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For Niro

Shadows of Apollo

They said everything would be fine. The experts. A little snowfall here and there maybe, but certainly nothing worth worrying about. All morning though, the sky had been slate-grey, the great concrete sprawl of Apollo City shrouded in a cold winter mist. Then the afternoon came, and the sky turned white. For hours the snows had fallen, thick, relentless, filling the skies and blanketing everything on the ground. It was shimmering, beautiful even in its own way. Nature reminding the furs, as with the animal instincts flowing through each and every one of them, that she was the one in charge. Soon night descended, the days now growing shorter as winter bit deeper. Street lights flickered to life, casting their light to the sky in misty amber clouds. And down on the ground, life in the city was turning to carnage. Drivers woefully unprepared for the treacherous weather. Cars with their engines frozen. And with accidents and the sheer volume of traffic, for five hours solid, the procession of red and white lights on the city's motorways had been stuck at a standstill, the very arteries of the city clogged and choked with fumes. And one husky, in his apartment on the fourth floor of yet another faceless concrete block, gazed down from his window at the chaos below with particular unease.

Charlie was down there. Somewhere.

Every so often the husky, Niro, would return to the window and pull back the curtain, pressing his muzzle to the glass. He glanced down at the snow on the balcony, a good foot having built up there since this afternoon. Then he stared straight ahead, his keen blue eyes gazing through the mist to the motorway a short way off, stretching both ways into the distance, clouds of fumes rising from it into the moonlit winter air.

A single light glowed feebly in the apartment, the living room light, turned as dim as possible. The husky stepped back from the window, letting the curtain slip through his paw. As a result this plunged the apartment back into near-total darkness. Wearily the husky trudged across the room, collapsing on the sofa. Where was that bear? Already Niro had waited four hours for Charlie to arrive home from work, and even with conditions like they were he was getting impatient. He hoped the bear was safe. But what more could he do? Of course he had tried calling the bear on his mobile, all afternoon in fact; but every call went straight through to voicemail. And as the afternoon dragged on and on and turned to evening, the husky grew more irritated, and more concerned.

Niro's paw rested on the television remote, and for a moment he thought about turning on the news. Right, for the fifth time that evening? What would it say anyway - "winter storms and chaos on the roads". He could look out of the window and see that! With a grunt, Niro slouched back on the sofa, feeling himself doze off when suddenly his stomach gave a mighty rumble.

Charlie was meant to cook for them that evening. At least, that was the plan when the forecast told him, and a million other furs, that the winter storms now crippling the city would be 'light', at most. Either way, it meant that Niro had not eaten since lunchtime. He tried to ignore his hunger, convincing himself that he'd hear Charlie's keys in the lock any second now. But still his hunger remained, each pang stronger than the last. Soon, the sled dog could think of nothing but food. To be sure, he had had a little snack now and again, but with a full meal to come (hopefully), he had not eaten that much. So what could he do? Should he wait?

Again his stomach growled. He couldn't take it any longer. Traipsing into the kitchen and flicking on the light, he planned to make a beeline for the fridge. However, his eyes were soon drawn to a plastic packet sitting on the work top. It was a pack of steak. Charlie had bought it the day before, as a special treat for the two of them. It had been defrosting all day in the kitchen, in time for the bear when he arrived home from work. Slowly Niro approached it, his muzzle watering at the sight, just at the sight. His claws were quivering, and the corners of his muzzle upturned in a sly smile, as he reached out and picked up the tray. He stared almost in reverence at the steaks, two juicy cuts of meat still raw and moist. He thought of Charlie, and briefly considered putting the meat back and returning to the refrigerator, until once again his stomach rumbled. End of discussion. Niro snapped a claw to the film lid, tracing carefully around three edges and peeling away the film. First to reach him was the scent, filling his nose and soon his head with its thick, rich and delicious aroma. Now he was truly drooling, even panting ever so slightly as he reached in his paw, picking up the raw slice of T-bone and taking it in both paws. Then opening his muzzle he brought it close, closing his canines around the meat.

