Chapter Text
On All Hallow’s Eve when the sky glows bright
Life and death in your hands by the red moonlight
A decision made to affect all others
The city’s doom or salvation shall be on your shoulders
And to think, once upon a time, Len loved Halloween.
“You sure you don’t want a drink, boss?” Mick asked, often trying to distract Len when Halloween came around—get him drunk, get him into a bar fight, get him laid if he could. It never worked.
The one thing about a seer’s prophecy was that they were rarely as specific as one would like. Len didn’t know which Halloween he would have this supposed decision to make. Red moonlight might only be a metaphor, but while he was anxious every Halloween ever since his sister went into a trance and spoke those words, the whites of her eyes gone black as the irises glowed blue, any time the moon was red or even mildly orange on Halloween night, he wondered if this would be the year.
“Thanks anyway, Mick. I’d rather keep working.” Len drummed his fingers along the edge of the car door as Mick drove him through the city, watching the lights and bustling crowds with unfocused interest.
A clever decoration or costume would catch his eye on occasion. Central City took Halloween seriously. Even City Hall got away with fake spider webs at its corners, though come morning that would likely be accompanied by toilet paper.
“Let’s finish the pickup,” Len said, “then keep making rounds. You know how the riffraff get uppity on Halloween.”
“Us shifters, ya mean,” Mick said from beside him, “or the humans in costume?”
“Exactly.”
Mick chuckled.
Shifters were a small subset of the population but powerful and influential in almost every major city. Some were run by wolves like Len and Mick, some by one of many great cat packs, or even wererats or scaled shifters. Len was the alpha of his pack and leader of Central City’s underground, dubbed Cold because of his zero-tolerance policy for failed loyalty, but his crew wasn’t made up of only one race. He welcomed everyone, wolves and cats and scales alike.
Other packs in other cities didn’t appreciate how that scoffed at tradition, but Len didn’t care. Mixed company was better and made his pack stronger. It also kept the infighting down, which made it easier to ensure the supernatural remained under the radar to the average human who had no idea what went bump in the night far more frequently than only on Halloween.
Besides shifters, natural born witches, the occasional fae, and unfortunate encounters with vampires, there were a few other rare breeds that could crop up among the supernatural and humans alike. One of which was seers, people with a gift for seeing into the past, present, and future. Some seers had full control over their abilities and exploited it however they could. Some were driven mad by their powers. Some had no control at all and didn’t remember what they prophesized.
That was Lisa, Len’s baby sister, who for years hadn’t even known she was a seer because their father forbade Len and his twin brother Leo from telling her. A seer was a powerful tool for an alpha but especially one in control of a city.
Len was only present to hear two prophecies when he was younger, the first when Lisa was barely ten, him and Leo hiding where their father couldn’t see.
Fury begets fury and blood runs thin
The younger to take over for more than only him
Father overshadowed for the shadow he once cast
Your kingdom will be greater when your reign is in the past.
Everything about Lewis toward his children changed after that. He was always a bastard, quick with his claws or a harsh word, but his abuses grew unbearable. Len hadn’t understood the prophecy at the time, but Lewis did—or so he thought.
One day Len discovered the truth when he killed his father and took over as alpha. Riddles always made more sense once you knew the punchline.
Lewis assumed Leo would kill him, since Len always fell in line, while Leo was the outspoken one against their criminal dealings.
“Why does everything have to be illegal? Why do we have to hurt people? Living in the shadows doesn’t mean we have to be the bad guys.”
So, Lewis sent Leo away to live with a sister city’s pack. But Len was the younger of the twins, even if only by a few minutes. The killer was always meant to be him, left to protect Lisa and to deal with their father alone. It was self-fulfilling after that.
Lisa spoke the second prophecy as Len stood over their father's body. Nearly two decades later, he still wasn’t sure what it meant, but it had haunted him ever since.
“Here, boss. I can see Roy waiting on us,” Mick said as they pulled up to the Rogues Gallery tattoo parlor.
It was one of their many fronts for money laundering and having ears on the ground, but they had good artists too. The neighborhood wasn’t even the dicey kind but had a popular flower shop across the street and a bakery on the corner. Mick ran things most days, but Roy, one of the few other wolves in their pack, had a knack for the craft as well.
