And here it is everyone! the FIRST update of the NEW YEAR under my NEW Penname! I formally known as S2Teennovelit am now, Officially, The Queen of Plot Twists! (though you may all still call me Lauren or Teenie :)

I am SO happy to FINALLY post this story! And yes, THIS is the Halloween fic I raved about back in October and planned to post for Halloween...its a little late. ^^'

I had a very ironic journey with this story...The whole First part of it i planned to finish by Halloween and accomplished no problem-in fact it was super easy to write. The Second part however, I had the opposite affect, it took FOREVER, i kept getting distracted by writer's block, motivational block, personal life issues, work, etc.

BUT after three months of writing and two weeks of editing I am pleased to announce this fic is DONE! (part one any way ;)

I got inspired for a sequel idea while at the Faerie Convention and can't wait to start writing it once I get Timaeus backon track...I was also sick for two weeks so I didn't get as much writing done during my break as I would've liked and that set back a ton of my writing goals and ambitions but as always, I'm bpuncing back better than ever!

So anyway, oririginally i was going to post this story as one large one-shot but when the finall prduct rounded to 40 pages I decided to split it into parts. So it will be updated every week, and hopefully by then I'll have Part 2 completed and ready to go up and get some new ideas for Part 3 that i have, and in the end who knows, maybe this will turn into my next Novella ;)

So i hope you all enjoy my latest story...this is the Raccon and the Shaodw King.

PART !: THE HUNT

Chapter 1: The Revel

(Track—This is Halloween—Nightmare Before Christmas Soundtrack)

The creatures that surrounded the revel were in no way human, though each wore the costume of one. Trolls skulked about the tables next to Selkies without their skins. Magpies wearing their feathered robes like fancy cloaks, swung about the gangly arms of massive trees, alongside vulture mistresses in oily black dresses trimmed with white. Hollowed-backed dryads danced and whirled with giant oaks: slender hands in their rough-bark arms. The stench of brine followed a massive black stallion with hair like seaweed: each falling drop of liquefied salt morphed him into a tall man, wet hair clinging to his face and neck. Scales fell away from the legs of unspeakably beautiful sea-maids until their wide shark's toothed smiles were all that betrayed their true nature.

Fearsome beasts notorious for their clever claws and sharp-fanged smiles and swift kills wove in between the shadows of stone buildings and enormous, skeletal trees. When they appeared again they were maidens with eternally beautiful faces, bushy scarlet tails and sharp red ears hidden behind a curtain of crimson hair. Only their haunting yellow eyes spoke of a wicked kitsune. Elegant cats transformed into women with serpentine grace and flawless sharp teeth, and raked their dark hair with fingers tipped in claws. Brawly bears donned the faces of handsome men with black eyes and cloaks of shaggy brown fur. The wolves made no effort to hide their dresses and cloaks, black as night, their eyes, red as blood, or their teeth, white as bone. Nixies and sprites, tengu and boogarts, phookas, brownies, and goblins poured into the clearing while magpies and swan maidens descended from the skies next to their crow and raven brethren. Willow-of-the-wisps zipped among tree branches and stone towers like floating, flying lanterns.

They were all here. They were all waiting. Their curious eyes were bright and wild with hunger and childish cruelty as they waited for the main event. The revel was alive with the Wild Hunt and celebrated in true otherworldy fashion.

Lit by dancing lights and leaping fires trapped in glass globes and floating lanterns and the autumn light of the full moon glowing bright and menacing in the dead of night, the air was alive with music and sweetness: somber strings and twinkling bells crashed against sneaky brass horns and low drums. The sweet pleasure of cream-filled chocolate and the smooth tang of blood and the sharp tart of wines and addicting sensation that left you breathless and reeling.

