Night of the Beast
author: Lucinda
rating: R - violence, character death
main characters: Oz, Willow, Veruca
for the QuickFic July theme http://qfic.moonlitpaths.com/index.php
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any characters from Bufyf the Vampire Slayer
distribution: Wic, WLS, Bite Me please? Cat, Paula, TNL
note: Sharp turn into unhappy AU at Wild at Heart. What if things had gone tragically different?
Oz had been feeling terrible. Ever since he'd woke up in the woods next to Veruca, since he'd discovered that he wasn't the only werewolf in Sunnydale. Ever since he'd figured out that he and Veruca hadn't killed anyone because they'd been too busy... well, mating like wild animals. He'd tried to hide it from Willow. Instead, Veruca had found him again, let herself into the cage with him.
Willow had found them the next morning. They had both been naked, their bodies entwined in such a way that it was clear what had happened the night before. The look in her eyes… It had been terrible. She'd looked so hurt, so betrayed…
He had to find her, to try to explain things to her. Of course, that would be a lot easier if he understood things himself. He just knew that he hadn't planned this, that he hadn't meant to hurt Willow. He loved her. He had to find her before moonrise.
He could feel his wolf inside of him, pressing, trying to get out. Then, he caught Willow's scent. She'd gone this way… and so had Veruca. He had a bad feeling about that… He started moving faster, hoping that he could prevent something terrible from happening.
"You can't even go through with it, can you? You're too soft. That's why you won't be able to keep him." Veruca's voice, her words harsh, sneering.
"Stay back." Willow's words shook a bit, laced with fear.
"I don't think so. You aren't going to be in my way any longer." Veruca's voice had changed, starting to drop lower, a distortion creeping into her words.
No! The moon was rising. He could feel it prickling at his skin, feel his bones starting to change, the fur sprouting over his body. It hurt… and he felt all reasonable thought fading, swallowed up by a haze of instinct and emotion.
The wolf burst through the door, his whole being focused on the other. The other wolf that had invaded his territory, had made him angry by… well, the other wolf had made him angry. Had proven a threat, somehow. He attacked, seeking her throat, certain that only by killing the intruder would his territory be safe. She fought, snapping at him, her claws raking over his body, scoring despite his thick fur.
But he was the stronger wolf, and soon, he tore her throat out, the taste of her blood strong in his mouth. A little bit more effort ensured that the other was firmly dead, unable to get back up and attack again, as fuzzy memory insisted some things did. He heard a noise, a squeaking sound.
Looking up, he saw another creature. It had no fur, no sharp teeth or claws, and it smelled of fear. It was prey. He began moving towards it, the sounds of the soft creature holding no meaning to the wolf. It was prey, and he was a hunter.
The soft thing tried to escape, creeping along the wall, the scent of fear growing stronger. Growling, he stalked closer. With a noise, the prey turned and bolted, trying to run away. The wolf bounded after his prey, certain that he could catch the fleeing creature.
Snarling, he finally pounced on the prey, his claws ripping through soft skin, drawing blood. After a short time, the screaming stopped, his prey dead. Just as the wolf was about to feed, there was a noise, a challenging sound. Looking up, there was another soft creature, much like the one that he'd just killed.
The wolf lunged, unwilling to let some soft toothless thing drive him away. Surely this one would also flee at the realization that he was a hunter.
But the furless creature didn't flee, didn't let him chase it and kill. It ducked, swinging a foot into his ribs painfully. The creature wanted to fight. Growling, the wolf turned, willing to defend his territory and hunting grounds from any challenger, even soft skinned things that were not hunters.
This one was much more of a challenge. He couldn't lock her into a battle of claws and fangs, she was too quick, moving swiftly out of the way. Her blows didn't rip his flesh, didn't draw blood, but they hurt, leaving aches where she'd hit. He felt his ribs bend from her kick, and there was a cracking noise, sharp burning pain… the air burned in his side, and he could smell his own blood on his breath.
In the end, the furless creature was victorious, and he could feel himself fading, vision going dark, his heart slowing. It hurt to breath… Somehow, the knowledge that he'd drawn blood, had hurt the female thing didn't help. He had fallen, his hunting grounds lost to this other…
The moon shone cold and harsh upon the scene. Buffy was bleeding from dozens of slashes and a few ragged bites, her muscles quivering, her breath uneven. She looked down at the body in front of her, the fur receding, the claws vanishing. Soon, it was recognizably human. Oz's broken body lay in the moonlight, blood streaking over his hands, his face, over the slashes on his back and chest.
The moon's light was harsh, unconcerned about the terrible tragedy that had happened tonight. The world did not care that the now dead young man had killed his gentle love, had killed the girl that he'd cheated on her with. The moon did not care that two souls who had been bound to it's changing face had passed away this night, dragged into the eternal sleep by violence.
The world would continue.
