Verliebt Sein In der Junge Wolf

By Scribe

Sentinel /Gabriel Knight Adult Fan Fiction xover

Baron von Glower/Blair, Blair/Jim, possibly Jim/Gabriel

Challenge answer...Series. Blair as a werewolf. WIP.

Criticism...Constructive.

Archive...Just let me know.

Feedback. Please. missmozell@earthlink.net

Disclaimer: They aren't mine, none of the boys. Von Glower and Gabriel belongs to Jane Jensen and Sierra, Jim and Blair belong to whoever created and licensed The Sentinel.

Summary: Blair was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now that von Glower's lost Gabriel, he's looking for a new 'companion'.

Notes: The title translates as "To be in love with the wolf cub." I'll probably put more German in (loooove accents, they make me *puddle*), and if I get the translation wrong, blame my English/German dictionery.

Warnings: Well, duh. This IS the rape fantasy group, right? Rape, near rape, nasty mind games. Possibly some violence, I'm not sure yet.

NC-17 eventually

"Oh, shit. Ohshitohshitohshit." The litany ran through Blair's mind as he crashed through the brush, listening for the sounds of pursuit. He'd remarked once to Jim that everyone interviewed for supermarket tabloids after a near fatal accident seemed to have been thinking "Dear Lord" or "God" or "Help me, Jesus" during their moment of crisis. First Ellison had asked him why he was wasting good money on tabloids when they already had a good suppy of toilet paper. Then he'd offered his opinion that a lot of them had probably been thinking something much earthier, but that the journalists didn't want to deal with censorship hassels. In Blair's case, at least, his theory was being proven correct.

Was he headed back toward the hunting lodge? It was so damn hard to tell. Every direction looked the same. The moon might be full, but it's beams scarcely penetrated here in the deepest part of the forest.

He wished Jim were here. With his sentinel powers, Ellison would have no trouble finding the way back to the lodge, or the little bed and breakfast nearby. But Jim wasn't here. Jim was lifting a few tankards in the local tavern. Blair could have been right beside him, choking down room temperature beer and coughing on pungent smoke from mershcam pipes, if he hadn't gotten that fucking romantic notion to take a moonlit stroll.

Romance, Blair thought. Deadliest fucking concept known to man. An errant branch lashed back in his face as he tried to burrow through a particularly tangled section of brush. He gave an involuntary yelp of pain at the unexpected sting, then bit his lip in dismay. It wasn't as if he weren't making enough noise already, blundering through the undergrowth. The sound of his pursuer had been, he thought, growing a bit fainter. That single cry could draw attention again.

Blair forced himself deeper into the thicket, ripping himself loose from brambles that caught at clothing, and hair, and tender skin. He didn't cry out again, even though he ended up with a dozen bloody streaks on arms and neck. When he reached the densest part, he crouched low to the ground. He drew his body up into a compact bundle, making himself as small as possible.

Blair tried to quiet his harsh, panting breath, but it felt like liquid fire in his chest. There was a throbbing ache to go with the stitch in his side, and he thought vaguely that that last fall he'd taken had probably busted a rib. He could feel a million different sensations, along with the pain. There was the trickle of cold sweat running down his back, the tickle as a night breeze blew a strand of his long, curly hair across his face. The crumble of the soft, gritty loam beneath his hands.

And the smells: ripe decaying vegitation, a hint of wood smoke (apple, he thought, their burning apple wood), and a sour, salty tang that he believed was the smell of his own terror.

His eyes were adjusting to the dark of the heavy cover now, and he could make out tiny detairl. He hadn't seen nature like this since he was a child. He'd spent idyllic days on his stomach in the grass, examining in microscopic detail the workings of the world at ground level. Now his eyes picked out the delicate veining on the underside of a leaf that trembled before him at eyelevel.

A hot, coppery taste was filling his mouth, and he spat. The sharp scent immediately assaulted him. Blood. He'd bitten his tongue somewhere along the route of the chase. The metalic taste blended with the lingering acidity of the wine he'd had at dinner.

Blair held his breath for a moment, listening. The night sounds of the forest surrounded him. There were countless subtle rustlings. But which were merely branches in the breeze, which were harmless night creatures going about their business, and which might heralt the coming of his pursuer?

Blair shivered suddenly, violently. Sensory overload, probably from the adrenalin rush caused by his danger. Dear lord, he thought. Is this what it's like for Jim? This overwhelming wave of sound, taste, smell, vision, sensation, crashing and rolling over him, all day, every day? No, it must be worse for Jim, much worse. His senses were more attuned than Blair's to begin with. No wonder he went a little crazy some time. No wonder he needed Blair to keep him grounded, focused. Blair's respect and admiration for his partner grew in those few seconds when he suffered a pale reflection of what the older man had to go through every moment of his life.

Blair heard a twig snap. Something about this small sound set it apart from the usual forest drone. Something heavy had broken it.

"Ohshitohshitohshitohshit." Where are you, Jim? Where are you, man?

Jim's POV

"Shit, maybe I made a mistake. I should have taken the kid to Mexico, like he wanted." Jim thought. He sighed, and took another long pull from the stein of foaming dark beer. He was sitting alone at a back table in the German tavern, working on his second round. Alone, that was the opperative word here. None of the locals were inclined to intrude on the hulking American with the ice blue eyes. He seemed to be brooding, and when such men brooded, it was wise to keep your distance.

Alone, because Blair was still pouting about the place Jim had chosen for their vacation. Christ, why was the kid being so snotty about it? Jim was the one footing the bill, he should be the one to choose where they went, right? He'd spent one brief tour of duty stationed in Germany when he was younger, and had fallen in love with the place. When Simon had threatened to suspend him if he didn't take some R and R, it had been the first place he'd thought of.

There'd been no question of traveling alone, of course. Blair was his Guide, his anchor. Jim needed him nearby at all times. Blair had been excited about the trip: three weeks to do as they pleased, not worrying about crooks or psychopaths or terrorists. He'd brought home brouchures featuring sun washed beaches and ancient vine draped stone temples. When Jim had told him that he'd already booked them for Germany, his face had crumpled like a kid who had just been informed that Santa Claus is just a wino in a red suit, and dad puts those presents under the tree, and you're a little old to believe in that, aren't you, son?

Blair had tried to talk him around. He'd coaxed and wheedled, going on about the thereputic value of sun, sand, salt water, and tropical drinks featuring tiny paper umbrellas. He'd played Jimmy Buffet on the stereo till Jim was ready to use the CDs as frisbees. As the departure date drew closer, Jim had started to weaken. It was the thought of Blair on the beach that was doing it.

He could picture his young companion stretched out on a blanket, surrounded by blinding white sand, dressed only in a pair of miniscule Speedos. He could imagine that straight, slim body slowly toasting to a delicious brown, the light sprinkling of hair on his arms and legs and belly turning to spun gold. The sun would bring out the red highlights in his tumbling mane of dark curls...

Jim shook his head rapidly, dispelling the image, and took another hasty swallow of beer. His mouth had gotten very dry all of a sudden. It did that when he thought about Blair too much. It did that quite often these days.

Blair. Exasperating, endearing, hyperactive, constantly yapping little puppy. Never stopped moving, never shut up. If Blair were there right now, he'd be talking a mile a minute. He'd be commenting on the local drinkers, complaining about the taste of the beer, relating German folktales he'd gleaned from his studies, challenging Jim to a game of darts that he knew he couldn't win...But he wasn't here. Dammit.

Jim took another gulp, and wondered how drunk he'd have to be to excuse what he wished he had the nerve to do. They had a single room, to spare expenses. They had a single large bed, same reason. At least that was what Jim had told Blair. Truth of the matter was, this was an excellent excuse to finally get to lay down beside the young man who had been steadily driving him crazy with lust. Jim was considering going back to the b and b drunk, crawling into bed, and rolling on top of Blair. Just to see what would happen. If Blair pitched a fit, well, hey, sorry. Damn, I was drunk. If he didn't...Jim had never been too drunk to fuck, and he wasn't about to start now.

The strong German beer was giving him a mild buzz. He thought about Blair, back at the b and b. Was he in bed yet? Blair slept in his skivvies, and he favored silk boxers these days. Jim remembered one particular pair. They weren't the baggy white type he was familiar with. No, these were black emblazoned with tiny red chili peppers. And the soft material clung, rather than bagged...

Jim started for the door, tossing a few marks on the bar to cover his bill.

Baron von Glower's POV

Baron Freidrik von Glower stood at the window of his room in the hunting lodge, gazing out at the surrounding forest. There were few visible gaps in the trees. One was where the land fell away to a steep ravine, another held a small bed and breakfast. A little farther off there was open space, but the forest ran right to the edge of the villiage about a mile away. It had always before been secluded enough for his purposes. But now that security was threatened. Threatened by forces both within and without his life.

Baron Freidrich von Glower was a werewolf. No, not quite the angst ridden hairy faced sort portrayed by Universal, cursed by the peircing of an errant fang. No, he was pure, a born werewolf. His father had acquired the family curse when he molested a young gypsy girl, and the ignorant slut killed herself. Stubborn people, the Rom. They held a grudge. His father, who had gone by the sobriquet The Black Wolf, was cursed to take the form of the beast his actions resembled. He had become a werewolf.

But, being a baron, he had acted with impunity for several years. He escaped retribution for his crimes long enough to sire Freidrik and see him grow to the age of reason. Long enough to tell his son what they were, and prepare him for the change that might otherwise have killed him, or driven him mad. But it couldn't go on forever. It had ended in 1758 with his father howling away his life in cleansing flames, placed there by a schatzenjaeger.

"Schatzenjaeger." Freidrik was unaware that he had whispered the word. Schatzenjaegers were born to seek out and destroy evil in all it's many forms. A schatzenjaeger was, by definition, the enemy of his kind. Freidrik shook his head, dark curls ruffling. It was just all so unfair.

He didn't feel evil. What he was...what he did.. The stalk, the hunt, the kill...He was a wolf, and the humans were his for the taking. It was only right, it was only natural. But it was a lonely existence.

Wolves were not meant to live alone. They thrived in a pack. And Freidrik was alone, had been alone for most of his long life. Human companions aged and died, and there was always the danger that the wolf in him would see them as prey. He'd tried to make others of his own kind. His luck had been spectacularly bad.

Every single one he chose either did not survive the transformation, or went mad soon after. And when they went mad, he had to find a way to destroy them. It was difficult. He couldn't kill his children himself. The curse would have wreaked the smae damage upon Freidrik that he visited on one of his bloodline. He was forced to employ human agents to dispose of his sad, suffering offspring, and it broke his heart, every time.

He had begun the hunt club in a desperate effort to find the sort of men who would be most likely to survive the transformation intact. He'd developed the club's philosophy of living fully in the moment, disregarding the outdated concepts of good and evil, and extending one's physical being in order to expand one's spiritual being in an effort to prepare their minds. If their minds were already more wolflike when the gift was bestowed, would they not be more likely to retain a grip on reality?

Von Zell had been his fondest hope. Von Zell. Freidrik closed his eyes, remembering. He'd first met the young man on the club circuit. It was his physical presence that attracted Freidrik first. His blonde hair was worn long, in a fashion that had flourished in Freidrik's youth, and had now returned to popularity. And his eyes were dark, hot pools that missed nothing. They most especially did not miss the baron's interest.

He was impressive. Near Freidriks own height, broader. His shoulders filled the well tailored jackets, the custom made pants showed off long, strong legs. When they were closer, later, Freidrik reveled in the smooth sweep of his chest, the ridged abdomen, the tight, hard butt. From the first time they came together physically, a sweaty rutting in a secluded steam room, Freidrik had known that there was already more than a little of the animal in Von Zell's nature. It had made him hope...

Von Zell absorbed the philosophy, espousing it without reserve. When von Glower felt he was ready, he revealed his true nature. And he prayed that he would not have to slay the young man who had become his friend, and lover. He was relived when Von Zell expressed nothing but joy and excitement, and begged for the blessing of Freidrik's mark.

It had been good for a time, so good. The baron closed his eyes, sighing in sweet pain as the memories flooded back. Racing through moonlit forest with the large brown wolf keeping pace at his side. Playing with some pitiful tramp, herding the prey between them till it fell in gibbering terror beneath their fangs. Rutting, in animal or human form, on forest bed or silken sheets. It had been glorious, and he'd been happy, for a time. Then it had soured.

Von Zell had not escaped the madness. He'd become most difficult, moody and insubordinate. He chaffed at Freidrik's rules, unmindful that they were in place for their own protection. The cattle must not be overly frightened. Yes, he and Von Zell were the hunters. But even hunters could not survive the panic of a maddened herd.

When the mutilation killings had started, he'd known deep inside that it was Von Zell. The sham of the escaped zoo wolves was so pathetic. Only the blind public could believe such shit, he thought. But Freidrik had willed himself to not see it. He had been willfully ignorant. Because if it were Von Zell responsible for bringing so much unwanted, dangerous attention, then Von Zell would have to be dealt with, with finality.

So he had ignored it as the body count mounted, and danger drew closer. But he had been reviewing the other club members, trying to decide if any of them were ready to take Von Zell's place at his side. Perhaps Pryce, if he could be persuaded away from his whores...

Then an angel had walked into the hunt club. A vision. He'd heard Xavier arguing with someone in the lobby, and had gone out to investigate, and there he was. Gabriel Knight. Freidrik was bemused by the brash American. Gabriel was, quite simply, a beautiful man. He was a half head shorter than von Glower. Just the size, Friedrik had thought, to fit comfortably. He was strong, sturdy. There'd be no fear of injuring this one unduly in love, play, or battle. His hair was a russet spill, the lights picking out gold and red strands in the tresses that brushed his shoulders. The face was handsome, and the mouth was delicious: wide, well formed, lips forever curling in an impish smile. The voice was a thick, honeyed drawl that made von Glower long to hear what he would sound like panting and moaning.

With no hesitation, Freidrik had invited him back into the sanctum, invited him into the club and into his life. Von Zell had not been please. He was jealous of course, but he was also suspicious. Normally, von Glower would have put this down to the paranoia that had accompanied Von Zell's other emotional problems. But to be safe, after his new friend left, he had made some phone calls. What he'd found out had troubled him, but fascinated him even more.

It seemed that the young man from New Orleans was a schatzenjaeger. In fact, he was a descendent of the very man who had delivered Freidrik's father to the tender mercies of the villiagers. Freidrik didn't hold that against him. After all, it had been many lifetimes ago. But his status opened up intrigueing possibilities.

Gabriel, like himself, had ties to the supernatural through birth, through his very blood. It did not stretch logic to believe that this might allow him to not only withstand transformation, but actually thrive. A schatzenjaeger must already possess the nature of a hunter. And Gabriel had a shrewd, sly nature. It was obvious beneath his charm.

Before they had finished sharing their first stein of beer in the club's common room, Freidrik had determined that Gabriel Knight would be his next companion, and lover. He had hoped to have time for seduction, but it seemed that Von Zell had removed that possibility.

Gabriel had come to him that afternoon, ashen faced. He had been near speechless with horror, able only to stammer about something in the forest. He had led von Glower to the hidden cave, and waited outside as Freidrik entered, and saw the festering remains of Von Zell's secret victims. Foolish, foolish child, Freidrik had raged silently. Greedy, mad, pitiful child. There was no choice now: Von Zell must die. Wasn't Freidrik lucky to have the perfect agent at hand?

The sun had gone down as he stood by the window, reviewing the past and contemplating the future. Near dusk, a pair of hikers had entered the clearing around the lodge, only to be turned away by Pryce. They had been a handsome pair. One was a tower of lean muscle, dark hair cropped brutally short. His companion was slim, smaller. His dark brown hair tumbled past his shoulders in curls and waves. There was an unspoken physical communication between them that hinted at something more than friendship. Interesting.

Just before it was time to meet Gabriel in the stables and begin the hunt for Von Zell, one of the hikers returned. It was the youth. He skirted the edge of the clearing around the lodge, keeping near the trees. He alternated between staring at the ground and gazing up into the full moon. His body language bespoke someone who was feeling very sorry for themselves. Where was his hulking companion? Didn't he know it wasn't safe to allow such a little sweetmeat to wander alone at night? Had there been a lover's quarrel? Freidrik watched him disappear into the woods, and frowned. The boy was heading toward Von Zell's lair.

Von Zell's POV

*moon the moon calls answer*

A long, low howl reverbrates in the wolf's throat. It is oddly musical, almost gentle. It is a lover's call. He raises his head and spins out the sound. letting it spiral up to the silver disk floating over head. The moon, his only mistress.

The thing that is often mostly wolf, and sometimes mostly man, but never again wholey either, melts between deep pools of forest shadows. Black eyes that should be luminous green or yellow lift again to the agemt of his change this night. The trigger, yes, but not the source of the hot, sweet madness that runs through his blood and buzzes in his mind. That source has blue eyes. *blood for you tonight moon yes* he thinks. Or does he think? Sometimes he only is. But, images, sensations remembered, or thoughts, they are there. *blood for you tonight and for Him*

The wolf has crawled from the stinking cavern that is his lair. He has left behind the half gnawed, putrescent remains of an arm that once belonged to a tourist, a very careless tourist. He could have finished it easily, snapping the bones in strong jaws to feast on coagulated marrow, but he did not. Tonight, he must remain empty till the right meat if found. Tonight, he hunts special prey. He hunts the human slut who has captured the heart of his Master and lover.

The scent is here, thick on the ground. Yes, The Slut has been here. Von Zell saw him this afternoon, saw his pale, shocked face loom over the feeding pit. Then he was gone, and Von Zell did not pursue, not then. He knew, and the wolf knew, that Gabriel Knight *the slut* would returen when his mistress rode the night sky, and the change was smooth and easy. And Von Zell would tear out his throat for daring to fascinate the man he belonged to, who belonged to him.

Another howl, mournful and raging, bubbled up. Freidrik *black wolf*, how can you? How can you want that whey faced smirking bitch? I will gut him, then I will fuck him. Dir steht dir sent gut, Meister.

Oh, but the beast withing has it's limitations. The human part of the mind can hold an intention, but the animal part is easily distracted. It lives in the moment, and at this momnet there is something...interesting nearby. He can smell it. He moves stealthily through the bushes, following the rich, warm scent that the night breeze has brought him. Prey.

He finds him easily, and keeps pace with him at a distance: observing, drinking in sight, smell, sound. A young man, more a boy, really. Alone.

He is dragging his feet in the forest cover of leaves and twigs, now and then heaving a sigh. Why would one so young and bursting with life feel sad?

He catches the soft mutterings, and there is still enough of his human brain left to understand them. "Dammit, Jim. Why d'ya have to be so godawful dense? Why do I have to be so fucking shy? Why aren't you here with me?"

So, Von Zell was not the only one with an obstinate lover. He felt a pang of kinship with the young man, and in an instant his focus shifted. He was still prey, yes. He would always be prey. But prey of a different sort.

They were too close to the lodge. He needed to drive the boy deeper into the woods. It shouldn't be hard, he need only show himself. He cut around untill he was between the youth and the safety of the clearing. Then he leaped from his cover, directly into the startled boy's path. The immediate reaction was as it should have been.

Blue eyes flew wide in terror, and a shout of alarm arose as he stumbled back, turning to run. Von Zell snarled, and leapt. He hit the boy in the small of the back, driving him to the ground. He stayed on top of the thrashing body, catching the back of his soft T=shirt in his teeth and ripping it half away. Then he closed his jaws over the nape of the delicate neck, his fangs coming to dimple the tender skin of his throat on either side. The boy went limp. *good pup* The brown wolf tightened his jaws a fraction, letting the boy know what was possible. The slender body was wracked by a bone shaking tremor, but otherwise he didn't move. This one knew the signals of domination and submission. Von Zell slowly released his grip, then licked the exposed neck and back. He lapped intently for a moment, tasting the salt of sweat, and the indefinable tang of terror. It was an intoxicating mixture.

Perhaps that was why the boy managed to escape. He convulsed suddenly. Von Zell, happily bemused by his delicious taste, was taken unaware, and thrown off. Even before he could right himself, his prey had gone, running before he had even fully gained his feet.

It was to be a chase, then? So be it. The end result would be the same. Von Zell hunted his quarry through the hushed cathedral of the wood. Sometimes the boy drew ahead, but Von Zell never lost track of him. Finally, when he must be near collapse with exhaustion, his prey went to earth. He chose a thick patch of bush and crawled inside, curling up small, hoping to evade his pursuer. But Von Zell found him easily. His scent was too raw, too powerful to miss.

Remembering how the boy had thrown him off the first time, the human part of the wolf's brain suggested that strong arms and legs could hold better than merely jaws. And it would be good if the boy survived at least long enough for Von Zell to spill himself into his body. Living heat was preferrable to cooling flesh. So Von Zell transformed. It wasn't as easy shifting back to human form under his Mistress Moon's gaze as it had been letting his wolf self emerge, but he did it. He stood up from the ground as a man, in outward appearance, at least. He spared a thought for his lover, back at the lodge. Perhaps he was even now burying himself deep in the honey voiced American. "Du bist niche befriedigt, Freidrik," he thought, "Ich auch niche."

There was a small rustle as he neared, a quiet panting. The childlike voice said plaintively, "Jim? Ellison, that you, man?"

"Nein, das Kind, ich nicht dein Jim." Von Zell pushed aside the last branches, and there he was, crouched on the ground. The youth looked up quickly, and a fleeting second of relief washed over his expression at the sight of a man instead of a ravening wolf.

The young man's thick, dark hair was tangled and filled with twigs and burrs. lines of blood marred his face, neck, arms where he had been lashed by branches and thorns. He was quite, quite beautiful.

The boy *pup* started to smile tentatively. Then he saw Von Zell's eyes, and screamed instead. Before he could scramble back into the thicket, Von Zell pounced and caught his ankles. He dragged the kicking, squirming man out into the moonlight of the open space between trees, then he fell on top of him.

"Mein armer, schatz kleiner Kerl, nich ein Stuck zartlich Fleisch. Und ich bin sehr, sehr mager."

"Dir steht dir sent gut, Meister." A lesson for you, Master.

"Du bist niche befriedigt, Freidrik, ich auch niche." You are not satisfied, Freidrik, neither am I.

"Nein, das Kind, ich nicht dein Jim." No, child, I am not your Jim.

"Mein armer, schatz kleiner Kerl, nich ein Stuck zartlich Fleisch. Und ich bin sehr, sehr mager."

My poor, pretty little beggar, another peice of tender meat. And I am very, very hungry.

Jim's POV

Jim could move quietly when he wanted to, and he wanted to tonight. If Blair was asleep already, he didn't want to wake him. He'd need a little time to screw up his courage to do what he'd decided to do on the way back to the little inn.

Jim had decided that, finally, he was going to make love to Blair. That was, if Blair would have him. Jim really didn't want to think about what would happen if Blair didn't want him. He'd never used force to satisfy his physical desires. But then, no one had ever turned him on like Blair did. Truthfully, Jim was a little afraid. Afraid of what he might do if he was rejected.

But he knew Blair was gone before he reached the room they shared. The sound of the reassuring heartbeat, the rhythm that had pulled him back from dangerous distances in his mind and soul, was absent. His scent lingered in the room, that distinct, special Blairsmell, but it was fading a bit. He'd been gone for a little while. The covers of the big bed were smooth, unrumpled. Where was he?

Jim didn't feel alarmed, not just yet. After all, they weren't genetically joined at the hip. Blair needed time alone, occasionally. But...But he was in an alien territory. Jim didn't like the thought of him wandering around, alone, in a strange place. Especially with the woods so close by. While the near tamed German forest could not compare to the Peruvian jungles that had honed his sentinel sensibilities, still...Forests held dangers. That was a truth that would not change as long as man walked the face of the earth.

Unwilling, indeed unable, to wait for his companion's return, Ellison went back down stairs to the lobby. The elderly manager was, as always, on a stool behind his desk. He was patiently carving a block of dark, dark wood. Shavings curled around his feet and on the counter. He looked up with friendly inquiry as the big American approached. "Gutten aben."

"Gutten aben," Jim answered. "Hast du zeigen meinen Freund?"

The old man scratched his chin, and smiled. "Der toller Kerl?" Jim flushed a little, but there was no condemnation or cynicism in his manner. "Hast du zanken mit ihm?"

Jim's flush deepened. "Nein." But under his breath he muttered, ""Er geht mir auf die Nerven."

The old man shook his head, shrugging. "Er hatt immer Unsinn im sinn, diesis Jugend. Er is wandernd."

Great, Jim thought. A walk, at this time of night, in the woods. "Danke."

As Jim started to turn away, the innkeeper said, "Herr Ellison?" When Jim looked back at him questioningly, the old man looked grave. He held up what he had been carving. It was a small figurine of a wolf. The man was talented. The lupine form captured in the dark wood was sleek and powerful, almost elegant. The woodcarver said quietly, "Der Schwarz Wolf jager diese nacht. Es ist der Mandwechsel." There was no teasing in his voice, no amusement in his expression as he said, "Erreichen ihm schnell, Herr Ellison."

There's no need to panic, Ellison, he told himself as he headed for the exit. But he found his steps quickening, and when he went through the door into the crisp night air, he was moving at a fast trot. He headed off along the path that led to the hunting lodge he and Blair had discovered that afternoon. This was where the scent was freshest.

At the lodge, the trail veered off into the woods. No, Blair, Jim groaned inwardly. How many times have I told you about the forest, the jungle? How many times have I warned you? And you probably went in just for that reason, didn't you? To show me. Sulky, stubborn...

His keen vision picked out crushed blades of grass, bent twigs, easily marking Blair's passage. When I find him, he thought angrily, I think I'll whip his luscious little butt for scaring me like this.

Then all irritation was driven from Jim in a sweeping wash as he caught the other scent. It was strong, feral...dangerous. And it intersected Blair's path. "No!" Jim cast about wildly, frantically sifting through the sensory details that threatened to overwhelm him.

That heavy animal smell was bad, but the worst of it was an underlying, sour stink. Jim had smelled it before, when he was dealing with madmen. It was the smell of violent insanity. The mingling was like nothing Jim had ever experienced: horrifying, nauseating. And, dear God, there was also a heady whiff of what could only be pheremones. Whatever it was, man, beast, or some ungodly combination, it was lusting. And it had found Blair.

"Hast du zeigen meinen freund?" Have you seen my friend?

"Der toller Kerl?" The glamour boy?

"Hast du zanken mit ihm?" Did you quarrel with him?

"Er geht mir auf die Nerven." He is a pain in the neck.

"Er hatt immer Unsinn im sinn, diesis Jugend." He is full of mischief, this youth."

