A/N:Takes place in the woods beside the river at Tia's place, a few days after where DMC left off. Easily the strangest thing I have ever written. You have been warned.
Lupus
Had she visited this place only days ago, she would not have chosen to go wandering about in the wood on either side of the murky river, but now, she did not care much for safety, or that she paid absolutely no heed to where her reckless trek was taking her, or anything for that matter. She had probably been out now for well over a half an hour, and turned about to realize that the lights from the little shack were no longer visible. She pushed a loose wisp of hair back and sighed wearily, now slightly regretting the fact that she was uncomfortably sweaty and surrounded by mosquitos. She walked on for some time more, swatting at the air in and finally letting out a moan of rage as she stomped even deeper into the wood, the wet ground sinking slightly beneath her feet with each step she took. There was no purpose, really, in what she was doing, save for the fact that she wished to get away from the shack and more specifically, who was inside. She could not bear the way Will looked at her, on those rare times when they managed to look at each other at all.
She may very well have trekked on all night, had she not come upon a shadowed figure leaned against a spindly tree just over a slight rise in the ground. It would seem that they had both startled one another equally; she stumbled to the ground with a feeble shriek, and he had given a start and stood there breathing heavily, pointing a sword at her. A chink of light from the full moon above fell onto her pale face as he stepped aside, heaving a sigh of relief. She perhaps did not feel quite as relieved; the sight of a man she had thought to be dead standing there, alive and well, was not exactly comforting when one was wandering about in the woods at night. He sheathed his cutlass and took her by the hand, hauling her back to her feet.
"Ye shouldn't be out wanderin' about by yerself, Miss Swann." There was an unusual and uncharacteristic amount of concern in his voice as he spoke, watching her brush herself off of the leaves and filth acquired when she had fallen.
"I can take care of myself", she replied shakily, making a vain attempt at rubbing away the dirt that now clung to her damp face.
"'Course ye can", he said in a mocking tone. "Here, put this on, ye'll be eaten alive." He pulled his coat from the stump of a tree branch and held it out to her. It was only now that she noticed that he had not been wearing it, nor the ornate vest that usually lay beneath. His shirt was torn, and the hat and scarf that normally sat jauntily atop his head were cast aside on the ground a few feet away, leaving his graying hair to fall messily over his shoulders and over his face. She stared at the proffered jacket, her gaze darting between it and the intense gaze of his bright blue eyes.
"I – I, it's too hot," she stammered, trying to keep her tone careless and nonchalant. "I'm already drenched. And besides, you n –"
"It be for the parasites, not the cold, ye daft girl, and I won't be needin' it. Now take it and get yerself back afore ye see somethin' you'll wish ye hadn't."
"Captain I – honestly!" Having lost his patience, her companion had taken it upon himself to roughly force her into the coat whether or not she may have liked it. She would have reminded him of her time spent in disguise aboard the Edinburgh Trader and how she had already seen more of the habits of the male persuasion than she would have liked, when he turned away from her, glaring scathingly at the full moon.
"It's had my servitude fer far too long," he spat, the sheer amount of contempt and loathing in his voice causing Elizabeth to tentatively back away. She had known terror at his appearance beneath moonlight before, but this was different entirely; somehow she felt as if she had intruded on something dark and private, yet a morbid curiosity prevented her from leaving as he had told her, and it was coupled with a fear that suggested to her that fleeing may well prove deadly.
"Tonight I take back me own free will – 'Lizabeth, get yerself gone."
His utterance of her name had brought her out of the strange state she had been in, and if not for his words, she would have been under the impression that he had forgotten she was there at all. He had turned to face her once more, and she thought that the faintest traces of desperation and pleading were beginning to show on his face.
"Captain, the curse was lifted, you can't . . . you're not– "
"Ye think Death has addled me brains, girl? There be more than one curse what can afflict man, or woman", he added shrewdly.
"What do you mean?" Her voice was trembling now, and she spoke barely above a whisper.
"No need for you to know what I mean!" Although his appearance remained the same, there was something in his voice that was altogether inhuman. "Leave."
And yet for all his insistence, she remained rooted to where she stood, though her back was leaned against the thick trunk of a tree to support her ever-weakening legs. "I . . . I can't."
He stared back at her with a dark sort of understanding.
