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Chapter Text

Their carriage had run out of available road and was now trundling across a path turning increasingly narrow.

They had been traveling for nearly a week. The mares were exhausted; as were the sisters that drove them forward.

Clea held the horses’ reins steadily in her hands, her grip adjusting accordingly to the bends in the path. Her wrist flicked, and the driving whip lashed across the horses’ spines.

Alicia, a waif of a girl only sixteen winters old, grimaced at the manner in which her sister treated the poor beasts. When she drove them, she vastly preferred to crack at them with her voice, rather than the whip. The mares were from good bloodstock and had long, efficient strides. They loved to run; and didn’t need very much encouragement to do so.

Alicia sat primly at Clea’s side, her hands folded politely in her lap. Her light blue eyes, almost too large for the rest of her thin face, peered out beneath her wild mane of fiery hair. She looked around at the unending forest, noticing how the grass beneath the spider phaeton smacked the wheels, interfering with the spokes. Before too much longer, they would need to stop and free the axel from the worst of the weeds.

“This isn’t a road,” Clea hissed. “This is a fucking deer trail.”

She was right, not that Alicia felt much like agreeing with her. Before much longer, she knew, she would be deposited at the big house sequestered within these woods, and Clea would be free of her forever.

It had come time for Alicia to be married. Clea had found the blood upon her sheets four years prior; she began finding engagements for her almost immediately afterward.

Alicia was the final babe born into the Dessendre name. She had been a surprise, an “accident” as Clea called her.

“We did not even think Maman was capable of falling pregnant any longer,” she said. “And yet here you are.”

Following their Maman’s death when she was only ten years of age, Alicia had been living with her older sister (rising twenty-nine) and her spouse, Simon.

There was nothing inherently wrong with their living situation. Simon was neither replacement father figure (their actual father having passed right after the announcement of their mother’s pregnancy, a victim of the War) nor jackal intent on becoming overly amorous with a young girl. He was merely a presence, just as Alicia was herself.

And Clea was their demi-god, their dictator. She ruled the house, no doubt in anyone’s mind.

The money had been running out since their parents’ deaths. With the Writers gradually taking more power within Lumiere - shunning Painters like themselves into worthless political offices - the Dessendre name had been cast into shambles. The Painters’ Council was disbanded entirely only the year before. Simon had said they hung one of her cousins – someone thirteen years her senior whom she had never met – in the center of the city.

And so no one would accept Alicia’s hand in marriage. “Shadow of the Dessendres,” Clea nicknamed her. “A living embodiment of everything that led to our downfall.”

In desperation, Clea had sent word all across the continent, writing letters to every remotely eligible bachelor.

After years of no correspondence, one solitary letter fell into their post box. Clea accepted the proposal immediately.

Alicia did not think her sister had even read the letter in its entirety. She had, though, her naïve girlishness leaving her intrigued by what she saw.

Dearest Madame Dessendre,

I am a man of halfway decent income, widowed many moons ago. I write to you in reply to your inquiry regarding the betrothal of your sister, Mademoiselle Dessendre. I report that I do express an interest in her, and posthaste have sent a check for you to purchase us a marriage license.

You see, I suffer from loneliness. I only wish to have a bride to spend my years with; having had that opportunity taken away from me in the past.

Fertility and appearances are not a requirement. I only ask that she be of sound and open mind, due to the nature of my seclusion and eccentricities.

She shall be kept at my estate, isolated deep within the forest outside Lumiere. I trust you recognize the location; it has safeguarded the city for centuries.

She shall not ever toil away in the fields; nor should she be expected to wait upon her new husband hand and foot. Instead, she will be made a kept woman, knowing only luxury for the rest of her years. Should she so choose, she may also know the companionship of a man who will love her no matter her willfulness or beauty.

Perhaps Clea had read it, Alicia thought, who was quite full of temperament even on a good day, taking after her sister in that regard. All of the Dessendre women were prone to a bit of ill-natured madness, Simon had commented, earning himself a slap.

The horses began to shy and spook at the oppressive forest. It was mid-afternoon; but the overgrown canopy made it seem like evening. The deep meadow grass impeded their progress; choking the wheels. They were encumbered.

“We should get down and ride,” Alicia suggested. She loved riding, and the mares would navigate more easily without the restriction of the harness.

“Not in that new dress I just sewed for you,” Clea chided. “And certainly not in my best trousers. I’d be haunted by Maman’s ghost for eternity if I allowed you to chafe your thighs before your betrothed was allowed to place himself between them.”

Alicia blushed and stared down at her hands, ticked with freckles, like a spotted hound.

Her knitting – a pair of stockings carefully lined up across four double-pointed needles – was abandoned there, replaced by the incessant bobbing of her anxious legs.

When Clea’s attention re-centered on the trail, Alicia dug the letter from her purse to re-read it. She hoped that, if nothing else, her husband would be impressed by her ability to read without following the paper with her finger.

His hobbies were the things that truly made her swoon.

I enjoy playing the piano, as well as writing music and painting. I have a music room and atelier, though the former sees more action than the latter. There is an extensive library, should Mademoiselle take it upon herself to study there.

I have no children from my previous marriage. Instead, I have a dog who is both friendly and faithful.

Should my new bride want for anything – whether it range from tutors to sweets – she need only ask. It shall be provided for her within a reasonable timeframe.

The only caveat is that the girl may be inflicted by the same melancholy that beleaguers myself. It is lonely here, as previously mentioned. No one else lives here other than I and my staff.

She may find herself sorely lacking when it comes to friendships. I must admit that in my depressive state I am not always the best company. I advise the young lady forsake her friends early, so that the adjustment to this life is not too severe.

Well, that part would be easy enough for her. Alicia was a peculiar child who was gradually becoming a peculiar woman. She was afflicted by nightmares, much to the chagrin of both Simon and Clea. She dreamt often of a fire, a man coming to rescue her from it.

In the dream, he scooped her into his arms, spiriting her from her nursery and out into the gardens. Then he forsook her upon the stone stoop, her fussing and howling for him, inconsolable.

She went through three governesses during her childhood. Following her sixteenth birthday, even her most recent tutor had bid her adieu.

Alicia Dessendre was wanted by no one at all, and she knew it.

And yet here was this man, asking for her hand without ever seeing her face. All he asked for a dowry was a box of silver-handled paintbrushes (who they belonged to she knew not, only that they had been in the family for longer than she had been alive), and her undying loyalty.

Just as she, Clea and the horses (women and mares indistinguishable in their volatility) became exhausted and irritable beyond reason, the villa broke through the encroaching woodland.

Clea let out a sigh of relief, as did the animals. She parked the carriage directly before the wicket, impatient as anything. It took only a few minutes for a coachman to appear. He held out his hand to Clea first, who scowled at him. “You aren’t here for me,” she pointed out savagely.

Undeterred, he next went to Alicia, who accepted his offer readily and courteously allowed herself to be lowered onto solid ground.

Two more groomsmen materialized, attempting to seize Alicia’s belongings. But it was a pitiful ensemble, containing only her purse and her single trunk.

The heaviest thing inside of it was her typewriter, which she had refused to part with many times over already. Clea had demanded that she sell it for the scrap metal it no doubt held; when she tried to steal it from her younger sister’s desk, Alicia had actually sunken her teeth into the meat of her hand.

Clea leapt from the carriage, handing the reins to the second groomsman deftly. Someone unseen opened the front doors inside the portcullis-style gate; the noise made Alicia stare at it as it was lifted.

“Don’t get too excited,” Clea said. “He’s mostly land-rich.”

She had teased Alicia endlessly following the signing of her marriage license.

“In town, they call him the Great Black Wolf,” she hissed in her sister’s ear, trying to scare her. “Because he’s got the head of one.”

When Alicia did not balk, she went on. “He’s nothing but an ugly mask of razor-sharp teeth. He even stinks like a dog.”

Alicia had raised an eyebrow, unaffected. “You’ll never be able to kiss him,” spoke Clea. “His teeth will slice your tongue clean off!”

“His eyes glow in the dark, pale as the moon, and they’ll rove over your body while you sleep. His hands are naught but massive paws, and his claws will tear your pretty clothes to shreds just as soon as he buys them for you.”

“You will spend every day of your life afraid. With any luck, that fright will kill you quick, sparing you the indignity of marrying such a beast.”

Cleverer than her abrasive sibling, Alicia knew when Clea was lying to her.

The sisters were permitted to step wearily into the foyer. It was large, as was to be expected, though it did not have the enormity of some of the castles located closer to the city. It also did not hold any electric lighting.

“Well,” Clea remarked, unimpressed. “Where is your new husband, after all this fretful travel?”

“Here, Madame,” came a voice from the shadows.

A man stepped out into the light, the most handsome man Alicia had even laid eyes upon. He had long dark hair, tied behind him to keep the worst of it from his face, one silver streak hanging over his brow. His eyes were piercing, that much was true. But, then again, so were her own.

His expression seemed earnest, taking in both women with inquisitiveness but not lust. One hand was tucked inside his trouser pocket, an example of nervousness.

His other hand was just that of any man’s, the fingers long, the nails cut square.

Pianist’s fingers, Alicia thought. She wondered when she could see him play.

The only unnerving thing about him was a jagged scar running over his left eye. His vision seemed intact, the pupil dilated appropriately in the dim light. He espied Alicia staring at him, when she smiled, a grin tugged at one corner of his lips.

If she was smitten, though, Clea was anything but. Her older sister was frozen, muscles locked in abject terror, eyes wide with fear.

Alicia wished to ask her what the matter was, why she seemed so upset. Clea was never afraid of anything.

“Verso?” Clea gasped. The man nodded.

She did not bother seeing it to completion. Without further word, Clea turned on her heel and bolted through the manor doors.

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, there had been a man named Verso Dessendre.

His last name was powerful, his coffers always full.

He was a pianist, an epee fencer, a foxhunter.

He could paint and write music, considering himself more of a lover than a fighter.

And he loved his little sister more than he had ever loved anything.

He was twenty-six when he seemingly died. It was an occasion that would haunt his family for years to come.

In truth, however, he had banished himself.

The banishment was born as a result of a terrible fire; an unsuccessful attempt made upon his family’s lives.

Though it loathed him to depart, and his Maman hated to discard her only son, it was not worth the risk. His youngest sister was but a babe of three; it was unfair to raise her under such tumultuous circumstances.

They were at war. As long as the Painters drew breath, the Writers would never allow them to rest. Their father, Renoir, had died on the battlefield; a lion bravely defending his pride until the very end. With the Dessendre patriarch’s passing, that left only a defenseless toddler, two women, and Verso himself.

He knew running would cause their enemies to follow after him. Three women living quietly in a big house in Lumiere was not worth comment or attack; they would be as safe as they could there. The Writers only wanted to finish what they had already started.

And so Verso went away. He traveled deep into the protective forest, spending his nights looking over his shoulder for assassins.

He found himself an apprenticeship to a talented mage, living comfortably in an immense manor. The wizard’s name was Gustave, and he had acquired his home under mysterious circumstances and imbued it with strong magic.

As long as the two men remained on the property, they would not age.

