Fic: Who's That Puppy In The Window 1/?
Title: Who's That Puppy In The Window?
Author: Rhion
Raiting: Not Sure Yet
Summary: What happens when you're a half-breed who's been up for days, messed with the wrong man's woman, don't have anywhere safe to go, and there's some crazy lady who thinks you'd make a good house pet trying to get you to be a nice doggy?
Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Hunters, Were-Hunters, or any of that stuff. It belongs to Sherrilyn Kenyon and as such I have no legal right to this work.
I own Torphos, Xyria and any non-cannon characters mentioned herein.
Feedback: Would be lovely - good, bad, ugly whatever. Hit me up: rhionlogan@yahoo.com
Author's Note: Well I got an idear that popped inta me head, and it's been bugging me for a bit. Now while I would love to play with cannon characters, I just don't feel right doing so. Unless of course they're non-main characters in this fic. Eventually I may wind up using Torphos as an RP-ing person, but I have to decide if I have the time to get into that.
What he always found was surprising was the general idiocy of people. Tor knew he shouldn't keep overestimating people so much - but it was just his nature to hope for the best from others. And that included himself. What a disapointment. Grimacing as he threw his shoulder into the other man taking him down in a tackle, Torphos ripped the Arcadian's throat out.
"Damnit, you got blood on my boots, those were my favorite boots!" pursing his lips, he kicked the rapidly dying man. Turning he eyed the two other men, wary for any fresh threat from them. But they seemed cowed for the moment. Giving a flick of his wrist, a knife slid into his palm, "So ladies you up for a dance? I got on my blue suede shoes..."
Kyrol sneered, "Half-breed you'll die soon enough."
"Promises, promises. So - let's do the two-step, eh?" lunging he morphed in mid-air into a sable timberwolf, even as he cast the knife as his hand changed into a paw.
The hilt of the knife bounced off the forehead of one of them, but all Tor had needed was a momentary distraction. Bending time and space just before he barreled into the front of Kyrol he appeared at the opening of the alley and fled. Spoils go to the brave, but victory goes to the one with brains, you fuckers!, flashing from shadow to shadow, Torphos knew he should run for his family, but didn't want to risk the wrath of the leaders. Seeing as there wasn't much time until his strength fled him, he ran through the list of safe places he could flop for the next few days. Drawing up short his form flickered back into the shape of a man.
Up for days, Torphos felt fatigue to the core of his being, but there would be no respite. Mentally he checked off his list of possible refuges and cursed aloud, foul enough to boil rock. All of them were too far for him to teleport to in his current condition. And what was worse was there was no sanctuary for thousands of miles. Which brought him back to one very bad fact: he was fucked.
Knew I shouldn't have responded to the googly eyes of that Arcadian tiger. Dogs and cats just don't mix. Measuring his stride to match the flow of humanity around him, he did his best to blend in. If only the humans around him that passed by knew of the dangers that walked abroad in daylight as well as under the eye of the moon, they'd all run for the nearest church to find religion once again. Truly he should call Vane, Fury, or Holy but again they'd just shake their heads at his foolishness. He was an omega, the runt of all the litters and pack, almost worth no notice whatsoever. So would it be any wonder he'd dipped his fingers into a pie that he shouldn't have?
Ah well, gotta watch for that riptide at the beach, Tor. Good going, she wasn't even worth it. Shit, he almost paused as he caught scent of another Arcadian and turned around, but forced himself to act normal. Think human Tor, that's it, just play human. Don't let anyone catch your smell anywhere.
Torphos Lycarnthos wasn't very strong, fast or magically gifted. But what he lacked in those departments he made up for in intelligence and cunning, always using his meager gifts to their limits. His motto was that it was best to use a spark to start a fire rather than throw a fireball to make an inferno. It was only with the help of others that he could move through time, but space wasn't much of a problem - so long as the destination wasn't too far away. And at his current level of strength he had been lucky to be able to flash a few yards at a time. In an attempt to conserve his reserves he did nothing more than hold a human form and mask his scent. Sometimes being half Arcadian was a boon, it made staying in the shape of a man much easier during daylight than it would for the run of the mill Katagari.
But now he was weary, and had no place to run to, no real safe haven. On the one hand he could call the Lycarnthos pack or the Kattalakis, but as an omega Tor was used to being on his own, and if he were to request their help - he'd be even more of a laughingstock. So unless it was completely necessary for his continued breathing, Torphos would do his best to do for himself. At the rate he was going though, he'd never find himself a mate.
Maybe that'd be a boon, why on earth would I want to pass on my corrupted genes onto my offspring?
Sighing he made his way down the street, keeping his eyes peeled for non-humans.
Xyria was sitting at a cafe typing away, she had a deadline to meet with her editor and would be damned if she didn't meet Eddy's expectations of her. Chewing on the end of her braid she wrinkled her nose. This was going absolutely nowhere, the characters weren't cooperating and the plot was so cookiecutter she could cry. But that was life as a cheesy bodice ripper author. At least it paid the bills while she used her free time to work on her real book.
She ignored the feeling of a cold finger running down her spine, all it meant was that yet another nonhuman was nearby. In a city the size of Calgary it was to be expected that not all the inhabitants were 'real' humans. Her father had always joked that Xyria had the touch, but what it really was was more and less than that. It was more of a nose for 'other' than homo sapiens, most likely a legacy of some cross breeding in the family background according to family myth. Shrugging it off, she did her best to continue with the rag that she was supposed to spin into a story.
