VERSE FIVE: DAS TIER IN MIR

His name was Konstantin.

A charismatic young feline, he had smoky grey fur, keen green eyes and a well-groomed coif of tawny brown hair. He'd been dressed in office attire, but clearly looking to unwind at the end of a long day if the popped collar and loosened tie were any indication.

They'd met at the pub some years ago. He was from Germany, in Manchester on a business trip - something boring and tedious Damon couldn't have been bothered to remember. He turned out to be a bit of a metal-head, though, so that had gotten them talking.

They'd both been sitting at the bar when Konstantin had struck up a conversation about the band. Not Damon's; he hadn't been in one, back then. Nevertheless, a few pints had gotten the Russian blue into a talkative mood, and soon enough they'd advanced from appraising the performance of each member of the indie group up on stage to nuanced critiques of favoured bands like Rammstein and Cradle.

Damon had felt strange in Konstantin's presence, and he'd owed that to the beer. He was an idiot like that. At least he hadn't thought himself smitten with the feline's German accent or chiseled good looks. It was the way he smelled that had been so intoxicating - and it wasn't the cat's cologne.

The un-Damon had stirred at that scent and struggled to claw its way to the surface, but the booze kept it at bay. It reached out to the periphery of its consciousness, pushing against those confines. Everything felt hazy and leaden. Damon, the ignorant lout, was somehow better at staving it off under the influence. Perhaps it was because he didn't think too hard about it and took it for part of his pleasant buzz. It was damned annoying, either way.

The scent wasn't strong enough as to give Konstantin away as its source. It was like the smell of second-hand smoke on somebody's clothes - but damn it, it was there!

Damon had stupidly assumed the feelings welling up in his gut to be nausea and excused himself for some air. He'd nearly kept everything in check, too, but thankfully Konstantin had been enough of an idiot to step outside for a smoke and see if the fox was alright. Another whiff of that subtle scent had made Damon retch, but nothing came up.

Perfect.

The other inhabitant of Damon's body had taken control, then. Damon had complained, of course - he always bitched about it. The other tenant stifled his protests, though. Damon was locked away in some dark recess of his mind to shut up like a good boy and forget.

It felt something like putting on a one-piece suit that was far too tight, and reluctant to be worn. The creature had to wrest control from Damon bit by bit, limbs jerking as it asserted dominance over their body inch by inch in a war of attrition. Where Damon resisted, the other drew on their unusual power, focussing it inward, scorching Damon's spirit and mind with its raw energy. It made the air stink of sulphur as Damon's body, too, began to burn from the inside out. Pain and confusion were enough to make Damon's willpower recoil, and not-Damon took control in leaps and bounds whenever he did. Soon enough the body was Damon's no longer, and gradually it began to feel less like a living suit and much more homely and accommodating.

Awareness of the physical world had come slowly, as it always did. Tactile sensation was first - the rough texture of concrete against Damon's paw-pads. The hard ground under his knees. A cool night-time breeze ruffling that flowing, silver hair. The hand of a stranger on his shoulder.

Not-Damon had difficulty remember who or where it was, at first. That was a problem inherent with the turn. It opened Damon's eyes, forcing a growl from his throat as the fox's vision swirled in kaleidoscopic discordance. Eventually shapes formed, and Damon's pointed black ears twitched as sound returned on the heels of sight.

"I thought you Brits could handle your beer better than that, ja?"

The thing-in-fox's-clothing turned to look up at Konstantin, who chuckled as he sucked back a drag on his cigarette. He looked up with an inquisitive cant of his head as a nearby street lamp flickered. The fox's face creased in a slow, toothy smile.

It pressed Damon's body - its body - into service, rising to its feet. What Konstantin took for a drunken stumble carried him forward to press the feline back against the pub's brick wall, an elbow against his neck. Konstantin grunted in surprise and alarm, the fag tumbling from his lips to the sidewalk.

"Scheiße! D-Damon, vhat are you-" he choked as the fox applied pressure to his throat, eyes widening. The vulpine pressed in close against his hapless target, burying his muzzle in the fur of the other man's neck. It nuzzled there, inhaling deeply, shuddering as it took in that familiar, tantalizing scent. Not a true aroma, mind you - it was more of an...aura. Something metaphysical.

"Oi! Fuckin' queers, get out of 'ere if you're gonna carry on like that!" Another bar patron stood in the alcove housing the entranceway, and he jeered at them while lighting a smoke of his own. The orange glow of its embers illuminated his face in the gloom; a surly, short-nosed mutt of a dog.

The fox looked up at the cat with a grin, before it turned to face the newcomer.

"What, are you jealous, mate?"

"Oh you fuckin' wish," the canine sneered, stepping out from the doorway into the dying light of the rapidly-flickering street lamp. He huffed another lungful of smoke and took the cancer-stick from his lips to shake off some ash and size the black fox up.

"You know, I really do." The un-Damon relinquished its hold on Konstantin, who leaned against the wall dazedly and sucked in a greedy breath or two. The fox-thing tilted its head and turned to face the advancing dog with disarming nonchalance. Perhaps the insolent pup could offer it some fleeting amusement. It winked.

