Date: Fri, 29 Nov 1996 11:24:15 -0500 X-Sender: rhonilak@elvis.icontech.com To: The Cat In The Hat From: Rhondda Lake Subject: Submission "Of Light and Darkness"(A)1/4 Disclaimers: Sony Tristar owns all characters from Forever Knight. I own the rest. Warnings? Hmmm... (m/f)sex, violence, angst, vampires, and other goodies. Nothing much more then angst in the first part though. Authors Note: This has been sitting around for a while in my home. The last episode I was able to see was Sons of Baliel (sp?) As I don't get the Sci/Fi channel.. meaning I can happily "Deny Everything"... oh... wait... wrong show... well I can pretend the ending I never saw never existed anyway... This story and any that follow center on LaCroix. OF LIGHT AND DARKNESS by Rhondda Lake (1/4) He had been sitting at his personal table, not far from the bar and up against the wall, where he could watch everything that occurred within his establishment. He was not watching, however, he was simply toying with a glass of 'special reserve'. Not truly drinking it either. He was unaware of the dark, dim club around him, of the grinding rhythms pounded out by the band on the stage or of the gyrating bodies of frenzied dancers, mortal and immortal alike. He was lost in the same circle of thoughts that had plagued him for six months now. Good and Evil, Darkness and Light, God and the Devil. None of his thoughts were comfortable, in fact they filled him with a smothering dread, a nameless terror that only millennia of practice kept from seeping to his outward appearance. Dressed entirely in black, tall and imposing, he still appeared as self confident and arrogant as ever, contempt smoldering in his eyes. Indeed, no one at all knew the strange, tormenting thoughts behind the mask. Damn Nicholas! Damn him for daring to force him to alter his perceptions of reality, a perception he'd become increasingly comfortable with for nineteen hundred years. And Damn myself, while I'm at it, he thought with a sneer, for being willing to face this unholy mess for him. Six months - six months since his son, his protege', his favorite tormented creation had come to him struggling with more then his usual personal demons. Struggling with a true Demon in fact. At first he had simply scoffed, tried to reason with Nicholas that it was simply his true nature, too long repressed, coming to the fore. However, Nicholas' terror was real and he had... begged. Nicholas had never begged before. Not like this. Not with that desperation in his eyes. And he had come to HIM, a dizzying triumph in and of itself, to have his wayward son come to him, trusting him to make things right. For that reason alone he had taken Nicholas to the defrocked priest, the one who had started this whole farce. For Nicholas he had endured the presence of the religious artifacts. Surely it was only the faith placed in them that made his flesh crawl, his mind recoil, and if he got to close... his flesh to burn. The faith of fools, nothing else. It was there that he had at last seen the face of the Beast, and had seen for himself that something HAD claimed Nicholas. Back then all he had time for was the rage. Nicholas was HIS! HIS son, HIS masterpiece and NOTHING claims what belongs to Lucian LaCroix! He had helped the priest then, braving the pain of diving between the planted crosses and entering the presence of faith... more then faith... blessedness. He had held Nicholas down as the priest chanted the words and commanded the demon out, only to be flung away. FLUNG AWAY! He, one of the strongest immortals alive, in all his frenzied fury, was cast away like a child would cast away a toy. But in the end they won. Nicholas won. And it was more then an annoyance that it was not he, but that weakling mortal chit Nicholas fancies himself in love with, who had called him back from the brink. And when it was over... the anger masked the terror. "There is in each of us both God and the Devil. We choose which we let rule," the priest's words as he pointed at LaCroix, "even you. Even you." He knew full well what LaCroix was. "I call no one master!" He had raged. The demon had been real, did that mean God was real, that he was, indeed, something damned, that he had been wrong for so long? No, there was some other explanation. There HAD to be. But the demon had been REAL. Round and round the thoughts went, slowly driving him to the point where he thought he might go mad once or twice. In the midst of these thoughts, these uncomfortable ruminations, she walked. She was nothing like the usual clientele, with her hiking boots, faded jeans and worn leather flight jacket. Her coloring was, in itself, striking. A thick cascade of hair, white as fresh snow flowing in a silken mass to her waist, eyes the most unusual pale violet coupled with the face of a Raphielite angel. She drew many stares of envy or interest from both sexes as she crossed in front of the bar in a half daze. He had still remained just dimly aware of her until she stood before him. His line of sight as he sat, started at her slender waist and traveled indolently upward, lingering at the aesthetic loveliness of perfect breasts half hidden in the cracked