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Chapter Text

1

   The church bells rang, cracking the ominous silence that enveloped the hamlet following the massacre brought on by Wuulf’s brigands.  There was a hopelessness that wrapped around the very throat of the villagers.

   With the Old Road crawling with cut-throats and thieves, supplies were scarce and hunger rations had to be halved again.  The Church had opened its doors to the needy and starving, Sister Isabeaux, had been up since the crack of dawn, scrubbing at bloody floors (the Penance hall to be exact).  She’d been ignored for the most part and had ignored everyone. She refused supper last eve (she’d given her portion to a man with empty eyes and a huge scar on his face).

   He’d been refused food, the Sister had not understood why, nor had she cared.  The Versebook spoke of helping and loving others, be them Lepers or Sinners, and so Isabeaux had forfeited her meager meal.

   The Abbott had been outraged at her act, for the man he’d explained, had made a pact with the very demons that haunted these accursed woods.  She was denied breakfast and her penance (the Abbott had used the word) was to clean the blood from the halls.

    The Sister had hummed as many Verse songs she could think of as she worked.  They made the work fun (as a Sister of St. Martha this was fun for her…). Isabeaux gave the floor on final look over and nodded in satisfaction.  It would do until the next overzealous believer got a little too excited.

  Gathering her bloodied rags and tossing them into the wooden bucket, Isabeaux slowly got to her feet.  She immediately took the dirty bucket outside and returned with another pail filled with fresh water. She emptied the fresh water all over the floors and finished scrubbing until the entire area practically sparkled.

   Her stomach growled something fierce as she left the Church and made her way to the fenced-in courtyard at the back of the building.  There, she returned the tools she’d used and took a deep breath as she rubbed her belly.

   She gave in to a silent prayer as she left and went straight for the mess hall where the other Sisters had gathered the flock.  The food would be in that room…

   Isabeaux bowed her head and swallowed the saliva filling her mouth as the smell of warm stew filled her nostrils.  

   A small wooden bowl was handed to her, for which she was grateful.  She didn’t bother with a wooden spoon and drank from the bowl deeply.

   The soup was bland.  She could tell this had been watered down again, trying to make it stretch and last for as long as possible.  There was no flavour (though she knew potatoes were the main ingredient), you couldn’t tell by the taste.

   When she finished her small meal she made her way to the stone pews and had sat down with her head bowed.

   To those looking at the diminutive Sister, one would say that she was praying devoutly, when in truth, she did no such thing.  This was not a life she had chosen for herself being the bi-blow of a street walker and a client. Her mother (whom she did not know) had dropped her off at one of the many convents, she hadn’t even been given a name (the Mother Superior there had bestowed the name Isabeaux on her, named for one of the many disciples of St. Martha).

   She daydreamed (a sin for those of the cloth) and liked to pretend in her own head that marriage and children would eventually come to her.  She had always wanted a family to love and be loved.

   “Thank you,” a male voice surprised her out of her daydream and made her jump.  Her heart was pounding a mile a minute and she pressed a palm to her breast.

   “You’re welcome…” she trailed off as she answered automatically before realizing that it was the man from before thanking her.

  He was barefooted and half naked, and surrounded in chains that glittered almost magically.  Padlocks of the likes she’d never seen connected many of the links together. Both of his wrists were manacled, but the chain hanging from his wrists weren’t attached to anything else.  His pants were torn and tattered and hung off his lean hips. He was clutching what looked like a matted fur cloak with one hand at his chest, his shoulders were hunched.

   He was partially bald as though someone had given him a real bad haircut, the rest of his hair was knotted and hung in his face.  The scar was rather nasty looking, it was definitely done with a brand now that she got a good look at it.  Someone had done it to him deliberately…

  Isabeaux would have winced but his feral eyes caught her full attention.  In the dim candlelights she thought she saw them flash and glow, reflecting the firelight like an animal.  

   He gave her a small smile when her voice trailed off and she swallowed almost nervously.

   “Did you sell your soul to the Darkness?” her question burst through her lips unheeded, and she turned scarlet while her eyes widened to the size of gold coins (really?!?).  

   The man did not move, but she did notice his fingers tightening around the cloak he was wearing as he looked down at her.

   The silence was deafening and she found goosebumps exploding across her skin.

   “The Church may think so,” he finally answered, choosing his words deliberately, “but where I come from, I am not the Abomination,” he let the words hang, and eyed her intently.  His meaning was not lost on the Vestal and she sighed heavily.

   “I am so-”

   “Sorry?” he cut her off with a shrug and a smile. “It was nice seeing one of faith not be such a sanctimonious bastard for once.”

   She reddened and her gaze fell on the ground.  She couldn’t defend or explain and so she remained silent.

    With her gaze averted she didn’t see the man leave when he did and it wasn’t until she got to her feet to return to her spartan room that she realized that though his words could have been construed as insulting, he’d really given her a compliment (at the expense of the church…).

   Isabeaux sat down on her tiny bed and did her usual night prayers, she was reminded of the reflective eyes of the Abomination and something happened as she lay there staring at the blackness above her head.

   She felt her hand glide beneath her thin blanket and she pleasured herself to taboo thoughts of having a werewolf as a lover.

Chapter Text

2

   She was digging for roots at the edge of the darkened forest when she saw him again.  He, and three others (an Occultist, Plague Doctor and Hellion), emerged from the Weald, covered in blood and gore.

    The Hellion had been at Death’s door, yet maddened into an almost rapturous glee (booze fixed that affliction right quick).  The Occultist was bleeding heavily and leaning on a panting, bloody Doctor (both needed to Meditate to rid themselves of the Horrors they’d borne witness to lest they succumb like the Barbarian).

    He was unaffected .

   Isabeaux had remained on her knees when he threw his head back and howled in jubilation (he hadn’t seen her yet, so she believed).  He almost dropped to his knees in the dead grass and mud that was everywhere.

   The reality of the matter was he’d had smelled her hours before, had deliberately led his wounded group straight to her .  

   To safety.  

   To salvation.

    His salvation.

   They’d barely escaped a very long maze filled with grotesque beasts and fanatical cultists.  He known they would have to retreat when the Hellion (Sielle was her name) almost fell. The Doctor had barely kept herself together while their healer had nearly bled to death, despite having a medic with them.

