So what if you can see the darkest side of me
No one will ever change this animal I have become
Help me believe it's not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal I have become

Help me believe it's not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal!
This animal I have become

The Animal I Have Become - Three Days Grace


Zoe looked around to make sure nobody was watching her, then turned back to the laptop screen. She made a note to herself to check 'symptoms for paranoia' once she was done with her original search.

The browser window she'd opened looked at her expectantly, almost daringly. As if challenging her to throw her sanity onto the chopping block for good.

'Screw this,' Zoe's fingers flew over the keyboard, each 'clack' sounded horribly loud in the empty library.

It took Google 1.2 seconds to show the image results for 'tattoo'. Needless to say, it didn't exactly show what Zoe was looking for.

'Okay, fine,' She massaged the ridge of her nose, racking her brains for details of Sam's tattoo. There'd been a symbol inside that fiery sun… Zoe had seen it before, she just wasn't sure…

Pentagram.

The pictures that popped up proved Zoe right: That was the symbol she'd seen on Sam's chest. 'What the…'

She'd slept with a Satanist? Had she fallen that far off the rails? Zoe refused believing it, and clicked 'web search' more out of need to reassure herself she hadn't just booked a suite in hell than real hope she could indeed be delivered still.

Surprisingly, it seemed as if Zoe's tender soul might be preserved for heaven, should she be forgiven the deadly sin of lust. Oh, and the betrayal of people she loved, of breaking with her faith, of lecherousness… God would have to have a ridiculously good day when she knocked at his door.

'Okay, so, no Satanism.' Zoe observed with some relief as she scrolled down the wikipedia article. 'Then that brings up the question: Why would Sam tattoo a protection symbol on his chest?'

Zoe wouldn't have been surprised that had she typed 'Sam Winchester' into the search bar, synonyms would be 'mystery' and 'cause for headaches, guilt and lust'.


"Well, Sam, I gotta ask."

Sam tensed as if he'd been attached to high voltage equipment. "Ask what?"

"What's up with all your breaks from hunting. I mean, I get that it's been rough and all, but you can't just deal with that crap alone, you have to let me help you."

"Dean… look, I know you want to help, and I appreciate it, I do. But there just are some things I have to handle on my own. I just need some more time."

Dean nodded slowly. His way of dealing with hell had included high proof drinks and a good dose of denial; to be honest, he'd advise Sam to do the same, but the thing was: Sam wasn't him. So if his way of processing Lucifer's cage was flying solo now and again, then his job as the older brother was to let him – but keep an eye on him all the same. It was his responsibility that that wall wouldn't break.

What Dean didn't know was that there were far more important matters on Sam's mind than the tiny detail that he'd been tortured by Lucifer himself for a whole year.


San Diego, California

Three Months Ago

At times like these, Sam almost wished he smoked. A sleepless existence could get boring enough, stakeouts didn't exactly add to the charm – and a lung-empoisoning habit would be one way to pass the time, at least.

Then again, a smokerlung could prove inconvenient when running after a monster. Getting torn to shreds because you're out of breath from a little fighting wasn't what Sam thought of as a glorious way to go out.

Sam checked the magazine of silver bullets for the trazillionth time this night. It wasn't that he doubted they'd vanish into thin air and leave him defenceless in the claws of a werewolf, but rather that he didn't have anything particularly interesting to do instead.

A rattle, then a clonk.

Sam looked up, his eyes scanning the dark alley. Cocking his gun, he noiselessly melted into the darkness and approached the turned over garbage can. Sure enough, there lay a heartless corpse, blood still gushing out of the shredded body. The werewolf couldn't have gone too far.

Growling, just a few yards away.

Sam whirled around and fired, three silver bullets penetrated the beast's heart, but the growling didn't stop – it came from behind him.

A barely perceptible pain in the neck, which Sam didn't bother paying too much attention to, and he knocked the werewolf onto the ground with one well-aimed punch. Not even blinking, Sam pulled the trigger, giving the monster a lethal dose of silver.

He raised his hand to check his neck for blood, but the ringing of his cell phone stopped him. To cut off the attention-drawing noise, Sam quickly picked up, not even caring that the called ID revealed that it was his brother on the other end. Dean definitely was the smaller vice than getting caught in the centre of a bloody murder scene.

"What?"

"I found a way to get your soul back. Get here as soon as you can."

