hour of the wolf  - post 1

by Silver (Silvers desire@aol.com)

KF – the legend continues / after “Target”

P/P, NC-17                                

 

All’s well that ends well? No way – the Brujo’s back. And the real nightmare is just about to begin…

 

 

 

 

What we can do for another,

Is the test of powers.

What we can suffer,

Is the test of love.

           

Brooke Foss Westcott

 

 

I.

 

I wake in the death of the night, my heart rate tripling up in as many seconds. A cry of pure grief and anguish is still ringing in my ears. Did I cry out? No… no, I actually heard it – and the power surge that went with it is much too real to be caused by a dream.

 

Despite the fact it is a warm night, I feel chilled to my very bones as I rise to sit on the futon. Sweat covers my body, plasters a strand of silver hair to my forehead. I brush it away with a shaking hand. Faint tremors rack me, but I seem not able to detect the cause for my discomfort. I choke; my throat feels like it is stifled with some soft but unyielding tissue, my tongue is swollen and dry…

 

Instinctively I reach out for the mental link connecting our ch’i, my thoughts race along the connection – to find Peter safe, and sound asleep, in his apartment. I can sense no danger treating him.

 

Then maybe I felt a foreboding of a future menace? I try to centre myself, taking deep breaths to call to my inner peace – and fail utterly. I will my fingers to unclench and sit down in lotus.

 

Slowly the terror fades away, the beat of my heart recedes to a normal pace - but still sleep eludes me for the rest of the night. I sit and wait for the light of the day to erase my fears.

 

* * *

 

Despite it is already past the hour I usually rise, I pretend to be asleep as Peter quietly enters the loft, feeling his anticipation for some time now.

 

I listen to the rustle of the clothes he sheds in haste, the soft thump of his boots hitting the floor – and then I feel his naked body slip in between the sheets to nestle next to mine. He flanges an arm across my chest and drops a tender kiss onto my nose.

 

“Surprise,” he gently says. “C’mon, Pop – I *know* you’re awake.”

 

I blink once to see the happy, teasing impression on his face before I grab his wrists and flop us both over until my body envelops his.

 

With a soft chuckle, he tries to free himself, but his efforts are only half-hearted for he is now exactly where he wanted to be…

 

As I bend down to cover his smiling lips with mine, he stops his futile wiggles and lays perfectly still, eyes closed, his lush lashes fanning his rosy cheeks. Well, not all of him remains quiet… I feel his rapidly growing hardness pressing up against my thigh.

 

We kiss, very gently at first. I brush my mouth across his eyelids and draw back, waiting until he opens his eyes and focuses his soft gaze upon me. For now, I am content to only hold him, but I feel the first stirrings of raging desire uncoiling in my belly.

 

“Surprise?” I repeat dryly.

 

“Yeah.” He smiles and his eyes grew wide as he shifts his hips beneath mine and rubs his stiffness against my still soft member. “I’m due at the precinct at eleven, Pop… and I thought - after spending the night apart – you might be… up… for breakfast in futon?”

 

Instead of giving him the answer, he expects… maybe even needs – I can read it in his eyes – I give a little push into his groin. A soft moan escapes his mouth before he bites down on his lower lip.

 

I smile. “I am definitely… up… to some… nourishment.” I hear him catch his breath and know he reads desire in my eyes. But I also sense that he is still in his “teasing mode”.

 

“Uh… but I’m sorry – I fear… I didn’t think to bring any food...” His legs spread further to allow me better access to his groin.

 

I grind my rapidly hardening sex against his and hear him gasp in delight. “I believe you brought my favourite dish…” I bend my head to nibble down his chin and to lick across the rapid pulse I can feel beneath the soft skin of his throat. “My sweet boy.” Peter blushes and I can not stop myself from laughing. After all, we shared he still blushes sometimes like a innocent virgin…

 

Our lips meet and I ravish his mouth with tongue and teeth, until he gives a little shriek of pain and I taste the blood from his bitten lip. He taught me to crave his unique flavour… My greedy hands slide down the glowing skin of his chest, relearning its contours and muscles. I feel as if we have been apart for years, not only for one night. My thumbs rub his stiff nipples, then pinch until he pants hard and grinds his cock against mine.

 

“Please… let… me,” he moans against my lips. “Let me suck you, Pop.”

 

Still I keep him down with my weight. “Not this time,” I whisper, then bite down hard onto his chin. He gasps and I slide a little deeper to let my mouth follow my hands. I settle my lips around his nipples, suckle and bite them in turn until they are red and sore, then soothe them with gently blows of air. Peter trashes beneath me, fighting to touch me in turn, but I keep his arms at his sides. He might have come to my bed to seduce me but I will not let my son control me. I fear I spoiled him already too much… I revel in the slight salty taste of his skin, licking the fine layer of sweat from his shoulder and sink my teeth in the soft flesh below his collarbone, to relish at his cry of pain.

 

Suddenly I withdraw, my throat dry and my hand shaking as I remember the cry that woke me at the midst of the night… I still falter as Peter opens his eyes – twin pools of fire… and I store the unhappy memories away. I will later think about it. For now, he is safe in my arms.

 

I sense rather than see the satisfied smile playing around his lips as I return to my earlier ministrations…

 

His hips piston upwards as I bend my head to take his cock in my mouth, grazing my teeth along the length, knowing it will drive him crazy with need. He is so aroused he will not last long… soon I hear his sweet cry of delight and his seed fills my greedy sucking mouth.

