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Music danced through the thick foliage of the forest. A warm drizzle fell as the moon played peekaboo among the thick clouds. A red tint painting the forest in a spooky macabre light.
Yet the music led many a forest spirit in a merry chase as the notes led to a cabin, nestled under the gentle bough of a weeping willow. The flickering lights of candles placed in the tree limbs and amongst the grass was ethereal.
Almost as much as the dancers casting shadows.
Paired up, some in groups. Man with man, woman with woman, and opposite sex with opposite sex. They danced. Music making them dance. Both candlelight and moonlight lighting the way.
Children ran about, yet it just felt… off.
Different even. Every party goer. Every dancer- their eyes danced in a multitude of colors of yellow. From the palest of yellows to the deepest of ambers.
All but one.
The half red skull mask gave the man away, well along with his Mohawk, as he danced in the middle of the chaos. His laughter boisterous, blue eyes twinkling in the red light.
The song switched and the ballroom dance began anew. The man’s blue dress shirt form fitting as he began dancing with a dark skinned beautiful man. Twisting and turning. Spinning, around and around.
‘I can feel it in her bite,
There’s something just’
The change from the chorus to the body of the song meant a change of partner. To another man. A thick beard on this one. Yet the red masked man kept looking. Kept dancing. The moon kept rising. Around and around he went.
Until finally, big scarred hands gripped his waist and a deep voice growled in his ear.
“Waiting for me sweetheart?” The Manchester drawl had a spine tingling shiver run up the man’s spine and blue eyes tilted back to look up into a face. Scars decorating a face, handsome with a sharp jaw. A crooked nose, and an even crooked smile.
“Simon?”
“Aye, didn’t think you would show t’nigh johnny.” Simon rumbled. Something animalist. Feral, on the tip of Simon’s tongue. Another beast in his words.
“ ‘N why wouldn’ Ah mah wee beastie?” Johnny asked- self assured twinkle in his blue eyes. Simon rumbled again, chest vibrating with the force of the sound.
“Any sane person would have run. You should run Johnny. Before the monsters eat you.” Simon growled in his ear, Amber eyes glittering like gold coins in the light of the candles.
Johnny laughed. He had always been warned. Never follow the candle light. Never go out on red moon nights. But Johnny was always a bold lad. Had done just that. Had found Simon. Had found his Simon.
And Johnny would be damned if he gave up his Simon.
“ ye Ken? The only monsters ah see? Be the ones back in town. Nasty things. Those humans. What say ye?” Johnny teased. Simon growled, burying his nose against Johnny’s throat. Inhaling deeply, as if to soak in his scent.
To soak in the scent of gunpowder and the weather on the highlands of Scotland. Simon growled again. Baring his teeth. The sound coming from him is even more feral.
A soft hand, covered in scars from years of demolition work in the military and work calluses, rested on the side of his neck. A thumb brushing against his pulse point.
“Oooo, shhhh. Ye a good beastie yes? Do naw fash bout me.” Simon snorted at that. While he was getting she to Johnny’s accent, he still took several moment’s to understand what the man was saying.
“I will worry when, you are still just a little Scotsman. And still very breakable.” Simon growled. Johnny huffed at that. Indignant.
“If ye would jus do what ye said ye would do!” Simon growled. This time a warning. And pressed against the skin of Johnny’s throat was his teeth. Abnormally sharp.
“Careful pet. It’s just me worrying about you.”
Johnny whined at the indication before sighing softly.
“Still. Tonight is the night Simon.” Simon chuckled before nodding. Kissing against Johnny’s pulse point.
“It is. Does that scare you?” Simon whispered. A soft caress. Like the softest silk, a lullaby. Johnny shook his head, smiling up at the behemoth if a man looking down to him.
“No. And you don’t scare me either.” It sounded like the echo of a conversation that had been had over and over again. Simon snorted at that. Before he dipped his head. Rumbling. Another animal sound, amber eyes turning a deeper gold color. Feral. Hawk like.
“Then you know what you have to do, yes?” Johnny nodded. Shivering.
“Good boy.”