Gustave remained a hale and hearty thirty-two, Verso a clever devil of twenty-six. The staff grew older, having to travel into town on occasion, but they did so very slowly.

Gustave had taken in Verso on a whim. He never explained the reason why. Perhaps he was once a victim of isolation, too.

Once, when Gustave accidentally blew his arm off after messing around with arcane runes he knew nothing about, Verso affixed him with a prosthetic he designed on his own. With his new arm in tow, Gustave left in search of a bride. It did not take long for him to find himself smitten with a lovely florist named Sophie. His courtship of her was some of the more joyful correspondence Verso ever received from him.

When Verso took on his own wife, Julie, his friend and mentor forked over the deed to the land and manor without hesitation. To this very day, both men remained fond of each other.

It didn’t take long, though, for a fit of unyielding restlessness to take hold of him. He began to revisit Lumiere, even knowing the chances he was taking. Julie begged him over and over not to go.

Little did he realize that she had been conspiring against him.

Julie wished to gain control over the magic gifted to him by Gustave. She wished to remain ageless; and to harness it for a profit.

She found herself a Writer and took him as her lover. They trysted together and came up with a plot to remove Verso from their lives.

To kill any Dessendre in this time period was to earn bragging rights for the rest of your days. The fame that could be gained from Verso’s murder was irresistible.

Julie went back home with a vial of poison sewn into her bodice.

It had not worked, of course, she’d been a fool to assume it would.

Verso spat it out, tasting the bitter almond flavor on his tongue.

Angry as he was, Verso only intended to remove her from the manor walls, shipping her back to her consort in shame.

But then she produced a knife, sharp enough to hurt and serrated enough to damage.

She struck at him. Again and again, the knife went in, and out. The metal found his flesh and made a slick sound as it tore him open.

Slash.

Cut.

Bleed.

“Why won’t you die?!” cried Julie, swinging the blade with good precision but too much emotion. Her incredulousness sounded absurd in Verso’s ears.

Verso did not die. It hurt, badly, and recovery took months.

“Just go,” he begged. “Please. I don’t want to do this. Don’t make me do this.”

But she kept coming, the sight of his blood on his own dining room table enough to spur her on. She remained steadfastly undeterred by his open arms, his offer of peace.

He kept his distance as long as he could. In the end, she was unrelenting. And so, he was forced to destroy her.

Another bit of magic, also courtesy of Gustave, had been given to him in a tiny syringe. The needle capped upon it was almost as thin as a hair. Gustave had made several of them; Verso kept one in his pocket at all times.

“It doesn’t even need to be kept inside the icebox!” Gustave had remarked. “Just don’t let it fall into the wrong hands.”

It took only seconds for Verso to slide the syringe into his palm. His heart raced, adrenaline making the veins in the crook of his arm stand out readily. The needle – so small, practically the gauge of a beading needle – found his bloodstream.

Julie only stopped attacking when she saw him transform.

It was agonizing. Limbs had to be repurposed to fit four legs instead of only two; canines elongated themselves; the tailbone stretched. The subtle hairs produced by most people along their bodies grew thicker, more robust. The muscles in his body were taut as harp strings.

Verso was an exquisite machine taken lupine form. One minute, a man. The next, a wolf.

Later, when the maids came downstairs with horrified expressions to mop away Julie’s blood, and the groomsmen came to carry her body to the mausoleum, Verso had a look at himself in the mirror.

He was a black shuck, a haunter of graveyards, a thief to women’s lives.

He was the devil.

It took three full days for it to pass. He awoke groggily one morning to find his human legs covered in old, dried blood and other assorted bodily fluids.

Cautiously, he touched his teeth. Normal.

Next his claws. They had returned to fingernails.

His hair fell into his face, as it always had before. No fur.

Exhaustion plagued him thereafter until he had a belly full of breakfast and a hot bath.

Ever since that fateful day, he kept himself secluded. Julie’s lover had no doubt connected the dots at some point, when she failed to reunite with him. He wisely opted to remain home and spread rumors rather than plan another attack.

And so the legend of the Great Black Wolf had begun. Verso let the ignorant cityfolk say what they liked about him. He cared little for the opinions of fools. No doubt a few had seen him running over those three days, having fled the villa in a state of confusion and animal desire and hunted his own game until he collapsed. He scarcely remembered his first shifting, outside of the pain.

He was lonesome, however. Plagued by his own solitude, he beseeched Gustave, thinking only of the peace of death.

“Save me from this life,” he begged.

Instead, though, Gustave made a trip to the post office for him. He came back with a letter, a plea for a betrothal, signed by one Madame Clea Dessendre.

He was immediately transported thirteen years into the past. He felt Clea’s disdain for their younger sister even through the paper. He could not save himself from his family’s disappointment, but he thought perhaps he could rescue Alicia.

She had been practically an infant when he’d left. Would she even remember him?

Verso Dessendre was a wolf, a devil, a phantom. Perhaps she was the key to his salvation.

Chapter Text

They were alone in the vast hallway, closer to the scale of strangers than that of newlyweds.

“Good evening, Monsieur.” Alicia bowed politely.

Verso reflexively waved the gesture away. It then occurred to him that she may find his dismissal rude.

“Good evening, Mademoiselle,” he greeted, giving her a small bow. “You are three times as lovely as I anticipated you to be.”

His usual charm worked as intended – Alicia flushed scarlet and peered down at the floor. She shivered; not from cold, but nerves.

It did not escape either of them that this was their wedding night. He had no intention of taking advantage of her, however. The guilt of it was already seeping into his bones, warning him away from whatever desires nudged at him regarding the slender girl standing in his foyer.

It was the hair that truly did it for him. Red as a berry, red as autumn leaves, red as the winter sunset. He itched to stroke it, to see her eyes shut trustfully. He had to remind himself, repeatedly and in rapid succession, that this was the same girl he had left behind over a decade ago.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, when she remained too shy to look up again.

She nodded, biting her lip. He dared to move a bit closer to her.

With careful, precise movements, Verso made to put his arm across her shoulders. He expected her to flinch, but she did not.

Alicia, who had been his shadow as a toddler – his ghost, his sunny little specter – leaned into him as though she did recall him after all.

He smelled familiar – leather, pine resin, vetiver. He smelled like home.

She allowed herself to be guided into the next room, an expansive dining hall, decorated with only two chairs.

Verso hurriedly rearranged the chairs so that instead of one at the head of the table and one at its foot, they both face each other across the short way.

“Makes conversation easier,” he explained, feeling flustered.

His hand fidgeted nervously again inside his trouser pocket, fingers moving in a repeated circular fashion.

When she first saw him do it, Alicia had to fight back a burble of absurd laughter. She had initially assumed him to be fondling himself. She knew nothing about the syringe, the way it grounded him, reminded him of his power.

It was so apparent that he was tense, that self-pleasure was the farthest thing from his mind at that moment. She forgave him his eccentricities and allowed him to pull out her seat.

He fiddled with the back of her chair for a few extra seconds, looking at her and then away again, uncertain. When the cook rang the supper bell, he sat down at last.

Now came the harder part – small talk over canapes consisting of sliced meat and vegetables.

They ate in stoic silence for several minutes, the air growing uncomfortable with unshed words.

Verso’s mind raced like a pack of wolves. Do you remember me Do you remember me Do you remem-

Alicia broke the ice. “You play the piano.”

At his nod, she continued. “Would you play for me? Sometime soon?” Then she folded her hands, feeling childish for her overly curious outburst.

She dared a glance towards him, and saw his warm smile welcoming her request.

“I’ll play for you tonight, if you wish,” he suggested. “Provided you aren’t too tired from your journey.”

“Oh!” Alicia clapped her hands, and could have flinched at her own immaturity. “Please, it would be so lovely.”

“You must like music,” he said, and she nodded enthusiastically.

“I like all sorts of composers,” she explained. “I like Bach and Beethoven, but I’ve never had the chance to go to the orchestra.”

I know you do, he thought. I used to play them for you when you were still in your bassinet.

“I love Tchaikovsky most of all,” she finished with a pleased grin.

I tried taking you to see The Nutcracker, but you were only a little urchin and you cried so much that I had to bring you back home immediately.

The main course arrived, some sort of large game bird. It was far too much food for only two people.

“Do you go to concerts?” she asked.

Verso shook his head. “As you probably saw in the letter, I don’t get out much.”

She nodded concisely. “That’s okay, I think I’m already starting to like it here.”

“You’ll see more of the land in the wintertime,” he promised. “Right now it’s pretty overgrown.”

“It’s cooler here than in the city,” she commented.

“Yes, it’s got better shade and significantly fewer people. You’ll sleep better than you did in Lumiere; the fresh air helps quite a bit.”

Here we are, they both mused. Reduced to chatting about the weather. And on our fucking wedding night, of all things.

Servants came for the plates. One of them offered Alicia wine, and she tried to accept. Verso shook his head, reaching over to cover her glass.

“Bring her back some cider,” he told them, and they whisked the bottle away after pouring some for him alone.

At Alicia’s frown, he explained his decision. “I don’t want either of us getting drunk tonight. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to force myself on you.”

“Oh, right,” she muttered. “That makes sense.”

“If you aren’t comfortable,” he went on, “we can skip the end of our nuptials for now. We can –“ At this he cleared his throat. “- attempt that part of things on a different evening.”

At her accepting nod, their following conversations came more easily. They talked about the manor, about Gustave and his magics.

“So I’ll remain looking like this?” she asked.

“For a little while anyway,” Verso answered. “You’ll just age more gradually than most people if you ever have to leave the property.”

She felt him examining her, carefully, like a doctor. “You must be exhausted,” he commented. “Let me take you to your rooms.”

“I’m not staying with you?” Her voice sounded so hurt. You promised I could hear you play.

“I mean…” he stammered. “If…but it might make…I don’t want you to-“

“I want to,” she insisted. “Even if we’re only sleeping. It’s what couples are supposed to do.”

Yes! Verso wanted to shout. But willingly! And not because society expects you to!

He gave her a brief tour of his own lodgings, soon to become hers. “The washroom has running taps,” he told her. “And hot water.”

Hot water! It was perhaps her most favorite part of this excursion, other than the handsome devil standing by her side.

“These are your rooms,” he made a grand gesture towards a series of doors. “You have your own bedroom, en suite washroom, and two others for sitting. I’ll fetch you your key – you’ll be the only one to have access to it.”

Alicia sniffed disdainfully. Verso’s shoulders sagged in defeat.

They ended up retiring early, him acquiescing to her demands for staying in his quarters. He couldn’t deny her anything during her infancy, and he certainly couldn't do it now.

“Is my trunk here?” she asked, indicating his open bedroom door.

He shook his head and sighed. “I’ll get it then,” she remarked, turning away to locate it.

He tried vainly to pursue her, to convince her to let him carry it. But she heartily lifted it up the steps and deposited it unceremoniously in the middle of their bedroom floor as he held open the door for her.

He then had to fetch one of the maids, a no-nonsense middle-aged woman named Maria who so excelled at her job that he would never be able to replace her. She hustled into the room and began assisting Alicia with putting her things into his chest of drawers.

