A/N: Anon prompt "Vampire or Werewolf Au"
It never really got painful on the first night. Sure, there was the all too familiar sensation that his organs were trying to escape his body in different directions, but it never got to the point where he longed for a quick, merciful death.
When Jaime Reyes had first been bitten, he'd been left with a festering wound on his arm. Viscid blood percolated through the fabric of his tattered clothes, staining them a rich crimson, and he was only days from meeting death's cold lips. But then the night of the full moon came. As the wound closed at an exponential rate, he felt the sensation of being born again. And then pain. A deep, raw sort of agony that left marks on his flesh from where he'd tried to claw out of his body. His face and limbs elongated, his senses sharpened almost imperceptibly.
The first time he'd encountered a human after he'd shifted, it was a young girl, lost and scared as she lurched through the woods. A moral war had waged in Jaime's mind, but eventually, his feral side won.
As the girl cradled her bloody wound, he slashed his claw in a horizontal strike, ending her life. It was an act of mercy, to let her die rather than become a child of the night. It was a mercy that would forever go without a "thank you."
Since becoming a werewolf, Jaime had learned two things: 1. stay away from humans, and 2. avoid anything silver. He must have been feeling particularly audacious tonight, though, because here he was, a foot or so away from a human with skin that glowed silver in the moonlight. But he couldn't help it. He'd never witnessed anyone so beautiful.
The boy didn't look much younger than Jaime, but his eyes shone with an unequaled brilliance that could turn the moon green with envy. His messily parted hair fell into his eyes, and Jaime could hear the pitter-patter of his erratic heartbeat. He could also sense the desperation emanating from the boy as he risked a step backwards.
The simple action spurred Jaime to action, and he tackled the smaller boy to the ground. With the boy pinned helplessly beneath him, Jaime indulged a moment to drink in his features up close. And then he slowly, slowly, lowered his lips to his alabaster skin. Jaime inhaled, breathing in his unique scent. His lips, which were curled into a canine-like smile, mouthed at the boy's neck as he marked the skin, marked the boy as his.
As Jaime savored the sweet taste, he couldn't help but feel as if he was slowly drinking poison. The moonlight bathed skin meant danger; anything silver was forbidden lest he bring pain to himself, but was intoxicating at the same time. Finally, he lifted his head to gaze into the boy's eyes once more.
"Your name?" Jaime demanded in a throaty, almost guttural, growl.
"B-Bart Allen," he gasped in response.
"Bart Allen," Jaime repeated, the word fitting snugly on his tongue. He extricated himself from Bart and bared his milky white canines. "Run."
The boy didn't need to be told twice.
Jaime waited, counting the seconds in his head. Once a werewolf had your scent, they could track you anywhere, no matter how many miles you distanced yourself. It was only the first night of the full moon and he could retain at least part of his sanity. But tomorrow night things would be different. More… feral. And the chase would begin.