0 comments/ 71520 views/ 60 favorites Forbidden Moon By: CrimsonScribe He moved easily, quickly in the shadows, black hair brushing his shoulders as he crept across the roof of the abandoned warehouse. The moon was full and the gathering would have been going on. He could feel the power of the old ones and even his old pack, the traitors, the false pretenders to the crown of all shifters. They couldn't feel him because he'd seen to it. With an easy grace, he leapt from one building to another, his body covering the alley below like some flying shadow. Around him stretched a boundless array of possible escapes, if he'd been in the mood to run. The old docks district, riverfront, held a plethora of abandoned buildings with warehouses and gutted factories lining the waterfront under the oppressive shadow of the Casino district, which laid just across the river. He glanced at the vampire haven and it's casinos with narrowed, amber eyes. They would have their day as well, but first, Ian and his pack would pay. There were more pressing matters immediately, however, as he'd scented a human that had strayed into their territory. They were just down the street from a line of night clubs, which meant it might have been one of their more inebriated patrons. No one left that area sober. His muscles bunched and relaxed along his back and arms as he scented the human, a female, and tasted her heartbeat on the air. She wasn't scared, which confused Keadon Argyle to no end. A smirk curved upward, framed meticulously with a goatee, as he realized that the human may not know what she'd gotten herself into. He was willing to bet that the lack of fear would have to mean naivety or ignorance. Without a sound, he fell into a push up position; his hands perched on the edge of the rooftop he'd leapt onto. His straight hair spilled forward to frame his face like black curtains as he watched her move down the alley below him. He needn't look far for his brothers. He couldn't see them, but he knew they were there, waiting, waiting for him to make the first move. His feet made the barest of sounds as he dropped from the rooftop and landed on the pavement. He straightened himself easily and walked casually down the middle of the alley as if he owned it. As far as he was concerned, he did own it. His movements were graceful in leather pants so tight they looked painted on. His feet were bare on the pavement as he walked over all manner of scattered debris, including broken glass and nails. Keadon had stopped sweating the small stuff when every day became a struggle for his life. His brothers, three of the four, fell in line with him, melting outwards from the shadows and falling in line behind and to either side of him as they approached the woman without a sound. All three were bare from the waist up, but Keadon was the only one whose body was marked with a crescent moon tattoo on his left pec, small and upturned above a silver nipple ring. The man at his right was auburn haired and tall, muscular but not enough that he looked as if he lifted weights. Conner, even at a shorter height of five foot ten, was thicker in the shoulders, chest and legs. The third was pale skinned with hair so blonde it looked as if it had been bleached several times and then left in the sun. He was the only other one with jewelry in obvious places, a stud of silver through his nose. When Keadon stopped several steps from the woman, the other two stopped as well, six pairs of amber eyes intent upon her as they sniffed the air. Keadon was the first to speak. "You are surely lost," he said, the barest hint of an Irish accent playing deep in his throat. Gloria knew the informant was supposed to be here. This was the right alley. This was the right night, the right time. She stopped and turned to glance behind her. There was that feeling of being watched. It prickled against her skin like some kind of internal radar. Gloria Velasquez was many things, but she always trusted her intuition. It was telling her that someone was near and each movement was being noted. She couldn't see anything though; the alley appeared just as it had when she walked down it, empty except for the trash and the shadows. Shaking her head she turned and continued down the alley way. A casual movement brought her hands up and under her jacket as if she were a little chilled from waiting so long outside. The tip had come in the day previous and she had been the lucky one to get the job of coming out and meeting the woman. It could have been a trick, but the person had sounded sincere, frightened and was seeking to exchange information for their personal safety from what they had described as a group of blood thirsty monsters that were after her. She lifted her face upwards and stared at the large moon that hung in the sky. The pale surface was much like an eye staring balefully down at her. Uncaring and unconcerned that Gloria was out at the docks instead of home, warm and content. Her fingers curled slowly around the butt of her gun in her shoulder holster as she lowered her head to look ahead of her once more. Those dark eyes sought out the woman that was supposed to be there and wondering if the reason for her absence was, that it was too late and whatever she had been running from had already gotten her. Approaching the end of the alley she came to a stop and looked out over the river. The gleaming lights of the casino shone back at her a beacon in the darkness. Gloria felt a shiver a disgust crawl across her spine. If she had her way that whole island would be sunk. It was a permanent reminder of how far they had to go before this city was free of the supernaturals that lived in it. The voice made her turn. She did so slowly, casually, but those dark brown eyes narrowed slightly as she saw what waited for her. She had expected a woman and instead had gotten three men. Each of them looked different, yet there were some features that appeared similar. She looked at the other two and then let her gaze focus on the one that had spoken. The hand upon her gun tightened slowly as she gave them a look that was clearly chastising. Her tone was without accent and held a superior note in it. "Let me guess, you are here to help me find my way back." She let her gaze drag over him purposefully and then finally return to his eyes. "Thank you, but I'll pass." She noted the lack of shoes, lack of attire and might have written them off as homeless, if not for the power that clung to them and the way their eyes seemed to almost shine. Lush lips compressed into a thin line as she turned and began walking away from the three of them, taking a right and heading along the dock front. There was no fear in her attitude, there was annoyance as if they had done something wrong and she was restraining herself from taking action against them. "I know my way home." She tossed over her shoulder as if dismissing them. Her thumb slowly eased the safety off of her weapon as she moved. She had left work and come to meet the informant and hadn't changed from work. The knee length skirt didn't allow her very large steps, but she stretched her legs to make her walk a brisk one. The jacket she wore was loose but it clearly showed the white dress shirt that was worn beneath it. She wasn't exactly dressed to take on three supernaturals and while Gloria Velasquez was a brave woman, she wasn't stupid. Tactical retreat and a filed report on the encounter would take care of them as soon as a team could be organized. They disappeared from sight as soon as she turned away from them, three figures