That was it. She was sleeping with him, and would hear no argument against it. His living spaces had been invaded by one pervasive Mademoiselle Alicia Dessendre, now Madame. Hereafter, she was in charge.

Verso allowed her to vanish into the bathroom with Maria on her heels while he readied himself for bed.

He undressed bashfully, jumping whenever he heard footsteps, musing darkly about being scared of his own wife.

When to tell her? he asked himself as he pulled on his night clothes. Certainly not right now.

But soon.

Could he even bring himself to do the deed? He had every intention of dissuading the lass for tonight, at least.

He knew, though, that he could not stay away for eternity.

The lady had expectations of him, no doubt. There was something exacting in her mannerisms; that part of her was firmly genetic. Aline, their Maman, had been the same way, as was Clea.

Alicia was so lovely. And he was so lonely.

The taboo of it made him worse, made him a rabid dog baying at her heels, at the moon.

Her quiet knocking made him flinch again.

“Sorry.” She did not look sorry by any means. “Um, is this how things are done?”

Verso was rendered agog at the image of her in her shift. It was translucent, pale as the rest of her, her freckles standing out against the sheerness of the material. “Oh my sweet girl,” he cooed. “Not tonight. But a different one.”

She was affronted. “Am I not good enough for my own husband?”

He glanced away from her, hating to be the source of her indignation. “I traveled all this way, only for you to turn me down at the first sight of me in my nightie?”

“No, my love.” He tried to soothe her. “Only that you are young, and we have so much time between us.”

“Soon,” he went on. Soon.

Her jaw worked unhappily. To make it up to her, he offered his arm. As before, during their first meeting, he expected her to hesitate.

She wormed her way into him, shoving her nose into his underarm and breathing out of sigh.

“Oh.” Her voice was muffled against his bare skin. “But it is wonderful to be held like this.”

With only a hint of guilt, he kissed the top of her head.

“Shall we go to bed?” he suggested. For once, she agreed.

They lay together in the darkness, waiting for the last candle to gutter out so they could close their eyes. Alicia’s were twinkling mischievously.

“Not that,” he chided her, somewhat impressed by her determination. “I already told you. Shut your eyes, dear. Go to sleep.” Laughter rumbled in his chest, warming her to him.

Something round dug into his side. He discovered a round toy, the shiny fabric reflecting the dim light.

“Esquie!” he said, hugging to himself instinctively.

“Yes,” replied Alicia, eyebrows drawing together at his behavior. “How do you recognize him?”

I bought him to keep watch over you. I see that he’s done his job.

“I had one as a boy,” he lied. “I loved the thing to bits, but I outgrew him.”

I had him custom made for your first birthday.

Alicia wondered if he would say she had outgrown hers, too.

Instead, though, he declared, “And so our friend shall sleep between us tonight.”

It’ll keep me honest.

Chapter Text

She awoke to the sound of piano music.

The blankets were heaped upon her, shielding her from the cool morning air. The weather had shifted overnight; becoming a moody, distraught thing that wept tears upon the windowsills.

Alicia felt unsure about where she was, about what had transpired the night before, but the music brought her back.

Her ears strained for its location; she abandoned Esquie in the sheets as she padded into the hallway. Her bare feet made almost no sound against the hardwood floors.

She earned herself a few raised eyebrows as she worked her way through the house. She ignored the glances she got from the staff; she longed only to find the source of the music. She itched to find Verso again, to feel his mouth on more than just her scalp. Most of all, she wanted to see him play, to hear the sweet melodies his well-tuned hands could no doubt produce.

She wasn’t a fool. She knew what men and women did together. Clea had threatened her with it often enough.

“Men will take any chance they can,” she warned. “To sully your innocence. You are not yet a woman, the process of becoming one is exceptionally painful.”

Clea did not sound as though she were in any pain, though, when Alicia heard her and Simon together in the middle of the night. She neglected to mention it to her older sister; however. The resulting tantrum would have been mortifyingly loud.

Besides Clea’s empty threats, Alicia wished to truly know Verso, seemingly more than he wanted to know her. She also had a carriage full of questions for him; about Clea, how they knew each other, etc.

She finally found him in his private music room. He worked diligently at a baby grand, his fingers stroking the keys like a lover. If she had any doubts towards her love for him, they were erased by the manner in which he played.

There was a dog at his feet, a nondescript collie with black and white markings. At the sight of her, the dog wagged his tail, but his master paid her no heed. Alicia waved politely to the dog and then approached her new husband slowly, a predator upon her prey.

She successfully snuck up on him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek.

“Morning,” he grunted, more than a little startled. “Did you sleep alright?”

She dimly recalled waking very early in the dawn, him holding her in his arms as though she were something fragile, his length pressed into her backside. She had dozed off once he rose from their bed to, presumably, take care of it, or perhaps otherwise distract himself.

Next time, she mused. I shall help you with your rather large problem.

She continued peppering his face with kisses. “Alicia,” he said in between them, “This is Monoco. Monoco, this your new mistress, Alicia.”

“Bonjour,” she greeted their pet. Monoco’s tail resumed its wagging, thumping against their legs.

“May I show you something?” Verso offered.

“Yes!” she announced, as though she were being given a present. “I actually have my dowry to give you as well.”

“Oh.” He remembered as he rose from the stool. The paintbrushes.

She removed herself from him and skipped away, gesturing for him to follow. “They’re still upstairs in my trunk.”

He followed after her obediently, trying not to focus on the swaying of her behind as she ascended the stairs.

He opened the case they were kept in like he was Pandora, sending chaos into the world. He picked up the most broad-bristled one and held it like a sword, or a torch.

“Just as beautiful as I remembered,” he murmured. He glanced away when Alicia’s eyes went to him.

“Did they used to be yours?” she guessed, and he nodded.

“Many years ago,” he explained. “Your Maman purchased them off of me.”

This was not technically an untruth – their mother had bought back from him when, in a fit of juvenile destitution, he begged to borrow some money from her. She had refused to give him anything for free; knowing that he would spend it on something frivolous. She did agree to take the brushes, however, and had done him a kindness by secreting them away to collect dust rather than using them for her own purposes.

He felt grateful that she never chose to paint with them. They were pristine.

He eyed his bride again, an ever-shifting girl who kept fiddling with the hem of her nightdress. He tried to recall if sex was the only thing on his mind when he was her age. He decided it probably was.

“What did you want to show me?” she asked, expression deceptively innocent.

“I must ask of you a favor,” he admitted. “That you not react too strongly, when I reveal my true nature.”

“You won’t hurt me!” She rushed to fill the space his words left behind. “I know that I am a virgin, but I’m not stupid. I know that there is blood and pain before it starts to feel-“

“No, no.” He interrupted her and ran an exasperated hand over his face. Chuckling again, he continued. “No, my sweet, I meant something else entirely.”

“Oh,” she answered, stupefied.

“Here.” He fished into his pocket and procured a needle and syringe. Alicia watched without speaking as he rolled up his shirt sleeve.

His veins were visible against his arm. She took in the musculature of it with a contented little sigh.

Then he slid the needle into one of those veins, and her world was permanently altered.

Should have taken off my clothes for this, was his final human thought before the shift. Fuck me for having decency.

Alicia thought of her older sister as she watched Verso change into a beast. Clea was right. God above, I can never tell her that she was. I would never hear the end of it.

Before her stood a wolf, black as pitch, eyes the brightest blue. He was beautiful, and Alicia told him so.

He whined and dropped his head, an eerily human motion.

“May I-” she swallowed, not with nerves but excitement. “May I touch you?

The wolf nodded, and she began to stroke his fur. He was so soft, and smelt of the forest, of musk, of dead leaves crunched beneath those massive paws. She buried her face into his ruff and inhaled deeply, nails scratching between his pointed ears. His scar remained, a dull pink remnant across his eye. The silver strands were there as well, this time looking like a spattering of white paint upon his forehead.

Verso groaned and leaned into her touch, his tongue lolling over his teeth. His tail wagged precisely as Monoco’s did.

“This is what you were hiding from me?” He whimpered at her question. “Did you think I would be upset?”

By way of reply, he nosed her bare feet, making her squeal and twist away.

“Well,” she huffed. “You’re obviously not worried about my reaction now.”

No wonder Clea was so afraid of you. She knew all about this. She must have thought you would devour us both.

A canine grin split Verso’s muzzle. With a flourish, he play-bowed, tail waving happily above his hindquarters.

“Will the servants mind?” she questioned. He shook his head mid-bow.

“Then I suppose it’s time for breakfast.”

The cook knew to change the order of things once he spotted Verso’s lupine body go trotting down the stairs. He fetched a plate, loaded it with eggs and bacon for the master of the house, and deposited it as though serving a wolf was an everyday occurrence.

Alicia asked Verso rapid fire questions during the meal, all of them needing only yes or no answers. She learned that he retained his wolven form anywhere between one and three days, and that after he could shift whenever he wanted to, provided there was a serum available. It was only the returning to human part that he possessed no control over.

After they ate, he took her for a tour of the grounds. He nosed a painting of Gustave, indicating their friendship, along with several previous Monocos. Alicia rolled her eyes at his originality when it came to naming pets.

He escorted her down to the stables, his tail sinking low at the emptiness of it. His last shift had been in the middle of a harsh winter, with not enough food to go around. He’d been forced to eat his remaining stallion, and was still unsure if he wanted another. He left that part of his background out of their conversation; not that he was able to speak at that moment, anyway.

In the woods, the animals avoided him, afraid of their canid overlord. Monoco number six, however, accompanied them happily, gaily trotting to keep up with Verso’s longer strides.

The garden was paltry compared to the ones Alicia had been raised near, but the wildflowers growing around it more than made up for its dishevelment.

She and Verso spent the entire day together, wolf and girl, friends, even if they were not yet lovers.

Once night fell, and they yet again approached the sanctum of their marriage bed, a heavy question nibbled at the tip of Alicia’s tongue.

“Would it be easier like this?” she offered, indicating her nude body as she stripped herself of her daytime clothing. At Verso’s puzzled look, she clarified. “For the consummation. I can get on all fours if-“

He yelped as though she had struck him. He leapt away, horrified, his tail tucked between his legs.

“I shall take that as a no,” she responded primly.

She lay in bed that night with him sleeping upon her chest, his snores heavy and rhythmic. The vibration and warmth of him against her lured her to sleep in minutes.

Chapter Text

In the morning, he had returned from Verso, wolf; to Verso, man.

He was still asleep when Alicia woke up. Her arms remained around him; his hair tickled from where he rested on her chest.

“So handsome,” she whispered. “I love you already.”

Verso twitched in his sleep, as though he understood her. His face was plastered against the valley of her breasts, his body heavy upon hers. It did not suffocate her; rather, it was comforting to know he was there, that this was anything but a dream.

It did not escape her that his cock was pressed into her lower leg. It is time for you to awaken, she decided, and finally do what you are meant to.

“Verso,” she cooed, nudging him. “Good morning.”

He groaned and shifted his weight, but stayed sleeping.

So she pinched him on the ear.

“Putain!” he swore, cupping his lobe. “What was that for?”

“Good morning,” she repeated calmly. “I see that you need me to perform my duties as your wife.”