The taste, the texture, and the rich bloody goodness all overwhelmed the husky, who whimpered and tipped his head back as he drooled and wrapped his tongue around that deliciously juicy beef, ripping away a long tender strip. He barely chewed the meat before gulping it down and digging in those lethal teeth once more. Soon the husky had stripped the meat clean to the bone, and in seconds he was tackling the second steak, really digging his jaws into that thick cut, tearing away and swallowing big bloody chunks with all manner of happy little growls and snarls.

Once the second bone had fallen to the floor and Niro was licking his paws clean, he couldn't help but whimper in disappointment. Wonderful though the steaks were, for a starving husky they were nowhere near enough. And now he had the taste for meat, he needed more.

Hmm, maybe the shop would have more?

At the front door Niro left a note for Charlie, before slipping on his leather jacket. From the telephone table he picked up his pentagram necklace, and with a smile slipped his dagger under his belt. A present from Charlie, Niro had been sceptical the first time the bear had handed over the blade, claiming it would 'suit him'. Indeed at first, he didn't carry it. However, after a few months he had grown attached to it. Besides, it came in handy around the darker parts of Apollo. Niro was by no means the biggest and toughest of furs, but a glimpse of that steel was more than enough for most furs to keep on walking. So far though he'd never used the blade: he didn't need to.

He checked his jacket pocket, there finding one crumpled and tattered banknote. Perfect. Then, slipping his keys into the lock, he swung the door open, blinking at the bright white light that met his eyes. Niro stepped out into the corridor, checked for his keys one last time, and closed the door. No-one around, just as he expected. He made his way along the corridor, with its familiar faint scent of tobacco, before reaching the stairs. His paws were bare, silent on the stone floor, the clicks and scrapes from his claws echoing around the stairwell as he made his descent.

The cold struck Niro as soon as he pushed open the outside door, and even with his leather jacket and his thick pelt, the husky couldn't help but shiver. Taking a deep breath of the cool moist air, Niro turned up his collar and set on his way. Snow was still falling thick, now well over a foot deep, and all around not a soul could be seen. The snow glistened in the amber street light; the lights of the city, burning brightly just for the husky.

Their block was on a complex, one of half a dozen clustered loosely around a courtyard with a green at its centre, although naturally this too was blanketed in snow. Normally it was a well-used space, although doubtless the designers envisioned a place for local kits and pups to meet and play, rather than gangs of young weasels and 'coons loitering, drinking and smoking all hours of the night. This evening however, even the courtyard was deserted. The complex had its own corner shop too, in the ground floor of the opposite block. It didn't sell much, just the basics, but Niro knew that they sold steak. Mmm, a whole freezer, full of fresh steak... With a growl of hunger Niro crossed the courtyard, paws sinking into the deep snow with a satisfying crunch, cutting a trail for the shop door. But as he approached, he couldn't help but let out an annoyed grunt and mutter under his breath as he saw the shop in pitch blackness. They had closed up early today. Then again, looking at the weather, who could really blame them? Luckily for Niro there was another shop, just across the railway line. It was a good ten minutes away, even at a quick pace, but the walk was more than worth it to get even more of that succulent steak.

Niro quickened his step, soon reaching the main road just off the complex. Normally this broad tree-lined thoroughfare was filled with traffic all hours of the night. But tonight, only a few cars were braving the conditions, crawling along in the deep furrows carved along the road. With the coast clear Niro made his crossing, turning his collar once more to the snow and bitter cold. Cars had churned the snow into ice and slushy pools, and the husky muttered to himself as he trudged through the slush in his bare paws.

Across the road, Niro turned down a narrow side street. This part of town was older, a tangle of terraces and old brick houses, in various states of dereliction from years of neglect. Well, when the furs of power could bleat about their brand-new flats and office blocks on the edge of town... the city's future, the face of progress! Who cares about a few crumbling piles of brick ... or indeed, about the furs miserable enough to live there? The homeless, the drunk and the poor, trapped in this slum like rats in a bag. Ordinarily Niro, a somewhat slightly-built husky, would have steered clear of this patch, especially without his burly bear beside him. But keeping to the main roads would have taken far too long; and besides, he doubted anyone would be around on a bitterly cold night like this. That included any drunkards. Indeed the street-corner pub they frequented was plunged into darkness tonight, so the chances of meeting them were rather slim.

