Title: Shadow of the Red Moon (CPSG, Anniversary Challenge)
Author: Ki Slash.
Archive: Ask me first.
Categories: angst, violence, h/c, crossover a/u, m/m sex.
Warning: blood, violence, dark stuff.
Note: This is a crossover with Werewolf: The Apocalypse, White Wolf's RPG game. The terms were taken from the game itself. If I have confused anyone, please forgive me.
Disclaimers: I pay my respects to Paramount Pictures and White Wolf.
**This is a belated answer to CPSG's Anniversary Challenge. **
"Shadow of the Red Moon"
They watched the fires burn, the violent orange flames casting light on the sea of destruction. They listened to the yells and cries echoing in the night like so many homeless souls. They watched quietly, on the hill overlooking over the Federation colony, the breeze bringing with it the cloying sweet smell of burned flesh.
Chakotay, leader of the last Maquis pack, stood silently. The fires turned his face into a golden mask, devoid of contours. His dark eyes continued to watch the destruction and his skin prickled at the cries of the dying. He was supposed to be triumphant. But the guilt throbbed in him like an unhealed wound and he knew that it would fester over time.
Beside him, the half-Klingon woman shifted and ran a hand through her untidy hair. Her face bore an expression of battle lust, her eyes sparkling with intensity. She had done well in this operation, delighting in the cracking of bones and the smashing of heads. The blood that stained her hands was not hers but of the despicable Feds who for so many years threatened their livelihood. She glanced at her leader, seeing the sorrow on his face and her heart softened. She placed a gentle hand on his arm and was surprised to feel a slight tremor running through his body.
"It's done," she said quietly as the fires raged on. Somewhere, an explosion rocked the valley and the two ducked instinctively, even though they were safe on the hill. A glowing cloud mushroomed, accompanied with the smell of burning mortar. A thin wail pierced the air: alarms triggered. But they knew, in the turmoil, no one would pay attention to the explosion and the victims trapped under the crumbled walls.
The Maquis leader didn't speak. Instead, he closed his eyes and shut out the terrible sounds. He wasn't meant to lead, even though he was born under the half-moon, the auspice of the Philodox. It was true that he had felt the dark thrill of combat, the electric sensation of battle lust tantalizingly sweet in his mouth. But the moment he had done killing the human security guards, the crushing guilt claimed him as it had done so in his youth. He had used his strength to kill and he loathed it.
Something crackled nearby, the bushes parting. Chakotay tensed up immediately, so did the half-Klingon woman who bared her teeth threateningly. A familiar scent, musky and masculine, wafted past Chakotay's nostrils and the leader smiled, relaxing visibly.
"Chak!" A blonde-haired youth appeared. His clothes had been shredded. Patches of dark blood also stained the torn tunic and pants. Chakotay worried for a moment that the youth was hurt. Yet, as the young man moved closer, the leader saw that the pale skin was relatively unscathed. "Chakotay…" The youth realized his mistake, curbed his exuberance and adopted a more submissive position, a young cub reporting back to the alpha male. He nodded, seeing the woman beside Chakotay. She was only a pack-member and she occupied a similar position in the Maquis hierarchy as he had.
"We managed to get into the main building," the youth reported, his blonde hair glittering. "Most of the guards died quickly. Some simply became mad…"
"Delirium…" The half-Klingon woman muttered softly.
The cries of the wounded and dying grew fainter. Chakotay exhaled and shook his head. Their plan had succeeded but at what a cost!
"B'El, leave us…" He said, his voice low. It carried a tone of command. The woman stiffened, nodded and walked away, her lithe form moving gracefully into the darkness of the forest. The moment she was gone, her scent disappearing from the scene, Chakotay walked over to the youth and hugged him impulsively.
"You passed your Rite of Passage, cub," the older man said, pride thickening his voice. He patted the back, feeling the muscles knot beneath his fingers. The youth didn't say anything. "You are now a full member of the Maquis pack."
"Am I?" The voice was half-amazed, half-derisive. The youth pulled away from Chakotay's embrace and walked forward. He lifted his head and howled a low dirge to the dead. Almost immediately, howls answered him: the rest of the Maquis honoring the fallen. As the notes of the howl faded away, the youth began to weep.
Chakotay stifled his own sob. The dirge was sad, filled with elegies to the dead members. They had brought honor to their tribes, to their clans. Tom's voice in the howl of mourning was golden; he was a true Galliard, a Moondancer. Old Flint-Song had taught this young cub well.
"Tom?" Chakotay whispered. The figure of the youth looked so forlorn. "Tom, you have done well. We have killed the Feds." He tried to inject some cheer into the young man. Only twenty-two, the youth seemed to bear the countenance of a man in his fifties. It shocked Chakotay profoundly.
"We have killed the Feds…" Tom repeated, his face drawn, pale. He strode back to the pack-leader and looked intently at Chakotay. The aristocratic features were now expressionless. The blue eyes were devoid of emotion. "We have killed the Feds…" He said again, his voice taking on the slight edge of hysteria.
"Tom, we did and all the Galliards will sing about our victory." Chakotay's voice was firm. He grabbed Tom's shoulders and shook them. "When you joined our pack, you had already promised to abandon your Federation heritage behind."
"Correction, Chakotay. You found me first. I didn't join the pack that voluntarily…"
"Alright, I found you…" Chakotay grinned wryly. An image rose unbidden in his head: Tom, pale and covered with his own blood, lying in a filthy ditch. There were bruises on his body. Horrible scratch marks marring the otherwise unblemished back. His attackers were quickly dispatched, their bodies thrown into the sea for good measure. Looking at Tom now, so healthy and vibrant with life, Chakotay praised the spirits and smiled to himself. He placed a hand on Tom's face and the young man leaned into it, enjoying the intimacy.
"You were a prized find, cub." Chakotay said, brushing his lips on the smooth cheek. Tom shuddered and sighed, inhaling his leader's musk appreciatively. Yes, Chakotay was aroused. The hard lump between his legs informed Tom of his own arousal. Not now, he told himself sternly. Not here. He yelped instinctively as Chakotay pushed him onto the grass, his mouth pressing hard into his own. He could taste Chakotay. Undeniably rich. Powerful. An alpha male in his prime. The thrill was back, filling his veins with a delightful fire. He responded back and heard the older man's rumble of pleasure. He leaned back, baring his soft throat… and Chakotay growled, a low note of arousal and pleasure combined.
As they tumbled on the grass, Tom caught sight of the moon in the sky. It was a full moon, the auspice of the warrior. But the seers in the packs had warned about this full moon for it was an eclipse moon. It was also a red moon, turning coppery-yellow in the night sky. It was an omen, Tom knew in his bones. He shut his eyes, indulging himself instead in the heady pleasures of lovemaking. The Maquis pack was known for living for the moment and he would live for this moment in time. He would enjoy and relish it.
They finished in a frenzy of sweat-covered limbs, collapsing into each other's arms. Their chests heaved slowly as they tried to calm their breathing. They rested and they slept for a moment.
They were woken up by a warning yelp-howl. Chakotay was the first to wake, rising up on his feet. His naked form glistened in the fading light of the fires. Tom rolled to his knees, blinking sleepily. The warning yelp dragged on. Federation reinforcements were coming and they had to hurry.
Tom sighed softly as Chakotay helped him up to his feet. Their pleasure was brief. Now, reality was back once more. They cast one last look at the smoldering ruins in the valley and they gave forth a howl, transforming as they did so. Done, they sprinted down the hill like the wind, one Wendigo Philodox, one Silverfang Galliard, their furs dark in the shadow of the red moon…