yellowhorde (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
yellowhorde) wrote2008-02-01 09:19 pm
yellowhorde) wrote2008-02-01 09:19 pm
(fic) The Hunted 8/?
Disclaimer: I don’t own Petshop of Horrors and I make no money from this or any other fanfic I write.
Pairing: Leon x D
Category: Supernatural/Alternate Universe
Rating: R
Warning: Violence, Language, Sexual Situations and Hermaphrodite!D
Title: The Hunted
Author: yellowhorde
Notes: This was written for NaNoWriMo 2007
Leon jerked upright, sweat drenched sheets pooling around his waist. His heart thundered in his chest and his breath tore from his throat in strangled gasps. He could still hear the screams ringing in his ears and smell the copper penny stench of blood. But the screams were only in his head and the blood was from the small crescent moon cuts in the palm of his hands from where his fingernails had bitten deep. Slowly he unclenched his fists and tried to think clearly. Had he screamed? A quick glance at the sleeping figure at his side reassured him that he had not. D lay beside him, undisturbed, his deep and rhythmic breathing the only sound in the darkened room.
“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled thickly and was dismayed at the way his voice trembled. All of the spit had dried in his mouth and his heart pounded in his ears in rhythm to the monstrous pain that thundered behind his eyes. “What the fuck was that all about?”
Being careful not to disturb the sleeping D, he pushed back the covers and swung his feet to the floor. He then padded naked to the bathroom, flipped on the light, and shut the door. Turning the cold water spigot, he leaned over the sink, cupped his hands under the flow and splashed the water over his face. The shock of it cleared away any lingering traces of sleep and helped clear his head a little.
Frustrated, he glared at his own reflection, not liking what he saw. His face was pale, pupils dilated. Water clung in droplets to his lashes like tears. Only he wasn’t crying, he was terrified, his body trapped in the “flight or fight” response. And it was all because of those fucking nightmares!
“Damn it, I’m not a little kid anymore,” he growled, running his wet hands through his hair, “I’m too old for this shit!”
Since the attack when he was seven years old, Leon had been no stranger to nightmares. Growing up, they had stalked his sleep for years, especially on those nights when the full moon glared down upon the world. He had heard the stories, read every bit of werewolf lore he could lay his hands on. His mother hadn’t necessarily approved of his new taste in literature, but she seemed to understand his need to know.
By all accounts he should have died that night. But by some miracle, he had survived. By rights he should have been transformed into a violent, blood-thirsty animal on the first moon after the attack. He had waited for that first full moon in an agony of fear and dread. But nothing happened. No fur sprouted from his body, no fangs erupted from his jaws.
The doctors had all scratched their heads in sheer amazement. All kinds of tests, blood work, brain scans, the works, had been run and then re-run. Month after month passed and the terror that gripped him and his mother slowly receded with the successful passing of each full moon. Receded, but never completely dissipated. His mother never fully recovered from the fright of the experience and became a little bit overprotective of her only child, smothering him in motherly love and concern warped by paranoia. She could be quite smothering at times.
Leon, well, he grew and thrived like any other child his age would, he laughed, played sports, made friends, and, when he reached puberty, chased girls. To the casual observer he appeared to be completely normal. And for the most part that was true… but he had his own scars to remember the terrifying experience, and not all of them were visible on the outside.
Nightmares had been the standard of his post-traumatic youth. On countless nights he would jolt awake, drenched in sweat and the stench of unadulterated terror, one fist crammed against his mouth to keep back the screams. In those dreams he fled the moon, hiding in the shadows to escape its pursuit. But wherever he ran, the moon followed. Nothing could stop it, no walls or roofs deflect its hideous glow. The beams would find him… strike him, call forth the monster within. A savage pain would erupt within the center of his chest, spiraling outward until it engulfed his body and enflamed his mind. Screaming in agony, he would crumple to his knees, convulsing, Changing… and then red thirst would descend upon him, the thirst for blood and flesh and death.
He had never told his mother about those dreams; he didn’t want to make her worry any more than she already had. But there was another reason for his silence, a superstition, if you will. If he never spoke of his nightmares, of Changing into a blood-thirsty killer, then his deepest fears would never be realized – that he was a werewolf, a monster in human disguise, a menace to any and all those that crossed his path. If that would ever happen – oh please, let it never happen – then men like his father, or perhaps even John Orcot himself, would hunt him down like the animal he would become and put a silver bullet in his heart or between his eyes, ending his curse – ending his life.
Another splash to the face broke his thoughts. Running his hands down his dripping face, Leon turned off the water. He flipped off the light then stood still for a few minutes to let his eyes readjust to the darkness. On silent feet he crossed to his side of the bed and scooped his jeans off the floor where he had tossed them a few hours before and dug out a small bottle of aspirin, his lighter and his half-empty package of Marlboros. As he made his way to the vista, he chewed and dry swallowed a couple of aspirin – God those fuckers were bitter – and slid one of the cigarettes out of the package just before he slid open the sliding glass door and stepped outside.
The cement was cold beneath his bare feet and for a moment, Leon thought that he ought to put on some clothes, or at least a robe, before he froze his balls off… or was arrested for indecent exposure. But it wasn’t that cold and who was going to see him? It was barely three thirty in the morning and he was staying in the Presidential Suite on the thirteenth fucking floor of the Four Seasons hotel. His gaze traveled to the horizon, past the streetlights and to the distant mountains, which weren’t so much as visible as just darker shapes rising up against the star-studded sky. Hell, even if he had the lights turned on behind him, there still wasn’t anyone within peeping distance, unless they had a high powered telescope and a touch of voyeurism.
Scowling, he lit his cigarette, or tried to. His fingers trembled and the flame shook. For a few seconds he chased the flame with the tip of the cigarette before it caught and began to burn. With a shaky sigh, he brought it to his lips, inhaled deeply, exhaled, letting the smoke slowly trickle from his mouth.
“Much better,” he mumbled and his eyes were half-lidded against the smoke. Nicotine was the only thing he had found that helped ease the post-dream anxieties. He had experimented with some other drugs when he was in college, but they had only seemed to amplify the freak-out. Not something he really wanted to do. Alcohol just deadened his mind and helped him relax. But it didn’t actually stop the dreams, just made it harder for him to wake up. Well, fuck that shit. It didn’t stop him from drinking, though. But then again, he hadn’t had a dream like the one he had had tonight in a long, long time.
A cool breeze wafted over his naked body and in response, his skin erupted into goose bumps. His first reaction was to retreat into the warmer bedroom, but he knew that D would chew him a new one if he smoked in there. So he ignored it as best he could, huddled in the somewhat protected corner, and tried to enjoy his cigarette. Already his dreams – nightmares, his mind insisted - had begun to fade into a meaningless jumble of images, losing that just-awoken clarity that almost all dreamers that woke up mid-dream experienced.