"Fuckin' poofter!" Evidently that had been all the goading the daring alpha-male had needed. He leaned into what the fool surely thought was a swift and heavy punch. Not-Damon allowed it to connect with the fox's nuzzle, shuddering at the crunch of a broken nose and stab of pain that followed. Sometimes that just felt so good! It reeled back from the blow and spun once while its assailant stood there with a stupid satisfied smirk on his drunken face.

"Ooohohohoo!" The black fox jumped up and down a few times and pumped its arms, looking back up at the dog with a wicked grin. "My turn," it purred, almost seductively.

The boisterous pub patron didn't look quite so enthused as Damon's body leaped into action. The creature inhabiting it savoured the look of astonishment on the canine's face just before it came into contact with Damon's fist. It returned the favour of a broken nose, smashing that stupid short snout in with a satisfying snap.

Konstantin was saying something, but not-Damon was busy. It caught the dog-fellow's shirt as he staggered back, sputtering blood. He tried to fend off the attack but Damon's paws batted the dog's aside with a casual cruelty. The meat made some sound of protest as the butcher spun it 'round to face the wall and slammed him hard into the surface.

The shock of that impact seemed to stun the dog. Taking advantage of this, Damon's fingers tangled in the canine's short, scraggly hair, gripping it behind the ears. The black fox stood behind its victim and smashed that stupid face into the bricks.

Resistance diminished as the dog was stunned, but that didn't stop the attack. Instead, not-Damon snarled as it slammed the canine's face into the wall again, and again, and again. It drew in harsh, ragged breaths, working itself into a frenzy as the street lamp and light sources further abroad began to flicker wildly, casting the whole street in freakish strobe lighting. The feline had been shouting something in dismay all throughout those frantic few moments, but the black fox's ears had been too tuned to the wonderful wet crunch of its victim's face against the wall to hear anything else.

Almost as suddenly as it had started, the brutal attack subsided. Gradually the lights ceased their wild flickering, for the most part, illuminating the grisly scene. Damon's chest was heaving. The fox's body sucked in hungry mouthfuls of air as its quivering limbs relaxed and let the dog go limp. He crumpled in a heap, the ruin of his face leaving a bloody smear next to the entrance to the pub. That sent a thrill down the vulpine's spine and stirred something in its pants.

"D...Damon...mein Gott..." keen fox-ears swiveled as Konstantin broke the relative silence, and the fox-creature turned to regard him with a smirk. The Russian blue was gaping in wide-eyed horror at what had unfolded before him, frozen by the uncertainty of fear.

"No," Damon's voice rasped, "He can't help you." The fox snorted uncomfortably as its nose snapped back into place. Konstantin's frightened eyes made contact with Damon's manic grin and stare before the feline finally found the impetus to turn and run. Good - it's no fun when they don't struggle. The dark fox looked down at the brutalized body of its latest victim and gave it a kick.

"Unlike you, git."

---

Konstantin hadn't gotten far. Well, perhaps he might have evaded someone else; he hadn't been in terrible shape and he'd had a head start, after all. By the time the German businessman had made it what he must have assumed to be a safe distance, he stopped to catch his breath. His legs quivered pitifully while he braced his arm against a shoulder-high wall that divided some run-down home's yard from the dingy back-road he'd taken in hopes of refuge.

Glancing around frantically to make sure he hadn't been followed, the feline assumed himself safe (enough) and rested his head against his folded arm, panting raggedly. He frantically pulled out his phone, dialing, presumably, an emergency number. A flip-phone - how cute. You didn't see those around anymore.

Konstantin yelped as a light at the end of the back-road down which he'd run sputtered. Still panting, he held his phone up to his ear, conveniently passing it into the appreciative grasp of a fox-paw. The cat whirled around with a cry, looking up to see the Damon-shaped thing perched atop that partition wall, an amused grin twisting its features.

"Oh, come now, we won't be needin' anyone else for this party, mate. The reception's terrible here, besides." The fox held the phone up and thumbed the speaker button, eliciting a stream of static from the device. Its screen flashed frantically in the paranormal creature's proximity, like a reflection of its master's panicked breathing. Damon's fist closed around the phone and crushed it with contemptuous ease. "Now where were we before being so rudely interrupted?"

Konstantin backed away on unsteady legs, hands held up disarmingly.

"Damon, l-look, ich...I don't even know you, so what...I think you may have me confused mit someone else, ja?" He squeaked pitifully as the fox-beast dropped down from the wall, standing with its shoulders hunched as it strode carefully forward. Predictably, the feline backpedaled, right down a small alley behind a derelict home.

He couldn't have picked a better place to flee. Well, for the fox's sake. It was just the sort of neighbourhood anyone who knew their way around Manchester would tell visitors to avoid. A chav could mug someone there in the middle of the night and no one was like to help you.