"Then consider yerself suitably warned."
"Warned against what, exactly? I don't under– Captain!"
Instead of snapping at her with another evasive response, he had convulsively dropped to his hands and knees, and she thought for a few moments that he was going to be sick. The urge to run to his aid flitted through her mind for a quick beat, despite her initial repulsion and slight fear at the sight before her. However there was no need for her to push back her apprehension, as he had managed to right himself, staggering back to his feet, using the lichen-covered trunk of a tree for support, his breath coming in heaving, deliberate gasps as if he had some sort of war raging within himself. While certainly no stranger to the bizarre, she realized that was taking place before her this evening was nothing short of nightmarish.
Though she told herself that she never held any great affection for the man, an odd sense of pity gripped her as she stared, with him becoming less human with each passing moment. The overlong nails on his rough, elegant hands lengthened into crude claws, the pink of his skin lost beneath thickening masses of grey hair. He ventured a tentative glance in her direction; it was as if he dared her to be disgusted, frightened of him. She understood his silent converse, and while the pity she had felt earlier still remained, she could not help but freeze in horrified fascination when yellowed teeth emerged from behind his lips in the form of pointed fangs, and it was only then that she finally let out a shriek. The sound that had escaped her may have been nothing more than babbled terror, or a desperate cry of "Will!", but regardless, she wished she had controlled herself; it seemed to have caused some change over the man before her, if he could even be called a man now. The blue eyes turned on her at once, and she fancied that they gleamed with a hunger that had nothing to do with apples, or even the pleasurable company of which he had spoken to her so long ago. She glanced down at her own hand, surprised to see a heavy stick tightly in the grasp of her thin, trembling fingers, not remembering when or how she had acquired it but glad just the same, though if she was honest with herself, felt that it would do no good. Her grip on it tightened as she watched him continue to wage a battle against himself, or perhaps against whatever this thing was that was overcoming him so.
And then it was as if something finally ripped within him. With a blood-curdling yowl that rivaled those of Jones' leviathan, he slid down the length of the tree, leaving two sets of searing gashes in its bark as he went, trembling violently as the great paws that had once been his hands came ever closer to resting on the damp ground. The outburst was followed by a mournful and foreboding howl, and despite how she had been half expecting such, Elizabeth was still startled when he looked at her now, unrecognizable save for his bright blue eyes whose expression wavered between violent desire and a will to take back control of his own actions. The prominent nose and ruddy complexion had given way to fur and a snout that sought, she knew, to sniff out unwary prey that was all too easily available in her own shaking form, ears that ended in pointed tufts lay back on his gray head, and he was hunched over as though unsure what to do with himself, the bit of man that still remained struggling for dominance against the beast that had possessed him within and without.
Indecision coursed through him once more as, with no small amount of determination, he rose back on two legs, his breath now coming in heaving rasps, and had it not been for the severity of the situation, Elizabeth might not have suppressed a weird, fleeting desire to laugh at the absurdity of his appearance. The eyes and the unnatural length of the toes on the forefeet were not the only things that identified him as the man she had seen descending Tia Dalma's staircase - his clothes were still upon him, save for the coat that was now wrapped around her own body, and she remembered ruefully now how reluctant she had been to take it from him. How could she have possibly known that his unusual act of chivalry would soon be thrown into such stark contrast? The man who had warned her about parasites seemed to be a memory from years ago, before she had been made audience to something she thought only possible in fireside tales told to frighten and intimidate. He looked ludicrously like an overgrown pet wearing its master's clothing, yet there was no point in denying he was anything short of monstrous, standing well over six foot tall, and of a broader build than his former self.
