
Thanks to trillsabells for the beta and general cheering, and to the twitter folks for being there for me to aim mini rants at while not having a clue what I was talking about. Any mistakes in the fic are mine.
*
Man and Beast
*
“Lupus est homo homini, non homo, quom qualis sit non novit” - A man is wolf, and not a man, to another man, for as long as he doesn’t know what he is like.
*
Prologue
*
“And this is the specimen itself.”
It was impossible to miss the sheer excited pride in the scientist’s voice, literally bursting as it was over every word and expressive hand movement. For an eminent scientist in an extremely specialised and limited field he looked like a child on Christmas day in front of a mound of brightly wrapped presents each with his name on.
The man with him appeared stoic in contrast, controlled, refined but interested none the less.
“Fascinating,” that man said, his eyes homing in on the figure on the other side of the protective glass.
Behind them two soldiers stood guard, imposing in their all black uniforms, a pistol on one hip, a tranquiliser gun on the other, a knife on their belt. They were far from alone as other scientists, workers, technicians moved quietly around the room, pressing buttons, taking readings, analysing data, but it was the creature in front of them, on the other side of the glass that was the centre of attention.
The creature lay naked on the bench-like bed, curled up on his side away from them, facing the back wall, his skin pale under the stark lights. Red lines ran diagonally across his side and part of his back, another red mark, round and darker, on the junction between his neck and shoulder. He was perfectly still, the only movement the faint rising and falling of his ribs as he breathed evenly and deeply.
The remains of what could have been a shirt and a pair of jeans lay tangled together in one corner while around the secure enclosure were scattered various paraphernalia in the form of playing cards, paper, books, balls and more. There were scribbles and writing on the walls and in the far corner was a specially designed latrine, but there was nothing technological in there, nothing beyond the most basic supplies.
For all the scientific equipment in the wider room, there was no doubt that the inner one was anything but a highly technical cage.
“Of course he’s currently in Homo sapiens form right now, well when we say Homo sapiens it’s just a term we use. He isn’t a Homo sapiens, not technically. He may look it most of the time, but he is very different from you or I.”
The other man raised an eyebrow but let the scientist continue.
“Physically he appears Homo sapiens, and to the casual and even the less casual observer that is what he is, but he’s not. Ooh, he’s so much more. I’ve already explained about his ‘condition’ on a cellular level, but just look at him, such perfection. Even in Homo sapiens form he has the look of the Canis lupus about him. Look at the curve of his back, the power in his shoulders and buttocks. Isn’t it just beautiful?”
“Fascinating,” the man repeated his eyes not leaving the creature. “And how long did you say you’ve had him for?”
“Ninety-two days. Just over three lunar cycles. The last full moon was only two days ago, but the results of that. Oh the results. We wanted to see what would happen but we never predicted that they would…”
“They?” the man asked with a tilt of his head as the scientist trailed off into a kind of giggle. “You have another… specimen?”
“Oh no. No, no. We haven’t yet been fortunate enough to track down another. They are clever you see. Ever so clever, but we’ve got the next best thing.” There was that almost laugh again. “Come, have a look.”
The scientist led the man to a computer terminal where another worker stepped away from a large screen. On the screen were half a dozen shots of the creature and its prison virtually from every angle.
“See, here, have a look,” the scientist said pointing to one particular image, waving at someone to enlarge it. It was an aerial shot, looking down on the creature and on the figure it appeared to be curled around. Or more accurately on the person.
It was hard to tell, but pressed protectively but not constrictively between the wall and the creature was what looked like a man, smaller and stockier in build to the creature, fairer in hair colour but a touch darker in skin tone. He appeared to be asleep, curled up, relaxed, not at all concerned that the creature was wrapped almost possessively around him.
“He’s human,” the scientist said almost gleefully. “Just a regular run of the mill human. Nothing special about him and yet.” Another small laugh. “The preliminary results are astonishing. Limited in that we haven’t been able to re-examine him as of yet, but we will. The specimen has been rather reluctant to release him so far. Even so, what we’ve gathered already will have us busy for weeks. We want to make sure that the mating is completed before we disturb them. We may never have another opportunity like this.”
“Mating,” the man said, a brief twitch of his lips as he tapped the screen absently with his finger.
“Oh yes,” the scientist responded, rubbing his hands together. “No doubt about it. No doubt at all. We weren’t sure at first, but now… we have it all, on tape, no doubt. No doubt at all. That is a fully grown werewolf and his human mate.”
“Fascinating,” the man responded once more another brief twitch to his lips.
The creature’s eyes opened then, sharp and pale blue as they stared boldly up into the centre of the camera lens, his gaze hard and unyielding. The fair man stirred briefly but that was the only other movement as the creature offered a silent challenge before his eyes closed once more.
“They are quite inseparable,” the scientist said. “We may have to go to some lengths, but the results will be worth it.”
“I’m sure they will be,” the man said turning away from the screen to address the scientist face on. “And we will be more than interested in funding your… research,” he said smoothly as he lent on his umbrella. “In an unofficial capacity of course.”
“Of course,” the scientist said. “Unofficially. Quite right.” The hands rubbed together. “I’m sure you’ll appreciate that none of this specialised equipment comes cheaply. We’re working with an unknown species here, we must be thorough and we must be careful.”
“I assure you, for the right project we have very deep pockets,” the man said.
“Excellent. Excellent. Perhaps we could discuss it further. “
“Tea would be appreciated,” the man said. “Do you have a Samovar? I have always wanted to try it the traditional way.”
The scientist looked thrown for a moment but quickly nodded still rubbing his hands. “I’m sure we’ll be able to find something.”
“Good,” the man said his eyes trailing back to the screen. “Good.”
*
Ninety-Three Days Earlier
*
He should have told them where he was going, but the rules had been chafing worse than usual and he had wanted some modicum of independence as much as he had wanted to howl at the moon. He had never been one for ‘running with the pack’ preferring to do things by himself, how he wanted, answerable to no one. To him the pack was at times like a collar, taming him, controlling him, restricting around the throat. Out here he felt free, alive, liberated.
Right now though he felt hunted.
Head down, he stretched his body and raced near soundlessly across the grass and the heather, a dark shadow against the moorland. Everyone around here knew of the legend of the Beast of Dartmoor, and no one would be foolish enough to venture out at night, especially on a full moon. There were some who claimed they had seen the beast itself, but few alive knew of its current identity.
He had come on a whim, escaping London with its pollution and traffic and overwhelming stink of human for the tranquil setting of nature. It wasn’t unusual for him to do that and the pack would easily decipher his movements, but that would be tomorrow at the earliest. That would not help him tonight.
He was being chased.
Humans. Hunters.
Somehow they had known he would come here, or else they were extremely lucky.
He should have pieced it together; the overwhelming scent of peppermint all over the moor, obscuring his sense of smell. It was everywhere he turned. His head felt dizzy, light, his sense of smell shutting down in order to not affect his other senses, but that left him one sense down and with a clouded mind.
The thick cloud overhead was just unfortunate, not that he needed to see the moon or the stars to be able to navigate, to ‘see’, but with his sense of smell already compromised it was one less sense to rely on.
He turned right heading towards the river. The cool, freshness of the water called to him. He was fit and he was swift, but he hadn’t run like this in a long time. Not at full stretch, near flat out. The air was a cool rush against his fur, the November night crisp and fresh. Snow was coming, a few days away still but it would come. He would be long gone by then, back to the hustle and bustle of London where his nose would be assaulted by a thousand other stenches, some good, others very much not so, but all familiar, all part of home.
He slowed as he neared the river, the thin silver snake weaving between the heather and the gorse. Stopping he sniffed the air but the scent of peppermint still lingered even here.
Ears pinned back he trotted down to the cool water, dipping his head to take a drink.
The dart to his left flank hit like a burst of fire. Rearing up, he fought against it, snapping, snarling, crazy and then darkness.
*
The wool felt scratchy against his over sensitive skin.
He had had more than his full share of bad changes over the years, but none quite like this.
Lying still, he fought the instinct to curl further in on himself. His head felt both foggy and achy, a persistent pounding sensation threatening to rip apart his skull. His mouth was dry, like cotton wool, probably a side effect of whatever drug he had been foolish enough to try out. That would also account for the queasy stomach and the general malaise. No doubt Mycroft would turn up in a moment, berate him for being an idiot, but would also give him a drink and maybe some other drugs before leaving him to sleep the worst of it off. Whatever ‘it’ was.
He frowned. What had ‘it’ been? He needed to know so he could avoid it in the future. He had no desire to ever feel like this again. Once was more than enough. He just couldn’t quite put his paw, no his finger, on it.
Must have been one hell of a night. His tolerance for drugs was far higher than the average individual’s, even for his kind, so for whatever it was to do this to him must have been impressive and why could he smell peppermint?
Peppermint?
He shuddered, dry heaving as everything flooded back to him. The chase, the hunt, the tranquiller dart. Bloody hell, whatever they had put in that thing it would have been enough to have brought down a full grown male elephant. They had certainly decided to take no chances with a full grown werewolf.
He had not stood a chance.
They had come prepared and that was far from a comforting thought.
He was human again but whatever they had shot him up with was messing with his senses. His usually eerily accurate sense of the passage of time was all over the place leaving him uncharacteristically and somewhat alarmingly unsure as to whether he had been unconscious for hours, a day or even longer. What he did know though was that he was no longer in Devon. If enough time had passed there was a good chance that he wasn’t in England either.
He was also not alone.
“Tea would be good,” he said his voice dry and raspy. “Wet, warm, in a mug. Milk, no sugar. Failing that water, cool, wet, in a bottle or glass. Spring, mountain, tap, well, distilled, mineral, doesn’t matter. Also a non-opium based painkiller would not go amiss. Double strength preferably.”