 

Relaxed he sags back, sprawling limply, helplessly panting while I lick him clean. With a final pet to his soft sex I shift and return to his lips, for all we did this far served only to wet my appetite…

 

He groans as I flip him over and continue the sucking and biting at his backside. Spreading the lush globes of his buttocks, I lazily circle the tip of one finger around the rim of his puckered opening. I can not help but smile as I discover he had prepared himself thoroughly. This predictable I have come to him?

 

I hear Peter chuckle softly, obviously reading my very thoughts - and with an evil grin sink my teeth into his buttock. He shrieks and shivers, pushing first himself up to his knees, then back onto my touch.

 

A slight pressure applied to the small of his back flattens him once more. He watches me over his shoulder, his face flushed, his mouth open, his lips wet and swollen. ‘The very image of a wanton, naughty pixie,’ flashes through my mind and I do not know if the thought origins from me or from my lover. It does not matter.

 

I feel my passion rise and see his smile widen into a happy grin. He relishes too much in my lack of control for my taste… something I will definitely have to think over. Later.

 

For now, I grab for the nearby kept oil and pour some of it onto my stiff sex, coating it thoroughly. Looking beneath lowered lashes onto my son, I see the tremors of excitement racing his body – and causing his cock to fill again. Maybe I will please him. Later, after I found my own release in the beauty of his body.

 

With a single thrust, I sheath myself in his heat, pining his trashing body down with my own. Worshipping the tender flesh of his neck, I set a leisurely rhythm that will bring us both pleasure. Even as his moans fill my awareness, I keep a close reign on my passion for I wish not to hurt him, knowing he will leave me to go to work after our lovemaking…

 

* * *

 

“I’m beaten,” Peter whispers, snuggling up to me.

 

I lift my head to look at my son, revelling in the satisfied glow that seems to emit his body, the love radiating from his living eyes. Sometimes I wonder if anyone besides me can see it, too… but I find I do not care for the opinion of other people. I have always followed my own rules.

 

“Hey, Pop? Where’re you?”

 

“Here my son,” I answer, returning my full attention to him. “I do not remember to beat you,” I tease, consciously misinterpreting his words. His sweet laughter fills my ears and sends a shiver of sheer pleasure through my hearth. What ever did I to be rewarded with such happiness? Not only to have him back in my life, but now also in my bed. My hand travels to his cheek, gently cupping his face. Peter closes his eyes, a wondrous smile spreading across his relaxed features – and I see my little boy I have once believed dead. To lose him again… this time I would not survive.

 

With a gasp, I bend my head to cover his lips, to drown my fears in his willing mouth.

 

* * *

 

“Mmmmh… I hate to say that, but I must get up, Pop.” Reluctance openly on his face, Peter leaves my arms after a lingering kiss. “I need a shower…” His stomach growls and he grins. “And some food.”

 

I roll to my side and watch him rise graciously to his feet, stretching his beautiful body with a beaming smile directed to me. A shiver runs through my body and I feel cold.

 

“You’re awfully quiet, Pop. Anything amiss? Did I…”

 

“It is nothing.” I interrupt Peter – something I rarely do – and rise. “I will fix breakfast while you shower.”

 

“Okay,” he answers, the question clear in his voice but I choose to ignore it.

 

I feel his eyes on my back as I turn to fetch a silken robe to cover my chilled body and head for the kitchen. With a sigh, I take my mind to the tasks at hand and start to heat water. Maybe some tea will warm me.

 

* * *

 

It is a silent meal. I cradle the cup in both hands to gather its warmth, sip my tea, and pretend to watch the sunshine outside the window to avoid the worry in Peter’s eyes. Even with our connection tempered down to the mere knowledge of each other’s existence, he seems to feel my discomfort. I also know he will not question me. Finally, I put the cup down and turn to look at my son.

 

“Pop…” he starts, but for the second time this morning, I stop him.

 

“It is time for you to leave, Peter or you will be late.”

 

As he pushes back his chair, I rise quickly, bypass the table, and take his face in both hands. For seconds his eyes are startled, then he smiles at me, lowering his lashes.

 

“You know I’m gonna miss you, Pop, all day.”

 

I rub his lower lip with my thumb and am rewarded with a soft moan. “I will miss you, too, beloved. Be careful, Peter.”

 

His eyes snap open, bore into mine. “You’ve seen it, too, Pop? I was afraid I… fancied it.”

 

“What did you see?” I ask sharper than I intend.

 

“A wolf. Tonight… as I returned. Uh… I was really tired and I thought… well… I didn’t think much, just went to bed. I’ve almost forgotten about it till now. Do you think it was real?”

 

I cup his chin, brushing his still slightly wet hair back with the now free hand. “I do not know.” I let go of him and step back.

 

Peter immediately follows me, gripping my wrist. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you? Father?”

 

I lift my hand to brush away the frown and to slip my fingers once again through his silken hair to reassure him. With a gentle shake of my head, I pull him in my arms. “Never, darling. Never,” I whisper in his ear before releasing him.

 

As he lifts his face, the smile is back on his lips, but a shadow of worry lingers in his beautiful eyes. “I think we’ll need to talk about this, Pop. I come by after work, okay?” His smile turns seductive. “Mind, if I stay tonight?”

 

“I will look forward to your return.”

 

Peter cups my face in his hands to place a gentle kiss upon my forehead like he used to do as a child. Then, with a final nod, he leaves me.

 

I remain impassive, watch my son hurrying down the fire escape, taking two or three steps at once. An icy finger seems to travel down my spin and I shiver. I shake it off and turn to shower. There are patients awaiting me this morning and I will meet with Lo Si for lunch.

 

I put my uneasiness aside.