  It took but a moment for his reflective eyes to spot her there, there , kneeling in the dirt.  She was staring at him for what felt like hours (but was barely a heartbeat in reality) before her eyes traveled to his companions.  The beast heard her gasp, heard the rush of her blood flow to her legs as she sprinted in their direction.

   She’d dropped to her knees beside the bleeding Sielle and recite many of the healing prayers of the Versebook.  The beast twitched an eyebrow as her powers enveloped them all.

   “Come,” Isabeaux helped the Hellion stand, “we’re not far from help!” And she dragged them to the medical ward.

    It seemed an eternity before his comrades were all seen to and he was left blessedly alone with the small Sister.  She was still covered in Sielle’s blood and it mixed sweetly with the scent of her sweat.

   “What happened?” she finally asked, her voice barely a sound on the winds.

   “We had the misfortune of stumbling into a nest of cultists,” he muttered and then sighed heavily, “they chased us into a fungus fiasco,” he continued and then shook his head, “I’m honestly surprised we all survived.”

   Her eyes had remained on his face the entire time he talked, except for once.  He’d noticed her eyes dropping to his mouth and a spike of lust went through him.  He then found himself wondering what the Vestal would taste like.

   He was still staring at her when he finally noticed her facial expression.  She was looking at him as though she were waiting for him to speak or answer her.  He hadn't heard her speak, and he had no idea what to say so he continued to stare at her.

   She turned a delicious red and her eyes dropped from his.  The beast whined internally when he suddenly caught scent of a most surprising odour.  His mouth watered immediately and his eyes narrowed as he focused all his attention on the little Vestal.

   It was her arousal.

   For him .   She wanted him .

   He tilted his head back and took a deep, visible breath.  Not realizing how bestial it made him look.

    Definitely arousal.

   He lowered his head and she gasped, her own breathing changing as he leaned forward quickly.  He’d buried his face in the side of her headdress sending it askew, a green-veined hand found its way to it from behind and freed her long, yellow hair.

   The breathy noises she was making heightened, turning into quiet moans.  Both of her hands (which had been trembling and pushing against him) ceased their objections and laid, palm down, against his bare chest.  She made more noises as his other arm snaked around her lower back and brought her hard against him.  He tilted his hips forward, pressing his erection into her lower section.

   She made a squeak-like noise as his face moved to the crook of her neck and shoulder.  Her hands linked behind his head, holding him to her. He growled against her collar bone and pulled back to look down at the Sister with penetrating intensity.

   “Do you understand what I am about to do?” He spoke with deliberate slowness as he pushed his hips against her to emphasize his meaning.

   Isabeaux was rooted for all of a split second, and then she relaxed, her answer a breathless sigh. “Yes.”

   Those feral eyes glowed with such ferocity and before she could change her mind, he swooped.  His lips claimed hers without preamble and his hand buried itself in her hair. The sound of chains clinking together was almost deafening and she pulled away a little.

   “Your chains…” she trailed off, unsure how to phrase her concern.  Would he transform if he lost control?

   Bestial eyes flickered over her face and his lips lifted at the corner.

   “Afraid I will turn?” He teased.  She blushed and looked away while his grin widened, “The beast likes you,” he murmured, “Shall I show you his devotion?”

   He didn't wait for her to answer, instead he dropped to his knees in front of her and quite literally went under her habit.  She squeaked and both hands grabbed his head through her dress while he made a beeline for her core, shredding her undergarments with his sharp claws as he went.

   A surprised shriek escaped her mouth as his strong, broad tongue first touched her pleasure pearl.  His hot breath burned her skin and she practically doubled over him as her knees shook uncontrollably.

  Three more licks brought out three more squeaks, and finally a grunt as he pulled away from the Vestal long enough to lay her on the ground, spread her legs and return to her core, this time both of them in a more comfortable position.

   Both her hands had returned to his head, clutching his matted hair tightly, forcing him to stay where he was.  It was unnecessary. No force on earth would move him from betwixt her thighs, the Beast would see to it.

   She tasted of woman, pure unadulterated earthy woman.  He inhaled her musk as he satiated a deep hunger that was potentially insatiable.  He sucked at her clit, and licked at her entrance like a man starved, and he may as well be considering what he was.  Those of the Faith had very valid reasons to fear him and his kind.

   Her legs kept twitching around his head as he circled her clitoris with his tongue over and over again, pressing against her with abandon.  He used his thumbs to spread her open, and she moaned as he pressed inward with his thumbs, pushing into her entrance.

   He didn't get far before he reached her maidenhead and paused in his ministrations.  He gave her nub a gentle lick and growled seductively against her as her breath caught.

   “You're a virgin,” he whispered against her, his breath tickling her.  

   She shivered and gasped as his tongue penetrated her with a deliberate slowness. “Yes!”

   He surged above her, his mouth locking on hers.  She tasted herself on his tongue and she moaned against him as he plundered her mouth.  He didn’t wait for her to change her mind as his fingers attacked the drawstrings of his ripped leggings.

   She didn’t get to see his phallus as the moment he had it freed, he was quick to rock against her.  Her breath hitched as he glided flush against her core. He growled against her mouth and tightened his grip on the partially clothed Sister, bringing her closer to his heated body.  He rocked against her again and almost whined but caught himself in time.

   He could feel her trembling beneath him and for the briefest of moments the man was able to reign in the Beast and he hesitated.  They were outside, within a stone throw of the hamlet, not even the shelter of trees was granted them.

    And yet... she had eyes only for him.

Chapter Text

3

    He didn’t feel his own hand snaking down to firmly grasp his cock, or the way he rubbed the tip along her nether lips, covering himself in her juices until it was too late.  He’d aimed for her entrance and his hips had nailed her to the ground in one, swift thrust. She’d screamed, and he’d silenced her by kissing her deeply, swallowing her pain.

    He held himself perfectly still, her legs were taut around his hips, her muscles forcing the bones of her knees into his sides painfully in her effort to ensure he did not move.  Her eyes were clenched closed and her breathing came in shallow, short bursts.