But this dream had been different somehow. For starters, his mother had been in it. In all his years he had never had a werewolf-dream with her in it and her presence in this most recent dream disturbed him more than he could say.
In his dream – nightmare - he was seven again and had been wandering down an endless maze of corridors, hospital corridors from the look of them and he should know because he had certainly spent enough time in hospitals during his short but eventful life. After an eternity of wandering, he turned into an open door and found her sitting in plastic and metal chair next to a hospital bed. The bed had been empty, but showed signs of recent inhabitation – the sheets and blankets in a jumble, the pillow still holding the indentation where a head had laid. Blood covered the sheets, the pillow, the walls, not the bright red of fresh blood, but the sticky reddish-brown color of old, clotting blood - dead blood. A heart-rate monitor nearby gave off a steady beeping shriek as it flat-lined but no nurses or doctors came running in response to its urgent call.
Confused, and a little scared, he crossed the room to her but no matter how far he walked he could never get any closer to her. The distance between them never closed.
I’m sorry, my dear, she whispered, and while her voice was sad, he could discern no emotion in her eyes. She made no effort to stand, no effort to cross over to her son. In a strange dream-clarity he suddenly saw that her face, hands and clothes were covered in fresh blood. I should have told you… and now it’s too late.
He tried to ask her what it was she should have told him, but when he opened his mouth to form the question, a dagger of pain ripped through his chest, the familiar prelude to his nightmarish transformation. Convulsions tore through his body, dropping him to the ground where he writhed in helpless agony. Blood enveloped his senses; he could hear it splattering against the walls, the pungent coppery scent of it misting the air like cheap perfume. The taste… the taste of it, dear sweet Jesus! Salty-sweet and metallic, it flooded his mouth. And the screams, his screams merging with those of another, not his mother, but a male’s voice, familiar yet not went on and on… until he thought he would go mad.
Finished with his cigarette, he almost dropped it to the ground and crushed it under foot before he realized that he wasn’t wearing shoes or socks and stomping out a still burning butt would probably hurt like hell. Shaking his head at his own stupidity, he mashed it out against the vista’s railing and flipped it out into the air to land… wherever. Its still-hot end was a red shooting star in the darkness.
Feeling a bit better, but thoroughly chilled to the bones, he opened the door and slipped back inside and made his way quietly to the bed. He was almost there when he heard D’s sleep-heavy voice call out to him softly.
“Detective, is everything alright?”
Leon froze in the act of pulling back the covers. Shit, he thought, and here I thought I was being so quiet.
“Yeah, everything’s fine, D,” he mumbled, “I just went out for a smoke.”
D made a soft humming sound that obviously meant, ‘Ah, I see.’ Leon slid into their shared bed and pulled his half of the duvet and sheets over his naked body, grateful for their warmth. He rolled onto his side so he was facing D, who was watching him with solemn eyes. After a few moments he heard the sound of cloth rustling and D’s body was pressed against his, the heat radiating from his skin, warming him. He inhaled shakily as D’s fingers wrapped themselves about him, brushing along the firmness of his jaw, down his throat, to his chest. His fingernails trailed lightly along his skin and Leon shivered more in reaction to his caress than anything else.
“You’re cold, Detective,” he whispered.
“Y-yeah…”
“But I think I could help warm you up.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” Smiling, Leon pulled D into his arms and was pleased that he made no effort to pull away from him. In fact, there was no fear or reluctance in either his eyes or his body language. Only want, only need. He caught D’s lips with his own and let his hands roam the slender body which, surprisingly, radiated an extraordinary amount of heat.
“My God, D,” he exclaimed, breaking away. “You’re a living heater. Shit, with you in my bed, I’ll never need to plug in my electric blanket ever again.”
D snorted and thumped his finger against the tip of Leon’s nose. “That is not how you supposed to sweet talk someone,” he muttered. “Where is your sense of romance?”
“Its right here,” Leon bragged, cupping his growing erection suggestively. Playfully, he pounced upon D, rolled him over onto his back and, using his hands and body, gently pressed him against the pillows. D let out a small gasp that dissolved into smothered snorts of laughter as his exploring fingers discovered heretofore undiscovered ticklish spots. For several minutes he tortured D, until he was gasping for air, his pale face now a bright red. He hitched a breath and lay back panting against the pillows, his eyes sparkling.
“Mercy, Detective,” he gasped, smiling. He brushed his hair, in disarray from their tussle, from his eyes. “You win. I give up.”
“So you’re ready to surrender?” Leon teased, taking D into his arms and stretching him full-length along the bed. He was delighted that D had shed some of his earlier inhibitions, lost his fearful uncertainty. Sex could be quite the serious business at times, hell, he knew that and he understood why D and his grandfather would take such a serious approach to the whole ‘producing-an-heir’ deal, but he firmly believed that a healthy dose of fun went a long way to keeping things interesting.
D raised his arms, wrapped them around Leon’s shoulders and pressed his lips to Leon’s.
“Yes,” he murmured between kisses, “I’m ready.”
*****
The sun was well up and streaming its bright warmth through the suite’s windows when Leon was jarred awake by the sound of the telephone ringing. Blearily, he snaked his arm out from under the covers and reached for the phone, but he only succeeded in knocking the receiver off the hook and onto the floor. Cursing, he reached over and hooked it by one finger before bringing it to his ear.
“Hello?” He was aware that that came out sounding none too pleasant, but he couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment.
“Detective Orcot?” The voice, so exactly like D’s it was creepy, was crisp and all business.
“Uh, yes…sir.” Leon jerked upright and cupped the talk end of the receiver with his hand and turned his back slightly, not wanting to disrupt D, who was staring blearily at him, eyes silently questioning.
“I want to speak to my grandson.” It wasn’t a request so much as a demand and the tone he used set Leon on edge.
“Oh. Sure, right away.” He handed the receiver over to D who stared at it in confusion. Leon mouthed ‘It’s your grandfather,’ then swung his feet over the edge of the bed and fished his rumpled jeans from off the floor.
“Good morning, Grandfather,” D began in a cheerful voice, but his face belied that cheerfulness. It looked, well, pinched somehow and he was obviously uncomfortable. No doubt he was getting the third degree about last nights activities.
Leon pulled on his jeans and tried not to listen to D’s end of the conversation. This proved to be a lot easier than he could have hoped because after the initial greeting, D had slipped into Chinese. Whether this was intentional or not, he wasn’t sure but he didn’t need to know the language to know that this was one conversation D would rather have avoided.
