Title: Howl at the Moon

Warning: smut

Dark Desires After Dusk

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- PRESENT TIME -

Resigning herself completely to her fate, she lifted both her hands and spasmodically clenched her fingers in the soft black fur along its neck. In some ways, she was glad that she was with him in her last moments of life at least.

Any minute she expected his teeth to close over her windpipe and crush it. Then he would rip out her throat, drag her body into the forest where it would never be found . . . .

Once again Rukia felt a silky, wet, and warm tongue trace a path from her exposed collar bone to the edge of her jaw line. Involuntarily, her body began to relax lethargically as the long stroke of his tongue felt almost sensual, and unwillingly her pounding heart changed its rhythm. He nuzzled the junction of her neck and shoulder, and then she felt his panting breath over the artery. A gentle touch that had Rukia tensing her fingers in the silky mane threaded through her fingers in preparation for her final moment in life. Her muscles became taut once again, expecting the puncturing of sharp canines. Unexpectedly, he merely brushed firm lips across her own.

Her senses must be confused from the night's trauma, because Ichigo suddenly felt . . . human. When she opened her eyes, she expected to see an oversized black wolf hovering dangerously above her. Instead, she saw her hands softly grasping not black fur but an unruly mop of orange tresses. Ichigo—a humanoid looking one at that. He knelt possessively astraddle over the top of her and stared penetratingly down into her wide violet eyes. His eyes were so gold and bright, yet so intent. Then his gaze darkened with tortured emotion as it wandered south of her eyes, lingering first at her trembling moist lips and then pausing on her heaving chest . . . .

Following his gaze, Rukia quickly inhaled a quick breath of surprise. Her white sun dress was absolutely ruined, and the sodden white bodice was so transparent it clearly flaunted everything—the shape of her breasts, the color of her nipples—its rigidity reacting to the rain and the cold climate. The lower portion of the dress was plastered to her thighs, and the dark shadowed triangle between her legs showed through the sheer fabric of her dress and her white panties. She might as well have been naked. As he stared at her exposed body like a dog eyeing a meaty bone, he placed his hand on her knee and slowly dragged the bottom edge of her dress up her thigh.

Fear as tangible as the blood in her veins pumped wildly through her body, as she lay unresistingly petrified under him. He wanted her. But Ichigo's manipulations were much more dark and sinister. Despite his questionable human physiology, he could make her desire him as if he secreted some sort of sensual ambrosia that assaulted all her senses. Rukia couldn't understand it, but her belly grew taut and her nether regions melted and pulsed rhythmically.

Ichigo nuzzled her hair and his breath gently puffed into her ear. Her chest quivered; her eyes burned. Having him so close and gentle to her after being apart so long was making her remember things she could never forget. And the memories . . . hurt.

An uncommon rush of emotion caused her muscles to clench, her stomach to roil. For six months she wasn't used to feeling anything. She prided herself on being cool, patrician, in charge: the epitome of a noble Kuchiki ice queen. But no one had ever affected her like him. No one had ever made her as happy or as sad. No one could make her more furious in a blink of an eye. Apparently, no one had ever terrorized her and filled her with such despair to this degree either.

"You shouldn't have come. I tried to do the heroic deed in letting you go, but I should have realized your stubbornness can outstrip mine in its tenacity. You've made your bed. As a result, you've just dug your own grave. I won't hold back anymore." Ichigo growled huskily under his breath.

Rukia's breath caught at his grim declaration. She was still afraid, terrified of this new side of Ichigo. How could she not be? But mixed with that unfamiliar emotion was another emotion she was only just beginning to recognize—she was sexually infatuated about the darkly possessive and dominating way that Ichigo was acting. Despite the cold rain that continued to drizzle down on them both, she was far from cold. She could feel the wave of heat that Ichigo was kicking off with the rise of his aggression and . . . passion. Something about the aura surrounding him made her needy . . . and ready.

Mother Nature continued to cry out in anger as lightning flashed overhead. And a renewed torrent of rain splattered on her face, washing away all the evidence of her prior tears like they never existed. Rukia opened her mouth to coat her suddenly parched throat with the fresh rain as she withdrew deep in thought at this new version of Ichigo.

