Khonsu's Bastard Sons

Note: This chapter has been updated to include additional material. It is now "officially" complete.

Additional Warnings: I am posting these here since they didn't 'take' when I tried to list them in the summary. I suggest you read them thoroughly.

Very Graphic Non-Con (wererape)
H/C
S&M (were and human)
Possible Exhibitionism in later chapters.
Violence, Violence, Violence
Gore Galore

*Please read any necessary warnings at the beginning of each chapter. And once more: HEED THEM.

You've been warned, if you STILL read this, don't come crying to me about it.

A/N: This is your last warning. As I have already said - this is very graphic and it won't get any gentler. This will be a multi-chaptered fic, but don't expect an update on this until the next chapter of Bleed Me An Ocean is complete.

Khonsu is the Egyptian god of the moon.

___________________________________________________


Harry didn't like the way the man in the smoky pub watched him. To say the unreadable look in his strange eyes was unsettling was a nice way of saying that he was really fucking scary. The stranger was actually a nice looking man, even if his features made him look predatory, but it was those eyes that were making Harry use every ounce of courage he had to not get up from his table and bolt. They were so pale that they almost appeared white even from the relatively short distance that separated them. He wanted to say they were a light grey, even lighter than Malfoy's had been. But they really weren't. When he'd first jostled Harry at the bar, he'd turned and saw that they had striations of green, blue and lavender in them. He'd seen people with flecks of other color in their eyes, but never what amounted to stripes.

"Pardon me," the man had spoken, his voice a silken whisper, not sounding in the least apologetic.

Now, here he was, staring at Harry with those unwavering, unblinking, freakish eyes. Harry had noticed him staring all night, watching him, stalking him with his gaze. Harry's nose itched and his fingers tingled and he just wanted to get the fuck out of the place, out from under the searing weight. He hadn't found what he was looking for anyway, his source had been wrong with the information he reckoned. Not only that, but he needed a fix something fierce. That decided, Harry jerked himself away from the table a little too quickly and made a rapid dash for the bathroom before he left.

Pale eyes followed him, wicked lips curling in a ravenous grin. Four sharp pricks glinted in the darkly lit establishment.

=*|*=

Harry made his way down the poorly lit side street, his fingers clenched into nervous fists as he darted his eyes from side to side. The sidewalk was slippery and he kept sliding in the slush. His breath smoked in the cold January air as he willed his pounding heart to push him faster. Harry had the distinct notion he was being followed. At first he thought the wrong person had seen what he did in the bathroom and had alerted authorities. Then he recalled Hermione saying something about how they were rather lax with drug laws in the Czech Republic, Prague in particular. So, with a shake of his head Harry'd dismissed his initial notion and it wasn't long before the image of nearly-white eyes following him began to dredge themselves up to torment him. He couldn't lose the feeling that the man from the pub had wanted to cause him harm, the feeling that the man would have enjoyed doing so only served to further rattle Harry.

With a self deprecating chuckle, he told himself to stop being silly. The man was just some weirdo in a bar, not the boogeyman. He unconsciously picked up his pace never the less. It was dark out and freezing to boot. All he wanted was to get back to his nice, warm hotel room and maybe take a long hot soak in the tub with a glass of something alcoholic to further chase the chill from his bones. His mind whirled madly as he walked, a million thoughts swirling through his mind as he unclenched his fists to snap his fingers rapidly in time to a song he had started to hum. It was something Ron had been listening to when he'd last been over, screaming black metal that thundered in one's head. Harry found that he rather liked it, though he had to admit that he could hardly make out a single damn word of what the singer was saying. He recalled that Ron's face had lit up with delight when he asked about the song.

"It's called "The Blackest Incarnation", mate. Something Seamus left over here. It's pretty neat isn't it?" Ron had said, bouncing in his seat as he'd sipped from a pint of lager.

"Yeah, I do kinda like it," Harry had answered as he cocked his head to listen better.

"You know what it's about? Do you?" Ron had asked, his blue eyes glassy and alive with excitement that was a little too great to be warranted, considering the subject matter. Then Harry's eyes had drifted to the pile of dingy white powder on the coffee table and recalled the cause for said excitement being over the top.