"Er is wandernd." He is walking.

"Der Schwarz Wolf jager diese nacht. Es ist der Mandwechsel." The Black Wolf hunts tonight. It is the change of the moon. "Erreichen ihm schnell." Find him quickly.

Blair's POV

When the branches parted, and he saw that it was a man and not a wolf, Blair felt a flare of relief. He'd called to Jim, because it HAD to be Jim. *Thank God, Big Guy. Saved my butt again. I'm gonna have to tell you thank you real nice this time.* But the looming figure had spoken in German. Well, that was alright. It wasn't his Jim, but it was someone who could help him get back to his Jim. And how long had it been his Jim? *Always and ever from the first time he called me Kid till I draw my last breath, and maybe beyond that.*

Then Blair got a better look at the man who was bending toward him in the moonlight. The moonbeams slid over smooth, pale skin. He was naked, and he was rampantly aroused. That was enough to freeze Blair with shock, but what drove him into screaming panic was his eyes. They were black, hot, and souless. They were the eyes of the wolf that had driven him to this pitifully vulnerable sanctuary.

Before he could throw himself farther back into the bush, his ankles were seized, and he was hauled out under the trees as easily as if he had been a tissue being plucked from a box. As he was dragged over the rough ground his shirt slid up almost to his armpits, his back scraping over small rocks and fallen twigs. He found himself staring straight up into the full, silver moon, the one he had found so romantic only minutes before, as it looked down on him impassively.

The grip on his ankles disappeared. But before he could do more than try to draw breath to fuel his escape, the man *thing* landed on top of him hard enough to expell what little air he had left. He found himself wheezing desperately for oxygen. *Won't do me any good if he doesn't intend to kill me if I go ahead and suffocate.*

He had to be at least as big as Jim *Wouldn't feel like this with Jim. Jim wouldn't push me down so hard I couldn't breathe* and his weight was crushing. Blair told himself to fight, to at least try to throw the man off, but all he could do was pant frantically, dragging in air.

The stranger slid his right arm behind Blair's neck and gripped the right side of Blair's head, then crossed his left arm over and gripped the left side. Hard. In thickly accented English he hissed, "Boy, I can break your neck with one twist. Do you believe me?" Blair couldn't speak, couldn't nod. But he was afraid that if he didn't answer, the man would do just what he'd said. Blair blinked rapidly, hoping he'd understand.

He did. "Vollendeht. Remember that, if you want to survive this night." He released his grip, but his right arm stayed in place, around Blair's neck. Now that hand plunged into the thicket of Blair's hair and rummaged in a rough caress. The stranger lowered his head, and began nipping at the side of Blair's throat, working down.

At last Blair found enough breath for speech. "Please, lemme go! You haven't really done anything, it's not too late. I...I won't tell anybody, I promise." *Not even Jim. I couldn't tell him I was thrown on the ground and had a naked man on top of me, kissing my neck and pressing his hard on against me.*

There was a rumble in the man's chest that might have been laughter, might have been something else. "No, little one, it's far too late. You don't understand, but you will. Tonight you will help me in oh, so many ways." He moved against Blair, crawling farther up his body. Blair felt the hot length of his erection press against his belly.

He lost it. "JIM!" he screamed, trying to lift a knee into the man's crotch, trying to catch the vulnerable balls. If he landed a solid blow, the man wouldn't be thinking about sex. He'd be thinking about nothing but pain for a long time.

It was a mistake, oh boy, was it a mistake. The man twisted like a snake, and the intended blow landed on his thigh. He hissed at the pain, but didn't let go. Instead, his hand tighened in Blair's hair till it seemed he would wrench the scalp loose. He ripped at the collar of Blair's shirt, and buried his teeth in the younger man's shoulder. Now Blair screamed in earnest. The stranger bit deeper still, and Blair felt his own blood, hot and slick, spilling out around the madman's mouth. Then the lunatic wrenched his head, and Blair blacked out for a moment from the ripping pain as a chunk of skin and flesh was torn away.

It only lasted for a second or two. It would have been far more merciful if it had been longer. Blair opened his eyes to see the stranger throw back his head, long blonde hair now streaked with Blair's blood, He chewed, blood oozing from the corners of his red smeared mouth, then swallowed. He looked down into Blair's eyes and smiled, sharp teeth glistening red and white. He quickly jerked Blair's head to the side, or the young Guide would most likely have strangled on the vomit that spewed forth. When he was emptied, the man wiped his mouth clean with Blair's own hair, his gesture almost tender.

*I'm gonna die. I'm gonna be raped, and killed, and maybe eaten. I'm gonna be a fucking urban legend warning stupid unrequited lovers never to go walking in the wild, wild woods.*

The man on top of him was speaking again. "If you try that again, I'll kill you and fuck your corpse while it's still warm. Then maybe I'll go visit your friend. Jim, was it?"

"No," Blair whispered, horrified.

"Yes," mocked the man. His left hand spidered across Blair's chest. He found Blair's left nipple and pinched hard enough to make him grit his teeth. "I think maybe this Jim is more than a friend, yes? There is such longing in your voice when you call out his name. Is he as fuckable as you, sweetheart?"

"Jim's not...not like that."

"No? More fool, Jim." He pinched the other nipple, even harder, and Blair yelped. "Wasteful man. I'm going to ask you a question, boy. If you lie to me, I'll know. I'll smell it." *Like Jim. No, not like my Jim, never like my Jim.* "Have you ever been with another man?"

"I...I..."

"The truth."

"I..." Blair gulped. "Just...a few times."

A low, rippling laught. "And what did you do, sweet puppy?"

"Just...touching...some. I..." his voice broke with shame, confessing these intimate details to someone who had no interest but to use him. "I used my mouth, once."

"But you've never been fucked?" *I've been saving that for the man I loved. Hopelessly old fashioned, but there it is?* "Ah, ein klein keusche Mann. How sweet. It's been a long time since I plucked a cherry."

The stranger reached down, and Blair heard the pop as he opened his hiking shorts. He jerked hard, and the zipper ripped open, plastic teeth seperating. His hand went into the gap, closing over the cloth draped mound of Blair's penis, rubbing. The man pulled up a fraction, and gazed down to where his hand was kneading Blair. "Silk?" He sounded amused. "Full of surprised, aren't you, liebling?"

He kissed Blair, his mouth hard and punishing. Blair kept his teeth clenched as the man's tongue worked it's way past his lips. But a jerk that caused him to lose several strands of hair warned him of what might happen if he continued to resist, and he opened his mouth. The man plunged his tongue hungrily into Blair's mouth, ruthlessly exploring every crevice. Blair almost choked on the taste of his own blood. The man's tongue flickered, darting in and out, plunging deep. Blair groaned. *Not like this. Can't he do it without kissing? Kissing is for lovers, not rapists.*

The man pulled away, and Blair was suddenly free of his weight. But before he could feel relieved, he heard his captor say, "Up on your hands and knees, pup." Blair shook his head violently, and the man slapped him. Once, twice, three times, rocking his head with vicious snaps. Then he said, "I'm doing you a kindness, boy, taking you from behind the first time. I could go much deeper with you on your back. But I'm trying to be merciful, and what do you give in return? Ingratitude." Another volley of slaps, till Blair thought he might lose consciousness again. No such luck. "Do as I say."

When the slapping stopped, Blair rolled on to his belly, luckily missing his own vomitus. Then he shakily pushed himself up on his hands and knees, as ordered. "Better. Believe me, it will be easier this way for you, mein Schatz. Perhaps you would like to imagine it is your Jim, yes?" *No. Jim wouldn't...He wouldn't humiliate me like this. He wouldn't hurt me.* "Pull down your shorts. Show yourself to me."

Feeling the tears that had been threatening finally spill over and streak his cheeks, Blair obeyed. He slid the boxers down his thighs, then pulled one leg at a time out of them. Finally he crouch, shivering, naked except for the ripped, rucked up T-shirt.

He felt the man's hands on his ass, running over the curves, squeezing. "Lovely, lovely." The man shoved his legs apart, the rough forest floor scouring skin from Blair's knees. Blair felt the heat of his body as he knelt between his spread legs and knee walked till their bodies touched.

He was sobbing openly now, unable to hold it back. *Men don't cry, Blair.*

He hated the man doing this to him, as much for the sense of helplessness as the pain. *I can't stop him. He's gonna use me like a bitch, and I can't stop him*

His ass cheeks were pried apart by long, strong fingers. There was a hawking sound, and he felt a splash of warm, greasy liquid land in the tender crevice. Then the hands began to massage the fluid in, and Blair hitched with nausea, fighting to keep from vomiting again, because the man would probably kill him. *At least he's doing that much* an insidious voice whispered in his mind. *He didn't have to use any kind of lube. He could just mount you dry and let the blood oil you up.*

One spit slick finger wormed it's way past the muscular ring of tissue that marked the entrance to his bowls. Blair tensed instinctively, and recieved a buffet upside the head. "Stupid boy, relax. I'll tear you open if you keep clenching. Because mark me, I will have you, even if I have to rip you."

Blair put his head down, trying to relax. The man kept pushing, and managed to sink his finger in deeply. He sawed it back and forth. "Let go, damn it."

Blair tried. *Oh lord. please, it hurts.* A second finger joined the first. The man pushed, pulled, stretched. Blair clenched handfuls of loam, trying to feel the sting of grit on his scraped palms instead of the steady probing in his most intimate region. Then somehow the man had worked in a third finger, and continued, massaging Blair internally. *Is he doing this to spare me pain, or so I'll be more open for him?* It hardly mattered, in the scheme of things. It accomplished both, because gradually Blair's flesh accomodated the rude intrusion, stretching and warming around the plundering hand.

At last the hand was removed, and the big man grabbed Blair's hips. Blair felt a slick nudge at the aching hole, and pressure. Almost before he could register it, the rapist's cock hiead had spread him open, and popped inside. It wrung a breathless shriek from the violated boy, and a happy groan from his attacker. Then the monster pushed, hard, and his whole, hot length impaled the shivering boy.

No amount of preparation could have taken away the pain entirely. Blair wailed, and the man bent over him, encircling his body in an embrace that was oddly gentle. "There, pup." he breathed. "Lost your cherry. It's all right." His hips began to move, pulling back, then grinding foreward.

The tears rained down, wetting the grass between his clenching hands as the rapist thrust into him. The man moved in a slow, deliberate rhthym that said he intended to do this for a long time. *Maybe I'll just die while he's fucking me. Serve him right.*

Rough, warm hands swam over his belly, descending to enclose his cock, which had been swaying limply with each lunge into his ass. They kneaded, stroked. *I don't believe it. He wants me to ENJOY this?*

Apparently so. The hot, mad voice whispered in his ear. "Can't you get hard for me, leibling? Go on, you should enjoy your first time, too."

Even though defiance might mean more pain, or even death, Blair shook his head wildly, his glorious hair flying.

"Let's have a bargain, eh? If you cum for me, I won't hunt down your friend when we're done. Fair enough, hey? Your lover's life for a few moments of pleasure, and a few drops of sperm."

*He means it. He'll do it. And I think he might succeed. Jim's strong, fast, but this...thing...* No choice. "No choice."

He didn't realize he'd spoken outloud till the man answere. "No, no choice."

Blair swallowed convulsively, and closed his eyes. *Jim. Ice blue eyes, but not icy, not when he looks at me. Jim. Stupid short hair cut, won't let it grow an inch. Jim. Lazeing on the sofa in his boxers on a hot day, cold bottle of beer propped in the vee of his legs as he ate pretzles with one hand and worked the remote with the other. Jim. Fresh out of the shower, his flesh steaming, the towel around his waist slipping just low enough, just long enough to give a glimpse of that tight, hard ass. Hard ass in the best possible way.*

And he started to respond. There was a kindling of heat in his groin, the beginning of that familiar heaviness. But it wasn't enought. He squeezed his eyes tighter, and moved past the memories into the fantasies. *Jim, behind me, touching my hair. Moving it aside to kiss my neck. Jim, pushing his hands under my shirt, finding my nipples, feeling that they're already hard for him. Jim, sliding his hand down into my shorts, touching me. Taking me into his hand, his big, warm, gentle hand. Stroking. Squeezing. Like that. Yes, like that.*

"Like that," whispered Blair. "Like that. Harder, please, Jim, faster."

He tried to block out the hateful voice that whispered, "Yes, little whore. Whatever you like."

Blair was fully erect now, as complete an erection as he'd ever experienced. His rapist worked his cock with knowing hands, reaching down to cup and gently squeeze his balls, even as he continued to thrust relentlessly. *He's pretty talented* The thought was nearly incoherant. *Think what he could do if he liked me.*

He tried to keep the fantasy of Jim going, but the man kept talking to him, never letting him block the experience completely. "Yes, puppy, yes! Move for me, love me. I make you mine tonight. I bring you over, into the pack. You will be mine, and I will give you to Him, and he will love me still. You will be my child, my son. Now fuck, little boy. Fuck your daddy hard!" He slammed into Blair's body with increasing speed, grunting with every stroke.

*Sick motherfucker* Blair rocked with the assault. But somewhere in his mind, Jim slipped down to his knees, turned Blair, and took his rigid cock into the steaming paradise of his mouth. And Blair found the rhythm, and began to move with his rapist.

When the boy began to push back into his stabbing thrusts, then surge forward into his caresses, the animal lost the last of his control. He stopped trying to prolong the experience, and began to truly seek his release. He had what he wanted now. He'd broken the boy to his will, made him a participant.

He didn't neglect his new child's pleasure as he sought his own. He used all the skills he'd learned through the years. He'd become active at a very early age, and with his blonde good looks had been very popular. He knew how to do things to another man's body that would evoke a physical response, even when the recipient felt nothing but rage, hatred, and, in this case, fear.

He climaxed before his boy, filling the young man's ravaged back passage with the hot cream of his lust. Listening to his hopeless groans, and his desperate pants for release. "Don't worry, child. I will not let you suffer." Still locked in the furnace of Blair's body, he redoubled his efforts. "Cum! Cum for your father."

Blair gave a great, shuddering sob, and came, spilling his seed in hot, jetting bursts. As the wave broke over him, he threw back his head, eyes closed, pale neck bowed and streaked with blood in the moonlight, and let loose all the pain and fear and shame in a single, peircing scream.

"JIM!"

Jim's POV

Jim Ellison is not running, not quite. Despite his terror, he is not running. If he ran, he might miss some clue, even with his visual accuity, and he can't risk that. He can't allow a moment of misdirection, not with that...thing...stalking Blair.

Now the two scent trails are mingled, running together. Blair has fled, and whatever it is is in pursuit. Jim goes faster. The trail is more clearly visible now. In his flight, Blair cannot pick and choose the easiest path. He has blundered through tangles, leaving clear evidence of his passing. Here, a strand of long, curly brown hair is snarled in a thorny branch. There, a minute tracing of blood limns a rough switch.

This is so bad, so very bad. Jim hyperextends his senses, reaching desperately for any clue that will lead him to his endangered Guide. He is dangerously close to zoning out, his mind shutting down in self defense against sensory overload. If Blair was here, Jim could focus on his steady, cherished hearbeat, the sound that had pulled him back from the abyss so many times. He could listen to the dear voice, reasoning, sane, urging him back to a closer contact with the reality that threatened to overwhelm him sometimes. He might even feel gentle hands on his back, his hair, soothing him with a caring touch. But Blair isn't here. That's the problem.

Jim pauses, and plucks a tuft of reddish brown fur from a bramble. It is almost at hip height. What the hell is chasing his Blair?

Jim doesn't so much hear the scream as feel it. It is as if a red hot knife has scored every living nerve in his body at once. "JIM!" Blair. Blair calling him in agony and terror. Any semblence of control disappears, and Jim plunges ahead with an answering shout of "Blair!"

Now he runs. He plunges directly through thickets no sane man would attempt. He hurdles deadfalls. At one point he crosses a stream, water rising to either side in silver plumes, hardly even noticing the obstacle. He is sure of his direction now, not needing to look for the visual clues. The scent, the scent tells all, and leads him on.

It's horrible. There is the Blairsmell, still clean and fresh, despite the tang of panic and fear. It is overlaid, almost smothered by the bestial odor, the mad stink. And other scents, exquisitely disturbing scents have joined them: vomit, sex musk, shit, blood...Jim plunges toward the small clearing that seems to be the center of the miasma.

As he bursts through, he catches a glimpse of a man escaping out the other side. It seems that even Sentinel vision can be fooled, because the man seems to be darkening, compacting as he moves, disappearing into the trees. But there is no thought of pursuit, because Blair is here.

Jim throws himself down beside the crumpled red and white figure on the grass, calling his name. There is no movement, no reaction save for the slight lift and fall of his ribs in shallow breaths. Jim reaches for him, hesitates. Red Cross emergency rules skitter along the rim of his consciousness. "Do not attempt to move..." He crushes the thought ruthlessly, and turns Blair, rolling him into his arms.

Jim reaches out to his friend with all the power of his senses, assessing damages. Body temperature, too low but not dangerous yet. He is naked except for the torn remains of that colorful T-shirt, the one Jim has teased him about so unmercifully in the past. Jim releases him only long enough to strip off his own leather jacket and wrap it around him.

Breathing, rapid, shallow. Pulse the same. Heartbeat strong, thank God. "Blair? It's Jim." Now that the immediate danger of death if lessened, Jim begins to take in the appalling details. The face, always to animated *even when he's asleep I've watched him sleep and his dreams play across his face* is beginning to darken with bruises. The beautiful hair, so carefully attended, is a tangled, matted mass. The palms and knees are raw, grit encrusted. There is a spreading purple contusion across his rib cage, signalling a possible broken bone. What worrys Jim the most is the wound in his shoulder.

It is half the size of his palm, and Jim has big hands. What the hell could have caused that? No bullet, Jim would have smelled the whiff of smoke and cordite, even if he'd by some alien chance missed the gunshot. A knife? The edges are irregular, torn. He leans closer, and inhales deeply. Immediately his head snaps back with a desperate howl. There is the rank scent of a carnivore's saliva. The lunatic has used his teeth to rip flesh from his partner.

In an agony of grief and horror, Jim lets himself recognize the other details he has been avoiding. The smell of sex in the little clearing is thick enough to choke. There is the mad, rutting smell of the thing that raped the man he loves *yes love, dammit*, but there is also the sweet musk of Blair's arousal.

Jim is familiar with the scent. It has driven him close to the edge more than once. He has lain in his lonely bed, listening to the subtle sounds of Blair pleasureing himself in the night, hungrily sniffing the the faint aroma of his sweat, heated by sexual hormones. But now the sex smell is mixed with the scents of pain and fear. Whatever happened here, however Blair's body reacted, whatever his poor, tortured mind might insist or the blindness of the law might say later, there had been nothing consensual. It had been pure rape.

Jim's eyes drop down the length of Blair's body, seeking any further wounds, and he cries out again. "Oh, dear GOD!" The insides of the smooth thighs are dripping with thick blood. He pulls the limp body tight. "I'm so sorry, Blair. I should have been here."

Jim is becoming alarmed by Blair's lack of reaction. What Jim senses from Blair is not the temporary relief of unconsciousness. That would be a blessing, at this point. Jim shakes him gently, "Blair baby? Open your eyes." No response. "Look at me, man. Talk to me." Another gentle shake.

The head rolls limply. But the eyelids flutter weakly, then lift to half mast. The eyes are deep pools of midnight blue, the pupils so enlarged that the iris is only a hairline rim. Blair's expression is slack, bland. But his eyes are screaming. He is finally accomplishing what he could not during his abuse and rape. He is going away.

Jim sees it, sees the utter...abscence. "NO!" he screams. "DON'T YOU DO IT, BLAIR SANDBURG! DON'T YOU LEAVE ME!" He shakes Blair roughly now.

The matted head rolls limply with the motion, but there is no other response save for another slow blink. "Godammit, Blair!" Jim pulls him tighter still, dropping Blair's face against his neck. "You. Can't. Go. I won't let you. Do you hear me? If you try to leave me behind, I'll follow you into heaven or hell, wherever you end up, and drag your ass back to earth, kicking and screaming if necessary."

There is a papery sigh. Even with his powerful hearing, it is almost inaudible. "...hurts..."

Jim almost cries with joy. But Blair isn't back yet. "I know, I know, Baby Boy. It hurts, it's horrible. But you can take it, Blair. Everyone thinks I'm the hardass. Well, they don't know how strong you are. I do. You survived this long, you can survive to see the motherfucker who did this gutted. Come back to me."

Jim rocks him, cradling the poor, mistreated body tenderly, speaking steadily. "Come back to me, Blair. Just listen to me, follow my voice. You've been there so many times for me, buddy. Let me be here for you. This time, I'll be the Guide. Come back to me, Chief."

Blair's face tipped against the warm column of his neck, Jim cannot see the minute, invisible shift of miscles as Blair's eyes slowly begin to focus once more. But he can sense it anyway. His connection with Blair goes beyond the physical realm, and they are in that realm right now. He just keeps talking, holding firm the lifeline that Blair can use to haul himself back to this world.

"You can't leave me, Blair. I need you so damn much. I've lost so much in my life, I can't lose you, too."

Jim feels the butterfly brush of lips against his skin, "You lose everything, Big Guy. Keys, papers, the remote, your fucking temper..."

"Blair?" Jim's own voice is soft, not daring to hope.

Hot tears streak his neck. Blair is weeping, and that's good. Tears bring healing faster than anything else Jim knows. "Blair, honey, are you back?"

There is the faint brush of silken lips again, and the whisper is a bit stronger. "Ain't gonna get rid of me that easy, Sentinel. You can lose everything, but you can't lose me." And a bruised arm reaches up weakly to embrace him as Jim's own scalding tears finally begin to flow.

Gabriel's POV

*What the fuck am I doing? Why am I here instead of at a strip club in the Quarter, gettin' drunk?* Gabriel Knight had asked himself this mental question before. Many times before, to be honest. He'd asked it as he sat behind the desk in the Schloss von Ritter, staring at the mockingly blank peice of paper rolled into the old standard typewriter. He'd asked it when he woke up, stiff and sore, on the narrow couch in the little cottage that belonged to the bereaved parents of the child whose murder he was investigating. He'd asked it while trying to charm his way past Herr Doktor Klingman, and Xavier at the hunt club, and Inspector Lieber at the police station. Now, pulling on his jacket as he prepared to meet Baron von Glower in the stables in preparation to hunt down and kill the insane Von Zell, he was asking himself *Why the fuck am I about to go out into the woods...at night... and try to track down a man who's possibly a werewolf, most cerainly a mad man, and has probably eaten more human beings than I have beingets?*

The answer was always the same:*'Cause I'm a goddam Schatzenjager, that's why.* He winced. Had it really been only a little over a year ago that he hadn't even heard of the term? He'd once led a fairly simple life. He ground out marginally successful horror novels, he ran his rare books shop in the French Quarter. His days were spent teasing his assistant, Grace Nakimura, with half serious come ons, charming his beloved Grandma Knight, bullshitting with his friend Mosely *Mostly* at the homicide cop's office, riding his motorcycle, with his long leather coat flying behind him *Grace sure gives me hell when I wear it in July, but dammit, style is style.*

Then had come the string of 'Voodoo Murders' in and around New Orleans, and somehow he'd been drawn in. When it was over, a beautiful woman was dead, and his life was changed forever. Now, he was the Schatzenjager, a hereditery supernatural protector and investigator. He was the Schatzenjager, and there really wasn't a damn thing he could do about it and still feel like a relatively decent human being.

Gabriel touched the Schatzenjager talisman that he wore around his neck. The protective symbol had become almost a part of him by now, integral to his sense of self. He realized, with a small sinking feeling, that he was probably never going to feel complete again without it. Well, so be it. You played the hand that Lady Luck dealt you. So far Gabriel wasn't exactly in the chips, but he hadn't tanked, either.

He met von Glower in the stable. The tall German nobleman was wearing a handsome leather hunting jacket that might have caused Gabriel a pang of envy in a less stressful moment. The handsome, dark haired man *damn near as good lookin' and charmin' as I am* was feeding glistening bullets into a deadly looking hunting rifle. He glanced up as Gabriel entered, and for a moment his silver blue eyes seemed to gleam in the moon light that streamed through the door. "Are you ready, Gabriel?"

"Look, I been thinkin'...It might be kind of dangerous with jus' the two of us after Von Zell."

"Yes." Freidrik worked the bolt action, chambering a round. "It will be quite dangerouse. Von Zell is...he's rather unique, Gabriel."

"I was thinkin' that maybe we should get at least one or two of the others..."

"No!" The baron's tone was sharp. It had the sound of someone accustom to giving orders, and having them obeyed without question. Gabriel raised his eyebrows. Von Glower grimaced. "I'm sorry, Gabriel But you must see that there isn't time to explain things to them. They'd be just as likely to think us mad."

*You mean think me mad. They'd accept anything you told them.* "Well, maybe I ought to go alone."

"No, this is my problem. It was I who introduced Von Zell to the philosophy."

Von Glowere seemed pained by the thought, and Gabriel put a comforting hand on his arm. "You can't blame yourself for his madness, Freidrik."

The Baron looked down at Gabriel's hand, and drew in a long, shaky breath. "No. I cannot." He spoke under his breath. "The madness was there. It would have come out eventually, even if I hadn't..." He covered Gabriel's hand with his own, squeezing it firmly, and looking directly into his eyes, pale blue gaze meeting cool green. "Thank you, my friend."

"Not at all, old son." Gabriel turned his hand and gripped von Glower's, palm to palm, for a moment before releasing it. He glanced at the two horses, stamping and shifting in their stalls. "Look, I never learned to ride."

"It doesn't matter. We hunt afoot tonight." He held out the rifle.

Gabriel held up his hands in a warding off motion. "Whoa now. You better hang on to that. I...uh...I lied about my huntin'. I've never really handled guns. I might end up shootin' you, or blowin' my own foot off."

"I see. But it's rather odd that a Schatzenjager doesn't possess that skill."

Gabriel felt himself deflate. "So you know, huh?"

"Gabriel, you're not the only one who can ask questions, you know."

"It doesn't bother you?"

"On the contrary, it pleases me greatly. And it's so fortunate that you are here now, during this crisis. I'm afraid I couldn't kill Von Zell alone." He turned away and whispered something under his breath, something that seemed to bring fresh pain. "A sire may not kill his cub, lest the damage he wreak be returned to him."

"Pardon?"

"We'd better go. There's a young man wandering the woods, I saw him from my window. I greatly fear for his safety, even his very life."

"Let's do it to it, then."