leather bulk of her jacket. He noted the way the light glinted off her pale hair, making it change color as the overheads strobed, caressing the sensuous waves. His eyes followed the enticing faint blue line, pulsing with life, that ran just behind a small ear down into the front of her sweater. It beckoned for him to take her. Her faint aroma of attar of roses and cinnamon reaching out to him, luring... until he looked up and into those eyes. Palest violet they seared through him, seemed to hammer at his true self, shredding away the mask of indifferent boredom as she measured him, taking something of himself away as she left something else, un-nameable, behind. He felt his breath catch and he forced it's release with annoyance. "Can I help you?" He breathed the words softly, for he almost always spoke softly. His own air of command assured listeners paid attention even in the noisiest of rooms. The woman looked at him with puzzlement as if she did not know why she was standing there herself. "I... I felt your pain, from outside. I had to come in... to see if I could ease it." Lucian LaCroix raised a single eyebrow, his own pale blue gaze boring into her as he deliberately tried to discomfort her as much as she had him without dropping the civilized mask. "My... pain." She nodded and looked away, not out of fear or intimidation, but with a flush of embarrassment that brought the blood closer to the surface of her skin, it's intoxicating scent calling to him sweetly. "I sense things sometimes. You... your pain is strong, but it isn't physical. I just knew... you needed someone. Someone to talk to perhaps." Her eyes met his again. There was a challenge there. Her embarrassment had faded quickly. "Someone with no preconceived prejudices. Someone you need not fear appearing weak before." "I see. You sensed my pain and decided to offer yourself," he smiled one of his sardonic little smiles as he allowed his eyes to rake her body, "as consolation." She did not seem embarrassed now, she just tilted her head to the side, her hair whispering over the pulse in her neck as a few strands caressed that place before sliding back and out of her way. "No... yes... You are certainly attractive enough, but that's not what I meant. I'm a healer. Not a doctor... but I can HEAL. I came to offer you healing if you want it. Nothing more... unless we both want that as well." "I don't need healing little one," he waved his hand, "go peddle it elsewhere." She shrugged and turned from him. As she walked away, over to the bar, he had the strange feeling that she took something of himself with her, leaving an odd emptiness behind. At the bar she took a coaster and produced a pen from her pocket. She wrote on the coaster then handed it to the bartender with a few words before exiting 'THE RAVEN' completely. The bartender walked over and handed the coaster to LaCroix. "The girl said to give you this, that you might want it." LaCroix did not move to take it. "That will be all Carlos." The bartender nodded with proper subservience, but he left the coaster on the table when he retreated. Almost of it's own volition LaCroix saw his hand reach out to take the paper. The club's logo was embossed in black on the front. He turned it over to see a name and number written in a precise, yet elegant hand across the back. Alix Argent, 555-3245. He didn't even remember slipping it into his pocket. End part 1... Date: Fri, 29 Nov 1996 11:25:19 -0500 X-Sender: rhonilak@elvis.icontech.com To: The Cat In The Hat From: Rhondda Lake Subject: Submission "Of Light and Darkness"(A)2/4 Disclaimed in part 1... M/F sex, violence, angst and fun stuff. OF LIGHT AND DARKNESS by Rhondda Lake 2/? He got up from his cavernous wrought iron four poster, leaving the black satin sheets bundled in the center as a distressing witness to his disturbed rest. LaCroix had taken over Janette's apartments under 'THE RAVEN' when she left. It avoided the annoying problem of windows. The digital clock on the nightstand proclaimed it to be mid afternoon, with hours to go before sunset. Every day for the past week he had dreamed of her. Little visions of her sitting in some sort of hospital and reading from a picture book to a rapt circle of ill children gathered around her. Visions of her sitting on the lake front watching the sailboats dance with the sunlight on the windswept water, sometimes painting the boats with amazing detail. Of her in a place filled with the aged and abandoned, offering them companionship and comfort. There was a disgusting selflessness to her. A Nimbus of light that followed her wherever she went in those dreams. It half brought to mind his Fluer. Fluer de Barabant, achingly beautiful and innocent. Fluer, dead these eight hundred years, And sometimes he would dream of her, Alix Argent, here in this room, in his own sanctuary, in his bed. Dreams filled with soft cries of either pain or pleasure, of her mortal warmth enfolding him as he drove into her, fierce and desperate before bending to pierce her throat with his fangs even as his flesh pierced hers. The warm, spicy taste of her, hot and incredible on his tongue as he drank her in like the rarest ambrosia. For