 

 


Look, I ask you to read this warning ‘cause I don’t want to get my wings burnt. If I flag rape, you will get some nasty details. If you can’t take it, please return to post 1 and enjoy yourself with Peter and Pop. I won’t mind. If you still want to continue – please follow me into the darkness and let me kiss you…

Silver

 

 

 

 

hour of the wolf  - post 2 A

by Silver (Silvers desire@aol.com)

KF – the legend continues / after “Target”

P/P, NC-17 – rape

 

All’s well that ends well? No way – the Brujo’s back. And the real nightmare is just about to begin…

 

 

 

 

What we can do for another,

Is the test of powers.

What we can suffer,

Is the test of love.

           

Brooke Foss Westcott

 

 

 

II.

 

A. Peter’s POV:

 

“Too sad I couldn’t taste you then at the Temple, my dear Peter… old Ping Hai would never let me out of sight long enough to lure you away… I have a strong tendency towards young, supple and pure flesh.”

 

Hot breath brushes my ear and I feel like throwing up every second now. I am sure, if the man is going to touch me, I won’t be able to hold back a scream. My head spins. I can’t… what happened to me? The last thing I remember is leaving the precinct to meet… no… a trap? The call to meet someone who claimed to have information about one of my cases… shit. After all, I fell like an idiot for this crap! And no one knows where I am… I didn’t take the call too serious, just wanted to get through with it, already thinking about tonight’s talk with Pop. And afterwards… nothing, another blackout. I shake my head to clear the fog out of my brain and a sharp pain explodes in my neck as if something had hit me… And now its almost night and I… It’s hard to concentrate on his voice but I cling to it.

 

“But you’re still enchanting. Maybe not so pure anymore… for can I see marks upon your beautiful body, stains left by a… passionate lover. I can see… where his fingers dug deep in your soft skin, bruising tender tissue. Where hungry teeth broke your delicious flesh to draw your sweet blood out. I can smell it… yes, I can smell *him*… his scent is still lingering on you…. “

 

“No…” I shake my head in weak protest, a tremor racking my body and I feel more scared than ever in my life. The heat emitting from the man standing behind me sears my naked back. My arms sting and tremble from their strained position, the cuffs around my wrists abrading the soft skin. My legs are already numb.

 

“I recognize it… So, who would think that the holy Kwai Chang Caine, Shaolin priest and master of Shambhala, likes to… fuck… his own sweet son. However - I must compliment his taste.”

 

“No.” I squirm, again testing the strength of the chains, which hold my arms immobile. My panic rises even further and I wonder, what in hell keeps my father? Something terribly cold slides across my exposed buttocks – and with a fresh wave of horror, I recognize it as the blade of a knife… “No, please…”

 

“Ah… try to plead for your life, Peter?” The voice mocks at my ear. “That soon? I really feel disappointed…”

 

I clench my teeth not to cry out in pain and frustration. I’ll never beg for my life! Never!! Pop won’t let me down, he is going to find a way to avoid the trap, the Brujo has set up for him, with me as bait. Surely every minute now he’ll be here, appearing out of the shadows like a ghost… But why can’t I feel him? Our connection is still closed off… No, it can’t possibly mean… no, I’ll know if he was hurt. I’ll know… A cold hand settles around my heart, squeezing it.

 

Darkness looms near. Yes, it’d be easy to give in, to simply let consciousness slip away – and there would be no sight, sound, and no sensation… But I cling to the little shred of awareness and pray. I will my breath to slow down to stop the hysterical beat of my heart. I must be able to support Pop in every way. If I pass out… Why can’t I feel him? He must be near… he must be here! Dad… *Father*, I need you!

 

Cold… so cold… the fingers travelling down my spine burn like ice. I try to ignore it, but I cannot suppress the shiver racing my body. I close my eyes.

 

Of course * he* sees it – he knows of my feelings, my every thought – and I hear the Brujo’s laughter.

 

“It seems to me you do not quite enjoy our little game, Peter Caine.”

 

My eyes snap open as the knife suddenly cuts my skin at the small of my back. It hurts, yes, and I barely manage to bite back a scream. The cuts seem to be superficial, little more then a scratch, because only a short amount of blood runs down my buttocks and legs.

 

For the first time since I woke, fixed up with chains to a metal frame like a wild animal to be tamed, my arms above my head and my legs spread wide – the Brujo moves into my sight.

 

Angel is following him closely, snarling her teeth at me like a furious beast. Hate emanates in waves from her, I can feel it battering against me. Shit, I’ve never been good at this mind-stuff, Pop tried to teach me but I… I kinda hate to think about those things. It’s not… quiet human… better to watch at a movie then to live with. It took me months to cope with the bond between me and my father, his knowledge about my whereabouts – which comes rather handy, I admit – and sometimes reading my mind. Linking his ch’i with mine felt incredible, but also scared the hell out of me. Since we became lovers, the closeness I feel is both reassuring and frightening. He perceives so much more of me, reads me so easily.

 

But not now, not this time. Pop, where are you? I need you…

 

The Brujo approaches me, one of his hands travels lazily across my chest.

 

“Sweat…” he whispers as if revealing a secret. “…adds to the softness of the body and increases the aroma of fear, emanating from its pores. Fear is a powerful aphrodisiac I have discovered.” Brining his fingers to his lips, he licks at them.