He didn’t bother to say please or thank you, just pulled the blanket further around his body and worked on keeping his breathing even. They would do whatever they were going to do regardless of what he said or how polite he was. Either they would give him a drink or they wouldn’t. He, on the other hand, had other things to worry about. Like what the hell Mycroft was going to do or say when he found out.
Captured. That was not a word a werewolf wanted to be a part of. A person or a group of people had set out with the express desire to capture a werewolf. Someone knew that werewolves actually existed and that did not bode well for him.
He licked his lips. The air was dry, clinical, sterile. He could hear the hum of machinery, the heartbeats of a dozen or more people, the faint smell of chemicals that was not totally obscured by the lingering scent of peppermint. His stomach rolled. He was going to have an aversion to peppermint after this.
Something itched at the back of his neck, something metal, beneath the skin. Reaching back, he scratched at it, the shape revealed under his fingertips causing a growl to roll through his chest. A tag. They had tagged him, like an animal.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
The voice reverberated through the sound system, a touch tinny but clear and defined. It did not help the thumping in his head.
“If you were me we would not be having this conversation,” he said.
Stretching, he pushed aside his discomfort, his pride not wanting to show his weakness, and forced himself to his feet. He was naked under the blanket but he would have been more surprised had he been anything else. He kept one hand on the cover, less for his own modesty - he was a werewolf, he had no issue with nudity - and more to do with the unknown.
He scanned his eyes round to confirm what he had already suspected. He was in a cage. A high-tech, extremely expensive medical and observation facility, but a cage none the less.
Baring his teeth, he had to stop himself from giving in to his natural reaction to growl deeply in his chest, the inner wolf still near the surface following his transformation, bristling at the perceived confinement. His gaze settled on a man stood a few metres back on the other side of the glass screen. He appeared to be about five foot ten, with mid brown hair and an expression of barely contained excitement. He was also younger than he might have expected.
“Incredible,” the scientist said, his words relaying through the sound system. “Male specimen of the lycanthrope in Homo sapiens form twenty-three hours and eighteen minutes since retransformation from Canis lupus form. Upright, verbally communicative, self-aware. Six foot tall, eyes blue, hair the same shade as Canis lupus coat.”
Twenty-three hours since he had changed back? Just what exactly had they shot him with?
He stepped closer to the glass, lifting one hand to press again it, aware that his look was part way between a smile and a threat.
“Very good,” he said with a slight drawl, “but only partially correct I’m afraid. You on the other hand are a Homo sapiens male, five foot ten and a quarter inch, aged between thirty-six and thirty-nine, single, spent a number of your adult years in London, probably while studying, but were initially raised in the midlands, most likely near Coventry. Long sighted since adolescence but you prefer contacts over glasses, no doubt because you were bullied. No close relationships except with a female family member, most likely your mother.”
He paused to offer a brief insincere smile. “I would ask your name but I honestly don’t care. Now that introductions are out of the way though, I will repeat my earlier requirements of liquid subsidence; tea, water, or failing that anything non-alcoholic and non-carbonated. After that I require suitable clothing including shoes, food suitable for human consumption preferably containing a good quantity of red meat, and an explanation as to why you feel it sensible to try and cage, to use the old, common vernacular, a werewolf.”
*
They gave him water, loose clothing and Beef Stroganoff through a hatch in the glass door. The water came in two separate 1.5 litre bottles, their labels removed - as if he couldn’t tell from the taste that it was Evian - the first of which he downed half of rapidly.
The clothing was almost insulting compared to what he was used to; two pairs of white underpants, grey sweat pants and top, and two pairs of socks. They didn’t provide shoes.
The Beef Stroganoff was nothing special, he’d certainly had had better. The meat was a little overcooked for his liking, but there had been nothing added to the food. He ate it in silence with the provided plastic spoon, sat crossed legged on the floor, his gaze fixed over the bowl at the observation room beyond.
He had counted five cameras at various unreachable points in the cage. The glass was reinforced shatter and bullet proof. The speakers and microphones were embedded in the ceiling and therefore virtually impossible to reach. The cage was impregnable.
He didn’t need to be told that he was here to be experimented on. That was both obvious and horribly unimaginative. He just wondered how long it would take for the pack to find him and what they would do when they did.
*
They gave him a full physical examination, prodding, poking and sticking instruments in places he very much preferred that they didn’t. He protested at parts but of course they didn’t listen to him. They didn’t even speak to him other than to issue short clinical directions. Stand up, lie down, arms out.
He talked to them when he could be bothered to, deducing their life stories, watching as they flinched when he got too close to home. Not all spoke English, although that was the primary tongue he heard, but he also recognised some German, Russian and French mixed in. He didn’t bother to tell them that he understood those languages and more besides.
The main scientist did not take part but was no doubt observing. At least two security personnel accompanied him at all times. The doors were alarmed and could only be opened with the proper access code. The facility was definitely not in England.
Escape, he realised, would not come easily.
*
They had tagged him, at the back of his neck, under the skin, just below his hair line. A tag, like an animal, like some sort of domestic pet, except this tag, he concluded, was far more than just an electronic tracker. It was also a monitor, constantly recording his heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen levels and no doubt hormone levels as well.
It itched; physically or psychologically he wasn’t sure, but he was acutely aware of it, like an intruder or threat. There was no way of getting at it and he knew that because he’d tried, his fingernails having left deep red marks at the join between his head and his neck. Part of him fought to ignore it, the other part urged to gouge it out with a claw. He pushed that side of him down. He had spent a life time separating the animal urges from the ridged self-control he had developed. Unlike some he was not a slave to the more base elements of his self. He controlled the wolf. The wolf did not control him.
But that did not give them the right to treat him like this. He was not a common animal.
*
He snapped on the second day.
He had spent much of what his senses had told him to be the night lying on the bunk analysing all the data he had observed and gathered. He slept a few hours because he had nothing better to do and it had been a very rough transformation. There were no clocks, no way of manually tracking the time but he was a creature governed by the moon, his internal clock was faultless.
They gave him porridge for breakfast. His sense of smell told him they had not added anything to it. He ate it in silence, watching their movements.
An hour later he had had enough.
He tapped on the glass. They stopped to watch but made no other movements. He tapped again.
“Bored,” he said clearly, knowing that they could hear him. “Bored.”
They just continued to watch.
“Oh for goodness sake,” he said. “Look, I know you’re all here to observe me, but read my lips, I Am Bored. I have been reasonable and cooperative so far considering and I have rights. I also know that you have questions. So come on, I’m waiting.”
They had obviously been ordered not to interact with him, but his message, he was sure, had been received and would be passed on. Now all he had to do was wait. Waiting was not, however, one of his strong points.
Returning to the bed he stretched out on it, pressing his fingers together under his chin as if in prayer, and waited.
Forty-eight and a half minutes later he had his answer.
A chair was pulled up in front of the screen and just over two minutes later he had his audience.
“I’m told that coffee will only work as a substitute for sleep for so long,” he said tipping his head to the side before returning to staring at the ceiling. “Also sleeping at your desk will put additional strain on your neck and back. I’m sure your mother would chide you for it, so you may want to catch up on your rest before you video call her again.”
It was all so obvious but the scientist was still looking at him as if he was a medical marvel or perhaps a monkey who had just typed out a soliloquy from Hamlet. It was both gratifying and utterly demeaning.
“Incredible,” the scientist said. “High cogitative function: observation, senses, reasoning, analysis, language.”
“Yes, fascinating,” he said in turn. “Provide some balls and I’ll even juggle for you.” Swinging his legs down, he sat up. Crossing his legs and leaning back casually he met the scientist’s gaze. It was a relaxed challenge, but one that even the slowest of humans would have failed to miss.
The scientist blinked for a moment then looked down at the folder in his lap. “Designation, identity or name,” he said clearing his throat.
“Yes,” he responded.
“Yes?” the scientist said.
He curled the corner of his lips. “Yes, I have a name,” he said but offered no more.
The scientist pressed his lips together. “Official species designation?”
“It’s a secret.”
The scientist raised his eyebrow. “Official species designation,” he repeated.
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” He smiled with his teeth showing. “And I’m sure that wouldn’t work out well for either of us.”
“Why would you have to kill me?”
He let the smile spread. “It’s a secret.”
The scientist wisely moved on. “Age.”
“Relative.”
“Height?”
“Six foot and a half inch.”
“Weight.”
“I’m sure you know that better than I do right now.”
The scientist tapped his folder. “How many are there like you?”
“Like me? None. I am unique.”
“How many of your species are there?”
“No idea.”
The scientist frowned. “Approximately.”
He leant forward slightly. “How many Homo sapiens illegal immigrants are there currently residing in the United Kingdom. Approximately.”
“About one million.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Count them all personally did you?”
“Are you saying that you don’t know how many there are of you out there because you’re hiding?”
“No, I’m saying how would you know that what I tell you is the truth? I could say there are fifty or five hundred or five thousand or five million of us worldwide, but how would you know if that is true?”
He slipped seamlessly to his feet, keeping his eyes trained on the scientist as he moved to the glass barrier.
“We look like you, act like you, dress like you, go to the same places as you, most of the time we are you. We’ve survived this long because we know how to hide, but don’t think that hiding is the only thing we know how to do. There is a reason we only exist in myth and legend.” He ran his index finger down the glass. “How does that quote go? ‘Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead’. And trust me, we are perfectly adept at keeping a secret.”
The scientist smiled slightly. “No one’s coming for you,” he said. “And even if they were to, they’re not going to be able to find you.”
He tipped his head slightly and offered a pleasant smile. “Care to stake your life on that?”
*
They gave him chicken soup and two rolls for lunch accompanied by a silver spoon. He ignored the spoon, dipping the rolls in the soup before drinking the rest from the bowl.
On the other side of the screen the observers watched and made notes. When they came for the tray he plucked the spoon from it and then spent the next thirty-six minutes hanging it from his nose.
