It's just a little more then strange to be standing at the foot of a grave, looking at your own headstone where people know your body lays, where there are flowers and your book that you wrote, decorations that you know came from your only friend and his son, those who love you, miss you, know you won't be back and question why you left them.

It's a little more then strange as a ghost, it's even more strange as a living, breathing, man. As a man that's been dead for nearly a year and is now standing, body and all, alive and well. It's more then strange to stand there and know that the body everyone believed was you was in fact not you but someone else that an insane psychopath that fancied himself a doctor of sorts switched for your own, the very one your standing in. The very body that wasn't in the grave.

Who was in that grave that is yours Silas? Who died under your name? With your fortune? Who was burried to your friends parting words, words that should have been for you?

He moved forward and knelt on the grave, touched the book cover, lifted it, caressed it and smoothed his thin hand over it. Touched each corner, stared at the cover and then opened it. Read the inner inscriptions, the copy right, as if it were a new book, one that you had never seen. He'd written this book a year prior to his self-destruction. He opened another page and something slid out. Folded in half.

He reached down and lifted it from the grass carfully, as if touching precious glass. Useing his thumb and forefirnger he unfolded the crips, stiff photopaper, each corner pressed sharp. His eyes stared, misted, and a tear rolled off of his cheek and settled to stain the coverpage of the book, then another, and then a third drop distorted several letters.

Two young men, not much younger then he was now. One with white hair twisted into dreaded locks, the other with black hair, braided down. One had more piercings then a pincushion, eyebrows, lip, nose, ears. You name it. The other did not. They were both good looking, wonderful smiles. Like night and day. One dressed in black leather pants and a dark blue button down shirt, untucked and several buttons undone. The other was dressed in white slacks, a button down with three colors of light blue and white verticle strips, tucked in, buttoned except for the last button.

Silas Shepiro and Pierce Patton, night and day, leaning against a railing, the ocean stretched back behind him. That same handsom face, same handsome body of Silas was now kneeling on what was suposed to be his own grave, his hair down around his face, messy and straight, wearing a blue jumpsuit that michanics often wear, rubber boots, a gun tucked into the boot beneath the pant leg with one bullet, a wad of cash, a razor in his pocket. He dropped the book and let out a low moan, nearly a sob.

What had she done? Wait. Scratch that. What had ‘it’ done? How could she have forgotten about the full moon? She never forgets about it. But last night she had. What was left of some poor guy near where she was curled up proved that. She hadn’t meant to. She hadn’t meant to forget. Damn it.

Mismatched eyes gaze down at herself and realizes that she’s not entirely naked for a change though. It was a damn good thing she had been wearing such a big, baggy t-shirt at the time. It had managed to stay on through out it all. Her pants were gone as were her under clothing. But at least she had the shirt on still. A dark blue shirt. Big enough that when she stands up, it goes to about two inches below her buttocks. Long blonde hair that usually falls to the middle of her back is wild and disheveled. Her skin caked with dirt and blood.

Mismatched eyes begin to look around as she tries to figure out where she is. Headstones. ‘It’ had taken the prey for the night to the far back of the cemetery. These places creep her out anyway. But to wake up in one was almost too much for the poor girl who hates what she is more than anyone could possibly realize and understand.

She can’t stay here. No. Someone will come along and find her. Near what’s left of some poor guy. God. She hopes he doesn’t have a family that’s sitting at home waiting for him. How could she have let ‘it’ get the better of her? How’s she going to explain to Pierce where she had gone on the night of a full moon when she’s usually locked in the basement of the building. Eyes welled up with tears as she scrambled backwards away from what was left of the body. She stumbled a couple of times before she managed to get shakily to her feet.

And then she took off. Trying to find her way out of the cemetery. She hears someone. But it’s too late. She’s already right there. She can see someone standing in front of a headstone. If he looks up, he’ll be able to see her too. Wait. There’s something almost familiar about the man. She takes a few steps forward. Mismatched eyes crazy with fear. Yet, she can’t seem to turn and go away. She finally stops about nine feet off to the side of where he is standing.

Nine feet from where he's kneeling. He was bent over the book, holding it to his chest, the picture held near the ground in his hand. He was sitting on one heal, his chest laying the length of the knee that was still propped up. He couldn't have possibly smelled the body, the blood. Nor could the wolf. Not over the scent of decay, the smell of old, decaying bodies, acids breaking down, chemicals released into the air by a natural way that science could not replicate short of death.