a week he'd tried to forget the entire strange encounter. However, these dreams persisted and for the past three nights he found himself thinking of her when he was awake, which he had to admit was more pleasant then contemplating Heaven and Hell and the existence thereof. This obsession with a woman he'd not even spent five minutes with was doing nothing for his peace of mind. As a matter of fact, it angered him. Who was she? Who did she think she was to pull at him so? He didn't NEED anyone, let alone a simpering mortal. He found the coaster on the table near the phone. He must have dropped it there, but when escaped him. He didn't need a light switch to read the number on the back. The phone rang three times before he heard her voice, soft and rich as it vibrated through him. "Argent residence." "You left your number at the bar." It seemed a foolish explanation the moment it escaped his lips. "Oh... do you want to talk yet?" She didn't ask who he was. She appeared to know. He was not so accepting. "Who are you?" "I'm Alix Argent, just like it says on the coaster." "That's not what I meant." He almost growled into the phone. "I know. But I'm me and no one else. That happens to be the best answer I can give you." "Be at 'THE RAVEN' at five. We'll go somewhere to talk." She was so intriguing he almost forgot he was angry with her. "Alright. I'll be there at five..." He hung up before anything else was said. + + + + + \/ \/ He sensed her even before he opened the club door. Since the place didn't officially open for another two hours he told himself he simply heard her heartbeat as she approached. But he knew it for a lie at once. She didn't flinch when he opened the door and stared down at her. When he was seated he hadn't noticed how small she was. The top of her head barely came to his chin. She looked up and met his gaze challengingly. "You're not going to scare me off," her eyes didn't waver as she spoke, "after all, you called ME, remember?" She was wearing jeans again, but the flight jacket had been replaced by a denim one. The silk blouse beneath it was the exact shade of her eyes. "Your car or mine?" He asked as he closed and locked the door to the club behind him. "Mine." She turned on her heel and proceeded to a blue Miata parked near the corner. As he slid into the passenger seat he caught the scent of gasoline and oil mixed with her perfume. "Where to?" She asked as she turned the ignition. Her movements were smooth and sure. No fear, not even on the instinctive level that some mortals seemed to have when it came to his kind. He directed her to the lake front park, to the place he had dreamed of her watching sailboats. They didn't speak in the car. The silence was a felt presence between them. Once they stopped she got out and headed for the grassy bank overlooking the rocky beach. He was annoyed that her actions forced him to follow. She sank gracefully onto the grass, he didn't sit, forcing her to look up at him. "I've had dreams..." He had started, but stopped at her knowing nod, the gentle smile on her soft lips. Her heart rate had sped up a little despite her outward calm. He looked down at her with hooded eyes. They were not under any electrical illumination, however the near full moon and starlight were enough that even she could see. He, of course, was able to see perfectly well. "I have as well. I've seen you, and know what you are through those dreams." Still no hint of fear. "You are a killer. A vampire. A lost soul. But you are also a man who is lonely and too proud to admit it. Lonely because you won't acknowledge that you might need someone other then yourself." Her understanding and keen appraisal caught him off guard for an instant. "A lost soul?" He arched an eyebrow, "I don't even know if souls exist." "Of course they do. They are what makes us individual, unique. You know they exist but part of your inner turmoil is that you don't want to face it. To face it means you have to face that you've been wrong, but to not face it is to seem a coward to yourself. Thus your dilemma. Each is equally repugnant to you." She didn't look at him now, but watched the moonlight dance with the ripples on the lake. "Nice little pat answers." He mocked. "A pocket book psychology lesson from an impertinent mortal." "No," she spoke simply, her eyes capturing his again, "there are no pat answers. You are a vampire, but my dreams of the past week also tell me you are an old vampire. Old enough to know that much anyway. Most answers only bring more questions." He studied her for a bit. What must her life have been like to see that truth so young? The question startled him. He was never interested in mortals before. Was this some twisted side effect of his internal struggle? "Who are you?" He found himself asking again. "I am what you need right now." Her voice was distant for a moment. "You're the Nightcrawler aren't you? I thought I recognized your voice. It's not really my kind of show, but I have heard it once in a while. You are used to speaking your mind into a microphone. It's a catharsis for you. Knowing your words are heard as you seduce your audience with your ideas as well as your