Maybe I should have just said he was sleeping, Leon thought as he zipped his fly.
He glanced over at the other man, who was now silent, obviously listening as his grandfather spoke. As he watched, color seeped across his face and he ducked his head, which sent his hair brushing against his face like a curtain. His reply was a soft whisper and he darted his eyes toward Leon, who smiled back reassuringly.
Finally, a few more minutes later, D handed the phone back to Leon after saying his farewells. Then he silently rose and slipped his robe over his shoulders to hide his nakedness and left the room. Leon watched him leave and felt a little sorry for the poor guy. He would have melted into a puddle of embarrassment if his father had called the morning after and asked probing questions about what he had been up to the night before. But D had taken it surprisingly well.
Just as he was about to hang up the phone, Leon changed his mind and put the receiver to his ear.
“Hey, Tsu Fu, what’s up?” he began in a casual tone, but there was a slight edge to his voice. He knew it was there but made no attempt to moderate it. “It’s me, you know, the sperm donor. I just want to thank you for the goodies last night. They were a big hit.”
There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line, then D’s grandfather spoke, and Leon had argued enough with D to know that he was struggling to maintain his indignation. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Detective,” he replied stiffly.
“Come on, you know what I mean - the goody basket with all the DVDs and stuff. It was quite the collection,” Leon kept his tone more or less cordial, but his lips twisted in a mischievous grin. It seemed he enjoyed yanking Tsu Fu’s chain almost, if not more, than he did D’s.
“Oh, that.” His voice was practically dripping with disdain. “That was Li’s idea. We weren’t sure of your sexual… preferences so Li thought it best to have a variety of items on hand to help stimulate you.”
“And oh, boy, it worked,” Leon agreed wickedly. “By the way, I especially appreciated the handcuffs and flavored body lube. We put that to some good use, let me tell you. I just wanted to thank you for a thoroughly enjoyable evening.”
“Don’t mention it,” Tsu Fu D said icily and hung up.
Funny, when most people said “Don’t mention it” they meant ‘You’re Welcome.’ But when D’s grandfather had said the words, they had sounded less like ‘You’re welcome’ and more like, 'I don’t ever want to hear about this again.'
Leon grin threatened to cut his face in two and his rich laughter bounced around the spacious bedroom. His shoulders shook and tears of mirth leaked from the corners of his eyes. He knew he shouldn’t take such delight in antagonizing D’s grandfather, but he just couldn’t help himself. It was simply too much fun. And once he and his boy toy left town to go… wherever in hell it was they went, well, then, he’d never have another chance. So he better make the most of it while he could.
“Well, I can’t say I blame the guy for getting huffy,” he finally gasped, “What sort of grandfather wants to know the more intimate details of his grandchild’s deflowering?” He snorted more laughter when he realized that Tsu Fu probably had called just to confirm that he and D had ‘done the deed’ as the contract stipulated. Leon shook his head in bemusement.
“That fucking pervert.”
He marched to the bathroom and heard the water running full blast. Without stopping to knock, he barged in. D, sitting in the tub with a mountain of bubbles concealing him, glared at him as he stepped in and shut the door. “You should knock before entering, Detective,” he mumbled, turning off the water and settling himself deeper into the bubbles with a soft sigh. He closed his eyes.
“Relax, it’s not like you have anything I haven’t seen before,” He quipped, and settled himself on the lowered lid of the toilet.
Actually, he realized, that wasn’t exactly true. D was quite unlike anything he had ever experienced before sexually. As a hermaphrodite in the truest sense, he – Leon couldn’t think of D as a ‘she’ even now – had both male and female reproductive organs. He hadn’t actually seen them in the strictest sense of the word because D had insisted that they do it in the dark. He had, however, felt around a fair bit and had encountered both sets in his initial explorations… And as far as he could tell, D really did have both a penis and a vagina, not like the pictures of so-called ‘hermaphrodites’ he had seen on the Internet where a woman had a freakishly elongated clitoris. A clit was not a dick and that was all there was to that.
In that sense though, he had to admit that D really was… different. Leon wasn’t sure if both sets were fully functional in the sense that they could be used to create life, but he knew for fact that D’s female bits worked, or at least they responded to his ministrations in all the ways they were supposed to. But the idea that he was fully expected to impregnate D still freaked him out. And probably always would.
Flustered, he snapped, “What kind of grandfather calls the morning after to find out if his grandchild had done the nasty or not?”
“’Done the nasty’?” D’s eyes cracked open and threw a narrow glare in Leon’s direction. “What colorful language you use, Detective.”
“You know what I mean,” Leon argued heatedly. “The man’s a freaking pervert, that’s what he is.”
“Would you rather him come and inspect the bloody sheets?” D retorted, his color high.
That took Leon back. “N-no… I guess not…”
D sat up and water sloshed off his pale shoulders, leaving behind soapy trails of bubbles. “He was concerned, Detective, that’s all,” he replied, his voice softening. “Wouldn’t you be if you left your only grandchild to the mercy of some man, a practical stranger? He wanted to make sure that I wasn’t… hurt.”
“He sure as hell didn’t seem to have any problems with it last night.”
D sighed and closed his eyes wearily. “My grandfather had no choice in the matter, Detective, you know that. The survival of my people is paramount to-“
Leon cut him off before he could finish. “That’s bullshit, D, and you know it. He bartered your virginity away to the highest bidder, which happened to be a woman who would have done anything… agreed to anything in order to save the life of her only son.”
“He doesn’t care about you, D,” he finished, standing, “He never has. He’s just using you.”
D stared at Leon with hurt brimming in the depths of his mismatched eyes. “Maybe he is, Detective,” he whispered hoarsely, “Maybe he is. But at least I know that he loves me. Can you say the same?”
Mutely, Leon stared at D, not knowing what to say. His mind raced and all he knew for sure was that he couldn’t answer that question to D’s satisfaction. He just couldn’t. There had always been this undercurrent of physical attraction, yes, he could admit it now… but when he came right down to the truth of the matter, he realized that he was doing the exact same thing he accused his grandfather of doing – using D. He used D to satisfy his sexual appetites, to fulfill his end of the contract, a contract that his mother had forced him into so many years ago. He took pleasure in touching him, kissing him, making love to him. But he didn’t love him.
D must have seen the answer in his eyes, because his shoulders slumped.. He turned his head away, hiding behind the dark fall of his hair as he sank lower into the bubbles as if seeking to lose himself in them.
“Go away, Detective,” he whispered and his voice was tight. “Please… just go away.”
Leon stomped angrily out of the bathroom and crossed over to the refrigerator. He needed a fucking drink by God and there was no way he was going to be satisfied with wine. But if that was all there was, then so be it.
