"You don't have to keep me company all night. I mean, I appreciate it, but you look like you're about to drop."

Pidge stifled a yawn. "No, I'm fine. I'd be more awake if it didn't take you twenty minutes to make a move."

Hunk grimaced at the chessboard. Granted, it was a welcome distraction from just staring at monitors all night, but he was dead and he knew it. He was a fair chess player, he almost always beat Lance, and could give Keith a good challenge, but Pidge was in a whole different class. With a sigh, he moved his knight, knowing the sacrifice would only give him a brief reprieve. "Lends a whole new meaning to 'Graveyard shift'" he grumbled.

Pidge ignored the defenseless knight, pulling back his bishop instead. Damn. That meant Hunk had missed something… where was the attack coming from now? So focused on the board, he almost missed Pidge's laugh. "Well, yeah, isn't that what tonight is all about?"

"Hm? What do you mean?" What was that bishop doing? The right side diagonal was blocked, and the left just put it back where it had come from.

"Don't ask me, it's your holiday. We didn't have anything like that on Balto."

He blinked. "Holiday? What holiday?" His mind, desperate to escape from the pressure of the game, started calculating the conversions from the Arusian calendar to the Terran, but Pidge answered before he figured it out.

"Halloween."

"It's Halloween?!" Hunk cried in dismay. "I can't believe I'm missing it! That was always my favorite holiday!"

Pidge's nose wrinkled. "Really? That's kinda… morbid, isn't it?"

"What's morbid about it? Trick-or-treating, dressing up, parties… well, I guess there's the ghost stuff, but that's not really the point."

Pidge looked puzzled. "I guess I don't know that much about it… just the story of how Keith and Lance got together."

It was Hunk's turn to look confused. "I don't know that story. What does it have to do with Halloween?"

Pidge "Well, you know about… them, right? I mean, what they are?"

Hunk blew an exasperated breath, but inside he was celebrating. He had no idea what Pidge was talking about, but at least he'd stopped paying attention to the game. Maybe if he could keep him distracted enough with this, he'd actually have a chance to salvage his position. "What do you mean 'what they are'? And what story?"

Pidge cast a nervous glance around the Control Room and dropped his voice. "Okay, this doesn't go any farther. I'm not even supposed to know, I don't think. But really, it's Lance's fault for choosing such an obvious password for his personal files. And for writing stuff like this down in the first place. And once I saw his, I _had_ to check the others just to make sure he wasn't crazy, y'know? Man, Keith's password took me _forever_. But I can see why he'd be so paranoid about it, with the stuff he's got in there, and Sven's was-"

"Pidge. You're babbling… hey, you never accessed my personal files, did you?"

Pidge's expression was pure innocence. "Don't try to change the subject. It was back at the Academy their second year, Halloween night…"

Sven leaned against the porch pillar and inhaled the cool night air deeply. The party behind him was loud, but outside the sound was at least muted. He was glad Lance left earlier, or his irrepressible friend would be out here, trying to drag him back into the stuffy, overly loud and crowded house all in the name of "having fun." Fortunately though, Lance had bailed over an hour ago, claiming to have at least a dozen other parties to hit before the end of the night. As he put it, he had to make up for Keith, who wasn't going to any. Keith was probably going to be the only person in the whole Academy who wouldn't be suffering a hangover through classes tomorrow.

There was no way Sven was staying in tonight though. Tonight, of all nights. Samhain, the night the spirits walked, the night when power danced with tiny needles in his blood, and life sang from the people around him with such clarity and purity that it hurt, forcing him to leave the crowd before he wept from the beauty of it. At home the nights this time of year were long, only a few hours of sunlight interfered each day between. Here though, dusk hadn't fallen until nearly an hour ago. The night would be too short for his tastes, but long enough for his needs.

And through the night air, through that scintillating power, he could feel _them_. At the realization, he cast his eyes up to the full moon. This was a blessed date, indeed. He'd felt them as well the year previous, when there had been a full moon for Lughnasadh. He was more than a little curious about them, about who they might be. The idea of following the feeling of them and finding out was a dangerous temptation, but one he could fight. He wasn't ready for the consequences of knowing. Nor did he wish to be known.

The door behind him opened, letting out a blast of music and loud voices, then closed, muting them once again. Light footsteps, and a pretty blonde head at his elbow, musical voice asking "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all. I'm Sven."

"Rena. Nice night, isn't it?"

His teeth flashed in the moonlight. "Nice? Hardly that. It is beautiful though."