Many would ask, how could she, a Kuchiki heiress, want a man—especially a beast of the four-footed variety—like Ichigo?

Yet she did, and always would, regardless of his . . . new canine attributes.

No matter what happened, he would remain the same Ichigo in her heart. Rukia was a creature of instinct . . . or perhaps of madness. She didn't know or particularly care. She knew only that when he curled his palm against her thigh tightly, her senses began to cloud in wantonness need.

Ichigo leaned down and ran his nose along her temple, inhaling her scent deeply, before gently brushing his lips against hers. His tongue flicked out licking her lips like she was coated in whip cream. The sensation was like a lightning strike, bringing back all they had shared, making Rukia long for things they hadn't.

His fingers wound in her hair, tilting her head back so he could trail a heated path down her throat. His tongue pressed against her pulse; his teeth worried a fold of skin as his fingers stroked an already aroused nipple to an aching peak.

She felt her nipples harden and grew angered at her lack of control over her body—he seemed to have more control over it than she did. Even with all the confusion of the last few nights, another slow brush of his lips across hers had her wanting him still.

Her breath caught at his surprising gentleness, but it was merely the calm before the storm. All tenderness faded as his mouth crashed roughly down onto hers. Their teeth clashed, and she tasted blood. His or hers? She didn't know. The taste only tempted her to give into the wildness she had always kept incased in ice. Involuntarily, her lips opened, and she welcomed him in. Their tongues dueled—touched, sparred, and retreated. She shuddered, fighting the unfamiliar out of control feeling. It was almost like old times in one sense, yet this rapid fire build-up of lust was completely new.

Ichigo. He tasted the same—like red wine on a cold winter night. His heat had always melted her ice. With him, she'd been warm, safe, and alive. He growled in a low rumble that seemed to reach all the way to Rukia's toes, and then he pulled away. Lowering his head to capture one stiff nipple, he suckled strongly through her wet dress. As she arched against him, he moaned and aligned their bodies just right. The press of his thighs wasn't the only thing she felt. Judging by the size of his arousal against her, he'd missed her—in more ways than one.

"Do you love me?" Ichigo whispered seductively, nuzzling his face in between her breasts before lifting himself up to study her face.

"Yes, I will always love you." Rukia replied softly, staring into his eyes in earnest assurance.

"Do you still love me now that you've seen what I am?" he questioned her.

Her voice strengthened in resolve, as she replied, "Yes. I don't care what you are or what happened. You will always be the Ichigo in my heart."

Did she really still love him? There was not even the slightest smidgen of doubt about her unwavering love for him. She would know his soul and touch anywhere. Regardless of her fear and her exhaustion, her soul cried out for him just as her unwilling body begged for him. "Ichigo, I don't care what happens, as long as I'm with you for however long that is, I am happy."

Resigned to her inescapable fate, she added seriously, "Will you kill me now?"

"Kill you?" His golden eyes narrowed in passionate anger. "Yes. I'm going to kill you—over and over again . . . just like our last night together."

It was a threat her heart couldn't comprehend . . . but her body remembered perfectly well what he meant after her memories of 6 months ago returned with a vengeance.

He chuckled mirthlessly without humor, as he taunted her. "What were you thinking, Rukia? Did you think that I would rip out your throat?" His hand on her thigh slid higher unheeded, and before she knew it, his hand had brushed aside the crotch of her panties and abruptly ripped them away. His fingers then slid between her silky wet folds, found her clit, and stroked with a leisurely, almost imperceptible touch.

When he talked like that, his lips moving against her neck, he made her panicky.

"La petite mort." He smiled, his teeth shone white and sharp in the dark forest. "'The little death', the aftermath of an overpowering orgasm. I remember everything from that one night as I killed you over and over again. So beautiful . . . . Since that night, I've dreamed of tasting you . . . of taking you over the edge over and over again. Except this time . . . it'll be with my cock pumping inside of you as you climax tightly around me. The longing, the need, the yearning has driven me half insane. It took all my will power to turn from you. But now that you're here, there's no going back."