"No, Ron, I don't," was Harry's response as he bounced his knees as fast as his now protesting leg muscles would allow. With a paranoid swipe at his nose, he'd turned his eyes back to his friend.

"It's about werewolves, Harry. Isn't that a trip? You think Remus would like it?"

"Either that or he'd be totally offended. You can always try it out on him, Ron. But I need to go, I have a flight to catch for Prague," Harry said as he'd risen.

"Sure thing. I'll give 'Mione your best. Why are you flying, Harry? Oh! And when are ya gonna tell us what you're going there for anyway?"

"You know I don't have much use for magic these days, or use for Apparating. Never did fucking like it. As for the whys of my going to Prague - I just need to go there. I think . . . I think I may find it."

"What? Find what?"

"Ron, I have to go. G'bye," Harry had said, turning his back on Ron and leaving the redhead who was becoming more and more annoying with each passing second. He really needed to stick with his lager and leave the big drugs for the grown ups. Harry had let out a nasty little snicker at the thought.

A scrape on the pavement behind him pulled him from the recollection and he whirled around, hand raised for a moment before he remembered he didn't have his wand on him. All he had in the way of protection was the nasty looking hunting knife secreted away in his boot. Slipping even more, he took a moment to regain his balance and squinted into the darkness, trying to see what was there. He now knew for a fact that his gut feeling had been right. Keeping his eyes trained on the darkness in front of him, Harry began to slowly back away.

"Who's there? I heard you, come out now," Harry said, wincing at how incredibly ridiculous that had sounded. He was so nervous he felt like he may come out of his skin at any moment. Sweat was starting to spring out on his forehead even in the chill air as the realization that it was far too quiet came to him. There was definitely something very, very wrong about this situation.

He jerked again as he heard another soft scrape, then another sound he didn't recognize at first. Then that, too, dawned on him. It was the click, click, click of an animal's claws. Harry swallowed hard against the panicky lump that was in his throat and tried to force himself to calm down.

"Just a dog," he muttered to himself, even as his body screamed at him to turn around and RUN! But damnit, he told himself, he was Harry Potter. There was no feasible reason he should be afraid of some stray mongrel dog. He liked dogs. Yet, the preternatural stillness of the night around him was telling him that something was amiss. Maybe the animal was hurt, he reasoned. That thought made him take a small step forward.

"Here dog, nice dog," Harry called softly, hoping his voice was soothing. He only heard the slow click of claws from somewhere ahead, though for all the life, he could still see nothing in the gloom that shrouded him in its ominous presence. He cursed the entire city of Prague for not keeping its streets more well lit. Didn't they realize how dangerous that sort of thing could be?

Harry jerked as alarm bells started clanging in his head. Danger. Indeed. That's what all of the signs pointed to, the silence, his instinctual urge to turn and flee whatever it was that waited out there in front of him. Whatever it was, Harry finally realized, it was coming for him. No one else. Pale eyes flashed across his mind and his heart began to triphammer in earnest. The man from the bar. He just knew. Harry began backing up once more while in his mind he whispered, "Oh shit, oh shit, oh FUCKING HELL!" the voice in his head screamed as a snarling growl echoed in the street. Harry did all he could do - he turned and ran as fast as he could on the slippery wet sidewalk. His eyes flew wide as he heard the rush of something large moving behind him and the rapid clicking of claws on concrete.

"It's about werewolves, Harry." Ron's voice came back to mock him as the rasping breath behind him drew ever closer.

"Oh gods," Harry panted. "HELP! Someone help me!!"

His cries went unanswered and unheard since his breath was gasping and wheezing now. He was too out of shape to last much longer in his futile race against death. He promised every deity he could think of that if he lived he would stop smoking, quit using, anything. Just please, please, please let him live. The beast behind him was only playing with him, Harry knew that it could have had him any instant. He'd been a sitting duck just a few moments ago, calling for a dog that wasn't a dog at all. Harry's mind was gibbering foolishly as he thought, "Nice puppy" and was horrified to find that he almost laughed. Another growl upped the ante of his fear even higher than he thought was possible. He wondered if a person really could die of fright as he pushed his body to its limit. He slid in the slush and ice on the pavement and whimpered as one foot finally went out from under him, causing him to falter. When he did he felt the crushing weight of powerful jaws closing on his shoulder.