"Damon ain't 'ere, mate," the creature replied as it held its advance. "And make no mistake, you're exactly_the one I'm after_." It grinned, Damon's features contorting with mischievous glee. "You reek of the scent...but it's second-hand. They're not here with you, are they?" Konstantin groaned.

"Ich...I don't know what you're talking about...!"

"Enough talk! I'm through talking!" The fox-beast snarled and Konstantin yelped in fright, hefting a nearby trash bag with one arm and swinging it at Damon as he turned to flee. The sack of rubbish was cloven in two so swiftly its contents hardly scattered at all; a wicked, barbed sword had materialized in the vulpine's paw as it stalked down the alley after its prey. "Bad idea, mate," it bellowed, "there's nowhere you can run from me!"

Konstantin cast a glance back over his shoulder as he rounded a corner at the end of the alley so that he didn't even see as he barrelled headlong into Damon's chest.

"Boo!" The fox guffawed at the startled feline. A black-furred paw reached out to seize one of Konstantin's shoulders, unnaturally-lengthened claws sinking into the young man's flesh. The businessman screamed in pain, grasping in desperation at the arm latched onto him and leaning into Damon's body with as sound a punch to the gut as he could manage. It forced the fox to grunt, at least.

In response Damon's fingers tensed, squeezing harder, claws grating on bone. The end of the sword wavered in front of Konstantin's face.

"Easy now, or I'll split you in two, you fucking cunt!" The feline whimpered and loosened up a little. That manic grin split the fox's muzzle again and Damon's voice rumbled with a throaty purr as the creature responded with a patronizing "good boy." It slammed its newest plaything back against a wall and effortlessly sank the blade of Damon's sword into the stonework a hair's breadth from Konstantin's shoulder. The German groaned in agony and grappled at the arm restraining him again.

"N-nein, ich nicht der... Jemand - Jemand mir helfen! Hilf mir!"

"Oh no you don't," grunted the thing with Damon's voice, irritated. It clamped a free paw down over Konstantin's muzzle to stifle him. Releasing the firm grip on its prey's shoulder it turned him around roughly, the bloody paw that had held the feline in place gliding its claws suggestively across his throat.

"I can kill you with hardly any effort at all, pretty boy," it rasped. Fox-teeth clicked together behind one of Konstantin's ears. "Eyes on the wall now..." the creature smiled, "das gesicht interessiert mich nicht..."

"Bitte, bitte..." the cat was trembling by that point, nearly crying. Perhaps he'd had an inkling of what the fox had in mind. Perhaps not. Either possibility had its own appeal, really.

Not-Damon shuddered excitedly, pressing close behind Konstantin, nuzzling into the side of his neck and inhaling the young man's scent again.

"There's no mistaking the aura of a bringer...but how to get its attention, hmmm...?" The fox was speaking to itself, really, but Konstantin replied in confusion, muffled by the paw on his muzzle.

"Bitte...please...ich...I d-don't know what..." he groaned as the grip on his snout tightened.

"Now, now, that's enough of that..." a warm growl ruffled the feline's neck as the thing restraining him sighed before matting the pelt down with a few wistful licks. Damon's tongue piercing snagged on the fur a few times. He was rather distracted, however; fox-paws were busy elsewhere, unfastening Konstantin's belt and pants. Predictably, the feline struggled and whimpered.

"Nein..." he managed, barely, through the fingers clamped on his muzzle. Damon's face split with a toothy grin and he pressed his nose inside one of the cat's pointed ears to whisper.

"Deine Schreien ist zu spät, mein schatz..." If anything, Konstantin whimpered louder still. Not-Damon rather liked that, though. It sighed against Konstantin's neck while the German fellow's pants pooled around his ankles. Deft, scalpel-like claws soon saw the feline deprived of his knickers as well.

Konstantin squirmed and tucked his tail between his legs fearfully. Not-Damon let him do that much, if only because it was too busy unfastening its own pants one-handed. Once that was taken care of, however, the feline's tail was yanked forcibly from its hiding place, providing a convenient handhold with which to control the captive cat.

This had the fortunate consequence of exposing Konstantin to the fox-thing's advances as well. Taking full advantage of this, the fox nudged its exposed shaft under the feline's tail. Damon's Prince Albert did a good job of catching the excited juices gathering at the end of his cock, which was just as well since this enabled the fox-creature to smear them against Konstantin's pucker.

The feline's struggles renewed at that sensation, and Not-Damon snarled in frustration, clamping down on Konstantin's shoulder with a vicious bite that drew blood. The businessman's body tensed, a pained gasp escaping his lips, and the vicious fox-beast took pressed that momentary advantage to force its entry. It grunted around its mouthful of cotton and cat-fur and blood, trembling as it impelled Damon's hips forward in a few shaky, full-bodied pumps. Konstantin nearly flattened himself against the wall, but then there was nowhere else to go and he had no choice but to suffer the violation.

The resistance of its victim's body yielded gradually to the fox's violent imposition. The cat whimpered and yelped in pained shame, certainly, but by the time Not-Damon began to find its rhythm the fight had all but left the feline.

His name had been Konstantin.

And he had been so very, very good.