They entered the woods, and easily found the place where a chase had begun. Freidrik cursed in fluent German. Gabriel couldn't understand the words, but he understood the tone. "He's after that poor boy. I don't hold much hope for him, but we have to try. The best thing to do is try to lure Von Zell toward the ravine. If we can trap him with it at his back, we'll have a better chance of making a shot." As he spoke, Freidrik was tamping yellow ear plugs into his ears.

"You're not gonna to be able to hear me with those." Von Glower was busy taking the safety off the gun. Gabriel touched his shoulder, and he jumped. The baron's handsome face was very pale in the moonlight. Gabriel enunciated clearly, so his lips could be read. "What are you doin'?"

Von Glower tossed the packet the plugs had come in away. "My hearing is sensitive. I need those for the gunshots."

"But how will you hear..."

"What?"

"Nevermind. Just stay in sight."

But he didn't, of course. That was how Gabriel found himself blundering around in the dark, tripping over roots, worrying that any moment Von Zell was goint to leap out and rip open his throat. Von Zell would find him, Gabriel had no doubt of that. The big blonde had made his hatred clear before. He wouldn't be able to resist trying something. *My only chance is to outrun him and lead him to the ravine. Von Glower will be there with the gun.*

If he'd had any doubts at all about killing Von Zell, they disappeared when he entered the little clearing. The two figures on the ground looked, at a distance, like a father preparing to carry his child, who had tired from a long outing. When he got closer, Gabriel saw that the 'child' was a young man, his body terribly marked and abused. But the one who held him could not be responsible for those injuries. Not with the tenderness with which he stroked the matted curls, the crooning voice, the silver streaks of tears on his face.

Without looking up, the big man said, "He went out the opposite side. Kill him." He looked up. "Or I will." Gabriel was jolted by the power in those ice blue eyes. This wasn't a threat, or even a promise. It was a simple statement of stone cold fact.

Gabe didn't pause to wonder how the man had known that he was no threat. He hadn't looked up from his injured companion till Gabe was almost upon him, but there had been no surprise in his expression, no doubt. He had known somehow that Gabe wasn't a danger to him or the boy.

Gabriel nodded, unsure of how else to reply, and plunged back into the trees. Even as he went, the big man was gathering his precious burden tighter, standing up in preparation to carry him to help and safety. Gabriel heard a weak voice demanding to be allowed to walk, complaining that he was perfectly capable, had been since he was eleven months old, he'd been an early bloomer...As he started through the trees in pursuit of Von Zell, Gabriel shook his head. That was a feisty little booger. The big fella must have his hands full with him.

Von Zell's POV

There are so few times, now, when both the man and the wolf are sated, he thinks. There is always a hunger from one or both: a hunger for blood, for power, for sex. For a brief moment, Von Zell has found that peaceful state where the man and the wolf of his nature are both satisfied.

The wolf had exulted in the chase, hunting his prey through the darkness and moonbeams, drinking in the panic. The wolf had tasted blood and flesh, ripping living, bleeding tissue from the quivering youth it had run to earth. Both man and wolf had enjoyed the sex. The wolf as much for the sense of power and domination it gave, which was indeed the true essence of rape. Von Zell had delighted in the tight, quivering body beneath him, so young and fresh and untouched, but not for long.

There had been pleasure in the taking of pleasure. It was exciting when the boy struggled, even more exciting when he finally submitted, after his friend *lover?* was threatened. Von Zell had perhaps beaten him more than was absolutely necessary, but what of it? The boy was marked as his, now. His to take or give as he pleased.

The coupling had been a wonder of tensed, unwilling flesh made warm and compliant. The heady taste of sweat and blood, the toss of long dark curls as his head whipped in pain. Glorius, glorius. Over too soon. Too soon he had squirted his seed deep into the hot core of his victim. Generously he had coaxed an orgasm from the grieving, hurting creature, forcing even the release of physical pleasure, claiming even that as his due.

Now that it is done, he sprawls on the panting form as it quiets beneath him. Well, the pup has survived. He is stronger than he looks, physically and mentally. Many men would have lost their sanity in shivering bits by now. Von Zell strokes the scratched, heaving back gently, pleased. This one will be a fit gift for his lover. He will make von Glower forget the smirking American.

Von Zell reluctantly pulls himself from the furnace embrace of the boy's flesh. He notes that his cock is streaked dark with blood and shit. So, he hadn't lied. He had been a virgin. Von Zell strokes the sticky thighs, coating his fingers with blood, and licks it off his hands.

A crashing in the bushes, from the direction of the lodge, draws him from his sensual revery. Someone is coming. He sniffs deeply, human ears twitching as wolf senses resurface. The scent isn't von Glower's, nor Gabriel's *The Slut* In fact, it is a bit familiar.

He realizes suddenly that there has been a faint, lingering trace of it around the boy who now lies crumpled beside him. So, this must be the reluctant lover. This will be the boy's Jim Ellison.

There is no doubt in Von Zell's mind that he can kill the man. This Jim is, after all, only a human. And a human who has no idea what he is dealing with, at that. But thinking of the Baron and Gabriel has recalled his original purpose to him. The two should be somewhere in the woods by now. It is time to hunt in ernest.

Von Zell flowes to his feet, already feeling his joints and sinews creak with the beginning of the change. He will kill the man who has dared attract the interest of his lover. Once Gabriel is dead, Von Zell will lead his Master back to the clearing, and gift him with the boy. Another child for his bloodline, another lover to satisfy his whims. If the other man is there with the cub when they return, there can be a feast as well as an orgy.

If the other removes the cub before he returns, well...If the pup survives past this night, the change will begin to work and heal his body quickly. Then the beast will begin to grow within him, becoming stronger with each waxing phase of the moon, till the fullnes is reached, and it emerges for the first time. When he has fully come over, it will be possible to track him. The Master can always eventually find the children of his bloodline.

As he slips into the trees to begin the hunt, he spares a glance back into the clearing. He is in time to see the big man burst into the space and fall on his knees beside the still, quiet body that now houses the embryonic spirit of a pack brother.

Von Zell smiles. It would be a marvelous joke, he thinks, to just let the man take the boy. Take him back to whatever lair they share, tend his hurts, perhaps (the still human part of Von Zell's mind leers at the imagery), perhaps lick clean the wounds. And then watch as his beloved turns into a snarling, dangerous beast with the rising of the next full moon.

It would be delicious. It is too bad, he thinks as he drops to all fours and lopes into the night, that he just doesn't have time....

Baron von Glower's POV

It is a beautiful night. The air is crisp and cool, clean and sharp. The full disk of the moon glides overhead, gilding everything below in silver. A soft breeze wafts against von Glower's face, bringing the scent of honeysuckle bloomin somewhere in the deep green. On such a night, the baron thinks, one might easily fall in love. He has thought much of love the last few hours. He is in the forest tonight seeking his lover, and his child. The beastman who is one and the same. He has come to end his loverchild's suffering, and in so doing end the danger to himself.

The gun he carries smells of cordite and oiled wood, and sharp metal. It is heavy and deadly in his hands. Almost as deadly as his own fangs and jaws when he is in his element, but far less personal. He hates the idea of Von Zell's death by the silver jacketed bullets that rest in the magazine. How much more fitting it would be if he could perform the deed himself, easing the mad, suffering creature from this world into the next with one bone shattering snap of massive jaws. Surely it is better to die at the hands of one who loves you, who wishes only to give you peace, than to pass from this life through the agency of cold steel.

But this cannot be so. Freidrik may not touch one of his own blood, the ancient texts make that clear. Injure, even mutilate, yes. Discipline, of course. But if the wound should become fatal, von Glower will suffer the same fate that he had inflicted.

So tonight von Glower has brought another weapon other than the hunting rifle. He has brought a weapon of flesh and bone and warm blood, death in luscious human form. He has brought Gabriel Knight. Gabriel will be the angel of death tonight. His first service to his future Master will be to remove the consort he will someday replace.

Freidrik stalks the woods, moving toward the ravine, the spot designated as the killing ground. He does not hear his own footsteps in the underbrush. He does not hear Gabriel's calls, the raised voices of the man who has found Von Zell's latest victim. Most importantly of all, he does not hear the wavering wolf cries that would make him helpless to resist his own change. The tiny yellow earplugs were an excellent investment.

At the ravine, he waits. Since he does not hear the approach, he is taken by surprise when Gabriel and the wolf burst from the trees. But he moves quickly. As the enraged brown wolf snaps and snarls at Gabriel, von Glower shifts to block it's only escape route.

Gabriel is wounded, a nasty slash to his shoulder. Bad, that. Freidrik would have prefered to mark him himself, to be the only one to tear into that temptigly creamy, firm flesh. He can almost hate Von Zell for denying him that pleasure. Ah well, the results are the same. Gabriel is his now, though he will not know it for some time. Through his child, Freidrik's blood, his taint, has been passed on.

Gabriel has managed to throw off the wolf. An impressive feat, for Von Zell is big, heavy, and a tough fighter. Gabriel scrambles away, and he is screaming at von Glower. Freidrik cannot hear his voice. The earplugs are working too well for that, even at this close range. It is good, because Von Zell has thrown back his head in a long howl, hoping desperately to draw his Master into the wolf state.

No, Freidrik cannot hear Gabriel, but he can read the words his lips form easily enought. "SHOOT HIM! KILL HIM! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?"

Von Zell turns deep, black eyes to Freidrik. Freidrik can read so much in those eyes, those eyes that he has looked into with joy, with pride, with lust, and, yes, with love. There is a desperate plea there. * Forgive me, love me, do not abandon me, do not hurt me. No one can love you as I can. Even though you have betrayed and hurt me, I will forgive...*

Von Glower tosses the rifle to an astonished Gabriel. "Kill him! Do it now."

Gabriel fumbles with the weapon. *he told the truth, he is no hunter, not yet* The huge brown wolf looks at him intently, and shakes it's shaggy head. It turns black, despairing eyes to the Baron, then back to Gabriel, and shakes it head again. Gabriel hesitates, watching the wolf. He looks slowly at von Glower. Is that a glimmer of suspicion in his eyes?

"Kill him! My God, do you know how many innocents he's slaughtered? End it, Gabriel. Finish it now." Von Glower is desperate. Von Zell's agonizing howls have reached such a volume that even the earplugs cannot keep them entirely shut out. He has heard a trickle of sound. There is the familiar prickling all over his body. If the howls do not stop soon, he will succumb, and enter wolf form. That must not happen. If it does, he may not be able to restrain his rage, and may seal his own fate by killing his errant offspring.

Already his blood is moving through Gabriel, beginning to assert his mastery. It is soon, so very soon, but perhaps he can call on that blood bond. He pours ever ounce of power and command into his order. "KILL HIM!"

Gabriel gazes quickly between the two, doubt flashing, and makes a decision. He lifts the rifle swiftly, and a shot cracks out.

Gabriel's POV

One second...

Decisions.

*Yeah, your whole damn life is a series of decisions, an' you got a mother of one right now, Gabe ol' son.*

He stands in the light of the cold, impassive moon, the moon that has, more or less, made this decission necessary. The hunting rifle in his hands feels heavy and deadly, and alarmingly awkward. *I'm not a hunter, dammit. I'm not a marksman. But at this distance, could even I miss?*

He lifts the rifle, butt against his shoulder in what he assumes is the proper position, and consideres his two possible targets: von Glower, and the thing that must be Von Zell.

Two Seconds...

The sights zero in on the wolf. Brown fur, perhaps sleek at one time, now matted and rough from it's chase through the woods. Powerful muscles shifting beneath haired hide. *Gotta watch him. Fast, stronge. If he gets the chance to jump...* Eyes like two chunks of heated obsideon. Souless eyes, but still somehow horrifically human.

A long howl shivers from it's throat, those black pit eyes focused on Gabriel's, and the massive head jerks toward the second possible target. Instinctively Gabriel swings the barrell...

Three seconds...

Baron Freidrik von Glower. The tall, elegant German nobleman is shouting at Gabriel. "Kill him! Do it now!" The wolf...the wolf is shaking it's shaggy head. It looks from Gabriel, to the baron, to Gabriel. Shaking it's head.

"Kill him! My God, do you know how many innocents he's slaughtered? End it, Gabriel. Finish it now."

Yes, of course. He is, after all, a monster. There is no doubt of that. But is he the only monster? Because there are vague memories ghosting swiftly through Gabriel's mind, just below the conscious surface...

Four seconds...

*That evening at von Glower's estate. Wine...lots of wine, too much. The woman in the tight red dress. Helga? Hilda? Long blonde hair, no English, but she spoke the universal language, yes. And Freidrik saying 'Take her'. A good host, offering an after dinner bonbon. 'A man of your appetites...' Von Glower's silver blue eyes as the woman took him by the belt and led him away. The room, shadowed and sumptuous. The bed...Dress in a crimson silken puddle on the floor, skin a pale silken expanse across the sheets. The old slow dance of hands and tongue, mouth and hips. The opening, the entering, the hot liquid enveloping, the slow joining moving to a swifter finish. The burst of pleasure, and the long slide down, then sliding further down into sleep.*

Yes, that much is clear in his mind. A bit kinky, perhaps, the hospitality offered by the baron. But nothing to disconcert, or alarm. But there was the dream that came after...

*The woman is gone, or almost gone. Her weight is absent from the bed, the space where she lay already cooling. There is a rustle of crimson silk replaced, the hiss of a zipper drawn up. Tap tap of heels toward the door. I don't open my eyes. So she's going, we weren't lovers, only pleasure partners for an hour. Why should she stay the night?*

*A faint glow across closed eyelids. Not quite asleep, not quite awake. I could float back to consciousness easily enough, but why? 'You'll sleep here tonight.' Invitation? ...order? No matter, the bed is soft and warm, the wine has warmed and relaxed me, the sex has left me boneless with pleasure. No need to move. A faint glow...the hall light from the open door. Tap tap of heels fading. Then a softer, quieter tread approaching.*

*Glow disappears, reappears. Something passing through the doorway? Has the woman changed her mind, returned? That would be fine. It's good to just sleep with someone, to have another body warm beside you through the night. There is enough sex in my life, I'm not complaining. But somethimes I miss just...being with someone.*

*A weight presses the matress at my side. Heavy for such a small woman. Heavier than I remembered. But what of that? I can feel the heat of another body sitting on the edge of the mattress, not touching, but near. I silently invite my visitor to lie down, stretch out, move in closer, touch, hold. Nice to be held. I don't move or speak. I'm not sure if I'm awake or asleep and dreaming. If I am dreaming, I want it to go on.*

*A touch. A lock of hair is lifted, stroked, drawn slowly between gentle fingers. I feel myself smile a little. Admire my hair, find a way to my heart. I have my vanities, I own them. The soft touch grazes my cheek, my mouth...She was not so tentative before. She moved directly for the clearly mapped erogenous zones the first time, ignoring the less obvious, but sensitive areas*

*The butterfly touch moves along my jaw, circles my ear, and I shiver. It is withdrawn hastily, and I force myself to go still. I am not awake, I am dreaming, and I want the dream to continue. I will it to continue.*

*A moment, then the touch is back. This time it spider's over my throat, softly kneading tender skin. The hand settles on my throat, spanning it, engulfing it. Fingers press against the side, and I can feel my own pulse beating against the fingers, and know that they can feel it to. They can feel that it is becoming stronger, speeding up. And as the hand slips down to my chest, I spare an instant to wonder at it's span. I had thought that the woman had dainty hands, tiny hands.*

*Speculation about this disappears as fingers teasingly brush my left nipple. I think I moan a little. It feels good. The warm touch moves to the other side, then back again. Then the dry brush is replaced by the warm wetness of a tongue gently lapping the hardened nubs in turn. I arch my back slightly, raising to the delicious touch, and there is a pleased murmur, then the light scrape of teeth, and I groan in earnest.*

*This is the most realistic wet dream I've ever had. Usually I dream of being outside myself, watching the carnal acts I perform with my fantasy partners. This time I am centered, and all senses but sight are involved. My pleasure is blind, but it soars on all other counts. I hear soft breathing, the hint of an answering moan. I taste the lingering sharpness of the wine I have drunk, and the mellow flavor of the woman I serviced. I smell warm, clean flesh. There is a spicy scent also, and I wonder anew, because I remember a smell of lavender from the woman. But I forget...perhaps ignore...these things under the overwhelming tactile assault I am experiencing.*

*Soft lips travel down my belly, teeth nipping at the short hairs that trail down from the shallow dip of my navel. I am hard again, I can feel my erection pushing against the cool silk that covers it. My, that wasn't very long, but then I am in the grips of someone very talented. I'm surprised, because the woman hadn't wanted to do this when we were beginning our romp. Like so many in this world today, willing to receive, but not to give. I'm glad there was a change of heart.*

*The sheet moves, and I feel cool air against the heated surface of my arousal. But not for long. I am enveloped in wet, velvety moistness, and I sigh with pleasure. I push up, seeking more, and am obliged with a generosity that melts my bones. A tongue stokes the underside of my cock, finding the sensitive ridge, and making me shudder. They sink lower, till I am half enveloped.*

*This is where it will stop, this is where it always stops. But I am not displeased. No playmate, lover, or one night partner, has ever been able to take it all. It is a physical limitation I have accepted.*

*And I find out to my delighted astonishment that this need not be so, not tonight. Because the talented mouth keeps descending. An inch, then another. My cock head bumps an obstruction, and I know this is the end. I wait for the gagging reflex that will expell me, resigned.*

*But there is...a hitch. And I am sliding deeper, deeper. Till I feel a chin press against my balls, and a nose nestle in my pubic hairs. My body goes rigid with the incredible sensation of being completely swallowed for the first time in my life. God, why can't we record our dreams and play them over and over?*

*Just when I think I will most likely die from pleasure, when I am sure that nothing on earth can wring another spark of lust from my overheated nerves, there is a pulsing vibration. Oh, lord, I've heard about 'humming'. This sounds...feels more like...a growl. Something not quite safe. But, oh god, it is GOOD.*

*I finally find the strength, the will to move, if not to look. I reach out blindly, and my hands find the head that is resting there at my groin. I bury my fingers in soft hair, feeling the hard outline of the skull. I expess my wishes by gently tugging upward. There is another sound, another vibration, that might be a form of laughter.*

*They begin to move, rising and lowering on my straining shaft. Sometimes only the head is captured within the wet furnace, then the entire length will be taken in a smooth swoop. A very gifted tongue drives me to the brink of insanity. I'm moving now, my hips lifting and falling. An old dance, 'Hips and lips.' Hands grip my waist and hold me down so that my lover can continue their feast at their leisure.*

*Yes, this has to be a dream. It's never been so good in real life. I feel heavy with the dream weight, the lust langour, but light with the wine I have consumed. If this is the sort of dreams it brings, I must try to get a few bottles for the Scloss von Ritter wine cellar.*

*And I notice that the hair I have my hands buried in is curly, ruffling beneath my palms, winding around seeking fingers. But the woman's hair had been long and straight and babyfine. Well, what of that? This is a dream. The dream lover will conform to my secret fantasy, won't she? I am becoming curious as to who that might be. Not Grace. Her hair, too, is board straight. Gerde? Her blonde locks look like they would feel more wiry. These tresses are springy, but sleek. The tactile sensations remind me of something, something I haven't actually touched, but seem to have thought of, considered.*

*The speculations are wiped away as my orgasm hits, catapulting me into a roaring, flashing darkness that takes me by surprise. And my cock in not released, not rejected. My semen sprays into the accepting hot cavern of my dream lover's mouth, only a few drops trickling out. I go boneless on the now sweaty silken sheets, my toes curling, thigh muscles quivering.*

*The dream is almost over now, and I am reluctant for it to end. Hands smooth over my belly, my thighs. My softening cock slips free of the oral embrace, and I feel an almost chaste kiss on it's sticky head. I am drifting into deeper sleep now, the sleep where dreams are not remembered, if dreams come at all.*

*But I want one more thing. I want to see the one who has given me such mind numbing pleasure. Perhaps then I can carry the image away with me, to call up another lonely night. Can I open my dream eyes and see the succubus who has invaded my mind?*

*I am dreaming the room correctly. The faint light spills in from the hall on the other side. I gaze down the length of my body, my eyes slitted, gummed with slumber.*

*The dim figure sitting on the edge of the bed is...too large. She had been a tiny thing. The hair my hands are buried in is dark and curled, dishevelled by my passionate rummaging. The face tips up from my crotch, looking toward me.*

*No oh no oh no. The eyes...They should be icy with that silver blue color, but they are hot. And a slow, knowing smile spreads across those sensual, passion bruised lips, lips that glisten with my cum.*

*It's too much. I fall even farther from reality, into the warmth and safety and I pray to god forgetfulness of sleep. And a gentle, mocking whisper follows me down into the depths*

Do I hear the voice, or is it only an echo of imagined sound? It is so soft, I cannot tell, and I obey it. "Sleep, my angel. I am a dream, a fantasy. Believe that if it makes it easier." *Not a succubus, an incubus.*

Five seconds...

Von Glower's eyes are wild as his gaze darts between me and the wolf. He can't understand why I hesitate. Neither can I. What am I thinking? The man was my host for one night. I had a dream...

Yes, dammit, I had a dream! And even if I hadn't...

Who is the monster here?

Those frigid hot blue eyes, ice and fire, bore into me. They plead, demand, command. His rising voice cracks with authority and power, "KILL HIM!"

Six seconds...

I lift the rifle again, and fire.

Blair's POV

I'm going to live. Jim won't let me die, wonderful, selfish bastard that he is. I almost made it, I think. Not so much from what the *wolf* man did to me, but what I did to myself after. I gave up, I let go. I didn't want to deal. It hurt too much, on too many levels. It still hurts. I think it will always hurt.

It doesn't hurt too much now, physically, I mean. They've been very gentle with me here. They're good at that in hospitals. They've tried to spare me as much as possible, but in a case like this *they have no idea, there's never been a case like this* certain uncomfortable realities must be dealt with. It's good that Jim was with me through it all, or I would have...left.

I'm lying on my side under cool, crisp sheets, blinding white. Two light blankets are spread over me. Jim comandeered the second one from a linen supply cart when he noticed me shivering. I could hear the frustrated squawks of the *housekeeper* cart attendant, a babble of German. Jim had answered in the same language, a low growl. I didn't know the words, but I knew the tone. The squawking stopped abruptly, and he returned and tucked the blanket around me firmly, cocooning me.

I'm lying on my side because it hurts too much to lie on my back, even with the drug cocktail they've given me. It's dulled some of the physical pain. There's still a hot ache deep in my bowels. I'm probably gonna shit blood for a week, but the doctor said that I didn't need stitches. Probably just a stool softener for awhile. I hate to think he's seen enough of this sort of thing to have devised a routine treatment. Muscle relaxant, sedative, antibiotic...God knows what else. Maybe some thorazine, the way I'm feeling now. Disconnected.

I had tried to leave during the rape. My years of meditation might have made it possible, if I could have just concentrated, a little. I could have overcome the burning, buffeting pain of his lunges into my virgin ass, I think, but he kept talking to me. And I even started to go past that, but then he'd mentioned Jim...

I'm lying on my side, because this way I can see Jim. He's slumped in a chair at my bedside, long legs propped on another chair in front. They dangle awkwardly, and I think that he's going to have a cramp when he wakes up. His head is back, and a low, rumbling snore ghosts from his slack mouth. It's one of the most comforting sounds I've ever heard. He's sleeping, but he still looks tired. *I put you through a lot this time, didn't I, Big Guy?*

He was the one I called for when I began to realize just how bad the situation was. When I crouched in the dark, breathless and terrified, and heard someone approaching the hiding place, and realized that they walked upright, and not on all fours, I'd called for him, because it had to be him. "Jim? Ellison, that you, man?" And with those words I'd given him to the thing stalking me. Now he had a name, a weapon. And I'd just handed it over. *You haf relatives in ze old country, yes?*

I curl into myself, drawing up my knees. I feel a slight sting, and reposition my arm so that the IV line is not strained. I hate it, the damn tether, but they insist. Probably don't even really need it, but it's standard policy. Like the rape exam...

Respiration, blood pressure, temperature, blah blah, light in eyes, light in ears. Lacerations and bruises catalogued, photographed. An immediate tetanus shot when they saw the wound on my shoulder. Didn't even attempt to stitch it up, too ragged. Standing cold and weary in the inadiquate hospital gown, breezes ghosting over my ravaged ass *millions on medical research, and they can't come up with a dignified hospital gown*. Jim called from the room for a moment. He'd been with me the entire time, a silent, strong anchor. But he was needed for some sort of paperwork before I could be admitted. He left with some warning in German to the doctor and nurse.

We waited silently for a minute or two, then the doctor looked at his watch, made a comment to the nurse who shrugged, glancing at the door Jim had exited through.

The doctor puts his hand on my should, and I try not to flinch away. He speaks quietly to me "Wir mössen nachprüfen die kie Schwänsdung, Herr Sandburg." I stared at him blankly. What did he want now. He was pulling on a pair of latex gloves as he spoke. When he saw my incomprehension, he sighed. He turned me to face the exam table. Taking my hands, he placed them on the stirrups at the foot. "Umbeigen." I just looked at him.

He sighed again. With one hand he pressed down on the small of my back, with the other he tugged my hips back. "Umbeigen, so." Sometimes, even when you have no knowlege of a language, the meaning of a word or a phrase will jump out at you with startling clarity. I knew what he was saying. "Bend over, like this."

*Up on your hands and knees, pup. I'm doing you a kindness, boy, taking you from behind the first time.*

The next thing I know I'm in a corner, screaming, and Jim comes through the door like God's own avenging angel. The only reason the doctor doesn't end up as a patient in his own trauma unit and Jim doesn't end up doing time is that Jim is too busy calming me down. I cling to him like a limpet, squeesing myself between him and the wall, putting his rock solid presence between me and the rest of the world.

"Stupid mother fucker, you know what he's been through! What were you thinking of?" Hesitant, consilitory words in German. "It isn't necessary. No, it isn't. I don't give a shit about regulations. The man that did it is dead, he'll never come to trial. We don't have to put him through that."

Dead? Yes, he'd said that before, at the lodge. He'd carried me there first, kicking on the thick plank door till someone had come and opened it. He'd deposited me on a couch, and kept one hand on me, soothing my shudders, as he dialed the phone amd notified *police? hospital?* the authorities.

While we waited, two more men had arrived. A tall, dark haired man was helping a near unconscious man who looked vaguely familiar. He didn't seem too surprised to see us. After placing his companion beside me, he spoke with Jim. I caught hints of their conversation. "...so sorry. Saw the boy earlier...Von Zell....mad, completely insane...attacked Gabriel...shot...dead..."