There were dancing circles and banquet tables: long, low tables heaped with silver apples dusted with sugar, loafs of bread soaking in thick goblets of buttery milk and an enormous roast with an apple in its mouth was surrounded by baked hens, coils of snakes sizzled in their skins and racks of lamb. Faeries and shifters covered in furs, in armored mails, in great swirling gowns, in nothing but flowers and their hair spiraled about in wild, lustful reveal or were sprawled across the tables, devouring glass after glass or cream or fighting for their favorite treat. Scarlet-glass faerie woman brushed coyly against ursus men in torn rags and heavy fur cloaks, winking coquettishly. Across the way, a gang of trolls was sprawled across caskets of mushroom wine, downing goblets. Fox maids and rusalka nymphs drank blood from crystalline goblets and wooden cups alike. Owls devoured a pyramid of toads frozen like ice cubes, and pixies feasted on rose and violet petals on enormous decorative plates. Two goblins gambled with chess pieces for the last pheasant. A scrappy blond-haired girl with grass-stained feet and donning a gorgeous cherry red coat with brass buttons, offered candies from her pockets that no one took.

Revelers danced and sang, and drank and swooned and fought and feasted, hunted and cheated, gambled and ganged with a wild frenzy. The Wild Hunt was alive in them: the raw, wild hunger of the hunt, the lust for the wild night, the glorious thrill of the chase, triumph of excitement, of passion and of savage victory and the ferocious absolute delight of the hunt's concluding harmony. There was no hatred in it, no bitterness or twisting despair, only a mad, equalizing joy.

Then there was a screech of wheels and the entire crowd stopped, overcome by an expectant curiosity that spread into an infectious giddiness. The dancers ceased and broke apart. Revelers leaped back onto the tables spilling food and even willow-of-the-wisps cleared the roads as the massive demonic counterparts of the horses barreled in: massive and muscular creatures, black as night with teeth ground and sharp and eyes glowing red. Each creature roared and dragged in a massive bird cage carried on large stone wheels, and the human captives were huddled together inside.

The parade of cages wheeled down the streets and the bevy of creatures whispered and winked and wondered. A few laughed and pointed, others scampered and scrambled, pushing and shoving their way through the crowd like excited children competing to see the new zoo exhibit.

Children, some too old to believe in ghost stories and fairy tales huddled, shivering, next to those that did. Those who prided themselves on being too mature for such nonsense shuddered in horrified shock. Bemused faces darted left and right, hoping, desperate, for some logic, some proof that this was not real—and their broken eyes and deflated faces when they were forced to accept that it was. Serves them right for their arrogance. Others with wide, wet eyes looking anguished and betrayed. They must have loved faerie stories in their youth and sought the real thing. They should have read their stories more closely. More carefully.

Children, younger and more malleable, cried in that sad, scared, whiny little way children cry when their scared or away from their parents for the first time and everything around them is scary. The eldest and most frightened fought: they punched, kicked, growled and smacked at the crowd and their cages, wild and savage, in a mock bravado that did nothing to conceal the terror of their unexplainable circumstances.

Their reactions fed the frenzy and they exploded with a cacophony of delirious delight. In their relish, their costumes tore, their masks slipped and their true faces appeared in all their grotesque glory. Heads grew horns or sprouted antler that twisted back like branches and vines. Fur coats and necklaces of teeth turned into wild wolves, hunting cats, and ferocious bears. Arms and fingers grew feathers and talons and wings and scales. They smashed their faces into the bars bearing fangs or pointed beaks. They reached with talons and claws, or leaped on top of the cages with spindley, spiderly limbs causing their victims to shriek and scatte, then jump whenever a new creature reached for them. Some fought. Some burst into hysterical fits. Most just cried.

And the Shadow King watched the revelry from his throne of gnarled branches and bleached bones with a kind of expectant satisfaction. The joys and lusts of the Hunt doing no more for him than it had done the previous year and the year previous to that. On this night when all the mortals donned their silly costumes and coveted candies in a mock, perverted mess of the ancient customs and Samhain rituals, those foolish to tread too close to the cemeteries or the hollow hills and the rest of the otherworldly haunts were captured and brought to the revel. This was meant to be a night of celebration, of the Hunter's victory and the savage justice and beauty of nature, of the red equivalency earned and honored in tooth and claw and celebrated with the same ferocious, passionate zeal and mad joy of life, death and triumph.