disappearing into the darkness of the alleys. The peroxide blonde was the first to appear in front of her, his stance easy as he leaned back into his posture and gave her a smile. He was smaller than the other two, thinner with skin so pale it was almost translucent in the light of the full moon. The stud in his nose glimmered with the moonlight and a brownish tint from the light of his pale, amber eyes. "My, my, what long legs ya' have," he said with his smile drifting into a smirk. His accent was purer Irish than the man that had spoken previously, his Hibernian tone carrying softer vowels and harder consonants until his words flowed in a lyrical sort of way. "What's a nice lass like you doin' in a place like this?" His smirk remained, though it became more of a leer as his eyes moved over her body, his tongue dipping outward to moisten his lips. Those spiked heels came to a sudden stop from the click click that followed her with every step when the man appeared before her. She gave him another disapproving look. The tallest of the three came around the corner of the building that the blonde had appeared from, his eyes narrowed, chest raising and falling more quickly than it should have been. He leaned against the brick of the building, his hands pinned behind his bottom as he leaned in a pair of beaten jeans, and his bare feet spread to brace him against the wall. The muscular, black haired man was missing from the line up, but he was watching from nearby, his eyes shimmering in the darkness like two pinpoints of light that caught the moon's luminescence. "You are going to make this difficult aren't you?" She stated the obvious, annoyance in her words now and that hint of a Spanish accent showing itself. "Be a smart man, turn around and walk away while you still have the chance and take your friends with you." She seemed to wait for him to do what she had directed and arched a slender brow upwards when he remained where he was. "You really have no idea who or what I am, do you?" She gave him a look of pity. "No wonder they sent you out here first. Where is the other one? Watching somewhere to see what I do to you while he remains safe?" She took several steps to the side so that she could turn and face the two with her back towards the water. "So let me guess, you are the bait. If I don't kill you, they will come out of hiding eventually. If I do kill you, they get rid of you and let me go?" She seemed to consider the options presented before her. The blonde tilted his head in an almost doglike look of curiosity as she stood up to him, his eyes widening just slightly, but his smile remained. "Now what makes ya' think ya' can kill me, deary? I know what you're not," he said as he knelt on the pavement, remaining in her way, but crouching casually. He glanced down, his fingers painting absently against the stone of the pavement until he found a small pebble, which he flicked away before raising those amber eyes back to her once more. "It does seem that either way you don't exactly win in this situation," Gloria said. There was a slight taunting in her voice as if she were purposefully goading him. Her words were in truth, nothing more than a distraction as she casually glanced around to see if she could spot the missing man who had spoken to her first. She didn't like not knowing where he was while the other two were in front of her. Gloria didn't have much choice in the matter but she had the feeling that continually turning her back on this group would be a dangerous thing to do. Better to face off with them and see exactly what they wanted. She was one of the best interrogators in FBI; she knew how to play one person off another, how to plant doubts and most assuredly how to manipulate a situation with words. "Maybe we dunt see ya' as much of a threat." His smile broadened as he flicked his gaze towards the wall where the second man stood. The larger man, his body lithe compared to the one that had spoken to her previously, but undeniably capable of doing damage, returned the look with a knowing one of his own. "You aren't a vampire," the taller one said simply, his eyes moving to her once more. He pushed away from the wall, his walk easy and graceful despite his lankier frame. He stopped well outside of her reach and her outside of his, his head shaking softly as he tsked his tongue in his mouth. "No, I am not a vampire." That was easily discernable. The way the pale one was acting she guessed that they were wolves. Gloria hadn't actually been close enough to have a conversation with them before. Usually they were large, hairy, hulking masses with few language skills, large teeth and even larger claws. "You also know something of us, don't you?" the tall, lanky man asked. He didn't smile and from the look of his mouth, his face and his general demeanor, he likely didn't smile much at all, if ever. His voice was somber, but without an accent, as if he'd been away from his homeland or in the city for a very long time. His nostrils flared with several sniffs as he tilted his head up and smelled the air, his lips quirking slightly as his body shuddered and then straightened. "You must be packing some heavy hardware to be so unafraid." She watched the two of them and remained calm and poised. It was only her eyes, those dark brown pools that glimmered with anger. Why was it that supernaturals always assumed humans were there personal play toys? Gloria withdrew the gun in her left hand, her finger on the trigger guard and she kept it pointed at the ground, announcing it was there. "This is one of the reasons, though I am wishing there were different bullets in it at the moment." She eased her other hand into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a small container. It was identical to the ones that women normally carried mace in. She flipped off the top casually and placed her finger on the button. "This on the other hand, is something that I think you will like. Do I have a volunteer to see exactly what it will do that will let me walk out of here and leave you all on the ground behind me?" she asked. Her gaze eased between the two of them. The poker game had commenced and they had just been waiting for her to show her cards. It was the can that their gaze went to, their frowns evident as they saw the small, aerosol spray can. The gun was ignored altogether, as if it were little more than a plastic bat or a squirt gun. She could have been carrying rounds meant especially for shifters and for all they knew, she was bluffing about the sort of ammunition she was carrying, but the can could only hold one thing. The blonde and the short haired man straightened and replaced their smiles, a prickling of power the only thing that betrayed what was going on behind her. Keadon let out a low growl as he reached around her and grabbed her wrists, pulling them both down towards the pavement. He pressed his hard body against her back as he did so, his lips moving as his goatee entwined with her hair and brushed her cheek. "A diversion and little more, though I do appreciate you showing your weapons up front like this. We couldn't very well be left guessing," he said in that deep, growling tone. He inhaled deeply with his face pressed against the side of her face, his breath warm and moist against her skin as he let it out in a shuddering breath. The two others were already approaching, albeit cautiously. Even with the woman's hands pinned by that impossibly strong lycanthrope strength, they had respect for the weapons she carried. No scars showed on them, but they'd seen those sorts