Much to his relief, when he opened the refrigerator door, he found a six pack of beer chilling on the bottom shelf. His relief was almost palpable.
“Man, that fucking pervert thought of everything, didn’t he?” Leon muttered with grudging admiration. “Not that, friends and neighbors, is planning ahead.”
He ripped one free from the plastic rings and slammed the door shut. For a second he actually considered grabbing a clean glass from the cabinet, but then realizing that that was just one of the million little ways D was trying to change him into what he would call a ‘civilized’ human being, he said “Fuck it,” and yanked the tab off, releasing a satisfying hiss of foam.
The first can of beer was gone in no time, chugged down so effectively Leon barely tasted it. Moodily, he went back to the fridge and snagged another, which he took with him out to the living room. Cutting a glance at the main bathroom door – D still hadn’t emerged from the bathroom so he concluded that he was in there sulking – he plopped himself down on the sofa and snatched the remote control off of the coffee table. For a while he flipped aimlessly through the channels but was unable to find anything of particular interest. His mind kept going over D’s words and the hurt look on his face.
But at least I know that he loves me. Can you say the same?
“Damn it, that’s not fucking fair!” Leon snapped out loud. “What does he expect me to do? Fall on my knees and ask him to marry me? Make an honest man out of him? Give me a fucking break!” He slammed the empty beer can down on the coffee table hard enough to dent it, pointed the remote at the television and killed it silent.
“We had sex, for Christ’s sake! Sex doesn’t always walk hand and hand with love, alright? And it sure as hell doesn’t always have to be this great big serious load of bullshit!”
Slumping back onto the couch, Leon stared at the blank television screen accusingly as if it were responsible for his emotional turmoil. Just then he heard the bathroom door open and D slipped out, one of the hotel’s luxurious robes wrapped around his body and his hair wrapped up in a towel. He glanced at Leon but his expression was unreadable. Leon stood awkwardly and took a few steps toward him, then stopped himself, angry that he felt like he should be the one that had to apologize.
Apologize for what, he thought furiously, for being honest? To hell with that!
It was D who turned away first and, without a word, he disappeared into the bedroom. The sound of the door shutting was very loud in the thick silence of the suite.
The telephone rang then and, grateful for the distraction, Leon went to answer it. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he mumbled as he made his way to the phone in the living room – he couldn’t stand the idea of going to the master bedroom at the moment in light of all that had recently happened. It would probably be too awkward.
“Hello?”
“Where in hell have you been, you dolt?” Jill’s voice bellowed over the phone lines from the sounds in the background, he knew that she was somewhere downtown, probably stuck in a snarl of traffic. “I called your house like fifteen times already. Thank God I remembered you had an appointment to see Judge Li Hua at the Four Seasons last night or I would have really pissed. I called the front desk and they connected me to you.”
“Y-yeah, about that… Jill, I-“
She cut him off good-naturedly. “Look, Leon, while I’d love to find out why you spent the night at a ritzy hotel registered to one of the most influential judges in Los Angeles County, I just don’t have the time. This is a business call, not a personal one.”
Leon squared his shoulders, relieved that he wouldn’t have to explain to Jill why he had stayed the night at the hotel – at least not right now. But it was only a temporary respite – one way or another she’d get all the dirty little details out of him, she always did. It was one of her talents. Her ability to ferret out information was a great asset when in the interrogation room questioning dangerous perpetrators, but a pain in the ass as far as Leon’s personal life went. She’d know everything sooner or later… and he was hoping it would be later, much later.
“What’s up?”
“We’ve got a lead as to the whereabouts of our escaped werewolf, Joshua Fletcher.” Jill exclaimed, obviously pleased with herself.
“And how did that happen?” Leon asked, his personal problems slipping away like a sweater. In a flash he was back in work mode and more than ready to make a move on this guy before he got someone hurt or killed… or worse, infected. “And where is he?”
“Hold your horses, buster. I’m getting to it,” She paused as if gathering her thoughts and her breath. The girl had the gift of the gab and there was no mistake about it. “On the night of his escape from Full Moon Manor, Joshua Fletcher got as far as Highway 14 and started hitching for a ride.”
“Hold on a minute,” Leon asked, “Back up. Full Moon what?”
“Full Moon Manor,” Jill repeated and Leon could actually hear the smile in her voice. “It’s what the locals call the Werewolf Institute just outside of Rosamond, you know, at the foot of Soledad Mountain?”
“Yeah, I know the place,” Leon muttered, and as a werewolf hunter, he did, of course. But he had never heard it referred to anything as quaint as Full Moon Manor. And truth be told, the nickname didn’t do it justice. While it wasn’t as stark and depressing as a federal state prison, it was close enough. The name must have been someone’s idea of a joke… and a pretty bad one at that. “It’s right out there by Edwards Air Force Base.
“Cute name, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, it’s a riot,” Leon mumbled, thinking that it was anything but. “Anyway, you said he started hitching. Did he catch anything?”
The sound of papers shuffling came over the phone and Leon just knew his partner was reading and driving at the same time, probably with a manila folder propped open on her steering wheel. He hoped she was stuck in traffic somewhere and, knowing Los Angeles on a Saturday morning, she probably was.
“Yeah… a man by the name of Carl Bernard gave him a lift and dropped him off just outside of the Acton Plaza Liquor & Market in Acton, California some thirty miles south of the Institute. Nice enough guy, you know? He didn’t even know he was an escaped werewolf until he saw it on last night’s news.”
Ever the cynic, Leon couldn’t help but add, “And then he called us, hoping for the reward, right?”
“Nope, he didn’t even know about the reward. He just called out of the goodness of his heart, doing his civil duty.” Jill paused for a moment, and then almost as an afterthought added, “He kept insisting that Fletcher was a nice boy that wouldn’t hurt a fly, werewolf or no werewolf.”
“He’d have been singing a different tune if he had come across him during the full moon, believe me.” Leon replied grimly. “It doesn’t matter how he looks or acts most of the month, when the moon is full, a werewolf is nothing but a living, breathing death machine. That man should consider himself lucky he didn’t have to learn that fact the hard way.”
Jill sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Did anyone confirm his presence at the gas station?” Leon asked standing and pacing around the room. “Get a good look at him? Did he purchase anything?”
“The security cameras got a real good look at him and the clerk on duty confirmed that it was indeed our man. He bought two bottles of Mountain Dew, a snickers candy bar and a litter of water.”
“Anything else?” he asked.
“A roadmap,” Jill confirmed smugly, “Of Los Angeles and the surrounding areas.”
“And that means… what? He gets lost easily? Doesn’t like to ask for directions?”