That message caused soulless Sam to permit his first and last lapse: He forgot about the bite, and when he would remember this night, it would already be too late for a cure had there been one.


Bemidji, Minnesota

Present Day

Zoe was sure she had not only developed paranoia, bipolar disorder, but also arithmomania, for the way she was counting down days to the first week of May wasn't healthy, let alone sane anymore.

Sam Winchester had turned her into a walking complex of disorders. And Zoe would happily admit herself to the asylum if it meant she could spend just one day with him; yes, that's how far it had come. Her mind was telling her it was all wrong while her heart and body were screaming that it was all right.

Seems like schizophrenia could be added to the list.

"This one's kinda cute," Lola held up a pair of denim hotpants. She couldn't believe she'd been able to convince Zoe to go shopping with her; it was like Zoe had been abducted by aliens and they'd implanted a chip in her that transformed her into an actual young girl of the 21st century.

"I like the skirt version better," Zoe countered and held up a miniskirt.

"You are aware that that's not a piece of underwear?"

"I'm not stupid, Lola."

"Just saying. It's short."

"I had been under the impression that was the point of miniskirts, yes."

Lola raised her eyebrows appreciatively. "Well, go try it on."

"Will do…. Hey, can we go to VS after this?"

"Okay, who are you and what have you done with my churchgirl Zoe?"

"Even nuns have to wear underwear, Lo. As a girl, I'm officially entitled to shop for lingerie, might as well do it at Victoria's Secret."

Lola sighed proudly. "Finally. My influences takes."

"Yeah, yeah," Zoe replied absent-mindedly, thoughts already one week ahead. With Sam. He had infiltrated her mind without her ever noticing that she was quickly steering towards the point of no return when she wouldn't be able to be without him anymore.

And the speed was increasing up to the point where it'd get too fast for her to jump off.


Faith Heart had stopped looking around. She now sat in church without ever raising her head; her daughter wouldn't come. Weeks had passed since her scandalous 'cancellation' of her wedding, of her disgrace, and the priest had let her know that Zoe hadn't come to confess, let alone to atone.

'Oh, Lord, what dark powers have you let my daughter fall prey to?'


Zoe stared down at her Literature sheet, reading the same words over and over like Sisyphus rolled his stone uphill again and again, with equal success: Nothing stuck.

'What am I racking my brains for, anyways? What will I ever do with this crap?' In a never-before-occurred fit of spleen, Zoe flung the papers off her desk and jumped up to wander the room restlessly, like a caged in animal.

Deciding that she would get as much efficient work done tonight as politicians in their whole career, Zoe switched off the lights and got ready for bed. Two more days, then she wouldn't lie here alone anymore.

Naturally, now that she could really use sleep as a way of passing the time, the sandman refused to come and release her from her waking suffering. Lazy bastard.

For no apparent reason, Zoe got hot all over, her skin feeling as if burning holes into the covers. Impatiently, she pushed them down to her hips, but the cool night air coming in through the open window did nothing to soothe that fire.

Zoe ran a hand over her collarbone, then felt her forehead; sure enough, her whole body was burning hot, so it was unlikely fever. After a moment's hesitation, Zoe skidded out of her nightie. Even that couldn't bring her body temperature down, she realized as she lay back down again. Unnerved like a child about to throw a temper tantrum, Zoe kicked off the covers completely, with the same effect.

Following a deeply buried instinct that years of prim education had more or less knocked out of her, Zoe nudged her hands towards her breasts. Tentatively, almost ashamed although there certainly were no witnesses, she brushed her fingertips over her nipples, which reacted all too violently by releasing shockwaves of pleasure that gripped her whole body.

Encouraged and at the same time feeling dirty and guilty, Zoe allowed her hand to travel further down, just to discover her pulsing hot middle was even more sensitive to touch than her nipples.

"Sam…" Zoe bit her lips to the point of them becoming numb. She forced herself to stop pleasing herself, to wait for Sam to satisfy that ravenous desire that burnt her up. But she couldn't wait two more days and walk around a jumpy bundle of nerves until then, dripping wet and lusting for sex with every fibre of her body.

More in trance than full sanity, Zoe reached for her phone. At least, a trance would explain her behaviour; it would be more convenient than having to admit she'd probably have to add lecherousness to the list of issues she was developing.

"Zo."

"Sam… can you talk? Where are you?"

"On my way to you," Sam's deep, rough voice was almost enough to make Zoe touch herself again.

