AN: Sorry for taking so long to update! Life kind of got in the way and I've been swamped with things lately. Hopefully I can update quicker again :)


Chapter Eight

control

Night swaddled him like a mother's embrace, filling him with sounds and smell and sight. The light of the twin moons above caressed him like a kiss. He'd hunted well tonight, his belly full of fresh kill. Though the night was still young, he turned homewards. He'd not travelled far, the great keep of Dragon's Reach still visible in the distance, looming ever closer as he loped home. Sniffing the air, he paused. Something sweet drifted towards him on the breeze, followed by a scent far more tantalising. Fear. A growl rumbled up his chest, and unable to resist, he followed his nose. Stalking through the dark, it wasn't long before he found it; in the shadow of Whiterun's great wall, a pack was gathered, circling a lone figure. The source of the sweetness, and the delicious fear. The pack had yet to notice him, their attention rapt on the figure as they taunted it with sharp blades.

"Give us yer gold," one snarled, stepping forward.

The figure retreated, back pressed to the wall. She held a blade too, though it shook in her trembling hands as she held it in front of her.

"I- I don't have any!"

Shoulders tensed, he hunched low, ready to spring. Her wide eyes darted from one figure to the next. Suddenly they met his glowing in the dark, and she screamed. The pack turned then, but too late. Fear flooded his nose as he ripped them apart, gluttonously feasting though he'd already had his fill for the night. They were easy prey.

Maw dripping with blood, he turned to the figure and snarled. Her racing heartbeat was a drum pounding in his head, calling to him like a summoning bell. Eyes bulging, her chest heaved with panicked breath as he approached. Plump flesh beckoned, and he salivated at the thought of closing his jaw around it and sinking his teeth into its softness. The odour of her fear was somehow familiar, but too tempting for the beast to resist. He was almost upon her when her eyes changed, a glimmer of something making her lower the dagger slightly.

"V-Vilkas?"

At the sound of her voice he stopped; though the beast strained, the man was now aware. He knew that word. It belonged to him somehow… his name. He jolted suddenly back into control. He knew her smell. The serving girl. A low whine escaped his jaw as he lowered his head, taking a step backwards. Still trembling, the dagger fell from her fingers.

"It – it's you, isn't it?"

He whined again, suddenly ashamed. The shock set in as he realised what he'd almost done. She was staring at him. From the look in her eyes he was certain that all she saw was a monster. He backed away a few more steps, giving her room to breathe. Stepping gingerly away from the wall, she kept her wary eyes on him as she gathered the parcels scattered at her feet. He could almost feel her heart jump in her throat as her hand brushed against a severed arm that had escaped his jaws. Fingers now wet with blood, she wiped them absently on her apron. The sight of the shining streak smeared there caused him to unconsciously lick his chops. All he could taste was blood.

Slow and low to the ground, he took a few steps towards the gates of Whiterun, pausing to look back at her. After a moment she followed, but kept her distance. They walked in silence, save for her shallow breath and the trickling whisper of the White River. Enveloped in darkness, she tripped once, quickly regaining her balance and darting backwards as he turned to her. When the first farm came into view he stopped, shrinking back into the shadows. He would go no further. This close to the city, she should be safe. He looked back at her, then to the road ahead. She seemed to understand, and cautiously stepped past him towards the path, looking back once over her shoulder. When she reached the road and a yellow clad guard came into view, he fled.


It was long past dark by the time he returned to Whiterun, hands clenching by his sides. He knew he should have gone to her, explained what he was, what had happened. But he'd stayed away. It wasn't just the horrified way she had looked at him, how she'd kept a sizeable distance between them and trembled as he led her to the gates. It wasn't even what he had almost done to her, though that frightened and unsettled him greatly. He'd let the beast have free reign for far too long, foolishly thinking it could control itself. Her fear had smelt exquisite, and the longing for her taste had lingered even after he'd regained himself. All of this, troubling as it was, could have been dealt with. But she recognised him. Somehow, she had seen the man in the monster and that frightened him more than anything. It had been a long time since someone outside the Circle had discovered the secret of what he truly was.