He's heard her though, about twenty paces from him, moving near, and he's almost unable to bring himself to care. Why should he care that a woman finds him in a cemetery, crying over a headstone? It's natural, probably almost common. And he does not know her, he didn't really know any women aside from the people rich enough to live in his buildings. Old enough to be rich enough.

But she's not just a woman, or a stranger. She was a wolf too. And this he did not like. But it didn't matter. How could it matter? He'd killed himself, why should it matter if he dies once more? If God had given him a second chance, maybe, slim chance, but just maybe he would accept it. But this second life was a curse put on him by a crazy man useing his body as an experiment, a project. This man had disrespected his body, his death, his soul. This was a curse, not a second chance.

He turned his head just a little, away from her, his matted hair falling into his face, another soft moan slipping from his throat. He folded the picture and pressed it into his palm, closed the book slowly and set it back against Silas' headstone, or rather, an unknown man's headstone with his name on it.

Her body seems frozen in place at the moment. What is she doing? Why isn’t she fleeing? Doesn’t she realize what could happen if she’s linked to the dead body at the back of the cemetery? Damn it Ylva. Leave. Get away. Go home and clean up. But she can’t. Nostrils flare as she realizes that this man is not a mere human. Even over the decay she can smell wolf.

She moves closer. Four feet separating them now. Her movements fluid and not so humanly. Mismatched eyes not once leaving him. She wasn’t going to try to kill him. No. Of course not. ‘It’ was slumbering peacefully within her for the time being. Leaving her in human form. Slightly dazed. Confused. Hurt. Angry. Angry at herself for letting ‘it’ get the better of her.

She’s closer now. Her body moved to go slightly in front of him. Only the headstone separating them now. She tilts her head slightly as she tries to catch a glimpse of his face. Why is she still here? Why is she so set on seeing this man? This isn’t like her. Especially not the morning after having had ‘it’ out and in control.

She stepped around, seemed to be trying to see him. Had she known Silas in her life time? Had he borded one of her grandparents? Had he met her? Or did she know a random face, recognize him from newspapers, obituaries or cover pages? Or did he simply look firmiluar to her? Someone she might know. A friend? Was she just a nosey girl, curious and rude?

He moved his hand hand, curled his fingers protectivly around that folded crisp photo. Shaking a small fraction of messy hair from his face he turned to look upward at her standing on the other side of the stone.

The first thing of his appearance at a slight distance, or even a far one, even over the rediculous jumpsuit and rubber boots, would have been his white hair. Whiter then just bleached, literally white, like an elderly man. Old hair on a young face. The first thing she would notice upon seeing his face is how very startlingly blue those eyes were, scarcly anything could compare. They were set beneath white eyebrows, a handsome, very handsome face. Pirece was pretty, but beside Silas, he was reduced to cute. Pierce's parents had also been reletivly normal in appearance. Silas' parents could have been modles. Both of them.

He blinked at her, used his empty hand to wipe a tear, smearing dirt across his high cheek bone. "Can I help you?" His voice is husky, not usual, but it's not been used much in the past year. Dead men don't talk. But his tone was of utter pleasentness, as though they were not in a cemetery, she were not a rude woman in a tee shirt, and he had not been just crying.

Yes. She was trying to see him. Why? She doesn’t know. Right now her mind is so hazy and confused. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. No. She hadn’t known this man in her life time. No. He didn’t resemble one of her grandparents. No. He had not met her. Yes. He looks familiar to her. Was she being rude? She doesn’t mean to be. She doesn’t know why she’s not fled yet. Returned home to try to explain to Pierce what had happened. Where she had gone. What ‘it’ had done.

Pierce. This is one of his baggy shirts. What had she been doing when ‘it’ had suddenly taken over and taken off? Oh yes. Cleaning. Preparing that basement for her over night stay. Surely she had thought she had more time before ‘it’ came out. That was why the door hadn’t been locked from the outside yet. It hadn’t been time for ‘it’ to come out. But ‘it’ had. ‘It’ had come out just enough to make her walk right out of that building and took her away in the night.

A small intake of breath can be heard from her as he lifted his face towards her. She blinked several times. Mismatched eyes that mirrored Pierce’s blinking and staring. “I know you...” comes her oh so quiet and hoarse voice. The beast must have been having a blast last night if her voice is hoarse today. She shakes her head slightly. No. That wasn't right. She didn't /know/ him. "I know who you are..."