voice. You enjoy taunting them as you make them question everything. However, whatever is wrong... you can't do that this time. You can't broadcast your own inner termoils to the world. So, I'm here. You need a sounding board, an audience... if only of one." He wasn't sure why he sat down on the grass next to her, why his life story spilled out. Every one of his dreams and plans, his hopes and disappointments, even his doubts. Then, he told her about the demon, about his questioning his disbelief in God and the devil. He watched her face as he spoke. She showed neither horror nor revulsion at anything he'd said so far. No hint of disbelief. It was as if he were the center of her world while he talked. She was rapt, but not hypnotized by his voice, which could be just as seductive as she had proclaimed when he so desired it. She only seemed surprised once or twice. He was taken aback by how much of himself he had lain before her. A stranger. A mortal. A child. He had not even noticed how long he'd been talking until a far off church bell tolled twice. When he stopped talking she started. She had been born with the ability to feel other's turmoil. She could block it out most of the time for most of the world, but not when it came to her family. Her own blood she couldn't block, thus she seperated herself from them for the most part, to protect herself, and them. Among others she could erect shields, but once in a while special cases pulled her to them. Drawn to them as a moth to a flame. She's looked it up once, her power was called Empathy. She wasn't sure how she made people feel better, but she always had. In her own words, kindness goes a long way. She had no immediate family, only distant kin whom she hadn't seen in years. Her closest relitives were three cousins currently in town to support her first art exhibit. She looked at him challengingly when she announced that, aware of the danger of the admission. "Where is your other family?" He'd asked softly. Her eyes misted with tears that she did not allow to fall. "I told you why I stay away from most of them. But...my parents were... killed... in a hunting accident." She looked away from him, a miasma of grief and loneliness wrapping around her slender frame, as a well worn coat. She held this pain out to him, a gift. There was no one to heal her as she healed others. At last she spoke again. "Both sides of the coin. We feel this connection, because we are opposites, yet there is enough between to bond us. I think there is an understanding between us because of that." "There is a little of God and the devil in all of us." He quoted softly. "Mmm-hmmm. Enough for us to understand each other." She smiled softly, her eyes half hooded. "Understanding, is that what you call this?" He reached out to her, his cool fingertips tracing the line of her hair from her temple, behind her ear, flowing like ice over the faint blue line beneath the skin as his touch whispered down her throat. She shivered. "I'd call this many things. Seduction. Arousal... Dangerous." His smile was slight. "So at last you acknowledge the danger." "I've acknowledged it all along. But I think you misunderstand. The danger isn't to me." His hand had moved to flow over her shoulder, down her arm. "You think you are dangerous to me?" He didn't hide the amusement in his voice. "More then you know." She didn't move to stop his caress. "I could kill you where you sit." His words were a whisper, his breath teasing her ear as he leaned close, inhaling the heady scent of her blood. "Mmmm... but I hope you won't. I like it here, and have no desire to leave so soon." Cold, hard fingers brushed her jaw, forcing her head to turn to meet his kiss. His lips were cold, but warmed against hers. His tongue, probing, demanding, twined with hers in an ageless dance of sensuality. One small, delicate hand moved to run it's fingers through his close cropped hair, nails gently scraping at his scalp as she responded with an equal intensity. ************** end part 2... Date: Fri, 29 Nov 1996 11:26:37 -0500 X-Sender: rhonilak@elvis.icontech.com To: The Cat In The Hat From: Rhondda Lake Subject: Submission "Of Light and Darkness"(A)3/4 Disclaimed in part 1... OF LIGHT AND DARKNESS by Rhondda Lake (3/4) LaCroix's free hand slipped under her silk shirt to touch bare skin. He enjoyed her shiver for it was as much from the coolness of his flesh as from any arousal she might be feeling. She was soft, and warm. His hand found a satin cupped breast and he teased the nipple. She arched into him, moaning low in her throat. He wanted her. He wanted all of her. Her body. Her blood. Her innocence. The essence of her pulled at him. Her heart beat had sped up, it's steady rhythm pounding in his ears as the scent of roses and cinnamon increased, mingled with the unmistakable flavor of female arousal. She pulled back, breaking the kiss to gasp in great gulps of air. Her eyes locked with his. "I should warn you, my... family has always been stringently monogamous. If you want to take this any further... you will find yourself stuck with me until death. I wouldn't want you forced into anything against your will." LaCroix laughed. "Interesting