‘A little more than ecstasy beneath those
Pretty little eyes’
The music stopped, the moon at its zenith and the moonlight filtered through the branches of the weeping willow. Silence, as the bearded man Johnny had danced with before Simon stood at the base of the tree.
“It’s been many moons since we had gathered to welcome a new one to our pack. But tonight, under a blessed Blood Moon we will welcome a new wolf. A wolf we all desperately wish to welcome with open hearts and paws.” Those gathered spoke happily, murmuring and giggling before the man raised a hand.
“As tradition dictates. Johnny must prove himself. And who better to bring him into our fold and hunt him down than his own dear Simon.”
There was some laughing at this. Before the man turned to Johnny. A grin on his face.
“Good luck.”
Johnny felt a massive hand on his back, nails now sharp, and he turned blue eyes to look up. Just one more time. Watching in awe.
Simon was always his Simon. That would never change. Yet Simon himself was changing. Ear elongating, canine teeth as well. Bones cracking and it was that, the human being shoved down as the wolf rose that Johnny ran, his red skull mask falling to the ground that the chase began.
Simon rose onto his hind legs, massive paws holding him up. Breath pillowing in the night air like a great dragon of old. Before he threw back his head. Howling. Long and loud. The pack joining him before he leapt forward. The sound of Johnny’s laughter leading him on a hunt. To bring his mate into his own life. So Simon would never be alone anymore.
‘I feel you tracing down my spine
Your fingertips are cold as ice
A never-ending sacrifice, our ritual is paradise
I can feel it in his bite
There's something just
A little more than ecstasy beneath those
Pretty little eyes’
Johnny was running. Using every trick he had ever been taught in his life. As a Scotsman he had been raised in the fairytales of the world, the magic earth seemed to have bled into her veins.
So it was no wonder why he had literally been assigned into a pack of wolves of all things. The 141 and their collective friends all turned or were born wolves of some shape or form.
And he loved it.
But he had been taught how to hide. How to run. And now he used it to his advantage.
Running and walking. Hard rocky ground to hide his foot trails. Water to cover his scent or through thick clay like mud smeared over his scent glands to make sure he blended in. Even double backing on the trail to confuse Simon.
All in hopes to give his soon to be mate a run for his money.
Of course this was Simon they were talking about. The famed Ghost. The broken wolf (Simon’s self proclaimed title- which Johnny thought was bulkshit thank you very much).
And the deep huffing breaths of the big black werewolf was heard through the forest. Making Johnny run faster.
“Come out, come out wherever you are.”
The deep growl-like voice echoed off the bark of the trees and rumbled through the ground. Making a shiver of fear and even desire race up Johnny’s spine.
“I know where you’re hiding,”
Johnny’s breaths were coming out in fast little pants. Trying his damndest. He leapt down an embankment, his boots giving way as a rock didn’t hold up. Giving an almighty crash as water splashed in a stream.
Fuck!
“I know where you are,”
Johnny bolted. The gig was up. Now all he had was to run and run he did. Like a frightened hare over the moors, he ran. With the devil on his heels. A big black hulking beast. Yellow eyes gleaming in the red light of the blood moon.
Simon was toying with him. Letting him run, not even breaking a sweat. Letting his wolf slaver and snarl. Getting desperate. Before taking an almighty leap. Muscles coiling beneath a inky black pelt, scars rolling over thickly corded muscles and he crashed into Johnny.
The wolf and human rolling head over ass in the thick grass. Thankful as it cushioned Johnny’s fall.
Coming on too, Simon snarled, massive humanoid paws on either side of Johnny’s head when the prickle and burn of a knife under his chin made him slow down.
Silver and mountain ash.
His mate had fangs even as a human.
“Do you still want this?” Simon rumbled, relaxing. Johnny smiling up at him. Always smiling, Simon’s blue eyed human.
“Oh course.” Simon churred. A noise he rarely, if ever, made. Only for Johnny. His Johnny. The Scotsman moved the knife and Simon dipped his head, lupine tongue sweeping over the crook of Johnny’s neck.
“Mine.”
“Yours.”
Before he bit down.