He looked startled. But it only lasted for a fraction of one second. Then his face was wiped clean of all suprise. However, a knot had knited itself into the pit of his stomach. She knew him, of him? This could be in no way, shape, or form a good thing. This had to be bad. Really bad. Why had she been snooping? Couldn't she have just left him be?

Oh, by the way, Pierce had come to lock her in that evening, to lock himself in with her as he so often had before, and she hadn't been there, the door had been wide open. We can only guess that he's either at home worried sick but unable to look for her because Dagger was home, he could not be left alone. Or he might have gotten that boy from upstairs to come and sit in the appartment and watch Dagger and he's out searching for her. At any rate, he's worried to death right now.

Silas sat back on his heals and tried to fold his hands in a plesent manner over his knee, cupping the picture against the knee cap.

"Are you certin? I can't say I recognize you." Before, he'd been confronted often with the 'I know you' and the 'I saw you in the newspaper once' but that had been before he'd died. Before he was suposed to be dead. "I think you might be mistaken. I resemble my cousin very closely."

It had been long enough for her to catch it. But was she certain that is what she’d seen? His very fleeting startled look? Or was it her mind once again playing tricks on her and making her see what it wanted to see? Damn it. Why had that ugly beast inside of her taken over as it had? At least she’d have woken up where she knew where she was and she wouldn’t have woken up with a dead body mere inches from her. No. She’d have woken in the familiar basement with the familiar Pierce there with her. From there he’d have taken her to their familiar apartment where she would have showered and crawled into their familiar bed to sleep the majority of the day away.

But no. That’s not what happened last night. Damn it. You need to go home Ylva. She’s sure that Pierce is worried sick about where she is. But she couldn’t move. She couldn’t pull herself away. Mismatched eyes continued to just stare. She doesn’t mean to. She’s so nearly childlike the morning after ‘it’ has been out. Doesn’t matter if ‘it’ was out loose or out locked in the basement. It still left her nearly childlike in her actions.

Her head nods slightly. Wild hair moving crazily with just that slight movement. “No...” comes that quiet, hoarse voice again. “I’m not... mistaken...” She moves slowly out from behind the headstone and glances at it. She stares at it for a moment and then down to the book. Mismatched eyes travel from the book up to him. Her movements are fluidly canine. Dirty hand reaches down to touch the cover of the book. Pierce has this book. She’s seen it. “This... this is you...” She sounds so confused.

He shook his head. He should have pretended to be a little more confused, a little more worried at being told that he was the man in that grave. He should have pretended to think she was crazy to think that that was him while he sat right there in front of him. And usually, Silas would have remembered this, such a smart man, so bright, a stickler for details. But how can you honestly expect him to pay such close attintion? He's still trying to get over the shock of being alive again.

"No. That's....that's not me. It's my...cousin." Weak. Very weak. He shook his head again when she touched the cover of the book. "No. I havn't been around since a year ago almost. Since he died. I'm...Sirius." Weak.

He was staring up at her, his blue eyes screaming to be believed. Could she as a human smell a lie on him or only as the wolf? The wolf was slumbering, would it help her if it could smell the lie on him? Of course Pierce had that book, so did many people. It had sold well. Not many had taken it serious, how could they. Uninitiates don't believe in werewolves.

A deep frown crossed her dirty face. Mismatched eyes gazed at him with so much confusion. Her head is starting to throb slightly. She really should just turn and go home. Yet, she didn’t. She was still here. Blinking in ever growing confusion. Stupid thing inside of her. Has her all disoriented. Even more than usual. She wanted to just crawl away and curl up into a ball right now. Yet, she didn’t.

She shook her head slightly. No. She wasn’t believing this. No. She couldn’t smell that he was lying. She was too much in a state of confusion at the moment. She looked down at the book again and then back up to him. Nostrils twitched slightly. No. This wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right about what he was saying. She could feel it. Sense it. He’s a wolf, too.

“But... Pierce never... he never told me...” Told her what? “That... Silas had... a were cousin...” Dirty and disheveled head tilted to the side a little as she tried so hard to make sense of all of this. It wasn’t working. The more she tried, the more confused she grew. She seems to have forgotten all about the dead body at the back of the cemetery as well as the fact that she is covered in dirt and blood. And let’s not forget the fact that she’s wearing only a baggy t-shirt.