"How much longer?"

"A day, probably." Sam wasn't happy about that in the least; he thought he had all the time he needed to pack up and get back to Zoe on time before the time around full moon would start. What he hadn't expected was his hunger setting in full force today – four days before full moon. Then he remembered a rather inconvenient fact from his soulless time; werewolves didn't stick to moon's schedule any longer. They turned on half-moons; who was to say they couldn't turn randomly, at any time?

'Monsters getting creative, that never was a good sign.' Sam thought grimly with the last fibre of humanity left in him at the moment.

Except this time, you're getting an insight look on the creativity of monsters.

A quick glance in the rearview mirror told him his pupils had turned to black slits already – he would either have to get to Zoe tonight or hope he wouldn't cross any humans before the sun came back out.

Considering he was driving up to Minnesota, the probability he wouldn't run into a human was ridiculously high, actually. So unless the new werewolf diet included deer, he might pass the night without murdering anything to satisfy that burning hunger in him.

"Make it a quick day," Zoe breathed, and before she knew it, she confessed what she'd meant to say all along: "I'm so fucking hot for you, Sam. Now, here… I need you. Want you to fill me, make me scream."

"Believe me, there's nothing I'd rather do than drive into you so hard you won't walk for a week."

Zoe let the long-suppressed moan roll over her tongue. "I want you to, Sam. Fuck me senseless, make my body regret needing you. I want you to come inside of me, hump me dry," Zoe's breath became irregular, her free hand squeezed her left breast, which was aching with need to…nurse.

Sam's hands tightened on the steering wheel and might well have snapped it in two if he didn't release most of his frustration on the gas pedal. The speedometer sprung to 150 mph.

"My body screams for you, Sam."

I can hear it, Zo. Believe me. Loud and clear.


With the first beams of releasing sunlight, Zoe's sexually tensed body finally relaxed, leaving her exhausted and unsatisfied.

'Wow. Well that wasn't fun,' Zoe dryly commented to herself. She had a feeling that if any man had shown up at her doorstep this night, she'd have jumped his bones like a bitch in heat.

'Bones, bitch in heat, I'm talking about myself like an animal,' Zoe grumbled and tried getting some order in her hair – fat chance. Wondering if her professors would take 'sleep deprivation from intense sexual longing for a tall dark handsome stranger' as an excuse, Zoe crawled back into bed. One day of absence would neither hurt her nor her grades, and she'd avoid the risk of having sex with the janitor in the broom closet, too – she wanted to preserve all that sexual energy for Sam.

Gripped again by that heat, Zoe's hand crept to her still wet centre. She pushed down her panties and abandoned all thought of the wrongness of this as she slipped a finger into her, letting out a somewhat relieved sigh at the promise of this electrifying tension being released.

A growl, deep and holding the promise of the strength of ripping her apart if he wished to.

Zoe's eyes flew open and she sat up abruptly, as if struck by epiphany – or maybe by lightening. Same thing essentially.

Seeing his mate pleasuring herself held some sexy excitement, Sam had to admit; but if anyone was allowed to make her scream and fill her with pleasure, he was.

"Sam," Zoe breathed, not knowing if she should die of shame now or sigh in relief. Sam ended that debate by taking her hand away from her lap, fiercely pushing her down onto the bed and spreading her legs as he pinned her arms above her head with such strength she'd carry bruises tomorrow.

Zoe lay there like an obedient bitch – which she technically was – and arched her hips towards Sam in a plea of finally satisfying that lust burning her up. "Sam, please, just…" At that moment, she didn't wonder how he'd gotten inside and how she hadn't noticed, all she cared about was having him deep inside her and pounding that pulsing spot until it hurt.

"Please what?"

"Make me scream. Fulfil those promises you made on the phone."

Sam believed this to have been sufficient foreplay. Keeping Zoe's wrists pinned down with one hand, he discarded of his jeans with his other and drove into her with one hard, deep thrust without further preamble.

"Fuck, yes!" Zoe moaned and pushed her hips forwards to meet Sam's violent thrusts and take him as deep as possible. "Sam, oh, shit, right there… harder. Fuck." Not being able to move her arms freely drove her insane, but the good kind of insane; it didn't take long for her to scream out her release.

Sam came inside of her, pumping his werewolf seed into her, but was hard for her again before he even pulled out. He flipped Zoe around. "Get on your knees."

