Title: Lunar Caustic
Author: Spyke Raven
E-mail: spyke_raven@yahoo.com
Spoilers: For AtS, this is post 'Heroes'. ie: it's Angel, Cordy, Wesley. For BtVS, this is post 'Wild things'.
Author's notes after the story.

***

Every full moon night, the loup-garou will run.

The pack assembles before moonrise, red tongues lolling, panting their hot rank breath into the clear air, silent death waiting to be unleashed. They sit and wait for the moon to climb overhead, for Luna to be fully bared. And as they sit, they wait in silence not only for the moon, but for he who runs at the head of the pack.

When the moon is a hairsbreadth away from her fullest, then comes the leader of the loup-garou, proud and tall, looking through the pack, seeking his mate and finding her gone. For the mate of the leader is Luna herself, wild and free, who travels through the sky, taunting the chase of the loup-garou.

The leader then raises his eyes from the earth to the sky, perceives his mate and gives tongue, full-voiced and loud. There, look, there she runs, we will give chase and capture her. His pack howls back, long and lustily, eagerly straining to be let loose on the hunt.

On the night of the full moon, therefore, the pack will run, through streets and woodland, wherever they be assembled, and woe to those who roam abroad that night, for they chance the dance of the loup-garou, who hot with the chase and eager to slake their lust will redden the earth with the heartsblood of any living creature they come across.

This is the tale of the full moon, that the leader seeks his mate and pursues her on earth while she wheels merrily through the sky. He never catches her, of course, though around him his packmates will dance and leap and prance and love so that every full moon night, there will be loup-garou to run.

Why they run on the nights when there is no moon, is still a mystery.

**

"I told you, we don't handle divorce cases, Cordelia."

"But, but, at least take a look at this!" she held out a piece of paper with the words '...$ 5,000/- only payable to...' and shook it enticingly. "Isn't it marvellous?" pressing it to her lips. "A retainer! They paid up front! And look - they can pay more!"

Angel shook his head. "No."

"No?" she looked at him woefully, trying the wobbly lip and teary eyed stare that had got her 'Queen C' license plates on the first try from her father.

"No." he said firmly.

Wesley came in, blowing dust off a book. "Ah... the Goldman case?"

Cordelia looked to him for support. "He doesn't want us to take it!"

Wesley smiled a little. "Pay up please."

She sighed and turned to Angel. "Give him a twenty."

"Who me?"

"Well you're the only one of us with any money here, so pay him twenty bucks and take it out of my pay."

" I don't have any money!"

She flashed a triumphant grin. "Ah-ha! So we can't afford to NOT take the case!" she waggled the cheque again.

Angel sighed and Wesley grinned. "No."

Cordelia shrieked and swayed. Wesley rushed forward to support her, while Angel remained on the other side of his desk, arms stoically folded. "Cordy, faking a vision is not going to work."

"She's not faking, you ninny!" Wesley snapped. "Can't you tell the difference?"

"She's a good actress!" Angel defended himself while waiting for the bone of their contention to recover.

In a dark alley something scrabbled for purchase, as a roughly bipedal figure attempted to rise to a crawling position. Two paws became hands, elongated nails still tearing into the stone. Grunting with effort, the boy willed the nails to disappear.

They remained for a while, taunting him, before retreating into their casing. Next, he willed his features to return.

Slowly, molecule-by-molecule, the agonizing transformation was complete. He knelt on all fours, breathing hard and trying to remember.

He looked up and saw the bodies.

She opened her eyes. Two worried faces loomed over her. "Cordelia? Are you alright? Would you like-"

"Oz."

"Oz?"

"He's back. He needs help."

"What kind?"

She took a deep breath and willed her voice to be steady. "The let's-keep-him-from-being-jailed-for-murder kind."

Angel stood stock still for a second before asking one final question. "Where?"

She had enough self-control left to tell them before being promptly and violently sick.

**

The wolf was hungry. So was the boy. Unfortunately, they disagreed on the definition of edible.

Though he felt his teeth and hair elongating, the boy dragged himself reluctantly towards the tattered remnants of human flesh and bone. He needed clothes.

Eat Prey, suggested the wolf. Eat. Rest.

No.

He carefully edged around the remains, towards the dumpster where he thought they may have trashed his clothes.

Luckily his memory of events leading up to the transformation was accurate. He found the clothes, reeking of fish and McDonald's ketchup, and was thankful for the pungent odours that momentarily overpowered the stench of blood and quelled the beast.