Niro passed the pub, savouring the rich malty aromas emanating from its cellars. He continued to scent the air as he rounded the next corner, suddenly slowing his pace as the flavour of liquor dissipated, only to be replaced by another just as intoxicating.

Niro didn't know for certain why the vixen was out so late, on her own as well; but judging from the little jacket and skirt she wore, he could guess. And if her scent had piqued his interest, it was her body which held him completely enraptured. Quickly he crouched behind a brick wall in case he was spotted, poking his twitching muzzle around the corner. For what could have been minutes, or hours, he stayed there, whilst around them both the snows fell thick, swirling under the golden lamplight. The vixen waited on the street corner, rummaging in her bag for something, a phone perhaps, sighing in frustration when she could not find it. It had been a long night already, and with the snows falling ever thicker, it became more unlikely each minute that anybody would come by this way. Time to head home. With a quick glance left and right, she set off down a side street and away from the hidden husky. She was shivering as she scurried on her way, along the snowy street, then left down an alleyway between two houses. Niro crossed the street, heading towards the alley entrance and sticking his head around the corner. Just looking. Just watching.

Whilst Niro's interest in the fairer sex was limited, to say the least, something about this vixen, on this night, held the husky in complete captivation. She was a fox, in the figurative sense as well as the literal, and the canine licked his lips as he studied her lithe body, the potent curve of her waist, and her slim vulpine legs, all accentuated by her choice of clothes. He watched intently as that svelte, white-tipped tail disappeared deeper down the alleyway. And the more he watched the vixen from afar, watched how proudly she walked, and watched every flick of that tail, the more a thought crept into his mind.

Straightaway he ignored it. For God's sake, she wasn't even prey! But still he would stare at the vixen, his ice-blue eyes fixed above all on that slender, tender neck. His stomach growled once more, his paws clenched tight, and his muzzle watered again. He licked his lips, and a little grin crept onto his muzzle as his tongue lingered on the two, long, deadly-sharp canines in his upper jaw. Soon all thoughts of steak had slipped the husky's mind. Now, his meal had to be fresh.

But... was this really worth it? This, after all, was no dumb creature, no feral. This was a fellow fur, sentient, with feelings and emotions just like him. And furs did not harm their fellow furs. Furs, blessed and endowed with these wondrous faculties of reason, of compassion and understanding, settled their differences with words and compromise, not with claws and fangs. Indeed, Niro had never harmed another fur unprovoked. So now, to even contemplate doing such a thing... never mind Niro, any sane fur would baulk at that thought!

But then... Niro wasn't like other furs. Twelve months ago, something had happened to the husky that had marked him out, alone out of all the furs in this grimy corner of the city named Apollo. Life after that change was terrible at first, with the husky only recently finding the resolve to walk in daylight once more. But, it did bring its advantages. And why deny who he was? Besides, it was only one lost little vixen. Why, he could take her down in no time...

Niro shook his head once more, horrified that the thought was still lingering, toying with the husky's mind. But still his hunger grew, drowning out all semblance of reason. Again and again the thoughts crept into his head, twisted and perverse, the dichotomy of reason and animal need. What was wrong with him? All these thoughts of stalking prey, taking another creature's life through the lethality of his own jaws, just like some beast, some... feral! Okay Niro, keep calm... He took a deep breath, focusing his mind once more, and tried to force these thoughts from his mind. But still they remained, gnawing away slowly at the logic and rationality in the husky. Damn it, he needed to live, just once in his life! This was a door, an opening to some deeper nature, something altogether more...animal, locked away in the beating heart of every beast, two-legged or four. And this vixen, skipping so delicately through the deep snow, she could be the key.

But he had to be careful. The vixen, also a predator, could hear and above all smell equally as well as the husky. One scratch too loud, one trace of danger, and the vixen would bolt. Luckily for Niro though he was downwind, and so for the time being the advantage was all his.