When he reached Jorrvaskr, he ignored the front doors and instead walked wearily around the hall. He was vaguely surprised to find her waiting, leaning against the wall with her arms wrapped around herself. To his relief the wolf remained quiet.

She stepped forward when she saw him, her arms dropping to her sides. Her hands quivered much like they had when she'd first arrived at the hall. A long moment passed during which neither spoke. Uncharacteristically, he broke eye contact first.

"I… I suppose I should explain."

She nodded, one trembling hand reaching to grasp her braid. Now it came to it, he wasn't sure where to begin. Searching for words, he found none, so it was a relief when she broke the silence.

"W-what was – how long have you been a… whatever that was?"

Now prompted, he found it easier to find his words.

"A werewolf," he replied softly. "My brother and I took on lycanthropy when we'd seen fifteen winters."

Her eyes widened. "Farkas is – are all the Companions… werewolves?"

"No, only members of the Circle are granted the beast blood."

"Beast blood?" she murmured.

"It was all started by Terrfyg, a Harbinger of the Third Era who made a pact with the witches of Glenmoril. They granted the Companions great power in return for serving their lord, Hircine."

"The Daedric prince?" she cut in, clearly disturbed.

He nodded. "Since then, the Circle of the Companions have taken on the beast blood. We attain the great power the witches promised, but upon death we serve Hircine in his Hunting Grounds."

It was a strange sensation, discussing lycanthropy with a human so bluntly. She was taking it all much better than he'd expected, chewing her lip as she mulled it over.

"I… I must admit, I'm surprised to find you out here."

She frowned. "Why?"

Anxiously, his hand clenched again.

"You're not afraid of me?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Do I have reason to be afraid of you?"

"So long as I have control I would never harm you," he answered without thought.

"Then I am not afraid."

He couldn't help but snort humourlessly. "You say you're not brave, but it's either that or stupidity."

Her frown deepened as she clutched her braid a little tighter.

"But you saved my life."

She looked so serious standing there, and though he could smell the coppery tempo of her racing heart she remained steady, her eyes unwavering. If she only knew how close he'd come to swallowing her whole.

"You have me there," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. A pause, then, "I have to ask; how did you know it was me?"

She blushed suddenly, finally looking away.

"I… I could smell you," she said at last, quietly.

"I beg your pardon?"

Her cheeks flushed darker. "I noticed some time ago, that you smell… different. Not foul or anything-" she gave him a quick apprehensive glance, "-just different. I'd never smelt it before coming here, but I did again last night."

Whatever bizarre answer he'd expected, it certainly wasn't that. He had always been able to catch the scent of his pack, but had also assumed it was due to his heightened senses. That humans could smell it too was news to him.

In an attempt to hide his embarrassment, he gruffly steered the conversation in another direction.

"What were you doing out there after dark?"

She looked up again, seeming to be glad of the change in subject.

"Nirnroot."

"Nirnroot?"

"Tilma sent me to Pelagia Farm to pick up some cheese. Nimriel insisted I stay for supper, so it was already after sundown when I left. I noticed the glow of Nirnroot down river, and Tilma had mentioned a few times that she'd like some to add more flavour to her stews. I figured I'd get it for her, only it was further away than I'd first thought. By the time I realised how far I'd gone, those thugs showed up out of nowhere and… well. You know the rest."

He stared at her incredulously, and she began chewing her lip again.

"Well," he said at last. "I… I trust I don't have to tell you that this beast business is a matter of the Circle, and needs to remain a secret."

"Oh, of course." She still seemed wary, but gave him a small smile. "I doubt anyone would believe me even if I wanted to tell."

A wry smirk tugged at his mouth, but before he could respond the doors opened behind him.

"Vilkas," Skjor barked. "Kodlak wants to see you."

The older man looked furious, but stalked off and around the hall before Vilkas could ask any questions. He glanced at Dalla, who watched Skjor go with a slight frown. He probably owed her more, but now was not the time. Excusing himself, he entered the hall. That had all gone better than anticipated, but now his earlier anxiety returned. Surely it was no coincidence that Kodlak had summoned him now.