“Merde,” he cursed again, staring down at his tented boxers. “Alicia, is now really the best time-“

My ear hurts, he wanted to complain, but kept his mouth wisely shut.

She made little grabbing motions with her hands, reaching for him. “I want this,” she reassured him, “every part of it. Man or beast.”

“Fuck.” I should get better about holding my tongue in the presence of a lady. “But what if…?”

“Shh.” She stroked his beard with the back of her right hand. “You would never hurt me. I trust you.”

It was those last three words that sealed Verso’s fate.

He bent back down to her breasts, helping to strip her of her chemise. Once she was bared to him, he took each breast into his palms, kneading them. His breathing was labored, desperate for her.

She only tolerated him playing with her chest for so long, however.

“And the rest?” she asked, indicating her panties.

He abandoned his careful work with a heartbroken glance at her nipples, pebbled from his mouth and hands, and began to explore farther down. He ran his tongue over her navel, nuzzling reverently at the fiery curls that started at her abdomen and went between her legs. He felt pleased as punch that unlike other women, she had not tried to shave.

That trail of hair leading down to her cunt acted as a guide, a secret keeper, a promise, to the treasure that lay beneath. He was the most untroubled man in the world the moment his mouth found that precious heat, seeking it out with tongue and teeth.

She was nectar incarnate. Calling her pet names like my sweet was truly doing her a disservice. She was ambrosia, she was tantalizing forbidden fruit.

Her essence ran down his chin, and he tasted her like a man parched. She was an oasis in the midst of his solitary hell. He would never grow weary of her taste.

Verso would have worshipped her dripping center all day, but Alicia was persistent about what she wanted. There was no getting out of it.

“Inside,” she told him. “I need you inside, please.”

He lifted his head to find her blue eyes turned into a storm cloud of lust.

“My dear,” he tried one final time to beseech her. “You’ve not even had your climax-“

As usual, his pleas went unacknowledged. “And I will not,” she demanded. “Until you have finished what you’ve started.”

He had to shoo her away when her hands went to him. He took his cock in his fist, pumping it a few times. She stared as he used his thumb to swipe the delicate white beads that formed at the tip, licking her lips wantonly.

He entered her slowly, cautiously, as lovingly as he could manage. She squeezed him welcomingly, even as she hissed from the pain of her maidenhead tearing away.

He dared not look; would not allow her to do so, either, for fear of seeing the blood that had no doubt appeared. If he knew he had injured her, Verso was never going to make love to her again.

He thrusted gradually, allowing her to adjust. He filled her to the hilt, feeling her walls flutter around him. All of her earlier bravado had faded away, replaced instead by the enchanted expression of a young woman lost in passion.

You have to tell her, he thought as he fucked her into the mattress. It squeaked with each thrust, syncing up with their rhythmic breathing. You should have told her the moment she tried taking her clothes off for you. The moment she walked in through those doors!

But he could not do it. Not now, with her squeezing him again - more powerfully this time, her climax fast approaching, his own along the way too.

He was going to fill her with his seed, his own sister, his most beloved, before he even told her who he was. He marked her with his teeth, unable to hold back against the waves of pleasure consuming him.

She was weeping, and he had to soothe her, kissing away her tears. He thought she was hurting at first; but no, it was only overstimulation, the pleasure too much for someone so inexperienced.

“Good,” he moaned in her ear. It turned into a whimper partway through. “Good girl. Almost there…just fall apart darling, there we go…”

She came around him, clinging to him ardently. He followed soon after, biting firmly into the nape of her neck, his teeth leaving tiny half-moons as proof of their copulation.

His orgasm painted her, ruining her for every other man. He’d never been so captivated by the idea of making a woman exclusively his to possess.

He moved inside of her until he was at last soft, slipping from between her thighs.

Alicia was nipping under his chin, not the least bit undone by their combined passion, not even a tad drowsy.

“How soon until you can go again?” she asked, mercilessly.

Chapter Text

The following months were halcyon and sun-filled, even on the rainiest of days.

Verso’s tenderness towards his new bride developed tenfold as they spent most of their time together. He kept her busy on adventures; him a wolf and her a girl, leaping through the woods dappled by afternoon sunlight or darkened by clouds rumbling with thunder. Monoco joined them as well, scrambling after his master’s much longer legs. Sometimes, the collie would give up entirely and merely trot along at his mistress’s side, unable to keep up any further.

As a man, Verso taught her to play the piano. Alicia responded by introducing him to her typewriter. Occasionally, he snuck around and stole her pens and pads of paper as well, so that he may compose for her.

The best days, though, were spent in the atelier. He would paint, and she would type. The walls were adorned with his artwork; the floor bespotted with hers as one sheet fell after another.

They made love almost every single day.

Some nights found them in the bath – his hand between her legs, the water sluicing over his wrist as he found that place inside her that made her fall apart. Others found her bent over the dining room table, the servants having been sent away for the evening. Verso’s trousers would be dropped around his ankles; Alicia’s evening dress hiked over the top of her back. His hands on her hips, the table trembling with every thrust, her cries echoing off the high ceiling.

He was an apt teacher when it came to the art of sex, and her a keen pupil.

They learned about each other, even beyond the physicality of their relationship: their wants, desires, interests.

A brilliant summer turned over into autumn, turning the outside world flat and gray. Inside the manor, though, came the heat of two people utterly smitten with each other.

Winter arrived as a black-and-white landscape. On the first day of full, good snow, Alicia dragged him from the comfort of their bed to stand ankle-deep in the stuff, shivering his balls off, while she frolicked with Monoco.

He did it without complaint. Verso’s heart was at peace for the first time in his life, all because of her.

This will not last, his mind warned his heart. But his heart did not care.

His worries vanished the moment he saw Alicia, giggling furiously, running towards him with her arms open. He caught her easily, permitting her to wrap her freezing hands around his neck and kiss him hotly on the mouth.

The time came for a visit from his friend Gustave. The winter had not been terribly harsh; though Verso still hunted some of their meals through the trees, the cook was still able to find food within the city to bring back home. And so one day Verso sent for Gustave as well as enough supplies for him to stay there for a little while. Gustave appeared at their doorstep a short time later, dressed to the nines, determined to make a good impression on his friend’s young bride.

Alicia’s boldness had the tendency to tuck itself away when it came to strangers. Verso kept one protective arm threaded into hers as she pressed into him, trying to hide.

Undeterred, Gustave held out his hand. Verso took it, even when Alicia didn’t.

“Mon dieu!” exclaimed the mage. “Behold, the loveliest girl in the world.”

“Don’t let Sophie hear you say that,” Verso laughed.

Gustave waggled a finger at him. “Ah, but my Sophie is the loveliest woman in the world.”

Verso could not help but grimace at his flippant comment. It was meant as a harmless joke, but the remark still stung. No doubt his friend had noticed the age gap, the shy way she refused to make eye contact, her insecure response to his presence. She was isolated, here in the middle of nowhere. It couldn’t have been easy for her to meet new people, especially at such a green age.

At some point, he realized, she must have turned seventeen. He had not even bothered asking her about it.

There were so many things he needed to remedy, before the season was out. Six months of living together, and he had not even shared their deepest secret with her, the one person who deserved to know above all.

They took Gustave for a walk through the gardens. With Alicia’s pruning and cultivation, the wilder parts of it had grown exponentially, overtaking their invasive cousins and flooding the area with flowers, even into mid-fall. Now, of course, everything was dormant, but Gustave wanted to use the excuse to closely examine his distraught friend. He knew from the way his teeth ground together, the manner in which he glanced towards Alicia and then away, that something black was eating away at his soul.

“And how soon until this little waif,” Gustave indicated the red-haired girl climbing across stone fencing, “is overrun with waifs of her own, hmm?”

Verso growled, a warning coming from low in his throat. Gustave had known him enough years to ignore him.

Alicia had turned, though, overhearing their conversation. She went to Verso’s side, eyes wide with questions. She affectionately intertwined their hands, getting braver the more time she spent with her husband’s dearest confidante.

He had specified in his letter, very deliberately, that her fecundity was of no concern to him. In all the times they talked, sometimes heated, sometimes quiet, opinions fired across the supper table like bullets, they never discussed having children.

He did not want them, necessarily, certainly not with all the complications they presented for women. He didn’t even know where to hire a nanny, for god’s sake.

In his assumptions and secrecy, however, he had failed to acknowledge Alicia’s desires. Does she even want them? He pictured a gaggle of infants, all bearing their eye color and his dark wavy locks. He supposed that would be all right, as long as they retained her cheerful personality, so that he might be made joyful by them every single day.

It was one more thing to add to their pile of “must-discusses.”

Later, he swore to himself, an oath made worthless by the man making it. Once Gustave has left. I shall talk to her.

Verso sweated under his friend’s intelligent gaze, mirroring Alicia’s.

Gustave wisely opted to change the conversation. “Good thing this place has a woman’s touch now,” he commented. “Sure did need it. Was starting to smell a bit gamey, what with it just being you and the dog.”

“Two dogs,” Alicia corrected him. Gustave spun to give her his full attention.

“You told her?” This question was lodged at Verso, who felt like a pinned insect.

He was proud of himself for answering nonchalantly. “She deserved to know.”

Gustave grinned at him. Verso wondered if he should tell Gustave everything, but ultimately decided against it. He had problems of his own, what with Sophie expecting their first child in only a few weeks’ time.

“How is Sophie doing?” he asked, as she was always an easy subject for them to discuss.

“She has succumbed to the whims of nest building,” Gustave remarked. “And is meticulously attempting to destroy our cottage at this very moment.”

Alicia chuckled despite herself. Gustave flashed a grin at her. Verso felt heartened by the way she overcame her insecurity.

“Verso,” Gustave gestured down at the girl. “Perhaps your bride is hungry. Do you ever feed her? She is so skinny.”

“He feeds me plenty,” she shot back, getting bolder. Gustave’s grin broadened at the innuendo. From there, Verso could tell, they were friends.

Her breakfast that morning had, in fact, consisted of eggs, bacon, tea with two sugars, and preserved fruit smeared onto rye toast. Her dessert had been his cock, her kneeling to accept him into her mouth. He choked on his coffee as she sucked at the tip. He finished down her throat with a cough and a shudder.

He ushered off to lunch with Monoco at her heels, stating that he and Gustave would join her later.

His friend rounded on him the moment she was out of earshot.

“Dessendre,” he hissed. “Was that the name she came with, or the one she married into?”

Verso had to swallow the pit in his stomach in order to provide the answer. “Both.”

“Ah.” Gustave’s gaze was trained on the snow-clad footsteps girl and hound had left behind, frowning.

“I had to get her out of there,” Verso tried to protest, but Gustave held up a hand.

“She’s just a child,” he pointed out. “What if she fell pregnant?”

“We have not yet made it that far into our conversations,” Verso replied stiffly.

The mage rolled his eyes. “You should bring it up. She deserves to know.”

“I realize that!” Verso snapped. Gustave gave him a pointed look that made him close his mouth.

“She brings so much happiness into my life.” He felt like he was at confession. “She’s just so kind, and endearing, and intelligent and spirited and-“

Gustave’s frown had vanished, his wise smile making itself known again. “And she chased away the lonely old ghost formerly known as Monsieur Verso Dessendre.”