*
That afternoon they strapped him to a treadmill and forced him to run. He glared at them but ran, partly glad to be out of the cage and burning off some excess energy.
Returned to his cell he found a handful of books, half a dozen crayons, a few sheets of paper, a pack of cards and five juggling balls on his bed. He refused to say thank you.
*
“‘He’s mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf’?”
The words were written neatly in red crayon across the right hand wall just above the Latin ‘lupus est homo homini, non homo, quom qualis sit non novit’ which had been written on in blue.
“King Lear,” he said not bothering to look up from where he was lying on his back on the bunk bouncing a juggling ball off the ceiling.
He had been here for over nine days now and the boredom had settled into a sense of lethargy. In the far corner the pack of cards stood built into a tower surrounded by a variety of origami animals made out of pages of The Da Vinci Code, which he hadn’t even bothered to read and felt insulted that they had provided in the first place. The other juggling balls had been discarded somewhere, bored as he already was with his newly developed juggling skills.
The beard growing on his lower face itched where they had refused to allow him to shave. He was apparently lucky that they had allowed him to shower and wash. He didn’t feel lucky. He felt bored, trapped, caged.
He felt like he would go mad. Apt then that he had taken to quoting from Lear, and from the fool in Lear at that. Although when it came to Shakespeare it was often the fool that spoke the greatest truth.
“Here to observe or to participate?” he said idly, not bothering to spare the scientist even a glance. “What would you like me to perform this time? Or do you need me for something? More blood? A urine sample? A semen sample? Or are you as bored as I am with this whole thing?”
“Where did you learn Shakespeare?”
He groaned slightly. “Questions. You’re here to ask more questions. Yes, well, why not. I’ve already jumped through your other hoops today. School. I studied Shakespeare, or at least that Shakespeare, at school. And yes, I went to school. I’m sure that comes as a great surprise to you. The savage knows Shakespeare. Then again, maybe it’s not that surprising, Shakespeare was one of us after all.”
“Shakespeare was one of your kind?”
He smiled slightly to himself but said nothing more just continued to throw the ball and catch it.
“You didn’t eat your lunch today,” the scientist said after it became clear that nothing more was forthcoming on that topic.
“You didn’t give me anything edible to eat.”
He kept throwing the ball at the same speed and height. Throw, catch. Throw, catch.
“You’ve never refused any food before.”
“You’ve never tried to poison me before.” He said it idly but he was far from calm on the inside. He had known it would happen at some point but that didn’t make the wolf in him any less angry. He could feel the beast stalking around inside him, fuming and ready to snap at anyone or anything he felt deserved it.
“Poison?” the scientist said raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, poison,” he snapped catching the ball.
Shifting to his feet, he stalked over to the screen and stopped to stand in front of the scientist, almost but not quite touching the glass. “Don’t try playing the innocent,” he said his eyes narrow. “Aconitum lycoctonum. A species of the genus Aconitum, a native to Europe and northern Asia. A herbaceous perennial plant with palmately lobed leaves and flowers that are most commonly dark violet but a yellow-flowered version can be found in the Alps of Switzerland. Also known as Alpine wolfsbane or Northern wolfsbane. Like all species in the genus, it is poisonous to both animals and humans, yet somehow that ended up in my lunch, and you wonder why I didn’t eat it.”
He bared his teeth.
“You know a lot about it,” the scientist said watching him carefully.
He could hear the unvoiced assumption; a werewolf knowing a lot about wolfsbane, maybe the legends were right on that account. It was all he could do not to roll his eyes or scrape his nails down the glass.
“I know a lot about poisons,” he said, “but not for the reasons you’re thinking.”
“How do you know what I’m thinking?”
Because you’re extremely obvious to read, he thought, but said nothing. Instead he returned to the bed, lay down and returned to throwing the ball. The conversation was over.
*
The next day they strapped him down and attached electrodes across his body. On the highest setting he screamed and the wolf howled.
*
He could feel the full moon creeping up on him getting stronger with each passing day. It was like an itch that he couldn’t quite reach, a sort of feeling of general discomfort, a sense of dissatisfaction with being in his own skin.
The wolf was stalking restlessly and he in turn paced. Four steps then turn, four steps, turn, four steps…
He slammed his hand into the wall against the large yellow smiling face he had drawn on with the crayons. The force jerked pain up his palm but he didn’t care. He wanted it to hurt. He needed it to hurt.
*
He already knew that the change would not be a good one. The wolf was a creature of nature, one who at the best of times did not like constraints or restrictions. He belonged in the wild or with his pack, not in a cage alone, and he did not like being held back.
He didn’t bother making small talk with them that day, just did what they wanted, running on the treadmill, glaring at anyone who dared to look at him. He then spent the afternoon meditating, wanting to maintain his last vestments of control before the wolf finally took over.
The call of the moon came early; the days were short in winter. He could feel it in his bloodstream, like ice spreading through him. With falsely steady hands he stripped himself of his clothing, stretching out as his bones creaked. Any other time he would have already changed by now ready for the moon, but his rational side said that would be a huge mistake. The moon was still not quite up and he had no desire to let those so called scientist in on the biggest secret; that he, like most of his people, could change form at will.
He perched on the bed, crouched with ease on the balls of his feet, elbows on his thighs, breathing in and out through his mouth in what could be considered a continuous low growl.
They were all watching him now, the hairs rising on the back of his neck and down his back at the blatant interest they were showing. They would regret this, he thought as the moon slowly rose. The captivity, the pain, the humiliation, he would make sure they would regret it.
Then the moon cleared the horizon and he gave in to the call.
The wolf was angry, growling deeply the moment his front paws touched the ground. He was trapped. Some human had dared to trap him, to put him in this glass prison. Him!
He stalked the room, back and forth, teeth bared, heckles raised, claws clipping across the floor. Back and forth. Back and forth.
He could smell their anxiety. They had no idea what he was going to do, what he was really capable of. Over the chemicals and his own scent he could smell the fear radiating from them. And so they should fear. Human, weak, fragile.
Prey.
Paws together, head down, he leapt.
*
There was not one part of him that didn’t hurt.
Curled up on the bed he pulled in on himself and tried to force the wolf back into his usual box. He wanted to sleep but didn’t dare, unsure of what would happen if he didn’t maintain control of the wolf, or what the scientists would do to take advantage of his physical weakness. If he remained awake they were less likely to come near him.
The bed was virtually the only thing that had remained intact and even that had been heavily damaged. Once the wolf had realised that no amount of throwing himself at the glass would break it he had tried the hatch in the door and then resorted to his claws. Nothing had been safe. His clothes, bedding, books and everything else had been torn to shreds. Then once that had proved futile the wolf had started on itself, scratching at the tag under his skin.
Angry, distraught, in pain it had finally tipped its head back and howled.
There had been no answering howl.
He felt the scientist’s presence long before he heard the tapping on the glass.
“Fuck off,” he growled, his voice hoarse and tender.
“It is imperative that we inspect your injuries.”
He dug his nails into his bare scratched upper arms. “I said fuck off,” he repeated.
“The readings show that you’re in pain. It is not our intention to cause you any unnecessary suffering.”
Ignoring the pain he sprung to his feet, slamming his palms into the glass. There was dried blood under his fingernails. “Unnecessary suffering,” he snarled past his tender throat. “You kept a wolf in a cage after a month in captivity. Just what did you expect would happen?”
“It is necessary for our experiment.”
“Fuck your experiments and fuck your so called compassion. If this is what you call humanity then I want nothing of it.”
He stalked back to the bed. Flinging himself on it he wrapped his naked body in what was left of the blanket and concentrated on healing himself.
*
They gave him steak for dinner. Thick, juicy, lightly cooked cuts, large and bloody.
He tried not to hate himself when he finally gave in and devoured them.
*
“You’re quieter than you were.”
He carefully moved his knight.
It had been two weeks since the full moon. His physical injuries had healed completely within a day but the wolf had refused to go away so easily. ‘You need me,’ the wolf said. ‘They should pay. We should make them pay.’ The rational side of him found it hard to disagree, but it wasn’t the wolf who had to deal with these people day in day out.
“What exactly would you like me to say?” he asked, his voice quiet as he kept his gaze firmly on the board.
“Anything. Everything.”
The scientist took one of his pawns. “You used to ask questions, make observations, throw insults.”
He let his left hand hover over his rook. His dominant right hand was bound to the chair, his ankles to the chair legs. They were taking no chances.
“I have nothing to say to you.” He moved a pawn.
This had become their new routine. Forcing him onto a treadmill and then onto an exercise bike. They had immersed him in water to test his lung capacity. Pressed different metals against his skin to see what he reacted to. Tried to poison him again. Tried to prevent him from sleeping.
He was tired, both mentally and physically, but also tired of being here in captivity, of bowing to their will.
He scratched his ear and tried to ignore the way the guards’ fingers twitched towards their weapons. They had increased the guards but at least he was out of his cage, however temporarily.
He lost another pawn.
They also allowed him to shower and shave regularly now. He supposed that was part of their ‘compassion’. He was supposed to be grateful or something. He felt like ripping their heads off.
He moved his rook.
“Check,” he said and then said nothing more until he uttered the words, “checkmate,” three moves later.
*
Four days later he made his bid for freedom.
He was tasered in the corridor. The chess games ended once and for all then but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Why?” the scientist later asked, his lip split, a bruise spreading across his eye.
“Said the frog to the scorpion,” he said dully, staring up at the ceiling from where they had bound and drugged him. The wolf was still stalking having all but smelt freedom, but his body was against him, drowsy and tired.
He closed his eyes and turned his head away. They injected another sedative into his arm.
*
Her name was Annushka. They put her in his prison on the morning of the next full moon. She was small, pretty with blond hair and smelt as if she couldn’t be more than nineteen. He could also smell her fear from the moment they pushed her through the door.
He knew exactly what they were doing and he had never loathed them as much as he did now.