Each one of her senses widened, embracing the scent of the earth, the cold rain, the wilderness around them . . . the wildness in him. She couldn't help but be enraptured by his look, his touch, and his words.

Rukia took a deep fortifying breath. Her eyes shied away from the dark intensity of his eyes. Unintentionally, her gaze slid over his shoulders so broad they blocked the rain momentarily, down to his muscular chest to the visible source of his masculinity.

Rukia could feel the heat radiating from above her; it was the only thing that kept her from shivering as the wind howled through the trees and lightening blistered the air. She looked further down at his sculpted belly . . . His cock was an engorged red color, deeply veined, and larger than . . . well, actually she had only guessed what one might look like. Not that she had ever seen even a picture of a naked penis before either.

"Touch me." Ichigo commanded her, having seen where her eyes had drifted and continued to stare in wide-eyed innocence.

Rukia squeaked in maidenly sensibility, blushing like mad that she had been caught staring at it. Reluctantly she pulled her gaze up into his eyes. Touch it? She was already suffering the fires of hell in embarrassment in seeing a live male penis for the first time in her life. Both Byakuya and Ichigo had always kept her sequestered from the sexual mores of society, and to her chagrin any hentai mangas she may have tried to peek in was soon confiscated. Other than that one night, even Ichigo's make out sessions never involved anything below the belt or the removal of either of their clothing.

Reading the obvious attack of self-consciousness in her face, the hand on her clit pinched the little hard flesh between his thumb and forefinger hard. And then coating a finger with the fresh onslaught of juices flowing from her, he dipped a finger deep into the entrance to her slick tight sheath. The pleasure was so sudden, so intense, she found herself clenching that place between her legs in sudden longing. Her arms had long ago fallen from their purchase in his hair. Now they stretched out to her sides, grasping handfuls of her raised dress to try to suppress the passion that was multiplying to a terrifying inferno.

"Touch me," he repeated once more, his voice brooking no refusal.

When she raised trembling fingers and gently brushed the backs of them over his cheek, his lids closed briefly with pleasure. Blushing in mortification at what she was going to attempt to do, she reached up and lightly placed her hands on the only non-erogenous zone she could think of, his shoulders. She could do this. It was just Ichigo. The muscles in them rippled and shifted. Remembering the combination of pain and pleasure he had wrought on her own body with just the use of his callused fingers and nails; Rukia attempted to duplicate that technique on him. With that memory uppermost in her mind, she dragged one hand down his chest slowly, using her nails to slightly scratch down his torso, nails digging into his flesh.

He shuddered in incredulous disbelief at the combination of naiveté innocence and forward boldness. The hand between her legs paused as if he was eagerly waiting in expectation for more of her daring touch. As she curiously stroked his nipple, circled, pinched it, his body appeared locked in suspension. As both his nipples tightened, she heard his breath rasp in his throat.

Perhaps, she was not quite as helpless as she originally thought . . . .

Except, now that she'd started touching him, she couldn't stop even if she wanted to. She loved the feeling of his warm satin skin overlaid over steely muscles; loved realizing that he was dangerously on the edge of violence, this not-quite-human man, but she held some power over him.

Removing his hand from her between her legs, he stopped her teasing hand, drew her fingers down from his chest, and wrapped them around his stiff cock. She wanted to pull her hand away in sudden shyness . . . but then he used her hand to stroke himself. A low rumbling purr escaped him, while he closed his eyes and relished her soft touch. His palm still covered her hand, and when his fingers clenched, heat coursed between them like an electric current.

As Ichigo had chased her down like a hare on the lam, Rukia had run with all her might. However, now that he caught her, there was no where else she wanted to be more than here in his arms. And she knew without a doubt that no matter how much she tried to escape or how loud she screamed, he intended to have her here and now.

When he let go of her hand, she found she became reluctant to take it away. Mesmerized, she used her thumb to find a silky bead of thick moisture at the tip and spread it in a small circle along and under the sensitive edge of the head of his shaft. His breath hissed between his teeth and his muscles rippled in desire. For a second she feared she'd driven him over the edge back into his bestial form. But no . . . . He was still human.