No, Leon,” Jill said a bit impatiently. “It proves that Count D was right. Our boy is trying to get home.
TO BE CONTINUED…
CHAPTER 09
Pairing: Leon x D
Category: Supernatural/Alternate Universe
Rating: R
Warning: Violence, Language, Sexual Situations and Hermaphrodite!D
Title: The Hunted
Author: yellowhorde
Notes: This was written for NaNoWriMo 2007
Leon jerked upright, sweat drenched sheets pooling around his waist. His heart thundered in his chest and his breath tore from his throat in strangled gasps. He could still hear the screams ringing in his ears and smell the copper penny stench of blood. But the screams were only in his head and the blood was from the small crescent moon cuts in the palm of his hands from where his fingernails had bitten deep. Slowly he unclenched his fists and tried to think clearly. Had he screamed? A quick glance at the sleeping figure at his side reassured him that he had not. D lay beside him, undisturbed, his deep and rhythmic breathing the only sound in the darkened room.
“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled thickly and was dismayed at the way his voice trembled. All of the spit had dried in his mouth and his heart pounded in his ears in rhythm to the monstrous pain that thundered behind his eyes. “What the fuck was that all about?”
Being careful not to disturb the sleeping D, he pushed back the covers and swung his feet to the floor. He then padded naked to the bathroom, flipped on the light, and shut the door. Turning the cold water spigot, he leaned over the sink, cupped his hands under the flow and splashed the water over his face. The shock of it cleared away any lingering traces of sleep and helped clear his head a little.
Frustrated, he glared at his own reflection, not liking what he saw. His face was pale, pupils dilated. Water clung in droplets to his lashes like tears. Only he wasn’t crying, he was terrified, his body trapped in the “flight or fight” response. And it was all because of those fucking nightmares!
“Damn it, I’m not a little kid anymore,” he growled, running his wet hands through his hair, “I’m too old for this shit!”
Since the attack when he was seven years old, Leon had been no stranger to nightmares. Growing up, they had stalked his sleep for years, especially on those nights when the full moon glared down upon the world. He had heard the stories, read every bit of werewolf lore he could lay his hands on. His mother hadn’t necessarily approved of his new taste in literature, but she seemed to understand his need to know.
By all accounts he should have died that night. But by some miracle, he had survived. By rights he should have been transformed into a violent, blood-thirsty animal on the first moon after the attack. He had waited for that first full moon in an agony of fear and dread. But nothing happened. No fur sprouted from his body, no fangs erupted from his jaws.
The doctors had all scratched their heads in sheer amazement. All kinds of tests, blood work, brain scans, the works, had been run and then re-run. Month after month passed and the terror that gripped him and his mother slowly receded with the successful passing of each full moon. Receded, but never completely dissipated. His mother never fully recovered from the fright of the experience and became a little bit overprotective of her only child, smothering him in motherly love and concern warped by paranoia. She could be quite smothering at times.
Leon, well, he grew and thrived like any other child his age would, he laughed, played sports, made friends, and, when he reached puberty, chased girls. To the casual observer he appeared to be completely normal. And for the most part that was true… but he had his own scars to remember the terrifying experience, and not all of them were visible on the outside.
Nightmares had been the standard of his post-traumatic youth. On countless nights he would jolt awake, drenched in sweat and the stench of unadulterated terror, one fist crammed against his mouth to keep back the screams. In those dreams he fled the moon, hiding in the shadows to escape its pursuit. But wherever he ran, the moon followed. Nothing could stop it, no walls or roofs deflect its hideous glow. The beams would find him… strike him, call forth the monster within. A savage pain would erupt within the center of his chest, spiraling outward until it engulfed his body and enflamed his mind. Screaming in agony, he would crumple to his knees, convulsing, Changing… and then red thirst would descend upon him, the thirst for blood and flesh and death.
He had never told his mother about those dreams; he didn’t want to make her worry any more than she already had. But there was another reason for his silence, a superstition, if you will. If he never spoke of his nightmares, of Changing into a blood-thirsty killer, then his deepest fears would never be realized – that he was a werewolf, a monster in human disguise, a menace to any and all those that crossed his path. If that would ever happen – oh please, let it never happen – then men like his father, or perhaps even John Orcot himself, would hunt him down like the animal he would become and put a silver bullet in his heart or between his eyes, ending his curse – ending his life.
Another splash to the face broke his thoughts. Running his hands down his dripping face, Leon turned off the water. He flipped off the light then stood still for a few minutes to let his eyes readjust to the darkness. On silent feet he crossed to his side of the bed and scooped his jeans off the floor where he had tossed them a few hours before and dug out a small bottle of aspirin, his lighter and his half-empty package of Marlboros. As he made his way to the vista, he chewed and dry swallowed a couple of aspirin – God those fuckers were bitter – and slid one of the cigarettes out of the package just before he slid open the sliding glass door and stepped outside.
The cement was cold beneath his bare feet and for a moment, Leon thought that he ought to put on some clothes, or at least a robe, before he froze his balls off… or was arrested for indecent exposure. But it wasn’t that cold and who was going to see him? It was barely three thirty in the morning and he was staying in the Presidential Suite on the thirteenth fucking floor of the Four Seasons hotel. His gaze traveled to the horizon, past the streetlights and to the distant mountains, which weren’t so much as visible as just darker shapes rising up against the star-studded sky. Hell, even if he had the lights turned on behind him, there still wasn’t anyone within peeping distance, unless they had a high powered telescope and a touch of voyeurism.
Scowling, he lit his cigarette, or tried to. His fingers trembled and the flame shook. For a few seconds he chased the flame with the tip of the cigarette before it caught and began to burn. With a shaky sigh, he brought it to his lips, inhaled deeply, exhaled, letting the smoke slowly trickle from his mouth.
“Much better,” he mumbled and his eyes were half-lidded against the smoke. Nicotine was the only thing he had found that helped ease the post-dream anxieties. He had experimented with some other drugs when he was in college, but they had only seemed to amplify the freak-out. Not something he really wanted to do. Alcohol just deadened his mind and helped him relax. But it didn’t actually stop the dreams, just made it harder for him to wake up. Well, fuck that shit. It didn’t stop him from drinking, though. But then again, he hadn’t had a dream like the one he had had tonight in a long, long time.
A cool breeze wafted over his naked body and in response, his skin erupted into goose bumps. His first reaction was to retreat into the warmer bedroom, but he knew that D would chew him a new one if he smoked in there. So he ignored it as best he could, huddled in the somewhat protected corner, and tried to enjoy his cigarette. Already his dreams – nightmares, his mind insisted - had begun to fade into a meaningless jumble of images, losing that just-awoken clarity that almost all dreamers that woke up mid-dream experienced.