   She was definitely in pain.  Her blood was a perfume on the air that had his mouth watering.  He was man enough to take possessive pride in the fact that he was her first lover.

   Last , the Beast corrected.

   Only , they thought in unison, both in agreement on the matter.

   He nibbled at her chin, and licked his way up to her ear.  He growled against her skin as her breath came in even smaller puffs.  He could hear the hammering of her heart and it did things to him that he would rather not explain.

   “I’m going to start moving now,” he murmured, his voice guttural, barely human.  He didn’t recognize himself.

   Her breathing hitched and he felt her hands flutter along his back, looking for a hold on him.  Finding none (he’d tossed his mangy fur cloak to the side), she made fists against his back and tightened her legs about his waist.  

   His first push into her was slow as was his near-exit.  He kept the pace the same, and though her thighs did not ease around him, he did note that she no longer tried to keep him still, instead she tilted her hips and tried to match him.

   His stomach bottomed out after he found himself hilted in her.   Yes .

   Out.  Her legs tightened deliciously about his waist.  In. She clung to him, raking her nails against his flesh and moaning softly.

   Yeeees .

   He pulled out completely, she almost panicked (her hands moving like butterfly wings along his back) but then mewl her relief when he surged back, a damp sound of skin on skin.  His eyes closed and he lost himself in her heat, in her wetness. The sounds their bodies were making become something obscene with her desire spilling from her core so readily.   

   His eyes snapped opened as he felt his sack tighten.  No.  His orgasm had built up quicker than he’d ever experienced, or ever expected .   Too much .   Too fast .  

   The Beast howled in his mind (and he did as well though much less so) as her pussy clenched around him and started milking him hard .  The man scrambled for purchase, trying to hold back.

   Spirits .  He moaned and it turned into a feral growl.   Too tight .  

   His glowing eyes pinned her with the intensity of a thousand fires as wave after wave of pleasure soon crashed into her.  He stilled completely. She was drenching him but it wasn’t enough, not for him and not for her.

   She cried out and wiggled beneath him desperately, not understanding what it was she was looking for but knowing instinctively that he could provide it.  He’d denied her to prevent himself from spilling like an untried youth.  Just as he about to bring them to completion, the world crashed around them.    

   “ Sister !” a screech of absolute shock/horror/disgust (take your pick) resounded throughout the area.  Crows and ravens cawed and took flight at the pitch.

   The lovers froze.  She turned a red of such bold colour that the Abomination above her dropped over her to hide her from morbidly curious eyes; let them stare at him .  She buried her face against his skin and whimpered in mortification.  He understood the sound and it gutted him.

   Not his Vestal .

  He raised his head sharply and his glowing, reflective eyes narrowed to mere slits as he focused his attention on the newcomer.  It was another Sister accompanied by an older priest. He opened his mouth, and without so much as moving, bared his teeth and let out an animalistic snarl that sent the pair of them scurrying like deer before the wolf (which he very much was).  He was literally foaming at the mouth.

   He glanced back down to the shivering Sister in his arms.  Her skin had gone pale and she was cold and clammy (despite being partially dressed).  The Beast wanted to continue rutting, marking her as his, rubbing his scent all over her but the man was in control here.  He had to be in control.

   They had to leave .

   He withdrew from the Vestal (ignoring the vicious howling objections in his head) and re-dressed himself quickly (they would return with weapons if not that Crusader he’d seen around town).  He didn’t say a word as he gathered the semi nude Sister and bundled her up in his arms.

   She squeaked and shook her head. “This was a b-bad idea,” she forced out, her voice shaking, “please p-put m-me down.”

   The corner of his lips lifted briefly. “No.”

   Her eyes widened and for a split second he wondered if she would start fighting him (she was coming with him now whether she wanted to or not... she was his now).  When she didn’t, he turned into the very forest he and his group had fled that very morning.

   No one would give chase in the Weald.  And if they did...

   Heh.  He would unleash hell and remind those of the Faith (for no others would chase them) why exactly they were losing their holy war for he was a barbarian of the North.  Like the Occultists who had made pacts with the Otherside, so had he and others like him. Spirits guide him, he’d merged his soul with that of an Eldritch demon and was able to call on the power of Darkness to do battle.

   It wouldn’t be just the cultist and the demons they would have to worry about.  The Beast was horrifyingly real , with claws that could kill a bull in one swipe, and teeth that could ground bone to dust.  It stood a massive eight feet tall, ten if you added the two feet of sharp horns on its head.  Its bulk was no laughing matter either for it weighed as much as a horse, and could run as fast as one as well. 

   And it bubbled just below the surface of his skin, waiting for release.  

Chapter Text

4

   Isabeaux kept her face hidden against his throat, her eyes clenched closed to keep the tears at bay as a myriad of emotions rolled in her head.  Horror, shame, anger and quite surprisingly, relief.

    She didn’t realize or know exactly where he was taking her and at this point she didn’t really care.  She was just glad they were going somewhere far, far away. Away from the judgemental eyes, away from tongues that were sure to be wagging back at the church.  Light preserve her… her life in the Church was over...

   When she finally opened her eyes, she found that he’d stopped near a large crypt amidst dead trees and he was breathing heavily.  He still held her in his arms, and his grip was tight, borderline painful, but Isabeaux didn’t mind. She was enjoying the closeness more than she would ever admit to anyone but the Light and herself.  She needed his closeness right now. He was all she had now, wasn't he?

   He shuffled her in his arms and gently lowered her until her feet touched the ground.  He made sure to press her against himself the whole way down (almost as if he knew she needed this) and grinned down at her as she glanced up at him with caution.  She couldn’t stop the tears starting to well. 

   The Beast whined in his mind as he caught scent of her fear.  The man immediately lowered his head and rubbed his forehead against hers, trying to comfort her in his own way; she had no reasons to fear him, she would never have to fear him.  She seem to understand for she pushed her forehead back against his.

   His hand moved of its own volition as he cupped her cheek, his thumb wiped at the tears threatening to escape her eyes.  She sighed heavily and he gathered her closer to his body, wrapping his green-veined arms about her and allowing her to cry against his shoulder.

   He didn’t say anything to her as she sobbed quietly, clutching at him as though he were a lifeline, and deep down, he knew he was.