He turned his head slightly away from her at mention of that name. Pierce. His eyes closed and she would only see one side of his face as he's turned away and lowered his head slightly, his eyes closed, hiding the hurt, the adortion of that very name. He squeezed his eyes, opened his lips.

"You...." he turned his head back to her once he was sure to have his features under control. Plessant look again. He opened his eyes. "...know Pierce?" He smiled gently, just a feather an expression on his lower lip and it was gone, nearly as fast as his shock had previously come and gone. "No. I don't think he knew me. Silas adored him." Oh how his heart ached suddenly to see his confidence, his only and true friend. How his heart hurt that he could not.

"In fact, he loved him. A lot. I...never met him." What a hard lie to tell. It was almost impossible to push the words through his lips, let alone imagine never having met Pierce.

Is it at all possible for her utter confusion to grow any more than it already has? Isn’t it bad enough that she still isn’t sure how ‘it’ had gotten the better of her? Or that ‘it’ had killed someone, in a cemetery of all places? Or that she’s not sure how she’s going to explain to Pierce what had happened or where she was? Must her confusion continue to grow? Poor girl.

She nodded her head slightly and tilted it the other way as she continued to watch him. “Yes...” came her hoarse voice. Stupid beast really had indeed had fun through the night. Howling up a storm. Obviously. “I... I live with him... and Dagger...”

"Dagger," soft, longing. He turned his face again as he remembered so many things. That child had been a major turning point in Pierce's and his life. He'd never been a party animal (no pun intended) but Pierce had. When that child was born, they both grew more serious about things, Pierce asked for Silas' help. And when that child's mother had hit him for the first time. When Silas first realized that she was beating on Pierce...

"He was such a sweet boy." Frown. "So Silas said." Oops. So, Pierce had somehow done what Silas had not thought possible. Silas had known Pierce would never stop loving the compnay of people, but he did not think that the man would ever trust another so near his son after what Anna had done to the child. He'd not thought Pierce would ever warm to another woman again. He thought he and Pierce were both going to grow old as bachelors. How wrong he'd been. He'd obviously not been going to grow old, after dieing that is, and Pierce was living with a woman.

Okay. That so did not go unnoticed by the girl whose attention is entirely fixated upon this man in front of her. She heard the longing in his voice. How could someone who claims to not know someone hold longing in their voice at the mere mention of a name? Her confused mind is slowly starting to become more alert. Not a whole lot. But enough. Enough to know that something is so very much not right about what this man is claiming.

“Not was...” she says hoarsely. “Is...” Mismatched eyes continued to watch him. Perhaps a bit more closely than she already had been. Mismatched eyes that match Pierce’s perfectly. Like looking in a mirror almost. One side blue. The other side green. Opposite of Pierce’s own eyes. Watching. Trying to figure this all out. Her frown deepens and she shakes her head slightly again. Blonde hair caked with dirt and dried blood. Really Ylva. You shouldn’t be out here looking like this. You look like you just recently killed someone.

Lips part and words come forth. “You’re lying...” she says. Nothing more. She watches.

not was. Is.

Right there. That's when he knew he was caught. Is. Dagger is a sweet boy. But to Silas, a man who is suposed to be dead, it would be 'Dagger was a sweet boy' but he wasn't dead anymore. It isn't 'was' until he's dead again. Right? He closed his eyes the moment the words left her lips.

You’re lying...

His eyes stayed closed, his face carfully blank, but his heart was hammering within his chest, threatening to rip itself free at any moment. His hand drifted up as if to hold it in. It hammered so harshly that it hurt under his ribs. He opened those blue eyes to gaze upward at her, his eyes pleading, begging.

"Please....don't tell him. I can't...I don't...." He squeezed his eyes closed. A renewed tear rolled down his cheek. "I don't even know yet." Know what? Anything. He doesn't even know if this...spell....was going to keep him alive or let him die in a week.

Silence. All around them. Not even the sounds of the city seemed to be reaching them at the moment. Or is it just her that thinks this? Her head hurts. Not terribly bad. Just enough though. She’s watching his reaction. Studying him. Closely. ‘It’ has stirred just enough to heighten her senses enough to be of use. No. ‘It’ is not waking. Thankfully. ‘It’ wore itself out through the night. ‘It’ will sleep peacefully until ‘it’ is ready to come out again.

