#wolf scene

This night, with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders for warmth, Peter wandered farther than he ever had before, turning left to go up more stairs instead of right to head towards the main floor like he usually did. No, not that way. The voices seemed agitated, upset, their usual hushed whispers buzzing like insects against his ears. Come away from there. No one enters the West Tower. “Why not?” Peter stared up the dark stairs. “What's up there?” The master's chambers, no one enters the West Tower, come away come away.

Peter ignored them, going so far as to brush the air around him as if shooing them away, and continued up, holding the blanket tighter as the air seemed to get thicker, colder against his skin.

At the top of the stairs, two big doors hung halfway off their hinges, and Peter slipped between them cautiously, taking in the room behind them with wide eyes.

Furniture lay in pieces, scattered across a bedroom that was easily three times the size of his own. Curtains had been torn to shreds, hanging off snapped poles, still trying to cover dirty windows and a giant bed sat up on a platform, the blankets a mess as if the master of the castle had just barely rolled out of  them. On a side table, a decanter of wine and cup lay knocked over, still spilling into the thick carpet.

Peter swallowed nervously, moving further into the room.

In the weeks since he had refused the Lords demand for dinner, he hadn't seen the man once. Peter moved through the castle as he pleased and only a few times had he caught a sight of a cloak disappearing around a corner, heard the deep voice answer a question from the voices before retreating. It was odd, but also a relief. He hadn't wanted to see the Lord, but looking at the mess he wondered if the other man had been trying to avoid him, if Peter being there made him uncomfortable and for whatever reason that thought made Peter a little sad.

With another quick glance around the destroyed room, Peter turned to leave, tucking the blanket more securely around his arm to ward off the chill. It wasn't his business how the Master lived, and he was intruding. He needed to leave.

A soft cry of pain stopped his steps, and he hesitated, craning his neck to see if he would hear it again.

“Ahhhh!”

There it was again, louder now, and Peter moved cautiously towards a door at the far end of the room that he hadn't noticed earlier.

“Goddamnit.” The noise was definitely coming from there, and Peter peeked around the corner the see the largest, most ornate bathroom he had ever seen.

There was a large tub, big enough for two full grown men, sunk into the floor to make filling it easier, and what looked like marble floors stretching out to touch floor to ceiling mirrors.

It would have been beautiful, if the tub was clean, if the marble floors weren't crossed with grime, and if the mirrors weren't all cracked and shattered.

But Peter didn't notice any of that, because there, kneeling on the floor facing the mirror in nothing but short briefs, was the Lord of the Castle.

His face was hidden in his hands, broad shoulders shaking with each ragged breath and Peter couldn't take his eyes off the thorns inked onto his skin. The ones on his feet were the thickest, with barely any skin showing through. Moving up his legs, they wrapped around thick thighs, slashing up across his waist, criss-crossing over his back and covering his shoulders, thinning out to sharp points at the bottom of his neck.

A low groan came from the big man, and Peter could see his skin start turning red, could see the thorns shift against the skin, and the groan grew into a cry of pain.

Then he started shouting, his voice rising in pitch until it hurt Peter's ears, his back arching in agony, and Peter watched in horror as the barbs at his neck started thickening and stretching, the ink moving up his skin, up the back of his neck until it touched the base of his scalp,

And the Lord screamed through it, a fist lashing out, smashing into the already cracked glass over and over until blood ran from his knuckles, and Peter stumbled back a few steps in shock, tripping over a broken chair and crashing to the floor.

The Lord’s head jerked up at the noise, furious blue eyes narrowing, staring at Peter through the glass.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was deep and ragged, furious and pained, hoarse from screaming, but his eyes were burning and Peter couldn't look away from the reflection.

“I'm sorry, I heard screaming and--”

“Get out.” He snarled, struggling to his feet, leaving streaks of blood on the glass.

“I'm sorry!” Peter cried, but reached out with one hand. “I just--can I help you? Are you alright? What is--”

“GET OUT!!!” A vase was flung at him, shattering against the walls and Peter turned on his heel and fled, a howl of rage following him down the stairs. “GET OUT!!”

No no please don't leave please don't leave he needs you, he needs you.

“Let me out! Let me out now!” Peter yelled to the air and the front doors of the castle blew open in a rush of night air. He nearly fell down the stairs outside, his feet slipping on the ice, hugging the blanket to his chest as he ran for the stables, for the comforting presence of his horse.

“Phillip.” He tossed only a saddle blanket over the big grays back. “Get us out of here, boy. Now! Go go go!” The faithful horse set out in a dead run towards the castle gates, Peter stretched out flat over his back, holding the blanket as tight as he could with one hand, the other wrapped in Phillips mane.

He couldn't even see where they were going, the wind in his face forcing him to duck his head, burying it in the horse’s neck, trusting Phillip to get them out of the woods somehow. He just had to get out of there, had to get home.

He was scared, terrified, and couldn't stop the tears trailing from his eyes. All he had wanted was something different from the village he had grown up in and instead life had landed him here. Trapped in a castle with a man who was literally what horror stories were made of.

He was scared and all he wanted to do was get back home.

Peter heard the wolves before he saw them, a single howl making him jerk upright, straightening to run his hands soothingly over Phillips neck. “Hey hey, we're okay. We're alright, big boy, just keep going.” The horse had slowed down, nervous, and Peter urged him forward again.

Then several more animals joined in on the howl, rising and falling in an eerie harmony, and Peter's heart stuttered in his chest.

“Let's just… let's just keep going.” He coaxed, and Phillip danced a few nervous steps before continuing onward, even slower now.