He dragged on his jeans, blinking angry tears as he tried to remember how to manipulate two legs instead of four. The shirt... went so over his head... the jacket he put on, twisting the buttons anxiously, wondering what they were for. Shoes... he stared at the shoes and nearly decided not to wear them. Then training reasserted itself and he put them on as well, fumbling with the laces before deciding to leave well enough alone. Clothed, as humans should be, he stood up, and warily began walking backwards, half afraid that one of the bodies would jump up to accuse him.

When he reached the mouth of the alley, he started to run and got as far as two blocks, before the uneasiness crept up on him.

He stopped, and sniffed surreptitiously. Clenching his fists inside his pockets, he walked to a wall and leaned against it; to all intents and purposes, a native deep in thought.

What did humans need to live? Food, clothes...He had clothes. He was wearing them. Food on the other hand, he couldn't buy food because he didn't have - money.

Money.

Wallet.

Oh shit.

Breaking away from the wall, walking slowly then faster, finally jogging back to the alley. When he was halfway there, the sound of sirens split the air. Barely checking in his stride, he turned fluidly and began running in the other direction.

Too late.

**

There were two squad cars parked near the alley, one blocking the entrance. This wasn't a good part of town, so there possibly wasn't any need for the barriers or the yellow tape that marked a police line.

The photographs had been taken, the chalk outlines drawn carefully over the blood. Body bags were being zipped up and Forensics was in consultation. That gave Kate Lockley time to go over to the dumpster and valiantly hold in the contents of her roiling stomach.

Eviscerated. Mauled. Beaten. Eaten. Words to describe the indescribable.

She'd seen worse; kids with black eyes and purple scars who tiptoed around the house because Daddy might hear them and get angry. Ten year olds forced into prostitution so Mommy dearest could get her fix. This was nothing. She would not be sick

An animal. It had to be an animal. God, could any human have done this? Maybe some sick bastard who saw the Texas Chainsaw massacre and decided to do a repeat? A die-hard (bad pun) fan anticipating the release of 'Hannibal'? God, no, not a human being.

She was definitely a vegetarian from tonight on. And a trip to our Lady of Perpetual Hope might be in order as well.

Forensics glanced behind and saw her hunched casually over a dumpster. Muttering "Ut-oh," under his breath, he finished his discussion.

Too soon. Too bloody soon for her to be out on the streets. Think fast...

"Scully!" yodelled the detective in the nondescript jacket, jogging up to Kate Lockley.

She sighed and gave him a brilliant, obviously faked smile. "Shut up Powell, or I'll have your ass for my trophy window."

Good girl. I like a girl with spirit. God, she'd kill me if she knew what I was thinking. The man made a delighted face. "Don't say it unless you mean it."

"Shut up or I'll have to class you with that prick Kendrick."

Powell whistled. "Ooh, a rhyme. Sexy."

Twit. Irritation surged and gave her new strength. "This has *not * been a good day. So spit-"

"- Or give up the spittoon. Ok, ok." He held out an evidence bag. "Nail clippings and hair. Found prominently embedded in one of those poor fucks. Don't ask where we found them," obviously hoping she would.

She didn't. Obnoxious twit. "Oh wow. Nail clippings and hair. How original. We can run DNA tests if we ever find the perp."

"Don't insult me, Lockley. Take a look at the nails and tell me what you thought when you first saw the bodies."

She took the bag and held it up to catch the light. Powell continued a running commentary. "Kinda coarse to be human dontcha think? And the nails... someone must really have been taking their calcium supplements. Thick, chunky -" he waggled his eyebrows and did an Ivana Humpalot impression. "Horny...like animal." He whistled a few bars of the X-files theme.

"You think an animal was responsible for this?"

He sobered. "Yea. The - the erm," he clawed the air vaguely, "the way the bodies were -"

"Mutilated?" She didn't wait for his nod. "I'm a big girl, you can tell me."

"Didja get a good look at the bodies?" Bad question, bad question, back up, back up quick. "The heart was almost torn out of the chest. We'll need to perform an autopsy of course, but I'm guessing that we've got all the evidence we'll need."

"Animals in the inner city? Any zoo escapes?" He shook his head. She sighed. "City pound reported any strays?"