“Stay in love with her,” Gustave advised. “She’s a good influence on you. You need someone like her to take care of you.”

He clasped his arm around his friend, and Verso willingly returned his embrace.

Chapter Text

Clea Dessendre was an animal caught in a trap.

She is the last of the true Painters; having received recent word that her next closest kind (beyond her forsaken siblings, whom she dared not speak about again) had fallen only a month earlier on the front lines.

Hers was generally a cold war, unable to afford the armies previously funded by her parents. Simon’s family helped when they could, but there was only so much aid they were able to provide.

And so Clea wrote letters, voted, attended protests. She sat and seethed as Writer after Writer took control of the world that her mother and father used to rule over.

She paces across her apartment floor, restless as always. The sale of the Dessendre home, her childhood home, was the final nail in the coffin. She needed to act, to do something beyond banal correspondence.

She needed an army, her pitiful kingdom for an army. She needed to stride valiantly onto the battlefield, to create a battalion of painted horrors to strike down her enemies. She hungered to restore her family’s name.

But to make Nevrons, she needed Canvases. For Canvases, she needed brushes, paints, and a mind not so overwhelmed by the thought of her own destruction.

For all of these things, sans her fragile mental state, she needed cash. That was something she and Simon sorely lacked in these days.

He was not a rich man; his family never had been. She had married him because of his status as a fellow Painter, never mind that he lacked her gift. She hoped he would someday plant his seed in her, so that her sheer might would carry over into the next generation.

Clea supposed she and her husband cared for each other, in their own distant sort of way. She made it clear from early on in their courtship that he was only to rut between her legs when she permitted it, which only occurred a handful of times per year. Beyond that, she allowed him to seek the flesh of another, something he took advantage of regularly.

Dozens of seasons before, when he was just Simon, and not Simon Dessendre, he had been close friends with Clea’s brother. They had played the games of boys: chasing schoolgirls with their ribboned legs, stealing pastries from the bakery, forgoing their studies.

That had been before the death of his in-laws, the birth of the squalling infant he was expected to help raise. And before the War, certainly.

Alicia was not a bad child by any means; she was just incredibly odd. Simon found himself staring openly at her when she was especially young, unable to believe the things that would come out of her mouth. She made no friends amongst her peers and had no hobbies to the best of his knowledge. She was just there. A presence in his and Clea’s lives. Shipping her off to a betrothal was the best decision they could have made for her.

Simon watched Clea as she moved across the floor. He offered a proposal; even knowing that she would have a fit over it.

“I know where you could get some money,” he said. “Your brother. Verso.”

Her expression was not as aghast as he had initially anticipated. “He’s the Great Black Wolf now.”

If Simon had been a more observant man, he may have noticed the way his wife’s lower lip trembled, a reflection of her anxiousness around the subject of his brother-in-law and former best friend.

“I could go with you,” he advised, thinking that she was miffed he was looking for excuses to get away from her.

“No. Stay with your whores.” He was better at reading her than he thought.

It would cost her, this single thing of which she was afraid. If anyone were to espy her seeking out her brother’s help, any enemy of a Painter, she would be eliminated. Killed, or, worse still, reduced to a worthless housewife living in a shitty flat on the outskirts of Lumiere.

Clea bit her fingernail; a trait Alicia shared with her. Next, she ran a hand over her face in exasperation (a trait she shared with Verso). Too many sleepless nights haunted her; she felt exhausted and frustrated.

She was desperate. Anyone with half a mind would recognize that.

At a loss, she gestured to her valise. Simon’s feet rested on it; he lifted his legs and pushed it towards her.

“I’ll leave on the morrow,” she told him.

She arrived in an empty hallway.

The coachmen greeted her and took away her horses to cool them off. The butler attempted to take her suitcase; she refused.

“Take me to my sister,” she snapped. Despite her vitriol, he complied.

Clea found them still at lunch. Alicia was sitting in Verso’s lap, picking food from his plate. She kept offering him bites; then squealing when he pretended to bite her fingers.

Clea nearly did not recognize the younger girl; she had filled out a good deal, the product of good nutrition and sufficient exercise.

Surprised but delighted, Alicia jumped down and made to embrace her older sibling. Clea rebuked her, turning away to glare sullenly at Verso. Noticing the tension, Alicia retreated, sitting down in her own chair without a sound.

Instead of hiding as she usually did, though, she remained upright in her seat, standing her ground against whatever storm Clea had decided to blow in with.

Verso looked over at his wife, impressed by her growing self-confidence. There was a determined patience in her expression that briefly transported him into the future. This is what her face will look like when she is older.

“What brings you to us?” He directed this question to Clea.

She was so apparently terrified of him. Alicia was shocked Verso could not see it.

“I need money.” Clea was never one to mince words. “I need an army.”

“Whatever for?” Verso placed his fork on his plate, abandoning the meal he’d been sharing with Alicia.

“We are at war, you fool,” Clea snapped. “In case you did not notice, the very same people who killed our parents are hunting down the rest of us!”

Verso was acutely aware of the shape of Alicia’s eyebrows. They had formed into a tight bunch the moment she heard the word “our.”

Clea please just go not now please I love her too much to say it please don’t-

“Yes,” he replied, struggling to remain calm. “I read the newspapers. But that is beyond my control.”

“That is a fucking lie, and you know it.” Clea’s outburst caused Alicia to flush, insulted and amazed by her sister’s coarse language.

“I have money, yes,” Verso agreed. “Probably enough to buy you a few Canvases. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Because you need your creepy little beasties to take down the Writers.”

“Yes,” Clea hissed. “I see that despite evidence to the contrary, not all of your senses have failed you.”

Verso ignored the jab and took a sip of his coffee. “I won’t do it. I will not help you.”

“But you are a Dessendre,” she fumed. “You could undo all of this, bring us back to where we once were!”

“Look around you, Clea.” Verso gestured towards the walls, towards Monoco napping at his feet, towards Alicia. “I’ve got everything I wanted. I already won. Take Simon and cut your losses. Here.”

At this, he pulled a handful of bills from his coat. “This should be enough to get you both somewhere outside of the city. Get a fresh start. You’ve got a mind for politics; see if you can’t worm your way into a chairman’s seat someplace. Somewhere that isn’t overrun with Writers.”

“But this is about our family-“

“No,” Verso corrected her. He laid his palm on Alicia’s shoulder. “My family is right here. Right inside these walls.”

Alicia looked at Clea silently, resignation in her features. The Alicia of yore would have offered to let her sister stay there; to argue that because they should remain together purely because they were kin.

But that child was very different from the not-quite-woman who sat before Clea now. The one was older, her gaze as sharp as glass. She looks like our mother, Clea realized. She looks precisely like Aline.

“I am sorry we cannot help you,” Alicia spoke softly. “But we are happy to enjoy your company for the evening.”

For the evening? Clea knew a dismissal when she saw one.

“You’re just going to let us all die?” she asked, astonished at being outmatched and outnumbered by her own siblings. We are the last of our kind!

“Not exactly,” Verso answered. “My offer still stands. Take the notes and flee. Simon’s a good man – he will follow you anywhere.” He and Alicia exchanged a knowing look, a private joke shared between them.

“I will not forsake our home, our lives,” Clea shot back. “Just because the two of you have decided to live as recluses in this desolate place!”

She ploughed on, a bull in a china shop. “I will not see our heritage go to ruin simply because you’ve found a place to shove your cock-“

“Enough.” Verso’s growled warning sounded closer to that of an animal than a person. Alicia frowned at him. She did not look afraid.

Clea, however, blanched. She stood stock-still in the center of the room, eyes round with trepidation.

“Do not talk to my wife like that,” he warned. “Or I will see you thrown from this house. The nights remain long, sister. Pray the wolves are kind to you once the sun sets.”

The threat caused Alicia’s eyebrows to shoot up. She glanced back to Clea to gauge her reaction.

Clea’s jaw was clenched, her face a mask of fury and terror.

“I will not be made a fool,” she declared. “I shall take my leave.”

She raised her hand as if to strike her brother down. “But remember this conversation, Monsieur Dessendre. Remember it as the worst mistake you will ever make.”

As she had six months earlier, during high summer, Clea spun on her heel and left hurriedly. The gate-door sounded with a bang; it was the only indication that she had ever been there.

Alicia was nonplussed. “She didn’t even stay for dinner.”

Verso felt infinitely more anxious than his wife. It’s time.

Once the housekeepers came to collect their abandoned dishes, Verso took Alicia up to a divan inside her drawing room. She almost never visited the place, but he wished to give her somewhere separate where she could have a bit of privacy, should she require it following their discussion.

“Alicia,” he began gently, “Do you recall your parents’ names?”

“Aline, yes,” she replied, and he nodded. “But Papa I do not.”

“They were-“ At this he had to swallow. “Aline and Renoir Dessendre.”

A heartbeat passed between them. Verso was petrified of touching her, though his hands yearned to reach out, to seek comfort from her.

“They were Aline and Renoir,” he started again. “Maman and Papa. Same as mine.”

“Oh,” was her initial response. Then she blinked away hot, unexpected tears.

“You are my brother,” she said carefully, connecting the dots inside her head. “And you knew? The whole time?”

He nodded, swiping at tears of his own. “I never should have lied to you,” he admitted. “I should have told you the moment I saw you. I didn’t, and I am ashamed. I am so sorry, Alicia, forgive me.”

She stood from the divan. He did not attempt to go to her, recognizing her need for space.

“I think I will take Monoco out for a walk,” was all she said. The collie, always pleased at the thought of a trip through the many paths twining around the area, jogged alongside his mistress, tail wagging a metronome as they left.

Chapter Text

Afternoon turned into dusk.

Dusk into evening.

Evening into full dark.

Verso paced anxiously from window to window, torn between looking for Alicia and giving her the time she needed to process everything. His thoughts somersaulted over each other, flooding him with new worry every time he focused one of them for too long.

What if she never comes back?

What if she never forgives me?

What have I done??

Should have said it, should have warned her-

What if something in that forest has gotten ahold of her and she cannot scream for help.

That last idea slammed the door to all his other thoughts, leaving itself alone inside his tormented mind. He could not stand it; this endless worrying that plagued him for the past several hours.

Finally, when the clouds overtook the moon and stars and left the outside world black as oil, he heard footsteps.

Verso’s heart leapt, then sank again just as quickly, when his coachman produced Monoco, who was unharmed but seemed distracted. He kept tugging on his collar, looking towards the open door, whining high in his throat.

“The lady of the house remains missing,” said the coachman. “How shall we proceed-“

Verso didn’t let him finish. He was already slipping a needle into a vein.

Leo, his most loyal of employees, had to hold Monoco back so that he did try to chase his master into the darkness.

This body did not show fatigue. Verso’s powerful strides were effortless as he scanned the trees, the ground, anything, for her scent.

It was somewhat scattered from the shifting temperature, but he found her trail quickly enough. He tracked her through an area he had walked with her dozens of times in the past; if nothing else, Alicia knew where she was.

If she’s still alive.