choice of words. I cannot be forced to do ANYTHING, my dear." Alix just tilted her head inquiringly. "Then the choice is yours. I will neither ask or refuse. You alone decide, and of your own free will." "That is how it has always been, and always will be." And he understood then, that it was the truth. So what if God and the devil existed in one form or another. He answered to neither of them. With that understanding a strange peace flowed over him. Following that peace was his old self assurance. Alix seemed to sense this in him, and she smiled slightly. The smile was erased from her as he claimed her mouth in a kiss. It was a bruising kiss of total possession. Hot, hungry, devouring. She made no move to resist as he pushed her back onto the grass. He pushed the denim jacket off her shoulders, tugging it free of her. LaCroix allowed her to breathe as he ripped her shirt over her head roughly. The pale satin of her bra followed the rest, forming a small pile beside them. The cool breeze coming off the lake chilled her skin and caused her nipples to harden. She lay back and allowed him to finish removing her clothing, passive as his eyes traveled her body. She appeared an ivory statue, bleached of all color in the light of the moon, her long white hair spread out around her. Only when she knew he'd seen his fill did she reach up to unbutton his silk shirt. He was as pale as she. Alix ran warm fingertips over his chest, tracing the definition of muscle, marveling at the texture. His flesh felt like any man's, only cooler. She didn't seem in the least put off that in moments they were both naked in the night air, in a public park. His hand moved over her, mapping every curve of her body, drawing low moans from her as he touched those places she found most sensitive. Her breasts, the insides of her elbows, the underside of her knees. Her hands moved over him as well. Feeling the way the muscle moved under skin. Unhesitatingly memorizing him, reading his body like braille. His lips fell on her flesh. Having warmed themselves against her mouth they now proved to be searing. Leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She shivered again as his lips moved over her throat, his tongue dancing over the artery in her neck, as if he could taste her blood through her skin. She moved her hands down his sides, lower, until she took him in her hand. Hard and heavy and needy. She knew this was not about love or spirit, but about need, and the animalistic urges that drove them both. This man, this creature was her balance. Comfortable with what he was, with himself, now that she'd helped him reason out the answers he needed for himself. Comfortable as she was not. Balance. Perhaps that was why she chose to allow this, and all it signified. She looked up at him fearlessly. When he had moved to look down at her, his eyes had changed to a golden hue. She smiled and nodded. That was how it should be. LaCroix drove into her, not needing to check to see if she was ready, scent alone told him as much. She cried out in brief pain as he tore away the last shred of her innocence. And at that, released another scent. Her blood. The odor hung rich and heavy around them. She felt his fingers dig painfully into her hips as he surged forward. Impaling her, filling her, just plain fucking her. The pain receded to the back of her mind as she began to respond in kind. There was no tenderness here, nor had she expected as much, yet he did seem to hold himself in check. She was well aware that he could crush her, yet he did not. He sought his own satisfaction, true, but did he really require sex for that? She did. She needed and wanted this joining of the flesh. When he bent to take first one breast, then the other in his mouth, to suck on them, hard, it was not something he needed, and he did not bite, though the impulse must have been strong in him. The sensations shot through her as molten lead. Filling her veins with raw sexuality. Alix knew that the scent of her blood was taxing his control, and was well aware of what he needed, what she desired. In her darkest heart she had accepted him, this dark angel as her mate. As her mate he must be fulfilled. LaCroix was concentrating on the hot feel of her around him, a tight fist pulling at him, urging him to release even as her blood gave rise to the darker lust. He reigned those impulses in for now, or he thought he had, until he felt her nails rake down his back, drawing his own blood. A growl came from her throat, a low sound, similar to that of an enraged or excited vampire. Yet she was not, she was mortal. However, her head came up and her teeth locked on his neck, biting him where a vampire would bite, hard enough to be felt, yet not hard enough to break skin. In that instant control was lost. The scent and sensations overwhelmed, and he sank into her throat as he surged forward, feeling the hot flow of blood fill his mouth as she cried out, convulsing around him, beneath him. Her whole being lost in an orgasm so intense he could feel it in her blood. Nectar. Ambrosia. He had drunk from the font of a thousand mortal lives yet none could compare to this. Her blood was far