Soft moss blanketed the ground and crickets played a soft crescendo, illuminating the shadows. A lone breeze trickled through heavy foliage, but Nick found no calm. Deep in the forest, he felt only rage.

His memories swirled; the case, the girl, his first kill. Staring at the abandoned house, he wondered if he could ever go back to when life was simple. There were no royals and no war. He had a loving girlfriend, a caring aunt and the luxury of the doubt.

Wrapping his coat tighter around himself, he watched as the hands of his watch slowly trudged by, passing numbers without regard. Time seemed slow, methodical, the complete opposite of what he needed. What he needed was chaos, dark and wanton, swirling around him, embracing him like he had embraced them.

Inside, his temper began to escalate, ever so slowly taking him over. He thought about the absurdity of it all. His captain and his girlfriend, the death and destruction, all in the name of a stupid key. To them he was a pawn, vulnerable and expendable. Now that key was missing, stolen by some righteous wesen, simply out of greed. His boss, the man he admired, the man he loved; had deceived him. He lay in wait for the telltale whisper as soft soil gave way under heavy tires.

Headlights blinded him and the smell of exhaust filled the chilly air. A moment later and the detective was staring down his captain, his prince. Behind green eyes, Nick sensed no anger, only peace. Renard strode confidently; his shoulders straight and walk smooth. The Grimm's eyes were cold, but in his heart, the floodgates began to crumble. He could feel his pulse racing and the adrenaline pump through his veins.

With each step, Nick could feel the tension grow. Every breath became audible and each emotion, unearthed. Around them, the world seemed to shift, enveloping the two in a shrouded fog. With an almost primal urge, Nick sprung forward, punching Renard and landing a hard blow to the older man's jaw. The larger man fell swiftly to the ground and lay prone beneath him, receiving every assault that followed.

Without warning, strong hands wrapped around his wrists and, with a powerful shove Nick was sent through the air. A resounding crack filled the forest as bone met bark, and the air quickly left the Grimm's lungs. Wrapping an arm tighter against himself, he watched the Captain stand his ground, hand out in quiet surrender. He could see the man's features wince in pain; bruises forming along otherwise unmarred skin. His eyes were alight, glowing iridescent with brilliant hues of flame. From where he stood, Nick could sense it; something was changing, growing.

Renard could feel the regnant beginning to stir, pushing him to violence. Watching his Grimm, he saw the anger in those grey eyes and oddly enough, adoration. From within, he heard whispers, reminding him of the thrill, the adrenaline, of the hunt. The hunger was unbearable, the thirst for blood, irresistible. Renard was used to resisting the urges; to bite, to break, to claim. Every time Nick entered the precinct, a new battle began; a battle he knew he would eventually lose. He could feel a slow burn spreading from his heart; lines of fire cutting down to his lungs, suffocating him from the inside out.

Pushing down the bitterness, he forced himself to focus. The Grimm in front of him was an ally, a friend, or rather, he would be. In stormy eyes, he read only vengeance, burning deep like the heart of a dying star. That would have to change, he thought to himself. With a deep breath, Renard opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed it.

What would he have said? He did not know. So many times he had practiced this speech, for politicians, for reporters. He always spoke of peace, freedom, and the greater good. But for the man in front of him, he had no words. Nick already knew: his family, the Verrat; everything. The regnant saw him as a threat, and maybe, just maybe; it was right.

With a sudden flash, the Captain doubled over, clutching painfully at his side. From his chest erupted tendrils of pain, leaving him gasping, vulnerable. But even with his eyes closed painfully shut, the regnant could sense Nick. It could sense terror and for a brief moment, Renard had hope. Inside, the creature persisted, clawing at his heart, his lungs, anything it could sink its claws into.

Slowly but surely, he knew he was losing. He could feel it, like the crest of a wave, rising smooth and unchallenged. Soon the wesen would bleed through and Nick would have no option but to shoot. Only the regnant knew what would happen when it broke loose. For so long he had kept it in check, chained up and buried deep within himself; so deep he almost forgot he was a monster. But now, he knew there was no way out. He would turn and he would have his Grimm.

Seconds passed and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. Pain burst from inside his chest, enveloping Renard in a foggy haze. An overwhelming cold swept over him, making his battered body shiver. His mind raged, his humanity wept, and from across the clearing Nick watched with veiled awe.