Single dirty hand comes up to cover her mouth as she coughs harshly. Trying to clear her throat of some of the hoarseness that ‘it’ had caused. It hurts. Not a whole lot. But enough to make her cringe slightly. She’s still watching him. Mismatched eyes searching. For something. Answers. Yes. That’s it. Answers. To unconfuse her mind.

“Don’t know?” she says a little louder than a whisper but still very hoarse. “Don’t know what?” Still confused. Very much so.

He looked helpless for a moment as she asked him the very question that he really didn't have an answer for. Silas watched her cover her mouth, cough, whince. Yeah, he felt it too. Only, his wolf had not howled so very much the previous night. Rather his throat was hoarse and battered with nearly a year of no use, of rigor mortum set into every muscle, including his throat, in his body.

"I don't know....what's happened." He frowned, knitting togather two slender white brows. "I should..." He made a hopeless guesture down at the grave he sat on. "I should be there, but I'm not. I...never was. I'm suposed to be dead. I died almost a year ago. And I woke up....and I shouldn't have."

Scowl. He unfolded the picture useing only two fingers, looked down. He knew he'd hurt Pierce when he'd killed himself, but he'd had to, and Pierce would have stopped him. "I don't....know how long I'll be like this."

Like this meaning alive, moving.

She shifts her body ever so slightly. Just enough to get some of the weight off of her naked knees. Tiny pebbles biting into them as she kneels there beside the headstone. She doesn’t even realize it though. Nor does she realize that she’s shifted her body slightly to get some of the weight moved. She’s not a small girl. Five foot seven inches when standing at her full height. Slender though.

Mismatched eyes followed the direction of his hand as he motioned to the grave. She continued to listen to him. Gaze shifted to his hand with the photo in it. Her gaze only lingered there for a brief moment before returning to his face. Her head tilted to the side a little. “But...” But what? What was she going to say? She shakes her head slightly. Still trying to clear her mind of the fogginess. Her head hurts.

“I... I don’t understand,” came her hoarse reply.

"I don't either!" came his frustrated reply. He didn't shout, nor raise his voice, but his tone rose in the end of the sentance, emphasising that he didn't know and that it was driving him mad. He looked down at the picture, stared for a long time, folded it and unfolded it several times. And then he pressed it flat on his knee again.

"I just...woke up this morning. Bodies, the wolf, he's been awake. There was a man in a protection suit, he hosed me down, gave me a newspaper...it had....my obituary in it. I died. But I woke up this morning." He sounded as confused as she felt. If not more so. Is that even possible? He unfolded the picture again. "I escaped. I think he knew I would. I think....I think he brought me back. This," he touched the ground beneath him, the grave. "This isn't me. Wasn't me. I think he brought me back but....I don't know for how long."

She cringed slightly. Not because he’d shouted nor raised his voice. He did neither. His frustration. She could feel it in his words. Her gaze dropped to the ground upon which he was crouched. She listened though. In silence. As he continued to speak. Yes. He did indeed sound as confused as she felt. She didn’t know what to say. Or think. Nothing. Her mind still in such a fog.

Her gaze lifted at the word ‘wolf’. For her, it was strange to hear someone speaking of such a thing without calling it an ‘it’. A frown crossed her dirty, blood caked face. “Where... where are you going to go?” she finally asked. “What... what are you going to do?” The hoarseness in her voice was starting to irritate her. Stupid thing inside of her.

Wolf, because he, unlike her, had had complete control over his own, save for full moons in which he was shoved to the back of the mind where he knew nothing of what was happening. Wolf, because the wolf did not like being known only as wolf. It wanted to be feared, and Silas did not fear his wolf, he just hated it. So it for her. Wolf for him.

Where would he go?

He shook his head again. "I don't know. I havn't got anywhere to go." He smoothed the picture out, his fingers ran over the form of the dark figure, Pierce. He looked up at her suddenly, his blue eyes more intent then they had been. "You won't tell him will you? If I die again...soon. It'll hurt him again. I've hurt him enough once."

She hates hers. Hates it. Fears it. Is losing control of it. Did she ever have control though? No. Not really. It’s always been in control to some extent. But now... Now she’s been losing even more control of it. It’s even started coming out little by little during times between the full moon. Doesn’t matter the time of night or day. If it wants out, it comes out. She fights it. Sometimes she wins. Sometimes she doesn’t. Either way, it leaves her so terribly exhausted.