Roy waited for them inside to close up shop, ready with the week’s spoils. Len didn’t usually participate in pickups, but Halloween was a special night. Mick insisted on staying at his side as his most trusted enforcer and second in command—behind Lisa and Leo, though Leo didn’t live in Central. He’d stayed away even after their father died, working as a museum curator, preferring to not get involved in anything shady. Len respected that and never pushed, especially since Leo made a point to visit often.
Sliding out of the car, Len carried a natural grace that one might associate only with him being a wolf, but other shifters knew to be wary of that sort of calculated motion. He was a predator through and through, not one to be hunted, and he kept a keen eye on his surroundings with only a brief glance at the red moon sky.
Tonight was a Blood Moon, during the most important negotiations of Len’s reign—working out a marriage arrangement with the alpha of Star City, Ray Terrill, to Len himself, joining their packs together. It was the only option left that didn’t involve bloodshed considering how at odds Len’s father had been with the surrounding cities. Ray was the only one willing to believe Len could be different, despite years of proving otherwise. Central and Star City combined would be too powerful for opportunistic takeovers.
It was a good deal, even if it was one of the few times Len would bow to tradition. He only had tonight off from talks because he’d requested it. Ray was a good sort, a good alpha from what Len could tell, but no amount of alcohol could change that Len had no interest in marriage other than duty.
At least after the wedding and consummation, they could run their cities separately, but Len was having a hard time getting that point across—as well as an allowance for other men and women in his bed—because Ray kept trying to woo him.
“Roy,” he nodded when he and Mick entered the shop. “How’d that interview go tonight?”
The shop was narrow but deep inside with several stations for busy days and photos along the walls highlighting their artists. They were highly trafficked enough that there was a HELP WANTED sign in the window. They’d only take on another shifter, but Len liked to see who else might frequent their door.
“A shame, actually.” Roy hefted the bag of cash for Mick to inspect. “Best artist we’ve had come through. Has a record, just outta Blackgate in Gotham and looking for a fresh start. Right up our alley. If only he wasn’t human.”
“Allen, was it?”
“That’s him.”
“This his?” Len noted the portfolio on the counter.
“Yeah, he left a copy. I said I’d show the boss. Maybe we can find him something elsewhere, a good turn for an ex con and all.”
“How altruistic,” Len said, but his smirk faded as he began to peruse the work. It wasn't what he expected and seemed…familiar somehow.
“What can I say, boss? Kid had an infectious personality. I liked him.”
There were few actual tattoos, meaning this was a newbie, an artist who’d only recently taken up the trade of skin as his canvas. But what he did have was breathtaking, some photo realistic, some fantastical, some more traditional tattoos. The sketches that caught Len’s eye though were intricate collages that would make impressive sleeves or full body art, most rather grim too—death and macabre imagery of twisted bone and gore.
There was one…Len would swear it was like the corded flesh of one of his own worst scars.
Another…reminded him of his father’s open ribcage after he’d killed him.
But the last gave him the most pause—a beautiful woman with a third eye staring hauntingly back at him, the whites gone black while the irises seemed to glow…
“Nothing special about the guy other than his skills and sunny disposition. Wouldn’t guess he’d be so cheerful given the art, huh? Must have kept his head down in Blackgate.”
“He say what he was in for?”
“Falsifying evidence to get some scumbag put away for killing his son.”
“His son?”
“Nah, the scumbag’s son.”
“Was Scumbag guilty?”
“Allen sure thought so. Wife and daughter of the bastard did too. Used to send him care packages as a thanks for trying. So, like I said, pity he's human.”
“Yes…” Len said, closing the book. Involving a human in their work, even at a mostly legit business, would be too dangerous, but something nagged at him now. He often felt this way on Halloween, but it was more than that. “Anything amiss tonight?”
“Nope. Not a peep.”
“Mmm.”
“Boss? Want me to load up the cash?” Mick asked, hoisting the bag over his shoulder. “Maybe finish the other stops early? Still time to get that drink. Or ten.”
“Did you close up the back yet, Roy?” Len ignored Mick’s suggestion and moved around the counter.
“Not yet,” Roy said more slowly, catching onto his tone. “Why?”