A police siren, far in the distance, reached their ears. Niro grinned: it was the perfect cover, to stalk even closer to the vixen. Niro would wait, behind a crate or a wall, watching that sultry little vixen as she gave another anxious glance, her breath coming in short gasps, before tiptoeing down the next alleyway, dismissing any tiny rustles as the wind and still blissfully unaware of the black-and-white furred husky eyeing her hungrily. Niro would then stalk closer, growling under his breath, creeping nearer along the vulpine's trail, as she rounded another corner, down a slope and into an underpass.

This underpass led beneath the railway tracks. Its lights shone white, bright, almost too bright for a night like this, its floor wet and its walls coated in graffiti. Carriages normally rattled along the tracks overhead, their steel wheels screeching all through the night. However that night all was still on the lines, the weather far too severe for any trains to run. Only the vixen's gentle pawfall could be heard, echoing around the underpass. Niro growled happily to himself. He had the vixen trapped now. There was only one escape now, straight away from him, and even if she could scarper from the tunnel alive, the gap between them would be so close that she could never escape.

He waited and waited until she crossed halfway. Then, he could wait no more. Leaping forward into the underpass, Niro launched himself towards the vixen, at full pelt, on all fours, snarling in hunger. The vixen wheeled, squealing in terror on seeing the ravenous husky bearing down on her, and took flight through the tunnel, as fast as her limbs would carry her. Niro was focused, his breath steady and growling, his paws pounding the frozen concrete, every thought trained on that vixen and the rapidly shrinking gap between them. He could smell her scent, the husky's keen nose scenting every subtle hint of the vulpine's musk: and oh, how that scent had changed now the chase was on! The warmth of her body, the tang of salt from her sweat, and just the slightest tinge of feminine musk, all blended together in a heady mix that only spurred the sled dog on quicker.

She leapt from the underpass, alive, bolting at once to the right and running parallel to the tracks, her paws flying over the fresh snow. Of course she ran, she had to run, every instinct in her body screamed at her to run. The young vixen, the predator, had suddenly become the prey. Even now she clutched to any thought, no matter how implausible, that she would survive this chase. Someone would save her, he'd lose her trail, anything...

But this chase was a foregone conclusion before it had even begun. Niro could have ended the chase any time he wanted. He was a husky, a sled dog, a creature bred to survive the toughest environments Nature could concoct. No creature could match the husky in speed; neither can any match his kind in sheer endurance. All he had to do was close the gap. His quarry was tiring already, every pace falling more awkwardly, every breath more laboured. But the final bite would be quick; which meant that this, the first chase, was something to be savoured.

And so, he let her run, giving her one last lingering glimmer of hope that she might escape. Why should he close the gap, when he could wait for her to capitulate? Niro couldn't help but chuckle, a chuckle which escaped his muzzle as a set of hoarse grunts. It was almost too easy. A perfect first hunt, with a perfect first mark: the vixen, sly huntress and timid quarry all at once. This was Niro's game now, pure and simple. Here, tonight, everything would end in the husky's claws.

The pathway ended in a goods yard with metal garage doors, and the vixen stumbled to a sudden halt before one door, one forepaw planted on the snow, gasping for breath while sweat dripped from her brow. Every muscle in her limbs ached, tears welling in her golden eyes. She snapped her gaze left, right, frantically searching for a place to run. It was this hesitation which would prove fatal. Tired and exhausted and utterly drained from the chase, the vixen barely had time to crane her neck before with a vicious full triumphant snarl the husky launched himself at her to collide head-on and sweep her backwards off her paws, the vulpine letting forth a sharp yelp as each animal landed in the snow in a tangle of fur and claws.