Keeping away from her he pounded his fist on the glass.
“You can’t do this,” he shouted. “You bastards. You fucking bastards. Don’t do this.”
No one paid him any attention.
The girl was staring at him with wide eyes, fear streaming off her in waves. The wolf stalked her with interest, circling, prowling, wanting.
‘Back’, he snarled at the wolf, digging his nails into his palms. The wolf hesitated but agree, slinking away, if only temporarily.
“Will I die?” she asked later in broken English as she huddled in the corner.
He didn’t respond, just tossed her the latest pack of cards they had provided and sat close enough to play a game of snap.
*
‘Don’t harm her’, he told the wolf as the moon slowly rose. ‘It’s not her fault. Don’t take it out on her.’
‘What do you think I am?’ the wolf snarled as the transformation started. ‘A mindless beast?’
*
He awoke the next morning to Annushka’s gentle hands bathing his injuries in warm water. It felt surprisingly good. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him with such tenderness.
The wolf slumbered but refused to be contained, content though to accept the gentle administration. True to his word the wolf had not touched her but nor would he be ignored any longer. The separation between the two sides of him was growing thin, dangerously so. It would now only be a matter of time.
“You no beast,” Annushka whispered, unscrewing the lid on a bottle of water and pressing it to his lips.
He drank but offered no response.
*
“You didn’t attack her.”
Annushka was gone. He didn’t bother to wonder where they had taken her but he was still furious that they had even taken the risk.
“I am not a beast,” he said slowly and clearly pausing only briefly as he paced back and forth across the small room.
“Wolves have been known to attack humans,” the scientist pointed out as if it was all so reasonable.
He stopped, pressing his body against the glass.
“I’m not a wolf,” he said and snarled.
*
The wolf was angry and restless. ‘Look what they’re doing’, the wolf growled. ‘They’re breaking you.’
‘No,’ he said but he had nothing to cling onto.
The sensory deprivation tank had stolen everything he relied on, everything he had left. Blind, deaf and overpowered by the sterile smells, he floated in the water with only the wolf and his mind for company and he could feel his mind shutting down one part at a time. They had already pushed at his physical limits, refusing him all nourishment but water and now they had forced him into this water coffin, numb, alone, exhausted. It was night but he couldn’t sleep. One hour, two hours, three… six, seven… ten… twelve.
‘Stop holding me back’, the wolf said.
‘I am not a beast,’ he said.
‘Neither am I’, said the wolf.
*
“What do you want from me?” he asked.
He sat in the corner on the bed, his hands pulled up into the baggy top they had given him to wear, his knees tucked under his chin.
He already knew the answer but he asked them anyway.
“We want to know your secrets,” the scientist said.
No, they wanted everything. They wanted to know how werewolves were made and they wanted to know how to control them, because once they had the answer to both they could start making their own, harnessing the stronger physique, the better cardiovascular system, the more acute senses. They wanted to understand and then they wanted to tame it.
*
They struck his bare back with a riding crop.
He almost sliced his own wrists fighting to get out the bonds and at them.
*
“How many in a pack?”
“Is a pack governed by location or by blood?”
“How many packs are there in Britain?”
“How do you communicate?”
“Who is the pack leader?”
“Where do you rank in the pack?”
“How do you hide?”
“Do you mate?”
“How do you mate?”
“We can make you talk.”
No, he thought, you can make me scream. There is a difference.
*
He watched them as he was once more forced onto the treadmill.
He watched and he ran.
And the wolf did likewise.
*
Another month was ending and another full moon was coming. He had missed Christmas, New Year and his birthday. They still hadn’t found him.
‘They will find us,’ the wolf said sharpening his claws. ‘The pack would never leave us.’
Soon, he hoped, or else he wasn’t sure who or what they would find.
*
It was with a sick feeling that he watched them push a figure into his room. It was the day of the full moon and they had given him a playmate, bound and blindfolded, shoved into his cage with no ceremony and no apology.
He barely raised his head from where he was sat in the far corner, knees pressed to his chin.
The man struggled, cursing slightly as he slowly worked the bonds off before ripping off the blindfold.
“Bloody things,” he said before straightening his back and looking around. His lips pressed together as he took in the cell, eyes alighting on the cameras and microphones before settling on him.
The wolf growled but he clamped his mouth shut.
“No expense spared I see,” the man said. “Could have given us a bigger room if they expect us to share.”
He doubted that would be an issue for too long.
“Been here long?”
He didn’t reply but watched the man, tipping his head slightly to the side, his eyes narrowing.
“Afghanistan or Iraq?” he asked his voice still a little hoarse from the workout the day before.
The man looked at him in surprise. “Uh, Afghanistan. How?”
“You’re a soldier,” he said. “Haircut, tan, stance. A fighter, but they managed to get to you somehow, so probably injured. No tan below your wrist so not sunbathing. You smell like sand and desperation. Injured in combat then. Where would you see combat like that? Afghanistan or Iraq.”
Simple.
There was a pause. The wolf stopped his pacing and looked on with interest, head slightly lowered, ears pinned back.
“That was… amazing,” the man said. “You got all that just from looking at me?”
“And smelling you,” he said.
The wolf lifted his head to sniff more deeply.
“Smelling me?” The man turned his head slightly. “You can smell me from there?”
He could do more than just that. He could hear the blood rushing around his body, feel the beating of his heart, the rising and falling of his lungs, the heat rising from his body.
“There’s a full moon tonight,” he said softly.
The man shrugged slightly clearly not getting it.
He bared his teeth, the wolf stepping closer.
“They didn’t tell you why you’re here?” he asked.
The man shook his head. “They weren’t too forthcoming with much at all. Pretty good with fists and weapons though, you know, between the questions.”
Yes, he knew.
The wolf started to circle.
“I’m guessing this is for you then, rather than me,” the soldier said motioning to the cameras, the microphones, the screen where they were still being observed. He took the moment to stick his middle finger up at the nearest observer before turning back. “Pretty elaborate. I take it you’re someone special then. Do I want to know who you are?”
“’Who’ doesn’t matter,” he said, his head tipping. “’What’ is a better question.”
“What?” the soldier asked.
The wolf stepped closer.
“Yes, what. I am… for a lack of a better word… a werewolf.”
The smile bleached from the soldier’s face. “Shit.”
The wolf pulled back in surprise.
The soldier ran his hands over his face, the curse word slipping like a liturgy from his lips.
His eyes narrowed.
“That’s not what people normally say.”
“What do people normally say?”
Freak. Liar. Monster.
“Everyone knows that werewolves don’t exist.”
The man pressed his lips together again. “I guess I’m not everyone then.”
*
His name was John and he had been a soldier in Afghanistan.
“There were rumours,” John said sat on the floor, leaning against the bed. “Up in the mountains, of wolves or large cats. Sometimes on quiet clear nights, we would hear noises, howls. They must have been from a hundred miles away or more, across the desert. There have always been rumours, old wives tales, people claiming to have seen something strange, but you know.”
Considering it all John was taking it rather well.
The wolf lay intrigued.
“A werewolf. A real, live werewolf. We used to joke about it back when I was at Barts; what would you would do if you found that one of your patients wasn’t, well, human.”
He blinked. The wolf raised a quizzical head.
“You’re a doctor,” he said slowly. “An army doctor.”
“Was,” the man corrected.
“Ah. There’s always something.”
*
They talk about everything and nothing. They play cards, tossed a ball between them, tried to annoy the observers. It was almost… pleasant, but not enough to allow the small smile to linger for more than a moment or two.
The hours ticked passed.
John was nothing special… and yet. He was just under average height, his hair couldn’t be described as either blond or brown and his eyes were a surprisingly dark blue that could look brown at certain angles. Yet there was something about the way he spoke, the way he held himself, the way he smelled.
The hand that reached over to touch his was warm and slightly rough.
“It’s okay,” the incredible man, this doctor, this soldier said. “I know… I… you can’t change who you are.”
It was just a few hours before moonrise. The wolf was close by, so close.
“I don’t know what will happen tonight,” he said.
John shot him a half smile. “Well I presume it will be the end of a rather brief but interesting acquaintance,” he said.
Anxiety, anger and regret rolled from him like a waterfall of scents, but there was no fear.
The wolf sniffed, nose pressing closer and closer.
He shook his head trying to clear his senses. “There… there are…” he tried.
“What?”
“There are other things that could happen. Worse things.”
“Worse things?” John asked from a frown. “Worse than being killed? Or are you saying you could turn me?”
“No,” he whispered. “No, not that, but there is worse.”
The wolf’s ears flattened back as realisation finally dawned.
“Worse because I find you… surprisingly attractive.”
John, the doctor, the impossible man looked at him, his eyes wide, his mind almost noisy in the way it was ticking over.
“You find me attractive?” The lips pressed together and then were sucked into his mouth, his eyes raking up as down as his cheeks twitched. “Seriously? A gay werewolf?” The smile was infectious.
His own lips twitched. “I’ve known more unusual,” he said. “I once knew a transsexual vegan vampire.”
“Really?”
“Of course not,” he said as he shook his head, “vampires don’t exist,” and he smiled as John laughed.
*
“Just so you know, you’re not so bad yourself.”
Perched on the bed, John opened watched as he slowly stripped off his clothing ready for the transformation.
“I mean, it’s obvious that you could do with a few good meals and perhaps a haircut, but whatever happens tonight, I don’t blame you. I wish… I wish I could have gotten to know you better.”
And then the moon rose.
*
Part Two
Author:jupiter_ash
Rating: NC17
Beta: trillsabells
Word Count: 20K
Pairings: Sherlock/John
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes created by ACD, Sherlock owned by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.
Summary: Written for this prompt here. Sherlock is a werewolf who is captured by a facility which wants to experiment on him. When John is placed into his cage they expect Sherlock to attack him, but instead, he tries to mate with John.
