My Ren, My Werewolf

A/N: Hey, it's been a while. I've been wanting to write a werewolf story for Skip Beat for a while now, but I didn't really know where to start. So, after thinking about it for a few months. This is where I decided to begin. I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I do not not own Skip Beat! or any of its characters. That honor and privilege goes to Nakamura sensei, may she continue writing Skip Beat! for many years to come.

Prologue

My Dad was my hero. The only mixed-blood in the history of our clan's 400 year legacy to have gained the approval of the entire Hizuri Clan, even after marrying a human. I wanted to live up to my father's legacy, to surpass even his greatness within the clan... I wanted to prove to the clan that I could beat the odds. That I was as worthy of their approval as my father was before me.

Though there were once many werewolf clans scattered throughout Japan, only three clans remained after the turn of the 20th century. The oldest and weakest of the three clans was the Hizuri clan. Outnumbering the other two clans by a factor of four or more, the Hizuri clan was especially proud of their ability to blend in seamlessly with human society. The majority of the Hizuri clan no longer had the power to completely change into wolves, however, the charm and magnetism of their lupine ancestors was still very much present in their descendants, especially in those who had decided to make their living out in the public.

As werewolves living in a human-dominated world, every Hizuri had been trained to wield enormous self-control in the face of what they would have to deal with for the rest of their lives once they turned 21 – the savage instincts and appearance of a wolf that would arise if they ever allowed their emotions to get out of hand. For this reason, many in the Hizuri clan chose professions that would make use of and polish that self-control. Although they no longer needed to worry about changing into a wolf under the light of the full moon, the moon was still a variable that, left unchecked, could ruin a werewolf's life. A werewolf would die on the new or full moon. No exceptions. How long you survived after entering adulthood was a testament to your strength of will, your self-control and your ability to find comrades to rely on in times of need.

Every month the full moon shines its light on me, every month the black sky on the night of the new moon taunts me. Every month I hurt. My body hurts from the light of the full moon. My mind aches from the darkness of the new moon. I feel as if I will be ripped apart, shredded from the inside by these feelings. I will survive. I will show them. I will not be a slave to the moon. I will not be a slave to anyone. Every day I tell myself, "I will survive." Every night I tell myself, "I am the one in charge. These instincts do not rule me." I love my mother, but she cannot understand my pain. I love my father, but he has already conquered his pain. Every month I suffer alone, every month I train to be stronger. Every month, I dream of the day my life is no longer bound to the moon.

As a tightly knit community, werewolves rarely married outside of their own kind. There was no rule against marrying humans, but many within the clans frowned upon the practice. There were too many tragic stories of werewolves falling in love with humans, only to be tormented by the fear and horror of their loved ones, who usually ran away, children or not, never looking back. Every child of the Hizuri clan had heard of these stories, usually from a member of the family who had experienced such a traumatic incident.

There was one other reason why many of their kind avoided mating with humans – werewolves with mixed blood were much more likely to express long dormant genetic traits passed on from their ancestors. Ironically, it was as if the dilution of their bestial blood was required if the clan wished to have more powerful offspring. The greater the dilution, the more powerful and the more dangerous the offspring became.

In essence, those of mixed blood were the creatures closest in resemblance to the werewolves of long ago. Stronger and more feral than their full-blooded brethren, those of mixed blood were feared and reviled within the werewolf community, for good reason. Those of mixed blood had more difficulty suppressing their bestial instincts during their younger years, often becoming a danger to themselves as well as their clan, with few in their clan able to suppress even a child as young as ten years of age. Without the love and support of their clan, few survived to adulthood. The few who did survive often were exiled from their clan. They were too powerful to control, too dangerous to allow them to stay within the clan's ranks. To their full-blooded brethren, they were either monsters or, for a lucky few, they were the masters of the clan.

Hizuri Kuu is my father, the pride of the Hizuri clan. Hizuri Kuon is his son. The quarter-blood. The feared one. Hizuri Kuon is talked about out of sight of the pride of the Hizuri clan. His every move compared to the one who survived. His every effort found lacking when faced with the truth within his blood. Kuon is a monster. I... am a monster.

Help me. Someone please, help me.

A/N: Well, Kuon made that a lot darker than I was originally planning on writing, but it fits with the way Kuon felt before Lory whisked him away to Japan. I felt like writing this made me understand a little better the pain that poor Kuon went through as a child in the States. The poor thing...

Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this fanfic. I'd love to hear what you think.