DISCLAIMER: Women of the Otherworld, its publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. No money is being made for this. No copyright infringement is intended.
BETA: lady of scarlet
FANDOM STATUS: Fanon/Canon
DEDICATION: To anyone in this tiny FanFic Fandom that likes Clayton
SPOILERS: For Stolen and Broken
The once sunlit sky has been blackened like water smeared with oil, a thick darkness consuming the forests and swallowing the forms of the predators and prey which moved within its haven. The atmosphere is one of caution, every noise carefully calculated. Each paw step and harsh pant is a danger to their hunt. If they scare the deer too badly it might bolt and under this pitch black darkness they won't be able to see it run. Only scent and sound matter now.
A low whine from Nick: Where did it go?
A snort from Clay: I don't know.
Within his toasty cocoon of blankets Clayton squirms restlessly, the heat and the sweat of his body causing him to wake. Or, at least, that's what he assumes wakes him at first. What might have been hushed voices to human ears echo throughout the house, whispering with childish excitement outside his window.
It takes a while for his sleep-drenched brain to understand...but that doesn't matter. There can only be one person at Stonehaven who would get that excited over Christmas. Only one person who could get that happy over white flecks of ice water.
Elena is home.
Clayton swirls the midnight red liquid around in the tumbler, glaring murder and death at it, and takes a sip. His werewolf senses detect something foreign but he doesn't need them to know that Jeremy is drugging him up again.
Hell, he can see the little grey tablet dissolving on the round bottom of the glass. Still, he takes another sip, telling himself that this is for the best. That he will wake up in the morning, refreshed, ready to hatch a plan to save his stolen mate.
He gulps the rest of the elixir and within seconds passes out.
No one rings the bell at Stonehaven on All Hallows Eve, little girls as witches with green faces or boys wearing furry muzzles and plastic paws don't go to the country estate for tricks or treats. Still, Antonio insists on getting Clayton a pumpkin. It's tradition.
So while Tonio is picking out a pumpkin for him Clayton decides to Change. He dashes through the orange fields, his paws crunching up the autumn leaves with his golden tail swishing in the air.
Later, when they overhear a girl telling her mommy about a boy werewolf, all Antonio can do is laugh.
He's a werewolf. Who has been shot with a silver bullet.
Clayton doesn't appreciate these idiot humans trying to catch him or his Pack but he does think it's funny. It screams B-movie plotline and, to be honest, he's always enjoyed that kind of thing. Crappy werewolf stories are right up his alley.
The helpless humans strike back, hunting down the supernatural races that have been hunting them for so many centuries, capturing one subject from every species and studying it. It's just so lame that it's perfect, really.
And silver bullets? The humans couldn't come up with anything better?
Elena is so beautiful that he can't bear to look away, cannot even handle the thought of turning his gaze from her body as she moves underneath him. He kisses her, locking his eyes with hers and he, Clayton the Savage, is ensnared by her enchanting pools of pale blue.
Clayton has never been a poet but when he gazes into those eyes he thinks that this would be the most wonderful way to die. That this is how he wants to die. Laying here, their bodies rocking together, as he drowns himself slowly in the waves of her eyes.
It's all violet.
A violet monstrosity of a dress with bows, violet ribbons looped through her blonde hair that bounce when she walks, violet lace sleeves with heart patterns and violet sandals that strap around her running feet.
She's beautiful, Clayton thinks, she's perfect.
Even when she starts itching at the lace, loses her shoes somehow in the forest where they will never be found, yanks at the bows with a vengeance and comes back with twigs and leaves somehow tied into the ribbons.
She's his daughter and she's exquisite, not in spite of it all but because of it.
Logan tears the gift wrap into strips with his eager hands, his vibrant blue eyes dancing over the science kit with avid fascination. It's only beginner stuff, a tiny kit with a standard microscope, a few slides and a magnifying glass with a notebook on what can be done with such things and how to use them, but Logan doesn't seem to care.
"Merry Christmas," Clayton laughs, watching his son's eyes glow like the Christmas lights that Elena loves so much, as bright and as brilliant as the mind that works behind them.
The little boys actually shines with happiness.
Jeremy insists Clayton has dress clothes for rare special occasions and so they set off into the world to go shopping. Normally, things would be ordered by catalogue but they didn't have time. They went shopping and they bought clothes and for the most part it was the same old same old.
Standard black shoes that shined like the moon with polish, tiny silver buckle do-ups. Dress pants with cuffed hems. But it's the silk tan shirt that Clayton takes a surprising liking to, running his fingertips down the fabric, that matters.
It's the only actual colour he will wear.
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