Author's Note: Ack! I know one person… maybe two… or three… who will want to kill me for making them wait, and for that I do apologise. But I got up early on my day off, and I got cracking! It's nearly over now… not many left after this… two or three, at the most. This chapter isn't amazingly long, but it was the right place to leave it where I did, and you'll get a new chapter soon, I promise.
drowchild: Hehe, angry Tom is fun to write *grin* Yeah… this seems to be getting gorier, doesn't it? Hehe, eating Woods… how fitting. *is poked* Hmm.
Queerquail: Yes, I have been mean to my poor Anise *looks apologetically at glaring Anise*
LotRseer3350: I do believe it is as well. You're not exactly fond of Anise are you? Lol. I agree with you on the gruesome factor though.
Mrs. Mina Harker: Hehe, aw, I loved your review *grins* Thanks!
Graymoon74: Thank you, and thank you. Very kind. And yes, I couldn't bear to kill Anise… again. Hehehehe, don't know why the "So long America" line screamed to be written, but it was, and I thought it was quite funny. Hehehehe, I thought you liked Woods *smiles*
Raven Silvers: You okay there, buddy?
Nathan-Daystorm: Thank you. I'm glad you love it… especially the carnage *winks* Had a feeling you'd enjoy that, lol! *sees Moloch, and screams like the sissy girl that she is*
Sethoz: Ease up on the plushie there! You'll squish the poor thing! I'm glad you liked that chapter. Yes, our Thomas was very violent, wasn't he? Hehe… surviving with a crushed head does seem very unlikely, doesn't it? I LOVE YOUR QUOTE! *laughs outrageously* Ocean's Eleven ROCKS!
funyun: Hehe… aheh, okay you have a point there, but don't let them *points to other readers* know that. Yeah, shoulder is quite vulnerable, disables and isn't too hard to repair. Lol.
BloodMoonLycan: Your name is so appropriate to read this fic… *shakes head* Sorry. Ridiculously cool? I would have to agree with you there, my friend. Hence why I write it *grins* Ooh, cookies!
Emily M. Hanson: Thanks, and here's an update.
Silversnow: *blinks* Um… lol… thanks!
Here's Chapter 25 of By The Light of The Moon!
Loping around the bend in the corridor, he smelt the blood… the warmth and delight that came with the death of the victim, and saliva dripped from his aching jaw, a low, stealthy growl like music that echoed eerily off the walls and ceiling in his immediate vicinity. Eyes blinked slowly, hazed, dizzy but ever alert and watchful, like the creature of the hunt that he was… born for the kill, and built for power and discretion… the ultimate warrior.
Or so Gladius liked to think. Right now he was in agony, and limping, but he could smell it… his vengeance was just around the corner, feasting, from the smell of it, and he hungered for an invitation… though not for the meal… not that he wouldn't help himself to the spoils after he emerged victorious. He always did enjoy a good victory celebration, basking in the misery he bestowed upon others in his wake.
Padding on four lupine feet, he poked his head around the corner, shaggy grey hair falling in disarray around his meaty frame, and his feral eyes narrowed dangerously at the sight of the black mass of werewolf tearing mercilessly into the remains of… Sebastian Woods.
Suppressing the growl at the indecency of Exuro's treachery – or madness – Gladius poised for the pounce, his powerful hind legs squatting and compressing so he could leap with all his bestial agility and unfounded grace. Eyes blazing with intent and perhaps a touch of insanity, Gladius leapt through the air, silent until about halfway through his great arc, when he let out a howling bellow as he lowered towards his own victim, whose silver eyes turned upwards as the black ears flattened and the broad skull twisted to face him.
In the shock, he assumed, the form shifted, and Tom Sawyer became corporeal, knelt near the corpse of Woods, with Gladius' mighty form careening toward him. He looked stunned, as though he had been slapped in the face unexpectedly, and if he had been able, Gladius would have laughed merrily at the expression.