I looked at the man beside me. Pale, bloodied. What a pair we made. He was still conscious, but only barely. I leaned closer and whispered, "You killed it?"

Cloudy green eyes turned to me. I saw recognition, and knew where I'd seen him. I'd been cradled in Jim's arms when he'd first summoned me back, and this man had passed near, barely hesitating before going in pursuit of *Von Zell* the thing. He nodded. I touched his face lightly. I wanted to kiss him in gratitude, but there were too many people there, and Jim. "Thank you."

There was a hint of a cocky smile. What must he be like under normal circumstances? He mumbled, "My pleasure, bo." and passed out.

Jim let the flow of words wash over him, then said simply, "He's dead?" A nod. "Good. I want to see the body, so be sure to let me know where he ends up. I can't leave Blair now."

When the ambulance comes, he hovers around the paramedics, staying barely out of the way, hawklike in his observance. When he is told he must ride seperately, he climbs into the ambulance with me and silently dares the paramedics to remove him.

I feel a fullness in my bladder, and consider ringing for a bed pan. No catheter, I'd threatened to crawl out of the trauma unit, if necessary. It was agreed that, as long as Jim was staying with me, it would be alright. My IV is on a mobil pole. I watch Jim sleep and wonder if I'll be able to go to the bathroom without waking him up. I'd insisted that he dial his senses way down. "You're jangled, Big Guy. If you start to zone, what kind of help can I be to you in this shape?" He'd finally agreed.

I roll over carefully, being sure not to trap my line. I drop one leg off the side of the mattress, and my foot finds the cool tile of the floor. I ease weight onto it, then push with my arms till I rise to a sitting position. I wince as the pain in my gut increases. I didn't even get stitches, I wasn't *relative to what?* torn up all that badly, so they'd said. I suppose that depends on which side of the rips you're situated.

I make it into a standing position, clutching the pole for balance, and make the few steps to the bathroom. I don't turn on the overhead light, relying on the soft glow from the headboard lamp I've left on lowest setting. I lift the seat *Naomi taught me well in that respect* and pee, holding myself gingerly. Then I lower the lid, and sit. I don't want to go back into that room just yet.

I grip the pole with both hands, and lean my forehead against it, staring down at the shadowed patterns of the tile floor. I rotate my head, and look at the large open shower to my left. Unbidden, images of earlier this night come to me.

I couldn't just crawl into bed in the filthy state I was in. I refused a sponge bath, and, in truth, it wouldn't have been enough. They decided that I could wash myself, as long as Jim was close by, to help me if it got to be too much.

He'd placed all the things I'd need on the inner shelf: soap, shampoo, cloths. He'd adjusted the water to steamy but not scalding. Then he'd removed that laughable hospital gown and urged me under the pulsing stream, drawing the privacy curtain.

I stood there, and let the water wash over me. I closed my eyes, and closed my mind. I could do it here, I thought. I could leave. I couldn't before, but now that I knew the thing was dead, and Jim was safe...

I didn't dare go before.. Von Zell wanted me awake and aware through the whole thing, and if I wasn't, he would hunt down my *lover* partner. I was learning what he was capable of, I didn't dare risk him taking Jim unawares. So I endured the hot stabbing that felt like it was going to split me in two, the muttered obscenities and endearments. But then he wanted...

I wasn't even to be allowed the dignity of pacive endurance. He wanted me to participate, to enjoy my violation. When his hands on my reluctant cock didn't do it, he threatened Jim again. Get hard, or Jim would suffer. Cum under my rapist's ministrations, or Jim would be hunted, and killed. What choice did I have? *No choice.. Your lover's life for a few moments of pleasure, and a few drops of sperm.*

God help me, I'd done it. But I'd been forced to use Jim. I had to call up all the fond memories, the longed for fantasies. I had to imagine the man I loved touching me and loving me so that I could whore myself for my rapist. And when I came, I spurted over Von Zell's hands, but I screamed Jim's name.

I close my eyes. How long did I stand there, starting the gradual process of slipping away again? Five minutes? Ten? At last Jim pulled back the curtain. "Blair, you okay in there?"

"I'm fine." I wasn't too far away to answer, I hoped it would be enough. But he knows me too well.

"Let me help you." He stripped quickly. I didn't realize what he was doing till he stepped under the spray with me.

"Jim, you don't have to. I can..."

"Shut up, Blair. Let me take care of you." He took a wide toothed comb and gently worked all the burrs and twigs and filth out of my long wet hair. Then he poured shampoo in his hands, nudged me till I faced away, and began to wash my hair. His touch was as gentle and sure as the most skilled professional I've ever gone to. It can be a very sensual experience, having someone you care for wash your hair. I was starting to relax as he turned my head this way and that, rinsing away the lather.

When I reached for the washcloth, he pushed my hand away. "I said let me take care of you. All you have to do is stand still. I know that's hard for you, Chief, but try." He worked the pale bar of soap into the wet cloth till it was slathered with lather. Then he began to wash me, starting at my throat. I closed my eyes and surrendered to his ministrations. Surrendered, not submitted.

*I feel the slick cloth pass over me, gentle but thorough, washing away the crusted sweat and dirt on my shoulders, arms chest. I am turned, and the same tender care is given to my back, cleaning cuts caused when I was dragged out of my hiding place. He washes my legs, ginger of the raw patches at my knees. His movements slow as he moves up, and I know what is giving him pause.*

*I'm filthy down there. The inside of my legs and my ass are caked with my own blood and shit, and Von Zell's rank, congealed semen. I don't blame him for not wanting to touch me. But then he begins again. He cleans me as tenderly as a father might clean his newborn son after changeing a diaper. I can't help but tremble and wince as the soapy cloth wipes over the stinging skin of my crack.*

*When that's done, he pushes my shoulder, directing me to turn around again. I don't want to look at him, now that he's seen the extent of my shame. I think I can't be any more humiliated, then his bare hand presses my stomach, sliding in the sticky remains of my own cum. I choke on a sob, because he'll know now. He'll know that I had an orgasm while that animal raped me.*

*"Blair..." His voice is quiet. "Look at me."*

*No, Jim, how can I ever look you in the face again, after this?*

*His fingers capture my chin, tilting it up. I close my eyes, but he is insistant. "Look at me, Blair. Don't shut me out."*

*I open my eyes and stare into fathomless blue. And I have to tell him, because he'll know anyway, won't he? He's my Sentinel, I can't lie to him, not about anything real. "I...didn't want to. He made me. I know that sounds like an excuse, but...but he knew your name. Oh, God, Jim. I said your name, and he knew. He said if I didn't...if I didn't cum for him, he'd kill you."*

*I see the flare of pain in his eyes, and curse myself. What was I thinking of, telling him this? I know my Jim. Now he'll feel bad, responsible somehow. I wish I could take back the words, but I can't. I keep babbling, not knowing if I am making things worse, or better. I just can't stop the words.*

*"You saved my life, you know? Because I couldn't at first. He kept touching me, but I couldn't. And he would have killed me when he was done, and then you, if I didn't. So I had to..." My voice falls away, and I confess to one instance of something that has happened many times before. "I thought about you. I made myself believe that it was your hands touching me, and I could. But it wasn't. I'm sorry. I...couldn't stand it without you. I'm sorry. Don't hate me."*

*"Hate you? God, Blair, you trusted me to get you through that, can't you trust me to understand?"*

*Jim pulls me into his arms I rest against him, stunned. It's happening. How many times have I dreamed about this? About feeling the hard length of his body pressed against mine, nothing between us. He is murmuring in my ear. "I'm the one who's sorry. I never should have left you alone when I knew you were upset and blue. I'd give the next twenty years of my life if only I could make it go away, but I can't. All I can do right now is wash away his traces, and help you heal."*

*And he lifts aside my hair, like he did in my fantasy. And he kisses the back of my neck. I hold on to him, beginning to shake, but not from dread this time. His hand moves up between us to graze my nipples, which are suddenly, achingly hard. How does he know? How does he know just what I thought, just what I need?*

*"Is it too soon for you, Blair? I was going back to the inn to make love to you, and you were gone. And that...thing...hurt you. I guess I should ask if it's too late."*

*I drop my head back and gaze up at him, happy for the water that hides my tears. "I wanted...I've wanted for so long..."*

*"And so have I, and neither one of us said anything. And we're supposed to be pretty sharp guys. Got everyone fooled, don't we?" He kisses me, and it is beautiful: soft, warm, almost chaste.*

*I whisper against his lips, "I wanted to be a virgin for you."*

*He pulls back enough to rest his forehead against mine. "You are a virgin. He didn't touch you."*

*"But..."*

*"No, he didn't touch you. Not the real you, not my Blair. This will be the first time that you're really loved, and that makes it the first time. If you want me..."*

*I pull back a little, and give him my 'Stupid statement, Ellison' look. And he laughs a little.*

*"But not much, because you're still hurting right now. You just relax, and I'll finish taking care of you."*

*"But you..."*

*He puts a gentle hand over my mouth. "Shut your pretty mouth, baby boy." I quiet. "Lean against the wall and take hold of the safety bar." I do as he directs, and he takes the bottle of shampoo again, squeezing some into his palm. He works the slippery fluid over his hands, then reaches down and takes hold of my semi erect cock.*

*He begins to stroke me, slowly and gently. The shampoo is an excellent lubricant, and his hands slide easily. The lather begins to foam. He uses one hand to spread it over my abdomen and down my thighs while he keeps up a steady rhythm with the other. He knows what he's doing. I guess now I can be sure of why he's spent so much time in the shower. He wasn't just soothing his aching back muscles. He's an expert at jerking off, and I'm benifitting from his experience. Very quickly I'm fully erect, straining the compass of his grip.*

*He keeps stroking me with his right hand, and begins fondling himself with his left. I've never had a good look at him before, and now I stare unashamedly, drinking in the sight of his cock as it firms under his touch. It lengthens and swells, till it sways proudly when his grip slips off for a second.*

*Both of us are thickly soaped from navel to mid thigh by now. He says gruffly, "Hang on to that bar, Blair. Don't let go." and he moves up against me. I whimper in delight when the hard lenth of his cock slides against my belly. He bends his knees a little, positioning himself, and my whimper becomes a moan as his dick slides against mine. He moves against me slowly.*

*The friction is exquisite. He begins to hump against me, each thrust carrying his engorged cock against my own. A slip, and I feel my own hot, swollen flesh prod the ridged plane of his abdomen. Another slip and I'm back in contact with velvet sheathed steel. Again and again, varying rhythm and pressure. At one point he stands perfectly still, our rampant staffs pressed tight between our bellies, as he sucks a hicky on my neck.*

*I'm gasping, pleading. "Please, Jim. Please." I push, arching my pelvis against his.*

*He grips my hips, firmly but gently. He doesn't want to hurt me or bruise me any more than I already am. His voice is dark and thick. "Hang on, baby boy. Hang on tight." And he moves, hard and fast, rocking me.*

*I cum, feeling my semen jet between us, spurts that are hotter than the water that is cooling around us. For the last time this night, I call out his name. But this time it isn't a scream. It is a soft wail of joy and pleasure and fulfillment. And I feel his orgasm wrack him. It travels all through his body, exploding across my belly in smooth, scalding bursts.*

*He puts his hands on the tile on either side of me and rests against me for a moment. Not his entire weight, he still has enought sensibility to know that I couldn't support us both. I run my hands over his heaving back, and marvel that I could have done this to such a strong man.*

*Then he pulls away a little, and kisses me again. It is long, deep, and almost thoughtful. He kisses me while the water finishes washing away the traces of our sex. Then he leads me from the shower, dries me, and puts me first into the gown, then into bed.*

When the nurse came a few minutes later, he was fully dressed, sitting beside my bed. I silently endured the bandaging of cuts, the round of injections and blood taking, the insertion of the IV. I endured, because I was under his watchful eye, and he wouldn't let anyone hurt me.

I think I sleep a little while. He's sleeping in the chair when I wake up and decide that I need to go to the bathroom. Now I sit here on the closed toilet, in the dark, thinking.

Was it too soon? Am I a whore, like Von Zell said? How could I do that so soon after I was raped? How could I enjoy it so much? Jim said he'd been thinking about me, too. But...What if he was just trying to soothe me? He must have known how close to the edge I was. What if it was just his way of keeping me anchored to this world, till I had time to get over my experience?

What if it was a mercy fuck? I think maybe I'd die, if that were the case.

My palms are itching. So is my back. I scratch at the thick gauze that is wrapped around my hands, but it isn't enough. I try wiggling a finger under the bandages. Better, but not enough. I'm going to catch hell from the nurses for this...To hell with them, I'm going to catch hell from Jim. But I know for a fact that it's possible to be mentally unbalanced by itching, so I'm determined to take care of it. And it keeps my mind off other, more painful things.

They've bound the gauze intricately, using lots of medical tape. It doesn't want to come loose. Frustrated, I begin to pick at the knots with my teeth, They loosen slightly, and a trickle of air seems to aggravate the itch. With a growl of impatience, I bite, and jerk my head. The gauze rips, and I quickly unwind it and scratch vigorously. Better.

But something doesn't feel...look right. I stand up and turn on the light, turning toward the mirror over the sink, where the illumination is brightest. I look at my palm.

This isn't possible. It had been more or less flayed. Almost the entire top layer of skin had been scratched and scoured away as I grabbed at the gritty soil in the clearing, as I was pushed and pulled and pummeled on my hands and knees. It should look like hamburger.

But the skin is clean, and unbroken. It looks fragile, yes. Thin and pink, almost transparent, like the skin of a newborn. But whole. Scrapes don't heal that fast. Then I catch sight of myself in the mirror.

I know what I should look like, I saw the Polaroids they took in trauma. My face should be a mass of red and purple blotches. Von Zell had really marked me up, hitting me in the face time and again when I wouldn't obey.

Now there are traces of the abuse, but they are fading. They look...old. They are lavender and yellow and green instead of wine dark. I pull the neckline of my gown down, afraid of what I will see.

The wound in my shoulder is scabbed over, stiff. It should still be moist and raw. It looks like it has been healing for more than a week. Already, at the edges, is a thin rim of new, healthy skin.

I stare at myself, horrified, and I whisper, "What did you do to me, you sick fuck? What the hell did you do to me?"

Baron Freidrik von Glower POV

I keep glancing over at the pair on the couch. They huddle together, two beautiful, wounded creatures. It is enough to make me wish that I could have disciplined Von Zell before Gabriel pulled the trigger. As long as my hands were not responsible for the final wound, I would have escaped the consequences. And it would have given me great satisfaction to have crushed a few bones, torn away a mouthful or two of flesh before he was dispatched to hell.

Gabriel almost went into shock after shooting Von Zell. Poor thing, he really isn't a hunter. Not yet, anyway. I managed to get him back to the lodge,and found it ablaze with light, the club members milling restlessly. The boy I had seen go into the woods was on the couch, wrapped toes to chin in a blanket. His large companion was calling medical assistance. I deposited Gabriel beside the boy, and went to speak to the big, angry American. Explinations had to be offered, a story had to be agreed upon before the authorities arrived.

As I tell the tale of a friend gone mad, I watch the two who were so lately prey. The boy *Blair* speaks to Gabriel quietly, questioningly. He reaches to touch the older man's face, and the blanket falls away for a moment. I see the ragged tear in his shoulder, and I know.

*Two. I have two more children now* Why hadn't Von Zell finished the boy? I knew his blood lust was high. I look more closely, and think perhaps his other lusts were stronger still. While I have generally been attracted to the 'bad boys', I can see why Von Zell would have wanted him. And it occures to me that my lost child would have realized this. The more I think of it, the more I am sure that Von Zell has left me a final gift. I have lost Von Zell, but now there are two.

I feel inordinately proud, as I expect most fathers presented with twin boys would. Proud, but worried. These next days and weeks will be difficult for my newborns. They will go through changes that will be both painful and wrenching. I want to be there for them, to guide them and teach them and soothe them. But I don't see how I can.

It was much easier for Von Zell. He had some idea of what he was going into. I was able to bestow my gift with a minimum of pain and damage. I was with him all through the confusion and agony of his first turning. I was able to show him the power and pleasure of our state from the very beginning. His human nature faded quickly, and he embraced the wolf. Sadly, he wasn't strong enough to contain the power, the energy, and it drove him mad. *Not my two new little ones, not these cubs. I won't have it.*

I watch Blair's companion *Jim* as he tends to him. Silent strength, gentleness, sorrow. I do not become jealous when he touches my cub, soothing and comforting him. I cannot hate what is so obviously genuine love. It makes me sad to think of how he will feel when he realizes that the beautiful boy is no longer his. The pain will be soul killing. Perhaps it would be kinder to kill him. I watch the lean flex of his haunches as he moves restlessly about the room, and think perhaps it would be better if my other two had an older brother.

They will be leaving for the United States as soon as the young one is released from the hospital, I am sure. This doesn't bother me. Honest people, open people are so easy to track in this new electronic age. There will be no trouble tracking them down. I feel the need to stay here in Germany for the time being, watching over Gabriel. From his ramblings on the way back to the lodge, it seems that there are people here in Germany who might interfer with our bonding: Grace and Gerde. Nothing can severe the blood tie, but it can be strained, and I need to attend this. The little cub has his foster father to care for him, he'll be alright.

I go to sit beside Gabriel. He is unconscious, and I smooth his red-gold, sweat matted hair. I look up, and catch Jim's eyes. He is holding one of Blair's cold hands in both of his, rubbing it gently. A look of perfect understanding passes between us, and he looks quickly away. I shrug. He hasn't yet become comfortable with his feelings, it seems. We sit and wait for the ambulance, both of us tending to the men that we love.

Gabriel's POV

They took the boy away, the two men in the blue uniforms with the red crosses on their sleeves. *Good, they're taking him to a hospital.* His friend, stony faced but anxious eyed, went with them. But before he left, he paused, squatting to speak to Gabriel. "They're taking Blair first, he's going into shock. Another will be here shortly for you. Alright?" Gabriel nodded weakly The man *Jim Ellison* gripped his arm, staring at him intently. "Thank you, man. From the bottom of my heart, thank you." Then he was gone.

Gabriel closed his eyes again. Someone had packed a towel against his wound. The terrycloth was now soppy with blood, but the flow had slowed, if not stopped. He probably wouldn't bleed to death. He heard footsteps, voices. The other hunt club members were huddled near the bar, drinking and talking nervously.

He heard the rasp of a phone being dialed. After a moment, a voice said, "Gesamtnotfallubung? Annullienrund die ambulanze für diese rede. Ja, danke." Well, he recognized 'ambulanze' anyway. Relieved, he let his attention drift away.

Pryce went to Baron Freidrik von Glower as he hung up the phone. "Freidrik, what are you playing at?" he hissed. "The man needs to go to hospital."

"Too many questions there. I can tend him at my home. If he gets worse, I'll have my private physician see to him."

"Damn it Freidrik, you can't..." Pryce ground to a stop as Freidrik turned chilly blue eyes on him.

His voice was soft and dangerous. "Do you presume to tell me what I may and may not do, Herr Pryce?" Pryce shook his head. "Good. Now, he'll need something for the pain. You usually carry an interesting selection of...recreational substances."

"Freidrik, I can't, dammit. I..." He trailed off again, seeing the stony look on the Baron's face. "Alright," he sighed. He reached into his pocket and brought out a small, flat case. He opened it to reveal perhaps two dozen assorted pills and capsules. "How do you want him."

"Quiet. Painfree. But not unconscious, if you can avoid it."

Pryce grunted, stirring the contents with a fingertip thoughtfully. Finally he extracted two small blue capsules. "Mix these with a little alcohol. He'll be like a sleepy child."

Von Glower took the medicine. "Perfect. I'll remember this, Pryce." He smiled, and stroked one fingertip lightly across Pryce's bearded chin. "I may someday do you a favor in return." As von Glower went to the bar, Pryce shivered a bit, not at all sure why.

"Gabriel." Gabriel opened his eyes to find von Glower beside him.

"Ambulance here yet? That bite it hurtin' like a bitch."

"Soon. This should ease it. Let me help." He held a small glass of brandy to Gabriel's lips, tilting it so he could drink. Gabriel swallowed almost greedily, eager for anything that might ease the fierce pain in his shoulder. Almost immediately it dulled, going from tearing agony to throbbing ache.

"Good, my friend. Now, can you walk, if Pryce and I assist you? Not far, my car is just outside."

"Guess so. Car? What about the ambulance?"

They helped him to his feet, drawing his arms over their shoulders. "They're busy tonight, Gabriel. No telling how long the wait will be. It will be much quicker this way."

Gabriel was carried more than he walked. He was a large, sturdy man, but so were Pryce and von Glower, and they managed. They seated him in the passenger side of von Glower's small, elegant sports car. The Baron got behind the wheel, and Pryce arranged Gabriel as comfortably as possible on the seat. Gabriel was turned with his legs drawm up, reclined so that his head rested against von Glower's leg.

The trip was surreal. Neither of the men spoke. It was silent except for the rumble of the engine, the hiss of tires on pavement, the grind of an occasional passing car. When he heard the last, lights would sweep across the car's ceiling briefly. Gabriel was reminded of trips with Grandma Knight, returning home late at night with his head in her lap as she drove. She had been soft, and smelled of roses and talc. Now his cheek was pressed against a hard thigh, clad in rough tweed. And the scent was of the forest, somehow feral.

After awhile the car stopped, and the solid warmth he'd pressed his face against was gone. Then strong hands pulled him up, and he whined at the fresh pain in his torn shoulder. There were soothing words as he stumbled/was carried. Someone stripped off his leather jacket, and he protested at the loss of warmth, but was ignored.

Soon he was maneuvered onto a soft surface, which he sank into gratefully. An arm lifted his spinning head, and cool glass was pressed to his lips. He sipped the comforting sting of brandy, and the pain receeded again to a tolerable level. Someone was removing his boots. He thought about offering to do it, but it was too much trouble.

Gabriel shifted slightly as his socks were removed, curling his toes against smooth sheets. Very smooth. And this bed was pretty damn soft for an emergency room exam table. There also wasn't the bright, cold feel he'd come to associate with hospitals. What was going on?

He opened his eyes to find himself staring up at a shadowed ceiling. His gaze wandered, confused. Rich paneling instead of flat institutional paint, the only light from a flickering fire in an elegant fieldstone fireplace, and what streamed from the door beside the bed, which was probably a bathroom.

Someone *an orderly?* came out of the bathroom carrying a basin, cloths draped over their arm. He tried to pull himself up into a sitting positon, and they said sharply, "Gabriel, don't! You'll tear it open again, and it's just stopped bleeding." He hadn't really needed to warn Gabriel about trying to sit up, the renewed pain would have been enough, never mind the fact that he just didn't seem to have the co-ordination to accomplish that task.

The basin and cloths were deposited on the night table. "Do you want to sit up a little more? I'll help." A strong arm slid behind his back, lifting his torso slightly, and a couple of pillows were adjusted so that, when he reclined again, he was raised at a shallow angle. "Better?"

"Yeah, thanks." Gabe concentrated, and finally made out the man's features in the dim, pulsing light. "Freidrik? Where...this isn't the hospital."

"No. I couldn't take you there, Gabriel. Too many questions we don't have answers for yet. There'll be time to speak to the authorities later, when we have our stories straight, but for now I have brought you to my home. You'll be safe here. I'll take care of you."

"You're home?"

His voice was very quiet. "And yours too, if you wish it."

"This isn't where I was before."

"No, not the room you shared with Helga. This is my room. I'll need to be close to you to care for you. I need to clean your wound now." Gabe obligingly grasped the hem of his shirt, preparing to pull it over his head. But von Glower grabbed his wrists, pushing his hands back to his sides. "Not like that. My God, you really would mess yourself up if you did it that way. I'm afraid you have to lose the shirt."

Freidrik took the collar in both big hands and jerked, twisting. There was a hissing rip, and the thin fabric parted almost to Gabriel's navel. Gabriel couldn't hold back a gasp of surprise, and von Glower was immediately solicitous. "Did I hurt you, my friend?"

"No...just..scared me, I guess."

"I'm sorry. I don't want to scare you." He finished ripping the shirt through the hem, then eased it off Gabriel; first one side, then the other. "Quite ruined, but you won't need one for awhile. Now, let me see that bite."

Freidrik soaked a cloth in hot water, then packed it against the torn flesh. Gabriel hisses at the heat against the ripped nerves, but the baron held it firmly, "Steady, my friend, steady. This will help in a moment." As the cloth cooled, he replaced it. The water in the basin turned pink, then red. Finally the wound was clean.

"Nasty, but not mortal. You'll recover without any loss of mobility, I think. But you'll have a rather impressive scar. You're bleeding again. I can stop it for you, if you like."

Gabriel was puzzled. "Sure, why are you askin'?"

"The method is a little unorthodox. But it's proven infallible among my people."

"Then do it. I don't want to bleed out."

"Close your eyes, then. And relax."

Gabriel obeyed. It was easier that way, things didn't swim around quite so much. He felt a thick drop of blood ooze over the edge of the wound and trickle down his chest, followed closely by another. Freidrik's hands settled on his arms, and Gabriel felt a small touch at the edge of his wound. It was not quite as hot as the water had been at first, not as cool as it had become. It was damp and resilent, smaller than the cloth. *sponge?*

The gentle touch moved slowly over his ravaged flesh. In it's trail, the blood stopped seeping. He could feel it. Every tiny, ragged bit was touched, wet, soothed, smoothed. The pain was still there, but it had been joined by an almost sensuous sensation. It was very close to pleasure.

"That's some strong medicine, Freidrik," he murmured blearily.

"Yes, my friend. Very strong."

A hint of uneasiness tickled Gabriel's mind. The voice had been so close, the tone oddly intimate. And he suddenly realized that von Glower was holding both his arms against the bed. If both his hands were occupied, then how...? He opened his eyes...

The Baron was bent low over him, intent on what he was doing. As Gabriel watched, he finished gently licking the last raw edge of the wound. There was a crimson smear at the corner of his mouth. Gabriel's breath hitched, and the Baron looked up at him, then smiled ruefully. "I told you it was unorthodox. But it worked. The bleeding is stopped."

"Thanks..."

"But you still need a little cleaning up."

Freidrik's head dipped again, and Gabriel felt the now familiar wet swipe as he licked away the two blood streaks that had last escaped. His tongue passed over Gabriel's left nipple. Gabriel told himself desperately that it was a misjudged gesture. But then the tongue flickes the nipple again, and he feels it stiffen a little. He stares down, numb, as von Glower closes his lips around the tiny point, his hands massaging Gabriel's limp arms. "Sweet Jesus," Gabriel breathed. Von Glower released his right arm, nad his hand moved to Gabriel's chest, stroking the firm pectorals before finding and gently pinching the right nipple. In only a second or two it was as hard and straining as the one he was sucking.