She sagged slightly against the headstone she was kneeling beside. Not tell Pierce? Not tell him that his best friend is right here in front of her? Her frown deepened even further than it already had. This wasn’t a fair position to put her in. Really it isn’t. Especially because she loves the man so very much. More than she ever thought was possible for someone to love another.

What’s this? Her eyes have begun to glisten slightly. “Are you serious?” she asks sounding astonished through that hoarse voice. “Do you know what you’re asking of me?” Yes. Of course he does. Doesn’t he? “You want me to keep a secret like this from the one that I love and share my life with? From the one who loves and takes care of me?” Goodness. She almost sounds a little angry at the thought. “How? How do you expect me to do such a thing?”

He gritted his teeth and replied to her anger with his own frustration. Not anger. It had always been difficult to anger Silas. It was easy to taunt his wolf, anger his wolf to the point that Silas would have to fight it down. But Silas himself had always been so hard to make angry. Even when Pierce was trying to win custody of Dagger and was loosing, even when he’d started destroying the furniture in one of the apartments in his anger, Silas had sat down and just watched and remained calm. He’d calmed Pierce down. He’s the one with the cool head, the sensible thinker.

“I love him too,” the teeth gritted words were low, almost a hiss, as if she’d hit him. “Do you think I would ask if I did not understand what I was asking?” Many people would ask things they didn’t understand, Silas always made sure he understood. “I know what it means. And if you love him like I do, you won’t tell him. I can’t hurt him again.”

He worked his jaw for a moment, one can see the slight movements of it by his ear. He let out a low breath between his lips, unclenched his teeth. “Please, just…don’t make me have to hurt him again.”

It wasn’t a lot of anger that she was feeling. But it was enough to cause the animal within to stir a bit more. Coming a bit more alert as to what was going on. She let her head fall forward till her dirty, blood caked chin was against chest. The tears that had been starting to form in her eyes started to fall a little. Mismatched eyes squeezed shut. Tightly. Trying to block it all out. How could she agree to this? How?

“If he finds out I kept this from him...” she said quietly... hoarsely. “He’ll hate me...” She lifted her head from her chin slowly. Streaks through the dirt and blood were on her face as tears continued to slowly trickle through her eyes. This was just too much. “I... I don’t want him to hate me...” she whimpered hoarsely. “I... couldn’t bear it...” She let her head sink forward again. Her wild, dirty, blood caked hair falling around her face.

And if you love him like I do, you won’t tell him.

A growl. Deep and throaty. Even with the hoarseness in her throat. It wasn’t a human sound. “How dare you,” she growled. It was her but yet not. “How dare you ask me to keep something from him.” Another deep growl and a flash of ears atop of her head. She lifted her head suddenly. Eyes wide. Wild. Scared.

Her body slumped forward then. Forehead touching her bent knees on the ground. Hands went up to cover her head. “No... no... stop it... stop it... just stop it...” she began to plead softly. Plead with who? Not with Silas. That’s for sure.

If he finds out I kept this from him…

He shook his head, his white hair falling around his face once more. This was a more wild, more unpracticed gesture now, unlike his usually careful gestures. “No. No, Pierce wouldn’t hate you. He loves you. He’s never hated anyone he loves. It isn’t in him.” How could Pierce hate her? After what Anna had done, it was amazing that he trusted at all. But no, she was living with him, he hadn’t even let Anna do that before she’d left him. He wouldn’t do that unless he loved her. “He doesn’t have it in him to hate someone trying to protect him from getting hurt.”

She reacted rather strongly to his comment about loving him. But as a human, it didn’t matter. The moment she slipped that growl in, his wolf came alive. Before, he’d have knocked it back down instantly, but after last night, after not having any understanding of what was happening and no will, he found it so terribly hard to control it. “Don’t.” His word was a warning, very obviously, unmasked, pure warning.

When the ears sprung forward on her head, he forgot about answering her. His body went into defensive mode. She’d just challenged him. Either she had or her wolf had. And his wolf rose, the very feeling in the air rose around him.

“Don’t you dare do it,” he warned her sharply. Her and her wolf. “Because I can’t stop myself right now.” And his wolf is rather one of the larger ones, dominate. Very dominate. And it would stop at nothing to keep that dominance.