Harry Potter screamed into the cold Prague night as he felt his flesh ripping under sharp fangs. The sharp crunch of a bone breaking resounded in Harry's head as the meat and tendon severed and his blood begain to pour down his dark grey sweater. The werewolf growled around the hot flesh in its mouth and Harry's scream rose in crescendo as it began to shake its head a little. He could just make out the dark, lupine head that was full of so, so many razor teeth out of the corner of his blurring eyes.

Hot tears of mingled, fear, pain and more fear coursed down his cheeks in hot rivulets, just as his life's blood coursed in a steady stream down his shirt, soaking through the cloth and making it cling to his body. Much to his stunned amazement, though, he felt the crushing pressure lift from his shoulder and panting, hot breath coursed across the side of his face, rich with the smell of his own flesh. Harry shuddered again as clawed hands wrapped around his waist, jerking him backwards into a towering, fur covered body. His fighting nature made him struggle with all his might until the click of jaws snapping shut by his ear made him cringe and yelp in terror. Gods, why was the fucking monstrosity toying with him like it was? The wait for death was a terrible thing, Harry realized. He knew it was coming, that the last thing he would ever feel would be those teeth sinking into his throat and ripping it out.

So wrapped up in his horrified thoughts and fear sodden brain, Harry didn't notice at first that he was being rougly dragged away into a nearby alley. When he did, he had the sudden bitter thought that the werewolf must want the time to really savor its meal. He was thrown with a bone jarring force onto the ground just as suddenly as he'd had the thought. Pain licked through him like wildfire that originated in his wounded shoulder, and it was enough to drive Harry lurching to his feet to make a mad dash down the alley. A soft, chuffing sound came from his attacker as it quickly closed the gap and grabbed Harry once again. Harry swore that it was the werewolf equivalent of laughter and that only made him more afraid. The thing could think, it seemed, at least somewhat like a man.

"No!" Harry yelled out as his face was pressed against the stone of the dead end alleyway. There was something seriously off about the whole ordeal. That was confirmed further as the fur covered, claw tipped hands grasped his hips and gave a sharp tug. The denim gave with a rip that sounded, to Harry, louder than an atomic explosion. The werewolf grunted as it made short work of Harry's clothes, roughly digging its claws into his skin, leaving furrows in the once smooth flesh and soon Harry had more than one bleeding wound. He noticed belatedly that he was becoming light headed when he felt the wetness of a cold nose snuffling his hair as more of that strange chuffing sound came from behind him. Harry found himself wishing for his wand, for the knife that was still his boot, yet he could do nothing. There was no escape from the monster of legend that had him at its mercy and would kill him when it was done tormenting him.

The werewolf's body heat rolled off in waves, suffocating Harry in the warmth. He never wanted to be warm again, he thought. Being warm hurt. He kicked out suddenly and connected with a thickly muscled leg. The beast grunted once more in surprise at Harry's renewed vigor and fighting. Yet, as before, a click of teeth by Harry's ear was enough to still him, making him groan into the brick with fear and impotent rage. His entire body stiffened as the heat came closer and soon, he felt the furred body pressing roughly against him as those huge hands grasped his hips and pulled him snug. He felt something hard and throbbing against his back as the massive creature snaked its tongue out to lap noisily at the blood running from his shoulder.

With a strangled cry of outrage and even more fear, Harry struggled yet again as the shaggy man-beast forced him to the floor of the alley. Harry heard the creature kneel behind his prone form and tried to crawl away since he wasn't so sure he could stand any longer without support. An enraged snarl from behind him wasn't even enough to stop him, but teeth sinking into the back of his thigh was. Harry froze, eyes wide with terror and glossy with pain as he felt the teeth latch on firmly and begin dragging backwards, all the way to the end of the alley. With a rough shake of its head, the werewolf released Harry.