He leaned his head close and spoke softly into her ear. "Not only can I feel your arousal, but I can smell the strong scent of your arousal from a long distance away?" He laughed a deep, husky, wolfish growl. "And, I know when I do this"—once again his hand slid into her panties—"all logical thought retreats, and the scent of sweet arousal permeates the air in a frenzy of awe inspiring lust."

He chuckled again, and his finger abrasively massaged her exposed clit. She closed her eyes, trapping the sensation inside her. At this point, she was completely helpless to the desire Ichigo invoked and she struggled to understand Ichigo's words.

"Rukia, I'm not the same Ichigo you knew before." As he had threatened, his finger slid all the way inside her. "I'm your harbinger of death."

Then he rubbed strongly with the heel of his hand. He stroked her inside and out, and as surely as he had transformed, she metamorphosed too. She became a creature composed of nothing but passion, lit by an inner fire. Her back instinctively arched to press herself against him, grinding her hips harder against his hand. A long breathy moan escaped her lips.

Abruptly, he took his penetrating hand away. Rising to his knees, he moved lower between her legs. Then without any warning, he fell ravenously on her chaste womanhood. Before she could grasp any thought, her body exploded in an abrupt mind-numbing climax. His eyes closed, his neck corded with strain, and his expression was exquisite agony as he lapped up the remains of her release.

With a growl that seemed to reach all the way to her toes, he raised himself and loomed over her prostate form. Then he put his hand on the bodice of her dress and viciously rent the garment down the front.

For one long nerve-wracking moment, he slowly perused her naked body with eyes that were intense but now warm and golden. He gave a sharp groan that she knew was involuntary; as if he found her incomparably beautiful.

A strange expression flitted across Ichigo's handsome features. He suddenly looked hungry and covetous—as if she in her innocence possessed some kind of treat he'd never tasted before.

Lowering his head, he captured one nipple roughly, and then scored it with his teeth. Pulling her nipple into his mouth, he suckled hard, assaulting her senses with his lips and tongue until she forgot to be timid and released another surprised moan. Then he sank his teeth lightly into her flesh, scarping across her fragile nerve endings.

Up close, she could see his eyes were starting to change, as were his jaw. His bestiality was beginning to ebb out of him more prominently. Somehow she couldn't find it in herself to care, and her head kicked back further as her back arched desperately closer to his sharp canines. He continued to abrasively nip, suck, and lathe her entire chest until she was left shuddering in renewed passion at the combination of pain and pleasure.

The rain continued to fall directly on her upturned face, but did nothing to cool down her rising ardor. The earth cradled her in its womb. His body heated her above. Everything about this moment was primal, intense . . . primitive. She was a sacrifice to Ichigo's need. A willing sacrifice . . . . Whatever he wanted or needed, she would freely give of herself. Each time his tongue circled her nipple she yielded more wholly.

Suddenly, he pulled away and stared down into her eyes for a long moment.

The intent expression on his face made her made her feel uneasy. Something sparked in his eyes, and for an instant she was afraid of him, which was foolish. He could never hurt her. At least not physically . . . .

Ichigo looked as hungry as the veritable big bad wolf in fairytales. She gulped hard when her eyes automatically strayed south again. Emphasis on the "big" of big bad wolf was prominent in the forefront of her thoughts.

Rain slid down his cheek, and moved by some previously undiscovered instinct, she licked the droplet. It tasted wildly of the storm that was brewing between them. However, it was the straw that broke the camel's back.

In a swift dizzying movement, Ichigo shifted to the side and flipped her over by the waist. He pressed her chest down into the grass, arms in front of her, and raised her bottom up. He growled as if pleased, then immediately kicked her knees open with his own. He slid her skirts up, bunching the fabric on her back, and the cold air washed over her bare legs and bottom. He put one arm solidly around her waist. Then moved his other arm under, over her breast, and clenched her shoulder from underneath, holding her immobile. For the first time, she felt the weight of all man skin to skin: heavy, muscled, and extremely hard.