She could hear him talking through her hands covering her head. She kept herself pressed tightly in the current position she’s in. Hands pressed so tightly to her head that her knuckles were turning white. Tears rolled down her face. But he wouldn’t be able to see them because of her current position. The wolfish ears still quite visible atop of her head. “Stop it... stop it... just stop it...” she kept whispering hoarsely. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. It was supposed to be sleeping.

Challenged him? No. She, the human, did no such thing. She wasn’t even aware of such things. Remember, she’s lived all these years as a were by herself. Never ‘taught’. All she knows is that the beast is a vicious killer and has started gaining more and more control over her. She hates it. Despises it. Wishes it was not there.

She can hear his warnings. Very clearly she can hear his warnings. Her body is shaking as she fights with herself. “Don’t...” she whispers hoarsely. “Don’t look at me...” She was pleading with him. “I... I don’t know how... to stop it...”

Oh he's never been 'taught' either. And what they have most in common, it seems, is the one man they have in common as well. Pierce loved them both, he also happened to be the only other animalistic contact to their wolves. Silas has never belonged to a pack, or been around one, before. He avoided any place where he may run into another lycanthrope on a full moon because he didn't want his wolf to get any ideas. Pierce had run with him, just like he'd lain in the basment with Ylva.

It's his wolf's instinct that tells him what is a challenge or at the very least, what can be determined as a challenge. And this, he's going to jump on the chance.

But Silas' confussion steps up to the plate. "You.....don't know... how to stop it?" A raise of white eyebrows into an elegant arch.

She continued to keep her hands tightly over her head. Her forehead touching her knees. Keeping herself tightly in a near ball. Sure, it’s quite uncomfortable but it’s working... for now anyway. Working how you ask? Working to keep her from looking up and letting him see what’s trying to come out. She doesn’t want it to come out. It wants to. No. She’s fighting it. It hurts. Very much so. Why won’t it just stop? She hates this thing inside of her so very much.

“No...” she whimpers hoarsely. “I don’t... It... it used to not... be able to... come and go... at random... but... it can... now... I... I don’t know how... to make it stop...” Can you hear the distress in her voice? Can you hear ‘it’ trying to come out? I’m sure you can.

Of course he can hear it. He can also smell it. And his wolf is trying to rise to meet her challenge.

He grabbed the sides of his head, his fingers biting into his hair and skull, no wonder he cuts his nails too short to scratch even an inch on the surface of the skin. Silas closed his eyes and listened to his wolf.

Bitch! I'll put her to her place! Let me go! She's challenging me!

Silas shook his head, opened his eyes and watched her stuggle. You may not. His conscience voice said, he visualized his wolf in his mind, pushed him back, shoved him out of the way.

"I won't hurt you." Because I don't want to hurt anyone, and because Pierce must care for you. I couldn't hurt him again, not even indirectly by hurting you. "How does it come? What does it do to come out?" Because every wolf has it's own preferance for it's own human.

Is she challenging? She isn't meaning to. At least, the human part of her isn't meaning for it to be happening. She doesn't even know that it's happening.

A hushed sob escaped from her. "I... It... It just... comes..." she whimpered hoarsely. She doesn't know how to explain what it does because she's never really 'paid attention' I guess you could say. "It... just... comes..."

And, still, the girl is clenching her head tightly and keeping herself folded over.

((Sorry for the... shortness...))

"Can you tell it to go way?"

He frowned as he felt the mockery in his body, as if he were mocking himself. But he wasn't, his beast was mocking him, laughing at him for being naieve. He shook his head, tensed, trying to ignore the hellish monster inside of him. The oppinionated bastard.

But really, he understood that he was being childish.

"Can you picture it in you mind without actually....letting it come out?" He tucked some strands of white hair behind his ear, the usually finely soft strands felt coarse under his fingertips.

Her head shook slowly from under her tightly clenched hands. Her knuckles still so very white from how hard she’s clenching her head against her knees. She was growing weary of fighting within herself for the beast to not come out. She was still quite exhausted from it being out just last night.

“I can’t... I can’t...” she whimpered.

((Forgive the shortness x.x))

He frowned.

"Don't say that word." Isn't that something Pierce tells Dagger? Don't say can't. Anythings possible. "You can, your just having trouble. Do it. Imagin it in your mind. Talk to it." Is that a new concept for her? Talking to the beast? And why did he sound so much like Pierce right now, outspoken, demanding her to try, rather then the soft spoke, careful words that Silas had been speaking.

