#werewolf!ren

“Very funny. Werewolves aren’t real.” The lumberjack cleared a patch of brush out of their path with his axe.

“Now, I’m not going to tell you what to do, Owen,” he turned around, finally stopping his path. “But I’d probably listen to the six-hundred-year-old vampire with you on what is and isn’t real.”

He sighed. “Fine, I’ll humor you. Ren’s a werewolf. Why does that matter exactly? It’s not like we exactly have an issue with the occult.”

Scott frowned. “Did your sire not teach you anything?”

Owen narrowed his eyes at Scott. “No, he died before he could.” his voice was colder than before, and clearly wasn’t pleased at the subject.

Scott knew the feeling.

“Right. Well, there’s this whole ancestral blood feud spanding back generations between werewolvles and vampires. I don’t think anyone knows what actually started it, but it’s strong enough to subconsciously effect both vampires and werewolves. Some think it was a curse, some think it’s just war and territorial disputes.”

“And what do you think?”

He paused. “Territorial disputes.” Scott glanced back at Owen before continuing to walk through the woods. “You know wolves, lumberjack. You know how overprotective they are of their pack.”

“So you think he’s going to be an issue.” Owen sped up slightly before falling back into step with him. “Because he likes the people of Oakhurst.”

“Like a herding dog with a flock of sheep.” he confirmed. “It’s going to be tough, but we can be tougher.”

The two of them continued walking, the overcast sky blocked out by the heavy foliage of the forest. It was easier to have these types of conversations out here, away from the prying ears of Oakhurst. Both of them had roommates, so privacy wasn’t exactly…abundant in present time.

Eventually, they reached the river that separated the current woods from the Dead Woods, their pale leaves and destaurated bark a stark contrast on their surroundings.

As Scott made it onto the first stepping stone in the river, he heard Owen behind him.

“Hold on—how do you know Ren’s a werewolf.”

Shit.

He paused before moving to the next stone, trying to be careful as to not drench himself. “Werewolves are sensitive to iron. And his lower canines are too sharp to be human.”

And his blood was far too ambrosial to just be human.

“And how do you know how sharp his canines are, exactly?” 

Scott turned around to frown at Owen. “It’s obvious if you look at him.”

“Then why hasn’t Avid started accusing him of being a vampire due to “having fangs”?” he arched an eyebrow, using visible air quotes.

Stupid cursed tongue.

“Because Avid is an irrational madman. Accurate, but irrational. He only sees what he wants to see.” 

They continued across the river. To Scott’s disappointment, the edges of his cloak had still gotten drenched by the river, weighing it down by the time the reached the other side.

“There’s something you aren’t telling me.” Owen finally said after a minute, stepping onto the gravely shore. “Did something happen when you and Ren went for tea?”

Scott furrowed his eyebrows. He hadn’t told Owen about that.

“How’d you know about that?”

“I was in earshot when you both talked about it.” he shrugged. “Did something happen?”

Yes.

“We had tea. Very mediocre tea.”

His blood was better.

Owen’s eyes scanned his face. “I may be a fledgling or whatever you like to call it, but I’m not daft, Scott. Why are you being so ca-” he cut himself off before starting to laugh.

Abnormally hard.

Scott frowned again. “Why are you laughing.”

“I’m sorry– just that–” he managed to get out between laughs, before starting to calm down. “You two snogged, didn’t you? That’s why you know how sharp his teeth are.”

“Wh- no?” he sputtered “Why would that be what comes to your mind?”

“See, your reaction right there is why.” Owen let out another laugh. “Six hundred years, and you’d think you’d have a better poker face than that.”

Ren had invited him for tea, and although he hated all of them, it wouldn’t be the worst idea to get closer, erase some suspicion from his name, maybe get them to turn on Abolish.

It would make things easier.

Once the sun had gone down a bit more, Scott knocked on the door, one of his iron rings digging into the soft wood, leaving a small dent.

He should get better doors.

A moment later, the door swung open, the strange man on the other side of the door.

“Ah, Scott. Come in.” he nodded, pulling the door open fully.

“Ren,” he greeted, stepping into the house. It was more of a cabin, really. One room, completely made out of wood. There was a crafting table and a stove, with a bed on the other side of the room, and a small makeshift table on the far wall.

“I just put the kettle on. I hope earl grey is okay.” 

“Earl grey’s fine.” Scott closed the door behind him.

Pleasantries. Great.

He forgot about those.

Ren looked back at him, approaching the stove. “Please, sit.”

“I’m alri-”

“I insist. It’s rude to decline, don’tcha know.” He pulled two wooden cups from his bag, setting them on top of the crafting table before adding the tea leaves and hot water.

Scott sighed before crossing the room, taking a seat in one of the chairs. It was uncomfortable, but he wouldn’t be there long, so it didn’t matter.

Ren came over with the steaming cups, setting them both on the small table before taking the chair opposite of Scott.