The temptation was just to lie there and accept the soft, intimate caresses.. While Gabriel's pain and drug hazed mind was in a screaming panic, his body was welcoming the tender attentions eagerly.

Finally Gabriel managed to speak. His voice sounded choked, clogged. "Freidrik, stop it. Dammit, let me alone."

"Why? It isn't as if you aren't enjoying it, Gabriel." He pulled back a little, and brushed the flat of his palms lightly in circles over Gaabe's chest, barely grazing the straining buds. Gabriel stiffled a groan at the sensation, feeling them pull even tighter. Von Glower laughed, pleased. "You're so sensitive. It's going to be such a pleasure to fuck you later, when you're fully awake and aware. But I'm afraid I'm too impatient to wait till then, and you're very sweet, like this."

"No," He should have been roaring, cursing, damning von Glower to the deepest pits of hell, threatening him with mutilation. Why did he sound so...pleading? "I'm not like that."

Von Glower moved suddenly, climbing up on the bed. straddling Gabe's hips. He looked down at the younger man who was so confused, so vulnerable right now, despite his impressive body. "My poor, dear, golden angel. EVERYONE is like that, if they only find the right person. Now hush."

He laid one fingertip against Gabriel's lips to halt incipient protests. Smiling down at him, with the other hand he began to unbutton his own shirt. "This first time shouldn't be so difficult for you. The drugs have already gotten you nicely relaxed..."

Grace's POV

I think I'll kill him myself, if he isn't already dead. Of course, it's not like it's the first time I've had that thought. For some reason, Gabriel Knight just has that effect on me. I can't imagine what my life would be like without him in it, but sometimes I'd damn sure like to try.

He's just so damned determined to do it all on his own. Oh, he's willing to accept help with research and organizing the details of his business. And, with my background in history, I'm imminently suited to research. What galls is that I know damn good and well that, no matter that he doesn't admit it even to himself, he considers this to be the scut work.

Every time I try to take a more active part, he balks like a Missouri mule. If it was up to him, I'd still be back in the French Quarter, setting up sale displays in the St. George Bookstore while he's racketing around Europe, getting his bubble butt in trouble hunting the dark forces. If I'd waited for him to ask for me to come, I'd probably grow grey hair, so I came to Germany.

When I got here, he was nowhere to be found. He'd gone off on another quest, investigating the murder of a young girl. The parents and the people of Rittersburg seemed to think that it was the work of a werewolf. Well, that would be right up a schatzenjager's alley. I know Gabe, he might have been reluctant, but he wouldn't let these people down, not when they look to him for protection. Talk about your reluctant heros.

I wanted to help, but Gerde, that Teutonic twat, wouldn't tell me where he was. Neither would the innkeeper, who'd brought the distraut parents to Gabe in the first place. Despite Gerde's attempts to block me, I managed to come up with some very pertinent information by checking the schatzenjager reference library, and digging into old village records. It looks like the recent mutilation murders have ties going back to the mid seventeen hundreds, involving Gabriel's bloodline. If he finds this werewolf, it may very well be a descendent of the one his ancestor brought to death. And that worries me. I have a feeling that supernatural beings do not forgive easily.

I've learned a lot about the lycanthropes, and especially what I believe to be the history of this particular one. I finally forced the innkeeper to tell me where Gabriel is staying. But now that I'm at the little farmhouse outside of Hamburg, he's not here. There are clues scattered around the little house, I have some ideas where to go to look for him.

There's his lawyer. Gabe is sure to have checked in on him. He'll be able to give me some information about where he's been in the city. Gabe is sure to have asked him pertinant uestions that should direct me toward who he's been investigating, and I have a name or two to investigate myself. Then there's the police inspector in charge of the murders, Lieber. Gabe wouldn't have missed talking to him.

I'm really getting worried. He left the schatzenjager knife behind at the farmhouse. Will the talisman be enought to protect him? And it wouldn't be any use against a non supernatural attack.

I've started checking hospitals. I'm going to see the inspector this evening, and I won't leave him alone till I ring a promise to look for Gabe, or at least to notify me if the tiniest thing happens with the case, anything that might involve my errant boss, and friend.

I'm really worried about Gabe. And no one's going to kill him. Except maybe me. Infuriating man. I hope he's safe...

Jim's POV

There's something wrong with Blair. There's something wrong with my lover, and I don't know what to do to help him, and it's killing me.

We returned to Cascade as soon as I could book a flight. He refused to stay in the hospital any more than overnight, and the doctor released him. That surprised me, considering how bad off he was when we brought him in. I tried to argue, but Blair pointed out that I'm not his daddy. Well, after the doctor left he snuggled on my lap and said I WAS his daddy, but not in the legal sense, so I should just chill. So I did. I wish now that I'd at least tried to be more insistant. Maybe I wouldn't feel so guilty. Maybe I wouldn't be so afraid.

The most obvious oddity is his healing. I'm happy, dear God, I'm overjoyed. I thought he'd need weeks and weeks to recover. It was a violent incident. His poor, beautiful body was a mass of bruises, cuts, scratches, scrapes. At first I was afraid to touch him, for fear of hurting him more. But after what he'd been through, he needed to be touched, with love. So I did. That first time we came together in the hospital shower was the tenderest thing I've ever experienced. I never felt so needed, and so loved. I didn't stop to wonder why he could bear any touch, no matter how gentle and loving, to his ravaged flesh.

When it came time to leave, I noticed that the bruises were already fading. I should have been puzzled, I know that now. But I was so happy to see them recedeing. I was eager for every physical trace of the brutal attack to disappear, so we could get on with our lives. But it's been less than two weeks, and all the signs ARE gone. He quit taping his ribs almost immedieately. I didn't argue. As attuned to him as I am, I'd have been able to tell if it was hurting him, and it doesn't seem to be. But there are other things. The cuts on his back, the abrasions on his knees, they're gone. Completeyly, not even a trace to mark whee they were. And the wound on his shoulder, which should still be a mass of stiff, corrugated scab, is healed to a smooth, shiny deep rose pink. And it's already fading. In a few weeks, if it keeps up at this pace, it may very well be the white of an old injury.

Another sign that should have tipped me off was his quiet. Blair Sandburg, quiet? Now that's unnatural. He'd been a weak version of his vociferous self when I carried him out of the woods, but the words had dwindled away. And they haven't really come back yet. Oh, he'll answer. He'll even venture a little conversation now and then. But it's been days since I heard one of those patented Sandburg rambles, where he seizes the nimutest subject and manages to give a lecture on how it relates to anthropology. I never thought I'd say this, but....

I miss it, dammit.

He didn't want to tell anyone about the incident when we got back home. I couldn't blame him, but we had to. A trauma like that can affect everything, including and most especially your work. Once that might not have mattered, but Blair's a police detective now. People's lives and safeties depend on him, Blair didn't even want to finish the last two weeks of our vacation. He wanted to jump right back into work. But I couldn't allow it. I had to tell Simon.

I'll never forget the look on his face when Simon told him that no, he couldn't come back right away. In fact, he couldn't come back till he'd gotten some therapy to help him deal with the incident. He looked...bereft. As if something he'd been counting on had been torn away. Then he turned a look of blazing resentment on me that made me cringe inside, and stalked out of the room, slamming the door.

Another oddity. Blair slams door, often and loudly. But it's always due to simple exuberence or carelessness. This time it was from anger, there was no mistaking it.

He gave me the silent treatment on the way home. Once we got to the apartment, though, he thawed out. He said grudgingly that he knew I'd done it because I was concerned for him, but that it would have been better if I'd stayed out of it. He wanted to work. He was too restless not to work, he said.

Restless, God, yes he's restless. Blair's always been a bundle of energy, but now...Hell, he makes me tired just looking at him. He can't sit still, and when he does manage it, he almost vibrates with the effort. And it's all in silence, that's what's so eerie.

Another thing, his eating habits. He's always been after me to cut back on my red meat. I still remember hurting his feelings when I complained that the lasagna I'd been looking forward to so much had zucchini and eggplant instead of meat. It hadn't tasted bad, but I'm a meat eater, dammit. So imagine my surprise when, a week after we got back home, I come home on his night to cook and find him in the process of broiling two of the biggest, thickest, juiciest looking slabs of sirloin I've seen in years. He didn't even make a salad with it.

I take mine medium rare, and he cooked it to pink perfection. I was a little surprised, as I didn't think he'd had much experience with this sort of cooking. I'd expected him to have his well done. When he sliced into the meat, the redbrown juices flooded the plate, more red than brown. I watched in amazement as he devoured the dripping meat with ferocious concentration. He sopped up the bloody juices with a chunk of bread, greedily swabbing the plate so as not to miss a single drop. Then he picked up the bone and began to strip away the last scraps of meat with his teeth. When he saw me staring, he paused, then looked at the bone in his hands. He put it down slowly, then stood up so abruptly that he knocked his chair over, and ran for the upstairs bathroom.

He barely made it. As I came after him, I could hear the gagging, retching sounds. I could smell the sour tang of vomit, mixed with the coppery tange of the beef blood he'd ingested. He was on his knees in front of the toilet bowl when I got there, desperately clutching the cold porceline sides. I got a cold rag, and urged him into a sitting position. I wiped his mouth and face, rinsed the cloth, and gave it back to him. He slumped against the bathtub, and folded it across his forehead. I got him a glass of water, and he rinsed his mouth thoroughly, then drank a little. When his heart rate and pulse had slowed, I said quietly, "Do you need a doctor?"

His eyes had been closed, lashes sooty against his pale cheeks. He opened his eyes and looked at me now. There was such aching bewilderment in his gaze. "I'm sorry about that, man. Must've ruined your appetite, having me puke my guts up like this."

"What's wrong, Blair? Are you sick?"

He sighed. "It's gone now. I...don't know what got into me." He turned puzzled blue eyes to me. "I was enjoying it, man. I mean REALLY enjoying it. As in it was almost orgasmic. I've never wanted a rare steak in my life, but I wanted to just lap the blood up off that plate. Only thing that kept me from doing it is I figured you'd drop a kitten, tight ass as you are about rules."

"It's alright," I say. "You just overloaded your system. You couldn't handle all that at once." He mumbles something, his head turned away. "What was that Blair?"

He looks at me again, blue eyes cloudy, but somehow defiant. "I said I ate some of it raw. Before I cooked it. Didn't you notice that mine was smaller than yours? When I was preparing them, I sliced off a chunk and ate it, raw and dripping. And I liked it. The only thing wrong was it was cold. While I was chewing, I was thinking, this would be better if the hot blood spurted when I bit into it." He started gagging again, and barely made it back to the toilet. This time he threw up bile, and he wouldn't let me touch him when he was through.

I didn't know what to say to him. Food abberations aren't that uncommon. Everyone's heard of pregnant women who eat dirt because of some deep rooted mineral craving. Maybe this was something like that. All the more reason for him to see a doctor. But he refused.

And the sex...

It's good, it's better than I ever dreamed. I thought that, after his rape, he'd be skittish, reluctant. Nothing could be farther from the truth. He can't seem to get enough. Every night we exhaust each other. I'm surprised to find him to active and aggressive. I'm pleased, but I wouldn't have thought it fitted his personality.

And he keeps urging me onward, demanding that I be rougher, harder, that I pinch and bite. I think he really wants me to hurt him sometimes. I can't do that. A certain amount of force in loveplay is erotic, but Blair...When I refused to be any rougher last night, he scratched himself, raking long raw stripes on his own belly and thighs before I could stop him This morning they were gone.

I'm beginning to get very afraid.

Grace's POV

The call comes at around one am. I'm not asleep, I'm not in bed, I'm not even undressed. I've been pacing my hotel room, forcing myself not to start calling the hospitals again. My German isn't good enough to be really effective, and it's frustrating me to the point of madness.

I know it has to be Leiber, or Gabriel. Those are the only two possibilities allowed. Either my friend, or news of him. This is all I am going to allow the universe. His accent is thick and glottal. "Miss Nakimura..."

"You've found him. Is he alright? Is he not alright? Tell me!"

"Please, Miss Nakimura, calm yourself. I've had a report of another wolf attack in the woods nearby. A man was killed..." I feel the panic rising, and he must sense it, because he says hastily, "Not your Mr. Knight. A local man. It looks as though he were killed when he attacked an American tourist. But it seems that it was Mr. Knight who pulled the trigger."

"Gabriel? With a gun? That's...that's so not like him."

"But it was an heroic act, Miss Nakimura. Apparently the maniac had hurt the young man quite badly. I heard a rumor that he had sexually assaulted him in a most brutal manner, along with inflicting other injuries. Your Mr. Knight killed him, but it seems that first he suffered an attack by the wolves who have been at large. It's very puzzling..." His tone is as bewildered as it is possible for such a stolid man.

"Which hospital is Gabe in?"

"If you can be ready in ten minutes, I will take you there. I greatly wish to speak to Mr. Knight."

"I'll be outside waiting."

Leiber picks me up at the appointed time, and takes me to a large urban hospital Hospitals smell the same the world over: depressing. He speaks to the woman at the admittance desk, his tone rising in disbelief. "She says he's not here. The records show that the second ambulance to the lodge was cancelled. The dolts don't know who cancelled it. I'll be raking them over the coals when I have time."

A large, dark haired man is at the counter, impatiently scratching information on a form. Every now and then he glances back in the direction of the trauma area. His tee shirt is stained with blood, and other dark stains I don't want to think about, but he isn't the injured party here. He has someone back in the cold bowels of the hospital who is in pain, and probably needing him right now.

"But.. you mean they just LEFT Gabriel out there? How could they DO that?"

At the sound of Gabriel's name, the dark haired man looks up alertly. He comes over to us and says, "Excuse me, I heard you mention someone called Gabriel. Did you mean Gabriel Knight?"

"Yes! Do you know him?"

"Just his name. I just know that I owe him everything in the world. He killed the bastard that hurt my partner, and saved me the trouble."

The way he says 'partner'...Gabriel has sometimes used a tone curiously similar to that when he calls me 'partner'. We aren't to each other what these two must be, but we're more than what most think of when they hear the word. 'Partner.'

"He isn't here? We took the first ambulance, because of Blair. But there was supposed to be another one just after. And you say it was cancelled? That's bad. He was pretty ripped up in the shoulder, he needs to be attended to."

"We've got to go to that place and get him."

"That may not be the best course. I don't think he'll be there any more."

"What do you mean?"

"I think maybe the guy who rented that lodge...I think maybe he helped himself to your friend. There was something really possessive in the way he was touching him. And he smelled like he wanted to..." I must be looking at him like he's crazy, because he stops. But I look at those light blue eyes, the way he's holding himself, and the tiny edge of very white teeth he's unconsciously showing, and I think that he might very well have been able to scent the man's intentions. "Look, I'm a police officer, I'm trained to observe these things. I heard his name. It's von Glower. Baron Freidrik von Glower. I think he lives nearby. Shouldn't be too hard to trace..."

As he says that, there is a wild scream from the trauma unit. He is running before whoever it is can draw breath for another scream, bellowing, "BLAIR!" Another scream, and another. Dear God, what must had been done to that poor man? He sounds terrified. Here in the middle of such sterile sanity, he sounds near insane.

There is a crash that has to be a door hitting a wall, and a babble of voices in German. A security guard runs past. I can hear the American's voice raised in furious indignation. "Stupid mother fucker, you know what he's been through! What were you thinking of? It isn't necessary. No, it isn't. I don't give a shit about regulations. The man that did it is dead, he'll never come to trial..."

Leiber takes my arm. "Miss Nakimura, we have a name now. Why don't you go back to your hotel? I'll pay a visit to this Baron, and let you know what I find."

Leiber is about to find out what others have learned. That this delicate little flower of the orient can be one pissy bitch when she's crossed. It doesn't take me long to convince him that he's going nowhere without me. He makes a call to the station, someone gets on a compurter, and we have an address in just a few minutes.

I'm silent on the ride over. I feel cold. If Gabriel were injured, why would the man take him to his home, and not to the hospital? The American had trailed off. 'He smelled like he wanted to...' Not kill him. He was a policeman, he wouldn't balk at mentioning death. No, I know Gabriel. I know the kind of thoughts he can inspire in all sorts of people, without even trying. And if he's been in charming mode... I urge Leiber to break whatever speed limits they have.

It's a big old country house, the city beginning to creep up around it. But it still speaks of a bygone age, when titles were the norm rather than a rarity. It's dark, except for a light in the hall, and one in a back room.

The door is opened at Leiber's first knock by a man in the livery of a domestic servant. "I'm sorry, mein herr, frauline, but the Baron is not at home, and I was just locking up."

Leiber begins some sort of rangle. But I have looked past the man, into the hall, and I've seen something. There, hanging on that hook not far from the door.

He might have been able to repell me, if he'd been expecting a full frontal assault. But most of the world seems to automatically think that a small oriental woman is going to be timid, peacefu, and passive. They don't have a fucking clue, and I take advantage of that. Before he can start to push the door shut, I just barge right past him, into the hall, and go to the brown leather jacket hanging on the wall, taking it down.

The man is protesting, making noises about illegal search. Leiber is pointing out smoothly that, since I am not with the force, it can hardly be considered illegal. While this nonsense goes on, I'm looking at the jacket. "This is Gabriel's. He's here."

The man splutters. "Nein. That belongs to the Herr Baron. Put it down, woman."

"Oh yeah?" I bury my face in the slick, soft leather folds *God, he loves this jacket* and inhale deeply. Gabe's scent floods me, it's unmistakable. *Stupid bastard would insist on wearing leather in New Orleans in July* "This is his. And if that isn't proof enought..." I dig in his pockets. Here's his tape recorder, and his wallet. See?"

Leiber catches it when I toss it. "Where is Herr Knight, sir?"

I'm not waiting for any explination, because I've just found the tear in the shoulder. The soft, but strong, leather is slashed and gaping. And there is maroon, still damp blood soaked into the material. "Gabriel!"

I know where he is, where he has to be...in that one lit room at the back. It isn't hard to find. The servant makes as if to follow me, stop me, but he's detained by Leiber, and by the backup that has just arrived outside. But I run down the corridor alone, and slam open the door.

How do I explain the scene I walk in on? For a moment, I'm embarassed. It looks as if I've interupted foreplay. Gabriel is stretched out on the big bed, barechested. An elegantly handsome man is on the bed also, straddling Gabe's supine body. His shirt is open, and he's running his hands sensuously over Gabriel's torso, lingering on the flat copper coins of his nipples.

Then the details hit me. The gaping wound, the predatory look in the other man's eyes, and the horror in Gabriel's. The man pauses, but he does not remove his hands from Gabriel. The look he gives me is challenging. "You would be Grace Nakimura. As you can see, Grace, Gabriel is quite alright. You've interupted something. You should leave."

"Not without my friend." I grate.

He laughs softly, but there is no humor in it. "Your friend? My lover. Go, Grace."

There is so much assurance in his voice and posture that, God help me, for a moment I think he might be right, and I almost turn and leave. But Gabriel fixes me with those deep green eyes, and I can see the despair. He whispers, "Gracie, please..."

"LEIBER!" I bellow. Immediately there is a ponderous thunder of footsteps. Authority on it's way.

The Baron frown, and sighs. He looks down at Gabriel, shaking his head. "So, you're going to make me do this the hard way, eh schatze? Very well." He swings off the bed, and begins buttoning his shirt. "This can all be easily explained, Grace. And it will be. I've simply been caring for a wounded friend. A rather delirous friend, who can't be sure of what has, and has not happened. Do you understand?'

"I understand. Now get away from him." As Leiber enters the room, I go to Gabriel and pull the sheet up to his chin, covering him. I hear von Glower begin a smooth explination, and I know that Leiber will buy it. He may feel that something's not right, but von Glower is rich, and powerful, and Gabriel has been found more or less undamaged.

All I'm worrying about now is Gabriel. I smooth back his tangled hair and tell him, "We'll have an ambulance for you soon. This time it won't be cancelled."

He clutches at my hand, and his touch is feverish. "I fucked up, Gracie. I fucked up big time." he moans.

I feel a stab of pain. My poor golden knight, Gabriel Knight, fighting the shadows with no help and scarcely a clue, but not giving up. "It's alright, Gabriel. It'll be alright."

And as I'm saying this, I'm praying that I'm not lying.

Blair's POV

I'm losing it. I've been losing it since I went for a walk in the forest *If we meant to harm you my dear, would we be hiding here by the path in the deepest dark of the woods?*, but it's gotten worse.

It started out with the insomnia. At first the meditation helped, but not for long. And now that Jim and I are lovers, there's no chance of hiding it from him. Hell, there would have been scant chance of it before with his sentinel senses. But before he might not have been so goddam nosy about it.

No, I don't mean that. He's concerned, that's all. It's just that everything, EVERYTHING, grates on me these days. Kind of like having a really bad case of sunburn, and wearing wooly clothes. Scratch, scratch, scratch.

I'm beginning to wonder if, spending as much time as I do with Ellison, sharing our bond...if maybe some of that hypersensitivity is rubbing off on me. I mean, I wasn't really all that UNOBSERVANT before, but now...

It's little things. Like hearing our neighbor come in and walk down the hall, and being able to tell that she's bought a four pack of wine coolers by the faint clinking sound. Or this tendency I've developed to...sniff things. I could tell this morning, from across the room, that Jim had borrowed my brand of deoderant. I didn't mind the borrowing, of course, but I found myself irritated because it interfers with the 'Jim' smell. I almost said something, but refrained when I remembered a Neanderthal sophomore I'd known who would scrub any makeup off his girlfriend's face...in public. And the last couple of times I took a shower, I couldn't stand the roughness of the towels on my skin. I just walked around and sort of air dried. That wasn't bad, though, because it led to some incredible sex.

The sex...ooooooh, yeah.

I'll admit to having had maybe a little more than my share back when I was in 'hetro' mode. And it was never less than good. But now...That time in the hospital, in the shower...I couldn't believe it could be so powerful without my even PENETRATING anything, or anyone. Granted I was still weak from the attack, but this left me a damn washrag, limp. It was...bliss. I guess that's the difference in just doin' it, and doin' it with someone you love.

So far, it's been Jim on top. That's been just fine with me...so far. I'm pretty sure he'd enjoy bottoming. I mean, hell, he's so GOOD at taking directions about his sentinel abilities. And those senses turned to registering all that a bottom goes through during good sex...From my own experience with him, we're talking serious mind blowing capabilities here.

But I don't know where this current obsession with fucking Jim, I mean FUCING him, not fucking WITH him came from. Sure, I've dreamed about it. It held a place of honor in my catalogue of jerk off fantasies. But the scenario had always been very slow, gentle, and tender. Lots of coaxing and wheedling. I can be good at that. Now...

In the current one, we're argueing about something, almost fighting. I don't know what it's about, it isn't really important. It's just clear that this has turned into a macho pissing contest, and neither of us is willing to back down. And I'm getting hot. Jim is, too, but not sexually. It's really pissing him off that I'm being so 'unreasonable'. I'm feeling anything but reasonable.

Finally he decides to just leave, to give us some time apart to cool down. But that's not what I want, I don't WANT to cool down. I'll be damned if I'm gonna let him just walk out on me. When he gets his keys, I snatch them out of his hand and toss them all the way up into the loft, where they land on the bed.

He glares, and stomps up the stairs, and I'm right behind him. As he bends over to reach for the keys, laying in the middle of the bed, I pull out the cuffs I had tucked behind my back, and give him a hard shove. He's off balance, leaning forward already, and he sprawls on his face. When he starts to brace his arms to lift himself back up, I snap on one cuff. That startles him so much that I manage to wrestle around the other hand, and get it fastened too.

This is pretty important to the scene. Yeah, it's fantasy, but me? Overwhelming Jim physically? Please.

Well, as you can probably imagine, Jim is mega pissed. He yells something like, "Sandburg! Get these off me, now." He tries to roll over so he can sit up, but I push him back down with one hand between his shoulder blades, and the other on the small of his back. He can't get any leverage.

"Has it occured to you that you aren't in any position to be giving orders here, Jim?" I pinch his ass, hard.

He yelps, and thrashes. But I swing a leg over and straddle his hips, now bracing both hands on his back, holding him down. He squirms and bucks, but he can't get enough power into the movements to dislodge me. And whoa, buddy, am I getting hard.

At last he stops moving, breathing heavily. "Sandburg, will you stop this childish shit and let me up?"

"Maybe later, if you're reeeeal nice to me." I pull his tee shirt out of his pants, and run my hands up under it, stroking his back. I lay down on top of him, embracing him, sliding my hands down and under.

"What are you doing? Stop it, I'm too mad at you to cuddle." My fingers find his nipples, and I pinch, eliciting a surprised cry.

"Who said I wanted to cuddle?" I dry hump his ass, and he shudders and squirms some more. He's never had this kind of action before, and he doesn't know what to think.

But he's trying to put this in some sort of perspective that makes sense to him. "What do you want, make love, make up? It's a little early for that, but if you uncuff me..."

"No, I don't want to make up, or make love. I want to stay mad and fuck. I think that'll be a lot more fun." I slide my hands down and start jerking at his belt and fly.

"Blair, stop it! This isn't funny."

"It ain't meant to be, Jimbo. I'm pretty fuckin' serious right now." I get his pant open, and jerk them down over the curve of his ass, peeling the underwear with them. Then I can't resist the tight, pale curves, and I have to take a taste right then. I bite, sinking my teeth into the smooth right cheek. I don't draw blood, but I leave a half moon circle of red dents. He's going to have a juicy bruise there in a little while, and the thought pleases me. I've marked him.

His yell is as much of shock as it is of pain. "That HURT!"

"LOVE hurts, Big Guy." I drag his garments down, working them off his legs and taking the shoes off as I do. "And I am gonna love you SO hard." In emphasis, I smack his ass smartly, and start to pry the cheeks apart.

"No, wait! You can't...Blair, we haven't talked about this. I'm not saying I wouldn't EVER want you to fuck me, but I'm not ready..."

"And I'm past ready. If I wait for you to be ready, I'll need Viagra to get it up. Sorry Ellison, but you know what they say...if rape is inevitable, relax and enjoy it."

And at that point in the fantasy, I realize that...this can't really be ME doing this. Not using that poisonous, hateful old saw. I've always wanted to trash anyone who said that. But whoever it is doing this LOOKS like me, knows Jim's body like I do. Knows just the way to touch him to make him whimper and twist, even though he's afraid of what's happening, of how 'I'm' acting.