He made expansive gestures. "There are always strays. But something ... to bring down five guys... they weren't pansies, y' know. Street kids, called themselves the Hombres, armed to the teeth... Dawson there-" indicating the man he'd been talking to a while ago, "brought one of them in for questioning a month ago. Acquitted of course, he's a minor."

"Rival gang?"

"Nah," he looked sad. "The Hombres rule this area."

"Still it's worth looking into."

"Maybe. But I'm thinking more on the lines of private collections. Any private collectors you know of in LA?"

"If there are, they aren't telling."

"Dumb fucks the lot of them. Think they'd report an escape?"

She shrugged and after a while, so did he.

"Dumb fucks," said with resignation. They were silent for a while, just brooding.

I think that's enough quiet time. Hey, c'mon Lockley, gimme that famous 'I'm gonna beat your ass if you don't shut up now' look of yours. He glanced at her, then up at the darkening sky. "Hey, look, it's gonna be full moon."

"Aww c'mon," she snorted. "You're not gonna suggest that a werewolf did this are you?"

Powell was silent and she looked back to catch his gleaming toothy grin. Uh-oh.

"No," she raised a warning hand but he wasn't paying attention.

"I didn't say nothing about werewolves!"

"Powell-"

"Ah-ah-ah-ah! Gotcha Scully!"

"Mulder -shit, Powell -!"

"Lockley!" He crowed triumphantly, pointing a dramatic finger at her. "Lockley," he intoned, "You *want* to believe!"

"A slip of the tongue," she tried to recover lost ground. "And YOU were the one who came up with the big animal theory anyway."

"Betcha fifty bucks that the autopsy supports me and we all have to start looking for big dogs in the area." He lowered his voice. "Better yet, betcha dinner and a movie. If you lose, I win, if you win, I win."

She stopped for a moment and really, really looked at him, irritatingly endearing grin, puppy dog eyes and all. Then she shook herself mentally. "You have rotten timing Sherlock. Back to work."

"Does this mean you'll say yes if I ask you some other time?"

"Shut up Powell."

"Aww Scully..." His complaining voice trailed all the way down to the sewers where Angel stood, attempting to avoid the advances of an over inquisitive rat, attracted by the smell of blood on calfskin.

He shook his head, in unconscious imitation of the woman above, amazed at how close they'd come to the mark. What would Kate Lockley do if she knew just who was new in town?

The obvious answer would be not to tell her.

The rat attempted to jump up and bite the fingers still clutching Oz's wallet. Angel flicked it off and placed the wallet into his pocket for safekeeping. Might as well turn back. Nothing more to be learnt from eavesdropping on the LAPD.

Except that there appeared to be a new man in Kate Lockley's life. And he found himself wanting to give the man the third degree, needing the man to know that he wouldn't go unpunished if he lifted so much as a finger against Kate.

She's been hurt enough. She doesn't need more - whoa, stop. Backtrack.

Cordelia, Wesley, Kate and now Oz. Talk about relationship problems. Wasn't his life complicated enough before?

**

The boy hunched his shoulders, and drew into himself, trying to pack his already diminutive bulk into as little space as possible. Head down, fists in pocket, he strode calmly, purposefully, trying to look as though he knew where he was going.

It seemed to work. No one paid much attention to him as he walked on through the endless drab cityscape. Occasionally billboards winked on the periphery of his vision, enlivening the atmosphere for a while. Once he stopped and checked out an electronics store with thirty TV screens in the window.

The news was on and he forced himself to watch the clip about the bodies in the alley. The reporter said nothing about any incriminating evidence that might have been found on the scene.

He breathed a little easier. No picture. No wallet. They hadn't found anything.

Then who had?

On cue, the wolf whined. *Cold. Alone. No Pack.*

I have no pack, he thought. I have no one.

Head down again, evading the suspicious glare of the store owner who had come out to check on the scruffy guy outside - it's always the short, quiet ones - he moved on.

Alone, whined the wolf. Cold. Hungry.

I know. Oz kept moving.

I know.

**

Angel walked in as Cordelia hung up the phone. Wesley swivelled to meet his eye.

"Where's Oz?"

He shrugged off his coat. "Gone," tossing the wallet onto Wesley's lap, "But not forgotten."

Wesley took out a kerchief from his shirt pocket and lifted the wallet fastidiously. "Did you-?"

"NO!" he swung around furiously. "Who the hell do you think I am?" He stopped mid-snarl and deflated. "This hasn't been a good day."

Cordelia followed him into the office. "So he wasn't there?"