 

My mouth goes dry. He couldn’t possibly want me… no. No way. I push the thought away. He’s just trying to frighten me, to humiliate me. It’s his revenge for being defeated by Pop. He has no longer control over my mind, Dad made sure of that. I dunno know *what* he did, but he told me, the Brujo would never be able to took over control again. If I wasn’t fixed to these steel frame I would have beaten him to a pulp…

 

He smiles at me, stroking a finger lightly across my trembling stomach muscles. I try to move away and struggle to get loose of my bonds. “Really… your stubbornness is futile. Why do you not save your strength and enjoy the experience?”

 

For seconds all I can do is to stare at him. My heart is beating so loud it must roll like thunder over the area. He even came here to the very place of my first confinement. I understand… it’s all part of his plan to lure my father into his trap. Same place, same time… only this time I’ll be there, too. Without letting the Brujo know, my eyes travel the wrecks behind him, searching for Pop. He must be there, hiding in the shadows or… doing whatever to fight the Brujo. Soon. Now. He won’t let me get hurt.

 

A flash of light and the knife in the Brujo’s hand blinks. He lifts it and I feel my heart stop for a moment… He’s gonna to kill me… he’s truly gonna to kill me… races my mind and I feel myself go very still. Dad, I’m so sorry I wasn’t good enough to escape, too stupid to see the trap… I’m so sorry. I’ll love you forever… I close my eyes, my body goes rigid, but the last, ripping pain of the cutting knife never comes. Instead, I hear the Brujo’s laughter.

 

“Wonderful!” he calls appreciatively. “But I see, Angel would love to use her claws on your body… It’d be a shame to mar your soft skin now. Maybe I will allow her to… play… with you. Later. After I am done with you.”

 

“Done… with me?” The words are over my lips almost without thought.

 

“Ah, you’re naïve… or at least you try to give the impression.”

 

He closes the little distance to me and again I feel heat closing around me like a stifling cloak. My heart batters against my ribs and I can’t suppress another wave of nausea.

 

“I will taste you,” the Brujo whispers, lifting his hand to touch my lips. “Blame your father for it.”

 

His mouth brushes my ear but I’m too scared to even move my head.

 

“I’d have been satisfied in killing you and leaving your cadaver for Caine to find. It’d be sweeter than killing him with my own hands. You’re right… I cannot take your mind, he shields you… but I can have your body. These chains cannot be broken by human strength and you’re much weaker than your father. Ts, ts. Must be kind of disappointment for him… to have a son like you.”

 

A slick tongue invades my ear and strong hands move across my back to rest on my ass, circling, stroking. Suddenly realisation hits with full force and this time I cannot push the thought away. The Brujo will rape me! He *is* going to rape me if Pop don’t show up every second.

 

Nails rank up and down my spine and I shiver. He wouldn’t dare…

 

“Weak both in mind and body… but what a beautiful body. Taking you to bed seems the only way to put your… abilities… to use…”

 

Before I can react to his scorn, his hands are suddenly in my hair, jerking my head back so that my throat is revealed. I can’t stifle a surprised cry as his teeth bite down hard into the soft flesh beneath my chin. It hurts! My body snaps back violently, trying to avoid his touch and I hear my spin crack, a blinding pain explodes in my nerves, the chains holding me immobile.

 

“So touchy, Peter?”

 

The Brujo moves to stand behind me. Both of his hands run down my back, nails dig into the soft flesh of my ass, leaving a trail of fire. Now his fingers spread me wide open. Damnit. Damn you, Pop. Where are you? Why can’t you hear me, feel me? I need you like never before…

 

With a rush, all energy seems to leave my body, my head lolls back. I feel tears rising in my eyes but I won’t cry, I won’t give the Brujo that.

 

The tip of a finger circles the opening to my body and I clench my teeth. Teasing the rim in lazy circles before suddenly pushing in… I’ve always enjoyed Pop’s teasing… strange to think now. But all I seem able to think is of Pop’s hands on my body, his mouth on my skin… taking me like he did this morning…

 

With a start, I’m back in reality and feel the Brujo’s finger invading me, breaking the tight constricted ring of muscles. Stretching and abrading the tight hole. His dry finger burn – but I know it is nothing against the pain when he will enter me… No, I dare not to think about that. It won’t come that far. Pop’s gonna to stop him. Pop, please… I can’t stifle a sob and bite down hard onto my lower lip to stop a cry as the Brujo adds a second finger.

 

“Yes, you feel incredible… hot and tight… I envy your father, Peter,” he hisses into my ear, sharp teeth break the skin in my neck and I gasp for air. “Maybe I should keep you… at least for a while...to explore your beauties more thoroughly…”

 

“No!” No. No. No. No. The words spinning in my mind like a burning wheel. Pop…Help me. FATHER!!

 

The invading fingers leave and a rush of hope and relief floods me. The Brujo moves to stand in front of me, an amused look onto his features. Slowly he is shedding his coat and I realize… suddenly I sense a movement behind my back and turn my head the second seeing Angel jumping at me, silver claws glistening at her hands like Lo Si described them to me. Her foot hits me at the back of the head, violently pushing me forward – as far as the tight chains allow it. The world spins around me as pain explodes in my scull, my vision blurs, and I can’t hold back tears. Through the roar in my ears I hear – or feel? – a hiss as she strikes again. But she never touches me for a second time.

 

“ANGEL!”

 

The Brujo lifts his voice only a fragment, but a cold shiver runs over me – the young woman freezes in movement, huddling down on the ground like a beaten dog.

 

“You will not hurt him until I tell you so, Angel. He is mine.” The Brujo makes a gesture with his hand and Angel moves to his side, hunching at his feet like an obedient pet. He pets her head without looking at her.

