For anyone who's been having trouble pronouncing Ruccia's name, it's "Roo-chee-ah".

Vilkas was always told that he had the brains and his brother had the brawn. He'd been perfectly fine with that, knowing that a sharp mind was just as useful as a sharp blade. He was the go-to man for any questions a Companion could have, whether it be history or the identification of a strange creature they had encountered. His brother looked up to him and relied on him to solve any problems they came across.

For this reason, Vilkas felt even more stressed out as he was sure he had passed that same statue five times now. He paused and shook his head. No, the Dwemer were just uncreative. Vilkas had an excellent sense of direction. He couldn't possibly be walking in circles…could he?

"We're lost," Ruccia sighed.

"Your powers of observation are astounding," Vilkas growled in reply. But, gods be damned, she was right. The statue had the same large chip at the base; something he doubted would've been added for aesthetic purposes by an ancient dwarven sculptor. He looked around for a corridor he had perhaps missed, or a door.

Nothing.

His head ached. There had to be something, some switch or flight of stairs, a sign post with "Home" carved in large letters would be more than welcome as well. There was no way, just no way, this room looped perpetually with no exit. Vilkas groaned and rubbed his eyes with his hand. How long had they been walking? Hours? Days? By Ysmir, he felt as though his legs were about to give out from under him.

"I feel sick," Ruccia grimaced. Vilkas frowned and nodded once.

"You're probably hungry, but I doubt we'd want to eat anything around here. The food is centuries old and all our provisions were at the campsite and in our bags, neither of which are on hand now. We'll just have to ignore it until we find something suitable. Maybe we can hunt down some skeevers, since I know how much you love those."

Ruccia scowled and Vilkas smirked as her skin seemed to turn green. Now that he looked at her, she did seem a bit pale and had circles forming under her eyes. Sweat trickled down the side of her face and she was breathing heavily. Perhaps they had been walking even longer than he thought.

"Let's rest for a while," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We'll have to try and find our way back to the room with the lake and take a different route."

Ruccia opened her mouth but before she could reply, she collapsed to her knees, yanking Vilkas's arm roughly towards the floor. He gasped in shock, scowled and worked to keep his footing.

"I didn't mean here," He snapped, trying to yank the girl to her feet. "Come on, get up, whelp!" Vilkas growled and knelt beside the woman, frowning when she fell onto her stomach. He grabbed her arms, gasping and pulling his hands away as he came into contact with her burning skin. "Whelp?"

He rolled her onto her back, pushing her loose hair out of her face and grimacing at the unnatural warmth that seeped into his palms. "Whelp, do you hear me? Ruccia," when she didn't reply, Vilkas cursed and gathered her limp body into his arms. She moaned softly but didn't open her eyes, her chest heaved with panting breaths and she only seemed to grow hotter as Vilkas moved down the hall.


Hot. Burning. Fire flickered around her, searing her flesh and biting deep into her bone. But, she had to keep moving. It was behind her, somewhere in the inferno. Chasing her. Hunting her. Waiting to devour her. She could feel its eyes following her and no matter how fast she ran, its presence never disappeared.

She was roughly yanked backwards, falling on her back and feeling her breath leave her lungs in a rush. She was still dazed as a shadow loomed over her, a low, menacing growl rumbling around her. Vilkas glared down at her, his eyes glowing golden in the blaze. He dropped down on top of her, pinning her arms and legs with a snarl.

"Vilkas," she gasped, struggling under his weight. "What are you…get off of me!"

Vilkas snarled, pulling his lips back over large, inhuman fangs. He dipped his head down and Ruccia gasped as his pressed his nose against her neck, inhaling her scent with a growl. Ruccia bucked beneath him, trying to squirm free.

His hot breath puffed against her skin as he sniffed her again, more deeply, his tongue darted out and ran along the length of her neck, a rumble reverberating in his chest. Vilkas threw his head back and howled. His hand slapped down against her stomach, clawed fingers digging into her, keeping her completely motionless. He watched her for a moment, bared his fangs, then ripped into her throat.


Vilkas slapped his hand over Ruccia's mouth as a blood-curdling scream tore itself from her throat. She arched and jerked in his arms, tears streaming from her clenched eyes, veins popping up on the side of her neck as she strained against his hold.

It was the blood, that was the only thing he could think of. She had swallowed some, maybe just a drop, but that was all it would take. Vilkas cursed quietly and pulled her against his chest, trying to keep her still and in the shadows as the chittering of Falmer echoed through the ruin.

He had managed to work his way back to the lake, carrying the sweating girl in his arms while she writhed and moaned in her nightmare. He remembered the vision from his own transformation, Skjor tearing him apart and letting the beast loose, breaking him and dominating him. He knew too well the horror she was living.

How much time did he have until she changed? He wracked his brain for memories of past turnings. Farkas had taken six hours, but he was a large Nord. Anjya had taken three, though she'd been lucky and lost consciousness during her change. Ruccia was much smaller than both of them, so that gave him two hours? Half an hour?

If she even survives…

Vilkas moved to the lake, dipping the girl into the cold water to cool her burning skin. Ruccia sobbed, gasped for breath and shuddered.

"Come on, Whelp," Vilkas muttered, "You never gave up back at Jorrvaskr, don't stop fighting now. I just need to think." Vilkas glanced at the different ramps, none of which gave any indication of whether they lead to the exit. Pick one and go, that's the only option at this point. He lifted Ruccia out of the water, grimacing at her still far-too-warm skin.

He'd never given much thought to how small she was, but with the Imperial curled into his chest and whimpering pathetically, he realized she was still just a young girl. Barely more than a child. For a brief moment, Vilkas felt a twinge of guilt for the way he'd been treating her since she arrived in Jorrvaskr. She was a foreigner, wide-eyed and naïve, chasing glory that wasn't hers to obtain. At least that's what he'd always told himself. Especially after the first time she'd beaten him down.

Maybe he'd been too hard on her.

Ruccia convulsed and screamed again, her wet hair sticking to her face in long tendrils. Vilkas held her closer to his chest with a deep frown, picked the closest ramp, and hurried up to the door. He wasn't sure which situation he was more likely to survive: Being trapped in a Falmer nest or being chained to a newly turned werewolf?

Swallowing thickly, Vilkas decided he didn't care to find out.