   After a few minutes, she sniffled and hid her face with a hand. “I’m s-sorry,” she hiccuped, avoiding his eyes.

   He lowered his head to nuzzle her, and then he licked at her tears, kissing her eyes as he did so. “Don’t cry,” he rumbled, tightening his hold on her.

   She took a deep breath and licked her lips as she turned her head to the side and laid an ear against his chest.  She was silent as she listened to his steady heartbeat.

   “Now what?” she whispered, staring at a fungus growing out of a dead tree.

    Mate , his Beast growled.  They had been interrupted before...  

   He shook his head, that could wait.  He rubbed her back soothingly. Her long hair fell down in waves and he couldn’t help himself as he ran his fingers through it.  His claws cut through the knots. It was a shame she hid such beauty beneath a habit…

   “What do you want to do, Sweeting?” he countered, pulling back a little to glance down at her.

   She swallowed and kept her eyes on the dead tree. “I...I don’t know…”

   He chuckled and rubbed her back more steadily.  The Beast growled inwardly but he squashed it down.  In due time. “You wish to return to the Church?” he asked sincerely, dreading her answer but not wanting to take the choice from her completely.  He didn't know if he would be able to let her go though…

   She shook her head against his chest. “No…” He released the breath he didn't realize he was holding, and rubbed her back more vigorously. “Can I stay with you?” she whispered, her voice muffled against his skin.

   If he hadn't had such good control over the Beast, he would have howled right then.  Instead he slowed his hands and lowered his head so that he was looking in her eyes as he spoke. “Forever?”

   Her breath caught and she made an attempt to look away, but he brought her eyes back to his with a hand on her chin. “Do you believe in fate, Sweeting?” he asked slowly.

   “Fate is a pagan belief,” she began automatically and he chuckled.

   “And I am a pagan man,” he smiled at her, “Stay with me forever?”

   Her eyes were wide as she stared at him for what felt like an eternity.  She blinked twice before she finally blushed a bright red and smiled, probably her first genuine smile. “You sure?”

   “Wolves mate for life,” he said deliberately.

   She pulled away from him and frowned. “Is it true then?”

   His lips lifted briefly and he chuckled, knowing exactly what she meant. “Yes, Sweeting, it is true.”

   “Is there a cure?” she asked, laying her head against his chest again.

   The Beast snarled viciously in his mind and he shushed it.  She was not familiar with their ways, it was only natural for her to ask the same questions as everyone else. “No.”

   “Good,” she surprised him by murmuring.  The Beast whined apologetically and he felt it lower its head, contrite. “It suits you,” she added and then hid her face against his skin.

    Mate , it growled repeatedly in his head.   Mate.  Mate. MATE .

  He moved until he had her back against the crypt.  She raised her head and before she could speak he swooped down and claimed her lips.  She groaned against his mouth and her fingers curled into his chest.

   He growled and his hands reached down to grab her legs to wrap them around his waist.  She didn't fight him as he reached between their bodies and pulled his dick from his pants.  He'd shredded her under garments earlier so there was no barrier between them. He was quick to rub himself against her.

   Despite the fact that they had been interrupted and he'd taken them halfway out of the hamlet (She had no idea how far into the Weald he'd taken them), she was very much still wet.  He didn't have to rub much before he sunk his length into her with a hiss.

   The Beast howled as she tightened around him and he found himself slowly losing control.  Their lips remained locked as he grinded against her. His claws dug into the walls of the crypt (his chains were clinking against the wall) while she wrapped her limbs about his person, both her arms about his neck and her thighs about his hips.  He was lost inside her.

   He roared against her skin when she climaxed and brought him over the edge with her.  His ejaculation rushed from his body like a hot knife through butter. She tightened like a vise and he emptied himself inside her willing womb.

   They stood together panting and sweating heavily for a few minutes.  She'd collapsed against him, her arms and legs still wrapped around him, her eyes closed.  He'd clawed furrows in the stone wall of the crypt, he was sweaty and panting, but he'd never felt better.  

   He had his mate.

   “I just realize I don't know your name…” she whispered suddenly, her face reddening though her eyes remained closed.

   He chuckled and pressed an open mouth kiss to her mouth. “Étienne,” he answered, “My name is Étienne.”

   “I love you, Étienne,” she said suddenly, turning her face to hide against him.

Chapter Text

5

  The growling of her stomach is what brought them back to reality.  She blushed and he chuckled as he slowly put her down.  He didn’t say anything about her sudden declaration.  He didn't need too.

   “You need to feed,” he spoke calmly, a smile tugging at his lips.  She nodded and then glanced about curiously.

   “What, exactly?” she queried.

   It was his turn to blush faintly as he seem to realize where they were, and there was, in fact, nothing to eat.  The Beast came to his rescue though and he caught wind of a wild hare just east of where they were.

    He almost whined nervously as another realization dawned on him.  He’d have to leave the little Vestal alone to go and hunt for her.

    Suddenly his choice of entering the Weald to get away from the Church felt rushed and dangerous.  He knew better than most what ran around out here, and none of it was good.

   He couldn’t prevent the anxious whine that escaped his throat that time and she actually hugged him close as though to comfort him. “What is it?” she asked, wrapping her slender arms about his neck.  

   “I don’t want to leave you alone,” he rumbled against her throat.

  “Then don’t,” she answered simply.

    He smiled faintly. “If I’m going to feed you, I must hunt.”

   “Oh,” she mouthed the words and then shrugged, “I’ll stay here, hidden in the crypt,” she added as though it was a brilliant idea.

   It wasn’t.  He knew it wasn’t, but they didn’t have a lot of options open to them.  He had to get them food and then they could resume their flight. He’d take her home, his home, in the North.  Where he could guarantee her safety.

   “Do not come out for anything ,” he stressed, breaking the door open.  A musty, rotten smell of death wafted over them and they both grimaced.

   She arranged her half destroyed habit and stepped into the crypt.  He stared at her intently, and before he left her, he reached forward and pressed his mouth to hers.  He inhaled her scent and when he pulled away, she was breathless.

   “Don’t come out for anything!” he repeated as he slowly backed away from the crypt.