“Been through there recently?”
“Something wrong?” Mick pressed.
“I don’t know yet. Just a feeling.” Len moved at a slow pace, eyes on the door. “Mick, load the car. Meet me in the alley. Roy, lock the door behind me, then the front, and go enjoy your evening.”
“You sure?” The hesitation was clear in Roy’s voice.
“You know I don’t like your ‘feelin’s’,” Mick said.
“Just do it.”
Continuing at a brisk pace until he reached the back of the shop, Len stepped into the alley with a soft click of the door behind him.
Blood. Not visible, but he could smell it. A lot of it. Impossible to detect inside the parlor, because it always carried a faint smell of blood due to the needle work, but outside, Len had no doubts. Those who knew about Lisa being a seer said he must have some of the gift too, because his hunches were never wrong.
A man sprinted toward him and was stopped cold when Len shot out an arm to catch him by the throat.
No, not a man. A vampire.
Shit.
The hiss and growl and snap of fangs made it difficult to hold the creature at bay, especially since he was strong—incredibly strong. Len could barely contain him, which should not have been a challenge as an alpha against a newborn. The sire had to be powerful, hundreds of years old to create a fledgling this strong on his first night turned.
“A shame we couldn’t offer you that job, Mr. Allen,” Len said evenly, knowing who he was, he’d just never made it out of the neighborhood after his interview.
Allen—Barry Allen—snapped again with a click of his fangs. A shame indeed. He had a handsome face beneath the raging hunger.
Shifter eyes glowed with power when they gave into their true forms, but a vampire's changed color entirely. They shone yellow when fed, amber when hungry, and red when feral.
Barry's eyes matched the moon above. What little control he might have had if he wasn’t a newborn was buried in the back of his mind with the overwhelming need to feed.
“The hell!?” Mick bellowed from the mouth of the alley, throwing back his shoulders and letting his fangs and claws extend, his skin darkening to a bluish grey, as the scruff on his face grew thicker with tuffs of extra hair as well as fur sprouting rapidly across his skin. He was ready to tear the vampire to pieces as soon as Len threw him his way, which was what Len planned to do…
When he caught the glow of the scarlet moon above Barry’s head.
Somewhere deep within the red of those eyes…was green. Len couldn’t see it, but he knew, like a vision of the boy he'd been, beautiful and smiling and utterly enchanting.
With a howl, Len slammed Barry down into the pavement, bashing his head once, twice, three times before he stilled.
“The fuck’d ya do that for?” Mick growled. “Rip his damn head off already!”
“No,” Len said, the claws of the hand that had seized Barry the only part of him changed, and now that too shifted back. He bent beside Barry, whose fangs were still visible with his lips parted, but his eyes were closed, chest still since he no longer needed to breathe. “We’re bringing him back to the den. I have questions.”
“What?” Mick balked, all towering force even as he shifted human, save the glow of his eyes that burned. “That’s a vampire, Lenny! A fuckin’ parasite!”
“I’m aware, and we are taking him back with us. Now pick him up.”
“Fat chance!”
“Mick, I am your—”
“Fuck you, big shot alpha! When you’re being an idiot, you’re just Lenny, and you can’t go bringing some fanger home when negotiations with Terrill are heating up. Lisa’ll have your hide. And mine. If you ever thought a Halloween was the night, this is the one. Kill the kid and be done with it.”
That was the easy answer, but if it was easy, why bother with a prophecy? When had a vampire even entered Len’s city? And what did it want? It couldn’t be a coincidence that Barry had been turned and left on Len’s doorstep.
Vampires were vermin, an infestation to be rid of if even one was discovered in pack territory. As they aged, they became far stronger than shifters, which was why they had to be eradicated before they spread, or they might take over. They were messy and foolish and too easily made feral, just like their wild newborns. Better to kill them on sight, always. Len couldn’t even remember the last time a vampire had been spotted in Central City.
But if the prophecy meant for Len to kill Barry, why have his art so entrancing? Why have his eyes cut through Len like bullets? Why have every part of Len’s instincts screaming at him that killing was not the answer? There were too many connecting piecing for him to take the easy route like his father would have in his place.