The vixen whined frantically, waiting for the husky's bite, but sensing him hesitate she started to kick and twist, trying to slip away from his grasp. Her own jaws snapped in vain for something to bite, before Niro quickly clamped a paw to her muzzle. Unable to scream and unable to bite she drew her claws, scratching and raking at any part of the husky within her reach, tattering the husky's jacket and raking the dog's tough flesh. Of course the sled dog was hardier than that. But she was a slippery little vixen, her every struggle and squirm loosening the husky's grip just a little bit more. He couldn't afford to lose her, not now. As he tried futilely to restrain his quarry, his paw inadvertently rested upon his dagger in his belt. Without thinking Niro slipped it out, clutching it straight to the vixen's neck.

Don't move!

She didn't. She lay, dead still, in the husky's arms, her eyes locked on the canine's shining ice-blue hues. Her breath was rapid, chest rising and falling heavily. She gazed, paralysed with fear, into his muzzle full of razor-sharp canines, and in particular at the two dagger-like canines gleaming in his upper jaw, mere inches from her neck. Maybe her mind was playing tricks, but for some reason those two fangs looked long, impossibly long, almost like a certain creature of myth and folklore the world over.

From here each predator simply stared at the other, waiting. Vulpine to canine. Canine to vulpine. So what was he waiting for? The husky's paw quivered, clenched tightly around the gleaming dagger. He had calmed the vixen; so now what? His eyes lingered on the blade, then beyond to the creamy white fur along her neck, licking his muzzle once more as he watched her swallow hard.

With one swift movement Niro clutched the vixen tight, dropping the dagger untainted to the snow and wrapping his paws around the vixen's back. He knelt on the ground, pressing his body against the vixen, and resting his head on her shoulder. She felt his breath: hot, rancid, rapid gasps against her neck. Her arms and legs drew into her chest, and her body curled, almost foetal, as she stared ahead unfocused, waiting petrified for her requiem.

Even now, Niro took his time. Wrapping his claws around the vixen's muzzle, he tugged her head back gently. Thus, at long last, the vixen's neck was fully exposed; so elegant, so delicate, and oh so vulnerable. The husky's breath was short, stuttering, catching in his throat. This was his meal, yes, his reward for the hunt. No clever lines, no final requests. Just one quick bite. But there was still time for one moment, one tiny fleeting glimpse of compassion in the fury of the husky before the bloodlust would consume him totally.

"I'm so sorry."

And without ceremony Niro opened his jaws, stabbing his fangs deep into her throat with a rich crunch.

The vixen's eyes and muzzle snapped wide, each twisted and contorted through the sheer pain that suddenly surged through her system as those canine teeth tore through her neck. Blood greeted the husky in an instant, and Niro wasted no time in hunkering down to this, his very first meal. Soon a new scent, a sharp clean and ferrous scent, rose and mingled ever so deliciously with the sweat and musk coursing from both predator and prey.

The vixen's heart pounded in her chest as adrenaline coursed through her body, but this only served to force blood up her neck and straight into the husky's ravenous maw. Her eyes rolled back in her head, her muzzle filling with blood, her cries thick and gurgling, reverberating around the walls and shutters of the warehouses, but still far too quiet to summon any help. Her heartbeat was frantic, and furious, and futile. She kicked out again and again, in one last desperate attempt to escape; but Niro clutched her close, feeling her body bucking against his, gliding his paws tenderly through her golden fur as he feasted, lapping as he drank, whining euphorically as the blood flowed in thick rivulets down his muzzle.

Her mind raced as she searched for anything, any idea, the smallest faintest spark of an idea to help her escape. But soon it dawned on her that, as for innumerable hares and fowl who had ever passed in vulpine jaws, those fangs weren't ever going to go away. And only then, at this epiphany, did the vixen finally fall limp. It still hurt, oh God how it hurt! But now she gritted her teeth, and just let the pain be, riding out these final few evanescent seconds of life.

Niro clutched the weakening vixen to his chest, one paw at the creature's head to soothe her in these, her final moments. It didn't matter what Niro thought now: what was done was done. Her twitching paw slowed also, her once-frantic kicks now a mere involuntary twitch as the world all around grew faint. Slowly, tortuously, succumbing to shock. Niro himself still moaned softly at the rush of blood, savouring each precious drop like finest claret, the silky smooth liquid filling his maw and slipping down his throat even as the flow slowed with each passing second. The vixen gasped shakily, her heart growing ever weaker until, finally, in a blissful haze of warmth on this cold snowy night, the young vixen coughed sharply, and breathed her last.