   She nodded solemnly and crouched down low in between some stacked coffins.  She immediately closed her eyes and started praying silently. St. Martha would not abandon her, no matter what she’d done.  Isabeaux believed this.

***********

      It took him longer than he would have liked to hunt that rabbit down.  He was frustrated enough that when he did get his claws on the critter it took all his will power not to rip the bloody thing in half.

   He took great pleasure in killing it though.  Strangling it had proven to be self satisfying in its own way.

   There wasn’t any time to waste.  He had to return to his Vestal and quickly.  Wuulf’s brigands had cut off most of the hamlet and they were crawling all over the Old Road, and she wasn’t exactly well hidden either.

   He was making his way back when he heard what he could only describe as his Vestal screaming bloody murder.  

   He didn’t even feel the change coming over him.  The Beast had surged forward without him ceding control and its savage snarl echoed throughout the Weald.  It usually hurt when he transformed; it felt like his skin was turned inside out and his skull split open. Not this time.

   And when he finally got back to the crypt (the Beast made quick work of it), it was to find his Vestal surrounded by two knife wielders and two hooded archers.

   He released a low feral growl and without waiting for them to notice his presence, he lowered his head and dived into their midst.  His horns gored one of the surprised archers (didn’t kill the bastard though).

   “Étienne!!” she practically shrieked his name and then it must have dawned on her that he was the monster chewing on the head of the gored archer (he was dead now) for her eyes widened and she paled.

   He roared as a knife was buried in his back, a well placed swipe (just below the chin) with his claws took the head clean off (It bounced into the forest and out of sight).  The dagger remained in his back though, he’d deal with that later.

   The remaining archer took aim, but missed him by feet .  The look of horror on his face was priceless until the Beast ate his face (he’d cherish the visual forever).  The last knife wielder wasn't quite as brave but before he could bolt, Isabeaux smashed him in the head with a rock.

   It didn't quite stun him but it stilled him long enough for the Beast to jump on him and tear him apart.  She didn't say anything when he finally stood up and straightened.  He was covered in gore and bloody, slimy drool was dripping from his mouth, but she did not shy away from him.

   Quite the contrary she came rushing towards him and hugged him while he was the Beast.  Both he and it were surprised and stood rooted to the ground as she clutched his thick fur in her fists and buried her face against him.  It took him a moment to realize she was crying against his fur.

   Transforming back was harder with the adrenaline still pumping, but he did it.  She was still clutching him as he shrunk down in size (her arms eventually wrapped around him in a hug). The dagger that had been embedded in his back dropped to the ground unheeded and his wounds healed as though Isabeaux herself had done the healing (which she hadn't, a fortunate side effect of the Beast).  His body was shaking as he wrapped his arms around her.

   “You're all right,” he muttered against her, burying his face in her hair, inhaling her scent.

   “I didn't come out,” she whispered, her face in his chest.

   “I know, Sweeting,” he tried to smile reassuringly, but failed as he suddenly remembered he'd dropped the rabbit carcass when he'd transformed.  He grumbled under his breath, and the smirked since the hunt was over, there was no reason not to drag her with him to fetch it.

   “We're going to eat,” he turned them back whence he'd come, away from the carnage and bodies, towards their meal, “And then we're going home.”

   She let him lead her away, glad to be gone from this dangerous place. “Perfect.”

Chapter Text

6

     The Light had guided him.   Reynauld's pale eyes narrowed behind the slits of his heavy plated Crusader helm as he stood over the sleeping pair.  Dying embers of their fire crackled ominously in the eerie howlings of the ambient noises that was the Weald.  The creepy shadows of mangled, fungus-infested trees lengthened and twisted as the cold wind caused the fire from their torches to flicker.

    A gauntleted hand clenched on the hilt of his holy sword as righteous fury coursed through his veins.  A sister of the Light was still being sexually assaulted by a monstrous Abomination.  The creature was tightly clutching her , its tattered cloak covering them both as they shivered in the night.  The trembling sister was curled up in a fetal position, her back to the monster's front.  Its magical chains and locks displayed haphazardly all around them.  

    A barbarian from the North , a quiet voice taunted at the back of his mind.  

    A bedeviled beast, an unholy merger of Darkness and man; seen as a gift to the savages, and a curse by the virteous.  The Crusader knew what he was up against, he was not a fool, the sleeping demon could come to life in an instant.  He had immediately recognized the mortal fear that Vestal was physically displaying in her sleep.  Forced to endure the affections of her depraved captor.  

    Reynauld had seen this before.  In the ten years of war, he'd seen the captive women of defeated enemy strongholds.  Coerced into slavery and broken, many died rather then return to the Light. It had changed him as a man to see those empty eyes devoid of life, and yet living .  

     It was now happening to a Sister, that same voice whispered, louder.

   Stress unlike anything he'd ever felt before exploded into existence and pushed Reynauld right to the edge of madness.  Time slowed as adrenaline flooded his veins like a wildfire during a drought.  The Crusader's eyes widening as sweat and goose flesh appeared simultaneously across his entire body.  His heart drummed so rapidly that for a moment, the warrior thought he was going to have a heart attack.  The heavy armour he wore suffocated him, and claustrophobia invaded his mind as he felt his helm shrinking on his head.  

    It was over in a blink, none else noticed a difference in his demeanor until he straightened and planted his feet at shoulder width.  He heard the familiar sounds of distant battle in his mind and it grounded him, bringing him back from the brink.  Reynauld was on the front lines again, fighting like his very life depended on it.  He raised his holy sword with both hands at shoulder level.  Courage engulfed his heart and silenced the evil clawing at his mind.

     He knew this feeling… and he lived for it.  This was Light versus Darkness.  This was war .  He was a Crusader .  He was the embodiment of Light's flame, the veritable epitome of the first line of offense and defense for the innocent.  All of Hell will know how to fear the flame.  

   " Light be our vanguard! " His warcry boomed, waking the startled pair.  It jumped to its feet, and surprise caused the demon to hesitate.  Reynauld pressed his lips together tightly as he focused on it.  He'd fought these animals before.  The brightness from the torches hurt their sensitive eyes, and his team had followed his command to a letter.  