The wolf seemed to appear out of nowhere, one moment the path ahead of them was clear, the next, a ghostly white shape, sharpening into teeth and claws, glowing eyes and a continuous snarl coming from curled lips.

“God.” Peter swallowed hard. “Alright. We might be in trouble, just stay easy, Phillip, come on.”

The wolf started forward, just a few steps, and the horse panicked, rearing back, hooves slicing through the air, and Peter tightened his legs and arms around him. “Easy boy, easy, throwing me won't solve any---ah!!”

A wolf leapt from somewhere above and to the left of them, knocking Peters slight frame right off Phillips back, and the horse squealed in alarm, bucking and kicking, and nearly trampling Peter as he fled the clearing.

“Shit.” Peter usually didn't curse, but this was good a time as any, as the wolf that had knocked him down advanced slowly, joined by three others that flanked him in a semicircle, teeth bared, snarling and growling and Peter scrambled back against a tree, breathing hard, trying to keep himself calm.

When one got a little too close, Peter kicked out with a wild yell, and it retreated a few feet, snapping its teeth in agitation.

“Alright, we can do this.” Peter reached up and tugged hard at the branch directly above his head, putting his whole weight on it until it broke off in his hands, and he swung it in a wide circle, forcing the wolves to keep their distance. “That's right, stay away.”

Peter wasn't stupid, he knew he couldn't keep it up forever, and after several swings with the big branch, as the wolves started retreated less and less, he knew he was fighting a losing battle.

The wolves knew it too, and this time when one of them darted forward, another came in from the right at the same time, and Peter only had time to scream.

Then there was something like a war-cry ringing through the air, and the wolf went down in a spray of blood, it's head nearly severed from its body.

A shocked silence fell over the forest, and Peter waited, eyes wide, branch held out defensively, staring at the short curved blade buried in the ground next the dead wolfs body. The animals were all bristling, shifting nervously, eyes darting around, unsure whether to take their eyes of their prey, or try to focus on whatever new predator had killed one of their pack.

Then the biggest one growled, her head snapping around as a tall figure stepped from the trees close to the downed wolf, reaching out and calmly pulling the sword from the ground, wiping the blood off on his long black cloak.

“Get behind me.” Wade commanded, and watched as the boy started edging towards him. Keeping one eye on the wolves, the other on the kid, Wade pulled the other katana from the sheath on his back, holding one in each hand easily, loosely, wanting to smile at the familiar weight. It had been a long time since he had even picked them up, much less tore something apart with them.

Once the boy was safely behind him, Wade backed up a few steps, crowding him against a rock wall so the wolves couldn't circle around. “Stay there.” he snapped, and crouched down a little, waiting for the animals to make their move.

It didn't take long.

They all rushed at once, from every side, and Wade was surrounded, overwhelmed by hundred of pounds of snapping, vicious flesh. With another wild cry, he dove right into the fray, swinging the blades, cursing and swearing and fighting as hard as he could.

A wolf went down when the blade sliced a leg off at the joint, the sound of it's pain making Peter cringe, closing his eyes and hiding his face from the blood.

Then another fell, a blade to its throat, and the snow stained bright red.

There were only two left, the Alpha female and a beta, who started backing up, jaws popping in agitation, soft whines and snarls from their throats.

Wade took two big steps forward, brandishing his swords and baring his teeth right back. They retreated further back, nearly to the tree line and Wade started to stand straight.

Then from above the rocks where Peter hid, a big wolf jumped onto Wade's back, throwing him to the ground, jaws closing around his ribs, and Wade screamed at the top of his lungs.

But it was less a scream of pain, and more a scream of rage, and he rolled impossibly fast, upsetting the wolf and jumping to his feet, lashing out with both blades, slashing and cutting furiously until the body lay at his feets in ribbons.

Then with a flick of his wrist, he sent the sword in his right hand flying, slicing through the air to bury in the side of the largest female.

The last wolf turned tail and ran, whimpering and crying out in fear, and Wade limped across the clearing to retrieve the sword from the dead Alpha. He wiped both blades clean in the snow, drying them carefully on the edges of his tattered cloak before replacing them in their sheaths.

“Good christ.” Peter whispered, edging out from the rocks. Without the cloak covering him, all Peter could see was pale skin, black thorns, and so much blood it made his head swim. “You killed-- you killed them.” God there was so much blood and the smell of death hung heavy in his nose. “You killed them. That was--” he didn't have any words for it, just spreading his hands helplessly.

Wade's blue eyes narrowed, and he reached for his hood to cover his face so the boy would stop staring, but small the movement made him flinch in pain, and then he staggered, his legs giving out and sending him pitching to the forest floor.

“Oh no.” Peter was moving before he realized it, stumbling through the snow, dropping to his knees beside the man. “Oh no no no, please be alright. I--I--” He looked around wildly, then cupped his hands to his mouth and started whistling for Phillip. Grabbing at the blanket he had dropped when the horse bolted, he spread it with shaking hands over the Lord's body, trying to cover him as much as he could. “You’re alright.” he mumbled, tucking the edges around him.

“You’re alright. I'm not going to leave you here. Gonna get you back to the castle and we--” he jumped to his feet when Phillip came galloping back into the clearing. “Oh good boy.” Peter crooned, urging the horse forward. “Good boy. Come here and help, alright?” he knelt back by the Lord’s shaking body. “Can you stand? I need you to help me, you’re way bigger than I am, come on, lets stand. I'm not going to leave you, alright? Not going to leave you. You saved my life, I can't just leave you here. Not going to leave you.”

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