of weapons used and didn't plan on being on the receiving end of shifter rounds or spray. It was like acid across the skin; a wound so vicious that even their rapid regenerative powers couldn't repair the damage. Keadon's grip was firm on her wrists, his fingertips squeezing hard enough to be painful, but not quite hard enough to grind the bones beneath his fingers to dust. He could if he wanted to, but there would always be time for that if she chose to fight back with her legs. It was a lot like getting hit by a wall and having that wall land on top of her. She found herself face first on the pavement. Large hands gripped her wrists and the scrape of her fingers across the pavement as she struggled to hold onto the weapons from the force of the impact that knocked the wind out of her. She hadn't been expecting the creature to come up behind her. She grimaced as the thing on her spoke. She felt her cheeks flush in humiliation but kept quiet at the taunt. She quickly went over her options. They weren't very promising for her at this point and she knew that in those next few moments, they would decide if she lived or if she died. Gloria was a fighter; she would do whatever it took to ensure that creatures such as these wouldn't harm another living soul even if she had to give her own life to see it happen. The blonde spoke as he approached his head shaking as he chuffed out a light, melodic chuckle. "I'll kill the little blonde one," he said with a high pitch to his voice, as if he were taunting her by mimicking her. "We're lucky you're not a vampire, love. Our tastes run a wee bit warmer blooded," he said with a wink, that Irish accent thick as he chose the hand that she held her gun in and yanked the firearm out of her grip, breaking her trigger finger if she'd slipped it into the trigger guard. "My tastes run to those that don't lick their own ass." She countered as she began to writhe under the muscled frame that covered her. When the blonde came closer she tightened her hand around the canister she held, knowing exactly what they did, the gun was of little use other than a minor annoyance. The bullets in them would do no more damage than if she had stuck them with a pointy stick. When he leaned forward to grab the gun she loosened her fingers and simply let him take it, she also depressed the button on the canister and let the clear liquid spray outwards. Hopefully she caught either the blonde's hand and arm or the one atop of her as he held her wrist. It would do absolutely nothing to her, but she had seen it tested on video and had watched as the creatures flesh disintegrated as if it had been dunked in hydrochloric acid. The blonde man, Boyd Banning, tossed the gun unceremoniously into the water once he'd retrieved it, but took several, impossibly fast steps back as he heard the tell-tale sound of a spray can being used. The words were no sooner from his mouth before the taller man began to scream, loud and uninhibited, almost a baying howl. The flesh ate upward from his fingers, sizzling and stinking in the air with a smell that overpowered the salty smell of the river. Keadon's face twisted with anger, his grip coming harder against her wrist until her fingers ceased to work under the constricted lack of blood flow. The faintest sound of splintering could be heard from Gloria's wrist, a small break meant to cause her pain, and it would. Gloria didn't so much hear the bones in her wrist cracking under the pressure as much as felt it. She gave a muffled scream and her first instinct was to pull her wrist away from what was causing it pain. The canister was held as long as she was able to, but that didn't seem long enough in her mind even as she heard that eerie scream that told her she had at least gotten one of them. It all happened in a matter of seconds as the gangly werewolf held his arm away, his neck straining painfully to keep from his arm whilst the sizzling substance crawled up his skin, revealing bone and leaving parts of his muscle and blood to drop in wet globs on the pavement. "Do it," Keadon said, his tone a growling issuance of dominance and command. As soon as he spoke, Boyd was in motion, moving towards the large werewolf almost too fast for the eyes to catch, the blonde wolf's hand ripping apart with vicious claws that sprung from within him. A quick swipe and a louder scream and the large, skinny werewolf's arm was severed at the elbow, leaving that boiling mass of flesh that had been his arm to fall to the pavement. Blood gushed from the wound. With her wrist broken, Keadon released Gloria's right hand and went for the spray can, tossing it into the river and in one, sweeping motion, he returned his hand downward to tear her jacket open at the back, ripping it clear of her arms and nicking her back enough to draw thin lines of blood. Forbidden Moon The jacket was torn away and the nails that scraped her back had her arching upwards, her breasts towards the ground as the material was literally ripped from her. Tears sprung to her eyes but she knew she was fighting for her life and refused to let them fall. Realizing that the motion gave her some leeway and she used it to twist and bring her hand upwards to try to scratch at the creatures eyes that still held her. He tossed the jacket to Boyd, who grabbed his screaming pack mate and jerked him to the ground. His strength over the other werewolf was remarkable as he tossed him like a pile of rags to the pavement and applied the shredded cloth of Gloria's jacket to the wound. The blood stopped slowly, several quiet moments echoing their heartbeats and breaths down the alleys of the riverfront. When the screaming stopped, Boyd gripped the thin, leather belt that he'd been wearing as a fashion accessory and pulled it out of his pants. The pants didn't waver a bit and continued to have that same painted-on look that Keadon's had. He used the belt to tighten the shreds of jacket over the large werewolf's wound, which simply whimpered and eyed Boyd with a distant look of fear in his amber eyes. Boyd rocked the larger werewolf slowly in his arms, muttering quietly between glances of pure malice towards Gloria, that roguish, Irish smile faded in favor of pure, controlled anger. Keadon batted her hands away as if they were merely a nuisance and jerked Gloria to her feet and started her walking towards one of the alley ways, his cheek pressed tight against her hair, hard enough to tilt her neck at a painful angle. The attack didn't last long as she was yanked to her feet. Dark brown eyes glanced towards the two men as she was dragged along. Noting the look her features twisted in anger. Her voice held that heavy Hispanic touch as she spoke. "You could have just let me go. It's your own damn fault." She didn't get to say anything else or see anything else as the hand in her hair yanked her head back and those tears she had been holding spilled down her cheeks as the pain in her wrist throbbed in time with the pain that was spreading through her scalp and echoing down her back where the pristine white shirt was ripped and colored with the lines of crimson. "You'll pay for that one," Keadon said quietly, the growl still evident in his voice. She hissed in anger despite her tears or the pain. "No, you'll pay for it. They know where I am and they will come looking with more than just a single can when I don't report back in." She cradled her wrist upwards and between her breasts to keep the injury as far away from the creature as she could. It left her with only her off hand, her left hand to use and that wasn't much