That was when the resonating crack reached his ears, and the searing, flaring pain coursed into his spine. He wailed unceremoniously, and his eyes closed tightly as his maw opened in a silent yelp, even as he was knocked off course by whatever had hit him. He crashed messily to the floor, rolling to a stop, but shaking off the agony, and unsteadily rising to four wobbling limbs, his back all but numb with pain. Yellow eyes glinted at Sawyer, and then he screamed out a howl as the second impact slammed him sideways, blood oozing all over his grey fur, matting it and staining it. The wounds burned horribly, and he thought – with his sensitive hearing – that he could hear a slight hissing.
He started to lose all grip on his lycanthropy, and even as he tried to scramble upright again, he shifted back to his human body, gasping and still growling, his eyes still flaring a cruel shade of yellow. He glared at Sawyer, though the young man held no weapon. He was staring; eyes wide and shocked, bloody for the most part, to Gladius, as though he had no idea what was going on and could not comprehend the situation.
Gladius tried to move towards Sawyer, determined to tear his throat out with his last breath, when the third wound became agonisingly apparent in the side of his torso, the bullet embedding somewhere in the centre of his ribcage, along with the one in the vulnerable area near his spine, and another in his abdomen. He was bleeding madly, and Gladius panted to try and keep his lungs working… they were failing, and fast.
Sawyer could not take his green eyes off the man who was trying to approach him, and even as he watched, the yellow melted away, replaced by a confused brown.
Despite all his bravado and constant arrogance towards everything, Gladius just could not fight off the blackness that was rising in him, eating at his consciousness and slowing his traumatised heart as it thudded erratically in his chest. Blood dripped to the floor, and Gladius furrowed his brow in confusion, looking to the doorway…
… A woman was holding Woods' pistol, barrel levelled – though somewhat shakily, he realised as it rattled in her grasp – at Gladius, her eyes burning with anger and pain. There was an ugly wound in her own abdomen, and she held one of her hands to it to stop the flow that was already slowing. Her face was twisted into a somewhat sympathetic, but intent expression, and she slowly lowered the pistol's end from his head, seeing him falter in his position. Her anger wavered, and she sighed noticeably as Gladius slumped backwards.
Even as his head hit the floor, he felt his last breath escape him, and his brown eyes fluttered closed for the last time.
Tom's breath came in rapid, unsteady bursts after what he had seen, and at the sound of a pistol dropping deafeningly to the floor, his head snapped in that direction, to the doorway, where Anise was about to fall.
He bolted to her side, and grabbed her before she hit the ground, lowering her, and brushing her hair from her eyes, and looking to the wound she was covering. It was slowing in the blood flow, and even as he touched a hand to it lightly, he heard her say breathlessly, "It's healing. It wouldn't hurt to get the silver out, but… I'll be all right… I promise."
Though he barely registered it, there were tears of unrivalled concern in his eyes, as he leaned down and kissed her forehead in relief at the sincerity in her words. He stroked a lock of hair from her brow, and smiled down at her, still more worried than he could remember being. "You scared me for a minute there," he told her unsteadily, and glanced to the carnage in the room. Woods wouldn't be getting up again anytime soon… or at all, now that he realised just how much mess he had made with his revenge kill. Gladius lay not far from that, his chest still, his heart stopped, dead. Woods' 'lackey' lay motionless nearby also, impaled on his superior's knife. Tom looked to the deep, bloodied cut on his right hand, and then brushed it aside from his train of thought.
And Woods' pistol sat stationary near to Tom and Anise. He smiled at it, remembering how Woods had dropped it when Tom had ambushed him. He was suddenly very glad that had happened. If Anise hadn't found it when she had, Tom would be dead by now, he knew. Gladius probably would have made short work of him, considering he had changed back due to the shock of the attack… he hadn't expected that, and it had jarred the lycanthropy enough to make it reverse. The taste of blood in his mouth made him feel queasy all of a sudden, and he grimaced, trying to be subtle.