Muscles bunching and extending smoothly under thick fur as dead leaves crunched loudly even under graceful, loping strides. The only sound in this unnaturally still night -- all the rest had been silenced by the passing of the other, not long before. He could smell the silent life though, quivering in terror in burrows and thickets, frozen in fear of his scent. Prey. Bones snapping between strong jaws, flesh tearing and warm blood running down the throat… but there was no time to hunt the weak. Head low as he ran, nose full of terrified prey, rich earth, sharp dry leaves, water in the distance, more distant scent of concrete and artificial dwellings, but over it all the scent of the one he chased. And suddenly a pungent flash eliciting a deep, angry growl. Another mark. Stopping, he tested the scent, learned from it what he could. Beneath it, faded, distant and old, he could smell his own.Lips pulled back from long, sharp teeth in a fierce snarl. Insolent, this other, to challenge him this way. A pause to reassert his authority, then he set off again in his long, easy stride.

Rena looked at the tall, dark-haired boy beside her from under long lashes. His cryptic answer might have made her laugh, or dismiss him as a weirdo, any other night. But it was Halloween. Things were supposed to be a little dark, a little unusual. Besides, he seemed much more intriguing than the idiot she'd come with who was, as far as she knew, still trying to drown himself bobbing for fruit in the wop. Speaking of which, she noticed Sven didn't have a glass. She held hers up, offering. "Drink?"

He shook his head, and took a flask from his pocket. "I brought my own, thanks."

A flask. How cool was that? And the night was beautiful, he'd said so, and the moon was full, and her evening was definitely looking up. "So why did you say it wasn't a nice night?"

"It's Samhain. It is many things, but _nice_ is not one of them."

It's what? His accent, while intriguing, was really hard to understand. "So-oew-win?" She wrinkled her nose, trying to reproduce his syllables.

He laughed a little, and she made a mental note to try to get him to do it again. It was a lovely sound. "Samhain. Sorry. It's another name for Halloween." He leaned closer to her, dropping his voice into a sinister range. "Ghosts, goblins, the dead walking the Earth, Vampires, Werewolves, creatures of the dark…"

She giggled, blushing a little, and was about to reply when a wild, wailing noise rose from the woods east of campus. A squeak escaped her, making her blush even deeper. Trying to cover, she raised her eyebrows at him. "Werewolf?" She asked mischievously.

The night erupted into furious noise along his path as a screaming flock of crows gave chase to a silent-winged owl. Jaws open and tongue lolling in an expression resembling amusement, he followed their raucous flight. Tonight the owl would die. So rare, for the nasty, noisy birds to kill their own prey, usually they followed after hunters like himself, cleaning up the scraps. All they were fit for. He paused, attracted once more to the old, musty scent of another, and as he covered it with his own, another impulse took him, inspired by the crows. Delighted, he called out his intentions to the moon and the one who followed, then abandoned his romp to slink, soundlessly, into the brush.

He was staring in the direction of the noise, but at her question jerked her attention back to her. "Probably some idiot frat boys playing pranks in the woods." His voice turned a little pensive. "Sometimes I miss the sound of wolves."

"What do you mean?"

"Wolves. Where I come from, north of the Circle, there are still packs of wild wolves. And elk, and reindeer. Sometimes, during the winter, you could hear the wolves. It's a haunting sound, packs calling to each other across the snow… they've been called the children of the night, and the nights there are long."

His voice drew a shiver from her. This was a perfect way to spend Halloween, talking about wolves and ghosts on a moonlit night with a dark, mysterious stranger. She almost giggled at herself, letting her romantic side run away with her like that. "The Circle?"

"The Arctic Circle."

"You're kidding. People actually live up there? I'm from Colombia, I think it gets too cold here."

He chuckled again, and she could feel her body responding to the sound. "People live up there. Not many, but some. It's an old land, change comes slowly, if at all."

"So you probably know all kinds of spooky Halloween superstitions, right?"

He smiled at her, and the moonlight flashed off of his white teeth, but not his large, dark eyes.

His fur bristled as the long cry rose into the night air. Insolent! Taunting him on his own ground. With a deep growl, he sped his pace into a gallop, scents streaming past flared nostrils, cool air rushing through thick fur and a deep, slow heartbeat throbbing in time to this night's power. Then the smell stopped him cold. Blood. Hot, fresh. An urgent sound, almost a whine, escaped his throat. Blood, and flesh. Nearby. With a caution that betrayed his instincts, he paced stealthily forward until he came to the clearing.

