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Made Of Dark
Title: Made Of Dark
Author: soncnica
Rating: R?
Genre/Pairing: AU, Jared/Jensen
Wordcount: cca. 1.800
Summary: Marked and claimed and turned by the creature of dark.
Warnings: (they totally ruin the story, but okay) werewolf!Jared, human!Jensen, blood, gore, animalistic behavior?, bestiality(in a way, kinda), biting, claiming(sort of), feral, pain(a bit), not a death!fic.
Disclaimer: I seriously only own the grammar/spelling mistakes. Everything else is NOT MINE! ALL IS FICTION.
A/N: About WARNINGS: I just don't really know how to put warnings for this story, so I just put ''words'' there that I think describe in a way some things that happen in this story. If you read the story and find anything else I can warn about OR take away any warning, please do let me know. Thank you! And sorry for any grammar/spelling mistakes.
The fog was sweeping across the ground, slowly rising up from the sea, bringing with it a slight drizzle and the smell of seaweed and dead fish. It covered everything and all in a white veil, as if the clouds themselves came down to Earth and spilled across the landscape. It was already reaching knee high in some places; some places only ankle high, but it was thick... thick as milk fresh from a cow.
The foggy weather always started on a full moon and this night was no different, with the moon as yellow as piss and huge, hanging low on the sky, so low that if you'd jump, you'd probably be able to skim your fingers against it.
The light was tender silver, overflowing across the ground, making the fog look gray at some places in the shadows and the air was generous with drizzle that only comes every so often, up from the sea.
But the fog and the moon didn't stop him from running.
-:-
His feet were bare, didn't have the time to find his shoes in his haste to leave the cottage... their soles cut and sliced: twigs, pebbles and pine needles embedding themselves into the flesh, each step agony, pure hot pain shooting up his legs and spine…
… but he couldn't stop. Not with that ... beast ... after him, breathing down his neck, snarling and growling.
He knew he was leaving bloody footprints on the dead leaves, footprints that were better than a map for the … beast … but he couldn't help it. Maybe… maybe he'd bleed to death before the … beast … would get to him. Maybe he'd be that lucky.
-:-
The cuffs of his pants were torn, fabric caught in too many thin, razor sharp branches that he couldn't see, couldn't avoid in the gloomy silver light.
His palms were bleeding too; cut when falling to the ground, cut on sharp spruce cones and sharper stones, cut when trying to move a branch, cut when some of those fought back like whips.
There was blood all around him, all over him, inside him ... blood that smelled delicious to the ... beast ... running behind him. Left of him. Right of him. Maybe even in front of him.
The beast that he knew was playing with him; because there was just no way that he was faster than it. No way. Not with him being injured, not with him barefoot and bleeding, smelling like the best meal the … beast … would have this night. Maybe even the entire week.
-:-
He turned sharp left, his legs getting tangled up in a small hazel he didn't see, couldn't have seen, not by the way it was hiding under the mist.
He fell, barely stopped from breaking his nose by catching himself on his bleeding palms, got up on his bloody feet and ran again.
Could hear the ... beast ... somewhere right behind him.
Could smell it too ... smelled of death.
-:-
It was pure terror that pushed him forward, that pushed the pain down, that made his feet move even if he knew that if he'd survive... his feet would probably be useless, he'd probably never be able to walk on 'em again.
But fear and adrenaline and a ... beast... at his back, a beast that could tear him apart with one snap of its jaw or one strike of its paw... kept him moving, kept his burning legs moving through the night. And through the heavy white smoke which made the ground disappear right before his eyes.
His lungs were burning, his ribs were trying to scratch their way out of his skin, his eyes were struggling to see through the moonlight; to see where he was, where he was going, but all there was, was the fog that didn't move away from his legs, just hugged them close and didn't let go.
And then he heard the howl.
-:-
It was loud and it was close and it was the most incredible and the most chilling sound he had ever heard. His heart started to beat faster, pushing blood out of his wounds with greater speed, but he kept running, even if he knew that it was a lost cause.
He kept running. He had to. Had to go down fighting like the warrior that he was and not like an animal that the … beast … thought he was. Because he was not an animal, he was Jensen of the Ackles clan and he would go down fighting.
Running was his fight. He left his sword at his cottage, he left his knife there too, he left everything at his cottage, but he did not leave his pride there.
He would go down fighting.
-:-
And then there were arms around his waist, arms hard as iron, strong and sure in what they were doing and what they wanted and he was falling. Falling down into the fog that opened up for him like a grave does for a dead body, crashing his chest onto the ground, air leaving him in a rush of a scream.
He had no air in his lungs, no breath in his body... just fear clenching at his chest, making his heart pound somewhere in his throat.
Caught.
-:-
Then there were huge paws in the middle of his back, heavy weight pressing him harder to the cold ground.
Paws with sharp claws that tore at his shirt, tore at his back, tore into his spine, making him scream into the night.
There was no mercy here. There was just pain.
-:-
He grabbed the leaves with his left hand, pushed his fingers into the mud and screamed some more until his voice got hoarse and all he could do was groan when a paw pressed down its claws and tore his skin apart along his left flank. He was being mauled, torn apart by the … wolf …
He couldn't talk, nor scream... there was no voice left in him. There was nothing in him anymore... he was empty.
There was just... fog flowing into his open mouth, his fingers twitching around warm mud, blood flowing down his cooling skin, tickling his stomach, before it fell to the ground and was drank up by the soil.