I stand up and strip quickly, sending my clothes flying to the far corners of the room He manages to roll over on his back while I do this, and I see that he's aroused. He might be frightened of how I'm acting, and angry with me, but his dick doesn't care. It's full and hard, angling up along his belly. When I see it, I laugh, and he flushes angrily.

I reach out and caress him, stroking the hard length firmly, smearing the clear drool over the head with my thumb. He curses, and I laugh again, reaching down to squeeze his balls hard enough to make him wince.

I flip him over on his belly again, dragging his waist up till he's on his knees, most of his weight resting on his shoulders since his hands are held behind his back. I make sure his head is turned, so he won't suffocate.

"I'm doing you a kindness, taking you from behind the first time."

And that's when it breaks apart. Because suddenly I'm in the dark, and the smell of wild woods is all around me. The smell of damp loam, dusty leaves, rank sweat and semen and shit and coppery blood and an undefinable feral odor, and another voice, thick with a German accent, is growling the same words.

And, lord help me, I UNDERSTAND what he's feeling, and I feel it, too...

And I snap back to what ever I was doing, wherever I was when the fantasy started. I'm flushed and sweaty and hard and very, very angry and afraid.

Because I'm afraid that the next time Jim does his alpha male bit, I might challenge him. Seriously. And if I don't back down, what then? And, most especially, if I WIN...

Baron von Glower's POV

Gabriel, my Gabriel. Yes, MINE. He isn't lost to me, I won't admit that. Not yet. When he experiences the change, surely then he will realize where his destiny lies. His little friend, the oriental girl with the name of one of the virtues...Grace. She managed to take him from me, bringing in that lumbering fool, Lieber. But it's only temporary. She doesn't know what she's taken hold of.

If I'm lucky, she'll be with him when it happens. I seriously doubt my child will be able to hold the beast, no matter what the woman means to him. Not this early in his new, real life. He'll severe his bonds with his old world in a very final, bloody way. If his mind can withstand the guilt, then he'll be mine, because he'll see that I am all he has.

Gabriel, poor confused manchild. My blood, my son, my lover. You will come to me, because I am all you will know. I am the only one who will be able to teach, explain...comfort. But there is always a period of rebellion, isn't there? You have to realize for yourself how much you need me. You have to learn that your friend is not capable of cooling the fever that rises in your blood, stilling the voices that call and goad.

But I know where you are, so I know I can leave you for a time. She's taken you back to Rittersburt, no doubt to the same cell that held my father so many, many years ago. There she'll keep you safely locked while she searched for a cure that doesn't exist. And, while I know that you are safe, I can turn my attention to the other.

I've learned much about him, Gabriel. Your little brother, Blair. I saw him for only a few minutes, there at the lodge. Huddled with you on the couch. So beautiful, even in his pain and distress. As beautiful as you, my love, in a different way. Smaller, but stronge. Pale beside your golden toned skin. Instead of you brazen hair, his is a deeper, richer brown. So much of it, such rich curls. It begs to be touched, held, stroked. That lovely mouth...masculine, but so perfectly formed...I can imagine the two of you together, my angel. It makes me burn as much as the thought of being with either of you. You're both so perfect. How could I ever choose? I WON'T choose.

I selected you for myself, Gabriel. Blair is Von Zell's final, parting gift to me. I won't give up either of you. If I am greedy, so be it. I will not deny myself.

Blair Sandburg. It's so easy to get information, when you have a bit of money to spread around. The cache of privilege is even more powerful, but I don't know if it will work so well in America. They like to think of themselves as a 'classless' society. So foolish. There are always classes, even if there are not titles.

Hospitals keep admirable records. Blair Sandburg, from Cascade, Washington. What a lovely name for a town. But I get the sense that it is not the peaceful place that the name would indicate. He works for the Cascade Police Department, the Major Crimes Unit. That is a surprise, I never would have imagined him part of such a...phlegmatic institution. Many layers to my new child, it seems. I'm already proud of him.

There is an address in Cascade listed, that will save much time. Phone numbers. Odd...the next of kin is different from the emergency contact. Naomi Sandburg, mother. Straightforward enough. But the emergency contact is Jim Ellison. And Ellison has the same address and phone number as my Blair.

Ellison. That would be the other man at the lodge. The very large American. Short, dark hair, eyes almost the color of my own. He moved with a restless, unconscious grace, pacing the floor while he waited for the ambulance. Finally going to Blair to hold him, comfort him. I sense something of the wild in this man, a kinship of sorts. There is something of the wild woods in him, and I think he sees me a little more clearly than the rest of the halfblind world. But we are not together long enough to figure each other out, and we are both preoccupide by our injured charges.

Ellison could be a problem. It depends on how deep his bond with Blair is. I may not be able to just take my cub. And I can't help but wonder how the Nakimura woman found her way to my home. None at the lodge would have been stupid enough to mention me. It should have taken days for my name to surface. By then Gabriel would have been settled into his new life, I think. Who else knew my name? Ellison...Ellison will most likely have to be destroyed, or turned. I find myself favoring the latter, though. He is a desireable man.

Grace took Gabriel two days ago. I left this evening on a plane to Washington. It won't seem too odd for the kindly Baron who offered sanctuary to appear to see how things are going. Odd, but explainable. I am an 'eccentric'. I have the money and time to indulge my whims. If I desire to fly across half the world to call on a man I knew for only a few minutes, then there is no reason why I shouldn't. People may shrug, but that is as far as it will go.

I arrive in Washington in late morning. Unlike my fellow travellers, I am rested, energized. Through the centuries, I have learned to take my rest almost anywhere, anytime. A hotel room has been reserved, my things are sent there. I go directly to the Cascade Police Department.

The Major Crimes Unit is quiet in the noon hour. There are several men at desks in the office. One of them is Jim Ellison. He is reading a file as I enter, doesn't look up. The others give me curious glances, but I go directly to his desk. "Mr. Ellison." He looks up, then closes the file and puts it down. "Do you remember me?"

His eyes narrow, he breathes deeply, and recognition gels in his gaze. Utterly amazing. He's scenting me. But he isn't one of my kind, I would know that. He nods. "From the lodge. Baron...?"

"von Glower." I extend my hand. He takes it in a firm, but not aggressive grip, shaking it. "Freidrik."

"I...what are you doing here?"

"A little unexpected, yes?"

"You could definitely say that."

"I came to check on your...friend. I was going to visit him at the hospital, but you two left abruptly."

"You didn't have to do that, Baron..."

"Freidrik."

"Freidrik. Yeah, we left kind of suddenly."

"I was under the impression that the injuries were fairly serious...May I call you Jim?"

"Sure. They...were pretty bad."

"Then why didn't he stay?"

Ellison shifts uncomfortably, glancing at his companions. They have gone back to work, but their postures are attentative. "I'd rather not discuss that here."

I see a desk to the side of his. It is a jumbled pile of book, papers, odds and ends. The nameplate says 'SANDBURG'. I go to it, pick up a book. "Myths and Fables of Ancient Cultures". Unusual reading for a policeman."

"Blair was an anthropologist a long time before he became a cop."

"Fascinating." I do a little scenting of my own. Blair's scent clings to the book. Clothing would be better, something worn next to his skin. But he's handled this book a great deal, and his personal smell clings to it.

Ellison says pointedly. "We're keeping his desk pretty much as it was till he comes back to duty."

I replace the book exactly where I took it from. "He isn't working now?" I'm not surprised.

"No. They don't feel it's time for him to come back."

"What a pity. I really would like to see him. There wasn't any chance for us to get acquainted in Germany."

"He should be here any minute now. We're going for lunch." He hesitates, and I look at him expectantly. At last he says grudgingly, "You could join us, if you like,"

"It would be an honor, and a pleasure."

The door to the hallway flys open, smacking the far wall. All heads turn. Blair comes in, shutting the door with a grudging, "Sorry." Then he comes over to the desk. His stride is rapid, nervous. He is boiling with energy, which he doesn't know how to express. Poor cub. He needs to be out under the moon each night, running and romping, stretching his young muscles and feeling the life pouring through him.

He comes to the desk, and halts abruptly. He is between me and Ellison. His glance flies between us. The gaze he turns on me is curious, questioning. There is a hint of confusion. He thinks he should know me, and is trying to remember. At last he moves to stand close beside Ellison. The gaze he turns on his partner is warm, but troubled. Things are not smooth between these two.

"Chief, Baron von Glower is going to have lunch with us, okay?"

He studies me again. He is bolder now, under the protective aura of his friend. "Sure. I..." his eyes narrow a little. "I know you, don't I?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Hm. Well," his gaze travels over me. I feel warm as he gives me an appraising stare. He doesn't even realize what he's doing, the child. He thinks he's just considering my appearance. "I was going to suggest the usual diner, but with our guest...How about Timescape?"

Jim frowns. "Pretty steep, Chief. And I thought you had to have reservations there."

Blair waves. "A former student is maitre 'de there. He'll fit us in, and give us cut rates, so we can afford it on cop wages."

"I wouldn't hear of it," I break in. "I'm the one who arrived unexpectedly. You two will be my guests. I insist."

Ellison grumbles a little, but Blair tells him to shut up and accept graciously.

Timescapes proves to be a medium sized, rather upscale place. Each room is decorated to a different timescheme: Victorian, fifties, the seventies room pulses with disco music and lights. After an affectionate greeting from the maitre 'de, we are escorted to the twenties room. It is quite elegantly decorated in art nouveau style. I always found that period very pleasant. Our waitress wears a bustless, hipless dress, with stockings rolled around her knees.

I order first, to show them that they need not stint. I am pleased to find steak tartar on the menu. It's hard to come by these days. There is a rather ridiculous health warning emlazoned next to it's entry, and the waitress points it out again when I order. Blair enthusiastically orders the same, and Jim opts for a simple hamburger.

I have wine, Blair orders a beer. Jim drinks tea, a consession to the fact that he must soon return to duty.

Our drinks arrive. Blair has insisted on a bottle, not a glass. He tilts it toward me in salute, then drinks. He studies me over the bottle. When he lowers it, he says, "Baron, hum? I must know you from Germany, then. But I can't quite place you."

I sip my wine. "It was not a fortuotous meeting, I'm afraid. You were...you were distressed." His eyes narrow in concentration. He looks toward Ellison questioningly, but his friend looks away. This apparently isn't something that they have discussed.

He pales a little, eyes darkening. I wonder how much he remembers of it. Such trauma can often block out memories. He quickly drinks half the beer, then says, almost in a whisper, "You were there, in the...no, not in the woods. Outside the woods?" I nod. He scowls, and finishes the beer in one long gulp. When the waitress wanders by, he orders another.

Jim murmurs, "Chief? Maybe you should ease up."

He laughs sharply. "Why, Jimbo? Not like I'M on duty later." He gives me a tense smile. "I'm not fit for duty yet. They want me to see a shrink and 'come to terms'. Isn't that a LOVELY phrase?"

"Blair..."

"Oh, hell, Jim. You SAY I should talk about it, don't you? Maybe Freidrik here," he gestures at me with the fresh bottle. "He saw some of it. Maybe he can understand a little of it. I don't expect one of those well meaning head shrinkers could, because they've never...never..." He takes another almost frantic swallow.

The food arrives. Jim eyes our plates with ill concealed distaste. The tartar is a dark pink, glistening ball, surrounded by toast points. Blair is watching me. It's apparant that he's never had it before. So I eat first, to give him an example to follow. I scoop some of the chunky paste onto a toast point and munch. It's quite good, an excellent grade of sirloin. They didn't drain the blood too thoroughly, which would have made it dry. It isn't as good, of course, as it would be ripped hot and dripping from a live beast. But it isn't all that much the worse for the 'civilizing' influence.

Blair digs in with enthusiasm, piling is bits of bread high before snapping them down. He'd be happy to just eat it with a spoon, I can tell. Or better yet, with his hands. Or with his face pushed into the plate, smearing that delectable mouth with blood and grease. What an image. It takes hunger to a different level.

His appetites are so raw and close to the surface. Dear boy, he doesn't understand it all, doesn't know what is happening to him. I want to simply take him in my arms, kiss him, and tell him it's alright. He isn't going mad. This is simple a change. He will learn to live with it, and enjoy it.

When he orders the third beer, Ellison murmurs something to him. He snaps, "Look, I'm not a kid, okay? You can drop me off at the apartment, what's the big deal if I have a few beers? So I catch a little buzz, so what? Freidrik doesn't mind, do you?" He turns those dark blue eyes on me.

"Of course not. And perhaps it will help relax you, yes? You seem tense."

Another bark of laughter. "Yeah, that's one way of putting it."

He slumps back in the booth, drinking the beer and watching me finish my meal. He gulped his food, and finished long before his partner, or I. I enjoy him watching me. I finish my meal slowly, relishing each bite, letting him see my pleasure. He shifts, legs stretched out beneath the table. I detect a faint, delicious odor. His partner sits up a bit straighter, looking at him, and I realize that he, too, has detected the hint of pheromones. Blair is becoming sexually excited.

Jim also notices where his attention is directed. He follows Blair's gaze, to me. He frowns.

I finish my wine. "I'm going to go pay the bill, then visit the men's room. Shall I meet you back at the truck?"

They agree. I go to the counter and present my credit card, being sure to add a generous tip. They head outside. I follow them out of the corner of my eye. I may be wrong about what will happen next, but I don't think I am.

I go to the men's room. The lunch rush is over, and most of the patron's have left. It's empty. I go to one of the urinals, unzip, urinate, and wait. In a moment I hear the door open behind me. Blair steps up the the next urinal and undoes his fly. "All that beer," he explains. "I never woulda made it home."

"No, I suppose not." He pees copiously. "One never owns alcohol. One merely holds it for a bit, then returns it to the cycle."

"Yeah." He's done, but he just stands there for a moment. His eyes flick toward my face, then away, and he blushes.

"You're very confused, aren't you Blair?"

He hesitates, not really wanting to answer, but curious. "How much do you know about what happened in the woods?"

"About the actual events, some. About why it happened, quite a bit. And about why you now feel the way you do, everything."

He looks me full in the face now, and whispers, "No one can understand that."

"I can." I put a hand on his shoulder, and he tenses. But he doesn't pull away, and he doesn't protest. This is significant. I have no doubt that perhaps a month ago, if a strange man touched him in a public restroom, his reaction would have been quite different. But then, I'm not REALLY a stranger ot him.

"There's so much I need to tell you, Blair. But not here. Not with Jim." I slide my hand to the back of his neck, up under the feathery fall of hair. Again he doesn't move away, but I feel him coiling for a move.

I stare into his eyes, calling on the blood tie, letting the power flow, touch his consciousness. He trembles. I bend down and kiss him gently, not demanding. After a moment, his lips part tentatively. I slip my tongue into his mouth shallowly, lightly teasing. Now is not the time to plunder and conquer. Now is the time to seduce.

I reach down and find his cock, stroking. It is half hard already. But I only pet him a few times, then tuck it back in his shorts, and zip him up. He looks at me, even more confused now. I take a notebook from my pocket and scribble on it. Ripping the sheet out, I give it to him. "My number, and my hotel room. If you really want to understand, you can talk to me later. But now you need to go out to your Jim." I smile. "Before he gets ideas. I'll be out in a moment."

He leaves, his step a little unsteady from the beer, and unresolved lust. I think about Blair, his mouth, his taste... and give myself a few good, hard squeezes. Enough to leave me aching just a bit. The better to think of him this afternoon. Then I make myself decent and go out to the truck, to sit beside the mouth watering young man on the trip to his apartment. To know that he is thinking of me, feeling my warmth beside him, Knowing that he will be thinking of me when he is alone. Knowing that I will go back to my own room, and think of him. Knowing that the bond is stronge, and it will help me reach out to him just as intimately as I might have in that men's room...

Blair's POV

Well, Fuck.

Just when I've decided things couldn't possibly get any weirder, something new is added to the mix.

I guess I shouldn't say 'something'. It's SOMEONE, actually.

Hoo, boy, is it someone.

Baron (BARON, no less) Freidrik von Glower. Over six foot by a good stretch, dark curly hair, eyes almost the same silvery blue of Jim's. (JIM. Yeah, gotta think abou Jim).

I went to the station to meet Jim for lunch. I was in a foul mood. Nothing unusual there. Everything pisses me off these days. I sort of stalked into the office, ready for some kind of action, any kind. Maybe a perp would try to escape, and I could catch him and do a little judicial butt kicking?

Jim was at his desk, speaking to someone. when I came in. I came over, perfectly ready to interrupt, and pulled up short about half way between them. The guy...even before he speaks, I know he's not American. Probably not English, either. Lacks that certain aloofness I've come to associate with them. He's...interesting, but I go to stand beside Jim. We're having problems, settling into the new aspects of our relationship, but that is where I belong. Isn't it?

Jim introduces him. Baron von Glower. And somehow, some part of my mind supplies *Freidrik*. Jim says that he's going to lunch with us. I don't mind. Really, I don't.

He looks familiar somehow, and I have to ask. "I know you, don't I?"

"In a manner of speaking."

Lord, he has an accent. A German accent. Well, we can't take a German aristocrat to the usual greasy spoon, can we? I give him a good look, to judge what sort of place he might be used to. Those are some fine tweeds he's wearing (I know lit professors who would KILL for rags like that). And they're covering the sort of body I don't associate with decadent European nobility. This guy may look elegant, but there's some serious substantiality under those old money threads. The face may be close to beautiful, in it's own way, but the body looks ready to kick butt and take names. I suddenly realize what he reminds me of. The hero in one of those Harlequin Romance novels some of the freshman students are so fond of.

I suggest Timescape, and almost wince when I realize what I've done. Am I trying to be polite, or trying to impress him? Jim quite rightly makes noises about expenses, and I try to fob it off. I'm pretty sure Jackie can do something for us, get us in, at least. As for the price...I guess I can ease up on the herbal tea and books for awhile. But he insists that the meal will be his treat. I get Jim to shut up about accepting the freebie. How often does anyone offer to pay our way? And it would be an insult to refuse.

We get in easy enough. God bless grateful students. I almost swallow my tongue when I get a look at the prices, but Freidrick doesn't bat an eye. He orders one of the more expensive things on the menu, steak tartar. I can feel myself starting to drool. I've heard of steak tartar before, of course, but I've never had it. Never even remotely desired it. Now it sounds like one of the most heavenly things on the face of the earth. Jim gives me a very funny look when I order it.

The baron has wine, I get a bottle of beer. No glasses this time. That would be too...nice. I start on my first one (because I know I'm going to have more. Maybe if I pour enough on whatever's burning up my guts these days, it will help). And I get down to the serious task of figuring out who the hell von Glower is. Because he's fascinating. I venture that I must know him from Germany *oh, Sherlock, you're so brilliant*, but I can't quite place him.

"You were distressed."

I feel a flash of pain behind my eyes. Oh, crap. After...after Von Zell. Was this man at the hospital? One of the doctors? I look toward Jim, but he doesn't respond. He wants me to talk to the head doctors about what happened, but he doesn't bring up the subject for personal discussion. And I can't.

"You were there...in the woods? No, outside the woods?" He nods. I finish the beer quickly, and order another one. I need...something. Alcohol will have to do for now. When Jim makes a mild comment about it, I almost snap his head off. I shouldn't, I know. He's just worried about me. But I can't help it.

The food arrives. The funny thing is, I know that a couple of months ago, this would have disgusted me. I would have told them to take it back, and return it after it'd had a good, long encounter with a sizzling frying pan. But now it looks...delectable. But how the hell does one eat it?

I watch Freidrick take his first bite. Oh, so you put it on the toast. Fair enough. I load the scrap of bread with the glistening, dark red paste, and take my first bite.

Oh. Oh, damn. I've been trying to avoid meat since the steak incident, and now I wonder why I've been such a fool. I know I'm acting like a pig, but I can't stop. The condiments and spices can't overwhelm the rich tang of blood, and I shovel it down with unbecoming greed. I know my manners, but oh, it's so GOOD.

I finish before either of them, and get another beer. Jim tries to say something to me again, and again I snap at him. I'm being a real bastard lately. But I look to Freidrick for confirmation that there's no good reason why I SHOULDN'T get plastered.

He agrees serenely, and I have my third beer. Jim and Freidrick are still working on their food, so this hog just stretches out an watches. There's a certain amount of pleasure in watching someone else enjoy food, as long as you yourself are not hungry. Being replete, I can enjoy. And I've SEEN Jim eat, so I watch Freidrick. He doesn't seem to mind. He isn't self conscious at all.

He eats slowly, obviously savoring every mouthful. The man enjoys satisfying his appetite. It's kind of fascinating. The flash of those very white teeth as he bites into the laden toast. The slow flex of his jaws as he chews. He doesn't entirely follow Emily Post. When his fingers become grease smeared, he licks them clean before useing the napkin to dry them. I find myself following the path of that red tongue. When he sucks on one of his fingers, studiously removing a smear, I start to get hard.

Oh, damn. What the hell is this? I'm sitting next to my lover in a public place, and I'm getting a hard on, looking at a man I don't KNOW. I shift a little, glad I wore baggies today. Jim's giving me a look. Crap, I thought he had his senses dialed down. I can only hope he doesn't realize that it's not HIM causeing the...uh...stir.

Von Glower, finishes his wine, running his tongue over his lips to catch the final drop. I watch the swipe over those firm lips, and more blood pumps to my groin. Jesus, what's going on? I never used to get so hot and bothered looking at other guys. I mean, I'd admire, but...

They're finished, and it's time to pay the bill. Freidrick goes to the counter, while Jim and I head outside. Jim wants to say something, I can tell. Out on the sidewalk, before he can open his mouth, I say, "I better go walk the dog, or I might not make it home. Be right back."

I duck back into the dimmer interiour, and make a bee line for the men's room. Oh, and what a surprise. Freidrick is there at one of the urinals. Just Freidrick. The place is empty and echoing.

I COULD take one of the end urinals, a space away from him. But that would seem unnecessarily standoffish, wouldn't it? I mean, it's not like I'm nervouse...or afraid.

So I stand next to him and pee, and make some stupid comment about the beer. And he replies with easy, innocuous agreement. And I just stand there when I'm done.

And he says, "You're very confused, aren't you Blair?"

I flinch. He can tell. How much does he know about...everything? I don't realize I've said anything till he answers.

"About the actual events, some. About why it happened, quite a bit. And about why you now feel the way you do, everything." I tell him plainly what I believe in my heart. No one can understand. But he insists. And he touches me.

It isn't much, only a hand on the shoulder. Nothing overtly sexual, but you don't TOUCH other guys in the men's room. I should be pulling back, maybe making some sort of joke to defuse things. But I don't. Why don't I move?

"There's so much I need to tell you, Blair. But not here. Not with Jim." The hand slides to the back of my neck, and it's no longer just light, just there. Now it's heavier, holding. Caressing. I should move. I should move NOW.

But he looks into my eyes, and they're like Jim's. Not like, but so like. There's something there that's telling me things. I start to shake.

Then he kisses me. So there's no pretending that this is something else anymore. And instead of pulling away, instead of running...I open my mouth and let him in. His tongue moves gently, slowly. No demands, only offerings.

I feel his hand close around my cock, stroking just as gently as his tongue. And I'm way past resisting now. Whatever he wants to do, I'm going to let him. And I don't have any excuses, because I know that Jim is waiting for me out in the truck, probably looking at his watch by now. But I can't leave.

Untill he stops, and puts me away, and zips me up. I'm a little stunned with the sudden sesation, and with the beer that's still buzzing around my head. He's writing on a notebook, and he hands me the sheet. A phone number, an address, a room number. He invites me to 'talk' later. And reminds me that Jim is waiting outside.

I stumble out into the restaurant, shoving the paper into my pocket. I think of that last smile he gave me while I was leaving, and the look in those light blue eyes. I realize that he doesn't look like a Harlequin Romance hero at all. No, he'd fit perfectly into one of the popular historical romance novels known as 'bodice rippers'. Where the hero is a step up from the villain, and perfectly willing to ravage the protagonist into trembling, panting, submission.

Grace's POV

I want to kill him.

No, not Gabriel. At least, not this time.

I want to kill von Glower, that smirking, silver eyed son of a bitch. For what he's done in general. Reading Gabe's notes, crossreferencing with my own research, reading between the lines, it's obvious that this man has been dealing in death for a long, long time.

Leiber discovered the charnal pit in the woods. Even a blind man can find something eventually, if he gropes around long enough. They have credited all the bodies...and body parts....there to Von Zell the madman Gabriel shot, Von Zell. I read the numbers in the paper, and check them against the missing person figures Gabriel located, and know that they don't add up. Even allowing for a wide percentage of 'just up and left' people, the figures are still too high. Someone else was hunting those woods. Someone considerrably colder, more controlled, more efficient than that almost pitiful madman. Someone, I think, with silver eyes. Yes, I'd like to kill the Baron for this...

But mostly I want to kill him for what he's done to Gabriel.

He's not too bad during the day. Well, not too bad compaired to the nights.

He's lost that casually, easy going air that was so much HIM. Those green eyes used to shine clear, like deep water. Now they are always shadowed, like the heart of the forest. And something wild is prowling back there.

He's kept a leash on it so far, but it keeps trying to slip. We've always snipped at each other, but there was always a smile behind it on his side. Not any more. The sarcastic, stinging remarks have increased, and his eyes don't laugh.

He's always been active, but now he's restless. He can't seem to settle into any one task for more than a few minutes at a time. This is disastrous for him as a writer.

The floor of the room where he works...tries to work is constantly littered with balled up sheets of paper that seem to have exploded from the overflowing wastepaper basket by his desk. The desk itself is a mess of pages, pens, mugs half full of cold coffee, and empty beer bottles. He's drinking more than I'd like, but I stopped trying to say anything to him after he nearly bit my head off.

I don't think he's written a usable sentance since we returned. He's trying. I've watched him, sitting in front of that old upright Royal. He'll roll in a fresh sheet of paper, curve his hands over the keyboar, and sit there. Sit, for minutes at a time, green eyes fixed on the blinding white emptiness of paper. I can see thoughts chasing each other behind his eyes, and I'm becoming frightened of what they must be.

Finally he'll type. There'll be an almost desperate racket of keystrikes, perhaps two, or even three returns. Then the pause again. The silence will spin out to an unbearable length. Then he savagely rips the paper from the roller, wads it, and adds it to the drift on the floor. He'll sit for a moment, eyes closed, breathing ragged. He gets up and paces, paces, paces. Stalks, really. Moving around the room with so much irritated energy that it seems he'll burst right through the walls. Then he sits down and tries again.