Yet year after year, the ruler found himself consistently bored: it was almost predictable. It was always silly children chasing faeries or reckless adolescents in their false bravado who trespassed in the hollowed places, inviting themselves into the hunt as prey to be chased and captured. Their arrival which was the grand climax of this vociferous wild rave and drove all these faeries mad with love and bloodlust, did nothing to stir his excitement. It was always the same: the children cried. The teenagers panicked and wailed: some looking for an explanation, some anguished and angered. Like how dare they not be like the characters they read about in their silly stories. How dare they be anything less than what they expected of them. The King snorted. Again, they should've read their precious books more closely. Only a few were brave and wild enough to fight, but even that had lost its excitement. They were like tigers at the zoo: not scary as long as they were trapped behind their steel bars and glass walls, but even that temporary rush of excitement when they pounced did nothing to arouse the King. Not when their courage was nothing more than a cheap mask for their fear.

Oh well, he decided, straightening his back and uncrossing his limbs. Might as well give them what they want. He snapped his fingers and the brigade stirred to life.

The music stopped then changed, preparing for his grand entrance. The dais carrying the King's throne rose, suspended on the skeletal backs of four great direwolves: massive, shiny and black as pitch. They moved towards the square growling and snapping, eyes burning like hot coals.

The wind blew in a melodious double coo like a sweet moan before transforming into a wiry howl. The symphony followed, transforming into an orous staccato. The revelry erupted with glee and crowded the streets for a glimpse of him. The King lounged on his throne like it was carved from the trunk of an enormous tree, branches white as bleached bone exploded behind him. One leather-clad leg throne lazily over one ebony armrest, the other supported his back. Arms crossed over his chest: one holding the handle of a bloodied jeweled encrusted blade, the other held a ceremonial scepter. The sharp curves and hard eyes of his face were a neutral mask betraying no emotion. The sight of it made him look insolent and intimidating at once.

All the crowd gazed upon him with mixture of awe and terror and in their expressions. Their eyes held no love or understanding only reverence and respect that mingled with a mad, obsessive love. Expectant of a King they loved and feared with the same madness in which they loved the Hunt and the one who led it. The children were no better. Their faces blank expressions of bewilderment and fear or some mad paroxysm of violence and rage. Their fear used to be delicious, now it was little more than a snack.

The sonorous symphony reached its stentorian climax and the King rose from his throne in all his regal glory: not so tall and spindely thin with broad shoulders and sculpted chest that boasted a hunter's build and small muscles, he moved like the shadows, liquid serpentine grace and feline flexibility. Massive wings expanded to their full length behind him, boasting oily black fathers whose colors shifted in the light. Two small horns curled like vines from a spiked, flaming mane of black fire tipped in blood. A golden forelock crowned a face full of angles, sharp and defined like a hawks. Most terrifying and alluring about him were his eyes: sharp, deep, and penetrating, bright and red as freshly spilt blood.

With a smirk, he leaped from the throne and in a wisp of shadows he was a direwolf, swift limbs and snapping white fangs. He leaped at the cage snarling and baring his pristine teeth. With a curl of smoke, he was a jungle cat roaring and flashing his claws. Then in a spiral of purple and black wisps he leaped into the air and unfurled the powerful wings of a hawk, crying to the hunt. He flew high into the air shaking shadows and feathers before revealing himself as the raven. With a caw of victory and the expectation of death, he folded his wings together and swan dived into the fountain at the heart of the square.

The creature that rose from the spring was in no way human. Nor did it resemble one. In his truest form, the King climbed out of the spring on skeletal black hands tipped with sharp claws. Thick feathery wings rose next, wide and muscular and like no bird they'd ever seen. Horns, white as bone, curled like a ram's from a wild made of all black hair blowing in the wind like black fire. His face did not change though the skin that was once amber was now pale as moonlight and the red eyes were a single red slit free of pupils and consumed the whole orbitals. The king rose from the spring baring a wide, fanged grin of protruding canines. His leather vest and pants linked with gold chains and buckles remained but were pulled tight over the shaggy black fur of his legs that tapered from his waist to a pair of goat's feet while the chest was bare and perfectly sculpted. In him was the uncertainty of life and the finality of death and the pleasures of pain, the excitement of fear, the thrill of the night and the passion of the unexplained and desire for all that took place in the dark.