sweeter, more heady then any he had known before. The spicy scent was present in the taste, and he felt himself getting light headed from the potency of it. Yet, strangely, he received no visions of her life. No memories from her. Only the overwhelming feeling of being embraced by the warm light of the moon. Even as he heard her heart slowing he felt his own physical release explode from him. Sated at last he pulled back, looking down at her laying limply beneath him. Her heart slowing more with each beat. She was much paler now, and seemed to glow in the moonlight. Her eyes closed as if in sleep, a tiny smile on her perfect lips. And LaCroix felt despair, for the first time in a long time. In that moment he did not want her to die. He wanted her with him. She was too interesting, too uncommon to parish quite yet. He bit into his own tongue and bent to kiss her. Opening her mouth he forced his tongue inside, willing her to drink. To take his blood, to become his. She did not swallow. Her heart faltered and her eyes opened. Feebly she pulled away from his kiss, his offer. "We're too alike." Her voice was faint. "I call no one master either." The instant her heart stopped he felt her flesh begin to cool. Imperceptible to most mortals it was intensely obvious to him. His saliva had healed the marks on her throat, but would not disguise the cause of her death. Practicality had to over-ride feeling for the moment. He used a fingernail to slit her throat. Marring the graceful column unforgivingly. There was little blood to seep from the wound. Somehow, he could not abandon her, naked in the park. Yet the kill must be covered. He dressed her again, almost tenderly. Then he clothed himself before picking up her near weightless form and flying out, over the lake. Judging himself far enough from shore, he didn't drop her, but hovered over the water before letting her slip into it's beckoning chillness . She sank slowly, her white hair flowing around her as if alive, it's paleness making her visible as she sank into the depths until that darkness, too, embraced her. Unsure how he felt, Lucien LaCroix flew away, his veins still singing with the power of her blood, yet his heart oddly heavy. His mind sure he had missed some opportunity here, but unable to grasp what it could be. End part 3... Date: Fri, 29 Nov 1996 11:29:38 -0500 X-Sender: rhonilak@elvis.icontech.com To: The Cat In The Hat From: Rhondda Lake Subject: Submission "Of Light and Darkness" (A)4/4 Disclaimed in part 1. OF LIGHT AND DARKNESS: Epilogue by Rhondda Lake (part 4/4) The following night... Three large forms emerged from the trees. Loping with an easy grace, their noses to the ground they followed the scent. Great furry heads scanned the shoreline of the lake. In the distance the lights of the city sparkled along the water's edge. Closer lay their prey. The limp form was on the rocky beach. One foot still in the water, porcelain perfection in the silvering light of the moon. The three forms crept forward, whining low in their throats. The largest growled, his hackles rising. His great grey head lifted to the moon and let out a long, mournful howl. The animals gathered round the small, still form until the largest turned the body with his muzzle, rolling the woman onto her back. She was dry, except for the foot that had still rested in the lake. She'd pulled herself to shore sometime during the day. Her flesh was cold. The other two lupine forms lay down on top of her. Their furry bodies almost completely covering her as the largest licked at her face. Alix Argent opened her pale lavender eyes to look into a pair of yellow ones. Yellow and primal and beautiful. Her gaze shifted from the eyes of the huge wolf before her, seeming uncaring of the two others currently crushing her as they gave her their body heat. Her eyes locked on the pregnant fullness of the moon above. Crystalline tears fell as her eyes fluttered closed, only to open again, as yellow as the creature's before her, or as golden as his. LaCroix, her mate. She had listened, had taken everything, yet given nothing of herself in return. His dreams of her had been only of the past week, not long enough to know the truth of her nature as she knew his... The change was painless and fluid. Smooth and easy. She shook out of the confining clothing with some help from the others. The two grey forms rose up and moved only slightly away from the silver wolf, staying close enough to provide support and heat. Feed. She needed to feed. Life, hot blood, red meat, the thrill of the hunt... these would help her recover her strength, facilitate the preternatural healing of their kind. She was not so fast as her cousins as they ran through the wood. But they moved back to allow her to bring down the first kill of the night. The frightened hare never stood a chance. Already she felt stronger. Within a day or so she would be back to her usual self, and then she would have to seek out Lucian LaCroix. After all, wolves mate for life... (Ok, comments, good and bad are welcome. Flames used to toast marshmallows for smores. And a question... should I continue this as a series? Basically this CAN stand on its own...)