She raised the makeshift weapon defensively, he had turned his gaze upon her yet again, loathing in the enlarged eyes, and a low growl rumbling from deep within. Much to her horror and fascination, he relinquished his desperate grip on the birch that bore the marks of his frustration and began to stagger towards her, still indecisive as to whether he should walk on all fours or not, settling, in the end, to a position much the way he had been, save that Elizabeth was now trapped between him and the tree that had been her crutch. She felt small and helpless with that great form towering above her, the low rumble rapidly becoming a deadly snarl as his lips curled back to reveal rows of pointed yellow teeth within the slavering jaws, a purple tongue flicking out from between them and slapping over the glistening black nose, and all in anticipation, she felt, of something that would surely be unpleasant. Barely aware of her actions, she raised her arm ever higher, poising to strike him at the opportune moment, her teeth gritted in determination. However, his eyes had flicked sideways ever so quickly, and she found herself vainly trying to wrest her weapon from between his jaws, giving up only when she saw it splinter and break in their impossibly strong and vicious grip. It was then that she glanced down, not willing to admit defeat but not knowing how she could not, that she noticed his sword still hanging at his side. His eyes followed her own, and as they both looked up to face one another, a leering smile somehow came over the wolfish features, and she was faintly reminded of a sea captain with a penchant for sour apples. She would have given anything, anything to have that person back in lieu of this slavering, stinking thingthat looked at her so. She was startled when her wrists were taken in a firm grasp, shuddering to feel the rough pads of paws feathered with white hair where fingers should have been. Overcome with terror, she let out a shrill cry of help and whimpered Will's name before submitting to the tears, certain that her life was about to end and wondering with sickening dread if he would be sated by her, or if he would choose to attack those who dwelled within the shack, who were by now probably wondering where she had gone.
"Captain, Captain please don't," she sobbed. "Look at me!"
She had no idea why she had attempted speaking to him, but a small flame of hope rose within her as she forced herself once more to meet his insane gaze; she knew at once that she was looking at Hector Barbossa, and not the thing he had become. Slowly he relinquished his hold on her, backing away. The madness faded from his face, and he once more seemed to struggle for domination over his actions, turning around to face the moon and forcing himself to stand on two legs instead of four. Whether it was foolhardy or not, she felt the small bit of hope within her flare up at the sight of what she was sure had to be a pair of hands now, paying no heed to the overlong nails that she had always known him to have. She still kept a cautious distance from him, slightly disgusted with the heaving, rasping noise coming from him; it reminded her horribly of sounds she had heard coming from dark alleyways while walking the streets of Tortuga.
It was only when he had dropped to his knees in apparent exhaustion that she chanced a few steps closer; he was drenched with sweat and breathing heavily, his face was pale and drawn and his eyes were closed. Slowly he turned to face her, furrowing his brows as if trying to recollect how she had gotten there and why she was wearing his coat. Idly, he brought a hand to his mouth, and with the same bemused expression, began to pick bits of wood from his mouth. He stared at the drivel on his fingertips for a few moments before sharply turning to look at her again, eyes wide.
"Ha!" he barked, causing her to jump. Hastily, he closed the gap between them and took her by the shoulders, a wild, triumphant look in his eyes that faded a little when he took in her shaken appearance.
"Someday ye'll learn to do as I tell ye", he said, shaking his head, although his tone was somewhat kind. She shrank away from him just a bit, having noticed that his ears and teeth remained slightly more pointed than was natural. He noticed her eyes upon them and loosened his hold on her, his gaze lingering somewhat curiously on her neck. He did not bother to hide his interest, and she did not pretend that she had not noticed.
"Captain Barbossa, what just happened?"
"Told ye. Curse."
Finding no words to express exactly what she was feeling at the moment, she simply set about picking up the garments he had tossed aside, apparently now, in anticipation of the strange fit that had just taken him. She told herself that it was the odd sense of pity that caused her to behave so, though it could just as easily have been a strong fascination and desire to be close to him again, with returning the clothes being a convenient excuse to do so. She approached him now with little hesitance; he did not look at her when he took back the waistcoat, but spoke as he slipped it on and she stood in patient waiting while listening to him, one hand still stretched towards him, clutching his scarf and hat. While previously, he did not much discuss his condition with others, he thought back to another time when he had been afflicted with a heathen curse, and the single person in whose eyes he had spotted a fleck of pity, of compassion, stood before him once more, the same twisted fascination that she had displayed a year prior present in her face yet again.
"Apologies, Miss, but I did warn ye that you could be eaten alive. Then again you seem to be the kind what has to see somethin' before believing with yer own eyes. It'll prove to be either a downfall or a victory to ye someday, I imagine."
"Have you always . . .?"
"No. Be ye familiar with tales o' such?" She shook her head feebly, he responded with a wry smile.
"Several ways in which a man can come to be afflicted so. One of the ways be by bein' bloodily murdered on the night of a full moon." The smile had gone from his face and she lowered her eyes, fidgeting with the hat still clutched in her hands, idly picking at the tattered brim.
