I do not own the X-Men, only Rayvin!
Within a day of me posting the first five chapters, I had 130+ views. Holy shiznits I wasn't expecting it to be that popular!
Chapter 1
Panting. That was the sound that filled my ears as I hunted my prey. My sweet, sweet prey. The pounding of his heart and the pumping of his blood sings to me. I can smell his fear, his desperation to outrun me. My wolf howled for blood, snarling viciously the closer we neared him. My claws extended and my fangs dropped, just as I lunged forward. With a roar, I tackled him to the ground, him landing on his back and me straddling his quivering form. I slashed my claws over his face, permanently scarring him. I snarled obscenities in his face, his screams drowning out my voice. He begged me for mercy, which was futile. This mutant-hating bastard sent one of the strongest ferals after me: Victor Creed.
This human hides his hatred well, actually publicly siding with the mutant-lovers. That must be why Creed deigned to work with this inferior piece of shit.
I tear his shirt off of him, using my claws to carve a message into his chest: "Keep hunting me and you'll die." Then I ripped out the bastard's throat with my fangs.
My name is Rayvin. Some call me Werewolf. Others call me Lupa. And I'm the strongest feral alive.
The reason I say that is this: I was Stryker's last project for Weapon X. I was by far his most perfect experiment. I control fire, and the angrier I get, the deadlier I get. I can shift into an actual wolf form. Grant it, my wolf form is much bigger than the average gray wolf, but I digress. I've been on the run from every organization known to man because they want to use my abilities or kill me. So I evolved. I became a cold-blooded killer, murdering those after me. Now I have to face my biggest challenge yet: Victor Creed.
He could hear the screams of her newest victim from miles away. They sounded male, and begged for mercy. He knew from experience that she wouldn't give it though. He'd been hunting the she-wolf for the past fifty years. All from different employers, each wanting the Werewolf for different purposes.
"Why is she called Werewolf? I only have a vague description of her and her abilities," he mumbled, picking up his pace to catch up to her. When he reached the body, he could easily see that she loved the kill. The body was mutilated beyond recognition, but the scent told him that it was his most recent employer. He also caught her scent. She smelled like a pine forest and a warm summer's night. His inner wolf howled, wanting the bitch as a mate. Creed wanted her too: He wanted to test her abilities, then fuck her to oblivion.
As soon as he had caught her scent, he was back to running on all fours after her. He could just barely see her form far ahead of him. She, too, was running on all fours. From what he could see, her hair was the color of moonlit blood, the color you only get from a fresh kill. He could also see that she was fit, but still sexy.
Just as he was a few yards away from her, she vanished. Her scent was everywhere, so he couldn't track her. He slammed his clawed fist into the ground and roared his frustration. He had lost her again! That was when he felt pain blossom from his chest, and saw the feminine claws sticking out. He felt her fingers tenderly stroke his heart, before it was ripped from his body and he fell unconscious.
"Nighty night, Sabretooth," he heard her say, before the world went dark.
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