But this dream had been different somehow. For starters, his mother had been in it. In all his years he had never had a werewolf-dream with her in it and her presence in this most recent dream disturbed him more than he could say.
In his dream – nightmare - he was seven again and had been wandering down an endless maze of corridors, hospital corridors from the look of them and he should know because he had certainly spent enough time in hospitals during his short but eventful life. After an eternity of wandering, he turned into an open door and found her sitting in plastic and metal chair next to a hospital bed. The bed had been empty, but showed signs of recent inhabitation – the sheets and blankets in a jumble, the pillow still holding the indentation where a head had laid. Blood covered the sheets, the pillow, the walls, not the bright red of fresh blood, but the sticky reddish-brown color of old, clotting blood - dead blood. A heart-rate monitor nearby gave off a steady beeping shriek as it flat-lined but no nurses or doctors came running in response to its urgent call.
Confused, and a little scared, he crossed the room to her but no matter how far he walked he could never get any closer to her. The distance between them never closed.
I’m sorry, my dear, she whispered, and while her voice was sad, he could discern no emotion in her eyes. She made no effort to stand, no effort to cross over to her son. In a strange dream-clarity he suddenly saw that her face, hands and clothes were covered in fresh blood. I should have told you… and now it’s too late.
He tried to ask her what it was she should have told him, but when he opened his mouth to form the question, a dagger of pain ripped through his chest, the familiar prelude to his nightmarish transformation. Convulsions tore through his body, dropping him to the ground where he writhed in helpless agony. Blood enveloped his senses; he could hear it splattering against the walls, the pungent coppery scent of it misting the air like cheap perfume. The taste… the taste of it, dear sweet Jesus! Salty-sweet and metallic, it flooded his mouth. And the screams, his screams merging with those of another, not his mother, but a male’s voice, familiar yet not went on and on… until he thought he would go mad.
Finished with his cigarette, he almost dropped it to the ground and crushed it under foot before he realized that he wasn’t wearing shoes or socks and stomping out a still burning butt would probably hurt like hell. Shaking his head at his own stupidity, he mashed it out against the vista’s railing and flipped it out into the air to land… wherever. Its still-hot end was a red shooting star in the darkness.
Feeling a bit better, but thoroughly chilled to the bones, he opened the door and slipped back inside and made his way quietly to the bed. He was almost there when he heard D’s sleep-heavy voice call out to him softly.
“Detective, is everything alright?”
Leon froze in the act of pulling back the covers. Shit, he thought, and here I thought I was being so quiet.
“Yeah, everything’s fine, D,” he mumbled, “I just went out for a smoke.”
D made a soft humming sound that obviously meant, ‘Ah, I see.’ Leon slid into their shared bed and pulled his half of the duvet and sheets over his naked body, grateful for their warmth. He rolled onto his side so he was facing D, who was watching him with solemn eyes. After a few moments he heard the sound of cloth rustling and D’s body was pressed against his, the heat radiating from his skin, warming him. He inhaled shakily as D’s fingers wrapped themselves about him, brushing along the firmness of his jaw, down his throat, to his chest. His fingernails trailed lightly along his skin and Leon shivered more in reaction to his caress than anything else.
“You’re cold, Detective,” he whispered.
“Y-yeah…”
“But I think I could help warm you up.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” Smiling, Leon pulled D into his arms and was pleased that he made no effort to pull away from him. In fact, there was no fear or reluctance in either his eyes or his body language. Only want, only need. He caught D’s lips with his own and let his hands roam the slender body which, surprisingly, radiated an extraordinary amount of heat.
“My God, D,” he exclaimed, breaking away. “You’re a living heater. Shit, with you in my bed, I’ll never need to plug in my electric blanket ever again.”
D snorted and thumped his finger against the tip of Leon’s nose. “That is not how you supposed to sweet talk someone,” he muttered. “Where is your sense of romance?”
“Its right here,” Leon bragged, cupping his growing erection suggestively. Playfully, he pounced upon D, rolled him over onto his back and, using his hands and body, gently pressed him against the pillows. D let out a small gasp that dissolved into smothered snorts of laughter as his exploring fingers discovered heretofore undiscovered ticklish spots. For several minutes he tortured D, until he was gasping for air, his pale face now a bright red. He hitched a breath and lay back panting against the pillows, his eyes sparkling.
“Mercy, Detective,” he gasped, smiling. He brushed his hair, in disarray from their tussle, from his eyes. “You win. I give up.”
“So you’re ready to surrender?” Leon teased, taking D into his arms and stretching him full-length along the bed. He was delighted that D had shed some of his earlier inhibitions, lost his fearful uncertainty. Sex could be quite the serious business at times, hell, he knew that and he understood why D and his grandfather would take such a serious approach to the whole ‘producing-an-heir’ deal, but he firmly believed that a healthy dose of fun went a long way to keeping things interesting.
D raised his arms, wrapped them around Leon’s shoulders and pressed his lips to Leon’s.
“Yes,” he murmured between kisses, “I’m ready.”
*****
The sun was well up and streaming its bright warmth through the suite’s windows when Leon was jarred awake by the sound of the telephone ringing. Blearily, he snaked his arm out from under the covers and reached for the phone, but he only succeeded in knocking the receiver off the hook and onto the floor. Cursing, he reached over and hooked it by one finger before bringing it to his ear.
“Hello?” He was aware that that came out sounding none too pleasant, but he couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment.
“Detective Orcot?” The voice, so exactly like D’s it was creepy, was crisp and all business.
“Uh, yes…sir.” Leon jerked upright and cupped the talk end of the receiver with his hand and turned his back slightly, not wanting to disrupt D, who was staring blearily at him, eyes silently questioning.
“I want to speak to my grandson.” It wasn’t a request so much as a demand and the tone he used set Leon on edge.
“Oh. Sure, right away.” He handed the receiver over to D who stared at it in confusion. Leon mouthed ‘It’s your grandfather,’ then swung his feet over the edge of the bed and fished his rumpled jeans from off the floor.
“Good morning, Grandfather,” D began in a cheerful voice, but his face belied that cheerfulness. It looked, well, pinched somehow and he was obviously uncomfortable. No doubt he was getting the third degree about last nights activities.
Leon pulled on his jeans and tried not to listen to D’s end of the conversation. This proved to be a lot easier than he could have hoped because after the initial greeting, D had slipped into Chinese. Whether this was intentional or not, he wasn’t sure but he didn’t need to know the language to know that this was one conversation D would rather have avoided.
Maybe I should have just said he was sleeping, Leon thought as he zipped his fly.