Poor Gerde is taking it even worse than I am. I'm loyal to Gabriel. She is loyal not only to him, but to the Ritter line. She reverences and dedicates herself to the long line of schatzenjagers who've come before, and it's killing her to see the darkness that's fallen over the House of Ritter.

When she tried to help by picking up some of the debris in his study, Gabriel drove her away with his snarls. She was almost in tears. I think she went to the church, to commune with the spirit of Gabriel's uncle. She'd lost the man she loved, the previous schatzenjager, to the dark forces. Now it seemed that she was losing another.

Under the advise of the Smiths, the American demonologist, he's been spending his nights in the village jail. The last thing I do each night before going to bed is visit him there. But I don't enter his cell. I look in through the tiny window set in the massive door. He either huddles on his bunk, cocooned in a blanket and shivering, or stalks. I don't know which worries me more.

He almost throws himself from one side of the tiny room to the other.

I'll confess something here. I've seen a lot more of Gabriel since this began than I ever expected to see. It seems that, when the moon is in the sky, the civilizing effect of clothing is too much for him to stand. I found this out the last night, when I came to check on him.

Mister Smith was settled in the hall, on his chair. I went back to the cell and opened the little window. I expected...I hoped he'd be asleep. Gabriel has suffered from nightmares before, he's lost a lot of sleep in his life. So I was careful to be silent, in case he'd managed to doze off. He hadn't, and he was in such a state of adgitation that he didn't notice when the little apperature in the door cracked open, and I peeked inside.

He was almost throwing himself from one side of the tiny room to the other, back and forth. He was muttering to himself, words I couldn't catch or interpret. Suddenly he ripped his T-shirt over his head, throwing it against the wall with a growl. He went to stand before the barred window, staring out into the night. He started to touch himself, hands sliding over his arms, his torso, his belly, while he gazed up at the sky, at the moon.

I should have left then, I know. But I didn't. I could tell myself that it was concern, that I wanted to be sure that he wasn't going to hurt himself. But that would be a lie. The fact is...he was just so damn beautiful I couldn't look away. Eventhough I knew that I might end up disgusted with myself.

Gabriel's skin is a light honey gold, the hair fanning over his broad shoulders a darker red-gold. His hands trace the starburst scar on his shoulder where the wolf savaged him. It is rose pink, as if sustairned a year ago, instead of only a few weeks. Then his hands move down, smoothing over the plains of his chest. His fingers settle on the coins of his nipples, and remain, gently stroking. He is bathed in the silver light that falls through the bars, and even at this distance, I can see them rise into small, taut buds. His eyes close, and he pinches himself. A soft growl rumbles from his throat.

Oh, I should go now. But one hand is sliding down his flat belly, playing over the ridges muscle. Then he moves suddenly, jerking open his jeans and sliding them and his underwear down in one smooth motion, kicking free of them. Graceful You'd make a wonderful stripper, Gabe, I think dazedly.

The shoes follow, and he's standing there by the window naked. And his hands travel again. He caresses himself from neck to knees, lingering on thighs and the slant of his ribs.

He's erect, and I can't look away from that, either. I'm no virgin, there have been several men in my life. I'd never admit it to anyone, but there's been a fair number of porno tapes, too, so I'm not ignorant of the male body. And Gabriel's equipment is nothing to be ashamed of. He's built long and thick. Big enough so that I'd be hesitant...But I'm not going to think about that.

Finally his hands settle around the stiff shaft, and he begins to pleasure himself slowly. I should have left a long time ago, but now I can't. I have to see the end.

He leans back against the wall, window up over his shoulder, as if he needs the support. He braces his legs wide, and his hands move more quickly. His head goes back, eyes closed. I can see his teeth, gritted where his lips have pulled back in concentration.

He's fucking into his own grasp, hips pumping strongly. I feel liquid heat in my belly, and know that I'm getting wet. Gabe has been my friend for years. He's come on to me jokingly all that time. Now I'm starting to regret that I didn't take him seriously. Though his personality may drive me half mad sometime, that body could push me completely over the edge.

He's panting quietly, groaning when he squeezes himself. I'm surprised when one hand leaves his weeping cock and slides around to stroke over his ass. I'm shocked when he slides his fingers into the crease, probing.

He's grunting now, hand moving in a near blur. His body is straining, knees trembling, and he bangs his head, eyes closed, back against the wall as he comes with a strangled cry.

It's that last sound that drops the brick wall on me, knocking me nearly senseless. As he slumps, shuddering, with his spunk splattered on the floor by his bare feet, I close the little window, and stumble down the hall. Mr. Smith gives me a hooded look as I pass, and there's no way I can tell whether he has any idea what happened.

I welcome the cold air outside as I walk back to the schloss. I curse the moon hovering above, because it's part of this. I don't speak to Gerde when I return. I go directly to my room and go to bed, but I don't sleep. I stare out the window. I can just see the top of the jail from my window, and I can't stop thinking about Gabriel. About what I've seen, what I'll never forget. I don't expect there to be anything more between us when he's cured. *He will be curec, goddamn it!* It isn't likely that we'll ever make love. There's too much history between us, we're too different. But what I've seen tonight is going to haunt me.

That gorgeous, sensual body writhing with sexual heat. But most of all the final cry, a mixture of speech and the howl of a beast.

"Freidrik..."

I want to kill him.

Blair's POV

The trip back to the apartment was a queer combination of heaven and hell.. Von Glower took the middle position, since I was being dropped off first. He rested an arm casually along the back of the seat, behind my neck. I kept waiting for the arm to drop down across my shoulders, but it never did. It remained a teasing inch away. But occasionally, with the sway of the truck through traffic, a tweed clad knee would bump against my leg, and press there a moment more than necessary.

At the apartment, my legs are shaky when I slide out of the truck, but I hold on to the door while they steady. Jim says that he has a stakeout tonight. That he won't be back till late, so I don't have to cook. I growl, "When were you planning on telling me, Jim? Or should I just be grateful that you thought to mention it at all?"

"I intended to mention it at lunch. I...we were just distracted." He glances at Freidrik.

"Fine. No problem. Don't worry about me. Maybe...maybe I'll go out. To a movie. Or something."

"Are you sure? You haven't been out at night alone since..."

"Fuck, no, I'm not sure." I spit. "But I can't stay cooped up inside the rest of my life, waiting for you to come home, can I?" I regret it the moment it's out, seeing the pain in his eyes. But I don't apologize. I say goodbye to Freidrik and Jim with a curt nod, and go into the apartment.

My head is buzzing by the time I make it to the apartment. The beer and exhaustion gang up on me, and I don't try to make it up to the loft. I don't even go in my old room, where the narrow bed still sits, stripped but serviceable. Instead I flop full length on the couch, face down, and arm and a leg hanging half off. And, miracle of miracles, I drop off to sleep.

Oh, it isn't a GOOD sleep. It's by turns alcohol heavy and twitchy dozey, full of half awakenings. But it's sleep, and I need it. It would just be so much better if I didn't dream...

It's a weird one. I'm not in one of the more common voids. I've done my share of wandering through white, grey, and yes, even pink, fogs. And it's always been a fairly peaceful sensation. This is anything but peaceful.

I don't seem to be in any one place, there seems to be elements of at least two...no, make that three settings. There is the apartment. That should be comforting in it's solid normality, but there is a shifting, fading, surreal quality, because elements of the other locations keep melting in and out.

The second location is a bedroom. It is handsomely decorated, but there is something sterile about it, as if there has been no personal time lavished on it. It looks somehow, generic.

The third setting is most distressing of all, because there is no mistaking it for anything but what it must be: a cell. And not a cell in one of America's enlightened penal systems, either. There is the sense of cold, damp stone.

There are others in the dream, as well. My dream self lies on the couch in the apartment, twisting restlessly. A handsome man with strawberry blonde hair rises from a rough cot in the cell and paces his prison restlessly. His eyes glitter green.

Somewhere in the middle ground between us, is another, in the midst of that anonymous bedroom. And I feel that this one is what connects us all. Something flows through we three, but the man in the middle is the source. He is reaching out to us.

Slow fire fills my veins as the prisoner strips, his movements almost violent. The dream master, the shadowed figure, ghosts his hands through the air, reaching toward the prisoner. The other man's hands follow the motions, caressing his own body. He leans against a rough stone wall and begins to pleasure himself. I recognize him now. He is the man who killed the beast that attacked me, raped me. I only saw him that once, in the lodge, when we were both hurt and dirty and ragged. I had no idea he was so magnificent.

It's one of the most erotic images I've ever seen. I see my dream self reacting. My ass starts to rise and fall as I hump against the sofa cushions. But this seems like so much more than just a normal wet dream...

And oh god, now the dark figure has turned his attention to me. His hands curve, extend, and I watch my dream self, still asleep reach back and slide a hand under his *my?* waistband. The hand gropes, hips shift, and there is a long groan. My dream avatar has thrust a finger deep into his back passage, and is shoving it in roughly, hips moving to drill the hard cock into the soft cushions.

I hear a whisper. At first it's just noise, then it forms into words.

"...so good, my children. Do you see? It can be so fine with us all together. You need me, my precious ones. And I need you. Come to me, Gabriel. Come to me, Blair. Come to your father, your master, your lover. Let me hold you, love you, take you. You are mine. My golden angel and my wolf cub..."

The prisoner howls a name as he finds his release. And I awake with one finger buried deep in my clenching ass, spraying the sofa with a torrent of hot spunk, and Jim is going to kill me for that, but I'm gasping the same name.

I know now what I have to do. I have to go see him, talk to him. He may not have the answers I'm seeking, but he knows SOMETHING.

I don't go right away. I take a shower, try to clear my head. I'm marginally successful. But when dusk falls, I dig the crumpled sheet of paper out of my discarded pants, and examine it.

Freidrik 555-6066 Cascade Rialto Room 812

I don't call. I wouldn't be able to speak coherantly. Blair Sandburg, motor mouth extraordinair, speechless. There's an image.

I call a cab and leave the apartment. I'm just going to talk to him. I'm just going to find out what he knows about what happened, what might BE happening. That's all.

That's what I tell myself.

And Jim will be late coming home tonight...

Gabriel's POV

Oh, god, am I ever gonna have a moment's peaceful sleep again? It's beginnin' to seem unlikely. I lie down. I try to rest. I even close my eyes. It doesn't work. I sleep, but it's anythin' but restful, because that's when the sleepin' dreams come. They're better'n the wakin' dreams, though. I can tell myself that the sleepin' dreams are...normal. But when you dream with your eyes wide open...you're mad. Aren't you? I agreed to this captivity. I agreed that it would be better, safer for everyone if I stayed in the cell when the moon rose. I didn't realize when I agreed how bad it was goin' to get. Every night now...

The moon rises, and it starts. That low hum that's been runnin' through my blood picks up, gets stronger. It's like there's an electric current passin' through me, and it's lookin' for a way out. I finally get up, because there's no point in lyin' there. And I would have needed straps to keep me still. Maybe I'm NOT awake. That would explain what happens. But I'm up, I'm movin'. I might as well be awake, because I'm AWARE. I have to move, I can't keep still. I go from one side to the other, back and forth, faster and faster. If I had more space, I'd get up such a head of steam that I'd likely run right up the damn wall. It's worse than ever tonight. Tonight, I can hear him.

I know it's him, and I know deep inside that I'm not goin' crazy. Not in any way psychiatry could understand, anyway. Grace told me about his letter, about how he was goin' to America. He must be there now. I don't care what she says. That fucker's almost close enough to touch, tonight. Almost.

I haven't told Gracie about it. She's worried enough as it is, bless `er. When she was by to say good noght a little while ago, I made an extra effort to fight the peevishness and irritation that's been making me snap at everyon close to me. She doesn't deserve it, I know that. But the concern is starting to feel smothering. I think if I could just go out, stretch my legs, run...Under the moon...

My head is buzzing with white noise. I know that the waking dream has started, and I'm glad Gracie is gone. I'm not sure I would've been ablet to act normal enough to keep her from realizing what was goin' on. She might have given up and dropped me in the booby hatch, for my own good, of course. I know I'm dreaming, because the cell is larger now, much larger. And it's not the cell anymore. Or..not JUST the cell. The wall opposite the window is gone, faded away, mist curling the edges. Somehow I know that anyone who looked in here would see only the solid, damp stones. This is only for me. Me, and that figure that's appearing through the fog, on the far side.

That's what I see first, the far side. The middle ground is somehow obscured at first. But in the distance I see what looks like the living room of a pleasant, modern apartment. There are stairs barely visible at one side, leadin' up to another level. I could make out details, if I tried, I think. But my attention is caught by the figure on the couch.

I recognize him immediately. It is the young man from the forest, but he looks so different now. He isn't the huddled, shivering, hurting creature I saw before. Now I can see the grace and strength of his compact body. He sprawls on the sofa on his belly. The wonderful spill of brown curls half hides his face. He looks...a little older. Not quite so innocent. He's passed through pain and trouble, is passing through it still.

I didn't think about men before I came to Germany. Oh, I wasn't homophobic. I could look at a man, and openly admit that he was a handsome devil. I recognized sexy in other males. I never had the urge to act on it, though. The thought didn't disgust me, probably because it had never been given any real consideration. There were plenty of opportunities. New Orleans is, after all The Big Easy.

But I've always loved the ladies, in their infinite variety. I still love them. But now...That kid sure does have a sweet lookin' ass. And I find that, waking or sleeping, I keep remembering...

I finally admitted to myself that the night at the Baron's house, after the blonde left...Yes. She did leave. And she didn't come back. And that wasn't a dream, no matter how much I wish it was, or tell myself it could have been. No, Freidrik von Glower came to my room and gave me the most toes curling oral sex I've ever had. And I let him. Hell, I encouraged him. I like to think that if I'd opened my eyes earlier, it would have been different. I like to think that I'd have yelled, hit, anything. But if I'm honest with myself...I think now that it probably would have ended the same way, with me limp with satisfaction, and my cum on Freidrik's lips. Von Zell delivered me into Freidrik's hands, but I can't say I wasn't headed there already.

There's someone in the middle distance. He seems to be sitting on the side of a bed, a bed that has no place in either my here or the young man's *Blair* there. His words come to me out of the swirl of noise that has filled my mind. And instead of being angry, or frightened, I'm...grateful. Because they are something I can hold onto.

"Show yourself to me, Gabriel. Show yourself to your brother. Let us see how wonderful you are, how strong." I obey the whispered words, almost ripping my shirt as I remove it. I turn from them, and stare out the window at the moon, accusing it. Loving it.

"Touch yourself, Gabriel. Let your hands be my hands. Feel me touch you." I do as he commands, caressing myself, imagining that it is not my own square hands, but his: longer, more elegant. Together we draw pleasure from my body, stroking and pinching my nipples to aching erectness. I feel my already over heated blood rise even more, punmping to my cock.

The jeans and underwear go. I stand nude in the chilled air, and keep touching myself. Belly, thighs, chest...Anywhere my shadow lover craves. I turn back to face him and the other, leaning against the wall behind me for support, because I know that my legs will become weak with what I am about to do. He wants my cock, so I take it in my hands...his hands. I am hard, engorged. Silvery precum oozes, and I use it for lubrication, to make slide of my flesh against my palms easier.

As I work myself, the dream master turns his attention to the manboy lying on the couch, and begins his whispered seduction. "Blair, do you see? See how perfect he is. You can have him, Blair. You can have each other. It's so easy, if you just come to me. Let me love you."

The hands...the hands move again now, stretched out toward the boy, who stirs uneasily. I watch as Blair moves, his arm crooked back, his hand seeking beneath his shorts. When he moans, I speed up. Because I seem to feel it, too. Dear lord, I'm feeling so much. It's as if I can feel it all, my hands on him, in him. But feeling what he feels also.

The specter hands move, push. He thrusts his finger deep, pumping hard, whimpering in pain and pleasure. His hips move rapidly as he rubs the hard mound of his prick against the sofa. And through it all, his eyes remain shut. I think, perhaps, that I am sharing this nightmare with him, wherever he is.

It can't last long. I cum, and have a passing question of how often some poor, lonely prisoner has spilled his seed on this cold floor, relieving terror or boredom for a few brief seconds with the rush of release. When I cum, I scream his name. The name of the bastard who did this to me, who is still doing this to me.

Then it's over. I am alone. The wall opposite is sanely, prosaicly solid, has never been anything but solid. And I smell Grace, standing outside the door. Well, Gracie, people who snoop seldom find out anything that really pleases them, do they? I get dressed again, because it's cold, and I lie back down, pulling up the blanket. After a moment, I hear her leave. That gave you something to think about, didn't it, Grace? Gave me something to think about, too.

I have to go to him. I'll leave tomorrow. The next day, at the latest. I know where I'm going, it's in the letter. Cascade, Washington. He won't be hard to find, once I'm there.

I'll smell him.

Baron von Glower's POV

I think that this has done it. It was not easy, reaching my two beloveds at once, letting them see each other. It was draining, but I have no doubt it was effective. How could it not be?

Bless them, they are vulnerable when they sleep. No matter how guarded they may be in their conscious life, the barriers come down when Morpheus gives his gift. They lower, at least a little, and I was able to reach over, and touch.

Gabriel...

Blair...

You will come to me, I am certain of it. You may not yet be ready to surrender yourself, but you cannot resist the call. You are both blood of my blood, you belong to me, and I will have what is mine. You only hurt yourselves when you struggle against what must be. So much sweeter to give in...

Who will be first? Though I have shared Gabriel's passion, he still tries to deny the need. I think he finally admitted to himself what he secretly knew to be the truth about that night in Hamburg. He tried so hard to believe that it was a dream, but now he knows that it was my hands on his body, my mouth on his rigid cock. It was I who brought him to completion, and he did not fight, he did not even protest. He merely accepted, by not accepting.

My physical tie may be a bit stronger with my angel, but I believe it will be my cub who comes to me first, if for no other reason than his proximity. But his spirit is closer to mine, also. He already had a bit of the wolf in him before Von Zell took his innocense and gave him my gift. He was more ready to realize what could be, he already desired one of his own kind. His friend, Jim, had awakened him to the possibilities. He seems like an intelligent man, this Ellison. How is it that he allowed himself to be blinded to the attractions of his companion for so long? If they had joined before the boy felt the fang, it would be more difficult to woo him away. But the bond is still new, still unsettled. I believe it can be uprooted. I will try.

I will succeed. I must.

I am a little tired. It was not easy, influencing them across the miles. It took all my will, all my strength to orchestrate. But it was worth it. Men go their whole lifes and never in all that time see sights to match the eroticism of what I witnessed, and experienced. The golden angel, the slim, pale youth...writhing in the grip of lust, pleasureing themselves and, in so doing, pleasuring each other...and me. The tremble of the strong muscles in Gabriel's naked thighs...The hard thrust of Blair's hand as he worked his finger in his own tight back passage...

Good, so good...But not nearly enough. Not nearly.

Darkness has fallen. Perhaps I should nap now. A bit of rest before I plan my next move...

There is a knock at the door. I go to it and stand for a moment, hand on the knob. There are only two people I could reasonably expect to come here, since Gabriel is still in Germany. Unless it is someone from the hotel with business of some sort.

The knock comes again, louder and more impatient. I lean closer, and sniff the scent that drifts through the cracks around the door. Herbs and beer. Soap, but beneath that, sleep sweat and cum. I smile, trying not to let the wolf show through too clearly, and open the door.

Blair's POV

I stand in front of the door for almost two minutes before I finally have the nerve to lift my hand and knock. There is no answer, and I almost turn and hurry away before there can be. Instead I knock again, knuckles rapping on the polished wood in an impatient staccato burst. Again I think of going, fleeing back to the elevator.

But the door opens, and there he is. The Baron no longer wears his conservative, rough tweeds. He is wearing simple dark trousers, and a casual shirt of soft white silk, open at the throat down to where I can see the divide of his pectorals. He smiles at me, and I know that he is not surprised. That he has been expecting me.

"Blair." It is both a greeting, and an invitation, and I step past him into the room.

He shuts the door and turns to me, and I say, "I'm here to talk. That's all." He smiles, and nods. His eyes say that if I want to believe this, it is nothing to him. He is willing to indulge my self deception. He ushers me to a chair, offers me a drink. I decline, but he calls room service anyway, and orders wine, in case I change my mind, he says.

He pulls a chair close to mine and sits, his knee nearly touching my own. "What do you want to know, Blair? Ask me anything, I will answer, I will not evade. And I will tell you the truth."

"How much do you know about what happened to me in Germany? In...in the woods that night."

He sits back, hands resting easily on the arms of the chair, watching me. "I know you were there with your friend...your good friend. I saw you that afternoon, together. There was some sort of trouble between you, I think, and later you came to the woods alone. I saw you, from the lodge. You seemed...forlorn. I worried about you, because I knew there was danger."

He told me of how his own friend *Gabriel* had discovered the horror in the cave. How he had learned of the madness and savagery of his other friend, Von Zell, and knew that he had to end it. How he and Gabriel had hunted the madman through the night forest. Gabriel was attacked, and forced to kill the lunatic to save himself and Freidrik.

"I know what he did to you. He chased you, hunted you down as prey. And when he caught you...he beat you. He savaged you." He reaches, and lightly touches my shoulder, just where the starburst scar lies. His pale blue eyes look directly into mine. "He raped you." I shudder. "He would not have been able to resist you, Blair. Not even had he been in his more civilized state."

I am horrified by what he says next. "And he made you enjoy it, didn't he?" Dear lord, how could he know that? No one, no one but Jim and myself knew that sad and sordid fact. When they asked me for the official statement, I lied.

Even though I can see that he knows the truth, I still shake my head. His smile is sad, but implacable. "I don't believe you, Blair. I know how it was with him. He was my lover, you see. He was very skilled, and very determined. Hateful in many ways, but he could fuck magnificently."

I feel a jolt of heat in my crotch. Hearing this urbane, smooth man speak in such a raunchy manner with that almost gentle, cultivated tone is unexpectedly erotic.

"I didn't want to."

"Of course not. But the body sometimes overides the will. He had you on your hands and knees, yes? I remember how badly they were scraped. Rather foolish of him. I would think it would be better to have you on your back." The heat is moving through my body. "The penetration is deeper, more intense. And then I would be able to kiss you, to see your face..."

*I...he said I...not he...oh, god...*

My mouth is dry, but I manage to speak. I have to turn the conversation out of this path. "In the hospital...My wounds...they healed so fast."

Again he nods. There is a knock at the door. "Just a moment, Blair." He goes to the door, then to the mini bar, and returns with a bottle of wine and two glasses. I don't protest this time when he offers me the brimming glass. I take it gratefully. The red wine is at once strong and smooth, the mellow tang quieting my nerves a bit. He sips his own, and waits for me to speak.

"The place where he bit me, it should only be half healed by now. But it looks old."

"Yes. We heal quickly."

"We?"

"Our kind. What do you know of lycanthropy, Blair? You are an anthropologist. You must have run across references to it many times."

"Almost every culture has it's shapechanger myths."

"Wouldn't their pervasiveness lead you to think that there might be something more...concrete behind them? Something that universal must have a basis."

"There are documented cases that seem to suggest..." I trail off.

He says softly. "Proof of the truth sits before you, Blair. It runs in your veins. It sleeps in a prison cell in Germany." And he begins to tell me about The Black Wolf, and schatzenjagers, a not quite man tied to a stake and howling in flames, a flight to South America by a frightened little boy and his distraught mother, a long exile, and a return. He tells me about Ludwig of Bavaria, and how he could not accept the gift of the blood, but chose madness and suicide. He tells me about the long years of loneliness, the companions sought, then lost to madness, the developement of 'The Beast's philosopy', and his hope that it would produce men strong enough to join him, and share his life. Of his hope and delight when he found Von Zell, and his sorrow when the man failed him, and had to be 'released'. Of Gabriel Knight, who would soon realize where his destiny lay.

"And you, Blair." My glass is empty, and he fills it again. I realize vaguely that this is not the first time he has done this: the bottle is near empty. When did I drink it? His glass is still half full...

"That isn't possible." My voice is thick. I'm not sure if it's the wine, or my confusion and disbelief. I won't believe him. I can't.

Again he smiles, and I feel a touch. I look down to find his hand on my knee. His fingers spread, flex, squeeze. "You're thinking too much, little cub. There's nothing rational about this, nothing civilized."

I look at the hand. I should move it. I should stand up and leave, before this goes any further. But then von Glower takes my hand, and draws me to my feet. "I know of a place where it might be easier for you to see things as they are."

He tugs me out into the corridore, and to the elevator. I let him lead me, even though I know this is dangerous, on many levels. The man must be mad himself, given the tale he has told me. He believes himself to be a werewolf, hundreds of years old. He believes he has killed countless people, and this is a terrifyingly real possibility. He could very well have been a part of Von Zell's madness. And he wants me, and I have to think of Jim...

In the elevator, I back into a corner. He is not aggressive, not insistant. But he touches me lightly, softly: my hand, my hair, my shoulder. I don't flinch, I don't try to avoid his hands.

On the top floor he leads me down a hall. The door is marked 'Roof Garden'. He has a key. As he unlocks it, he explains, "An expensive privilige, but well worth it."

We step through, and we are out on the roof. I look around, stunned, as he relocks the door. I didn't know this place existed.

It is, indeed, a garden. They have laid sod, and it looks like nothing more than a section of park land. The only difference is that the small trees and bushes occupy tubs instead of sprouting straight from the ground. They are even arranged so that there are natural seeming clumps and tangles. It isn't all pretty and formal. At the far side there is a glint of water. They even have a sunken body of water, and artificial pond. It is a bit of the outdoors transported here, high above the city.

Here we are above the exhaust fumes, the urban stink. A cool breeze blows, lifting my hair. The stars are thickly sprinkled, and the moon...

The moon...the moon...

It's been so long since I viewed it save from behind a barrier of glass, and here it is now. Great, bright, and somehow closer, intimate. I can feel the beams washing over me, batheing me, caressing me...

I tip back my head and drink it all in. It fills me. That odd feeling, that huge buzz of energy is rising, threatening to burst me. I hear von Glower. "Go, child. Go to meet the night. Find yourself."

I walk out onto the grass with no set destination, no purpose. Something is waiting for me here. Some discovery, some revelation that is incredibly old. Isn't this what my whole life has been about, seeking the ancient truths? I move out under the moonlight, and open myself to whatever I will find...

Jim's POV

I shouldn't have left him alone. I should have found some way to beg off this assignment, maybe claim I was sick. Lord knows I have enough sick leave accumulated. But I shouldn't have left him alone. The last time I did that when he was feeling bad was...