 

His eyes burn like beacons. I concentrate on breathing and let the pain flow through my body instead of fighting him. My stomach jumps and nausea wells up like a spring. Black spots dance in front of my vision.

 

“Well… I’d preferred him wide awake… but maybe you’ve been wiser than I, Angel. Take him down on the ground for me, my darling. He will not resist. But leave the cuffs on his wrists. I enjoy the sight.”

 

Red darkness swirls up around me and I collapse on the ground, my legs giving in as the strain is gone from my arms. I am unable to move… unable to fight or to turn away. My throat constricts as I try to breath the heavy smelling air, I taste rust, oil and blood on my tongue. I feel myself being rolled over, a stone scratching my cheek. I cannot see, blood had run down my forehead and into my eyes. I feel cold hands on my thighs, a heavy weight pressing me down. Something hot enters me.

 

Pain.

 

I feel everything – but as if it is distant, oddly removed, something happening in another place or to someone else. I cannot resist or speak or to do anything than simply endure. I even stop calling for Pop in my mind.

 

* * *

 

Afterwards Angel is over me - her fury and jealousy is overwhelming. It is with gratitude I finally feel consciousness slip away.

 

 

 


Again, I ask you to read the warning. Still dealing with the rape, now it’s Pop’s POV

Silver

 

 

 

 

hour of the wolf  - post 2 B

by Silver (Silvers desire@aol.com)

KF – the legend continues / after “Target”

P/P, NC-17 - rape

 

All’s well that ends well? No way – the Brujo’s back. And the real nightmare is just about to begin…

 

 

 

 

What we can do for another,

Is the test of powers.

What we can suffer,

Is the test of love.

           

Brooke Foss Westcott

 

 

 

II.

 

Caine’s POV

 

Sitting in lotus in my little garden, I watch the sunset and wait for Peter. Through all day, I have felt his preoccupation, his thoughts tumbling aimlessly from me to the experience with the Brujo, then returning to our lovemaking early this day. Finally, I had to raise my mental shields again to stop the constant flow of his thoughts, distracting me from my duties.

 

Unease is slowly invading my mind. I try but I am unable to focus on Peter now. Something shields me from his thoughts.

 

* * *

 

Earlier I have felt my son’s eagerness to return to me and his mild anger having to meet someone first as he left the precinct. I remember my uncontrolled smile… always so impatient, my Peter. I was helping my master to harvest mushrooms at that time and – seeing his smirk – I wondered how much my face gave away from my thoughts.

 

“I think those mushrooms are enough for today, my friend,” he said, his voice gentle. “I do not want to occupy more of your precious time, Kwai Chang Caine – for I can sense you are expecting a… visitor… tonight.” Ancient eyes look at me with bright amusement.

 

“Thank you.” I bowed. “Peter will come for dinner.” I saw the trap too late, but could not stop without being impolite. “Perhaps you will join us?”

 

“I would love to,” Lo Si said. “Young Peter seems somehow… reluctant… to visit me these days.”

 

“I am sure he does so not by purpose, Master. His work…”

 

A wriggle of an ancient finger told me I had not been overly convincing. “Too sad I already have prior arrangements for dinner.” Another sly smile was distributed towards me. “Have… fun, my friend. And send Peter my best wishes.”

 

“I will.” Again, I bowed and turned to leave, ancient soft chuckle followed me.

 

* * *

 

I rise to return indoors, for a cold wind now sweeps across the terrace. Still my sense of Peter is… diffuse. As far as I can tell is he not hurt, neither is he in danger... but he seems to shield himself now like I did earlier this day. I could overcame his barriers, because there is still much he has to learn and practice, his defences are yet weak – but I will respect his privacy. There had been other opportunities when he shielded his mind… when he was with a woman… at the time before we became lovers.

 

I close the French doors and start to lit more candles to banish the shadows – both in the room and in my thoughts.

 

Restlessness rises again and this time I do not try to discipline it. Instead, I close my eyes and open my mind, softly calling for my son. ‘Peter?’ There is no answer... I hesitate, my hand is absent-minded clamping down on an candle, hot wax splashes over my fingers, but I do not feel it.

 

Slowly exhaling a breath, I open my eyes, fighting a wave of frustration.

 

At the outside, darkness approaches and it feels like it is filling the very air… a dark liquid, making it harder to breath. I turn to Buddha for advise, but receive no answer, no help.

 

“Peter?” I do not know I spoke aloud until I hear the word vibrating through the room. My voice sounds strange, as if it no longer belongs to me. An odd silence follows and I can hear only the steady, low beat of my own heart thundering in my ears. I reach out with my ch’i for my son, along the silver thread of our connection... The candles start to flicker and I press my palm to my forehead as if my physical strength might aid my mental abilities.

 

Suddenly a cry… the very cry that woke me last night… reverberates in the air. A wave of pain hits me with full force and I hear Peter frantically call my name. An image flashes through my mind… my son, his naked body limp on the ground, blood smearing his skin. I can not see his face because it is turned into his arms… but I see chains around his wrists and ankles. Dark clouds loom around his too still figure, about to cover him.

 

No, this can not be real! If something happened to Peter, I would have known! Our connection is deep and it is strong… I drop to my knees. My mind is clouded, a fine, steady trickle of blood runs down into my neck. There seems not enough air in the room to ease my breath and I cough. A sharp pain explodes in my ribcage as if I had suffered broken ribs. No… not I… I feel Peter’s injuries. My left knee… Peter’s knee… pulsates after receiving a savage kick. My right wrist is twisted in an awkward angle, some more pressure applied would break it. There is more… a crushing black abyss of agony inside… mingled up with grief and sorrow…

 

And than it is over and I am back in my own body again, sprawled on the floor of my loft. For long seconds I lie breathless – not able to catch a decent thought. All I know is that my boy… Peter… he needs me. He was… attacked and I did not feel it!