He glanced over at the other man, who was now silent, obviously listening as his grandfather spoke. As he watched, color seeped across his face and he ducked his head, which sent his hair brushing against his face like a curtain. His reply was a soft whisper and he darted his eyes toward Leon, who smiled back reassuringly.
Finally, a few more minutes later, D handed the phone back to Leon after saying his farewells. Then he silently rose and slipped his robe over his shoulders to hide his nakedness and left the room. Leon watched him leave and felt a little sorry for the poor guy. He would have melted into a puddle of embarrassment if his father had called the morning after and asked probing questions about what he had been up to the night before. But D had taken it surprisingly well.
Just as he was about to hang up the phone, Leon changed his mind and put the receiver to his ear.
“Hey, Tsu Fu, what’s up?” he began in a casual tone, but there was a slight edge to his voice. He knew it was there but made no attempt to moderate it. “It’s me, you know, the sperm donor. I just want to thank you for the goodies last night. They were a big hit.”
There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line, then D’s grandfather spoke, and Leon had argued enough with D to know that he was struggling to maintain his indignation. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Detective,” he replied stiffly.
“Come on, you know what I mean - the goody basket with all the DVDs and stuff. It was quite the collection,” Leon kept his tone more or less cordial, but his lips twisted in a mischievous grin. It seemed he enjoyed yanking Tsu Fu’s chain almost, if not more, than he did D’s.
“Oh, that.” His voice was practically dripping with disdain. “That was Li’s idea. We weren’t sure of your sexual… preferences so Li thought it best to have a variety of items on hand to help stimulate you.”
“And oh, boy, it worked,” Leon agreed wickedly. “By the way, I especially appreciated the handcuffs and flavored body lube. We put that to some good use, let me tell you. I just wanted to thank you for a thoroughly enjoyable evening.”
“Don’t mention it,” Tsu Fu D said icily and hung up.
Funny, when most people said “Don’t mention it” they meant ‘You’re Welcome.’ But when D’s grandfather had said the words, they had sounded less like ‘You’re welcome’ and more like, 'I don’t ever want to hear about this again.'
Leon grin threatened to cut his face in two and his rich laughter bounced around the spacious bedroom. His shoulders shook and tears of mirth leaked from the corners of his eyes. He knew he shouldn’t take such delight in antagonizing D’s grandfather, but he just couldn’t help himself. It was simply too much fun. And once he and his boy toy left town to go… wherever in hell it was they went, well, then, he’d never have another chance. So he better make the most of it while he could.
“Well, I can’t say I blame the guy for getting huffy,” he finally gasped, “What sort of grandfather wants to know the more intimate details of his grandchild’s deflowering?” He snorted more laughter when he realized that Tsu Fu probably had called just to confirm that he and D had ‘done the deed’ as the contract stipulated. Leon shook his head in bemusement.
“That fucking pervert.”
He marched to the bathroom and heard the water running full blast. Without stopping to knock, he barged in. D, sitting in the tub with a mountain of bubbles concealing him, glared at him as he stepped in and shut the door. “You should knock before entering, Detective,” he mumbled, turning off the water and settling himself deeper into the bubbles with a soft sigh. He closed his eyes.
“Relax, it’s not like you have anything I haven’t seen before,” He quipped, and settled himself on the lowered lid of the toilet.
Actually, he realized, that wasn’t exactly true. D was quite unlike anything he had ever experienced before sexually. As a hermaphrodite in the truest sense, he – Leon couldn’t think of D as a ‘she’ even now – had both male and female reproductive organs. He hadn’t actually seen them in the strictest sense of the word because D had insisted that they do it in the dark. He had, however, felt around a fair bit and had encountered both sets in his initial explorations… And as far as he could tell, D really did have both a penis and a vagina, not like the pictures of so-called ‘hermaphrodites’ he had seen on the Internet where a woman had a freakishly elongated clitoris. A clit was not a dick and that was all there was to that.
In that sense though, he had to admit that D really was… different. Leon wasn’t sure if both sets were fully functional in the sense that they could be used to create life, but he knew for fact that D’s female bits worked, or at least they responded to his ministrations in all the ways they were supposed to. But the idea that he was fully expected to impregnate D still freaked him out. And probably always would.
Flustered, he snapped, “What kind of grandfather calls the morning after to find out if his grandchild had done the nasty or not?”
“’Done the nasty’?” D’s eyes cracked open and threw a narrow glare in Leon’s direction. “What colorful language you use, Detective.”
“You know what I mean,” Leon argued heatedly. “The man’s a freaking pervert, that’s what he is.”
“Would you rather him come and inspect the bloody sheets?” D retorted, his color high.
That took Leon back. “N-no… I guess not…”
D sat up and water sloshed off his pale shoulders, leaving behind soapy trails of bubbles. “He was concerned, Detective, that’s all,” he replied, his voice softening. “Wouldn’t you be if you left your only grandchild to the mercy of some man, a practical stranger? He wanted to make sure that I wasn’t… hurt.”
“He sure as hell didn’t seem to have any problems with it last night.”
D sighed and closed his eyes wearily. “My grandfather had no choice in the matter, Detective, you know that. The survival of my people is paramount to-“
Leon cut him off before he could finish. “That’s bullshit, D, and you know it. He bartered your virginity away to the highest bidder, which happened to be a woman who would have done anything… agreed to anything in order to save the life of her only son.”
“He doesn’t care about you, D,” he finished, standing, “He never has. He’s just using you.”
D stared at Leon with hurt brimming in the depths of his mismatched eyes. “Maybe he is, Detective,” he whispered hoarsely, “Maybe he is. But at least I know that he loves me. Can you say the same?”
Mutely, Leon stared at D, not knowing what to say. His mind raced and all he knew for sure was that he couldn’t answer that question to D’s satisfaction. He just couldn’t. There had always been this undercurrent of physical attraction, yes, he could admit it now… but when he came right down to the truth of the matter, he realized that he was doing the exact same thing he accused his grandfather of doing – using D. He used D to satisfy his sexual appetites, to fulfill his end of the contract, a contract that his mother had forced him into so many years ago. He took pleasure in touching him, kissing him, making love to him. But he didn’t love him.
D must have seen the answer in his eyes, because his shoulders slumped.. He turned his head away, hiding behind the dark fall of his hair as he sank lower into the bubbles as if seeking to lose himself in them.
“Go away, Detective,” he whispered and his voice was tight. “Please… just go away.”
Leon stomped angrily out of the bathroom and crossed over to the refrigerator. He needed a fucking drink by God and there was no way he was going to be satisfied with wine. But if that was all there was, then so be it.
Much to his relief, when he opened the refrigerator door, he found a six pack of beer chilling on the bottom shelf. His relief was almost palpable.