End Night of the Beast.
author: Lucinda
rating: R - violence, character death
main characters: Oz, Willow, Veruca
for the QuickFic July theme http://qfic.moonlitpaths.com/index.php
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any characters from Bufyf the Vampire Slayer
distribution: Wic, WLS, Bite Me please? Cat, Paula, TNL
note: Sharp turn into unhappy AU at Wild at Heart. What if things had gone tragically different?
Oz had been feeling terrible. Ever since he'd woke up in the woods next to Veruca, since he'd discovered that he wasn't the only werewolf in Sunnydale. Ever since he'd figured out that he and Veruca hadn't killed anyone because they'd been too busy... well, mating like wild animals. He'd tried to hide it from Willow. Instead, Veruca had found him again, let herself into the cage with him.
Willow had found them the next morning. They had both been naked, their bodies entwined in such a way that it was clear what had happened the night before. The look in her eyes… It had been terrible. She'd looked so hurt, so betrayed…
He had to find her, to try to explain things to her. Of course, that would be a lot easier if he understood things himself. He just knew that he hadn't planned this, that he hadn't meant to hurt Willow. He loved her. He had to find her before moonrise.
He could feel his wolf inside of him, pressing, trying to get out. Then, he caught Willow's scent. She'd gone this way… and so had Veruca. He had a bad feeling about that… He started moving faster, hoping that he could prevent something terrible from happening.
"You can't even go through with it, can you? You're too soft. That's why you won't be able to keep him." Veruca's voice, her words harsh, sneering.
"Stay back." Willow's words shook a bit, laced with fear.
"I don't think so. You aren't going to be in my way any longer." Veruca's voice had changed, starting to drop lower, a distortion creeping into her words.
No! The moon was rising. He could feel it prickling at his skin, feel his bones starting to change, the fur sprouting over his body. It hurt… and he felt all reasonable thought fading, swallowed up by a haze of instinct and emotion.
The wolf burst through the door, his whole being focused on the other. The other wolf that had invaded his territory, had made him angry by… well, the other wolf had made him angry. Had proven a threat, somehow. He attacked, seeking her throat, certain that only by killing the intruder would his territory be safe. She fought, snapping at him, her claws raking over his body, scoring despite his thick fur.
But he was the stronger wolf, and soon, he tore her throat out, the taste of her blood strong in his mouth. A little bit more effort ensured that the other was firmly dead, unable to get back up and attack again, as fuzzy memory insisted some things did. He heard a noise, a squeaking sound.
Looking up, he saw another creature. It had no fur, no sharp teeth or claws, and it smelled of fear. It was prey. He began moving towards it, the sounds of the soft creature holding no meaning to the wolf. It was prey, and he was a hunter.
The soft thing tried to escape, creeping along the wall, the scent of fear growing stronger. Growling, he stalked closer. With a noise, the prey turned and bolted, trying to run away. The wolf bounded after his prey, certain that he could catch the fleeing creature.
Snarling, he finally pounced on the prey, his claws ripping through soft skin, drawing blood. After a short time, the screaming stopped, his prey dead. Just as the wolf was about to feed, there was a noise, a challenging sound. Looking up, there was another soft creature, much like the one that he'd just killed.
The wolf lunged, unwilling to let some soft toothless thing drive him away. Surely this one would also flee at the realization that he was a hunter.
But the furless creature didn't flee, didn't let him chase it and kill. It ducked, swinging a foot into his ribs painfully. The creature wanted to fight. Growling, the wolf turned, willing to defend his territory and hunting grounds from any challenger, even soft skinned things that were not hunters.
This one was much more of a challenge. He couldn't lock her into a battle of claws and fangs, she was too quick, moving swiftly out of the way. Her blows didn't rip his flesh, didn't draw blood, but they hurt, leaving aches where she'd hit. He felt his ribs bend from her kick, and there was a cracking noise, sharp burning pain… the air burned in his side, and he could smell his own blood on his breath.
In the end, the furless creature was victorious, and he could feel himself fading, vision going dark, his heart slowing. It hurt to breath… Somehow, the knowledge that he'd drawn blood, had hurt the female thing didn't help. He had fallen, his hunting grounds lost to this other…
The moon shone cold and harsh upon the scene. Buffy was bleeding from dozens of slashes and a few ragged bites, her muscles quivering, her breath uneven. She looked down at the body in front of her, the fur receding, the claws vanishing. Soon, it was recognizably human. Oz's broken body lay in the moonlight, blood streaking over his hands, his face, over the slashes on his back and chest.
The moon's light was harsh, unconcerned about the terrible tragedy that had happened tonight. The world did not care that the now dead young man had killed his gentle love, had killed the girl that he'd cheated on her with. The moon did not care that two souls who had been bound to it's changing face had passed away this night, dragged into the eternal sleep by violence.
The world would continue.
End Night of the Beast.