He was so heavy she could barely breathe, and so big that he surrounded her, his heat burning her back, scorching through her damp clothing. His hot breath stirred her hair. She inhaled his pungent scent, the hot, mingled odors of sweat and all man—primitive and dangerous. The smell of him filled her, warming her within as his body warmed her without.

All she could do was feel him, his body stretched on top of hers, his iron-muscled limbs controlling her. She could feel his chest move with his heat against her back. Rukia quivered, fear and desire twisting sharply together until she couldn't separate them.

Ichigo's hand slid between her legs and he cupped her slick sex, his hard fingers opening the closed, secretive folds. He searched out her small firm clit, pushed back the protective hood of flesh and exposed her to the rasp of his callused fingertips. A soft cry exploded from her, and her hips writhed. Those damnably knowing fingers withdrew after the brief caress, dragging through her swollen folds to find and stroke the entrance to her body. He circled her soft opening with one finger, spreading her moisture around in preparation.

He bent forward, his entire body covered hers, his weight supported on his left elbow and forearm. Rukia couldn't prevent her sudden intake of breath, her involuntary whimper of feminine distress at what was to come.

She felt the slow and deliberate movement of his legs, pushing between hers. He held her down, keeping her in place to do with as he wished. She could feel his huge erection slide against her backside, and then prod against her thigh.

When his cock probed he almost slipped inside her virgin sheath. But he couldn't, her body naturally resisted. She was so much smaller than him, and that tight ring refused to let him pass. He growled in animalistic frustration.

Rukia gasped, her eyes watering from the searing pain. Unexpectedly, her teeth chattered with the sudden chill, and she tried to instinctively scoot out from underneath him because what he was doing appeared to be physically impossible. He was almost twice her size. There was no way that he could fit that thing anywhere in her.

But he stilled her doubt with his ironclad hold on her body, and began to rock back and forth against her tight entrance. Once again, she grew damp. Not from the rain, but rather from the torturous pleasure he forced on her. The discomfort of unwilling arousal and the dampness between her legs grew, and she twisted beneath him, fighting to free herself before she gave him what he wanted.

With the hand Ichigo had been using to keep her hips imprisoned, he slipped it beneath her to briefly cup one swaying breast. After palming her nipple with one abrasively calloused palm, he slowly dragged the hand down to cup and stroke between her legs. When a rush of wetness returned with a force, his continued his shallow thrusting movement until he was able to slip the head of his shaft beyond that tight ring.

Surprisingly, instead of forcing himself all the way in, he paused and leaned further over her. Bracing one arm next to hers, he used one hand to brush her wet tangled hair completely to the side to bare one pale shoulder. Rasping so low that she almost couldn't hear, he declared, "You're mine now."

It was too late for panic at his actions.

As quick as a striking snake, he thrust hard into her, ripping through her chaste barrier. At the same time as she felt her lower body forcefully invaded, she also felt a deep bite—puncturing the tender skin of her shoulder savagely.

On the heels of an ominous loud thundering sound, a painful scream echoed through the forest, as copious amounts of crimson blood blended with the falling rain and dripped down—only to be absorbed by the damp earth.

Suddenly the clouds shifted, and the rain stopped as Rukia's heart gave its last human beat.

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A/N:

Is Rukia dying? Oh no, the suspense . . . .

My word count appears to be increasing incrementally with each chapter. 1k+, Because of the length,J2k+, 3k+, and now 4k+. Don't expect that to continue. this one took me a lot longer time to write and revise. Although, technically I could probably end it here permanently, but you guys would probably hunt me down for it.

Please review and let me know what you thought of this chapter. How was the smut? All you smut-skimmers show some love and drop me a review. What worked or didn't work? Was the smut too raw and edgy to enjoy? Did it make you uncomfortable?

Next Chapter: "Fanged Hell" -- 7 Months Prior: Ichigo's back story. It's a short intermission because I think everyone is curious about how Ichigo got fanged and furry. I couldn't figure out where to place the scene. So blame Ichigo for the intermission during hot wild bestial sex. It'll be the first time you see his POV, and the villain!

As always, special thanks to all the reviewers. Your support has been tremendous in getting through this chapter even though it's hurting like hell to sit and type.

Fathom