    The Leper had straightened to his imposing height and had exposed his torso up for attack.  The big man had arched his back, the large executioner sword he used was pointed downward, his other arm extended from his side, palm out.  He was straightening his resolve, and Reynauld knew the formidable warrior would be able to withstand attack.

     Junia had raised her spiked mace high with the torch, brightening the halo of safety.  The Crusader saw the flash of reflecting predatory eyes before the pupils shrunk in the scarred face. The disheveled sinner let out an animalistic snarl of pain that reinforced its unnatural abilities.  A green-veined manacled hand covered its sensitive gaze as the creature stumbled back into the rotted forestry of the Weald.

    Damian jumped forward with a fervent call for blood and lashed his spiked flail down on the Abomination's head and back, causing lacerations and making it bleed.  The monster grunted and dropped to its bare knees in front of Reynauld.  The blasphemous charade of the piety of prayer the demon mimicked in front of him insulted his very soul.

     The holy knight turned his head towards the devil's hostage.  "You will survive," Reynauld decreed, lowering his head so that the captive Vestal could see his empathetic eyes through his helm, "I judge it so."

    He raised his weapon and sliced downward.  The Abomination raised its arms to defend itself using the iron from its magical chains and locks, sparks flew briefly from the contact of metal on metal, but it was a lesson in futility.  Righteous wrath empowered his blade with the Light's holy fire, and he brought down the fury of the Divine.  His sword cut through chains, flesh, muscle and tattered fur. 

      There would be no transformation for the Abomination.  They'd brought it to Death's door, Reynauld turned his broadsword around, the tip pointed downward, and stood over the beast to finish it off.  The captured Vestal snapped out of her catatonic state, screamed at the top of her lungs and launched herself at him.

      Reynauld staggered back a step, his sword almost dropping from his hands with the force of her contact.  He was impressed, and relieved that she recognized an ally in him.  Armoured arms wrapped around the tiny Vestal and he turned his back on the Abomination, taking her with him.  He would protect her with his life, she would never have to look at the animal that had stolen her chastity from her.  

     The Leper and Flagellant took his place at the front, and immediately subdued the unconscious rapist.  He would be brought back to the Hamlet, thrown in the stocks and made to answer for his wickedness against the sanctity of the Church.

      "We should castrate him," The Flagellant sneered, spitting down on the bound and muzzled Abomination.  

     They had put a wooden bridle gag in between its teeth, it had straps that went over the bridge of its nose and over the mangy hair.  A metal cage went over the head with spiked blinders over the eyes, only the nose and mouth were exposed.  It was all locked into place under the chin, and sealed magically by Junia.  

     If the Abomination transformed into the hound of Darkness, the blessed cage would crush its head in on itself, and gouge out its eyes in a most gruesome way.  The head cage had been designed specifically to prevent the creature from transforming.  

      Unfortunately, it was useless in the war.  Those on the frontlines were already transformed when battle commenced, and encounters with unchanged Abominations were rare.  Occultists often traveled with the Darkness' mongrel and made surprising them nigh impossible. 

    Baldwin placed a hangman noose over the Abomination's head and tightened it like a collar.  One tug on the coarse hemp rope brought their wounded and unconscious prisoner to his feet just long enough for the Leper to pull it onto his wide shoulders.  He carried the bleeding monster like a canvas sack of potatoes.  

     Reynauld placed a gauntleted hand over the trembling Vestal's eyes in his arms, saving her the horror of having to briefly see her tormentor as Baldwin overtook them.  Her small, trembling hands reached up and gripped his plated gauntlet.  The Crusader turned them away for a brief moment to let the big man walk further ahead with his burden until he disappeared in the darkness of the Weald, far enough out of sight that she would not see the creature.

     "You don't ever have to look at him again," the warrior whispered fervently, lowering his hand from her gaze.  "The Light will protect you, Sister, you are safe," he murmured, his arms tightening about her shoulders as Damian and Junia paused at their side.

    "We're not far from home," Junia said encouragingly, she placed a comforting leather-gloved hand on the little Vestal's shivering shoulder.  The touch lasted but a heartbeat, her palm slipped off as the shoulder drooped in utter defeat.

     Nary a word was uttered by the traumatized Vestal the entire trek home.

Chapter Text

7

     A lone flame flickered with a cold draft, a barely-illuminated small figure shivered on a rickety bed.  Isabeaux bit her cracked lip to stifle her tears, burying her face in her secular robes.  In the tenebrous silence of the night, her hands held the fabric to her mouth and nose.  She was alone and afraid, secreted away in her tiny chamber.  Her situation had taken a savage turn for the worse.

      They had been so close. She pressed the coarse material harder against her face. The border had been within reach.  

     An errant tear escaped and slid down her damp cheek, following the tracks left by so many others.  Vivid visions of Étienne as she had last seen him haunted her recollect.  He had miraculously survived the initial attack… Isabeaux had been frozen in place, her stupor rendering her completely useless.  There had been so much blood…   She clenched her eyes closed, trying to fight off the shame with denial and darkness.  She didn't want to see!  Except… She had.   The little Vestal had watched, paralyzed , as her family of faith had destroyed Étienne.  

    A veritable coward… a voice in her head taunted.

    It took all her will power to suppress the sob desperately wanting to escape her throat as her mind continuously replayed the events against her will.  Her teeth sank into the side of her tongue, she pressed the wet cloth even harder against her mouth, grinding her flesh into her teeth painfully.  The walls of her small chamber felt as though they were shrinking in on her, oppressing her.  

     They had taken the Abomination to Death's door in such quick succession that Étienne could potentially have died without having been able to protect himself.  And she had just stood there like a statue!  Her first frantic impulse, once she shook off the daze gripping her, was to throw herself at the Crusader, Reynauld.  

    He had dragged her away from Étienne, mistaking her attempt at rescuing her disheveled lover for a bid at freedom .  Her eyes tightened until she saw white behind her eyelids, and they began throbbing.  Reynauld had whispered words of comfort and covered her sight, protecting her.  She snorted to herself with derision.

     She had been so surprised that she had remained silent, unable to formulate words.  Cowardice had dug its claws into her back, and she had reached up to grab the armoured wrist.  Her mouth had struggled to speak, but she had made no sound.  Isabeaux's strength had deserted her, her voice silenced.  