There, in the center, a fresh kill. Throat torn out to spill pools of blood. He paced closer, hackles rising. Savage jaws had crushed through the ribs, had eaten the prized heart, and left the rest. For him. As if he were a carrion-eater like their poor dumb cousins. The children, who had to hunt together, half-sized, and knowing nothing of the moon's power.

The thick stench of the recent kill filled his nostrils, but he still smelled the intruder a moment before he rose from the thick brush opposite the carcass. Less bulky than himself, not as deep through the chest and shoulders, with reddish fur and gleaming, yellow eyes above a bloodied muzzle.

With his ears pinned flat against his head, he took a step forward, over the insulting carcass, rumbling a challenging growl. The intruder opened his jaws into a wide, bloody yawn before turning and darting into the woods with a jaunty flick of his tail.

For a fraction of a second, all of his power remained coiled, tight and controlled. Then as a snarl tore from his throat he unleashed it and leapt after the fleeing form at a blurring speed. Twisting around trees, leaping fallen branches and tearing through the flimsy brush, for the first time in years he felt the mad, exhilarating rush of pushing himself to his limits.

The intruder was swift and agile, but hampered by having to choose their path. Slowly, he gained ground, reveling in the earth flying under his paws, the purity of the night, finally having a challenge. This is what he existed for, this joyful abandon, this clarity, how could he have forgotten? Suddenly they crashed into another clearing, and the reddish creature at last spun to face him.

Heads lowered, thick ruffs bristling in both a show of intimidation and protection, ears pinned back and fangs bared, with heaving flanks they circled one another slowly, seeking a weakness, an opening. Their heated breath pushed plumes of steam into the chill night air as too-intelligent black eyes bored into golden. As if carelessly, the red lapped his tongue over his lips, cleaning the hearts-blood off his muzzle. Too obvious a ploy. He waited, careful, evaluating.

He told her of Samhain, of the harvest, of sacrifices, of the dead spirits walking the night. He hardly knew what he said. His head was so full of the pulsing power, and his body reacting so strongly to the strength of the life so near it, that the words were left to choose themselves. Occasionally she asked a question, and he answered, or she added to the conversation, and he was silent. In the back of his mind he could still feel them, still felt that curiosity over who they might be, and how they were passing this rare night.

As if by accident, her hand met his, and stayed there. He had to fight to keep from gasping at the current of pinprick electricity that ran through him from the contact. Soon. But not yet. He did not want the dullness of satiety just yet, the night was young enough for him to relish the keen hunger a while longer. Casually, he brushed his thumb along her palm, and rainbow lights danced before his vision. Soon.

Growling softly in frustration, he regarded the large black beast before him. He was cautious. Too cautious. Tired of waiting for an opening he knew would never come, he attacked, launching himself low against the larger black. The black leapt over and away, but both recovered and spun to face each other too rapidly for further evasion. Two powerful bodies crashed together, all snapping jaws and flashing teeth, raking claws and fierce snarls, fighting for dominance out of an instinct that pulsed through them, driven by the moon.

He remembered, in some hazy corner of his mind, play-fighting. Making fearsome faces and attacking with wide-open jaws, rolling under light blows, not trying to draw blood. But play fighting with whom? There was no other until this one. And this fight was no game. With a dextrous twist, he dodged under the other's defenses and went for the throat, but the black was quick, and he got no more than a mouthful of the thick ruff of fur that protected the vulnerable spot. More clashing, then his teeth sank into an exposed shoulder. Blood filled his mouth, but there was a wrongness to it. He released with a yelp as claws raked the sensitive skin on the inside of his front leg, and staggered back, limping slightly. Both bloodied, the two faced off again, once more warily circling.

The door burst open, and three drunken, costumed boys staggered out, loudly cursing. One stopped in front of Rena. "W're gointa Stuessies... bedderparty anyway. Ywannacome?"

She shrank back slightly against Sven. She was so glad she'd decided to step out for some air, he was a much better option for the evening than disgusting drunks like these. "No, I think I'll stay here" she answered.

He shrugged, eyes shifting out of focus, before stumbling after his friends.

She shivered in only half-feigned revulsion. "Ugh. I think I just want to get away from this. Would you mind walking me home?"

He just looked at her for a moment with an inscrutable expression. Unsure, she giggled a little. "After all those stories you were telling me, I think I'd be scared to go by myself."

"Of course I'll walk you home."

Not releasing his hand, she led him down the steps. Helpless female routine. Gets 'em every time, she thought smugly.