Warnings: Kidnapping, dubcon, rimming, graphic sex, (were)wolves getting frisky and licky, sex in public, scientific experiments, torture, violence.
Author’s Note: I wrote this when I was very much not writing a sequel to a particular au!tennis fic. I didn’t plan on writing this, I hadn’t even thought of doing a werewolf fic before this, but the prompt grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and refused to let go. So I gave myself a set amount of time to write it in and a challenge to keep it to under 20k words.
Thanks to trillsabells for the beta and general cheering, and to the twitter folks for being there for me to aim mini rants at while not having a clue what I was talking about. Any mistakes in the fic are mine.
*
Man and Beast
*
“Lupus est homo homini, non homo, quom qualis sit non novit” - A man is wolf, and not a man, to another man, for as long as he doesn’t know what he is like.
*
Prologue
*
“And this is the specimen itself.”
It was impossible to miss the sheer excited pride in the scientist’s voice, literally bursting as it was over every word and expressive hand movement. For an eminent scientist in an extremely specialised and limited field he looked like a child on Christmas day in front of a mound of brightly wrapped presents each with his name on.
The man with him appeared stoic in contrast, controlled, refined but interested none the less.
“Fascinating,” that man said, his eyes homing in on the figure on the other side of the protective glass.
Behind them two soldiers stood guard, imposing in their all black uniforms, a pistol on one hip, a tranquiliser gun on the other, a knife on their belt. They were far from alone as other scientists, workers, technicians moved quietly around the room, pressing buttons, taking readings, analysing data, but it was the creature in front of them, on the other side of the glass that was the centre of attention.
The creature lay naked on the bench-like bed, curled up on his side away from them, facing the back wall, his skin pale under the stark lights. Red lines ran diagonally across his side and part of his back, another red mark, round and darker, on the junction between his neck and shoulder. He was perfectly still, the only movement the faint rising and falling of his ribs as he breathed evenly and deeply.
The remains of what could have been a shirt and a pair of jeans lay tangled together in one corner while around the secure enclosure were scattered various paraphernalia in the form of playing cards, paper, books, balls and more. There were scribbles and writing on the walls and in the far corner was a specially designed latrine, but there was nothing technological in there, nothing beyond the most basic supplies.
For all the scientific equipment in the wider room, there was no doubt that the inner one was anything but a highly technical cage.
“Of course he’s currently in Homo sapiens form right now, well when we say Homo sapiens it’s just a term we use. He isn’t a Homo sapiens, not technically. He may look it most of the time, but he is very different from you or I.”
The other man raised an eyebrow but let the scientist continue.
“Physically he appears Homo sapiens, and to the casual and even the less casual observer that is what he is, but he’s not. Ooh, he’s so much more. I’ve already explained about his ‘condition’ on a cellular level, but just look at him, such perfection. Even in Homo sapiens form he has the look of the Canis lupus about him. Look at the curve of his back, the power in his shoulders and buttocks. Isn’t it just beautiful?”
“Fascinating,” the man repeated his eyes not leaving the creature. “And how long did you say you’ve had him for?”
“Ninety-two days. Just over three lunar cycles. The last full moon was only two days ago, but the results of that. Oh the results. We wanted to see what would happen but we never predicted that they would…”
“They?” the man asked with a tilt of his head as the scientist trailed off into a kind of giggle. “You have another… specimen?”
“Oh no. No, no. We haven’t yet been fortunate enough to track down another. They are clever you see. Ever so clever, but we’ve got the next best thing.” There was that almost laugh again. “Come, have a look.”
The scientist led the man to a computer terminal where another worker stepped away from a large screen. On the screen were half a dozen shots of the creature and its prison virtually from every angle.
“See, here, have a look,” the scientist said pointing to one particular image, waving at someone to enlarge it. It was an aerial shot, looking down on the creature and on the figure it appeared to be curled around. Or more accurately on the person.
It was hard to tell, but pressed protectively but not constrictively between the wall and the creature was what looked like a man, smaller and stockier in build to the creature, fairer in hair colour but a touch darker in skin tone. He appeared to be asleep, curled up, relaxed, not at all concerned that the creature was wrapped almost possessively around him.
“He’s human,” the scientist said almost gleefully. “Just a regular run of the mill human. Nothing special about him and yet.” Another small laugh. “The preliminary results are astonishing. Limited in that we haven’t been able to re-examine him as of yet, but we will. The specimen has been rather reluctant to release him so far. Even so, what we’ve gathered already will have us busy for weeks. We want to make sure that the mating is completed before we disturb them. We may never have another opportunity like this.”
“Mating,” the man said, a brief twitch of his lips as he tapped the screen absently with his finger.
“Oh yes,” the scientist responded, rubbing his hands together. “No doubt about it. No doubt at all. We weren’t sure at first, but now… we have it all, on tape, no doubt. No doubt at all. That is a fully grown werewolf and his human mate.”
“Fascinating,” the man responded once more another brief twitch to his lips.
The creature’s eyes opened then, sharp and pale blue as they stared boldly up into the centre of the camera lens, his gaze hard and unyielding. The fair man stirred briefly but that was the only other movement as the creature offered a silent challenge before his eyes closed once more.
“They are quite inseparable,” the scientist said. “We may have to go to some lengths, but the results will be worth it.”
“I’m sure they will be,” the man said turning away from the screen to address the scientist face on. “And we will be more than interested in funding your… research,” he said smoothly as he lent on his umbrella. “In an unofficial capacity of course.”
“Of course,” the scientist said. “Unofficially. Quite right.” The hands rubbed together. “I’m sure you’ll appreciate that none of this specialised equipment comes cheaply. We’re working with an unknown species here, we must be thorough and we must be careful.”
“I assure you, for the right project we have very deep pockets,” the man said.
“Excellent. Excellent. Perhaps we could discuss it further. “
“Tea would be appreciated,” the man said. “Do you have a Samovar? I have always wanted to try it the traditional way.”
The scientist looked thrown for a moment but quickly nodded still rubbing his hands. “I’m sure we’ll be able to find something.”
“Good,” the man said his eyes trailing back to the screen. “Good.”
*
Ninety-Three Days Earlier
*
He should have told them where he was going, but the rules had been chafing worse than usual and he had wanted some modicum of independence as much as he had wanted to howl at the moon. He had never been one for ‘running with the pack’ preferring to do things by himself, how he wanted, answerable to no one. To him the pack was at times like a collar, taming him, controlling him, restricting around the throat. Out here he felt free, alive, liberated.
Right now though he felt hunted.
Head down, he stretched his body and raced near soundlessly across the grass and the heather, a dark shadow against the moorland. Everyone around here knew of the legend of the Beast of Dartmoor, and no one would be foolish enough to venture out at night, especially on a full moon. There were some who claimed they had seen the beast itself, but few alive knew of its current identity.
He had come on a whim, escaping London with its pollution and traffic and overwhelming stink of human for the tranquil setting of nature. It wasn’t unusual for him to do that and the pack would easily decipher his movements, but that would be tomorrow at the earliest. That would not help him tonight.
He was being chased.
Humans. Hunters.
Somehow they had known he would come here, or else they were extremely lucky.
He should have pieced it together; the overwhelming scent of peppermint all over the moor, obscuring his sense of smell. It was everywhere he turned. His head felt dizzy, light, his sense of smell shutting down in order to not affect his other senses, but that left him one sense down and with a clouded mind.
The thick cloud overhead was just unfortunate, not that he needed to see the moon or the stars to be able to navigate, to ‘see’, but with his sense of smell already compromised it was one less sense to rely on.
He turned right heading towards the river. The cool, freshness of the water called to him. He was fit and he was swift, but he hadn’t run like this in a long time. Not at full stretch, near flat out. The air was a cool rush against his fur, the November night crisp and fresh. Snow was coming, a few days away still but it would come. He would be long gone by then, back to the hustle and bustle of London where his nose would be assaulted by a thousand other stenches, some good, others very much not so, but all familiar, all part of home.
He slowed as he neared the river, the thin silver snake weaving between the heather and the gorse. Stopping he sniffed the air but the scent of peppermint still lingered even here.
Ears pinned back he trotted down to the cool water, dipping his head to take a drink.
The dart to his left flank hit like a burst of fire. Rearing up, he fought against it, snapping, snarling, crazy and then darkness.
*
The wool felt scratchy against his over sensitive skin.
He had had more than his full share of bad changes over the years, but none quite like this.
Lying still, he fought the instinct to curl further in on himself. His head felt both foggy and achy, a persistent pounding sensation threatening to rip apart his skull. His mouth was dry, like cotton wool, probably a side effect of whatever drug he had been foolish enough to try out. That would also account for the queasy stomach and the general malaise. No doubt Mycroft would turn up in a moment, berate him for being an idiot, but would also give him a drink and maybe some other drugs before leaving him to sleep the worst of it off. Whatever ‘it’ was.
He frowned. What had ‘it’ been? He needed to know so he could avoid it in the future. He had no desire to ever feel like this again. Once was more than enough. He just couldn’t quite put his paw, no his finger, on it.
Must have been one hell of a night. His tolerance for drugs was far higher than the average individual’s, even for his kind, so for whatever it was to do this to him must have been impressive and why could he smell peppermint?
Peppermint?
He shuddered, dry heaving as everything flooded back to him. The chase, the hunt, the tranquiller dart. Bloody hell, whatever they had put in that thing it would have been enough to have brought down a full grown male elephant. They had certainly decided to take no chances with a full grown werewolf.
He had not stood a chance.
They had come prepared and that was far from a comforting thought.
He was human again but whatever they had shot him up with was messing with his senses. His usually eerily accurate sense of the passage of time was all over the place leaving him uncharacteristically and somewhat alarmingly unsure as to whether he had been unconscious for hours, a day or even longer. What he did know though was that he was no longer in Devon. If enough time had passed there was a good chance that he wasn’t in England either.
