A/N: before you all read this one-shot, let me start off by saying I'm deeply sorry for not updating sooner. It was requested that I write Sandstorm/Scourge - and I HAD an idea in my head, but I realized about halfway through writing it that I was going to end up writing these two way out of character. Sandstorm's deeply in love with Firestar, Scourge...is frankly awesome in my opinion, but he's not the "fluffy romantic story" type in my head. So I deleted what I had and started over, and came up with this. To the person who requested it, I'm sorry if it's a little dark for your taste; please don't kill me. XD
Sand/Scourge – Break You
Sandstorm looked up, and the BloodClan she-cat had to suppress a smirk at the look in the pale ginger tabby's eyes. Those green eyes that Firestar had loved were not so bright as they used to be; they were dulled by loss and torture, and what she went through every night since that horrible battle at Fourtrees. As she stood, Sandstorm once again found herself thinking of that terrible day.
Firestar had put up a ferocious fight against Scourge, after Whitestorm had died. But exhausted from the fighting, the flame-colored leader's reflexes just hadn't been quick enough. Scourge had ripped him open just as quickly and effortlessly as he had Tigerstar. Firestar's ginger coat had turned crimson, and his dying screams still rang in Sandstorm's ears when she was alone, and when she dared to sleep.
The four Clans had quickly lost after that. Firestar had rallied them, and stunned by the young leader's death, Tallstar had been unable to counter a BloodClan cat's attack; Deadfoot and Leopardstar had fallen soon after. Mistyfoot's body hadn't been found.
Blackfoot, seeing what had happened, had rallied his remaining warriors and attempted to retreat; they'd been quickly stopped by a knot of BloodClan cats. Blackfoot had kept fighting, even when he was the last ShadowClan cat standing. He may have tried to run, but he took down five of their enemies by himself before blood loss took its toll; the white tom had finally staggered, fallen on one side, and not gotten up again.
The surviving Clan cats were then sought out, taken across the river and confined to RiverClan's camp. The elders were killed on the spot – but even Scourge knew without kits, his Clan held no future. "You are all my prisoners now," he had said, in that voice that sent chills into the hearts of even the strongest warrior. "As such, your young cats and she-cats are mine. They will serve BloodClan well."
Graystripe was Sandstorm's only comfort in all of this. The big gray tom, devastated by what had happened, was the fierce protector of the apprentices, nursing queens, and kits. Featherpaw, Stormpaw, Bramblepaw and Tawnypaw, as well as the apprentices from the other Clans, were all being trained by him. He worked by night, teaching them how to hunt and fight as best as they could in their new territory. If he saw a BloodClan cat harassing a queen, or any of the young cats, he turned into a furious gray blur, claws, teeth, and eyes flashing as he fought.
Graystripe had been beaten several times by Scourge for this behavior. The medicine cats – the two who remained – spent much of their time making sure the gray tom didn't bleed to death.
"Ahh, Firestar's mate," Scourge hissed softly. He sat across his den – Leopardstar's old den – from her. Sandstorm didn't bother to control the rage that twisted her expression.
"Don't say his name," she spat. "He was ten times the cat you are."
She knew why she was here. The she-cats in the Clan belonged to Scourge; he gave them to his Clan's toms, or kept them to himself, as he saw fit. He called her "his favorite".
"Still you defy me." The hated ice-blue eyes narrowed. They were nothing at all like the warm, tender emerald green eyes that had looked at her so lovingly. "Come, my pet; think of what being the mate of Scourge would bring you," Scourge murmured, and swiped his tongue around his muzzle as his eyes looked over her form.
Sandstorm flattened her ears and hissed, the fur along her spine bristling. "I have a mate," she snarled. "I'd rather die than let you try to replace him."
Scourge chuckled coldly. "Firestar is dead, my dear. Accept it." He stood and padded toward her. "Now, are we going to do this the hard way, or are you going to make things easy for me?" As he came closer, the pale ginger she-cat unsheathed her claws and backed away. The small black tom's eyes narrowed in pleasure. "Excellent," he purred. "I had hoped that I hadn't broken you just yet."
He leaped, his own fearsome claws flashing. Sandstorm met him blow for blow, surprised as always by his speed. She swiped at his face, and her claws met their mark, ripping down his cheek. He jerked back as blood began to flow, and gave a hiss. She hadn't any time to feel triumphant, though, as he returned the strike, the force in his blow enough to stun her and knock her to the ground.
She was panting; he was barely out of breath. As he bit her scruff to roll her quite roughly onto her stomach and moved to claim what he wanted, Sandstorm closed her eyes in defeat, feeling her throat tighten in humiliation.
…I'm so sorry.