against a pissed off werewolf. "Theh won' be enough uh ya for them ta find," he said in a guttural tone, his normally eloquent speech slurred with anger, so much so that his accent was more richly evident in his voice. They'd walked ten yards or so down the alleyway before he pushed her into one of the abandoned buildings, though the interior was much different than one might expect of an abandoned factory. The husks of giant machines were still there, old paint cans and the like strewn about the floor, but most of the clutter was packed into corners. The rest of the place was lit by candles, large candelabras standing in a circle at the center of the room. As she was pulled into the warehouse, she blinked her eyes against those points of light. The tears she was trying to banish making the flames glimmer. She took in what she could of her surroundings. Around and between the candelabras were various pieces of worn, torn furniture and a bit deeper into the shadows at one corner of the somewhat large room, lay four stacks of mattresses, piled two at a time with old sheets and pillows strewn across them. Three of the beds were uninhabited, but one was still being used. The movement there was caught by Keadon's alert gaze as he checked the room to insure that they were, indeed, safe. The only visible portions of Micheal were his back and buttocks as he thrust in time with a soft whimpering that would have come from the woman beneath him, though only her thighs were visible as they spread around his own, one bent at a thirty degree angle with a dainty foot pressing hard against the mattress, as if she were trying to arch her back. He knew well enough that it was pain that had the woman mobile, not pleasure as one might have thought at first glance. Gloria heard the sounds of flesh striking flesh above her own breathing and when they moved past the candles and her vision cleared she saw what was making the sounds. Keadon stopped Gloria within viewing range of the bed, moving around one of the candelabras so that the scene on the bed could be viewed more clearly, without a glare of light to blind any onlookers. The woman was heavy in places that she should be, with only a bit of weight around her center to mark her as one of the more well fed citizens of the city. Her full breasts bounced with each thrust of Micheal's hips, a thrusting that didn't cease as he turned his pale, amber gaze towards where Keadon stood with a handful of Gloria's hair. Michael's skin was dark, even in the light of the candles, a deep olive that would have made his descent more Mediterranean than the other wolves. His eyes were the same color however, glinting with delight as he gave the two a wicked smile and thrust harder into the woman beneath him, drawing a cry from her bruised lips. Her voice was strained, as if she'd been screaming for a long time and simply didn't have the voice for it any longer. Gloria tried to turn her head away from the sight. Not wanting to witness the creature having sex with some unknown victim but the hand in her hair didn't give her that luxury. She watched as the creature turned towards her and gave a leering grin. If she got out of this, she would remember that face and see it melt off his bones before she was finished with him. Keadon felt himself stir at the sight, his nostrils flaring with a deep inhale of sweaty sex as it permeated from the couple. His free hand drifted downward, fingers curling into the fabric of Gloria's skirt at the apex of her thighs, as he pulled her bottom in a dragging motion against his groin, the evidence of his arousal hard and firm against her. She felt the hand that cupped her body, pulling it back against the hardness she couldn't help but feel pressing against the curves of her bottom. The small motions that rubbed her through the fabric combined with his words made her struggle against the hold that he had on her. "We found her just a block from where we found you," he said, his voice an intimate, breathy sound that was like a flipped switch from the angry tones he'd used earlier. "She seemed terrified, already broken, so I let my second, Michael, have her." His fingers moved slightly against the fabric of Gloria's skirt, where he'd bunched it up against the apex of her thighs. "You weren't afraid, even here. It was intriguing, so I saved you for me." "Afraid? Afraid of what? You?" She said with clear defiance as she brought that spiked heel upwards and then down sharply aiming for the instep of his foot. It wasn't much of a weapon but it was a weapon at her disposal. "Not in your wildest dreams, dog." She used that left elbow and brought it back sharply as if to take the wind from him. Doubting it would, but it might surprise him, her sudden attack. It might give her precious moments to break the hold that he had on her. He hissed as she stomped down on his foot, the pain evident in the sound and then gone again as the hiss broke into a soft chuckle. His arms moved, his grip releasing her as she elbowed him in the stomach and made him double over from the force and surprise of the blow. She stumbled forward as he released her and immediately turned so that her back was towards one of the walls and she could see the two on the mattresses and the man who stood before her. Her wrist was still held protectively against her chest and her other hand was in the form of a fist as it rested by her side. She gave a quick glance towards the door as if judging the distance and then looked back to Keadon. Several steps were taken in that direction as she increased the distance between herself and the others in the room. It took him two deep breaths before he straightened and put pressure on his hurting foot. The foot was healing quickly and he would be able to walk without pain in the span of a minute. She was responding just how he'd envisioned of a woman that could walk into the riverfront fearless amongst vampires, exiles and werewolves. He wasn't sure if they'd realized werewolves existed in the riverfront and was sure that he didn't want the FBI to find his hiding spot. He held both hands out, his smile evident as he watched Gloria with a predatory interest. "Right, if you were afraid, it wouldn' have been this much fun," he said in a taunting voice. Michael seemed unaffected by the show, either pleasure or trust in his pack leader driving him to ignore the display and grip the woman's legs. He pulled them upward and rested them against the muscular plane of his chest, her calves bouncing against his upper chest as he gripped her by the waist and spread his thighs enough to press into her harder and faster. She let out a sound that sounded two parts weeping and one part moaning as her fingers gripped into the mattress hard enough to cause dimples in the sheets that covered the mattress. She wasn't trying to fight back, wasn't trying to get away and from the looks of her face, she had tried it and it hadn't worked very well. The thrusting continued from Michael, his breath hot and quick as he panted. The woman whimpered as he leaned forward, his hips still bucking and driving himself into her as he spread her legs and rested his weight against her body, one of his hands moving to her bruised chin, which he captured with a thumb and forefinger. The woman parted her lips and bucked against him as he touched a painful spot, but let her head be turned towards where Keadon and Gloria stood. Her hands fluttered against his massive arms, muscles bulging with restraint, as he drew his tongue slowly across her skin, leaving unmarked flesh where bruises