    The Vestal had retreated back into her thoughts for the rest of the journey home.  Staring, unseeing at the ground as the Crusader guided her back to the Abbey.  She had no memory of the walk, nor of being guided back to her humble apartments.  

     She sniffled loudly and raised her head to look at the stone ceiling over her head, cracks and old cobwebs lined the edges.  Her dry throat worked, fresh tears filled her eyes as it slowly dawned on her that Étienne would be executed.  They had witnesses to her supposed rape and kidnapping, the pair that had caught them on the church grounds.  There would not be a fair trial for a barbarian of the North.  The Vestal released a shaky breath and got to her feet deliberately.  

     Isabeaux straightened her damp habit, grabbed her prayer book from her small dresser, and her blessed mace leaning against the wall.  She took comfort and strength in her holy apparel, for she was a Sister of Light.  Her tear-stained cheeks, swollen, reddened eyes, and runny nose clashed wildly with the staid image she was trying to convey.

    Her shoulders squared, and she turned towards her closed door.  She sniffled loudly again, and wiped her wet eyes and nose with the back of her hand.  Étienne had saved her in the forest, it was her turn to reciprocate.

      She had to do this.  

***********

      She couldn't do this!  Her heart hammered against her chest as Isabeaux pressed herself against a shadowed wall in the basement of the Abbey.  Another sister had come out of the penance chamber.  Her fingers tightened on her mace and she whispered a prayer.  Light guide her from her folly!  

     Isabeaux took a deep breath to settle her nerves.  Étienne had to be close .  The basement only housed three rooms, the sparse pantry, the penance chamber and a holding cell for those possessed by the spirits of Darkness.  He had to be there .  

     A full minute went by before the Vestal felt brave enough to push from the wall and walk calmly towards the last door at the end of the long corridor. The lone torch outside the thick, wooden door ominously lit up the cobwebs and insects that dwelled in the musty cellar.

     Her pulse increased, and tension shot across her body as she fished the keys she had stolen from the Abbott's office earlier out of her habit.  She begged forgiveness from the Light, and eased the skeleton key into the ancient lock.  The Vestal closed her eyes and clenched her teeth with anxiety as the old, rusty mechanism echoed loudly, breaking the foreboding silence. Isabeaux paused and waited anxiously.  If anyone had been nearby, they would have heard the antique tumblers.  

     It wasn't until her lungs started to burn that Isabeaux realized she was holding her breath.  The sound of her pulse resonated in her ears and made her eyeballs throb; she opened her eyes and stared down the gloomy arcade intently.  Sweat coated her palms as she grabbed the large iron handle.  An image of what Étienne had looked like the last time she had seen him flashed vividly in her mind and girdled her resolve.

    Étienne had told her that they were free… she had believed him.   He had almost been killed, and everyone thought she had been defiled.  She had tried to speak to the Abbott, and the Crusader, to explain the situation.  Reynauld had looked at her with pity as though her mind was addled, and the Abbott had ignored her.

     She swallowed again and pushed against the heavy door gently.  Her senses heightened with adrenaline made the creaking hinges deafening.  It was as though the sound reverberated noisily across the entire Abbey, heard by all .  She cringed and bit her lip with worry.

     The room was dark, lit only by the flickering torch behind her.  Large, filthy, disgusting rats squeaked at her approach, and scurried away, back into the darkness.  Isabeaux gasped and brought a hand to her mouth as Étienne finally came into view.  

    The Abomination had been stripped of his clothing, and had his head imprisoned in a magical cage.  His mouth gagged with a bridle-like contraption with his eyes covered with spiked blinders.  A thick, iron collar was around his throat, chained to the stock his hands were trapped in.  His blackened and bleeding ankles were forced apart, bolted to the floor.  He was covered in welts, bruises and cuts everywhere ; his genitals, lower back and thighs had suffered the most damage as though the torturer had concentrated his efforts there .  

    Étienne had been beaten to within an inch of life, blood pooled beneath him where the rats had congregated.  He was doubled over the stock, breathing heavily.  Tears rolled unheeded as she approached him.  A sob was wrenched from her lips when she noticed they had branded his stomach with another 'A'.  The wound was festering, the skin puckered and leaking pus.  

    Isabeaux cried out, almost dropping her mace and prayer book in her haste to get to his side.  Her hand shook as she raised her weapon and stammered through the familiar healing prayer.  Casting over and over again until all that remained was the old scar from long ago.

    "I'm so s-sorry!" She sobbed, placing a comforting hand against the side of his head while she struggled with the keys. He growled behind the gag and pushed against her palm urgently.  

    The little Vestal was blinded by tears, and relief washed over her as the room brightened suddenly, allowing her to see.  She had just gotten the key into the mouth of the lock when realization dawned on her.  Where had the light come from…?   Isabeaux dropped the heavy key ring on the bloodied ground and whirled around like a thief caught in the night.

    And there, standing in the doorway, was Sister Delphine, holding a torch. 

Chapter Text

8

    Isabeaux's mouth gaped open like a fish out of water and her eyes darted to the keys on the ground before coming back to meet the stern gaze of the older Vestal.  For a brief moment, the young woman thought about casting Dazzling Light and damn the consequences when Sister Delphine stepped fully into the chamber. Her expression changed into something unexpected.

    “Quickly,” the wrinkled face peered into Isabeaux’s very soul, but her tone was urgent as she continued, “The Flagellant will be returning soon!”

    The little Vestal did not need to be told twice, she dove on the key ring, deciding against her better judgement to not question the other sister's surprising aid. They were gonna kill Étienne!    

    Her hands trembled uncontrollably, but she was able to slide the skeleton key into the ancient padlock. Isabeaux’s thundering heart drowned out the deafening silence that surrounded them. The wooden frame of the pillory creaked ominously, the wood and steel clanged echoed like a guilty verdict in the dead of night. 

     Delphine appeared at her side and placed her gloved hand on the cage that surrounded Étienne's head. A blinding, white light that Isabeaux recognized as cleansing incantation had the bars of the cage encasing his head fly open. It fell from the Abomination, crashing cacophonously to the ground. Everything happened in slow motion after that.