Once more tears began to run from Harry's eyes as he listened to the sounds of a long tongue curling out to lick blood-slick jaws with pleasure. Finally, Harry risked a glance at the creature that until then he had only caught small glimpses of. He knew from the feel of its body that it was huge, but what he saw when he turned his head was enough to make his blood run cold. The thing had to have been seven feet tall, at least. It was too dark for Harry to see any specific details, but what he did see was that this was not the type of werewolf he knew. Not at all. He'd seen Remus and Greyback both in their werewolf forms, and this wasn't the same. He found himself taking in the feet that were gigantic, tipped with dark claws (dark claws that clicked on concrete, Harry thought to himself and shivered) and let his gaze travel upward over the fur covered legs that resembled small tree trunks, all the way up the muscled torso with its dark threat erect and pressed against the belly. Harry could not force his gaze past that hairy sheath that housed something worse than death.

The werewolf raised its hairy snout and sniffed the night air experimentally before it lowering itself onto its hands and knees to slink closer to Harry. The young man cringed as the pale light of the moon revealed even paler eyes. A claw tipped finger reached out to and dragged itself down the side of Harry's face, drawing blood as the flesh curled away beneath it and Harry sobbed. This couldn't be happening. The fucking thing was torturing him and by the bulge between its haunches, enjoying every second of this sadistic, supernatural encounter. He felt a furred, heavily muscled arm slip beneath him, forcing him onto his hands and knees. The other hand grasped one of his ankles and forced his legs apart to an almost impossible width. He felt his hips threatening to dislocate as the werewolf forced its large body between Harry's painfully stretched thighs.

"No!" Harry once again yelled out weakly as he felt those bone crushingly strong hands slide to grasp his hips. He felt the sharp points of the werewolf's claws slowly piercing the concavity on each hip until they were sunk in to the tips of the elongated fingers. He was now effectively anchored to the cruel hearted monster and felt himself being lifted, his flesh ripping slightly as he was.

Sharp teeth clamped firmly onto the back of his neck in silent warning: if Harry struggled, his neck would be snapped. Whimpering, Harry let his body be dragged backwards like a ragdoll, the whimpers growing louder as he felt the smooth shaft of that huge, frightening cock brush the crack of his ass. Shuddering in terror and shame, Harry bit his lip as the beast prodded at his opening with its now unsheathed organ that felt impossibly large. If he didn't die in the werewolf's jaws, he would die from his cock. The thing would split him in two and leave his broken body shamefully exposed to whoever found it.

He heard a snarl above him just as the powerful body surged forward and with one searing thrust, entered him. Harry wanted to scream, but choked on the sound as the lump in his throat sent a fresh torrent of tears sliding down his face.

Harry's hands scraped the rough pavement beneath him while his legs dangled on either side of the werewolf, akimbo and throbbing still at the stretching that the animal-like creature's furious thrusts were only making worse. Slobbering grunts sounded above him, but Harry cared not for those sounds. What he cared about was the pain he felt, it was all encompassing and the world dimmed around him as the werewolf shoved its cock into him over and over again.

This was not happening.

He kept telling himself that. It was awful to be raped, but to be taken so violently by something that wasn't even entirely human made it that much more terrible in Harry's mind. The creature was moving inside of him a little easier than it had before and Harry knew that it was his blood that was making it so. He could not believe that he was being forcibly buggered by a fucking werewolf. Somewhere in the back of his mind a whispering voice also said that he'd been bitten by one.

With every ounce of willpower, Harry shut himself down. Anything to stop the whirring thoughts and the pain, dear gods, the pain was constant and sharp. All he wanted was for it to end, to fade into so much background fodder, just another piece of the scenery in that cold, dark alley. Because he wasn't there. He couldn't be and this Was. Not. Happening. He cried hoarsely as the werewolf began pulling him against it in time to its hard, rough thrusts and sweet mother of all that was sacred, Harry could hear the wet squelching of blood now as the werewolf thrust forward into him as it pulled him back. He clenched his jaw and renewed his efforts as he felt the claws curve in his hips, tunneling beneath the skin.