had mottled her skin previously. The woman gasped as his tongue moved across the bruises, her body convulsing as a moan was torn from her throat, a ragged sound that was barely loud enough to be heard over the burning candles. Her body spasmed and then relaxed. The flush of heat to her face was enough to know that she'd climaxed and still had modesty enough to be embarrassed by it. Gloria tried very hard to ignore the sounds of sex, of pleasure and of pain that were coming from that corner. It brought images of her own encounters to her mind and she was disgusted to find herself a little aroused by the scene. Seeing Keadon reminded her of her priorities and the number one was, to get out of this alive. Her words were laced with that heavy accent that showed her temper as well as her mental state. Gone were the unemotional words and distance that she tried to keep from the world. "So let me get this straight. Your own kind are too much for you, or won't have anything to do with you. So you prey upon helpless women. Drunk, helpless women. You don't even have the guts to go and get them alone. You have to hunt together. So it took what, four of you to get this one human? Oh yeah, big bad werewolves aren't you. I am just trembling in my shoes over here." She took another two steps as she spoke. Continuing to move towards that door she had been drug through. He nodded with a smile as she spoke, his hands out at his sides, fingers spread apart with only one more glance back to where Michael and the woman lay on the bed before giving Gloria his full attention. The front of his leather pants bulged with a shining hint of erection, the candlelight playing against the supple leather enough to show that he was, indeed, enjoying the night. He inhaled deeply as he walked towards her, his pace steady and slow like a predator that would catch you no matter how fast you ran. "You have almost everything correct, with only a few exceptions. The woman isn't and was never drunk. She actually admitted to having a meeting tonight with someone. Given the traffic in this neighborhood, I can only assume that that someone was you," he said easily, his voice not sounding the least bit angry or frustrated. The moon rode high and his power was a prickling essence beneath his skin. It was hungry and if he wasn't going to spill blood then lust was the only way of overcoming his hunger. He moved quickly, impossibly fast, around one of the candelabras and paused by the door such that she nearly bumped into him as she moved for it. One moment he was there and the next, he wasn't. She turned and darted towards the door only to come up short as he stood between her and the exit. She narrowed her eyes at him in anger. She had played enough cat and mouse games inside of the interrogation room to know when she was being played with herself, inside or outside of it. She took a step back away from him, giving her a little more room. She realized that the display of speed was more for show than anything else. He was informing her that it was fruitless to attempt what she was doing. Not that it mattered. Gloria Velasquez didn't quit. She did what needed to be done, always, no matter the cost. He took another deep breath while she'd been closer to him and shuddered lightly, the full muscles of his chest and stomach clenching and then relaxing. "And no, you are not trembling yet, but you will be," he said, one brow arching over his amber eyes as he licked his lips and whispered the rest such that she could hear it. "This is turning you on. I can smell it." She felt a moment's pity for the woman who had wanted to speak with FBI. It was a bad choice of location to meet, not that Gloria had, had any sort of choice in the matter. The woman had named the location and the time and then hung up. The trace had located a public phone and nothing more. Now, they were both down here and in more trouble than Gloria cared to consider. She made a soft sound and glanced to the door beyond his stocky frame before looking back towards him. "What you smell is your own stink. Try bathing," she taunted as she began moving towards the nearest pile of debris. It was a long shot but maybe she could find something there to use against him, against them. If nothing else there were always the candles perhaps something here was flammable besides the mattress the woman and the creature were on. She didn't want Keadon to be right and she was going to deny it until the bitter end, even if he was. Her breathing came a little faster, small pulls of air that were released so another could take her place. Her temper was still riding high and the pain in her back and wrist were helping to keep it in place, even if the pain in her head from where her hair had been pulled was thankfully fading. The salty diamonds on her lashes were drying with every blink that kept those brown hues focused upon him. He pushed away from the door and sped towards her, his bare feet carrying him gracefully past her in a blur of black, wavy hair and lithe muscle. He scratched once more, this time down her left thigh, leaving soft trails of claw marks, the barest hint of blood and her skirt torn to pieces. She blinked as her eyes tried to focus on the movement that was simply too fast for her to see. The scratches down her thigh brought with them a burning and the touch of moisture that told her she was bleeding again. The pain came moments later as the cloth that had been her skirt fell to the ground around those high heels she wore. Her heart beat loudly in her chest and she stopped moving and searched for where he had ended up. It was almost like seeing a fox suddenly finding itself before a wolf and trying to determine just how she could remove herself from it's territory. When he stopped moving, he was crouched near the pile of debris that she'd been moving to, his body masked by shadow and only barely evident as a slightly darker shadow amongst other shadows. The only evidence to a casual look that he was there at all were the two pinpoints of hazel, shining in the darkness like a wolf's eyes caught in the beam of a flashlight. Instead, it was the flicker of candlelight that caught that gaze and illuminated it. His voice echoed from the corner, still soft and intimate with a low growl teasing the bass tones of his speech. "Had one. And recently. Surely your kind knows of our habits on the night of the Mother," he said, hinting at the Gaelic heritage of his pack and most wolf packs. She spotted him by that pile of debris she had been moving to. She darted her tongue out and moistened her lips. Gloria reviewed her options once more even as she spoke. "My kind? Ah, you mean the kind that doesn't kidnap and molest women. Yes, we know all about bathing. We know about manners also. Would you care for a lesson?" She didn't know why she had to goad tigers, in this case, wolves. She just couldn't help herself. The words came out before she could stop them. He laughed softly. She was truly a magnificent animal. So much so that he caught himself thinking of her as one of their own, a dangerous play on his mind that could cost her her life before he would realize what he'd done. They couldn't take near the damage a lycanthrope could, humans, and he reminded himself of the fact as he shifted on his haunches where he knelt in the shadows. She didn't take time to think about what she must look like. The long strands of her dark brown hair had been pulled down earlier in the car on the way here, now they spread around her shoulders in small tangles. The white dress shirt had been tucked in