Wolfsbane: A Vampire Viktor x Werewolf Yuuri Halloween art/fic project!
I’ll be posting one per day for 7 days~
A dark and stormy night. Viktor isn’t particularly fond of these. Not when he wants to see the moon.
The feel of rain drilling hard into his skin nearly makes him feel alive again, and the hush that falls under the rumbling bouts of thunder is almost soothing.
But not when the moon is full and bright.
Viktor wants to see this moon, but it’s hidden behind thick and blackened clouds, a faint halo of light as the only indicator that it’s even there at all. During any other phase, Viktor might not have minded.
But not tonight.
He circles his estate like a ghost, gaunt and pale, glowing like the moon itself where it looms above. Its now unobscured light falls upon the slick trail leading through massive iron gates. Through to the woods. Viktor doesn’t hesitate to follow.
He has a handful of hours to the rest of his night, and he intends to spend them lost within trees, wandering the paths and letting nature guide him for as long as he can still stand. It’s become a game of sorts, in his old age – testing his limits and staying out and awake for as long as he can bear the sun’s poison rays. He has until an hour past dawn, he knows.
Another clap of thunder nearly gives him pause, and he listens intently as its echoing growl fades to nothing. No, not nothing. Something picks up beneath it, masked by the sound until it grows to overpower it.
Viktor enters the woods.
The dawn is always the worst. The moment of clarity, the split second realization, the dizzying feeling of being strung between two minds, two beings. It’s the moment of ‘who am I?’ and ‘oh, God, what have I done?’ and ‘please, let that be nobody’s blood but mine’ and –
Too many moments, not enough time to think. Not when the moon is fading, not when the sun is teasing the horizon, not when the Change happens.
All of Yuuri’s worries are cut short in the sound of bones breaking and realigning, in the feeling of wounds sizzling as they mend themselves, of skin burning as hair retreats, leaving raw and itching flesh in its wake.
Dawn is when the wolf dies, but it’s never gone for good.
Yuuri stumbles, trembling hard, towards the familiar hollowed tree. He’s always certain to end the night of the full moon here, in sprinting distance of the withered trunk. He’s cold. And naked. His skin prickles, the residual feeling of wet fur making him shiver. The rain had stopped some time ago, and he prays that the spare clothing and thick wool cloak he’s stored safety within the tree’s bark has kept dry.
Luck is on his side, for once, and he dresses quickly, wrapping himself in his cloak very carefully. He doesn’t want to leave any stains. The blood drying on his hands has already started to crust, flaking away from his healing cuts. He tastes blood in his mouth, blood on his lips, blood still trickling down his face in some places. The shoulder he’d managed to bite stings, swollen and tender, but it doesn’t seem to have been too deep of a wound. He’d gone easy on himself this night, but he still isn’t looking forward to seeing his reflection in the mirror when he makes it back home.
If he makes it back home.
It’s a startling thought, almost completely unbidden, but when he stills, scenting the air, he realizes that the remains of his wolf senses are alerting him to an unknown and most likely unwanted presence. A threat?
Unfortunately, his stiff limbs and clumsy gait are all too human, even in the between-hour, and he almost slips on dewy grass as he wheels around to face the unknown.
A man stands in the middle of the distant clearing. Watching him.
Yuuri freezes, clutching his cloak tighter around himself and preparing to bolt. Part of him is indignant, outraged that a human could get this close without his notice.
Not human, his sluggish brain struggles to relay.
No, definitely not human. Not human in the way he approaches, seeming to almost glide. Not human, the deathly pallor of his face. The blue eyes that meet his own burn too brightly to belong to any mere mortal.
Suddenly, Yuuri knows.
“Who are you?” he demands without thinking, panic taking the reins of logic. No, he shouldn’t engage. He should run. He always runs whenever he encounters another being, mortal or not.
Something about this stranger is at once terrifying and oddly disarming, and Yuuri realizes that it’s his smile. Such a kind smile, with twinkling eyes to match it, but Yuuri can see the sharp glint of twin points against pale pink lips from where he’s standing, still hovering by his tree, and he feels his stomach twist.
“Out for a stroll,” the man says, not answering Yuuri’s question. He eyes him for a bit before continuing, his voice low and amused. “And you, sir? It isn’t safe out here at this hour. You ought to leave for your home at once.”
Yuuri turns without further thought, pulling his cloak tighter around him and rushing back in the direction of his cottage. As he does so, he thinks he sees the slightest bit of surprise in the man’s face, as though he hadn’t actually expected him to leave immediately.
Yuuri’s several strides among the towering trees before he hears the man call out to him one last time.
“Take care. There are wolves in the woods.”
Yuuri shudders and walks faster.