 

Collecting my strength and control I stumble to my feet. The world swirls around me, before it suddenly turns black. I feel Peter losing consciousness. “No!”

 

Savage laughter fills the air and now I know who did this to us – the Brujo. For the first time in my life, I taste unleashed hate and the desire to kill. It is such an intense emotion I physically shrink back and impact with the wall behind me. Its smooth, cool surface helps me to regain some control.

 

Peter is still alive. This thought finally enables me to move. I grab my satchel, not caring for shoes or my jacket and run into the night. My only lead the too slow, irregular beat of my beloved child’s heart…

 

* * *

 

I can sense no other presence than Peter’s as I arrive. The smell of blood hovers sickens over the deserted area as I break into the chaos of rubbish and wrecked cars, not caring for any injury, I might receive.

 

Strong lights guide me to the place Peter is and as I break free of the shadows, I have to shield my eyes for a moment.

 

“Peter.” My voice is not more than a breathless whisper as I drop to my knees next to the motionless body of my son. I carefully cradle his head in my lap, tenderly stroking his cheek while with my free hand I ramble through the contents of my satchel. “Peter? My love, can you hear me?”

 

Peter’s lips move as if he tries to say something, an anguished moan cuts like a knife through my heart. I bring a vial to his mouth and gently urge him to empty it. Only then, I dare to take him in my arms, pulling him up to my chest to ease his breathing. I rest his face against my shoulder and run my hands down his body to assert his condition. Two of the lower ribs are splintered, I feel their sharp ends move beneath Peter’s too cold, clammy skin. Peter moans again and a violent shudder runs through him. Dark finger marks imprinted upon his hips make me wince. I move my hand to cover them without actually touching the bruised skin and a vision flashes through my mind… fingers digging like claws deep into my son’s soft flesh and a voice whispering: “Blame your father for it.” I wrench my hand back and the horrifying picture dissolves.

 

Cradling Peter close to my body to warm him, I gently rock him in my arms like I used to do when he was a child, crying for his mother.

 

Slowly I ease one of my hands down his back, rubbing soothing circles on his skin while I wait for his breath rate to recover. I trace a cut across the small of his back and the picture of the knife Angel tried to kill me with, comes unbidden to my mind. Dried blood clings to my fingers, fortunately the wound seems to be only superficial. I gently arrange Peter more to the other side, careful not to restrict his breathing, to take a closer look at his back. There is more blood on the back of his thighs, mingled with white splashes of a dried fluid. Inexplicably it reminds me of the morning and our lovemaking… My breath gets caught in my suddenly tight throat. No. It can not be what I think… NO!

 

My hand shakes violently and I will it to be calm as I slip my fingers down the crack of Peter’s buttocks. I feel more blood, still wet and more of the white fluid. As I touch the torn and swollen rim, Peter flinches and arches his back to escape my probing.

 

Blinded by tears I can not suppress, I turn my head and press my lips to Peter’s ear, whispering assurance to him, caught in a living nightmare.

 

Peter has been… the Brujo did… he raped my son.

 

* * *

 

“Pop?”

 

The pain in his weak voice startles me and I dare not to look at his face. “I am here, my Peter.”

 

“I’m… cold…”

 

“Do not speak, darling.” The skin of his cheek burns like icy beneath my lips. “I will take you home.”

 

“We’re… safe…?”

 

“Yes… my love. We are secure for the moment. The Brujo is gone.”

 

I hear a soft sigh from Peter. “You know… I feared… a trap… he’d killed you…”

 

“No more words, you must rest.” I slip my hand in his hair and feel warm wetness on my fingertips. The head injury still bleeds. Realising this I finally snap out of my trance-like state of grief and sorrow. Gently lowering Peter to the ground I look for his clothes and find them at the engine bonnet of a nearby car. With the outmost care I dress Peter, but it is with a sense of gratitude as I feel him loosing consciousness again.

 

Taking him in my arms I prepare myself for the long way home.

 

* * *

 

Peter moans, but does not open his eyes as I lower him to the futon. I leave his side to fetch bandages and herbs from my workbench. The bleeding of the head injury had stopped, but his broken ribs still cause him trouble with breathing.

 

As I return my darling son blinks, his lips part as if he tries to speak – but I take the opportunity and put a few drops from a vial in his mouth. The medicament will both ease his pain and allow him to sleep. Gently brushing his face with my fingertips, I wait for the mixture to work. Finally his breath deepens and I see his muscles relax in sleep. Covering him with a fresh linen, I start to bandage the broken ribs to stabilize them. And try not to think about what happened to him…

 

I leaf to get water to clean Peter’s wounds as the world suddenly moves beneath my feet. I have to grab for the kitchen sink to steady me. I open the tap and splash with both hands cold water into my face. Head bowed, my breath harsh and irregular in the nightly silence I wait for the vertigo to go by. Something inside of me tears and claws to be freed but I dare not to let loose my feelings. I must be in control. For Peter.

 

My hands steady once more, I fill a bowl with fresh water and fetch some towels.

 

 


Fine, so you made it that far with me… ready to take the last step? C’mere, let me take your hand and walk with me “where Angels fear”...

Silver

 

 

hour of the wolf  - post 3

by Silver (Silvers desire@aol.com)

KF – the legend continues / after “Target”

P/P, NC-17, h/c

 

All’s well that ends well? No way – the Brujo’s back. And the real nightmare is just about to begin…

 

 

 

 

What we can do for another,

Is the test of powers.