and was now loose around her thighs, showing just a hint of the stocking that stopped just beneath the edge of the shirt. She knew that the stockings were sculpting each limb, the lines of crimson slowly dripping down onto that silk. Gloria felt the back of her shirt in tatters and she could feel the cool drafts tugging at the material as she shifted her weight so that she was, hopefully, better able to defend herself. His eyes roamed her body from the shadows, taking in every nuance as he continued to sniff lightly at the air, taking in the scent of her arousal and the hint of fear that made his hardened length ache with need. "Run if you like. I have all night," he said with a hint of white teeth baring in the darkness, his smile evident even in the shadows. She reached down with her good hand and eased one heel from her foot and tossed it aside. Removing the other shoe she turned it so that the heel could be used as a weapon of sorts, if she could hit someplace vulnerable, perhaps his eyes or his throat. Those exotic features were set in a stubborn cast and she lifted her chin as if saying it was his move. "I don't run, I fight." Her words struck him as utterly arousing as she mentioned fighting, something both seductive and naïve about them as they were uttered past the full lips of a nearly undressed woman holding a high heel as her only weapon against a werewolf. He found a profound respect for her with that one sight. He tilted his head one way and then the other, black strands of hair falling to cover one of his eyes so that only one pinpoint of reflected light shone out from the shadows near the pile of debris. He rocked back on the balls of his feet for a moment, considering her words, but more importantly, her body, that penetrating stare full of lustful need and a hunger that could not have been explained if he'd tried. The moon was pure and white outside, shining almost brightly enough to bring a sort of daytime to the street outside the door of the old factory. She wouldn't wait long for him to mate or fight, hunt and kill or taste passion through a woman. At the moon's peak, he would lose a great deal of control and taste flesh one way or another. The moon had caught him in a lie. He didn't have all night. Forbidden Moon "Then fight," he said, his voice quiet and confident. He would enjoy any damage she caused him. It would only make the ache between his legs harder to deny and quicker to sate. He loped forward on all fours faster than any human should have been able to. The human body simply wasn't designed to move that quickly, that fluidly, on both hands and feet. He moved upward from beneath her, his hands lightning quick as he dug his shoulder into her stomach hard enough to knock the wind from her lungs. He stood then, his arm wrapping around her body and his fingers holding tight against her thigh as he lifted her without any care for where her dress shirt went when he did so. He felt her hose beneath his fingertips and the heat of the skin beneath as he carried her back towards the mattresses. She was an agile person. She stretched everyday. Her body was toned and she was lethal in hand to hand combat. It wasn't her strongest attribute, but she knew it might save her life someday. It didn't do much for her with the werewolf coming at her so fast that she didn't even have time to dodge out of the way. There was only that sharp pain in her stomach as she was lifted upwards and hefted over his shoulder. Her lungs burning and the sudden jolt to her wrist made her give a soft cry outwards, using what little air she had left before she sucked in a heaping gulp to compensate for what had been lost. His words rung in her mind and triggered her into action even as he moved. She twisted in the arm that held her. That spiked heel coming down against his back and digging into his skin under the force of her strikes, leaving small bloody holes that would have made a human man drop her in an instant. His fingers dug into the skin of her thighs, tight pressure points that might have inflicted pain, but he stopped walking and simply stood there as she beat that high heel into his back. His back arched a bit, as if he were shifting to give her more access to it, his growling coming in soft, measured tones next to her bottom as it perched bare on his shoulder. He cooed softly as the skin of his back knitted and reknitted around the wounds, blood pouring in lines down his back as he fought the lust he felt at the scent. Drawing blood would normally have been a bad idea, would normally have sent him into a frenzy, but she'd gained something in him and he wasn't even sure he'd kill her when the night was through. Gloria Velasquez had never seen the healing capabilities of a werewolf up close and personal. She had seen them from a distance, a quick glance before another shot was fired, but this was way beyond anything she had ever imagined. Her breathing came in soft gasps as she realized the extent of the damage this creature could take. Without the can of toxins she was literally fighting against something that could be run over by a car and get up and walk away. That didn't stop her though, she continued to beat against his back as much as she was able from her current position, and she wouldn't just let things happen without some sort of fight. No amount of damage would stop him. He'd have his way with her because that was the only choice he had next to death. He would taste passion, through violence or sex and that much of their pact with the moon was non-negotiable, but without the ample hunting grounds that had once been their home, there was no easy way to do as the Moon Goddess demanded. They were exiles and were paying their penance. They were made a threat to mankind in the hopes that they would be exterminated by those outside the pack, their crimes so complete that the pack had shunned them and didn't even slaughter them themselves. The Spanish curses that fell from her lips were inventive and proved that she hadn't always dressed in business attire and high heels. They were words that expressed her anger, her fear and perhaps even a little bit of her arousal as she struggled in that hold. He began to walk as he listened to the noises she made, those holes in his back patching and welling with blood only to scab and cover before her eyes as he moved gracefully towards the largest of the four mattresses. Her battered wrist, she kept as close to her body as possible even as she used that other hand to inflict as much damage as she possibly could. Her legs flailed upwards at the knees as if she might strike him in the head. The fall to the ground would be worth it in her mind as long as she could escape the hold that the creature had on her. When she could no longer think of any good curses she parted her lips and simply bit him. Those white teeth gripping and digging into his skin until blood filled her mouth, it was then and only then that she released him and spit out the coppery fluid onto the floor. She wasn't going to sit docile and be raped and murdered. She was going to fight with every part of her that she could. The blankets were clean and smelled of fabric softener, something that might have seemed out of place in the dingy old factory, as he threw her onto the mattresses and knelt immediately downward to turn her over and onto her stomach. He wasted little time in wrenching her arms behind her back, pressing deliberately against her broken wrist in hopes of drawing a gasp from her or heightening the fear that he was riding like a warm rush of adrenaline. Gloria