He couldn't see anything, couldn't breathe, could hardly feel anything. He was pretty sure he should've been in pain, but... all there was, was soothing cold seeping through the wounds all the way down to his bones, and a numbness that made him relax his body onto the ground, sigh out and stop fighting the pressure on his back, in his back.
Stop fighting the ... wolf... that was drooling down onto his neck; hot saliva running along his nape into his hair, down around his neck to join his blood on the ground.
Stop fighting and just... loosen up his muscles, and sink down to the dirt.
He was just about to close his eyes and go completely lax under the … wolf …, when there was a low growl right next to his left ear, before warm air hit the side of his sweaty, bloody, saliva covered neck.
A paw pressed him down on his right shoulder and he didn't fight it. Was scared, terrified, somewhere deep inside, deep, deep inside, but he let it all go and sunk deeper into the feeling that swept through him.
Relaxed. At peace. Calm as the fog before his eyes.
He had never felt like this before, ever in his life. He had never been so relaxed, so limp and weak, surrendering to a … beast … a wolf … like this, it was something that went against all of his teachings and instincts, but, there was something coming from the … wolf … that made him like this.
Pliant.
-:-
So he didn't tense, when the pressure on his right shoulder blade increased and made him think that maybe the … wolf … wanted him to turn over. He didn't fight his body, didn't fight the … wolf … when he came face to snout with it, didn't move a muscle, just let his arms fall wherever they wanted, let his legs spread as much as his muscles allowed and welcome the … wolf … between them.
He wasn't afraid when he met the pale yellow eyes of the … wolf ... staring down at him with a focus he wasn't used to have directed on him.
He didn't try to close his legs when the … wolf … started moving down his chest, down his heaving stomach and coming to a stop at his groin.
He wasn't nervous at all, didn't try to stop it when it bowed its head and licked his dick through his thin pants.
He just let his head fall to the ground, probably getting a nice bump at the back of his head, but it was alright.
He was dying; could feel his blood flow freely from the cuts and slashes and tears the … wolf … had done.
He was fading. But he wasn't scared.
Wasn't scared of the hot breath at his groin, wasn't afraid of the tongue that was lapping at his fabric covered dick, wasn't fighting his arousal, wasn't doing anything, but laying still as the fog moved all around them.
There were no trees above him, only stars flickering on a black sky.
He wanted to close his eyes, but the sky was mesmerizing and even the one, silent and cold tear that dropped from his left eye was something fascinating.
-:-
He didn't tense when the … wolf … looked at him again, with those moon-like eyes, seeing him, deep into him, seeing everything he was and all that he wanted to be, seeing his soul and his life seep away.
He didn't arch his body or tried to shrink away when teeth sharp as his knives sunk into the side of his neck, didn't scream nor whimper, groan or yell when those teeth clamped down and bit for real.
Didn't make a sound when that strong jaw tore away a piece of his flesh.
He just left out a breath that made the fog before his eyes swirl around and turn black.
-:-
"You alright?"
The voice was hoarse, soft and deep the way he had never heard it before.
He turned his head to his right, where the voice came from and smiled a bloody smile, could taste the iron in his mouth. He reached out his hand, wanted so badly to touch, to feel the man's skin.
He breathed out: "Jared..."
"Hey..."
He watched as the … wolf … man … Jared … mate ... came closer to him, came so close he could see the dimples on his cheeks, could see some dirt on Jared's neck and forehead, could see shiny eyes and hair falling in 'em.
"Am I... did you..." turn me?
"You're mine now." Jared almost growled and that send pleasant shivers up his spine. His healed spine.
He sighed in relief and closed his eyes, dropping back into unconsciousness. He had always been Jared's... and now he'd be his for all eternity.
He just needed to … do this on his terms. Be a warrior that he had been raised to be, and leave Jared to be the werewolf he had been raised to be. But something inside of him just… didn't really want to fight Jared, even if Jared told him that if they go down that road, he'd be an animal, a feral beeing out to claim his mate. He just nodded, promised that if that would be the case, then he'd be the warrior he had been raised to be and fight. He just neglected to mention that his fight would only be running and no real... fight. Because he wanted this. Wanted to be marked and claimed and have scars to show Jared's pack, have something on his skin that he would be able to look at and rub with this fingers when the feeling of Jared's knot in his ass would fade away.
Marked and claimed and turned by the creature of dark.
The End.
P.S. I wanted to put this scene somewhere inside THE HUNT, but really… I'm so far with that story, that this 'scene' would ruin it. So… yeah… erm… thank you for reading! *grins*
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Well done!!!!
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Wasn't sucky at all! I like it, lots of tension in it and a good ending. Yay ;-)
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Edition 2,237
Great!
Don't get me wrong, but I was missing your writing, (and "The Hunt" jijiji), so this is a great gift you give us til the next chap. Your descriptions are so accurate that, as I am reading I'm seeing the places, and I love this world you created.
I hope you are fine, here we are close to the winter, is cold out here, and no rain, that is bad because of the air pollution we have in this city, I hope this change soon.
Hugs and kisses
Re: Great!
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Loved it :D
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I am a great fan of darker and more feral stories...and I remember your style well, it is rather unique afterall...:). Things are never quite what they seem and the repetitive stimuli you favour only serve to highlight and imbue the reader with the anxiety and tension which often abounds in your stories. And you are a master of that!
The pacing was brilliantly executed and the fevered, gritty narrative with it's visceral descriptions a heady combination.
How can I not love every carefully disguised word.
Jensen's mindset is addictive reading indeed...lol.
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