"Yea." He grunted, settling into his chair.

"But did he-?"

"I don't know." He stared at his fingers. "I had a look before the LAPD showed up. Pretty ugly. Could have been."

She sighed and shifted a little. "I called Sunny dale. Talked to Giles. Seems Oz hasn't been around for a very long time."

Angel quirked an eyebrow. "I'm listening."

"He went wild. Apparently there was this bitch who had a catfight with Willow and Oz couldn't take it so he left."

Angel stared. "Oz left because he couldn't stand to have two women fighting over him?"

"No he left because he killed her," at Angel's startled gasp, "Not Willow, the bitch. He killed her."

Wesley came in. "Allow me to set the record straight. Apparently a female werewolf-"

"A bitch, see, I told you she was a bitch!"

"Thank you Cordelia. Apparently this female -"

"Bitch."

"You kind of learn to tune her out after a while," offered Angel.

"Yes. Well. Apparently this young woman tried to get Oz to ah, tune in to his wild side, and she attacked Willow as being a negative influence. Oz, erm -"

"Tore her throat out," supplied Cordelia helpfully. "Killed her and drank her blood - no sorry, that's you."

"ANYWAY," said Wesley, with a repressive glance meant to put the office help in its place, "Oz felt that this incident proved he couldn't be trusted around other people, and left for parts unknown. Giles was actually quite relieved to have some information about him. He sends his regards by the way."

"You didn't tell him about the vision."

Wesley harrumphed. "Not - not in a detailed manner."

"Hmm." Angel was silent for a while.

"God!" Cordelia exploded and banged on the table. "I can't believe they didn't tell us! You'd think preventing the Apocalypse together would mean something to them." She looked at Angel and a startled Wesley. "Well go on, say it, I know you want to."

A corner of Angel's mouth lifted in what could be a smile or a grimace. "Think he'll come to us?"

Wesley stared at his employer. "Excuse me? You wish a potentially homicidal werewolf to visit us?"

"He didn't do it." Cordelia folded her arms and glared at the former Watcher. "Oz didn't do it."

"You lost the contents of your stomach over my best blue shirt after seeing the destruction he caused and now you're *defending * him? He's dangerous, Cordelia, you heard what Giles said -"

"Giles didn't say anything! He said Oz *felt* he was 'a potential danger'. There's a difference!"

"Cordelia, no one appreciates friendship more than I do, but the fact remains that Oz is implicated in carnage of serious proportions! Or are you going to disbelieve the evidence of your eyes? Disregard your own vision? This is a very irresponsible attitude that I would not have expected - "

"Wesley," Angel stopped him in mid-tirade. "Whether he did it or not isn't the issue here. We still have to find him."

Wesley sighed. "Very well. But we contain him before asking any questions."

"I'll sit on his head if you want," promised Angel. "Now, where should we be looking?"

Wesley scratched his chin. "Wolves are highly social animals. If Oz is indeed turning wild, he will want to join a pack."

Cordelia broke in at that. "So he'll try and find us?" She turned to Angel. "Can I stay in your apartment?"

Wesley glared at her. "You are welcome to stay with me. I am quite capable of defending you should the need arise."

"Yea," she said sceptically. "When you've torn out as many throats as he has, then we'll see. Sorry," this to Angel, "I was defending your masculinity."

"Then don't. But it might be a good idea for the three of us to stay in the same place for a while."

"Concentrate the scent? Good idea." Wesley challenged Angel to comment. "A rogue demon hunter needs no protection, of course, but it strikes me that you might need my assistance in guarding Ms. Chase."

"Whatever." Angel rose. "Try and see what you can find on werewolf behaviour. I'm going to go -"

"You're leaving us? Alone?" said Cordelia incredulously. "Wait! Don't go! Where're you going?"

Wesley gave her a supercilious stare. "Isn't it obvious, Cordelia? He's going to look for werewolf packs indigenous to this city."

"Actually, I was going to pick up an extra mattress for you, Wesley, but now that you mention it, looking for werewolf packs is a good idea." He left, and Cordelia smirked at Wesley.

"That means I get the bed." She sighed dreamily. "It has the most wonderful sheets you ever felt. Soft, black, silky, mm." her voice trailed off in ecstasy.

Wesley stared at her goggle eyed.

"What?" she asked sharply, breaking his concentration.

He cleared his throat. "Nothing. Er, nothing. Perhaps we should get started on the research."

***

Continued in Part 2