A long string of thick, warm saliva hit Harry's back and ran down between his shoulders to soak into his hair while his hands scrabbled for purchase on the pavement as he was heaved even higher into the air. Panting grunts were becoming excited yips and snarls. The beast bent over Harry, folding him painfully in half from the waist up and in some distant part of his brain he felt burning hot liquid pouring into him by the pint as a triumphant howl reverbrated through the sleeping, early morning quiet of the oldest European city in the world. After only a few moments, the teeth on Harry's neck released him and the claws removed themselves from their anchoring hold on his hips, which effectively tore him away from the werewolf's body with a sickeningly wet plop as hot semen and blood gushed out of his body.

Harry landed on the ground with a boneless thud and merely lay there, too tired to move and too far gone to fucking care. He knew what came next and he would gladly welcome the death he had so fervently wished against earlier. Instead a furred foot roughly prodded him in the ribs while he heard more of that chuffing noise from somewhere in the gloom beyond his wide, unblinking eyes. A bored snort was the response to Harry's non-reaction. A strong hand wrapped itself in his hair and yanked his head up. Eyes pale and cold as starlight stared into Harry's as the beast leaned forward. Harry watched numbly as the huge, furry face loomed closer and closer. This was it. This was the end.

But no.

That long wet tongue slid out of the were's mouth and licked the oozing wound on his cheek and then flicked it across his lips. Then the creature turned and with an unnatural speed, ran back down the alley to be swallowed in the darkness beyond, leaving Harry alone and shaking in a puddle of spent seed and his own red, red blood.

After what seemed like an eternity, Harry shuffled his way to his feet, eyes still dazed and sparking with lingering fear. He just knew that it would be waiting for him at the mouth of the alleyway and he numbly pulled his knife from where it was sheathed in his boot as he gathered the rags of his clothes. Pulling them on slowly and trying to ignore the sticky fluid that dripped from him to coat his thighs, Harry dressed in their remains. With shuffling footsteps and pained grunts, he made his wary way to the mouth of the alley. Finding no hulking beast there, he stepped out and began the slow trek to his hotel, eyes darting in his face as he froze at every small sound on the way back.

Finally reaching his hotel, he slipped inside, thankful to see the desk clerk dozing and the lobby mercifully empty. He knew he looked a mess, he certainly didn't feel well and the pain from the broken bone in his shoulder was beginning to clamber its way through the self-imposed fog in his brain. That could be dealt with later though. All Harry wanted to do was get to his room and sleep.

=*|*=

As his head hit the soft pillow with a flare of pain, Harry squeezed his eyes tightly shut and he began to repeat a very effective mantra:

Werewolves do no exist

=*|*=

=*|*=

The next morning Harry awoke with a loud groan and attempted to shift on his pillow. He found himself stuck to the duvet. A frown marred his brow and he struggled to right himself, as he did so, his flesh pulled away from the cotton with a muffled ripping sound that made him furrow his brow even more. He looked down at the bed covering with bleary eyes, a mumbled oath coming from his aching throat as he saw the dark stains on the white fabric. He instinctively knew what they were, but wanted to see for himself with clear eyes.

Fumbling for his glasses that he usually left on the night table, he cursed more. They weren’t there. Turning around, he felt on the blankets, trying to ignore the rough, coarse feeling of the once soft duvet.

“What the fuck is this?” he muttered to himself as his questing fingers finally located his spectacles wedged in the narrow space between the nightstand and mattress. Shoving his hair out of his face with one hand and putting his glasses on with the other, he turned back to the bed and let loose a soft gasp.

The covers were utterly soaked with dried blood, in fact, some of the patches still looked a little damp. His curious fingers reached out almost of their own accord to touch one of those places. Harry jerked his hand back with a hiss as his flesh encountered cold, sticky wetness.

He shook his head violently, trying to rattle loose some recollection of the night before, some reason for all the blood and strange aches in his body. By the amount of blood on the covers, he ought to be dead if it was all his. Although he wasn’t entirely certain, Harry had the strange feeling that it was indeed his. All of it. But how was he even breathing?