His true form revealed in all its glory the crowd erupted and the hope died in the eyes of their victims. The King stepped out of the spring, shaking his head once and walked down the stairs, shadows curling about him with each step, stripping away the pieces of his former mask and revealing the shorter, handsomer form of a human, absent the wings, the fangs, the horns, the claws. It was a stripped down elegance, a concealed authority so perfect he could almost pass for human.

But they had all seen his face and they knew what lied beneath it.

If the captives were frightened before they were terrified now. The children screamed and scampered to the other side of their cages.

Finally, he stopped. The music stilled and the crowd froze. Even the wind ceased at his presence. He spun to the crowd, eyes bright and wild and smile wicked, and with a bellowing voice he chanted, puncturing each word:

"It is Time!" he boomed loud and relaxed as thunder. "On this night when the night reaches its darkness and the moon shines her brightest to light the path of the hunter!"

The wind whirled around him, carrying the corpses of leaves in a spiral towards the light of the glowing orange moon.

"This time of endings, of death and decay draws us all near for one last ride. One last Hunt before the world succumbs to darkness and is reborn a new from the ashes of our sacrifice and the blood of equivalency. Let's us Feast! Let us Rejoice. On this! The Wild Hunt!"

The crowd erupted: a vociferous cacophony of caws and howls, growls and barks and roars and screams and euphoric delight and madness, and the wailing screams and shrikes of the victims.

"Now let us see our sacrifices…" With an elegant swoop, he surveyed the captives. Scrutinizing, unhopefully for one that would prove a descent challenge with all the confidence of a cat playing with a mouse, a wolf choosing the fattest rabbit, a lion selecting his prime of the kill.

He passed a cage where a pair of twins were hiding in the corner, huddled so close in the other's arms they could've been conjoined. They cried when he stopped and looked at them, so he let them be. Another cage had three children, all boys, and freshly adolescent. One coward meekly in the corner, another looked bewildered and unsure of how to react. The third glared deathly at everything around him, going so far as to kick the bars, but his eyes did nothing to mask his terror. Their reactions doing nothing to arouse his instincts, he walked on. More children, more teenagers, some young adults: crying, glaring, pleading for mercy, begging to go home or pacing in circles like trapped lions and then jumping and screaming when he touched their bars. All they received was a roll of the eyes until all but three cages remained. The first cage's single occupant was a girl, freshly a woman and dressed in a torn frilly dress that exposed her bosom and barely concealed her thighs. Complete with boots, gloves and stockings, she embodied the mortal's take on the Wild Hunt, replacing the savage beauty and equality of nature with a cheap imitation of gluttony and lust. She looked at him with the same awestruck expression that the fae women looked at him: torn between terror and reverence, desire and disgust. He shook his head with a snort as he passed her. The next one held a muscular blond boy who stood firm glaring at him unblinking. The King smiled. There was always one.

"Are you not afraid?" he asked approaching the cage.

"I 'aint scared of you!" he sounded so confident, he even had to audacity to smirk.

The King grinned and rolled his eyes. "No, you're terrified." His smiled curled. "You're so afraid that you're pretending to be brave because you think it somehow makes you strong." His eyes widened for the briefest moment.

"But you're wrong." He delivered mercilessly. "You hide it behind a mask of bravado, all smug and confident, thinking you've won. But all it proves is just is how weak you truly are."

The blond boy shook. There were tears in his eyes. Pooling down in his cheeks in sheer helplessness and absolute frustration.

The King sighed and walked on. Too bad. He was hoping for more of a fight. Should he even bother with the last cage? He approached it anyway, and peered inside with a slide ways glance—and met the fiercest, most striking pair of eyes he'd ever seen.