He was also not alone.
“Tea would be good,” he said his voice dry and raspy. “Wet, warm, in a mug. Milk, no sugar. Failing that water, cool, wet, in a bottle or glass. Spring, mountain, tap, well, distilled, mineral, doesn’t matter. Also a non-opium based painkiller would not go amiss. Double strength preferably.”
He didn’t bother to say please or thank you, just pulled the blanket further around his body and worked on keeping his breathing even. They would do whatever they were going to do regardless of what he said or how polite he was. Either they would give him a drink or they wouldn’t. He, on the other hand, had other things to worry about. Like what the hell Mycroft was going to do or say when he found out.
Captured. That was not a word a werewolf wanted to be a part of. A person or a group of people had set out with the express desire to capture a werewolf. Someone knew that werewolves actually existed and that did not bode well for him.
He licked his lips. The air was dry, clinical, sterile. He could hear the hum of machinery, the heartbeats of a dozen or more people, the faint smell of chemicals that was not totally obscured by the lingering scent of peppermint. His stomach rolled. He was going to have an aversion to peppermint after this.
Something itched at the back of his neck, something metal, beneath the skin. Reaching back, he scratched at it, the shape revealed under his fingertips causing a growl to roll through his chest. A tag. They had tagged him, like an animal.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
The voice reverberated through the sound system, a touch tinny but clear and defined. It did not help the thumping in his head.
“If you were me we would not be having this conversation,” he said.
Stretching, he pushed aside his discomfort, his pride not wanting to show his weakness, and forced himself to his feet. He was naked under the blanket but he would have been more surprised had he been anything else. He kept one hand on the cover, less for his own modesty - he was a werewolf, he had no issue with nudity - and more to do with the unknown.
He scanned his eyes round to confirm what he had already suspected. He was in a cage. A high-tech, extremely expensive medical and observation facility, but a cage none the less.
Baring his teeth, he had to stop himself from giving in to his natural reaction to growl deeply in his chest, the inner wolf still near the surface following his transformation, bristling at the perceived confinement. His gaze settled on a man stood a few metres back on the other side of the glass screen. He appeared to be about five foot ten, with mid brown hair and an expression of barely contained excitement. He was also younger than he might have expected.
“Incredible,” the scientist said, his words relaying through the sound system. “Male specimen of the lycanthrope in Homo sapiens form twenty-three hours and eighteen minutes since retransformation from Canis lupus form. Upright, verbally communicative, self-aware. Six foot tall, eyes blue, hair the same shade as Canis lupus coat.”
Twenty-three hours since he had changed back? Just what exactly had they shot him with?
He stepped closer to the glass, lifting one hand to press again it, aware that his look was part way between a smile and a threat.
“Very good,” he said with a slight drawl, “but only partially correct I’m afraid. You on the other hand are a Homo sapiens male, five foot ten and a quarter inch, aged between thirty-six and thirty-nine, single, spent a number of your adult years in London, probably while studying, but were initially raised in the midlands, most likely near Coventry. Long sighted since adolescence but you prefer contacts over glasses, no doubt because you were bullied. No close relationships except with a female family member, most likely your mother.”
He paused to offer a brief insincere smile. “I would ask your name but I honestly don’t care. Now that introductions are out of the way though, I will repeat my earlier requirements of liquid subsidence; tea, water, or failing that anything non-alcoholic and non-carbonated. After that I require suitable clothing including shoes, food suitable for human consumption preferably containing a good quantity of red meat, and an explanation as to why you feel it sensible to try and cage, to use the old, common vernacular, a werewolf.”
*
They gave him water, loose clothing and Beef Stroganoff through a hatch in the glass door. The water came in two separate 1.5 litre bottles, their labels removed - as if he couldn’t tell from the taste that it was Evian - the first of which he downed half of rapidly.
The clothing was almost insulting compared to what he was used to; two pairs of white underpants, grey sweat pants and top, and two pairs of socks. They didn’t provide shoes.
The Beef Stroganoff was nothing special, he’d certainly had had better. The meat was a little overcooked for his liking, but there had been nothing added to the food. He ate it in silence with the provided plastic spoon, sat crossed legged on the floor, his gaze fixed over the bowl at the observation room beyond.
He had counted five cameras at various unreachable points in the cage. The glass was reinforced shatter and bullet proof. The speakers and microphones were embedded in the ceiling and therefore virtually impossible to reach. The cage was impregnable.
He didn’t need to be told that he was here to be experimented on. That was both obvious and horribly unimaginative. He just wondered how long it would take for the pack to find him and what they would do when they did.
*
They gave him a full physical examination, prodding, poking and sticking instruments in places he very much preferred that they didn’t. He protested at parts but of course they didn’t listen to him. They didn’t even speak to him other than to issue short clinical directions. Stand up, lie down, arms out.
He talked to them when he could be bothered to, deducing their life stories, watching as they flinched when he got too close to home. Not all spoke English, although that was the primary tongue he heard, but he also recognised some German, Russian and French mixed in. He didn’t bother to tell them that he understood those languages and more besides.
The main scientist did not take part but was no doubt observing. At least two security personnel accompanied him at all times. The doors were alarmed and could only be opened with the proper access code. The facility was definitely not in England.
Escape, he realised, would not come easily.
*
They had tagged him, at the back of his neck, under the skin, just below his hair line. A tag, like an animal, like some sort of domestic pet, except this tag, he concluded, was far more than just an electronic tracker. It was also a monitor, constantly recording his heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen levels and no doubt hormone levels as well.
It itched; physically or psychologically he wasn’t sure, but he was acutely aware of it, like an intruder or threat. There was no way of getting at it and he knew that because he’d tried, his fingernails having left deep red marks at the join between his head and his neck. Part of him fought to ignore it, the other part urged to gouge it out with a claw. He pushed that side of him down. He had spent a life time separating the animal urges from the ridged self-control he had developed. Unlike some he was not a slave to the more base elements of his self. He controlled the wolf. The wolf did not control him.
But that did not give them the right to treat him like this. He was not a common animal.
*
He snapped on the second day.
He had spent much of what his senses had told him to be the night lying on the bunk analysing all the data he had observed and gathered. He slept a few hours because he had nothing better to do and it had been a very rough transformation. There were no clocks, no way of manually tracking the time but he was a creature governed by the moon, his internal clock was faultless.
They gave him porridge for breakfast. His sense of smell told him they had not added anything to it. He ate it in silence, watching their movements.
An hour later he had had enough.
He tapped on the glass. They stopped to watch but made no other movements. He tapped again.
“Bored,” he said clearly, knowing that they could hear him. “Bored.”
They just continued to watch.
“Oh for goodness sake,” he said. “Look, I know you’re all here to observe me, but read my lips, I Am Bored. I have been reasonable and cooperative so far considering and I have rights. I also know that you have questions. So come on, I’m waiting.”
They had obviously been ordered not to interact with him, but his message, he was sure, had been received and would be passed on. Now all he had to do was wait. Waiting was not, however, one of his strong points.
Returning to the bed he stretched out on it, pressing his fingers together under his chin as if in prayer, and waited.
Forty-eight and a half minutes later he had his answer.
A chair was pulled up in front of the screen and just over two minutes later he had his audience.
“I’m told that coffee will only work as a substitute for sleep for so long,” he said tipping his head to the side before returning to staring at the ceiling. “Also sleeping at your desk will put additional strain on your neck and back. I’m sure your mother would chide you for it, so you may want to catch up on your rest before you video call her again.”
It was all so obvious but the scientist was still looking at him as if he was a medical marvel or perhaps a monkey who had just typed out a soliloquy from Hamlet. It was both gratifying and utterly demeaning.
“Incredible,” the scientist said. “High cogitative function: observation, senses, reasoning, analysis, language.”
“Yes, fascinating,” he said in turn. “Provide some balls and I’ll even juggle for you.” Swinging his legs down, he sat up. Crossing his legs and leaning back casually he met the scientist’s gaze. It was a relaxed challenge, but one that even the slowest of humans would have failed to miss.
The scientist blinked for a moment then looked down at the folder in his lap. “Designation, identity or name,” he said clearing his throat.
“Yes,” he responded.
“Yes?” the scientist said.
He curled the corner of his lips. “Yes, I have a name,” he said but offered no more.
The scientist pressed his lips together. “Official species designation?”
“It’s a secret.”
The scientist raised his eyebrow. “Official species designation,” he repeated.
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” He smiled with his teeth showing. “And I’m sure that wouldn’t work out well for either of us.”
“Why would you have to kill me?”
He let the smile spread. “It’s a secret.”
The scientist wisely moved on. “Age.”
“Relative.”
“Height?”
“Six foot and a half inch.”
“Weight.”
“I’m sure you know that better than I do right now.”
The scientist tapped his folder. “How many are there like you?”
“Like me? None. I am unique.”
“How many of your species are there?”
“No idea.”
The scientist frowned. “Approximately.”
He leant forward slightly. “How many Homo sapiens illegal immigrants are there currently residing in the United Kingdom. Approximately.”
“About one million.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Count them all personally did you?”
“Are you saying that you don’t know how many there are of you out there because you’re hiding?”
“No, I’m saying how would you know that what I tell you is the truth? I could say there are fifty or five hundred or five thousand or five million of us worldwide, but how would you know if that is true?”
He slipped seamlessly to his feet, keeping his eyes trained on the scientist as he moved to the glass barrier.
“We look like you, act like you, dress like you, go to the same places as you, most of the time we are you. We’ve survived this long because we know how to hide, but don’t think that hiding is the only thing we know how to do. There is a reason we only exist in myth and legend.” He ran his index finger down the glass. “How does that quote go? ‘Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead’. And trust me, we are perfectly adept at keeping a secret.”
The scientist smiled slightly. “No one’s coming for you,” he said. “And even if they were to, they’re not going to be able to find you.”
