Rated M for... everything. Blood. Death. Language. Sex. And whatever else you can think of.
More soon I hope, but probably only 1 more chapter and this should be over.
Please everybody, write more Astrid & Arnbjorn stuff!
Edit: I re-posted this story after zevgirl kindly corrected my mistakes :) Thank you zevgirl! You rock!
Strong arms swung the sword with the grace of a dancer. His body nimbly evaded each and every one of his attackers. Sweat pearled off his forehead and neck, his heart beat fast and his face was twisted in a constant grimace. Yet, his eyes were on fire. He loved this dance with everything he was.
Another enemy fell to the song of his sword, spilling his red life juices over the dancer and his shining weapon. It only added to his beauty. How could someone so deadly be so perfect?
She never got tired of watching him. Ever since she first laid eyes on this man, she knew she had to have him. In every way.
His sword for her family. His body for herself. His soul for Sithis.
Even though he wore heavy armour that sparkled in the sun, she could imagine the body that was hiding beneath layers of steel and leather. She needed him, and soon.
Astrid had been watching the Companion for weeks. At first she was doubtful. The warriors were bound to some sort of honorable codex, yet as she watched him, she knew he was even more than what she had been looking for.
He was different from his comrades. He enjoyed the act of killing. And the deaths he granted were all so beautiful! Every wound seemed like a piece of art to her. She wanted to possess this man, and be possessed by him.
It only took her a few days to find out about the dark secret the Circle held. This made him even more appealing to her. A man with a dark secret for the dark brotherhood. It was simply too good! All she needed to do now was to win him for herself.
She was ready for the hunt, but this time her prey would fight back.
Arnbjorn left Jorrvaskr shortly before midnight. He had had another argument with their Harbinger about his methods. What was the problem anyway? They wanted someone dead, so he killed them. They wanted someone intimidated, so he frightened the shit out of them. So what exactly was wrong with his methods? „Honour my ass" he mumbled to himself as he entered the underforge. To him the Companions were nothing but mercenaries. They did anything for money. Just like the dark brotherhood, just not as subtle.
The full moon was standing high over Whiterun and Arnbjorn felt the call of the blood. He decided to go hunting, run the fields and kill, for it usually helped him calm his anger. And right now he was angry. With Kodlak, with the Circle, with himself.
He stripped naked and closed his eyes, allowing the beast within to take over. Arnbjorn loved how his senses sharpened the very instant the transformation began. His heartbeat increased and almost immediately, he could smell things that he did not notice in human shape. Naturally, the transformation came with a great amount of pain, but that never bothered him. It seemed a small price to pay for the power that came with it.
His skin tore, only to be replaced by fur. His muscles stretched and his limbs grew longer, and a few seconds later, nobody would have been able to recognize the blond Nord anymore.
He left the underforge through the back door and sprinted out into the night. The light of the moon was all his eyes needed to make out absolutely everything in the dark, yet he never had to rely on his sight alone. His ears and nose were more than enough to guide him through the wilderness.
The wolf closed his eyes and sniffed the cold night air. The scents of nearby Whiterun invaded his nose, the smell of sewage and roast meats mingling together. He smelt the mountain flowers that grew everywhere, some deer to the east, a few giants and a mammoth, and a pack of wolves somewhere west. And something else...
Something delicious.
Arnbjorn could not identify the smell, yet he was immediately drawn there. It called to his beast blood and there was little he could do to resist it. The further away he ran from Whiterun, the stronger the blended scent became. A feast, meat over an open fire somewhere. Mead. Deer. Death. And something sweet and appealing that made his blood boil. Something feminine.
But whatever it was, it was not a natural odour. Arnbjorn knew a trap when he saw one, and this accumulation of scents was definitely presented just for him. Yet, he would gladly humour the host of this feast, and maybe feast on the host later should he get the chance to.
He found the camp in a forest clearing. In the center, there was something that looked like a stone altar with two burning candles and a naked body lying on top of it. Around the alter in a big circle he spotted all the things he had smelt earlier. There were three fires, all of them with different kinds of meat roasting over them.
Beside these fires he found baskets with flowers. Strong scents combined to turn into an intoxicating perfume. But there was something else. It looked like a few bedrolls, but far more inviting. As if someone had attempted to create a comfortable accomodation, right here in the middle of the forest.
Before entering the clearing, Arnbjorn sniffed the air once more. He was still looking for the source of the feminine, tempting smell making his blood boil, but all of the other scents made it impossible to track this one in particular. He could not hear anything, as if no one was nearby. But he knew that was very unlikely.
The wolf finally entered the clearing, heading straight towards the altar. On top of it lay a dead woman. Arnbjorn could not help but admire her beauty. A dagger was stuck in her heart and her bosom covered in blood as red as her hair. Her eyes were staring up at the full moon.
That was when he noticed the clothes that were lying beside her.
Leather. A familiar design. He had seen similar clothes before.
The uniform of the dark brotherhood! He took a closer look. These clothes were tailored for a man of his size and shape. But why would they be here? Or rather, why was HE here?
Then he understood.
She had been watching him ever since he entered the forest. It was not an easy task to confuse his senses enough to grant her concealment - he was a werewolf after all. But it was all worth it.
The sacrifice on the altar was her present to him. A gift, and a promise. Astrid knew not if he understood what she was trying to tell him, but she would find out. She only needed to be patient.
Arnbjorn knelt down beside the altar and slowly turned back into his human form. The assassin watched from the shadows as his fur retreated and revealed a perfect body, as pale as the moon, and as strong as steel. She could not tear her eyes away.
He finally rose again and looked around, his fingers absentmindedly touching the garb she had presented for him. He was looking for her.
Astrid stepped out of the shadows. She was wearing her leather, yet not her hood. Not this time.
Her eyes found his almost immediately and they stared at each other. There were no words needed. He understood her offer, and she knew she needed to give him time. There was the leader of the dark brotherhood, presenting herself to a man who could easily tear her into pieces if he wanted. Yet, should he decide to do so, she would let him. A death by his hands would be beautiful.
Arnbjorn understood the concept of beauty. He found it in the hunt, the chase after prey, knowing in the end he would be victorious. He always was. He also found beauty in death. Whenever he killed, he made sure it was special. Something to remember, and something to be remembered by. Yet he had no memory of ever before having seen such beauty as he saw now.
Now he recognized her as the source of the intoxicating smell that lured him to this forest in the first place. His heart was beating faster every second and his blood was boiling. Even though he had just given in to the beast, it once again cried for release. The wolf in him wanted this woman. And so did the man.
She never took her eyes off him and studied his facial expressions, looking for any kind of reaction. She would not run away, no matter what happened. He could see that in her eyes. There was determination. Cruelty. Desire.
This woman was a cold blooded killer. And he would be the one to dominate her.