“I do believe that we got off on the wrong foot, and that may have been on me.” Ren sipped from his cup, and Scott did the same. It had been a while since he had tea, and his opinion on it still hadn’t changed.

It was okay.

He didn’t find anything special about it.

“You were quite…eager to make assumptions.” He set his cup back down on the table. “I suppose I can’t particularly blame you for it.”

Scott felt that there was something…off about Ren. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it put him on edge. He could probably blame the accent, his curse or whatever, but he knew it wasn’t that.

There was something else.

“Well, I’m glad you accepted my invitation. I know plenty of men who wouldn’t, don’tcha know.”

“Plenty of men are also foolish.”

Ren laughed slightly, nodding. “That’s true.”

Scott took another sip of his tea. “Was there anything in particular you wanted to discuss?”

He shook his head. “I just thought I’d extend the invite. Don’t really know who we can trust here.”

Funny how right you are.

This was an opportunity for Scott.

“No kidding. I still don’t know what Avid’s on about with the whole vampire thing.”

“He is a strange one.” Ren agreed. “I’m sure he means well, though.”

He shrugged. “He did accuse me of murder.”

“That’s…fair.”

Scott looked at Ren as the man finished his tea, the steam fogging up his round glasses. He didn’t seem bothered by the heat of the tea.

Interesting…

——————————————————————

The blood red moon was high in the sky by the time they had finished talking. Their tea was long gone, barely having lasted ten minutes.

“It was nice having you over, Scott.” Ren nodded, the both of them now standing by the door. “Youa re a very nice guest, don’tcha know.”

“And you’re a wonderful host.” Scott acknowledged, taking a brief glance back at the cabin before looking back at Ren.

He smiled. “You’re too kind.”

They both stood there for a moment, an awkward tension filling the air between them, and Scott couldn’t figure out why.

“I should get going, Shubble will probably be wondering where I am.” Scott cleared his throat slightly, glancing out one of the window frames. There was no glass, it having long since shattered after being abandoned.

Unless…

“Unless she’s headed off with Drift.” he glanced back at Ren, who had been staring at him.

Staring at his mouth.

…Goddamnit.

“You could stay, don’tcha know.” Ren offered.

“Are you offering?” Scott tilted his head slightly.

“I could be.”

That cursed tongue was going to be the death of him.

“It’d be rude of me not to accept, then.” He took a step closer, keeping eye contact with him.

“I wouldn’t have taken it personally.” Ren’s gaze flickered around his face. “But I’m glad you’ve accepted.”

I can tell.

They were closer now, less than a foot apart. Close enough for Scott to turn him, if he wanted.

It’d be so easy.

He mentally shook away the thought. Too soon.

It’d be suspicious.

Plus, he did enjoy toying around first.

Scott’s hand grazed over his chest before pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt, bringing them closer.

It was Ren who closed the distance, kissing him and backing him up against the door.

Scott’s other hand tangled into the mess of brown hair closer to the base of his neck. He was tempted to pull his hair out of its loose ponytail, but decided against it.

Ren’s hand pressed against the side of his waist, under his coat

Scott tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss and pressing forward, taking half a step away from the door.. He temporarily removed his hands, shrugging off his coat.

Ren took this as an invitation to slip his hand under his shirt, his hand warm against his ice cold skin.

He nipped at his lip, one of his fangs drawing a drop a blood from him.

Ren’s blood didn’t taste like anything he had ever had before, and it was intoxicating.

He could get drunk off the taste of him.

Scott’s hands went back into his hair as Ren’s lips parted, and his tongue slipped through, immediately making contact with a canine sharp enough to slice his tongue.

He froze. What the hell?

He pulled away slightly, his hand going to his lips, blood dripping from his mouth. 

Scott looked back at Ren, who looked confused at his reaction.

Human canines weren’t that sharp. 

But he knew that Ren wasn’t a vampire. He would’ve noticed. He noticed it in Owen easily.

But Ren wasn’t human.

“Didn’t think that curse was on your teeth as well,” Scott commented, feeling the small cut on his tongue close up.

“Oh, yeah.” He huffed out a laugh awkwardly.

He reached up to brush his hand against the side of his face, his ring grazing him slightly, and Ren flinched, failing to hide a grimace.

Iron.

Sweet blood, Iron hurts him, he has sharp canines…

Werewolf.

Of fucking course.

That’s why Ren was hostile towards him in the beginning, even if he didn’t fully know it. 

You could barely tell what it was on the outside, most of it hidden within the stone of the mountain. It bugged him, that it couldn’t be as lavish as he was used to, but that was the least of his concerns.

He was still hungry, and the animals were doing less and less to quench his bloodthirst, and there wasn’t a plausible way for him to get human blood.

It was becoming quite the issue.

The remains of the pig he had managed to kill seemed less and less appealing the more he looked at it, and it made him feel sick.