He tipped his head slightly and offered a pleasant smile. “Care to stake your life on that?”
*
They gave him chicken soup and two rolls for lunch accompanied by a silver spoon. He ignored the spoon, dipping the rolls in the soup before drinking the rest from the bowl.
On the other side of the screen the observers watched and made notes. When they came for the tray he plucked the spoon from it and then spent the next thirty-six minutes hanging it from his nose.
*
That afternoon they strapped him to a treadmill and forced him to run. He glared at them but ran, partly glad to be out of the cage and burning off some excess energy.
Returned to his cell he found a handful of books, half a dozen crayons, a few sheets of paper, a pack of cards and five juggling balls on his bed. He refused to say thank you.
*
“‘He’s mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf’?”
The words were written neatly in red crayon across the right hand wall just above the Latin ‘lupus est homo homini, non homo, quom qualis sit non novit’ which had been written on in blue.
“King Lear,” he said not bothering to look up from where he was lying on his back on the bunk bouncing a juggling ball off the ceiling.
He had been here for over nine days now and the boredom had settled into a sense of lethargy. In the far corner the pack of cards stood built into a tower surrounded by a variety of origami animals made out of pages of The Da Vinci Code, which he hadn’t even bothered to read and felt insulted that they had provided in the first place. The other juggling balls had been discarded somewhere, bored as he already was with his newly developed juggling skills.
The beard growing on his lower face itched where they had refused to allow him to shave. He was apparently lucky that they had allowed him to shower and wash. He didn’t feel lucky. He felt bored, trapped, caged.
He felt like he would go mad. Apt then that he had taken to quoting from Lear, and from the fool in Lear at that. Although when it came to Shakespeare it was often the fool that spoke the greatest truth.
“Here to observe or to participate?” he said idly, not bothering to spare the scientist even a glance. “What would you like me to perform this time? Or do you need me for something? More blood? A urine sample? A semen sample? Or are you as bored as I am with this whole thing?”
“Where did you learn Shakespeare?”
He groaned slightly. “Questions. You’re here to ask more questions. Yes, well, why not. I’ve already jumped through your other hoops today. School. I studied Shakespeare, or at least that Shakespeare, at school. And yes, I went to school. I’m sure that comes as a great surprise to you. The savage knows Shakespeare. Then again, maybe it’s not that surprising, Shakespeare was one of us after all.”
“Shakespeare was one of your kind?”
He smiled slightly to himself but said nothing more just continued to throw the ball and catch it.
“You didn’t eat your lunch today,” the scientist said after it became clear that nothing more was forthcoming on that topic.
“You didn’t give me anything edible to eat.”
He kept throwing the ball at the same speed and height. Throw, catch. Throw, catch.
“You’ve never refused any food before.”
“You’ve never tried to poison me before.” He said it idly but he was far from calm on the inside. He had known it would happen at some point but that didn’t make the wolf in him any less angry. He could feel the beast stalking around inside him, fuming and ready to snap at anyone or anything he felt deserved it.
“Poison?” the scientist said raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, poison,” he snapped catching the ball.
Shifting to his feet, he stalked over to the screen and stopped to stand in front of the scientist, almost but not quite touching the glass. “Don’t try playing the innocent,” he said his eyes narrow. “Aconitum lycoctonum. A species of the genus Aconitum, a native to Europe and northern Asia. A herbaceous perennial plant with palmately lobed leaves and flowers that are most commonly dark violet but a yellow-flowered version can be found in the Alps of Switzerland. Also known as Alpine wolfsbane or Northern wolfsbane. Like all species in the genus, it is poisonous to both animals and humans, yet somehow that ended up in my lunch, and you wonder why I didn’t eat it.”
He bared his teeth.
“You know a lot about it,” the scientist said watching him carefully.
He could hear the unvoiced assumption; a werewolf knowing a lot about wolfsbane, maybe the legends were right on that account. It was all he could do not to roll his eyes or scrape his nails down the glass.
“I know a lot about poisons,” he said, “but not for the reasons you’re thinking.”
“How do you know what I’m thinking?”
Because you’re extremely obvious to read, he thought, but said nothing. Instead he returned to the bed, lay down and returned to throwing the ball. The conversation was over.
*
The next day they strapped him down and attached electrodes across his body. On the highest setting he screamed and the wolf howled.
*
He could feel the full moon creeping up on him getting stronger with each passing day. It was like an itch that he couldn’t quite reach, a sort of feeling of general discomfort, a sense of dissatisfaction with being in his own skin.
The wolf was stalking restlessly and he in turn paced. Four steps then turn, four steps, turn, four steps…
He slammed his hand into the wall against the large yellow smiling face he had drawn on with the crayons. The force jerked pain up his palm but he didn’t care. He wanted it to hurt. He needed it to hurt.
*
He already knew that the change would not be a good one. The wolf was a creature of nature, one who at the best of times did not like constraints or restrictions. He belonged in the wild or with his pack, not in a cage alone, and he did not like being held back.
He didn’t bother making small talk with them that day, just did what they wanted, running on the treadmill, glaring at anyone who dared to look at him. He then spent the afternoon meditating, wanting to maintain his last vestments of control before the wolf finally took over.
The call of the moon came early; the days were short in winter. He could feel it in his bloodstream, like ice spreading through him. With falsely steady hands he stripped himself of his clothing, stretching out as his bones creaked. Any other time he would have already changed by now ready for the moon, but his rational side said that would be a huge mistake. The moon was still not quite up and he had no desire to let those so called scientist in on the biggest secret; that he, like most of his people, could change form at will.
He perched on the bed, crouched with ease on the balls of his feet, elbows on his thighs, breathing in and out through his mouth in what could be considered a continuous low growl.
They were all watching him now, the hairs rising on the back of his neck and down his back at the blatant interest they were showing. They would regret this, he thought as the moon slowly rose. The captivity, the pain, the humiliation, he would make sure they would regret it.
Then the moon cleared the horizon and he gave in to the call.
The wolf was angry, growling deeply the moment his front paws touched the ground. He was trapped. Some human had dared to trap him, to put him in this glass prison. Him!
He stalked the room, back and forth, teeth bared, heckles raised, claws clipping across the floor. Back and forth. Back and forth.
He could smell their anxiety. They had no idea what he was going to do, what he was really capable of. Over the chemicals and his own scent he could smell the fear radiating from them. And so they should fear. Human, weak, fragile.
Prey.
Paws together, head down, he leapt.
*
There was not one part of him that didn’t hurt.
Curled up on the bed he pulled in on himself and tried to force the wolf back into his usual box. He wanted to sleep but didn’t dare, unsure of what would happen if he didn’t maintain control of the wolf, or what the scientists would do to take advantage of his physical weakness. If he remained awake they were less likely to come near him.
The bed was virtually the only thing that had remained intact and even that had been heavily damaged. Once the wolf had realised that no amount of throwing himself at the glass would break it he had tried the hatch in the door and then resorted to his claws. Nothing had been safe. His clothes, bedding, books and everything else had been torn to shreds. Then once that had proved futile the wolf had started on itself, scratching at the tag under his skin.
Angry, distraught, in pain it had finally tipped its head back and howled.
There had been no answering howl.
He felt the scientist’s presence long before he heard the tapping on the glass.
“Fuck off,” he growled, his voice hoarse and tender.
“It is imperative that we inspect your injuries.”
He dug his nails into his bare scratched upper arms. “I said fuck off,” he repeated.
“The readings show that you’re in pain. It is not our intention to cause you any unnecessary suffering.”
Ignoring the pain he sprung to his feet, slamming his palms into the glass. There was dried blood under his fingernails. “Unnecessary suffering,” he snarled past his tender throat. “You kept a wolf in a cage after a month in captivity. Just what did you expect would happen?”
“It is necessary for our experiment.”
“Fuck your experiments and fuck your so called compassion. If this is what you call humanity then I want nothing of it.”
He stalked back to the bed. Flinging himself on it he wrapped his naked body in what was left of the blanket and concentrated on healing himself.
*
They gave him steak for dinner. Thick, juicy, lightly cooked cuts, large and bloody.
He tried not to hate himself when he finally gave in and devoured them.
*
“You’re quieter than you were.”
He carefully moved his knight.
It had been two weeks since the full moon. His physical injuries had healed completely within a day but the wolf had refused to go away so easily. ‘You need me,’ the wolf said. ‘They should pay. We should make them pay.’ The rational side of him found it hard to disagree, but it wasn’t the wolf who had to deal with these people day in day out.
“What exactly would you like me to say?” he asked, his voice quiet as he kept his gaze firmly on the board.
“Anything. Everything.”
The scientist took one of his pawns. “You used to ask questions, make observations, throw insults.”
He let his left hand hover over his rook. His dominant right hand was bound to the chair, his ankles to the chair legs. They were taking no chances.
“I have nothing to say to you.” He moved a pawn.
This had become their new routine. Forcing him onto a treadmill and then onto an exercise bike. They had immersed him in water to test his lung capacity. Pressed different metals against his skin to see what he reacted to. Tried to poison him again. Tried to prevent him from sleeping.
He was tired, both mentally and physically, but also tired of being here in captivity, of bowing to their will.
He scratched his ear and tried to ignore the way the guards’ fingers twitched towards their weapons. They had increased the guards but at least he was out of his cage, however temporarily.
He lost another pawn.
They also allowed him to shower and shave regularly now. He supposed that was part of their ‘compassion’. He was supposed to be grateful or something. He felt like ripping their heads off.
He moved his rook.
“Check,” he said and then said nothing more until he uttered the words, “checkmate,” three moves later.
*
Four days later he made his bid for freedom.
He was tasered in the corridor. The chess games ended once and for all then but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Why?” the scientist later asked, his lip split, a bruise spreading across his eye.
“Said the frog to the scorpion,” he said dully, staring up at the ceiling from where they had bound and drugged him. The wolf was still stalking having all but smelt freedom, but his body was against him, drowsy and tired.