For the first time since waking, Harry actually looked at himself and gasped. He hadn’t looked that much of mess even after the final battle. That was saying something. He’d been gore splattered and dirt smeared after that. But this . . . his clothes were in a ruin, ripped and shredded, hanging on his body by a few lonely threads. Every inch of skin that was visible to him was stained with flaking, rust-red dried blood. The smell was making him feel queasy, his stomach rolling; flipping in threatening arcs.

Harry closed his eyes and stood stiffly, wincing as his muscles twitched and threatened to cramp on him as well. He stretched experimentally, grimacing as his muscles and tendons cracked. The pain wasn’t too severe, so he arched his back even further and yelped as something hard grated against something soft in his shoulder with a strangely wet sound.

My gods, what in the hell did I do last night?, Harry wondered as he straightened himself back up with more care and hobbled his way to the bathroom, the smell of blood cloying in his nostrils. It was rich and laced with iron.

He gagged violently just as he crossed the threshold of the bathroom, the smell finally overwhelming him. Tottering on his feet, he lurched his way to the basin and vomited up a thin string of bile mixed with saliva. It dangled from his chin, shining wetly in the bright fluorescent lighting as he caught his reflection in the mirror. Harry thought he looked like a rabid animal.

Even his fucking hair was matted with blood on one side. Harry’s stomach heaved again as the odor of the vomit reached his twitching nostrils. As he retched helplessly into the fiberglass sink, he thought as hard as his trembling, aching body and mind would let him. All that he could come up with was random images of silver and dark. Mist and stars whirling overhead and the harsh scrape of concrete under his hands. Had he gotten that wasted at the pub he wondered as he finally finished puking and turned on the tap to wash the vomit down the drain and rinse his mouth. He must have fallen down or slipped. Something.

He began to warily peel what remained of his clothes off, wincing each time he had to pry the blood soaked cloth away from his skin with that same tearing sound that was starting to set his teeth on edge. He tried to comb his fingers through his grime stiffened hair to no avail and shrugged, a soft cry escaping his mouth as . . . whatever that was in his shoulder ground again. It was all a ploy to try and avoid looking at the damage he’d managed to cause himself anyway. So, with one more sigh, Harry turned back to the mirror.

Green eyes widened in surprise as he took a step closer to the silvered glass. There was blood everywhere but from what he could see through the streaks and clots that were now clinging to his skin like an itchy shell, he could hardly make out any signs of a wound. There were some cuts and scrapes, but nothing to warrant such a massive amount of blood loss. Then his eyes caught sight of his shoulder.

There, a darker red against the dried fluid was a row of what appeared to be shallow puncture marks. Two of which the hole was so big he was pretty sure he could’ve fit his thumbs into them with room to spare. They were horrific to look at, but didn’t appear to be deep at all. Frowning, Harry turned to the side and looked into the mirror once more, craning his neck to see the back of his shoulder.

With a strangled sound, he screwed his eyes tightly shut as images bombarded him. The sound of claws click, click, clicking on a hard surface, hot breath and snapping jaws, snarls and heat. So much heat that it burned him from the inside out, from between his legs. Wet pouring down his thighs, thick and slippery, slithering around his ankles. Alien laughter, chuffing breath fogging in the frigid air.

“No. This is bullshit,” Harry said, shaking his head as the images continued to wash over him. He was shaking violently as he tried to force the disjointed images from his mind. Holding his hands out in a pleading; imploring gesture, he began to back away from the mirror. From the lie it was telling him. Harry was paying no mind to where he was going and let out a startled grunt when the backs of his legs hit the side of the tub. Feeling himself losing his balance, he grabbed blindly for the shower rod and found only thin, uncaring air. He fell over backwards, ripping the shower curtain down with a metallic clang and sound of tearing plastic. Then his skull met the back shower wall. The world went black and blissfully blank as he hit the floor with a thud. He slid down into the bath tub with a boneless ease, leaving a smear of fresh blood in his wake.

A/N: A big WOW to all of the reviewers of BMAO who said they'd like to read more of my fic. Well, here ya go. Hope you like it. And hey, if you're new to my particular brand of H/D . . . I hope you like it as well. As always, reviews are muchly appreciated, the encouragement works wonders for my muse. :D