Just as she was settled in, getting to a generically steamy scene with Mr. Rippling Muscles and Ms. Well Bosomed, a touch of dread tapped her upside the head and made her want to puke that lovely gyro she'd finished not fifteen minutes ago up. Fighting it down, Xyria looked around surrepticiously. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but it felt skewed to her perceptions. The cool finger of warning on her spine was turning into a stampede of horses going up and down up and down, and the pounding in her skull made everything inside want to make a colourful appearance. Clamping her teeth down, Xyria saved her progress on the laptop, shutting it all down as fast as she could. Something was wrong, dreadfully wrong, and nonhumans were about to make life in Calgary interesting.
Waving to the waiter nearby, "Check please."
He smiled in relief, Xyria knew he'd been waiting a long time, she'd been at the cafe for several hours at this point and was wearing out her welcome. Which was fine by her, she was about to book as fast as her little legs could carry her away from this region. Practically shoving the money into the young man's hand, Xyria made her getaway.
Doing her best to appear unhurried so as not to draw attention to herself - her daddy didn't raise no fool, and he'd warned her that anyone with any sort of 'other' abilities would make a tasty treat for that which went bump in the night - she went down the street towards her parked car. Pulling out her keys, she pressed the button to unlock the drivers side of the car, as she scanned her surroundings. Parked on the road, she was about to step down the curb when some duschebag bumped into her, sending her flailing. At the last moment right before she fell into the street, someone caught her.
Xyria was held in a strong calloused grip by her forearm and was pulled back to her feet by one of the more attractive men she'd ever seen. Squinting she pushed her hair out of her face to look up at him. Faded bluejeans, combat boots, black t-shirt and faded army jacket, long-ish auburn hair, the guy looked at first glance like any other college type. It was the sunglasses he was pushing up onto the crown of his head that revealed one eye so blue it looked like the sky and the other so green it could be an emerald made him seem different. On the other hand it could be the wiff of something inhuman that belied his very normal appearance.
"You okay?" his voice had a soft accent that made her toes curl.
"Would have been better if I didn't almost become roadkill, but otherwise," giving him a shrug, "it's all good."
He cocked his head to the side, studying her for a moment, then nodded with a smile, "Do you need a safety-pal to cross the street? Because I could fill that position..."
Surprised Xyria wrinkled her nose up at him, "Well last time I checked I was a big girl and didn't need help to walk the four feet to my cardoor."
"Ah too bad then," his full lips quirked as though she amused him.
The scent of his other-ness came on strong, almost overwhelming her for a moment, and she tried to sort all the information out. Pinpointing it was almost as natural as breathing to her. So it was somewhat surprising when she realized it was something she wouldn't assosciate with a nonhuman. Fear. Laced heavily with fatigue. Her father had always told her to steer clear of nonhumans, but she didn't like the scent of his fear. A person who seemed as normal and nice as this man shouldn't have to smell like that.
Placing a hand on his arm to halt him as he turned away, "I suppose though I should ask if you need a safety-buddy?"
He blinked rapidly at her, his fine features darkening with confusion, "Excuse me?"
"You sme- I mean seem like you may need some help," glancing around the street as people went on with their normal ho-hum lives around them. But the awareness of many other kinds of people homing in on this area was scorching her from the inside out. That and his smell, that acrid warm musty scent of fear on his skin filled her senses.
His face shuttered, a veil slamming down making him hard to read, "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about." Three men were bearing down on them, looking for all the world like Matrix extras, and the man's head snapped up to stare at them. Lips twisting, he looked back at her, "If I were you, I'd get in my car now and run. You're seriously screwed otherwise," as he started to back away from her.
Locking her grip around his arm, "Got a feeling you'll be farther up the creek than I if you just hare off. Get in the car."
Shoving him towards the passenger side, Xyria watched a moment to make sure he was going to co-operate. Not giving herself time to wonder why in the name of all that was holy (and many that were unholy) she was helping some random non-human. Cursing she got behind the wheel. Biting her lip Xyria ignored Mr Cute Nonhuman sitting in the passenger seat, entering the normal flow of traffic. Checking the rearview mirror she watched as the Matrix Trio stared after her halt their advance, staring at her 70 Chevelle like they wanted to make it expload in the middle of the street.
"You know you really should have just left me out there," his voice was soft startling Xyria from her concentraition.
Shrugging, "Shoulda coulda woulda, its actions that make the day."
He gave her a strange look, "What does that mean?"
"It means between you and them - you're the least scary. Plus," cutting her gaze over to him for a moment, "I figure that I could maybe talk you out of eating me, whereas them? I'd probably make a prime buffet."
"I'm starting to feel like a repeating record, but excuse me? A 'prime buffet'?"
Keeping to main throughfares Xyria reached out and fiddled with the radio then grumbled as she turned the mp3 player on the dash, "Because you non-sapiens types tend to eat those with Gifts. Duh. And I probably look like a nice big bucket of Super Powered KFC. I don't like the idea of being finger licking good."
Mr Cutie looked mortified, "Colourful imagery. Should try doing the descriptive video for the blind or something with that kind of talent."
"Soo.... you're saying that to you, I don't look like a nice big tasty meal or whatever?" Xyria frowned, because if that was the case that was completely contrary to everything she'd ever been told from her research.
"To me? I'm not overly fond of human. Gives me heartburn like there's no tomorrow. But on the otherhand, you do look finger licking good. Wouldn't mind finding out how much so," his humour seemed to have returned and along with that almost impish smile as he gave her a hot look.
Refraining from making a gagging sound of disgust was one of the most difficult things Xyria had ever attempted. And she failed.
Snorting in contempt, "Gross. There's no way I'd mess with some thing like one of you guys," waving her hand around in emphasis while holding the steering with the other, "it might be catching. Don't want fangs, fleas or whatever it is you folks have. Not interested."
"I take exception to that," he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared out the window, "I've only had fleas twice. And I got them from a human... I think."