“Pick him up. If I’m right, Lisa will forgive me. And Mr. Terrill never needs to know.”
“Yeah,” Mick scoffed despite bending to do as ordered, “and if you’re wrong, we’re all fucked.”
XXXXX
They had a ticking clock from the tattoo parlor to the den, which was a renovated warehouse that on the surface looked abandoned, but inside was made up of high-end apartments and homey communal areas for Len’s pack. Tonight, it looked like a garish haunted house, it was so covered in kitsch. Len had tried protesting the décor earlier, but he'd been outvoted, which was only possible when Lisa was involved.
Barry could wake at any moment, but Len was counting on his newborn status to keep him out long enough to get him secured. Thankfully, Halloween was a busy night for everyone, either to keep tabs on the city’s revelers or to revel themselves, so only Hartley and Axel were present when Len and Mick hauled Barry inside through the back and headed for the basement. There was an old wine cellar down there Len had recently cleaned up. No windows and only one exit was paramount.
“Is someone wasted already?” Axel came over with a snicker.
Axel Walker was a werecat, tamer in personality compared to some of the panthers and other big cats in their pack but equally as temperamental at times. His boyfriend, Hartley Rathaway, was a Rat King, a rare type of wererat that could control vermin. Every rat or mouse that darkened their door was added to his horde. They shied from other shifters, but somehow, they all loved Axel.
“Have you lost your mind?” Hartley said when he joined Axel and caught sight of Barry’s fangs. “Please tell me that’s meant as a pinata for later and you’re about to disembowel it?”
“There will be no disemboweling,” Len said, while noting the fear in Axel's face once he realized what Hartley had already guessed.
“A fanger?!”
“His sire left him at the tattoo parlor. I intend to find out why. Keep going,” Len ordered Mick when he hesitated at the basement entrance. Once Mick continued with a grumble, Len turned back to the others. “Keep watch for Lisa. Keep watch for anyone and let me know the second someone else comes home.”
“Boss.” Hartley grabbed his arm. Being a rat didn’t mean he was meek or small of anything but stature. Hartley was one of Len's smartest, shrewdest, and most confrontational pack members. “The marriage negotiations, hello? Terrill and his second are still in the city. You meet with them again tomorrow. If they find out you kept a fanger instead of killing it…”
“I’ll look reckless and of poor judgement at best, I know.” Len looked down at Hartley's hand, and he promptly removed it.
“We need this merger. Gotham, Coast City, even Metropolis are months from attempting takeovers.”
“Which is exactly why I need to find out how a vampire got into my city, who it is, how powerful they are, and why they left me a present on the night of my prophecy.”
Len's inner circle all knew about Lisa's prediction, but no one outside the pack even knew she was a seer, and marriage or no marriage, Len had no intention of sharing that information with Ray or his second, Oliver Queen.
Hartley and Axel exchanged worried glances but neither spoke at the reminder of what night it was and what that might mean.
“Let me know the second anyone else comes home,” Len said again and swiftly retreated into the basement.
He found Mick already having dumped Barry in the cellar. The door wasn’t as secure as Len would have liked but it should hold if anything happened.
“Finish the rounds then come straight back,” Len said as he reached for the locks.
“Lenny,” Mick stopped him, “you ain't goin' in there alone.”
“I’m getting rather tired of my betas challenging me.” Len ripped his arm from Mick's grasp, and Mick had the sense to look cowed as Len's eyes flashed and his teeth grew sharp in warning. “Do as I say. I’m not going to be bested by a newborn, even one as strong as him. If there’s nothing of value to learn, I’ll kill him. Now, go back to the shop and clean up the alley. Bring back his portfolio too. Then finish the other stops before anyone gets suspicious.”
Without waiting for Mick to reply, Len threw back the locks to enter the cellar and let the door shut behind him. He’d been planning on replacing the door with a glass one eventually and was glad he hadn’t gotten that far.
The room was cool and spacious, with various shelves and racks along the walls, all currently empty. On the floor, in the center, lay the unconscious vampire.
The delicate fangs visible due to his slack mouth were almost cute considering the size Len was used to from his shifters. The young man's face really was handsome without any rage to mar it. Len would need to feed him if he wanted to talk. He needed to know everything about the vampire who’d turned Barry. Len was a supernatural mobster. Things like this didn’t just happen.