He closed his eyes and turned his head away. They injected another sedative into his arm.
*
Her name was Annushka. They put her in his prison on the morning of the next full moon. She was small, pretty with blond hair and smelt as if she couldn’t be more than nineteen. He could also smell her fear from the moment they pushed her through the door.
He knew exactly what they were doing and he had never loathed them as much as he did now.
Keeping away from her he pounded his fist on the glass.
“You can’t do this,” he shouted. “You bastards. You fucking bastards. Don’t do this.”
No one paid him any attention.
The girl was staring at him with wide eyes, fear streaming off her in waves. The wolf stalked her with interest, circling, prowling, wanting.
‘Back’, he snarled at the wolf, digging his nails into his palms. The wolf hesitated but agree, slinking away, if only temporarily.
“Will I die?” she asked later in broken English as she huddled in the corner.
He didn’t respond, just tossed her the latest pack of cards they had provided and sat close enough to play a game of snap.
*
‘Don’t harm her’, he told the wolf as the moon slowly rose. ‘It’s not her fault. Don’t take it out on her.’
‘What do you think I am?’ the wolf snarled as the transformation started. ‘A mindless beast?’
*
He awoke the next morning to Annushka’s gentle hands bathing his injuries in warm water. It felt surprisingly good. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him with such tenderness.
The wolf slumbered but refused to be contained, content though to accept the gentle administration. True to his word the wolf had not touched her but nor would he be ignored any longer. The separation between the two sides of him was growing thin, dangerously so. It would now only be a matter of time.
“You no beast,” Annushka whispered, unscrewing the lid on a bottle of water and pressing it to his lips.
He drank but offered no response.
*
“You didn’t attack her.”
Annushka was gone. He didn’t bother to wonder where they had taken her but he was still furious that they had even taken the risk.
“I am not a beast,” he said slowly and clearly pausing only briefly as he paced back and forth across the small room.
“Wolves have been known to attack humans,” the scientist pointed out as if it was all so reasonable.
He stopped, pressing his body against the glass.
“I’m not a wolf,” he said and snarled.
*
The wolf was angry and restless. ‘Look what they’re doing’, the wolf growled. ‘They’re breaking you.’
‘No,’ he said but he had nothing to cling onto.
The sensory deprivation tank had stolen everything he relied on, everything he had left. Blind, deaf and overpowered by the sterile smells, he floated in the water with only the wolf and his mind for company and he could feel his mind shutting down one part at a time. They had already pushed at his physical limits, refusing him all nourishment but water and now they had forced him into this water coffin, numb, alone, exhausted. It was night but he couldn’t sleep. One hour, two hours, three… six, seven… ten… twelve.
‘Stop holding me back’, the wolf said.
‘I am not a beast,’ he said.
‘Neither am I’, said the wolf.
*
“What do you want from me?” he asked.
He sat in the corner on the bed, his hands pulled up into the baggy top they had given him to wear, his knees tucked under his chin.
He already knew the answer but he asked them anyway.
“We want to know your secrets,” the scientist said.
No, they wanted everything. They wanted to know how werewolves were made and they wanted to know how to control them, because once they had the answer to both they could start making their own, harnessing the stronger physique, the better cardiovascular system, the more acute senses. They wanted to understand and then they wanted to tame it.
*
They struck his bare back with a riding crop.
He almost sliced his own wrists fighting to get out the bonds and at them.
*
“How many in a pack?”
“Is a pack governed by location or by blood?”
“How many packs are there in Britain?”
“How do you communicate?”
“Who is the pack leader?”
“Where do you rank in the pack?”
“How do you hide?”
“Do you mate?”
“How do you mate?”
“We can make you talk.”
No, he thought, you can make me scream. There is a difference.
*
He watched them as he was once more forced onto the treadmill.
He watched and he ran.
And the wolf did likewise.
*
Another month was ending and another full moon was coming. He had missed Christmas, New Year and his birthday. They still hadn’t found him.
‘They will find us,’ the wolf said sharpening his claws. ‘The pack would never leave us.’
Soon, he hoped, or else he wasn’t sure who or what they would find.
*
It was with a sick feeling that he watched them push a figure into his room. It was the day of the full moon and they had given him a playmate, bound and blindfolded, shoved into his cage with no ceremony and no apology.
He barely raised his head from where he was sat in the far corner, knees pressed to his chin.
The man struggled, cursing slightly as he slowly worked the bonds off before ripping off the blindfold.
“Bloody things,” he said before straightening his back and looking around. His lips pressed together as he took in the cell, eyes alighting on the cameras and microphones before settling on him.
The wolf growled but he clamped his mouth shut.
“No expense spared I see,” the man said. “Could have given us a bigger room if they expect us to share.”
He doubted that would be an issue for too long.
“Been here long?”
He didn’t reply but watched the man, tipping his head slightly to the side, his eyes narrowing.
“Afghanistan or Iraq?” he asked his voice still a little hoarse from the workout the day before.
The man looked at him in surprise. “Uh, Afghanistan. How?”
“You’re a soldier,” he said. “Haircut, tan, stance. A fighter, but they managed to get to you somehow, so probably injured. No tan below your wrist so not sunbathing. You smell like sand and desperation. Injured in combat then. Where would you see combat like that? Afghanistan or Iraq.”
Simple.
There was a pause. The wolf stopped his pacing and looked on with interest, head slightly lowered, ears pinned back.
“That was… amazing,” the man said. “You got all that just from looking at me?”
“And smelling you,” he said.
The wolf lifted his head to sniff more deeply.
“Smelling me?” The man turned his head slightly. “You can smell me from there?”
He could do more than just that. He could hear the blood rushing around his body, feel the beating of his heart, the rising and falling of his lungs, the heat rising from his body.
“There’s a full moon tonight,” he said softly.
The man shrugged slightly clearly not getting it.
He bared his teeth, the wolf stepping closer.
“They didn’t tell you why you’re here?” he asked.
The man shook his head. “They weren’t too forthcoming with much at all. Pretty good with fists and weapons though, you know, between the questions.”
Yes, he knew.
The wolf started to circle.
“I’m guessing this is for you then, rather than me,” the soldier said motioning to the cameras, the microphones, the screen where they were still being observed. He took the moment to stick his middle finger up at the nearest observer before turning back. “Pretty elaborate. I take it you’re someone special then. Do I want to know who you are?”
“’Who’ doesn’t matter,” he said, his head tipping. “’What’ is a better question.”
“What?” the soldier asked.
The wolf stepped closer.
“Yes, what. I am… for a lack of a better word… a werewolf.”
The smile bleached from the soldier’s face. “Shit.”
The wolf pulled back in surprise.
The soldier ran his hands over his face, the curse word slipping like a liturgy from his lips.
His eyes narrowed.
“That’s not what people normally say.”
“What do people normally say?”
Freak. Liar. Monster.
“Everyone knows that werewolves don’t exist.”
The man pressed his lips together again. “I guess I’m not everyone then.”
*
His name was John and he had been a soldier in Afghanistan.
“There were rumours,” John said sat on the floor, leaning against the bed. “Up in the mountains, of wolves or large cats. Sometimes on quiet clear nights, we would hear noises, howls. They must have been from a hundred miles away or more, across the desert. There have always been rumours, old wives tales, people claiming to have seen something strange, but you know.”
Considering it all John was taking it rather well.
The wolf lay intrigued.
“A werewolf. A real, live werewolf. We used to joke about it back when I was at Barts; what would you would do if you found that one of your patients wasn’t, well, human.”
He blinked. The wolf raised a quizzical head.
“You’re a doctor,” he said slowly. “An army doctor.”
“Was,” the man corrected.
“Ah. There’s always something.”
*
They talk about everything and nothing. They play cards, tossed a ball between them, tried to annoy the observers. It was almost… pleasant, but not enough to allow the small smile to linger for more than a moment or two.
The hours ticked passed.
John was nothing special… and yet. He was just under average height, his hair couldn’t be described as either blond or brown and his eyes were a surprisingly dark blue that could look brown at certain angles. Yet there was something about the way he spoke, the way he held himself, the way he smelled.
The hand that reached over to touch his was warm and slightly rough.
“It’s okay,” the incredible man, this doctor, this soldier said. “I know… I… you can’t change who you are.”
It was just a few hours before moonrise. The wolf was close by, so close.
“I don’t know what will happen tonight,” he said.
John shot him a half smile. “Well I presume it will be the end of a rather brief but interesting acquaintance,” he said.
Anxiety, anger and regret rolled from him like a waterfall of scents, but there was no fear.
The wolf sniffed, nose pressing closer and closer.
He shook his head trying to clear his senses. “There… there are…” he tried.
“What?”
“There are other things that could happen. Worse things.”
“Worse things?” John asked from a frown. “Worse than being killed? Or are you saying you could turn me?”
“No,” he whispered. “No, not that, but there is worse.”
The wolf’s ears flattened back as realisation finally dawned.
“Worse because I find you… surprisingly attractive.”
John, the doctor, the impossible man looked at him, his eyes wide, his mind almost noisy in the way it was ticking over.
“You find me attractive?” The lips pressed together and then were sucked into his mouth, his eyes raking up as down as his cheeks twitched. “Seriously? A gay werewolf?” The smile was infectious.
His own lips twitched. “I’ve known more unusual,” he said. “I once knew a transsexual vegan vampire.”
“Really?”
“Of course not,” he said as he shook his head, “vampires don’t exist,” and he smiled as John laughed.
*
“Just so you know, you’re not so bad yourself.”
Perched on the bed, John opened watched as he slowly stripped off his clothing ready for the transformation.
“I mean, it’s obvious that you could do with a few good meals and perhaps a haircut, but whatever happens tonight, I don’t blame you. I wish… I wish I could have gotten to know you better.”
And then the moon rose.
*
Part Two