"But isn't . . . isn't there a way to . . . you know?"
He met her eyes as she looked up, and began to laugh sardonically. "'Course there is." He picked up his flintlock, also discarded in his haste, and waved it around just a bit, still laughing. He pointed it at his own head in response to her furrowed brows before tucking it safely away at his belt. "But I'm afraid it wouldn't end too happily for me, if that were the case. No, Miss, there be no cure, but a person strong enough can manage to gain some control over it. Tonight's little incident seems to prove I've mastered that ability, though you standin' there quakin' in yer boots didn't exactly make it easy."
"I'm terribly sorry to have burdened you with my presence," she said with a roll of the eyes, having gained back some of her wit.
"Might not have ended so well; I had no way of knowin'." He approached her, and she found herself once more uncomfortably close, though this time her unease had nothing to do with fear of being ripped to shreds. He pulled the hat from her grasp, his fingers grazing her own as he did so, and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Ah, but ye did look so very good. Ye still do." She did not notice him replacing the hat, only that he had stretched his free hand out to push the hair back from her face, and that his fingers were beginning to trace idly along her neck. She stiffened and took hold of his wrist, her mistrusting eyes locked on his, in which the faintest trace of insatiable hunger still lingered.
"You've no idea, Miss Swann," he went on, never taking his eyes off her. "Ten years of feeling nothing, and now . . . more than any creature should ever be allowed to feel."
He was so close now that she could feel his breath on her face and smell the traces of sweat glistening on his slightly-exposed chest, and his presence summoned feelings within her that she did not like at all, or at least, did not like them being brought about by him in particular. However, instead of giving reason to resist, she found herself weakened by the words he spoke softly, almost pleadingly into her ear.
"'Lizabeth . . . yer warm . . ."
He had come even closer now, his cheek was pressed against hers, and it was only now that she noticed that his hand rested flat on her chest and she could just feel his thumb beginning to stroke bare skin, and looked up to find that her hand of its own volition no longer held him tightly by the wrist, but lay gently atop his shoulder. Her thoughts were quickly spiraling out of control, and try as she might have to deter them, all that she could think was that it had been so very long since Will had looked at her, let alone hold her as such, and that Barbossa stood before her now, warm and willing and closer than any man had ever been. For a fleeting, surprisingly delicious moment, she thought what it might be like, perhaps, to give in, just this once, to feel other parts of him pressed against her, and then realization hit her in one huge, sickening wave: the last time she had thrown caution aside with a man, he had ended up dead. Before she could protest further, however, he pulled away of his own accord, his breathing ragged.
"Best be gettin' back before everyone starts wondering where we've gotten to – where you've gotten to, leastways." He began to turn away, making no attempt at disguising his reluctance.
She nodded slowly, hoping her efforts at hiding her disappointment weren't non-existent, and at the same time feeling relief that she would not have to revisit her demons gained from betraying Jack. She turned to follow him, and they walked in silence until they crossed the threshold of the small shack, and it had not occurred to her until now what exactly they were going to tell those inside upon their return. For as little as she liked him in the past, whether or not she would reveal his secret to anyone had never been a question; she did not want yet another thread of mistrust and reason for dissension among the group. They were met, as surely both of them had expected, with faces filled both with suspicion and relief as they entered; she was shaking and pale, Barbossa was pallid and appeared to be exhausted beyond reason. Will glanced up at them, his expression holding a trace of concern that he seemed eager to try and hide.
Elizabeth remembered little of what happened after returning that night, only that she was longing for sleep to find her, to help her escape what had happened tonight, and to avoid the accusatory glare coming from Will and Tia Dalma's shrewd smile while she glanced between her and Barbossa. But when sleep finally took her, she found that it was only filled with dreams of a wolf standing on a rise, silhouetted against the moon, and a rough voice telling her how very warm she was.
A/N:This underwent a lot of re-writes in the second half. I had originally wanted him to bite her, but decided I wanted him to be less forceful and more sympathetic. There was also a plot bunny that very much wanted to mention something along the lines of the Pearlbeing stolen again and the only ones seen before its disappearance being a pair of wolves, therefore giving the impression that they ended up together, but alas, it didn't happen.