Was it Ray? Had he hired a vampire to upset the negotiations?
No. He wasn’t the backstabbing kind.
Queen, trying to undermine Ray? Also unlikely. He was loyal to his alpha, even if he didn’t care much for Len or Central City.
A third party then. But who? One of the other city's packs? This didn’t feel like them. But if a vampire was acting on its own, what did it want?
Lack of breath made it difficult to tell when Barry would awaken, so Len sat cross-legged a few feet from him to wait. Once he woke, Len would carefully feed him just enough to get him coherent, get what he needed, and if Barry proved a disappointment, killing him was still on the table.
Feeling his phone buzz, Len took it from his pocket and grimaced. Ray.
I know negotiations are on hold, but if you’re free later this evening, perhaps we could get to know one another better, leave our seconds behind. Ollie can entertain himself.
This vampire business couldn't be Ray's doing. He was a romantic, hoping to find love where Len merely saw a political arrangement.
Apologies. I need tonight to myself. Tomorrow, though, I would be happy to talk more casually over lunch without Mick and Oliver before we resume negotiations.
Len didn’t want to seem unreasonable after all, and if Ray got something he wanted, he might be more inclined to give into Len’s demands.
Yes! Absolutely. Just tell me when and where.
Where indeed? What would be appropriate to seem amiable without feeding too much into Ray’s illusions about—
Len froze. Something was wrong. The room had been quiet ever since he entered, but it felt eerily silent suddenly, like the calm before a predator pounced.
Reaching out with his claws, Len discovered—nothing. Barry wasn’t there.
Barry wasn’t anywhere.
Len leapt to his feet and made to spin around, but a force rushed him before he could complete the act, slamming him sideways into the wall as two fangs pierced his neck. Shit, he’d been sloppy, assuming he’d know once Barry roused, but the newborn was even more formidable than before.
No matter. Len was stronger and would hardly be affected…by…
A numbness overtook his body as though he were dozing, enjoying a lazy morning in bed with soft sheets all around and a nimble partner rolling on top of him.
He was being laid out gently on a bed, weight settling on his hips as his partner sucked firm and hot on his neck, making him shiver. He’d never felt such indescribable pleasure from someone giving him a hickey before, but he was already hard, pawing upward to hold that lithe body in place.
Who was this mystery man again? Len couldn’t remember, but he didn’t want the rivulets of contentment to stop. He started to rock up into the body above him, though he felt hazy, like he might fall back to sleep any moment. The last thing he wanted when he felt this good was to sleep.
The mouth on his neck latched on tighter, and Len shoved his hand down between them to feel himself—achingly hard now—and then the man, who was halfway following him and needed assistance. Len slid his hand into the other’s jeans and started stroking, feeling him thicken and grow hot at his touch.
Why was he wearing jeans in bed?
They were in a bed, weren’t they?
But it felt too firm, like a floor.
Had they passed out somewhere?
Where…where was Len…?
Reality snapped back with a jolt.
Barry. Len was being hypnotized by a vampire’s thrall. It shouldn’t have worked on him, especially not from a newborn. He had to stay focused before he lost too much blood.
“Stop…” he rasped, moving his hands to Barry’s chest and pushing.
It felt like the kid weighed a ton, totally immovable, and while Len had stopped giving into the passion between them, Barry reached down now and started stroking him, even as he continued to drain him. The combination felt incredible.
And that euphoria was going to kill Len if he didn’t stop it.
“Barry.” He pushed again, feeling tired and feeble. What was this kid that he had so much power so young?
One thing that was the same was that newborns were reckless, untrained, and unable to use their saliva to close their victims’ wounds as an elder vampire might to avoid leaving bodies with bite marks. Len would heal where a human could not, but only if he stopped Barry in time.
Oh, but it felt amazing—Barry’s hand and the suction of his mouth. Len shivered again as he twisted his fingers in Barry’s shirt.
“Barry!” he growled and threw his momentum to the side until they rolled, dislodging Barry’s fangs at last and ending with Len on top. “Stop.”