"Talk to it like it's seperate from you. I gaurentee it'll talk back. Tell it to go away." Ah, Pierce, you've taught well.

“Too tired...” she manages out just before ‘it’ sends out another growl. This one deeper. More awake. Her fingernails are growing longer as she listens to him, Silas. She’s too tired. Physically drained. Mentally drained. Just flat out worn out. Entirely. Getting too tired to fight it.

He made a disgruntled, frustrated sound as he listened to her, watched her fingers.

Make it stop!

Why should I? The wolf sounded content and pleased.

Because! She can't do this! Not now! Make it stop! Speak to it!

You won't let me out. Why should I restrict her from coming out like you do to me?

Silas shouldn't have expected it to agree. And he hadn't, not really. He'd made deals with his wolf before and he knew that this would lead to making a bargin. He made another soft, angry sound.

I let you.......come out tomorrow. And the next full moon, at a place of my choosing.

Your choosing? I don't want locked up.

No. In the open, but of my chooseing.

Silence. Silas stared at her with horrified eyes. Then a snarl much like her's slipped his lips. "Stay. You can come with me tomorrow, run free, without her fighting you." What!! That hadn't been part of the deal! The wolf was adding to the bargin outloud, to her wolf. The wolf was telling her wolf that the woman would let it out tomorrow when neither Silas nor the woman had agreed to it.

Damn you! You monster! The wolf seemed to curl around his mind, content with himself. Silas pushed him back, away from his conscience thought angirly.

The woman started shaking her head back and forth. "No..." she cried out in a whisper. "No..." came out a little louder. Her head came up and that wild look was deep in her eyes. "No! It can't! It can't run free! It did last night and now I have to explain to the one I love everything that 'it' did!"

She began to try to scramble backwards and away from where she was currently curled. "No!" A deep growl escaped from her and she folded over again. Once more clutching her head tightly.

Oh yes it began telling her. I shall come out and there is nothing you can do about it. You can't stop me. You're weak. So very weak. You grow weaker by the day. Vicious and cruel beast.

He hesitated, moved forward and grabbed her ankle so she couldn't scoot farther away. He reached out and picked up the picuter of light and dark. Himself and Pierce. Pierce smiling widely, happily, his own smile a little less, just a shadow of a smile. But Pierce was smiling.

"Look. See? Tell it no. Make it go away. For him?" That last was almost a plead. He wanted her to not hurt his Pierce. How on earth did Pierce get stuck with two hopeless werewolves in a row? He must be cursed. But he knew that if anyone could help this woman, it'd be Peirce. Because Pierce helped him, and he can remember being just as hopeless.

What fun!

You shut up!

A vicious flash of teeth came with a wicked flash in the eyes as he grabbed her ankle. "Don't..." she hissed through grit teeth. "Don't... touch... me..." There was very good reason for this. Unfortunately, Silas was not aware of this. Only one knows. That one is Pierce. There is just no way for Silas to all of a sudden know that the girl was attacked and raped.

The beast came fully awake the moment he touched her. Eyes narrowed into wicked slits as the beast made her lift her head to look at Silas. "You were told not to touch," it growled.

Don't. No touching. Got it.

He let go immediatly upon being told no and looked at the beast with fear and awe and apology. He may be a werewolf too but as a human, in the face of any beast, whether she's entirly changed or not, he will show the fear he feels. He may be a werewolf, but as a human, he's still afraid to face one.

"I'm sorry." He turned his back, moved back to the headstone and put the picture back safely into the book. If he was going to be attaked, he wouldn't hesitate to let the wolf go, he'd let it fight. If he was going to die, it was not going to be at the hands of the thing he hated the most, a werewolf. So he didn't put the picture in his pocket because he didn't want it to tear with the clothes.

He turned back to her and her wolf and sat down on his knees.

"Make it go way." He sounded so very like Pierce. Because that's what he was trying to do. Pierce taught him to keep the beast inside, maybe he could help her like Pierce helped him

((rambling....x.x))

A wicked sneer was forced upon her face by the beast that had not yet come out. It was out enough to get satisfaction from the look on the mans face. Fear. The beast so loves fear. Fear from others. Fear from its host.

Hands came up to clutch at her head again. Her face contorted slightly as she continued to struggle within herself to keep 'it' at bay. After a few moments, her nails returned to normal and she sank forward. Entirely. Legs came up to her chest as she began to curl into a small ball.

"I... I need... to... go... home..." she whispered.