It was growing. The night. The power of it. It was becoming almost too much. He could feel the pulse of the Earth itself under padded paws. The other seemed able to sense it as well. There was a wariness in them both, not solely of each other any longer. His keen senses, even, were overloading with stimulus. He could hear the ants chewing deep in the heart of the dead tree behind him.

And then the scent came. It was the other, but it was unlike his scent from before. This rolled over him, musky and darker than a moonless night, richer than the black earth that yielded under his claws. He opened his jaws and curled his tongue out as if he could taste the scent, lap it up like water or blood.

As he watched, the other suddenly bit at the ground, snapping at it as if in frustration. Then the golden eyes locked with his once more and he heard a low whine arise from the other's throat. The scent filled the air between them, thick and yearning. And instead of the cautious circling or frenzied attack of before, the other slunk toward him with a slow grace. Not submissive, but vulnerable. Yet for some reason he still did not attack, just held his ground as the other approached. The closer he came, the more overwhelming the scent became, until it so filled his senses that everything else vanished. And the other was there, their bodies touching, inhaling each other's scent with every breath until weakness overcame him and he sank to the earth with a groan. The contact of the other, the dizzying scent, hands buried in soft, thick fur... wait... hands?

"So this is where I live. Thanks for walking me home."

It was a house, not an apartment, but it was obviously student- rented, like most of the others on the block. The streets were dark and quiet. "My pleasure."

She ducked her head demurely. He could have predicted every nuance. "Do you, um, maybe... want to come in?"

He shook his head. "It's getting late." He sounded genuinely regretful. "Besides, you look so beautiful in the moonlight, I'm afraid of what I might do if you invited me in." He raised his hand and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

She captured the hand. "I'm not." She whispered, then ran her other hand behind his head, pulling him gently down into a kiss.

The moment before their lips touched, a deeply bittersweet smile crossed his, then he opened them against hers.

The powers he'd indulged in all night were nothing compared to this. Sheets of lightning coursed through his veins. His body became weightless, he could soar. The spirits sounded in thunderous cacophany around him and leering masks fell away and turned to dust that swirled up in a maelstrom around them.

He broke the kiss, and held her up as her legs collapsed beneath her. Her eyes were rolled back in her skull until only the whites showed, and her eyelids flickered rapidly above them. Eventually her panting breaths slowed, her knees firmed up again and her eyes slid shut, then opened, regarding him with a somewhat perplexed air.

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?" she asked.

"Nothing. You're home. Can you make it in alright?"

She looked at her house, still seeming confused. "Oh. Yeah, that's right. You walked me home from that party, didn't you?"

"Yes. Are you sure you're okay?"

She waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah. Thanks. I guess I just drank more than I thought." She stood there for a moment, as if unsure of what to do next, then started walking slowly to the house. "See ya around" she called back over her shoulder.

He watched her until the door closed behind her, then turned and walked back down the street. He'd left her about five years. So sad, to die so young.

Hands. That wasn't right. And skin. And... before he could catalogue the next part that wasn't right, lips crashed into his own. Lips. That wasn't right either. Human lips, that fit against his own. And a tongue with the metallic tang of blood that inspired a lupine growl from his very human throat. Half-panicked, he pushed away to get a sight of the other, and his heart nearly launched through his chest. "LANCE?"

Feral yellow eyes dimmed slightly and widened in shock. "K-Keith?" Then the glint returned to the golden eyes and the mouth twitched into a not-quite smile, displaying sharp, pointed teeth. Running his tongue over them lightly, he deepened the smile. "Trick or Treat."

Keith experienced a slight deja-vu as Lance attacked him for the second time that night, but this time the struggle was entirely different.

Hunk stared for at least a full minute before bursting into bellows of laughter. "Wow, for claiming not to understand Halloween, you've sure got the spook story down! 'Specially that stuff about Sven. Look, you gave me goosebumps!"

He held out his arm for Pidge to see. There were, indeed, goosebumps raised along the length. Pidge smiled a tiny, close-mouthed smile. "Why do you think it's just a story?"

Hunk snorted. "Gee, I dunno, maybe the part about Keith and Lance being werewolves, or Sven being whatever the hell it was that Sven was supposed to be... no, I think it was the part where Sven actually carried the majority of a conversation."

Pidge's face fell slightly. "Yeah, you're right. I probably should've had her talk more and him talk less. Oh well. It's your move."

Hunk looked down at the board and groaned. He still didn't know what Pidge was up to with that Bishop.

Outside, in the woods far from the castle, a black wolf the size of a lion ran with a reddish-brown through the trees, exulting in the speed, and the freedom, and the moon overhead.

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