“Man, that fucking pervert thought of everything, didn’t he?” Leon muttered with grudging admiration. “Not that, friends and neighbors, is planning ahead.”
He ripped one free from the plastic rings and slammed the door shut. For a second he actually considered grabbing a clean glass from the cabinet, but then realizing that that was just one of the million little ways D was trying to change him into what he would call a ‘civilized’ human being, he said “Fuck it,” and yanked the tab off, releasing a satisfying hiss of foam.
The first can of beer was gone in no time, chugged down so effectively Leon barely tasted it. Moodily, he went back to the fridge and snagged another, which he took with him out to the living room. Cutting a glance at the main bathroom door – D still hadn’t emerged from the bathroom so he concluded that he was in there sulking – he plopped himself down on the sofa and snatched the remote control off of the coffee table. For a while he flipped aimlessly through the channels but was unable to find anything of particular interest. His mind kept going over D’s words and the hurt look on his face.
But at least I know that he loves me. Can you say the same?
“Damn it, that’s not fucking fair!” Leon snapped out loud. “What does he expect me to do? Fall on my knees and ask him to marry me? Make an honest man out of him? Give me a fucking break!” He slammed the empty beer can down on the coffee table hard enough to dent it, pointed the remote at the television and killed it silent.
“We had sex, for Christ’s sake! Sex doesn’t always walk hand and hand with love, alright? And it sure as hell doesn’t always have to be this great big serious load of bullshit!”
Slumping back onto the couch, Leon stared at the blank television screen accusingly as if it were responsible for his emotional turmoil. Just then he heard the bathroom door open and D slipped out, one of the hotel’s luxurious robes wrapped around his body and his hair wrapped up in a towel. He glanced at Leon but his expression was unreadable. Leon stood awkwardly and took a few steps toward him, then stopped himself, angry that he felt like he should be the one that had to apologize.
Apologize for what, he thought furiously, for being honest? To hell with that!
It was D who turned away first and, without a word, he disappeared into the bedroom. The sound of the door shutting was very loud in the thick silence of the suite.
The telephone rang then and, grateful for the distraction, Leon went to answer it. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he mumbled as he made his way to the phone in the living room – he couldn’t stand the idea of going to the master bedroom at the moment in light of all that had recently happened. It would probably be too awkward.
“Hello?”
“Where in hell have you been, you dolt?” Jill’s voice bellowed over the phone lines from the sounds in the background, he knew that she was somewhere downtown, probably stuck in a snarl of traffic. “I called your house like fifteen times already. Thank God I remembered you had an appointment to see Judge Li Hua at the Four Seasons last night or I would have really pissed. I called the front desk and they connected me to you.”
“Y-yeah, about that… Jill, I-“
She cut him off good-naturedly. “Look, Leon, while I’d love to find out why you spent the night at a ritzy hotel registered to one of the most influential judges in Los Angeles County, I just don’t have the time. This is a business call, not a personal one.”
Leon squared his shoulders, relieved that he wouldn’t have to explain to Jill why he had stayed the night at the hotel – at least not right now. But it was only a temporary respite – one way or another she’d get all the dirty little details out of him, she always did. It was one of her talents. Her ability to ferret out information was a great asset when in the interrogation room questioning dangerous perpetrators, but a pain in the ass as far as Leon’s personal life went. She’d know everything sooner or later… and he was hoping it would be later, much later.
“What’s up?”
“We’ve got a lead as to the whereabouts of our escaped werewolf, Joshua Fletcher.” Jill exclaimed, obviously pleased with herself.
“And how did that happen?” Leon asked, his personal problems slipping away like a sweater. In a flash he was back in work mode and more than ready to make a move on this guy before he got someone hurt or killed… or worse, infected. “And where is he?”
“Hold your horses, buster. I’m getting to it,” She paused as if gathering her thoughts and her breath. The girl had the gift of the gab and there was no mistake about it. “On the night of his escape from Full Moon Manor, Joshua Fletcher got as far as Highway 14 and started hitching for a ride.”
“Hold on a minute,” Leon asked, “Back up. Full Moon what?”
“Full Moon Manor,” Jill repeated and Leon could actually hear the smile in her voice. “It’s what the locals call the Werewolf Institute just outside of Rosamond, you know, at the foot of Soledad Mountain?”
“Yeah, I know the place,” Leon muttered, and as a werewolf hunter, he did, of course. But he had never heard it referred to anything as quaint as Full Moon Manor. And truth be told, the nickname didn’t do it justice. While it wasn’t as stark and depressing as a federal state prison, it was close enough. The name must have been someone’s idea of a joke… and a pretty bad one at that. “It’s right out there by Edwards Air Force Base.
“Cute name, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, it’s a riot,” Leon mumbled, thinking that it was anything but. “Anyway, you said he started hitching. Did he catch anything?”
The sound of papers shuffling came over the phone and Leon just knew his partner was reading and driving at the same time, probably with a manila folder propped open on her steering wheel. He hoped she was stuck in traffic somewhere and, knowing Los Angeles on a Saturday morning, she probably was.
“Yeah… a man by the name of Carl Bernard gave him a lift and dropped him off just outside of the Acton Plaza Liquor & Market in Acton, California some thirty miles south of the Institute. Nice enough guy, you know? He didn’t even know he was an escaped werewolf until he saw it on last night’s news.”
Ever the cynic, Leon couldn’t help but add, “And then he called us, hoping for the reward, right?”
“Nope, he didn’t even know about the reward. He just called out of the goodness of his heart, doing his civil duty.” Jill paused for a moment, and then almost as an afterthought added, “He kept insisting that Fletcher was a nice boy that wouldn’t hurt a fly, werewolf or no werewolf.”
“He’d have been singing a different tune if he had come across him during the full moon, believe me.” Leon replied grimly. “It doesn’t matter how he looks or acts most of the month, when the moon is full, a werewolf is nothing but a living, breathing death machine. That man should consider himself lucky he didn’t have to learn that fact the hard way.”
Jill sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Did anyone confirm his presence at the gas station?” Leon asked standing and pacing around the room. “Get a good look at him? Did he purchase anything?”
“The security cameras got a real good look at him and the clerk on duty confirmed that it was indeed our man. He bought two bottles of Mountain Dew, a snickers candy bar and a litter of water.”
“Anything else?” he asked.
“A roadmap,” Jill confirmed smugly, “Of Los Angeles and the surrounding areas.”
“And that means… what? He gets lost easily? Doesn’t like to ask for directions?”
No, Leon,” Jill said a bit impatiently. “It proves that Count D was right. Our boy is trying to get home.
TO BE CONTINUED…
CHAPTER 09