Barry looked dazed from the feeding, enamored with Len and the taste of him, and clearly aroused as he growled back more like a pleased purr and kept stroking Len, no longer concerned with feeding. Len couldn’t help how he moaned, noticing Barry’s yellow eyes, sated finally but darkened with lust.
This was not the time for a dirty fuck on Len's basement floor, but his head felt like it was floating above him. Even as he began to heal, the loss of blood, the dizziness, what remaining blood he had heading swiftly south, trapped him in response to that hand, those eyes—gold more than yellow—and the fangs with Len’s blood staining them had him ready to throw away every plan he’d ever had.
Surging down, Len caught Barry’s drunken, fanged smile in a kiss, only faintly tasting the tang of his own blood since Barry was absorbing every drop. His mouth felt divine, his body felt divine, like this was fated, like they were meant to be right where they were, and Barry was still palming him.
The jeans and slacks definitely had to go.
Len fumbled to undo both clasps while maintaining their lip lock. His instincts stirred, fangs and claws lengthening, but no more than that, just on the edge of primal while still in control. The click of their teeth whenever they got too into it only made Len more desperate to get their pants down.
He felt the slight scratch of claws against their skin in his haste, but not enough to draw blood. Then he was urging Barry to coil his fingers around them both, pumping them together, slick and hot as Len canted his hips into the touch.
Barry broke from the kiss with a whine and lunged for Len’s neck again, making him flinch, ready to fight him off like before, but he didn’t so much as scrape his fangs, lapping at the wound instead. Relaxing once more, Len gave his own desperate whine at the attention.
Barry pulled his hand away and started rutting. Len wanted to roll his hips back and connect them more deeply or get on top and ride Barry hard, but he was content enough to thrust into the wetness between them and end this quick, not having to care about being gentle like he would with a human.
If this encounter had happened when Barry was human, an artist ex-con looking for a job, Len would have been hard-pressed not to hire him on the spot. Maybe he still would, if he didn’t kill Barry when this was over.
That thought sobered Len just as his release burst, and Barry bucked up harder to follow him. They panted, the aftermath leaving Len exhausted enough that the wolf retreated by the time he lifted up to look at Barry.
His eyes were green, just like Len had envisioned, his face breathtaking with a dazed smile, with or without the fangs showing.
Len didn’t care how much Lisa yelled at him or what happened next. That had been worth it.
XXXXX
Wow, this guy was beautiful. His eyes almost glowed, they were so blue.
Had Barry gotten drunk after the interview? It was Halloween, and he thought the interview had gone well. Maybe he went for a drink after. He just couldn’t remember where or when he’d gone home with this stranger. He could only picture a dark figure pulling him into the alley and then…
Then he was here, with a hard cock in his hand and a warm body atop him.
Who was bleeding. Why was the man bleeding?
Barry tried to ask, but his words came out garbled. He felt the man shift and start to tuck himself away. Then he tucked Barry away, which was slightly uncomfortable given the mess, but Barry felt so out of it still, he kept waiting for the hangover to hit.
When it didn’t, when he still felt amazing, he tried harder to focus. There was a wonderful taste in his mouth he couldn’t place, something he wanted more of as he licked the traces from his lips. He watched the man slowly grasp his wrists and pin them above his head. If the stranger hadn’t been bleeding, it would have been intensely hot.
“Would you like to try that again, Mr. Allen?” the man’s low, lilting voice asked, strained but exuding authority. Barry thought he meant the rough and messy sex, which yes, they could do that again anytime, but then he realized he probably meant the gibberish.
“Who…who are you…?” Barry slurred, pushing past the unfamiliar sensations coursing through him. He wasn’t drunk so what was this feeling? Had the man given him something? Was that why Barry felt so strange? Maybe he didn’t like this position anymore or his lost time. “Where am I? What’s going on? What happened to your neck?”
After scrutinizing Barry for several seconds, the man sat back and released his wrists. “Give it a minute, kid. It’ll come back to you.”
Barry opened his mouth to counter that, but as he looked again at the blood on the man’s neck and recalled the delightful taste on his lips, he suddenly remembered everything.
“Oh god…” Scrambling to get out from under the man, Barry rolled to the side and vomited blood all over the floor. “Oh god.”
“Stop that. You’re wasting it.”
