#were!verse

"Jason really," you sigh, "I know the bloodlust is real right now but you cannot eat the barista for giving me my extra shot free."

The wolf at your side growls, using his body to block a group of men from walking too close to you.

"You can't eat them either," you mutter, "If you eat anyone that so much as looks at me we're going to be in a lot of trouble."

Still, you can't deny this is probably the safest you would ever be walking around in Gotham- even at noon. You let Jason pull- no not Pull- that wasn't right. He lead. He didn't pull you, because if he would have been pulling you'd probably be missing an arm. You let him lead you to a park. To a shady little spot with a bench, and sat at your feet. And you could feel that he'd relaxed slightly. Likely because there was no one around. A few moms with kids, old couples feeding ducks. No one that he would perceive as a threat. And you take a seat, sipping your coffee.

"It'll be okay, Jay," you murmur, stroking his ears like you'd run your fingers through his hair before scratching the base of his skull like you do when he lays his head on your chest; huffing a laugh when his right hind leg twitches.

If it were possible for him to scowl at you, he would have been and you grin at him. "Who's a good boy?" you croon, scritching him again, giggling when his foot twitches.

He growls, almost subvocal. A sound you feel more than hear. And you smile, "If you're really good we'll stop and get you a steak on the way home."

The first attempt, Rossiel supposed, had been some rushed, incomplete thing ere her rescue that left her something more akin to her own King, or to the bear-men at the edge of their Wood, than to the werewolves of the old stories.  Elf and wolf remained, for the most part, separate and the one knew little of the doings of the other; though she’d no choice in which shape was hers at any given moment.

This time, the process had been more thorough and far worse to endure -- though endure she had to, for her spirit was woven so tightly into the beast-body that she could not slip such bonds in the Elven manner of last resort, and her own desires wrestled with the body’s simple want to survive.

"Ghost, go!" Batman yelled over the din only to see your four-legged form setting off in pursuit of the men that had managed to make it to the getaway car.

"Hood, Black Bat-"

"On it," Jason said revving his bike to follow you as Cass revved hers, slinging a bag of clothes over her shoulder. You may not be able to run at the top speed of a car, but. It was going to be a lot easier for you to get around obstacles they could use to stop a bike.

By the time they caught up to you, a Grey wolf with luminous silver eyes, you were tracking them from the top of a semi- how you'd gotten up there- well. You'd either just lept straight up or- more probably, you'd leaped from an overpass, given the lack of claw marks on the trailer.

"Ghost!" Jason yelled in alarm, there was a bridge with low clearance but evidently you'd already accounted for that and were leap frogging across the cars to meet the semi on the other side, howling a hunting song that made the hair on the backs of their necks stand up.

"Fuck," Cass said shaking her head, watching you leap onto the car you were chasing, smashing the windshield with massive paws.

The car slammed on it's brakes and your claws held you on the hood. "Nice," Cass said stopping her bike, watching your hackles raise and your teet show.

"Don't eat them," Jason said mildly, "I bet they taste bad."

"It fucking eats people?" one of the goons said, putting his hands up.

Hairy-days were usually little trouble, so long as she’d eaten well beforehand.  They were more difficult in the leanness of winter, when the Elf had learned to make do with little or without, but the thing that borrowed her body overwhelmed her with singleminded urgency.  This particular hairy-day, things bode ill.  Even the caches of dried fish, carefully hidden for just these occasions, were gone, and she snuffled fruitlessly in search of one that hadn’t already been raided.

She should have recognized the deer.  The Elf would have known that shape, the great pale creature not fully hart nor hind but somewhere between, that led astray those who would stumble on the kingdom.  The beast in her place, however, only knew it as salvation, as the promise of a meal if it could be caught; knew when to creep and when to bolt, where to catch hold and when to let go and follow until it wearied.  Perhaps it knew her shape, too, else it would have been quicker to flee or to turn hooves and horns upon her.

Rossiel wouldn’t know the full horror of what she’d done until she’d awakened from full-bellied slumber and found she knew the smell of the King’s blood.  She retched until she’d emptied herself and scrubbed until her skin was painfully raw and wailed her grief until she had no voice left, and still it wasn’t enough.