What we can suffer,

Is the test of love.

           

Brooke Foss Westcott

 

 

 

III.

 

Peter’s POV

 

My first awareness is of the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. I shake my head and instantly regret it. Pain flares, the darkness nearly takes me again. I blink but cannot see. I wipe my eyes… my hands are free, yes… now I faintly remember Pop breaking the cuffs… not taking the time to open them with his little Shaolin trick… My fingers are sticky. More blood. Finally, I manage to open first one eye, then the other.

 

I lie on the sleeping platform in my father’s loft. I’m still nude, covered only by a light linen. My body hurts. I try to control it like Pop taught me, but find only dizziness and nausea. Ahh, my head…

 

So return to the essentials. One thing at a time… Maybe I can sit up? Yes, but it is difficult. The pain in my head is sickening. What has happened to me? I cannot seem to remember. But I feel cold. My skull threatens to self-destruct, the world spins and I hastily close my eyes.

 

I cough, wince at the pain in my ribcage. Now I can feel a bandage covering most of my lower chest. “Pop?” My voice is little more than a croak.

 

“Be still, Peter.” Warm hands grip for my shoulders, gently pushing me back. Something soft, wet and cool dabs at my face, to remove the blood. “Lie quietly. I am here, Peter, my darling.” There is an edge in my father’s voice… but I’m way to tired to wonder what troubles him.

 

Pictures flash behind my closed eyes. A body covered with bruises, scratches, scrapes – and blood? Whose body? Blood? Yes, blood… a trickle of it running down my leg. NO! Not me. Not MY body! I pull back from Pop’s touch, suddenly unable to bear it. I try to concentrate on anything else. A shower. Yes… I surely feel I could use one. “I… need to get up… and shower.”

 

“You need to rest first, Peter. To recover your strength.”

 

Anger flares inside of me and I open my eyes. “Don’t tell me what to do!” I snap at him, instantly regretting the harshness of my words. I look at my Dad… a strange… there is a strange expression on his face… almost as if he is in pain… Did the Brujo hurt him, too? I find I cannot interpret the look in his eyes. “Sorry… but I really must shower. I’m… sticky all over.”

 

His eyes leave mine. “If you wish.” He carefully steadies me while I try to come to my feet. Again, the world spins around me, but finally I am able to rise and stand, if a trifle unsteady. I shrug free of my father’s hands and very carefully, not trusting my treacherous legs, make my way to the bath, get in the shower and turn it on, full hot water mode. The relief is so great I sag against the wall and just stand there, breathing, letting the heat and the water pound some of the soreness out of me. I duck my head under the stream and hiss, as the water strikes a knot at the back of my skull. Red washes down from my hair and huddles at my feet for a time. Finally, the flow is more or less clean and I straighten up again.

 

Self-assessment. I have a head injury of unknown severity – but I trust Dad would have me tied down to bed if it had been really dangerous. Maybe a laceration, even I can’t quiet remember how I came to it?

 

It feels as if I have one, possibly two cracked rips. Shit – I should have stripped down the bandages first before stepping into the shower. Now they’re soaked wet and partially loose. My left knee is bruised and very tender. Did I fetch a kick? My right wrist is slightly swollen, but not broken. The skin is abraded from the cuffs. But those bruises on my hips… finger marks. Dark and quite painful. I touch them gingerly.

 

More of the sweet smelling soap to wash away the sudden feel of being dirty.

 

I am almost finished now as I remember being cut with a knife… at the small of my back. It’s not a deep cut - I can trace it with my fingertips, then let my fingers wander deeper. Another hiss comes over my lips as I discover pain where I didn’t expect to find some. My fingers… brought around… prove to be splashed with blood.

 

There? But that would mean…

 

I sway, almost fall. Memory looms and then recedes. I let go of it, realizing, suddenly… that perhaps I am not yet ready.

 

Not ready for what?

 

No.

 

Not yet.

 

Wait.

 

Finally, thoroughly warmed, I turn off the shower and walk out of the stall. With a shaking hand, I brush my hair back, lift my head – and have to face Dad. He’s standing there - who knows how long - and watches me. I hastily gaze away but am grateful for his arms, holding me, covering me with a large, soft towel. I lean against his strong body.

 

I remember the Brujo… being chained and… touched? There is even the memory of some of his scorn. What else? Cold. Darkness. Icy fingers on my skin. My fall to the ground. A splitting pain… the knife? No… I didn’t found cuts on my body, except the one at my back.

 

Was that all of it?

 

I shiver again, thinking of blood on my fingers. Blood where no blood should be. There could only be one reason for that. I had not just been… attacked by the Brujo… he also did… NO! I cannot remember so I cannot know. There must be another explanation.

 

“Peter, please… you need to rest. I still have to tend your injuries.”

 

I let Pop sweep me in his arms and carry back to the futon, I feel dizzy, exhausted. I close my eyes and stop thinking…

 

* * *

 

A cup pushes gently against my lips and I feel my father’s hand in my neck, helping me to lift my head. I sip the cool liquid and try to ignore its awful taste. But soon a wonderful coolness spreads through my body till I feel weightless, like drifting at the surface of a quiet lake. Like the water of my secret place at the Temple.

 

Maybe I’ve finally returned… I wonder if Pop will join me and wait for his voice… I’m safe here. No one but Pop will find me… protected… my memories are safe here. Somehow I understand I’ll have to leave soon… but I won’t take the memories back with me. No one will know. Pop will never know… But know *what*?