felt herself falling and braced for the impact, expecting cold hard floor and instead finding herself on a mattress. The act was done without conscious thought, and she used that injured wrist to help break her fall. She cried out and cradled her wrist back to her chest and brought her foot upwards towards Keadon's face hoping to connect with his jaw in retaliation. When strong hands gripped her and flipped her over she tried to lift herself upwards on her good hand and her knee's and crawl forward away from him as he knelt by her. She didn't get far before her arms were captured and pulled behind her. She gave an involuntary groan as he pressed into that cracked bone causing pain to shoot up her arm and pressed her face into the mattress to stifle the sound before she shot her foot outwards again, hoping to connect with something vulnerable, it was a purely instinctual action. She wasn't looking at him, but she had a general idea of where he was kneeling over her. He made a soft sound as her leg connected with his own, though the reaction was a guttural growl of arousal rather than pain. Keadon liked being hurt, liked receiving and inflicting pain and he wouldn't bother hiding that fact. Lifting her face, she twisted slightly to be able to glare at him over the line of her shoulder. Her back was on fire once more, those lines from his claw visible through the shreds of her shirt where it had been sliced earlier. The tanned skin showing angry red marks to match the fire burning in her eyes that promised she was going to gut him, skin him and then use his carcass as a rug before the fireplace. He used one hand to pin her arms against the small of her back as he let his free hand roam the curves of her legs. She was a truly magnificent creature and so full of fire that it was a wonder to him that she was even human. Most humans begged the way Michael's toy for the night had begged, demanding little more respect than the female agent below him had said his people gave humans. In his pack, like every pack, respect was earned and she was arousing more than the thickness that stretched the front of his leather pants. The feeling of his hands against her skin was intolerable. Her mind scrambled to find a way out. A way to stop this and get free, to turn and fight and make sure he never touched another person again, especially her. Those soft panted breaths came quickly and were bathed in the heat of her anger as it was pushed past those lush lips. Gloria closed her eyes tightly and willed her body to feel nothing but the pain, but it wasn't listening. Instead she felt those stirrings of arousal as her body responded to the methodical caresses that explored her. He let his hands roam as he moved his legs and straddled her calves, his body upright behind her own as he let his palm glide up against soft hose and softer skin beneath it, until his hand delved up and beneath the covering of her silk shirt. His touches were slow, controlled and deliberate with each touch of his fingertips as he explored her body. He knew he was hurting her with his grip around her wrists and the thought brought a heightened level of arousal to the game that had him making soft sounds in the back of his throat, little breathy growls of pure lust. He used his free hand to reach up to where his eyes had been lingering, the scent of blood and the sight of it where his claws had met with the flesh of her back. His fingertips were already touched with blood from the scratches at her thigh and waist where he'd removed her skirt, but they were considerably more so as he drew his fingertips against the claw marks on her back. The wounds were a bit deeper than the ones on her thigh and welled with blood under his touch as he pressed against them in a gentle, raking motion that drew his fingers down her skin. Those soft growls made her close her eyes tighter as if she might block out the sound with the motion. The sound of her own gasping cry mingled with those sounds as fingertips ran over the clean cuts across her back. She could smell the blood and knew it was her own as well as his, though he had no marks to show for it. She felt each inch he traveled up her body and shifted beneath him as much as she was able as if to deny him the pleasure of doing something as simple as touching. He eased forward with on his knees, walking languidly and drawing leather against her legs that was warm with his body's heat as he inched upward and rested the line of his erection against the swell of her bottom. The press of the hardness against the soft curves had her body moistening and she felt that shaft of humiliation go through her as she renewed her struggles beneath him. That lithe form twisting as much as she was able even though she felt the pull of her arms and the increased pressure upon that broken wrist. It was enough to bring a fresh bout of tears to her eyes and another gasp from her lips. His movements had been gentle up until that point, but he ripped her shirt open from the back unceremoniously as if he'd suddenly lost patience with the fabric. It lay in tatters around her form, her back bare, save the straps of her bra that had been cut by his claws previously. The sleeves of her shirt and the straps of her bra were nearly the only fabric left by the time he was done, leaving her back bare to him and those claw marks showcased down and to either side of her spine. The tearing of the fabric was what had her stilling again as the pieces that were torn floated down to the mattress. Each small rock of his hips made her shift down into the mattress with the weight and her own desire to escape the touch. He rocked his hips gently in a grinding motion against the curve of her bottom, bringing his leather encased shaft to brush against her as he released her hands and waited a split second for the inevitable. When he released her hands, he was sure she'd try to get them under her to protect what clothing she had left, perhaps she would even try to put weight on her broken wrist and push herself up from beneath him for all the good it would do her. So he released her and when she moved her hands, he was ready and grabbed them once more, this time moving them to either side of her head, his grip pinning them down by her forearms. When she felt that release of her hands, she immediately brought her arms forward, cradling her broken wrist beneath her face as if she might protect it from further abuse. "No!" The word was a demand as her forearms were grabbed and pinned to the bed. She turned her head and those plush lips parted, exposing teeth for a moment as they caught his arm and bit down hard enough to break skin once more. The gasps brought a flush of warmth to his body. Her ragged cries were like music on the air that stoked the fires that burned inside of him with the light of the full moon bearing down hard outside the building. He could feel it like some massive presence that both comforted him and drove him down a thin line of madness. His control was faltering and the toned body shifting beneath his arousal only contributed to its abandoning him. A shudder ran down his body that was felt against the lush curve of her bottom as she bit down on his arm, fresh blood pouring onto the mattress and filling the air with its coppery scent. He inhaled deeply, his muscles tensing and relaxing as he ground harder against her. Blood and sex were thick on the air, not just with Michael and his toy across the room in a different pool of shadow, but beneath and around Keadon as well. He had a teasing taste of her and wanted