     Isabeaux saw the transformation come over him, and was hit with such irrational fear for he was her beloved, that it terrified her. Darkness seeped from his body, and touched her immortal soul, freezing her in place.

    The flickering flame of the torch reflected off Étienne's animalistic eyes, and he straightened, unnaturally tall. His body hair thickened, massive green veins bulged from the beneath the fur, zigzagging across his growing body. His humanity vanished as his skull elongated, his nostrils enlarged like that of a bull’s, the bridge of his nose flattened against his snout. Jagged teeth similar to a wolf’s lined that massive maw as drool liberally leaked from his lips.  

    Large, pointed, bloodied horns pushed through the skin of Étienne's forehead. Her heart dropped to her feet as he gained almost three feet in height, and widened unrealistically. Short, red fur covered his body, and a long mane of darker, coarser hair went down his spine. His thighs thickened and his calves twisted, his heel raised like that of a dog, his toes forming into large talons. 

    She now understood why the chains that dangled from his body were broken. Nothing could hold the demon. Her fear exaggerated his grotesque features and she clutched at Delphine as he vociferously roared in their direction. Delphine dropped the torch, and for a split second as darkness surrounded them, she thought she was going to die.

***********

     They were free… the beast had whispered in his mind before he turned, release me. 

    The pain, fear and anger that had tortured Étienne’s mind vanished. It had demanded freedom, and he had immediately given it the reins. Uncaring that his little Vestal would see him as he really was; a merging of man and monster. 

     He was so tired.

    It would get them out of here, it reassured him, and he believed it. The beast was nigh undefeatable; the Crusades were failing for a reason. He let it take over without resistance.

   The pillory that had imprisioned him was reduced to splinters in seconds, destroyed in his bestial fury. He broke the mast and threw it at the wall opposite of the terrified women. Ancient stone and mortar cracked and crumbled beneath the assault, his keen senses noticed immediately. He charged the fault, barrelling through the wall as though it were made of clay with his thick skull and horns.  

***********

    Isabeaux had watched in paralyzing fear, the habit of the older Vestal was fisted in her hands. Delphine whispered a prayer of healing and the younger woman calmed beneath her soothing magic. 

    Étienne had demolished the wall, easily creating an escape route for them. She knew he would wait for her outside. 

     “You need to go,” Delphine whispered, pushing Isabeaux towards the huge hole the Abomination had made, “They’re coming!”

    “Come with us!” Isabeaux spoke quickly, digging her heels in as her fear returned. She could hear stirrings above their heads, the armour-booted footsteps were muffled, but unmistakable.

    “There is nothing for me out there,” the old sister answered somberly, her voice heavy with ancient regret, “He died long ago.”

     As if for the first time, Isabeaux stared into the old woman’s sorrowful gaze, something familiar was reflected back at her. Suddenly, she understood why Delphine had helped her. Her lover had been executed by the Church. 

    “Come anyways!” Isabeaux insisted and grabbed Delphine's wrist not giving the older woman a choice.

    The other Vestal put up no resistance as she was pulled outside into the awaiting night. Isabeaux tracked Étienne as best as she could in the encroaching darkness.

     He was waiting.

    Just outside the edge of the Hamlet, behind the Church, barely illuminated by the torches that surrounded the border of the town. His glowing, feral eyes reflected the torchlight from the boundary of the Weald. Isabeaux forced herself to approach despite the fear clouding her judgement. 

     He was still Étienne, her beloved.

    Delphine had moved her hand so that they were holding hands, her fingers tightened around her palm as they stopped in front of the beast. Clouds of air formed as it exhaled from its flared nostrils, inhaling deeply as it scented the other Vestal. A deliberate growl escaped its chest and then it raised its head high, ears flicking forward.

     A loud horn sounded in the darkness, both women gasped and Isabeaux turned around to look back at the Church. Light spilled forth from the hole, illuminating figures with torches. The wind carried the muted shouts, and unintelligible voices of her congregation as they spilled from the broken wall like insects. 

     The beast dropped to its knees, its furry back towards the women. It was obvious what it was doing, and Isabeaux was embarrassed to admit that Delphine moved faster, wrapping her arms around the monster's thick neck as though she had done this before. The younger woman followed suit and clenched her eyes closed as the beast took off running as soon as they were secured.

    She had no idea how long it was before it finally stopped, but the darkness that had blinded and overwhelmed them was being pushed back by the first incoming rays of dawn. Isabeaux's arms had lost all sensations hours ago, pins and needles pained her hands and her shoulders. Were they free now?

   Both women fell from his back, exhausted and sore. Isabeaux missed his transformation back into her lover as she was on her stomach on the grass, her eyes closed and breathing heavily. She was exhausted, the adrenaline that had flooded her veins had long since passed. Étienne tumbled beside her, his very human hand grabbed her habit and pulled her closer to his front.

    “You came for me…” he whispered reverently, pushing his face in the back of her habit, inhaling her deeply. His arms wrapped around her body tightly, clutching her as though she were a lifeline. The beast whined in his head. 

    Isabeaux gasped at the sound of his normal voice and whimpered as she turned to face him, burying her haunted expression into his bare chest. Her arms went around his naked body, and she dug her fingers into the skin of his back.  

      “Always,” she vowed, sobbing tears of relief as a manacled hand placed itself comfortingly on the back of her head, the broken chain clinking soothingly as it rested against her back, "I love you!"   

      "I love you too," he murmured, holding her tight.

     Animalistic eyes looked over his little Vestal and focused on the older sister who was laying still where she fell, her head turned away from them. He did not need to hear her story to smell the taint of the Otherside that clung to her, he could see the shadow of an unthethered beast that followed her from the Darkness. 

     It was staring at him. 

     Étienne nodded his head, acknowledging it, and watched as it settled beside Delphine on the ground, inches from her face. Unseen by her. 

     He wondered if she knew of its presence, and debated telling her when he was surprised to see her hand move up to rest on the ground, palm up, where the shadow’s jaw was, her fingers splayed wide. She knew. 

    Isabeaux trusted the woman, and he would too. He owed her their lives. Étienne would see to it that she was protected as they made their way back to his homeland. 

   His beast promised it.