Spurred by his intrusive thoughts, he ran faster, galloping, detritus and small creatures and stones skittering out of his way. Her scent grew stronger, then stronger still, until…

“Verso?” She sounded so hopeful, and so fearful.

There were tears running down his muzzle and dripping onto the ground. Having paws prevented him from being able to wipe them away.

It did not matter. Alicia clambered down from a large tree, running to him.

Her arms went around his neck, burrowing herself into his fur. She swiped at his face, flicking his tears away while failing to address her own.

“I’m so sorry!” she wept. “I didn’t mean to frighten you! I just…I needed time to think and then time got away and it was dark and I couldn’t see and…and-“

He turned to lick her face. She let him, not minding at all that he was getting saliva all over her. Her hair was plastered to her forehead from it, but she merely closed her eyes and submitted to his frantic ministrations.

When he had consoled himself as well as her, she guided him over to a boulder so that she could sit down with his head in her lap. She stroked between his ears, him groaning and waving his tail like a flag.

“I had a few more hours to mull things over than I had anticipated,” she joked lightly. He looked up at her, balefully, nervous for her response.

“And the truth is that I was done being angry with you the moment I went outside. I forgive you, Verso.” She tapped his muzzle firmly; he closed his eyes against the well-earned reprimand. “But you should never lie to me. I’m smarter than you are - your sins will find you out. I’ll make sure of it.”

She continued to talk as she petted him. He huffed a sigh into her abdomen; she laughed at the ticklish sensation. “I understand that the circumstances around our marriage are less than ideal. I cannot pretend that it was a lot to take in. But I wish to stay.”

He whimpered, and she lifted his chin to scratch under it. “I love you, Verso Dessendre. I want to be with you, as your wife. Propriety be damned. Hell, species be damned!”

Oh, how he yearned for a voice again, to tell her how in love with her he had always been.

She chortled at her own jest. He responded by barking and nosing at her ribs, raising a shriek from her throat.

“You brute!” She cackled, not at all phased. “Here, let’s go home.”

She intended to walk, using his pelt to help traverse the moonless night. But he butted his skull against her hip until she got the message. She sat astride him, reflexively wrapping her legs around his midsection.

He made sure her seat was secure before taking off. He did not maintain as fast a pace as he had when searching for her; not wanting her to fall off and get injured. But his legs carried them gracefully back towards home, her body accustomed to the jerking motions of riding horses.

Verso slowed when they saw candlelight pouring in through the manor’s windows, trotting jovially through the gate. He became aware of her outfit, now that he could see more clearly: a lightweight dress and wool stockings, utterly inappropriate for the late-winter cold. He was also aware - and trying to ignore - the way her warm center rubbed against his spine. Sex was the farthest thing from his mind; besides, he didn’t want to ruin this moment. He wished to preserve it forever in his wild heart.

Maria, the housekeeper, and Leo, his coachman, greeted Alicia’s return with the jubilation it deserved.

“My lady, your dress-!”

“Madame, please, you’ll catch your death out there-“

“Oh, but your little dog missed you horribly!”

Verso was the leader of this house, the figurehead, the man (and wolf) whom everyone bowed down to. But it was obvious whom his servants truly respected and loved.

He was the lord, but Alicia was the matriarch.

After, when she was stripped shivering of her clothes made damp by the journey, Alicia crawled into bed and clung to his ruff needily. She kissed him until her eyes grew too heavy to stay open. He placed a forepaw onto her chest; she responded by wriggling until she was half-underneath him, his weight providing the same warmth and reassurance it always had.

The rise and fall of her sleeping breaths lulled him into shutting his eyes. She was safe, she was with him, she was never leaving him again.

Chapter Text

Somewhere before dawn, Verso began to drift half-in, half-out of the realm of sleep. He fumbled for Alicia in the dark, his paws kicking. His feet found poor Monoco instead, causing the collie to sulk away to a more peaceful room. His eyes flew open when he finally noticed their bed was empty.

He saw a note pinned to her pillow.

He couldn’t read it in his current form – he could read the letters just fine, but her handwriting was cramped and crooked and his lupine eyesight could not pick up on minute details.

He sniffed it instead. She had sprayed it lightly with perfume.

He growled, though there was no one around to hear it. He deftly removed the pin, spitting it out so that it rolled underneath the nightstand. Then he grabbed the paper with his teeth and shook it in frustration, tearing it to shreds.

There was nothing else for it. Verso was going hunting again.

He crept through the house, nose to the floor. The curtains were drawn in every room, to preserve the well-deserved rest of the manor’s inhabitants. He navigated purely by smell, his heart thundering angrily when he discovered that Alicia had, yet again, escaped into the forest.

I’ve only just rescued her from the woods, and now she wants to go back?

A starless sky greeted him as he loped, a frustrated howl rising from his throat. There was no doubt she could hear him; he hoped it would be enough to bring her running back.

She had left the most obvious trail in the world, but it was inconsistent. Her perfume wafted off of her and clung to logs and boulders, all things he swiftly sailed over.

Then he began to find clothing.

As he had with the note, he seized the first article in his mouth, shaking it. She would be upset by the destruction of her favorite blouse. He did not particularly care at that moment.

He thanked the sky above him that he picked up no other scent beyond her own. Should another predator (a real one, who did not need to rely on the flesh of a man) find her before he could, Verso did not know what he would do. He would be rendered too distraught beyond the simply act of removing whatever threat had befallen her.

Her trousers appeared next. Verso gave them a brief sniff, realizing that in addition to the regular smells of her perfume and soap and overall Alicia-ness, there was something else, something he recognized but had no clear name for. It was much more primal than her usual batch of girl-smells.

Next he stumbled across her boots. He trotted past them, not bothering to use them as a guide. Her stockings were harder to ignore – he picked up one in his mouth and, not understanding why, carried it with him for several minutes before dropping it again.

He was puzzled by her reasons for doing this. It was as though she had stripped herself naked and left herself defenseless in the woods for him to pursue her.

It took him another mile, but eventually, that was precisely what he did.

He knew her beauty more than anything else that lived amongst the trees. She was sitting calmly in the middle of a clearing, her knees drawn up beneath her. Verso raised his muzzle, nostrils flaring. She was nude, and again he picked up that underlying scent, that unknowable thing that caused his loins to stir.

Arousal. The chase had been part of the fun for her.

She was resting on a picnic blanket (no doubt pilfered from a storage closet, much to the chagrin of the housekeepers). The clearing was large, but well-protected from the last of the early-spring snows. The ground felt slightly warm beneath his paws; no doubt they were in for a thaw soon. Birdsong rang out all around them. The light was starting to turn into the blue-gray of dawn; making it easier for him to see her beckoning hand, welcoming him.

“Hi,” she greeted softly.

He panted, feeling his heart pounding once more. Bashfully, he pretended to sniff his way over to her until he found himself at her feet.

She leaned down to pat him. He rolled over with a grumble, exposing his belly, submitting to her whims.

For a few moments, there were only the sounds of the birds calling to their mates up above, the scritch-scritch of Alicia running her nails through his fur, and the sigh of a gentle breeze chasing the clouds away, letting in the sun.

Verso closed his eyes, tipping his head back. Whatever his expression in this upside-down position, it made Alicia giggle appreciatively.

He began to notice that her hands kept dipping lower with each pass, traveling over his belly, nearly reaching his sheath.

He opened his eyes, looking up at her bemusedly.

“Is this okay?” she asked.

He was not hard, his cock remained shyly tucked away, but there was little doubt he was getting there.

By way of response, he wiggled so that he could carefully love-bite one of her calves. She sighed, as though loving him were such a burden, but she was grinning as she observed him becoming more visibly excited by her attentions.

His cock emerged, pink and tapered, already producing a slight bead of pre-come. Alicia reached down to grasp it with trembling fingers. He whimpered and flinched, and she shied back, uncertain.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “It’s all right if you don’t want to.”

But he was already rolling over, nuzzling and soothing her by licking her bare thighs.

“Okay,” she whispered, tone shrill and anxious. “Okay. I can do this, we can do this.”

It wasn’t like her to be this unsure. Verso sat on his haunches, waiting patiently. He suspected she needed encouragement, but he left it up to her to make the first move.

He leaned over to nose her legs until they spread open for him. He used his broad tongue to lap at her calves and thighs, the muscles pulsing at his touch. His hearing was nearly as good as his sense of smell, and he heard her heart racing through her veins.

When he dipped his muzzle to her dripping center, she tugged at his fur, grasping him tightly.

He looked back up at her, just to check in and make sure she was ready.

“Verso,” she whimpered. “Please.”

He had spent months between her legs; he knew precisely what to do, what would please her. He licked at her thirstily, tongue sliding over her clit, her vulva, her anus. When he slipped his tongue into her folds, she squealed, shoving his muzzle in farther. His teeth grazed her; she nearly screamed.

She came only a short while later, but he continued lapping, unable to hold back against her scent or taste.

At last, she shoved him away, affectionately grabbing his muzzle with her hands and shaking it back and forth. He growled; half-joking, half-serious, his cock swollen and eager to claim her.

He let her catch her breath, resting his head dreamily on her stomach. She played with his ears, bending them this way and that, flicking the tips with her fingers. He remained hard, and tried to ignore it in favor of her sweetly fiddling with his ears. He shut his eyes against his own discomfort.

Her voice interrupted his thoughts. “I’m ready,” she told him.

He rose back up onto his back paws to give her sufficient space to position herself. He watched, entranced, as she flipped over and got onto her hands and knees.

He panted hotly, drooling uncontrollably at the sight of her still-wet cunt right in front of him. He had never taken any woman in this way. Nothing came even remotely close to the burst of carnal tenderness he felt for her in that moment.

And so he was predictably hesitant, timidly laying his head on her lower back, huffing as he tried to figure out the mechanics of the whole thing.

It took several attempts – her pressing her backside into him, him mounting and then losing his confidence at the last minute.

At last, something clicked inside his brain. He gripped her with his forepaws, using his back ones for balance so that he could drape some of his weight on her hips without the risk of hurting her.

Again, another false start occurred when his cock bumped into her. She keened hungrily; in turn, he grumbled at his own foolishness. His hips pumped, length finally sliding home.

Alicia moaned, the fullness of him made exponentially more pleasureful by their current position. Verso licked the back of her neck to soothe her.

“It’s big,” she whined. He grinned with wolfish pride, though she could not see him do it.

He thrusted, having to hold on when his movement proved too intense and forced her into sliding down onto her elbows instead. His size eclipsed her, making it difficult for her to stay on her hands.

Verso’s teeth sought her shoulder, digging his fangs into her as carefully as he could, grabbing without truly biting down. All the while, she mumbled incoherently, lost to the pleasure he was giving her.

Towards the end of things, upon her second orgasm, her knees started to fail. She left her ass in the air, her body limp and accepting his animalistic thrusting without complaint. He was greedy, roughly and possessively pumping into her. Her spine arched into his chest; he did not slow his pace. Her climax obviously pleased him, a sign that he was virile and strong.

His own orgasm approached, and they both realized this was going to be a different experience from their usual lovemaking. The base of his cock swelled, filling her, plugging her.

“Verso?” There was a question mark in her voice.

He didn’t have an answer. He simply nibbled the shell of her ear and wagged his tail, hoping to reassure her.