He couldn’t believe he was going to die from starvation. Out of all the ways to go.

Scott’s gaze went to his bag, sitting on the pale oak table. It was stuffed with books that he had found after searching the ruins of the manor.

The Goldsmith memory books.

They were right where he left them, before he had been so rudely put to sleep, all of them still intact.

Lauren, Sasha, Joey, Lizzie, Joel, Callum, and…

Milo.

He tore his gaze away from the shimmering books, leveraging himself on the counger edge. His leg burned, a manageable but painful reminder that his strength was not up to par with what it should be.

He needed his cane.

He wasn’t sure where it was—it hadn’t been buried with him. It was probably long gone.

Great.

Scott’s head shot up at the sound of a knock on the door.

What the hell?

Nobody should’ve been able to find that door unless they were looking for it—and he made sure that nobody would.

His hand grasped the hilt of his iron knife, picking up from the counter before heading towards the door, his gaze narrowed.

Maybe he would get a meal after all.

Scott limped towards the door, pulling it open and immediately dragging whoever it was inside, pinning them to the wall with the knife against their throat. 

Those dark, slitted eyes…

Oh fuck.

Ren pushed the knife away from his throat with a bandaged hand, staring back at him. “Hello to you, too.” his voice was gruff.

Scott stepped away, sheathing the knife in his belt. “What do you want.” he could only imagine how desheviled he looked. He had ditched his coat for the moment, and he felt more dead than he had while he was asleep.

“I had a hunch you were around here, don’tcha know.” his eyes flickered around the room. 

“And?” he was growing impatient as he made his way back towards what he could call a kitchen, if he had any use for one. It was mostly for show, if he was being honest.

“...Are you limping?”

“Yes, Ren. I’m a cripple,” he deadpanned. “Have been for the past seven hundred years.”

He thought it had been getting better, if such a thing was possible.

“If you’ve come to gloat, then by all means.” he looked back at Ren.

A look of confusion crossed the werewolf’s face. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I’m actively starving and now unable to do anything about it?” Scott gave a confused look back at him. “I would’ve done it.”

“Well, I’m not you, don’tcha know.” Ren stepped closer to him.

“Then I hope you’re not here for an apology,” he mused. He could see the still-healing scratches on his neck from where his nails dug into his throat. He still bore similar marks on his jaw. “‘Cause you’re not getting one.”

“You could stop assuming and let me speak,” he pointed out.

“Then by all means.”

“I came to check on you.”

Scott paused. “And why?”

Ren paused as well. “Because it felt like I should.”

“Well, congrats. Moral obligation fulfilled. You can go now.”

“You could feed from me.”

He raised his eyebrows at Ren, his gaze darting between his face and his wrist, which was now held out towards him.

Scott reached out, his fingers skimming across the werewolf’s wrist, feeling the light fluttering of his pulse beneath the sink.

It was an easy choice.

…Too easy.

He took Ren’s wrist and pinned it to the counter, stepping closer. “I don’t take handouts.”

“So you won’t take it when it’s offered, but you will when it isn’t.” Ren gave him a look.

“When people offer it, it’s a trick,” he narrowed his eyes. “At least when they’re surprised I know they aren’t plotting something.”

Scott paused before continuing. “But here you are, knocking on my door and offering your blood. Something’s up with that.” his grip tightened on Ren’s wrist. “Don’t you think?”

“I think you have an issue of looking a gift horse in the mouth, Scott.” he tilted his head slightly.

“If you don’t have suspicion, they’ll kick you when you aren’t expecting it.” Scott countered.

Ren didn’t respond, his gaze flickering around his face.

Fucking hell.

He genuinely had no idea what it was about Ren that made him so appealing. 

It was starting to become an issue.

Scott kissed him, his hand gripping the collar of his tunic tightly.

Ren kissed him back, one of his hands cupping the side of his face, fingers grazing over the still-healing cuts in his skin.

The kiss was short, Scott pulling away a moment later, his fingers still firmly hooked into the collar of his tunic. His eyes flickered over Ren’s face, searching for something, anything.

It felt pathetic.

Ren pulled his hand away before wrapping his arm around his waist, pulling him closer and into another kiss. 

Scott’s hand move to his neck, tracing over the small divuts from his nails from the other night, the two of them stumbling away from the kitchen, daftly uncoordinated.

He felt the smooth, cold stone against his back as their bodies pressed together, his hand snaking into Ren’s hair, tilting his head to deepen the kiss and pushing back against him.

Scott’s hand slipped under the hem of Ren’s tunic, gliding over his ribs. He could hear a soft hum from his throat as he shifted slightly, his hand slipping under Scott’s knee, pulling him closer. His grip was tight, but not painfully so, which came as a slight surprise with how irritable his leg had been as of recent.

Ren pulled away slightly, their faces still close together.

“Still think it’s a trick?”