 

Memory looms and then recedes.

 

Never think about it, Peter… never talk about it, Peter…

 

Nothing happened.

 

Nothing…

 

I give in to the darkness and let it take me away.

 

 

 

Caine’s POV

 

I watch the night turn into day… wait through the hours of the day… and watch the sunset again. Time has no meaning. Peter mostly sleeps and I dare not to leave his side for more than minutes. The fever is gone and so seem his nightmares – at least for the moment. I can sense the progress of healing in his body but I do not know about the injuries of his soul.

 

For the first time since I found him I allow myself to think, to feel… but what are my feelings? I shy away from the hate and rage I sense within myself. I turn away only to face shame… of not being able to save Peter, again I have failed him. He needed me but I… It is no justification that because of the Brujo’s manipulations I did not know he was in danger – because I should have known! He is my child, a precious gift to be protected and loved…

 

>>Blame your father for it!<<

 

The words cut like a knife through my heart. Nevertheless I accept their truth. I failed Peter. I did not come to rescue him and I did not discover the manipulation of both our thoughts until it was too late – because in my arrogance I underestimated the Brujo’s mind powers.

 

I gently reach out to cup Peter’s cheek – but he flinches from my touch. I will my fear down. What will do this to my sensible, pained son? The Brujo… assaulted… only his body – but I…

 

“Father?”

 

His childlike voice and the now seldom used formal address startles me and I am grateful for the shadows still filling the room – so he will not see my face. “Yes, Peter.”

 

His hand skims the linen and I take it, bring it to my lips to lie a kiss into his palm. A fleeting smile crosses his lips. “You’re not hurt, Pop? He didn’t get you?”

 

“No, my son.” It is only with much effort I keep my voice steady, but I must not alarm him.

 

“You know… it’s kinda funny… I can’t remember what happened. It’s like the first time – I’ve lost a whole night.” He blinks. “How long…?”

 

“You slept a whole day and a whole night, Peter. You needed to rest after you went through a fever. And do not concern yourself - I have sent word to Mary-Margaret, that you will not be able to attend your work for some days. She will… cover up… for you.”

 

He tries to laugh – but his voice breaks in a cough. “I really got it this time… my ribs… and my back… hurt, Pop.”

 

“I am so sorry I… arrived too late, Peter. I was unable to sense your… distress. There is… no justification that I did not discover the Brujo’s manipulation…”

 

“Don`t, Pop! I always knew you’d come and find me. It’s not your fault…”

 

I brush his sweat-soaked hair back and bend to kiss his forehead. “I will give you more of the herbs to ease your pain.” I am relived to find a reason to leave him – if only for a minute – to recover my facade of composure. But as I start to rise his hand grips my wrist, holding me back.

 

“Something happened to me,” he slowly says. “Something I can’t remember… But you know, right? Pop?”

 

I turn my head, unable to met his eyes and start to loose his fingers. “Your memories will return.” Even if I pray they will not… “Sleep, Peter. We will have time to talk… later.”

 

His hand falls back next to his body. “Okay… but don’t leave me.” He tries to smile to take the edge of panic out of his voice – but fails.

 

“Never. I will be at your side,” I promise and bend to kiss his cheek.

 

* * *

 

Another two days have passed since… the attack. Peter’s injuries are much improved and he is eager to get up and to return to work. His memories are still elusive. He remembers little of the night – and I can not find I feel regret for this. If I could, I would gladly take his memory, I would wipe out this night of pain and horror to leave him as pure as he was before…

 

But all the same he has changed. There is no light in his eyes and even his smiles are grey and wary. He flinches even at my touch and it tears at my heart.

 

The day before he insisted to return to his apartment but I could convince him to stay another night. I wished I could keep him safe in my arms for the rest of his life… But all I can do is to watch his sleep.

 

Now I feel him stir, he turns his head and looks at me – but gets up without a word and retreats to the bathroom.

 

I flee into the kitchen, my hands shake so badly I drop a cup to the floor while making tea. Picking up the fragments I feel Peter’s eyes upon my back, but I am unable to lift my face and to meet his gaze.

 

“I… don’t know when I… find time to stop by,” he says. “There’s a lot work to catch up…”

 

“I… understand.”

 

“Well… can’t stay for breakfast, Pop. I’ve got to change my clothes before I go to the precinct and I’m in a hurry.”

 

I remain silent for I do not know what he wants me to say.

 

“Äh… see you, Pop.”

 

“Be well.” The words barely make it over my dry lips. I rise and turn – and watch Peter leave, see him walking into the light of a new morning - and I know it is an error to let him go. But I feel rooted to the floor, unable to move.

 

A wall of pure, solid ice has been built between us – and I can not tell by whom…

 

I have failed Peter... again... final. Something dies in me but I feel no pain. My mind is numb.

 

“Peter…” I whisper – but only silence answers me.

 

Slowly I sit down on the floor, support my back to the wall – the pain even too strong give in to tears... I open my hand where I still clutch the pieces of the broken cup. Their sharp edges had cut deep into my palm. A trickle of blood slowly eases his way down my wrist.

 

* * *

 

Outside the city the Brujo opens his eyes, a gruel, satisfied smile crosses his lips as he reaches for Angel, pulling her face down for a kiss. He releases her, pets her shoulder and pushes her away as he tilts his head – listening to something than cannot heard by other’s ears. His laughter fills the crisp morning air. From far the howl of a wolf answers him.

 

end

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

But he can touch your trembling heart,

Can touch your very soul.

Take you with him when he leaves

And make your dreams turn old…

(Horslips, Ride to hell)