I sigh heavily. Megan, on the other side of the front seat, looks over at me questioningly, and I just shake my head. My relationship with Blair is accepted without being talked about in Major Crimes. They know we've been having problems. Neither of us ever SAYS anything, but I guess you don't need Sentinel senses to see the signs.

The not talking is part of the problem. He NEEDS to talk about what happened, what he's feeling. And I can't help him with that. I'm better, since I've been with him. Given time, I may be able to learn to open up. But I don't think I could handle it, hearing his pain. I'd crawl across broken glass for him, but I don't think I could bear hearing what that son of a bitch did to him. It was bad enough seeing the results. I guess I'm a selfish bastard, but I just can't give him that right now.

I keep urging him to talk to one of the doctors. Christ, all those years he spent in therapy, you'd think it wouldn't be so difficult for him. What the fuck do I know? I remember my reaction the few times it's been suggested I might benefit from some time with the brain probers. I can't blame him, but it doesn't change the fact that they won't let him come back to work till he gets counciling.

He doesn't need any reminders of Germany, and who should show up in the office, big as life, but the baron. Brick wall on top of the head time. I suppose there's someone who's more likely NOT to have shown up, but I can't think of them offhand. Who flys halfway around the world to check on the well being of a stranger they knew for all of, say, an hour? That goes past eccentricity into suspicious.

I don't like the guy. I was grateful to him when he provided shelter, and a means to get help for Blair. He seemed to have had some hand in killing the fucker who hurt my partner, so that was in his favor. But there's something...not right about him. I was too distracted to get a firm fix on it in Germany.

Maybe it was the way he acted toward Gabriel, the man who'd actually shot Von Zell, and been wounded in the process.. Not that he was cold, hostile, or indifferent to the suffering man. On the contrary. He was...Care is one thing, he was acting possessive. Oh, yeah, like I wasn't like that with Blair. But I didn't sense an attitude from Gabriel that would have warranted that. He didn't look to von Glower for comfort or reassurance, like Blair did with me. The intimacy didn't flow both ways.

I think that's what made me suspicious when I heard that Knight hadn't been brought in to the hospital, that someone had cancelled the ambulance. All I could think was, "Well, the baron found a way to get his hands on him." I had to speak up. But before I could follow through on it, those stupid fuckers tried to give Blair the rape check, and he understandably freaked. I couldn't hang around. I had asses to kick and names to take. Still, remembering the acid cold determination in the pretty little orientals eyes, I thought that Gabriel had a good chance of having his butt hauled out of whatever fire it had fallen into.

It looks like I must have been mistaken, since von Glower is still running around loose. Even if he wasn't actually in jail, surely he wouldn't be allowed to leave the country if he was under suspicion of anything. I should have asked him about Knight at lunch. He probably hasn't left town yet. Maybe I'll get a chance to ask him later.

No, I hope he hopped an afternoon plane back to Germany, out of my life. Out of Blair's life.

Yeah, be honest with yourself, Ellison. That's what's really bugging you. He's good looking, he's smooth, he's rich, and he's interested in Blair. Not even all that subtle about it. It comes off him in fucking waves.

Shit. I'm jealous. It doesn't help that Blair seems to be giving the interest back. That hurts. I can tell myself that it doesn't mean anything. He's young, he hasn't been interested in guys long, it's natural for him to look. But it still hurts.

God, I hope I'm not reading too much into this. And what the hell do I mean by 'this'?

Blair and von Glower? Yeah, I don't want it to mean as much as I'm afraid it does.

Me and Blair? Have I assumed too much about our relationship? I've just been taking it for granted that it was...forever. What if that isn't what he wants? He says it's love. I know it is for me. But there's something tearing him up inside right now, and I don't seem to be able to help him. Shouldn't you be able to help the one you love? Take care of them?

What if I'm the first, but only the first? What if he...leaves me?

No. That's not gonna happen. I can't even let myself consider that. He couldn't leave me, he wouldn't.

Please, God.

Blair's POV

The shoes are the first thing to go. I kick them off, and the socks follow quickly. I dig my toes deep into the grass, feeling it tickle the bare soles of my feet. I work until I reach beneath, finding the cool soil. Here, hundreds of feet above the ground, I feel connected to mother earth. It's good.

But more important than Mother Earth is what floats overhead: Mistress Moon. She bathes me in her silver light, a chill wash that still somehow stirs higher the heat in my blood. Suddenly I need to feel the moon on my skin. I strip away the flannel shirt, impatiently sending buttons flying when they refuse to slip decently from their holes. I am moving before the shirt hits the ground.

Running.

Oh, God, this feels good. This feels RIGHT. I pick up speed, racing over the smooth ground, into the darkness. We are far above the street lamps, and there are no outside lights on this building. The only illumination comes from the moon and stars, silver and gold.

Ahead I see a low fence ahead, no more than waist high. It is the building's edge, and beyond it is nothing but the empty, whistling canyon that lies between it and the structure across the street. It would not be difficult for someone to tumble over that fence. Particularly if they were moving quickly, in the dark...

I'm moving at full speed now. To an unaware observer I would appear to be hell bent on suicide, determined to fling myself into space at a dead run. But as I approach it, I begin to alter my angle, and approach it in a shallow arc, never dropping my speed. I pass so close to it that the denim at the hip of my jeans whispers on the concrete. Then I'm moving away from it, back to the center of the roof garden.

The fire is singing in my veins now, no longer tormenting. Now it exalts. Unable, unwilling to contain myself, I leap. I throw myself to the ground and roll, rubbing myself in the cool, damp grass like a dog on the first cool day of autumn. I hear a laugh from back by the building. The sound kicks the heat inside up another notch, and I'm suddenly growing hard, my jeans too tight, strangling me.

On my back, on the ground, I jerk them open, wrestle them down and off, along with my underwear. Again I rub myself in the grass, relishing the maddening tickle on my ass and cock. I hear a growl from the same direction that the laugh came from, and freeze, my face in the grass, the hair at the nape of my neck prickling.

I get up and move back toward the sound. But before I reach the place, I come to the `pond'. It is a round cement basin perhaps fifteen feet in diameter. The surface of the water is glassy black in the moonlight, and there is only the faintest movement of water to hint at the flow that continually empties and freshens it.

The moon's reflection floats in the center of the pool, a wavering twin.

With no more thought than I have given to stripping, I step to the green tiled edge, and lower myself into the water. It comes only to mid thigh, but deepens as I wade out until it is at the bottom of my rib cage. I lie back in the water, arms spread, and lift my feet. My face goes under the water for a second, but before the panic can make me tense *the fountain* I see the moon again, and relax. I float. I close my eyes, and wait.

And soon I hear soft footsteps on the grass, nearing.

Freidrik's POV

He's been needing this, my cub. He surrenders to the moon with scarcely a hesitation. Oh, the wine may have helped, a little. But even without the wine, without my urging, he wouldn't have been able to stay inside much longer. The beast would have driven him out. It's not quite ready to emerge, but it's closer to the surface than ever.

I watch it take him, watch as he sheds the rags of civilization to glory in his own naked hide, his natural state. First the shoes, then shirt go. His long hair streams loose down his bare back. Those lush curls fly behind him as he runs, like the mane of a proud young stallion. I follow at a distance, letting him have these first moments of private communion with the night.

The rest of the clothing is soon discarded. I know how he feels. There have been times when I was too slow in stripping, when the change came upon me suddenly. I remember the constriction of the garments, and how I rent them to shreds in a fury of impatience.

The sight of him frolicking, for there is no other term more appropriate, makes me laugh out loud. God, he's so beautiful. So young and alive. I have been half aroused since this afternoon. Now I begin to pulse toward full erection as he rubs himself sensually on the grass. I can't hold back the low, lustful growl that rumbles up from my chest.

He goes still, then looks back in my direction. He can't see me, I know. Later, when the beast is stronger, his night vision will allow him to pierce the shadows, but not now. He gets up and comes toward me.

That first afternoon I had seen him in Germany, outside the forest, he had moved with grace and ease. Now he almost flows, haunches flexing smoothly. He comes to the pool, and pauses for a moment at it's edge, then enters it. He lies back and gives himself up to the water, letting it cradle him on it's surface.

I move to the edge of the pool and look down at him. He floats placidly, arms outstretched, auburn hair floating in a halo about his face. Then he opens his eyes and looks at me, and the illusion of serenity vanishes. His eyes are dark, the blue almost black in the dimness, and they're hot. When our eyes meet, the air seems to crackle with energy.

I start to strip.

Blair's POV

When I open my eyes, he's at the rim of the pool, staring down at me. I stare back, and something passes between us. He begins to remove his clothes. I watch hungrily as he reveals himself to me.

He's different from Jim. Not as heavily muscled, but still hard and sleek. Jim has very little body hair. Freidrik's well formed chest is lightly furred, like mine. The shirt is gone, he shoves down the pants and underwear to join it on the tiles.

When he stands up, I can see that he is lusting. His cock is already hard as he steps into the cool water and wades toward me. The water laps gently with his movements, breaking over my chest.

Freidrik reaches me. He is taller than I, and the water only comes to about hip level on him. He reaches down and slides an arm under my shoulders, supporting me. His free hand settles on my chest, and begins to toy with my nipple ring, tugging it gently.

I try to arch up to his touch, and see why he gave me the supporting arm. My butt sinks, and I quickly straighten my spine again so I won't go under. But before I rise again, by ass is brushed by something silky smooth, and much warmer than the water.

He spends some time playing with my body, exploring everything within easy reach, from brow to thigh. Every inch is stroked and explored in a thorough, leisurely manner. Every inch except the few that need it most. He won't touch my cock, no matter how I whine. And I do whine. I whine like a slut in heat, and am pathetically grateful when he reaches between my legs and cradles my balls in his hand, squeezing lightly.

At last he takes my arms, drawing them upward, and I clasp them around his neck. I do not let my feet settle to the bottom, but instead wrap my legs around his hips. This brings the lengths of our torsos together, and our cocks brush. I moan, and the sound is muffled as he covers my open lips with his own.

He grips the back of my head, holding me in place. It's just as well he does, because the force of his kisses would otherwise drive my head back, away from him, even though I don't want to evade him. He plunders my mouth with teeth and tongue, biting and sucking roughly, bruising. I glory in it.

He starts to move, carrying me toward the edge of the pool. Each step makes me bob a little, rubbing against him. I undulate my hips, increasing the friction of our erections sliding together. He grabs my waist to still me, making a warning growl, and I get the message. Not yet. I stop humping him and allow myself to be carried.

At the edge of the pool, he pulls me away from his body, and I get to my feet. Once again the water is down around my thighs. Freidrik turns me and shoves me against the rim, it hitting me at hip level. I bend over and lay my upper body on the cool, slick tiles, spreading and bracing my legs.

Freidrik moves up behind me. He takes hold of my hips and uses his thumbs to pry my ass cheeks apart. There is no lubricant except the dubious easing of the water that is trickling into my crack from my back. There is not preliminaries, no preparation. He just shoves into me in one hard, deep thrust that smacks his balls against mine.

I don't scream, but I bite my lip bloody with the effort. But the pain seems to mingle with the fire that has been racing through my blood these last weeks. I should be going soft, what with the pain and the cool temperature of the water. But I'm harder than ever, throbbing.

Freidrik doesn't hesitate, but begins to fuck me with strong, slow strokes. He pulls almost all the way out with each backstroke, and slams hard on the forward thrust. I'm jolted with each lunge. The pain is still there, but the pleasure has overwhelmed it.

As he ruts, he runs his hands over me. I feel his nails score my chest, my sides, my back. Each sting brings a fresh spark of pleasure. God, it's so GOOD.

I feel his hands encircle my swollen cock, and he begins to stroke me roughly in time to his thrusts. He leans over me, laying his chest against my back, and begins to use short, hard, almost vicious jabs. The slight change in angle brings his cock head over my prostate with each stab. My knees go weak, and I'd fall without the support of the pool's edge. I whimper with pleasure, hands sliding helplessly over the tile.

His breath has been in my ear, hot and moist. Now I feel him scrape my wet hair to the side. Suddenly he bites me, sinking his teeth into the nape of my neck, holding me. I cry out, my body going limp in total submission as my orgasm wracks me. I spray my sperm against the side of the pool. Pearly white, it drips into the black water.

He isn't done yet. He rides me for another four or five minutes, using me. I feel his teeth on my throat, and shoulder. He finishes with a final lunge that I fear will split me. I feel the scalding pulse of his orgasm, hot wetness filling my ass. He stays inside me, breathing hard, for another minute or two. Then he pulls out, turns me, and embraces me. I feel tired and weak, and I cling to him.

He strokes back my hair, and I wish he hadn't done that, because it makes me think of Jim. Jim loves my hair. He spends long minutes running his hands through it, winding it around his fingers. He's used it to guide me when I take him in my mouth. Once recently, when I'd nearly driven him mad with a combination of sexual and smart ass provocation, he threatened to tie me to the bedstead with it. Maybe if he had, I wouldn't be here.

God, what am I doing? What have I done? I love Jim, really love him. And I've betrayed him, so easily. This can't happen again. I'll go. I'll keep this locked away inside me, and never tell anyone. Not even the therapists. And I'll go to them. Yes, I will. I'll get help, for Jim's sake.

I've become very still. I don't know how he knows it, but he senses my doubts. He knows my guilt, knows that I am pulling away in my mind and spirit. He takes hold of my chin and lifts it, making me look into his eyes. With the light reflecting off the water mirrored in them, they almost seem to glow silver. I waver, trying to hold on to my resolve.

Then he tips my head farther back, till I am gazing up into the vast deeps of the night sky, and I see the moon...

Grace' s POV

Damn it to hell, I should have kept him locked in the cell during the day as well as during the night. I knew he was agitated, but I had no idea...He's been more and more moody, ever since I showed him the letter in which von Glower admitted what he was, and what he had done to Gabriel.

Yes, yes, I know that TECHNICALLY it was Von Zell who bit Gabriel. But that fucking baron was his sire, and I hold him responsible for the state my friend is in. I have to. There's no one else for me to hate.

Hate isn't too strong a word for it. He deserves to be hated. I don't care if it wasn't his choice to be what he is. He chose to pass his curse on, even after it had been demonstrated to him, time and again, how dangerous it was for the one who received it. Because he was lonely. Bull shit. We're all lonely.

I should have realized something was wrong when I let him out of his cell in the morning. I should have, but I was too embarrassed to observe him very closely. The night before I had stood in the echoing stone hall of the Rittersburg dungeon and watched through the tiny barred window of his cell as he stripped and...Somehow the word masturbation doesn't seem quite right. He made love to himself. You couldn't watch and not imagine what he could do to you with those hands.

It was the most erotic thing I'd ever seen, and that includes ever Hollywood opus with major sex symbols and soft focus romps, to a few high grade, well produced pornos. Yes, I watch those. Don't tell my parents. It shook me to the core.

I've never thought of Gabriel like that. Oh, I've always known he's attractive. I may complain about him living in his damn leathers, but he looks good in them. I'm not blind, or gay. I knew he was sexy, could see the effect he had on other women. There weren't many who could resist once he turned up the charm and used that honey drip drawl on them. But up to last night he was just a friend. Now...Now he's a man.

I'm not sure when the friendship developed. I started off tolerating him because the job he offered was more or less perfect. I endured his smart ass humor and his half-baked come ons, and gave back smart ass just as good as I got, turning aside the invitations I was sure were more form than genuine. Gradually, I got to enjoy the banter. He isn't dull.

He drives me crazy sometimes, but there's so much good in Gabriel. He's lazy, raunchy, and feckless, but he'd throw himself into traffic to save a friend. Notice I said save. The more mundane aspects of just HELPING are often avoided. He'll fight zombies for you, but ask him to clean up after himself...

He was different when I released him this morning. Before he'd been listless after a night spent alternating between tossing on his rough cot and pacing the floor. This morning he was still vibrating with that odd inner energy. He went past me without a word, and that's not like him. Gabriel always has something to say.

I had to run to catch up to him on the way to the schloss. Those long legs of his just ate up the ground. I didn't understand how he could move so quickly without breaking into a trot. "Gabe, wait up!"

"Things to do, Gracie. Things to do."

This puzzled me. What things? He wasn't fit for schatzenjager work till we figured out a cure for his condition. If he was talking about writing, the typewriter wasn't going anywhere. And he'd produced nothing but smeared wads of paper since his injury.

"Never you mind."

I didn't like this at all. I grabbed his arm to halt his rapid progress, and jerked my hand back, startled. It had been like grabbing a stone, heated by the sun. His muscles were tensed into knots. He didn't even seem to notice the contact, but kept on, his long strides eating up the distance. I ran after him again.

Gerde came out of the study as we entered, giving him a nervous, concerned half smile. "Gabriel, how are you this morning?"

She means well, but she'd have been better off just nodding. Gabriel sweeps past her, growling, "Like shit. Thanks so much for asking." Her hands flutter helplessly, and I think I see a glint of tears in her eyes as I hurry past after him. Toughen up, Gerde. Sick people are often rude, and there is something very, very wrong with Gabe.

He goes to his room...and locks the door. Damn it! I can hear him inside, moving around. Drawers open and shut. I'm getting a very bad feeling about this. I knock on the door. No answer. "Gabe." Silence, except for the sound of his closet opening. "Gabriel Knight!" I pound on the door. "Open up, I need to talk to you."

"Go away, Grace. Research something, go to town, bitch at Gerde. I don't care, but leave me alone."

I decide that personal boundaries and wishes have to be sidelined when you're dealing with someone who's unbalanced, and getting progressively worse. I've found a number of secret passages since I've been staying at Schloss von Ritter. And one of them leads from the hall linen cupboard into Gabriel's closet.

The passage is just as dark and musty as it was when I found it. I step out into Gabriel's closet to find evidence to feed my fear. There are several garments on the floor, as if dropped when they were hastily pulled from their hangers. The door is open, and I step out into the bedroom.

Gabriel is sitting on the bed. He has changed clothes, his shirt still unbuttoned, and is pulling on a pair of boots. He pauses and looks up as I enter. He doesn't look surprised. Gabriel returns his attention to dressing, stamping his foot down firmly into the boot. "Pretty fuckin' bold, Gracie. I locked that door for a reason."

Now I see his duffle bag, sitting on the floor by the bed. It is bulging. Several shirts, which he must not have been able to fit inside are strewn across the bed. The drawers of his dresser stand open. "Where are you going?"

He laughs shortly. "At least your weren't stupid enough to ask `What are you doin'?' I've always admired how observant you are, Gracie."

"Gabe, tell me."

He shrugs. "Cascade, Washington."

"Were you just going to leave, without a word?"

He ran his hands impatiently through his hair. He usually kept his hair carefully arranged with elaborate casualness. Now it was disarrayed and tangled from his constant nervous rummaging. "I gotta call the airport from the phone in the study downstairs. I didn't figure I'd be able to do that without you or Gerde listenin' in."

I'm stung by the rude tone. "Gabriel, what are you thinking of?"

He stood up abruptly and began to pace. "What am I thinkin' of. Let me tell ya, Grace. I'm thinkin' that I haven't had twenty minutes of sleep since that shit, Von Zell, ripped me. Unless you count bein' fuckin' unconscious. I'm thinkin' that I feel like I got a hydroelectric plant powerin' up inside me, and nowhere for all that fuckin' energy to go without doing somebody a damage. I'm thinkin' that the blood in my veins is runnin' fire instead of liquid, and sometimes I just want to rip my skin off. I'm thinkin' that the moon is talkin' to me, tellin' me things no human should know. I'm thinkin' that nothin' you or Gerde or the Smiths are doin' is makin' one motherfuckin' bit of difference." He stood still, staring at me. His eyes were shadowed. The once clear green was murky with pain. "I'm thinkin' Freidrik von Glower can reach out and put his hands on me no matter WHERE he is, or I am, and I can't stop him." His voice dropped to a whisper, and the look in his eyes was positively haunted. "And I'm thinkin' that maybe...maybe I don't want to stop him."

"Don't say that, Gabe." I was horror-struck. He couldn't mean it. I remembered the look on his face when I'd burst into that room the night he was injured. The scene was still vivid in my mind, always would be. Gabriel had been stretched half naked on the bed, with von Glower above him, shirt open, straddling Gabriel's lean hips. I remembered the confident sensuality of von Glower's touch on Gabe's bare skin, the complete conviction in his voice when he'd said, "Your friend? My lover." But there had been such terrified pleading in Gabriel's voice when he'd said my name... "You can't mean that."

He snorted. "Why not? Because I'm not gay? Hell, Gracie, this is goin' way beyond just male and female." He went to the nightstand and got his wallet, checking the contents before tucking it in his pocket, along with his passport. "Just go away, Gracie. I have to do this."

"No!" I went to him and grabbed his arm again. "You can't, Gabe. It's too dangerous. I think that being closer to him will just make it worse."

"I don't think it can get any worse."

"I won't let you."

His laugh this time is bitter, and I know that the remark was stupid. Of course I can't stop him, not short of bashing him in the head, or drugging him. And I don't think I could do either of those if I try. No matter how debilitation this thing is, he's still a strong, vigorous man. And he is NOT trusting. I could never slip him medicine to knock him out long enough to get him restrained. Going to the authorities is not an option. As far as they know, no crime has been committed, so they would not bar him from leaving the country.

"You gonna stop me, Gracie?" His tone is taunting. "What you gonna do, knock me down and sit on me?"

He steps toward me, grinning. But it isn't his old grin, the easy going, cheerful grin. This is more a baring of teeth. There's something feral and menacing about it. His voice is low. "Ya know, Gracie...you had plenty of times you coulda snuck into my bedroom. Why the hell did you have to wait till NOW?"

From the first day we met, Gabriel has teased me. A day didn't go by without some corny come on or innuendo. They amused as much as exasperated me. But this is different. His tone is serious, and I suddenly feel cold inside.

"I knew you were outside in the hall last night, Grace. Did you like the show?" I flinch, and I know there's no use to deny it, because I can feel the color flooding my cheeks. "I figure you must've enjoyed it, since you stayed to see the final shot." Again the grin, and it's mean this time.

He's staring into my eyes, and I don't seem to be able to look away. He moves close to me, and takes my hand, placing it inside his open shirt, flat against his bare chest, and moving it. "So, you're curious, right? You wonder what it would be like with me. I've wondered what it would be like with you." He slides my hand down, past his ribs to the flat plain of his belly.

"Gabe..." I swallow. "Stop it. This isn't you."

"Sure it is, Gracie. Sure it is. And even if it isn't, it's the guy who made you get wet watching him jerk off last night. I could smell it." He presses my palm against his fly. I feel a bulge pressing out to meet my touch.

I feel an alarming jolt of desire at the hot urgency of the flesh beneath the fabric. But I'm still looking into his eyes, and they are hot and empty. There is nothing of Gabriel there. There is only animal hunger.

I try to jerk away, but he has my wrist. He uses it to swing me around, and his palm lands on my chest, shoving me hard. I fall across the bed, and he follows me down immediately. He drops all his weight on me, and I almost lose my breath.

His mouth is on my neck, and he bites. He doesn't draw blood, but the pain is still agonising, and I shriek. Immediately he releases the bite, and begins to kiss and lick the fast bruising skin. He shoves a knee between my thighs, parting them despite my frantic efforts, pushing his way between my spread legs. With my free hand I scratch at him, laying a bloody welt on his cheek. He growls, catching my hand. To my horror, he pauses to suck the blood that has been trapped under my nails before pinning both my hands over my head.

"Gabriel, stop it! God, please, no!" He doesn't seem to hear me. His face is blank, save for the lustful snarl that curls his lips. He begins to move against me, rubbing his cloth covered erection hard against my groin. And, despite the pain from the bite, despite the discomfort and struggle to draw breath under his crushing weight, despite my terror, I feel the beginning of answering arousal. And this frightens me even more. I start to cry as he humps against me. "I don't want this, Gabriel. Please."

He lets go of one of my wrists, reaching for my blouse. He tangles his fingers in the fabric and rips at it. My hand flails desperately, and I reach the top of the night stand. I grope blindly, desperate for something, anything, I might use to defend myself. My hand closes on something cold and metallic, about the size of my palm. I grip it, and try to strike at him.

His reflexes are too fast for me. Again he catches my wrist, and I weep harder at the futility of my gesture. The look in his eyes says that my struggles are only exciting him more, and angering him. I close my eyes, expecting him to hit me.

But he is suddenly motionless. His undulating hips fall still, and he draws in a deep, pained breath. After a moment, I dare open my eyes.

His eyes are fixed on what I hold in my hand. I look. It is the Schatzenjager talisman, the mystical symbol of his family's dedication to fighting the dark powers. Gabriel stares at the ornate pendent intently, and the snarl slowly fades from his face. The rage and lust clouding his eyes seems to seep away, leaving bewilderment. He looks down at me, and I think he sees me for the first time today.

"Oh, God." He throws himself away from me so violently that he almost falls. "Oh God, oh Jesus, oh God!" He backs up, trips on the duffle bag, and almost falls again, catching himself against the wall. "Gracie, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry. I...I didn't mean...I wouldn't..." His expression spasms with self disgust and sorrow.

I sit up shakily. "It's alright, Gabriel. I understand. I'm alright."

"Gracie, I almost raped you!" he cries.

"But you didn't. You stopped yourself. You're still in control, Gabe." I get up and reach out to him. "We can fight this. Just let me help you."

He shakes his head violently. "I can't. Don't you see that I'm a danger to you while I'm like this? And don't suggest I stay locked up. I couldn't do that, Gracie, not even for you. Might as well put me in a grave as a locked room. No, I'm goin' to Cascade."

"To von Glower?"

His gaze shifts, unable to meet mine. "Maybe not. That's where Blair Sandburg lives, the other one who was bitten that night. I can see him, talk to him. Maybe he has a handle on this. Maybe I can help him." Another laugh that edges toward hysteria before he pulls it back. "Ain't that a crock? Me, helpin' anybody. Only thing I seem to be good at lately is fuckin' up."

"Gabriel..."

"Don't, Gracie. I gotta go. Just...just pray for me, okay? Can you do that?"

I sigh. "Yes."

He goes down to the study to make reservations, and I think to myself, "Yes, I'll pray for you, Gabe. But the old saying goes that God helps him who helps himself. Maybe I don't have the family tradition of fighting evil, but I'm damn sure not going to let you go to that monster without a fight."

END PART 27

GERMAN TRANSLATIONS

"Vollendeht." Excellent
"Ah, ein klein keusche Mann." Ah, a little virgin.
"liebling" sweetheart
"mein Schatz" my dear.