"Are you all right?" Anise asked quietly, sitting up slowly and carefully. She touched a hand to his face, the skin slightly marred with blood.
"I'm fine," he told her, swallowing unpleasantly. "I think it's just…" He indicated Woods' savaged corpse with a light nod of the head, and took a slow breath. "Starting to think that was a bad idea…"
Anise seemed unable to help the smile, as she kissed him lightly, even as the rest of the League bolted into the room, skidding to halts and coming up around them, surveying the signs of combat in the room. Obviously, they had beaten all the soldiers back in the other, larger room. Even Zachary was present, looking over at Gladius' body in a detached manner.
"Are they-"
"They're dead," Tom interrupted Quatermain, and glanced up at the older man, his former mentor, with a sigh. "All three of 'em."
After a moment of awkward silence, Mina said bluntly, "Good." She lowered herself next to Anise and Tom, as did Jekyll, on the opposite side. Mina checked Anise's abdomen, and Jekyll took Tom by the hand… his wounded hand. He hissed quietly, and glanced to Jekyll, and then Anise, and back again. "It'll heal," he told the doctor.
"I'm well aware of that," Jekyll agreed with one of his trademark smirks. "But it's best to be certain, isn't it? It looks worse than it normally would be given your… condition."
"Silver blade." Tom shrugged, and Mina threw him an inquiring gaze, before she caught sight of his somewhat burned neck, and understood, showing it with a slight nod. For once, her staring didn't bother him.
Skinner and Nemo, along with Zachary and Dmitri, stood closer to the doorway. The Russian seemed desperate to come forward and check Anise, and Tom had to admit – to himself at least – to a pang of protective instinct. He would probably experience jealousy next if Dmitri approached, though he considered the larger man a good friend already… despite barely knowing him at all. He seemed decent enough, and capable of taking care of others around him.
Glancing over at Gladius as Jekyll used a handkerchief to wrap his hand, Tom knew he could rest assured that Lei had been avenged, in the best possible way. It would certainly be safer without the maniac, and his superior, roaming around. It seemed all the others had fled, and Tom wished he had seen more of their faces. He was certain he could have remembered them if he had, and then he would be able to identify them and bring it to the attention of the Secret Service.
He found himself wondering then how the Secret Service would react in regards to his lycanthropy, and quickly decided that if they didn't know… it wouldn't hurt them. With proper training, he would be able to control it fully, and apply it if he needed it in his work. If they ever gave him another assignment that was… since the death of Huckleberry Finn, the mission involving Moriarty, and his joining the League, they seemed hesitant to contact him, though they knew how for certain.
Shrugging it off, he looked back at the others, and decided to confirm what he thought he already knew; "Is the fighting over?"
"Yes, Agent Sawyer," Nemo told him with a single, slow nod of his head, his sword back in its scabbard. "They will not be trying anything of this foul sort again."
Tom nodded, and then realised that Mina was helping Anise to her feet. Jekyll rose as well, finished with his makeshift bandage, leaving Tom to stand shortly after. Zachary shrugged off his coat, and offered it gently to Tom, who reached out tentatively, and accepted it, slipping it on, thankful for the warmth.
"I'm guessin' you'll be wanting these back, 'eh?" Skinner suggested, adjusting the shouldered holsters, and gripping the Winchester in his hands. Tom wondered where Skinner had found them, and smiled. He couldn't remember where he had left them, and realised it didn't matter so long as he had them back. Looking back at where the shreds of his clothing lay, he thought Skinner must have got them from there, but didn't care… at least he told himself that.
Stretching slightly to stop the aching – not that it really worked – he glanced to Quatermain, grateful for the other man's presence, and smiled as best as he could manage. Quatermain gently put an arm around the back of Tom's shoulders, and squeezed slightly, careful not to damage Tom's already wounded shoulder. He realised them – or remembered rather – that he had been shot in the back as well…
… He was going to have a lot of annoying healing to do.