Zoe shivered from perverse excitement at what was to come her way. If she kept on corrupting and de-moralizing herself at this rate, she'd be a porn star by next week.

If she had thought that being tied down had been submissive, Zoe experienced a whole other level of it now that she could feel Sam's rock-hard length pressing at her wet pussy from behind. "Oh, God, yes," She moaned, despite feeling that twinge of uneasiness of being even more at his whim than she already was.

"You're so damn tight," Sam groaned as he drove himself between her legs riotously, ignoring Zoe's whimper at the discomfort of the unfamiliar position and the different feel of him inside of her. Her arms trembled, threatening to desert her, as she had to withstand the violent but oh so sinfully pleasing rams from behind. She felt Sam's fingers painfully digging into her hips as he drove into her, and despite knowing she should cry from unease, she couldn't help but scream in pleasure. "Yeah, oh, fuck, yes! Sam!"

After the second orgasm had racked her body, Zoe felt satisfied, relieved and happy. For now.


Zoe snuggled closer to Sam as her breath calmed down to a human pace again. For a moment, she'd actually been scared her heart might give out.

She didn't seek his closeness out of affection, but rather because it felt right being near him. "Are you ever going to tell me why you got this tattoo instead of an other?" Zoe started softly, tracing the ink under Sam's firm tan skin.

"I thought I already told you…"

"You told me it was a stupid thing you did when you were young, but a) am I not quite buying that yet, and b) why not get, let's say a naked woman instead of a pentagram?"

"What, not rebellious enough for you?"

"I don't think rebellion is the real motive behind it."

"No? Then what would be?"

"Protection."

Sam huffed contemptuously, not liking Zoe catching onto the right trail – or barking up the right tree, so to speak. "Of what?"

"You tell me."

"I don't think I will."

Zoe sat up and glared down at Sam, though even her superior physical position didn't change the dangerous glint in Sam's eyes that reduced her self-confidence to that of an awkward teenager instead of a young woman who'd just discovered the taste of life. And all she wanted in that moment was for him to tear her down into that gorgeous abyss the devouring hunger in his eyes presented her.

Zoe changed tactic; instead of throwing a bitchy fit, she went for bleak straightforwardness: "Why not?"

"It's not important."

"Then it shouldn't hurt to tell me," Zoe said quietly. Bedroom eyes on Sam, she glided one leg over him as she rolled on top of him so that she straddled him now. Seductively – at least, Zoe thought that might be a suitable term for what she was doing and how – she leaned down and kissed Sam's firm abdomen, lips trailing up to his chest.

Raw lust gripped Sam as he felt her lush breasts brush against him, those cursed innocent lips rolling over his heated skin up to the tattoo. Zoe stifled a cry of surprise when Sam abruptly grabbed her, fisting his hand in her hair as he crushed her mouth on his. After the shock of the attack had quickly worn off, Zoe melted in the kiss with all the passion she had to give.

And she realized she wasn't only prone to her instincts, but could make use of them, too: "Not before you tell me."

"You're kind of persistent, anyone ever tell you that?"

"No, because I didn't use to be."

Sam pushed his hand against her back, pressing her down on him to make their mouths connect fierily again. "Bad time to start."

"What, you don't like your women speaking their minds?"

"Sure. But not when I want to fuck them senseless."

Zoe didn't even flinch at the sound of those rough words anymore. "I want to know."

"Yeah, I got that. And I don't want to tell you. Besides, you're really willing to prostitute yourself like that?"

"What?" Zoe screeched indignantly; she may be a moralless hussy, yes, but not a prostitute. Yet, anyways.

"You're selling sex for info," Sam arched an eyebrow, and from the look of hurt pride on Zoe's still unspoilt innocent face, he knew he had her.

"Fine," She hissed, and Sam could barely control himself not to bite her right there and then with that delicious scent of annoyance swimming through her scent… damn he wanted to mark her as his, make her his werewolf bitch.

As Sam smiled triumphantly when Zoe stopped pestering and instead lowered herself onto his throbbing erection, a new thought occurred to him: Maybe that was the reason she still wasn't pregnant: She was human, possibly not physically able to conceive from a werewolf…

Claim her. Turn her.


So this chapter turned out a little shorter than I had originally planned, but I figured it's still better than nothing, right? Thanks for reading, reviewing, favoriting and alerting, you guys keep me going! =)

Reviews are love! =)