Draining the final few drops from his meal, Niro tore his jaws straight from the animal's neck, throwing his muzzle to the heavens to call forth a vicious, full-blooded howl, calling with a proud cry of sheer elation, the joy of a famished canine finally taking his fill. He was trembling as he finally let the carcass drop to the earth, hunching himself over her body, his muzzle and paws soaked in deep crimson. Slowly he collapsed on his paws and knees, beside the now-stilled vixen, his breath deep and shaking, his muzzle upturned in an elated grin. Yes he was in ecstasy, endorphins flooding his over-worked system now that the hunt was over. But he was also angry: angry that for twelve, long, languorous months, he had been denied this wonderful, utter satisfaction of bringing down and draining his own meal. So now he knew why, for that greasy little otter nearly a year ago, enough was never enough.

As silence descended on the yard once more, the distant siren fading away, Niro's breathing cut through the stillness. Suddenly his ear twitched, hearing heavy footsteps approach in the snow then come to rest a short way off. His rationality jarred back into action. What had he done? He was caught; his howl had given him away. You stupid, stupid dog! He stayed crouched, trembling as he stared in disbelief at his bloodied paws.

Oh... God...

He turned his head, as slowly as he dare. This was not happening, this was not happening... For all he knew, in two short seconds, he could be staring down the barrel of a gun. Then, his eyes grew wide and his muzzle hung agape as he realised just who was watching him. In truth, if Niro could have summoned a shred of logic that winter's night, there probably wasn't anyone else he would rather have had appear just then. Even so, staring into the eyes of the brown-furred bear a matter of paces off was almost too much for the husky to take.

Needless to say, living with a vampire meant that a fur soon picked up on their habits. And no-one could piece the evening's story together better than Charlie. The message on the telephone table was his first clue. Then, a strange sanguine scent had drawn the bear into the kitchen, and to a blood-stained plastic tray lying on the counter. So, Niro was out, on his own, at night... and he had the taste for meat. Charlie froze. Oh God. Not good, not good at all! Knowing exactly where Niro was heading, Charlie had flown out of the apartment, pounding across the snow as fast as his paws would carry him, tracking Niro's paw prints and hot on his scent. But it was the husky's howl that had finally brought him to this yard across the tracks. Any other fur, if they were around that night, would have dismissed those wild Arctic calls as the 'Strays', the mongrels who lived rough near these tracks, feral in all but name. But Charlie knew exactly whom that howl belonged to.

Niro stayed still, staring in shock at the ursine. They had to get out of here, him and Charlie. Other furs might be coming, police or worse, and compared to Charlie, they wouldn't be so... so...

So what? Understanding? Forgiving? How could Charlie, even Charlie, even begin to comprehend the sight before his eyes: the husky, whimpering and cowered in the snow, black-and-white fur all askew, muzzle and claws smeared scarlet; and the vixen, motionless, crumpled at his side?

But, that taste... bovine, and vulpine... it was just... so... good! How could anything ever compare to that taste: meaty, meaty, and ever so fresh? Maybe he needed more; maybe he didn't? God, his mind was spinning. He eyed up the bear...

Mmm, lovely plump bear...

No! Niro shook his head, snapping that thought straight out of his mind. Taking a breath, he steeled himself again. But what if Charlie came closer; could he control himself? What if... would he end up... hurting Charlie? He cowered once more, letting forth a pitiful whine. No: he couldn't hurt Charlie. He just could not. Oh God, it wasn't fair... but there was nothing he could do. Absolutely nothing.

Wrenching his eyes from the bear's gaze, Niro turned tail and fled, into the night, his leather jacket torn and flying behind him. He ran and he ran, the lights of Apollo passing by in a blur, a cloud of dusty snow and a trail of paw prints left in his wake. That night, everything had changed for the husky. To realise all of the consequences, however, he would have to wait until morning.

By Ziegenbock