more, so much so that she and the moon were the only things he was aware of. He bent his elbows and craned his back downward, nuzzling his face against the fresh blood at her back, his low growling rumbling deep in his throat and vibrating his skin against her own as he drew his tongue along one of the raked, bloody lines on her back. Every inch of his tongue's passage was felt as pain followed sharply with a soothing warmth as the wounds closed under his mouth, his lips pressing downward and suckling against the bloody line with every inch that he moved upward. The shift of his body was felt as that shudder ran down his form and into her own. Had she caused him pain? The question was answered as the rocking of his hips became something more, it became a grind that promised a lust fulfilled. She grimaced a the feeling of his face against her back, nuzzling it in a twisted fashion as if he were enjoying the slick feeling of her blood and the uneven edges of her skin. With the small moves of his face it brought a wave of pain through her. The feeling of his tongue brought a point to the pain, making it focused upon that single line on her back even as she curved her back forward as if to escape it. The soothing warmth washed away that centered agony and made her mind whirl. Those eyes that had snapped open closed of their own accord. It was such a contrast to the other torments that were felt each time she shifted, moved or attempted something new to remove herself from the situation. She felt her body clench at the intimate moist touch and for a moment she hated herself for enjoying the small bit of pleasure he was offering. He could taste her blood, her perspiration, a sweet and salty taste that caused another slight shudder to run through him. He healed just one of his scratches, enough pain mixed with pleasure that the wash of relief would likely have her muscles relaxing under him, at least with anyone that had less fight in them than the woman beneath him, or without the pain of a broken wrist to prevent it. There would be time for the wrist, but first he wanted to hurt her and pleasure her. He lowered his mouth near to her own, his tongue flicking against her lips to taste his blood upon them where she dug into his wrist with her teeth. His voice was low, breathy and filled with that deep, intimate growl as he spoke. "Our urges aren't so different. You have them too," he said as he let his erection press against the swell of her bottom, his hips grinding with every shifting motion she gave him. "To fight, to kill," he released her broken wrist and kept hold of the other one, wrenching his skin from her teeth as he did so. Those muscles were tense beneath him, hard lines that were clearly visible beneath the tanned skin, but she could feel the center of her thong moisten with her desire. When he moved and leaned closer to her, she could feel the brush of his hair against her cheek, the heat of his breath and the touch of his tongue in a lick that captured more of those crimson droplets. She wanted to deny his words, deny that growl, deny this whole situation. When he wrenched his wrist away she spit that had filled her mouth towards him. Cradling her own wrist closer to her body, letting it rest just beneath her chin where it couldn't be struck or twisted easily. "There is a difference between us, I don't take what isn't mine, I don't kill innocents, I don't attack people simply because they are there." His wrist was still bleeding even as he snaked it between their bodies, his fingers loosing the ties of his pants and urging them downward until his warm flesh was pressed between the globes of her bottom and grinding light friction against the cloth of her thong. "To fuck under the pale moon and taste it on another's skin," he said with a soft, throaty voice that sighed contently with his manhood free of its bonds and nestled intimately against her. She heard the rustle of clothing and realized that it could only be one thing. "NO!" She twisted her upper body once more, her hip following suit as she used the elbow of her free hand to help accomplish the task even as she felt the silken heat of that hardness rubbing her skin. "Even you can understand the word No!" He took advantage as she shifted to one side and slipped his free hand beneath her upper body, his hand cupping her breast through the sheer fabric of her bra. His claws dimpled the skin and then broke it, thin drops of blood running down the five marks that circled the globe of her breast. His legs were unyielding around her thighs as she shifted, leaving only her upper body to face him. The fire in her eyes was an aphrodisiac and the more she threatened, the more she fought and the more she resisted him, the more he wanted her. It was a dominance game; one that he would win, but without the fight there was little pleasure in victory. His eyes bored into her own, a beast and pure fire behind his amber gaze alongside some animal intelligence that looked entirely inhuman and otherworldly. He let his hardened shaft grind against her bottom with even more friction as his eyes flicked down to her blood stained lips. She felt that cry torn from her lips as the hand that encompassed the full globe of her breast ended in sharp points that threatened to pierce her skin and then did. The sheer bra she wore was little defense against the claws that tore through it. A shudder moved through her and she attempted to twist away from the touch once more as if it somehow offended her. She could feel each inch of his body as it pushed against the soft surface of her bottom, driving her hips downwards with each shift of his body. He rubbed that length against her skin and the small piece of cloth that separated her body fully from his. She gasped as he leaned forward to lick the blood from her bottom lip, the swipe of warmth, of moisture, the touch of breath that for a moment left her staring at him before she snapped her teeth in response, leaning forward slightly to do so. It was a quick, affectionate lick and was made so to insure that she didn't get any ideas on biting something else. Everything she'd done to him had felt good in different ways, but he doubted having his tongue bitten off, no matter how quickly it grew back, would be pleasurable. He released both of her hands as she propped herself on her elbow, his knee moving from one side of her legs to drive down between her thighs, bruising her skin until she parted them for his leg as he put his weight on it. The quicker she parted them, the less damage his knee would do, short of the inevitable, initial bruising. Her body was aching from the wounds it had received, she knew that none of them were life threatening but that didn't stop those darting pains from reminding her of each one. The pressure of his leg as it shifted between her own was met with resistance. She clamped her legs together to stop the invasion that would lead down a path she didn't even want to contemplate though her body clearly lusted for. "No!" It was a demand, an order for him to cease, to stop the insanity that was plaguing him. If he were human, she wouldn't be in this position. He wasn't human. With her uninjured hand released she brought it upwards. Fingers curled into a fist as she aimed for his face, his throat attempting to stop the increasing pressure against her legs. He was incredibly strong but she had to resist, she tried to resist until the agony of her legs being crushed became too much to contain and they parted. The muscles giving out despite her will for them to remain steadfast.