Disclaimer: I don't own "Cabin in the Woods" or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: This is a Marty x Dana fic. Figured that since I love the movie I should finally get around to writing something for it. Part III of the "La petite mort" series.
Warnings: PTSD, mild sexual content, dub con elements, transformation, friends to lovers, adult language, canon appropriate violence, blood, drama, romance, angst.
No wealth, no ruin (on Rifle Road)
It was the human in her that made her hesitate for as long as she did. The silly girl who pleaded that Marty wouldn't want it. That changing him wouldn't be right. That they could protect him. That if they really cared about him, they'd let him go.
The girl could cry prettily, but it didn't keep the wolf at bay for long.
The night after they almost died on a blood-soaked stretch of blacktop called Rifle Road, she waited until his breathing evened before she climbed out of bed. The movement was smooth. Sure. Sheets barely rustling. Making nothing of the divide between the double beds - the unwelcome territory that kept them separate - as she stood quietly above him.
The decision was easy in the dark. He seemed his weakest then. Watching as his face twitched and frowned in sleep. Wanting to make the hollows under his eyes healthy again. Allowing the human in her the concession of gently tracing the lines of his face, lingering on the stubble on his cheeks and the angle of the bones underneath.
She'd almost lost him today.
They'd been walking down a narrow road, looking for supplies. She had been distracted, nose twitching at the reek of old blood. Scenting burned radiator fluid and viscera. Bile and aging adrenaline. More interestingly, there had been a stag watching them through the tree-line, making her mouth water at the clean, musky smell. Nails going sharp at her sides, before-
"Is that a baby?"
Her head came up with a jerk.
But Marty was already running towards the sound.
Stupid.
Stupid.
Stupid.
"Marty! No!"
She'd barely gotten there in time, tripping over abandoned suitcases and dew-wet clothes. Yanking him back by his collar before he could reach inside the car. The thin wail of an infant carrying from inside.
"Dana?! What the hell!? It's a-"
It wouldn't have happened if he'd been like her. He would have been able to smell the rot. The lies. It would have saved him from the way his expression fell as the huge insect scrambled out after him, antennas thrashing wildly. Glossy wings buzzing in a clear threat display, stinger dripping with poison.
It made the sound again, mocking. Enticing them to come closer. The pitch perfect cry of an infant echoing through the ripped interior of the sedan.
Marty's scent dropped, horrified and cowed. Tripping over his own heels as she pushed herself in front of him. Protecting him as she snarled a challenge. Welcoming the violence. Nothing was as it seemed anymore. But one thing would always remain, the strong would always prey on the weak. Predator and prey, no matter the cycle, was always a familiar rhythm.
She made a point of tearing the insect to pieces while he watched. Smelling his discomfort as the creature's mimicking cries warped into a shrill, desperate trilling.
Neither of them said anything about the empty baby seat still strapped into the backseat.
She refused to speak with him for hours afterwards.
That was the day the human in her lost the argument.
It was safer this way.
Minutes tensed past as she stood above him.
His right leg twitched, shirt riding up under the sheets.
His left arm was tucked under his head, fist tight even in sleep.
He talked in his sleep sometimes, whimpering.
But not tonight.
She bared her teeth into the gloom, taking in his scent. Memorizing the old smell of her mate to be enjoyed later. She would share it with him. Giving him the context she lacked when she'd first changed. The one who'd bitten her hadn't shown her the way, she'd was still learning. And now he would learn from her. As it should be. As it had always been.
She leaned in, easing the covers down his body, inhaling happily. Blood singing as she eyed his shirt, wanting him bare. She let her nails sharpen, trailing the razor points down his ribs, slowly slicing the shirt to ribbons. She grinned as the pieces slithered apart, showing pale skin and the steady rise and fall of his chest. The strong beat of his heart drawing her in as she inhaled greedily.
The wolf was slavering.
The human in her was strangely quiet.
As if both parts of her were caught in the rightness of it.
She waited until his scent warmed, smoked and caramelized with innocent want before she climbed on top of him. She wanted to own what he was dreaming. Desperate to know if it was of her, but not enough to stop what she'd started.
There would be time for that later.
"Wha-what is it?" he murmured, voice heavy with sleep. Pulse racing as he instinctively tried to curl away, protecting his vulnerable parts. "Dana? ...Dana? Are you okay?"
Her smile was all teeth as he blinked up at her. Soft and far too trusting.
"I know why you stayed," she rasped, nuzzling into his hairline. Tracing the shell of his ear with her tongue as he shivered. Hips hitching instinctively into hers before stilling with embarrassment. Wide palms fluttering around her elbows like he could hold her back. Like there was something in him that felt like prey.
It would be the last time he'd have to feel that way.
She smiled at the thought, deciding it was comforting before she struck.
He was everything she could have hoped as the change took him.
Stubborn and whining with need as she cradled him close.
He'd been made for this.
For her.
And she whispered it all to him, every secret, as he burned with fever.
It wouldn't be long now.
A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – There will be one more part to this series.
Reference:
- Part of the title is from the song "Oh Death" by Jen Titus.