She was mostly lying down now, clenching around his length stuck fast inside her. He went with her, lying fully onto her back. Any attempts to pull away resulted in pain for them both, and so they surrendered to this odd turn of events.

The first wave left them both gasping in shock. Hot spend coated her walls, marking her as his. There was so much of it; she didn’t think he had ever produced that much in the past.

Alicia moaned, breathily. When it happened the second time, her cry was bitten off.

This proceeded at regular intervals for the next half hour. One orgasm after another, equal in their intensity but growing less surprising.

His knot went down as the sun came up. Verso lifted himself free of her, the separation messy but not painful.

She was left sore and limping, unable to even stand. As he had the night before, he tucked his head underneath her so that she could climb onto his back.

“My clothes,” she began, but he shook his head. She was so worn; he was terrified he had hurt her.

The staff were polite enough to turn away when they witnessed their utterly nude lady be brought inside the house by her lupine suitor. He deposited her into her own bedroom, too ashamed to bring her to their marital bed. The blankets were a tad musty from underuse; but were otherwise clean and warm.

She was going to hate him for an eternity once she woke up. He felt certain of her anger; he was too much for her, the bestial act too perverse and horrible for her to forgive him. He curled up on the floor, hiding his face shamefully in his massive tail. He slept fitfully, waking several times to make sure she was alright.

She ended up sleeping for around twelve hours. They had missed dinner; Verso turned away the offer of food until he knew she was awake again.

Her voice came quietly with the approaching sunset. “Verso?” she asked, not understanding where she was.

He lifted his head and laid it on the quilt. He waited for her to rebuke him, to scold him, to hate him. His nostrils worked, trying to guess her mood through scent alone.

There came that smell again, that animal excitation stemming from her alone.

“That was an excellent birthday present,” she said. “Thank you.”

He blinked, staring first at the apex of her hips, then back to her face.

“Next time,” she told him. “Remind me to bring a pillow for my knees.”

Chapter Text

Dogfucker.

It was all Clea heard about in the streets these days. Making things worse were the comments, tossed at her snidely during meetings and protests.

“I heard you sold your sister to a kennel?”

“Pity those half-breed pups that poor girl would be forced to carry!”

“He must have savaged her by now, surely!”

It was endless. Clea would grit her teeth and either ignore the jabs or otherwise state that she didn’t know what they were talking about. Her detractors were more persistent, using her actions against her to poison her reputation on the political circuit.

“Could have picked a better betrothal for her, at least.”

“You couldn’t find someone better received?”

“You allowed this to happen?”

It was more than she could take. Clea grew edgier each day, wearing away the floorboards in her and Simon’s flat with her worn shoes.

She was disgraced. Their entire family was disgraced, all because of this War and her idiotic decision to get her younger sister out of her hair.

Her one shining victory, attenuated though it may be, was her recent list of purchases. A handful of Canvases sat, blank and willing, against the northern wall of the apartment. At their feet rested piles of paint pots and brushes.

Simon eyed them with suspicion, unsure of what to make of their image against the always-empty pantry. His stomach rumbled, today would bring another meal missed. He did not even bother sleeping there anymore; there was no point, not if she wasn’t planning on joining him. He couldn't begrudge his wife her determination, it was one of the things that initially drew him to her. He just wished she would let the whole matter drop and run away with him, somewhere along the coast, closer to his family.

Clea was not hungry. Was not tired. Could not think of anything beyond the simple pleasure of brushstrokes, of colors swirling together on the fabric. It was almost as though she were a child again, her mother’s firm tutelage keeping her lines straight and her subject matter realistic. Her brushes were well-used and dependable. Tubes of chromatic oil escaped their wells and ran down the front of her smock as she worked.

She used every ounce of power she had to craft her Nevrons.

A forgiving winter progressed into a humid spring. Flowers jumped up along the city walkways earlier than usual; trees bloomed under the hot sun. Outside, the denizens of Lumiere enjoyed the sudden lapse from winter to summer. Inside their abode, however, things remained as bleak as January.

Simon returned home only two other times. The first, he watched her Paint in a disinterested way, observing the horrors straining against the confines of their Canvases, ready to be birthed into this dark life.

The second time, he opened the door to the apartment into an eerie silence. There was a single candle lit next to the final Canvas, the final creature leaning against its prison, preparing to fight for its mother.

Clea was sitting across from it on a stool, watching the way the outline of its forelimb stretched out the fabric.

At the sound of Simon’s footsteps, she called to him.

“It’s time,” she said. “For the world to recall the name Dessendre. For it to remember how formidable that name can be.”

And it would begin with the death of a devil.

Chapter Text

There was a smell like woodsmoke, not terribly unusual for this time of year. But then there was the persistent knocking, firm and rhythmic on the bedroom door. Alicia rolled and sat up; something felt off.

Then she saw the dent in the sheets beside her, Verso’s empty shape left behind without him. And she knew something was wrong.

No note explaining his disappearance, not sweet kisses in the morning with a whispered mumble about where he was headed. Nothing, beyond that insistent knocking. It sounded like someone was trying to break the door down.

Alicia bravely went to the door, jerking backwards at each thump of whatever was on the other side. She tested the handle, calling out a cautious, “Hello?” The door was locked from the outside. Verso would have the key.

Something made a scuffling noise at the sound of her voice. Something shrieked, a sonorous echo that made her clap her hands over her ears. Then she heard a more distant thud, away from the door, followed by a moan of pain.

She had to leap away when something pierced the barrier of the door, a club or sharp stick tapered to a point. The tool was obviously meant to bludgeon rather than stab, and it was doing a fine job of digging a hole through the lower half of the door.

Quickly and quietly, Alicia made her way into the bathroom. She dug into the linen closet, worming her way through the heaps of towels and gripping the door with both hands. With any luck, whatever was after her did not see her leaving.

The bathroom door had no lock on it. She left it open deliberately, praying the creature would check underneath the bed or in the wardrobe first.

She cowered inside the closet, holding her breath. Verso, where are you? Suddenly and desperately, she missed his overprotective nature.

Her attacker had destroyed the door now, and she heard it climbing over the fallen boards as it entered. She could just see through the crack in the closet door as something worked its way through the bedroom.

It walked on four stilt-like lances, the very things it had used to break the door down. The tips made a clacking sound against the floor. A veil of some kind was draped over its face; Alicia assumed it was not able to see clearly. How wrong she was.

Its shrouded head dipped to peer beneath the mattress, then punctured the middle of the wardrobe, not interested in anything other than ruination.

She saw it cock its head, considering. Then it moved into the bathroom.

She willed herself to stay calm as she thought of an escape plan. What was it Verso had told her about her private bedroom?

You’ll be the only one with a key. That conversation seemed like an eternity ago.

The door to her and Verso’s room was made of maple. It was more cheaply built than the one used for her own room. That door had been constructed from solid oak, fortified to withstand the amorous intentions of a wolf determined to get at his defenseless bride. It had a lot less give, and would be a better place to hide until she figured out a plan.

Alicia had shoved her chatelaine into her nightstand months prior, abandoning it. To the best of her knowledge, it was still sitting there, waiting.

There were an agonizing few seconds when the creature looked into the claw-footed tub, still searching for its prey. She nearly lost her nerve, willing her leg muscles to cooperate as she burst from the closet and sprinted away. She scrambled for her nightstand drawer, wrenching it open and grabbing her keyring, climbing onto and over the bedframe.

She panicked when her shoulder struck the doorjamb, pain shooting down her arm. She ignored it as she jumped over the broken bedroom door. She heard the monster chase after her, the tak tak tak sound of its four legs echoing down the hall. She registered that there was blood all around her, and most of the doors were thrown open or removed entirely.

Then she began to notice the bodies.

Verso had a dozen staff working under him. Leo, their coachman, three grooms, a cook, a butler, four housekeepers, and two nightwatchmen.

Alicia counted four bodies to start with – one of the nightwatchmen and three of the maids. She bit back a sob, shutting her eyes against her own terror. She could not hear the horrible thing still tailing her, but she knew it must still be behind her somewhere.

She could have wept when her skeleton key slid home into the lock on her drawing room. She nearly fell inside, shutting the door and locking it with shaking hands. Her quarters had been designed with a young lady’s interests in mind – pink pastel curtains, gold filigree wallpaper, a vanity waiting patiently for her to crowd it with cosmetics. It was cute, and Verso’s heart had no doubt been in the right place. When she had first seen it, though, she’d loathed it, finding his decoration choices vaguely insulting.

Now, though, it reminded her of him, and she missed him ferociously.

She allowed herself to cry, using the hem of her nightgown (technically, an old shirt of his that was not quite ready to join the rag pile) to wipe away her tears.

She heard another series of thuds, coming from the hallway again. No doubt it was the creature trying to locate her again. Her tears ceased immediately, and she let out a shaky, soft breath. When it left her alone once more, Alicia sank to her knees, pressing the heels of her palms into her face in anguish.

“Verso,” she whimpered, but he was nowhere to be found.

Simon slid wearily from his gelding’s back, his legs sore and wobbly from long days spent in the saddle.

“Kill the wolf and his bitchling,” said his wife the moment she spotted him. Then she paused, considering. “And their pups, too, if you see any.”

Clea seemed valiant and fearless, striding through the villa’s doors like hell’s own option. Her army of Nevrons marched ahead of her, Chevaliers and Danseuse and Echassier all scuttling and gliding through the house. They attacked anything they came across, regardless if it were fighting or fleeing them.

The Crulers had arrived first to batter the gate. Next came the Troubadours to frighten people out of hiding. Behind them were the Lanceliers, waiting like a pack of lions to pounce on them as they ran.

Clea’s horde had dispatched six servants already; removing heads, disemboweling bodies, and snapping spinal cords. Anyone who tried running towards Clea – whether it be to attack her or otherwise make their escape through the now-opened gate - met the open and salivating maw of her favorite creation, the Bourgeon. It gave Simon the creeps even just to look at it. The colossus was slate gray in color and nearly the same height as the manor itself.

Simon could not fault his wife for being angry at her brother and sister. They had done this to her; leading to all those speculative rumors that she had been trying to cover up for months. Their taboo tryst had broken her mind, perhaps permanently.

But this was a siege, an ambush. Simon was not sure if he wanted to join her in this lunatic’s crusade.

But who was he to try and stop her? One misspoken word, one minor offense, and he’d only find himself on the receiving end of a Veilleur’s cudgel.

Chapter Text

He didn’t understand what was happening.

Verso opened his door to answer Maria’s frantic knocking.

“Some sort of pest?” she asked him, as though he knew. When he looked down at her, confused, she continued. “There’s a fire in the atelier.”

“Fuck,” he replied savagely.

“There’s also a woman downstairs, Monsieur. I don’t know-“

“Let me look,” he told her. “I’ll be right there.”

What could have gotten in? He’d have to address the fire before he could greet his unannounced visitor. Maybe it’s Sophie? No, she just had the baby a few weeks ago…

He went to the bed and gave Alicia’s cheek a parting kiss. She was sound asleep. “I’ll be back soon, darling,” he promised her.