In front of the detective stood a man, usually strong and confident, crumpled on his knees. The Grimm called to Nick, urging for justice,for revenge. How easy would it be, he wondered, to kill this man?

Hastily shaking his head, he dismissed his thoughts. If Renard was a monster, then what was he? He had killed, murdered and hated. He had defended, loved and lost. Everything that had shaped Renard, Nick had felt too. Haunted by their past, and their family, they had fled. They were outcasts, hidden from their instinct, constantly supressing what their blood longed to be.

Nick watched with disbelief as the Captain began to scream, mournful rage-filled sounds which pierced the air. He stood silent as, with a pained lurch, wings tore through smooth cotton and more cries ignited the darkness.

With a final shout, Renard collapsed, panting but without pain. Lifting his pounding head seemed almost a challenge for the regnant, but the incentive was irresistible. The air was alive with excitement and the sweet scent of blood. He had waited for so long, years almost, and now he would have his chance.

Never before had the detective felt so inspired, so moved, by a wesen. So long had he waited for Renard to let go, to finally see the anger veiled from him. The Captain, or rather, the wesen he had become, was awe-inspiring. Black wings arched and flexed impressively while a faint golden glow encircled his head. Sharp teeth reflected the remaining moonlight, glinting sharply. From where he stood, Nick could see bronze scales, layered upon muscled flesh like armour. But most intriguing were his eyes, smoldering with growing curiosity. The colours shifted, from rich gold and brilliant yellow to deep red, alight with passion.

In those eyes, Nick felt himself weaken. They enthralled him, be it the glint of hunger or the wanton of it all. Somewhere, his primal side longed for such a gaze, for such focus. They were the eyes of a hunter, strong and brave, never dwindling nor backing down.

Renard watched Nick, observing as the younger man licked his parted lips. He smiled to himself, letting his tongue slide with ease over pointed fangs. He recognised that look, and from his stance low to the ground, he zoned onto his victim. Adrenaline flowed through his body and his heartbeat grew in excitement. Soon, he would have his prey.

Nick watched as the Captain rose to his feet, rushing him with teeth bared. He acted on reflex, dodging the forward attack with practiced ease. With a kick to the back, the older man went sprawling into a nearby tree, where he leant and gathered his breath. With hesitant concern, the detective approached, hand out towards a scaled shoulder.

Suddenly, the regnant stirred, pushing off with fluid motion. Clawed hands grabbed his wrists and pinned the smaller man against the rough bark. The detective knew he should have been scared but for of the life of him, he felt only anticipation. Their faces were mere inches apart and their breath mingled in the cool breeze. From behind him, moonbeams illuminated the distorted features and ember eyes appeared gold.

With equal furry, their lips met, clashing in a passionate embrace. The kiss was hungry and desperate as Nick quickly pulled the older man against himself. His arms wrapped around Renard's muscled torso, sliding over smooth scales with increasing boldness. Large hands moved from his arms to his chest, skimming downward to the hem of his dark t-shirt. Delicate claws traced patterns on the younger man's stomach, drawing out a quiet gasp. A rough growl erupted from deep within, signalling the regnant diminishing patience.

When they finally parted, Nick watched intently as his features once again transformed. Bronze scales were replaced by a smooth expanse of skin and dark wings folded neatly against a muscled back. From deep in his throat, Renard let out a low groan, making Nick sigh against their fused lips. The captains' tongue swept playfully over the detective's parted ones and the younger man let his head fall loosely against the tree.

Drinking in the pale flesh, Renard moved skillfully, nipping gently beneath the younger man's ear. Letting out a discreet breath, Nick ran his fingers through the short hairs at the base of the Sean's neck. Large hands moved lower, pulling the Grimm closer until there was no room between them. Beneath him, he could feel every muscle, every reaction.

He could feel Nick's excitement against his own and with renewed vigor, the Captain let his hands wander, running his fingers along the detective's lean hips. A low chuckle escaped his throat when Nick moaned in response, almost submissively. A strained "please" escaped the young man's parted lips, and the regnant took it as a sign, once again kissing the soft mouth. His fingernails scratched lightly against the small of his back, marking him with bright strokes.

Opening his eyes, Renard smiled to himself.

This was going to be fun.


I am deeply sorry for the long wait. Please take this chapter as a formal apology. Reviews are wholly welcomed. Again, sorry.