“Why doesn’t it taste the way blood should?”
“Because you’re not human anymore.”
“Wh—?” Barry’s question was stolen as firm hands grasped his jacket and yanked him into a sitting position away from the splatter of blood.
“You’re a vampire. And I need to know who turned you.”
“Who…? What? That’s insane.”
“I don’t have time for your existential crisis.” He released Barry to topple back to the floor and stood, starting to remove his jacket and shirt.
“What are you doing? I—"
“Sit still and pay attention. You’re a vampire now. And I’m a shifter, like many in this city. A werewolf, to be exact. And before you scoff at that…watch.”
He dropped his clothes to the floor—piece by piece—even more beautiful than Barry had realized, save the angry bite mark on his neck. He had scars, a multitude of them, but Barry had never found scars ugly.
Once the man was naked, his skin still stained from their rut on the floor, he said, “Stage one,” and his eyes glowed.
“Stage…two.” He took a step toward Barry, opening his mouth to show fangs growing from his canines, with shorter ones along the other upper teeth, and similarly along the bottom. Claws grew from his fingernails and his skin took on a dark grayish tint as silvery fur sprouted along his cheekbones and the edges of his body.
“Stage three,” he said with a rumble, rendering Barry paralyzed, because how could there be more?
The fur thickened across his body and the entire shape of him shifted, looking painful, yet he made no grimace or whimper as his spine and legs and skull cracked, reforming into a large wolfish creature that the movies never got right. He was beautiful for how strange and deadly he looked.
Taking another step toward Barry, just as his transformation completed, it began again, faster now, shrinking him down but not losing any of the fur or wolfish visage. This time, when it was over, he might have been a normal timberwolf in the wild.
“Stage…four?” Barry said meekly.
The wolf padded closer to him, and Barry dared outstretch his hand to stroke the beast’s fur. It was far softer than a wild wolf would be.
“Wow…” Barry gasped, smiling as he pet the remarkable creature, even though he knew he should still be afraid.
The wolf soon retreated, and once he was far enough away, he shifted back into a man as easily as shedding another layer of clothing. While Barry stared on dumbly, he started to dress.
“I’m sure you have questions, but mine come first. Do you believe me now about what you are?”
The magic of the moment passed, and Barry tried to reconcile wanting to be sick from having drank someone’s blood, while not being able to deny how good it felt flowing through him and how amazing it had tasted.
He nodded.
“Good. Now, who turned you?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“A man? A woman—"
“Man. I think. No, yes. Definitely.” Barry righted himself and started to stand, causing the other man to…flinch? But why, when he was so impressive?
He finished putting on his clothes and stalked toward Barry with renewed confidence, making Barry back up for the other side of the… Were they in a wine cellar?
“What did he look like?”
“I-I… I don’t know! I never saw him clearly.”
“Did he say anything to you?”
“I don’t think so.”
His blue gaze hardened.
“No.”
“That is…unfortunate.” With a sigh, he looked at Barry for a long time, even more difficult to read than before. “You need to understand, your kind aren’t looked upon favorably in my circles. Anyone from my pack, any shifters at all, would kill you on site out in the streets.”
“What?” Barry tried to back up further, but he hit the wall. “Why? I’m not dangerous. I just…I won’t let anyone find out what I am.”
“It’s not that simple. We can smell you. You won’t be able to hide. But if you had something to offer me, some vital piece of information, I might be able to provide you protection.”
“If…?” Barry picked up on the important word choice. “And if I can’t?”
He gave Barry a hard, cold look.
“You’ll kill me… We had sex, and you’d just kill me, just like that?”
“It wasn’t exactly a mutual arrangement. You attacked me.”
“I…” Barry was going to be sick again, especially since he knew that was true. “I-I…”
“Relax, kid, I could have stopped you. I chose not to. Finishing what we started was more appealing.”
“Yet you’d still kill me?”
Barry thought the man—wolf, whoever he was—looked sympathetic, like he didn’t want to kill him, but Barry couldn’t be sure what his answer might have been because the door burst open.
“Lenny.” A beautiful woman with eyes that glowed a similar blue came in with a snarl on her lovely face. “What the fuck do you think you're doing?”
TBC...