He joined Maria in the hall, locking the door behind himself so Alicia did not mistakenly open it and breathe in the smoke. The air seemed fine here; but the atelier was the next floor above them. No doubt the fire would soon spread. He could already make out the vague smokiness in the air as it worked its way to this part of the house.

Maria opened her mouth to speak again, but something green and glowing rose from the floor and struck her. It went straight through the middle of her body; she landed dead at Verso’s feet. A mist of blood spattered onto his legs.

He did not have the time to feel shocked. Something close by launched a bevy of sparks right next to his face, and he was forced to leave Maria’s corpse behind and run.

He saw flames as he drew closer to the staircase. He removed his shirt, trying to beat down some of the flames, but his efforts proved fruitless against the intense heat and smoke. Crouching down, he turned and made his way back to the bedroom. He had to get Alicia and whoever else he could find out of there.

A shadow appeared at the other end of the hall. Something enormous, almost too big for the passageway, began lumbering towards him.

His rapier was most likely around somewhere, but for the life of him he could not recall where he had last placed it. Had Alicia borrowed it for a fencing lesson? If so, that meant it was downstairs, utterly useless to them both.

Before him stood a horse, though that description was not precisely correct. Horse was the first image his pattern-seeking brain gave to him; but this was anything but a good-natured grass-eating beast of burden.

It was black, with a pupil-like orb in the center of what would have been its spine. Its equid face had been twisted into two separate halves; its legs were delicate-looking twigs. It was a mass of corrupted flesh. It cantered towards him, catching up to him in three big strides.

Verso barely had enough time to find a vein. Please please please, he begged.

He threw himself at the creature. His jaws found the lower section of what he imagined was its muzzle. He tore into it, half-expecting it to be incapable of feeling any pain.

To his grim satisfaction, it tried backing away, striking at him with its hooves. It missed several times, unable to rid itself of the flesh-and-blood animal that clung to it.

It reared and flipped over backwards. Then it contorted itself upright and broke into a frenzied gallop, Verso still attached. He dared not let go for fear of being trampled.

His only thought was of Alicia.

Stay where you are, he silently begged her.

Clea had all the patience in the world when she believed she was getting what she wanted.

She watched serenely as a Chevalier struck a man down with its sword. It picked up the still-writhing body, examining it in a curious sort of way. Its expression was strangely reflective of her own. Then it pressed its foot on the corpse’s back and tugged its weapon free.

Clea made a face when she smelled the body’s intestines rupture. No matter, she thought. This will be over and done with soon enough.

Where was Simon? She had not seen him since the breech. She hoped he’d found Alicia, if only so that he could dispose of her first. Verso might prove too much for him to manage without her assistance. He tended to get emotional if he believed what he was doing was wrong.

She calmly laid her preferred tools of the trade out onto the dining table. Her blunderbuss and her cutlass – both of them bequeathed to her by Renoir in his will – lay beside each other like a litter of kittens, waiting to be wielded by her expert hand.

She saw two of her Danseuse collapse suddenly, turning to stone the moment her life force left them. They’d been struck repeatedly by bullets from a nightwatchman’s revolver.

“Merde.” She gritted her teeth and grabbed her smallsword. It would take the guard a few moments to reload; but her saber did not need any bullets.

This was only a setback. Two erased horrors did not a victory make.

She would win this battle, no matter the cost.

Chapter Text

It took every ounce of willpower Alicia had to step back out into that hallway.

It was silent in the corridor. Screwing her courage to the sticking place, she dared a glance around the edge of the doorframe:

Nothing. No one. There was only broken furniture, candles knocked askew, and a great deal of blood.

There was also smoke, thankfully above her head. She crouched down, wisely avoiding as much of it as she could. Her bigger concern was the stillness; all had been chaos only a short time ago.

She had to crawl through blood and viscera to reach the end of the hall. She was made sick at the sight of it, her gorge rising as she felt the way it wicked into her stockinged feet.

She spotted Verso’s clothing sitting in a disarrayed pile not far from where she’d been hiding. She hadn’t noticed it at first, too caught up in her own terror.

Alicia also found a lonely, empty syringe sitting next to the pile. A quick investigation of Verso’s pockets procured one of its twins, filled with the transparent liquid guaranteed to turn one into a lycanthrope. For reasons she did not entirely grasp, she slipped the needle into her shirt pocket.

The end of the corridor revealed a stash of dead monsters, frozen and stonelike. There were others scattered on the stairwell; it took her a long time to climb over them. Some were missing limbs; others were decapitated or seemed to have just fallen down dead for one reason or another.

She found Leo at the bottom of the stairs. He was only half a man now, his legs nowhere to be seen.

Next, she made to round a corner, then flinched back when she heard a scream. She assumed it to be one of the still-living horrors; reflexively, she cowered next to one of its fallen brethren.

It was one of the maids. Body aflame, she sprinted past Alicia without sparing her a glance, fire licking at her dress. The flames spread faster; she was a woman-shaped torch.

Too alarmed and shell-shocked by the events of the day, Alicia did not even bother trying to help her. She merely continued on her journey, quietly treading through the rest of the house as though she were going on an afternoon stroll.

She passed through a few more passageways, only pausing again when she heard growling.

It’s Monoco, she realized. He faced away from her, teeth bared, hackles raised against an unseen threat. She had been living with the little collie for almost a full year; in all that time, she had never heard him growl or snap his teeth at anyone.

She approached, resting her palm on his head. He glanced up at her, moving to place a protective paw on her foot, to prevent her from getting any closer.

A man sat in the corner, his legs drawn up defensively around himself.

“Simon?” she began. “What-“

She noticed that he was applying pressure to the socket of his left arm with his right hand.

“Did Monoco do that to you?” she asked. At the sound of his name, Monoco wagged his tail a single time, then resumed his endless snarling. His teeth clicked together as he snapped his jaws, making Simon flinch.

“Run, girl,” Simon told her, hissing with pain. Blood was seeping from the hole where his arm had been. His eyes kept shutting, his head dipping to his chest before raising it again.

“Run,” he whispered once more. “Get away.”

Brutally, she answered, “This was a stupid thing to die for.”

Simon seemed resigned. He only stared at her in a defeated sort of way.

Monoco only ceased growling when the man’s eyes slid closed and his body went utterly still.

Alicia almost went to Simon’s corpse, to lay her hand on his wrist and check his pulse. But then she heard another distinctive canine snarl, one she knew by heart.

“Verso!” she gasped, and Monoco spun to follow her.

She found him in the foyer. There were dead things all around them, almost in a circle. Some had been people, once. Now they seemed like half-formed gobbets of meat. Others were the petrified remains of those unknown creatures.

Clea was there, too, her sword slashing at Verso’s ribs and throat. He kept his lupine head lowered, only striking out with his teeth when he saw an opening. It became immediately apparent that both wolf and woman were tiring; they must have been at this battle for quite a while.

His teeth sought out her weak points. Clea was no fool, however – if he drew too close, her blade swung at him, missing the target but getting her point across. Alicia saw her hit him once, across the ribs. Bright, hot blood dripped from his side, forcing him to retreat.

In their sister’s other hand, Alicia realized, was a gun.

“Clea!” she cried. “Stop this!”

Her sister ignored her, raising the barrel of her weapon and aiming it at Verso’s head. His back paws dragged; his front ones carried him out of her direct line of fire. He was a big target, easy to hit, but at least he was a moving one.

“What are you doing?” Alicia wailed. She vaulted down the stairs. Monoco ran ahead, leaping ferociously towards a jar-shaped monstrosity wielding a glowing staff. He kept it a bay as his mistress confronted her sister.

“This is for us, you infant,” Clea shouted. “You will not bring down our family name with your incestuous whoring!”

She cocked her handgun, pulling back the hammer. “I will bring glory back to us.” It sounded as though she were talking more to herself rather than anyone else.

She pulled the trigger. A lead ball ricocheted out the barrel, hitting Verso in the chest. There was a large splash of blood. Then he went down onto his side, motionless.

Alicia could have said any number of things then. She could have told her sister that love was not a burden, that it could change you for the better. That things would be all right, that Clea could be forgiven, if she would just listen…

Her sister was gone, Alicia realized. Only this threat remained, who had taken it upon herself to attack that of which Alicia loved most.

This was her home. Her family. Her mate.

This woman was an unwelcome intruder.

The smoke drifted gradually into the entryway. Within minutes, neither of them would be able to breathe.

The smell of it carried Alicia back fourteen years. Her memory of the night of the fire was dim; but what she did remember came back to her with perfect clarity: her chubby starfish-shaped hands reaching for Verso, her voice hoarse from crying out to him. She recalled the heat of the fire on her face, just as she felt it across her back here in the present.

She did not know if Verso was alive or dead. What she did know was that Clea did not do things in half measures. She would continue to shoot until both Alicia and their brother matched the gore-covered floor beneath them.

It would take a few moments to reload her weapon. She was not paying attention.

Alicia’s hand found the syringe, uncapped the needle, located an accepting vein.

The agony of the shift was over faster than she expected. Arms begat forepaws, her spine elongated into a tail. Alicia Dessendre was transformed into an animal of eyes and jaws and teeth.

Her tawny paws were quiet on the blood-soaked ground. She dropped down onto her slender legs and crept forward, ears pricked. She was a huntress.

Clea did not notice the red-brown wolf until it was upon her.

Alicia jumped on her, teeth grinding into the flesh of her wrist. She felt the bone snap and heard the thud of the blunderbuss falling to the floor.

Her sister tried to move away. Alicia persisted, fangs seeking out her fragile hamstrings next. Clea cried out, stumbling away. She tried to push herself backwards, heels digging in frantically.

Her tendons were naught but ripped marionette strings, rendered useless by Alicia’s blood-wet mouth.

Alicia meant to pounce onto her back, to crush Clea’s skull with her strong jaw muscles.

But something stood right in front of the open doorway, dripping saliva onto the façade. It peered into the room. Alicia’s fur stood on end across her back, warning her to steer clear of whatever it was. Her teeth pulled back over her lips, but the thing did not seem to notice her presence.

Clea was making a pained retreat towards the creature. Alicia expected it to obey the older woman's will, to perhaps even scoop her into its arms and carry her to safety.

But when she reached the stones at the front of the house, its mouth bent down over her body. Tender as a kiss, it leaned in and swallowed her whole.

Horrified, Alicia tucked her tail and willed her trembling body not to move. She was terrified to discover it had been gripping the foyer doorframe with long, gray fingers.

The massive thing that had consumed her sister turned away, vanishing into the forest, its ashen flesh rapidly obscured by the smoke.

The newspapers the next day reported a terrific disruption in the middle of the night. Multiple witnesses spied a small wolf, quick as lightning with chestnut limbs, springing through the city streets. Upon reaching one resident’s door, the wolf began to howl crazily. Its cries seemed strangely human in their timbre. The sound set everyone on edge, waking up half of Lumiere. The animal did not cease until said door opened and a man appeared to speak to it.

When the wolf turned and ran away, back into the woods, the man went with it, scarcely able to keep up the pace. He had a bag in his hand, some reported, and seemed quite worried. Others denied the claim, stating that he was just a drunken fool out chasing the family dog after it had gotten loose.