Only one was immune to the plague of terror and ecstasy—a frail looking thing alone in the last cage. Tattered rags pulled over soft white skin, exposing and arched spine and attractively slender curves. Hands and feet were bare and caked in dirt and tiny black claws sprouted from his fingertips. His was a tender face, sweetly rounded and if he smiled his dimples would've been shaped like a heart. Instead, he scowled but the affect was marred by the cute chipmunk cheek. Strikingly, his dark hair was wild and frenzied: a golden forelock nested in a wild black and russet mane, and pointing from the mess, sharp as knives and tipped with white and crimson fur were two sharp, furred ears. Protruding from between this thight was a long, bushy striped tail, completely unheard of on a human.

Most striking where his eyes: Large, round and pulled into a fearless, neutral glare, they were purple, deep and dark like a small pool illuminated only by moonlight. He gave no hint in joining the revelry—and that made him curiouser still.

The King stopped: crimson eyes watched in pure amazement as amethyst pools observed him closely.

"And what is your name, sweet one?" The King purred.

A hiss was his only answer.

"Strange," he complimented to himself and curved his hand. "Bakura, Otogi."

His generals were at his side and gazed at the creature that had the audacity to glare at their King without so much as flinching. "He is not one of us." It wasn't a question. "Where did he come from?"

"Same realm as the others." Otogi explained. "Think that one was hiding in the woods."

"Hah!?" Bakura barked his laughter. "Thing was half a savage when we found him."

The boy didn't look savage. Not in Atem's opinion. Those eyes were too sharp, too fierce to be pure wild instinct. No, there was intelligence in those beautiful eyes.

"A forest creature," the King hypothesized. "Curiouser and curiousr still." He stepped forward approaching the cage. The creature moved only its eyes. The King arched a brow when he made no move to get away. Why wasn't it trying to escape or hide? There were no bruises or injuries, or broken appendages? An elegant eyebrow arched, and his smirk widened until it curled at the corners.

"Unusual, for a child to meet my eyes." The King's smirk was a wicked, devious thing promising pleasure as well as pain. The boy's tail tipped in annoyance. "Why do you not turn away from me, child? Are you not scared of me, Atem, the darkness, the Shadow King, the Lord of the Wild Hunt and the Alpha of the Shifters?"

Finally, the boy spoke. "Yugi." The beautiful voice ran through the still air, carrying like the wind. The King, Atem, blinked. Was that beautiful sound him? Did this wild, fearless creature, truly possess such an angelic voice. "My name is Yugi, damnit! Not boy, or child or forest creature, Yugi! Use it!"

Atem blinked then his whole face brightened. So he wasn't a complete savage then! He was one of them, but also human, capable of wit and emotion and was fearlessness, obviously.

"Yugi," the King purred, testing the name on his tongue and like how sweet it tasted.

"Yes." The boy's glare sharpened. His lips pulled back revealing teeth in a snarling hiss, his back arched, causing his tail to curl, the voice was none the less beautiful when it retorted. "And I know who you are."

Again, Atem arched an excited bow. "And you do not fear me?"

Yugi's face betrayed nothing. "I have no reason to."

Atem swallowed. Such energy in his eyes. Never before had he felt such a rush from mere words. For the first time since he couldn't remember when, he felt his blood rise and his arousal spike with a different kind of lust than for the hunt. No creature ever challenged his power. His authority. His very presence. Oh yes, this one intrigued him.

Now the question was, how long before he broke?

"You will be." He whispered, low and dangerously seductive.

He spun away from the raccoon child, eyes sweeping over the cages of victims one last time. His cape unfurled from his shoulders, and erupted into feathers, revealing oily black wings.

"Take them to the Herne Tree. Lock them up in the cages. We'll see how long it takes those fierce winds to break their spirits."

"As you wish, my liege,"

"Oh, and Bakura," he turned to his prize and flashed him one last look, before quirking a smile that promised things. The raccoon-fox child only glared harder.

"Put this one in the top most cage. Where the wind is the roughest and her bite is sharpest."

And that is the first chapter (sips wine)

For those of you who actually READ my author's notes...this story is the result of a dream I had back while on vacation in Ameila Island with my family during the summer where I envisioned Yugi as a type of Faerie Creature and Atem as a shadowy shapeshifitng King (most likely cause i was really into Holly Black's new book) The idea stuck with me and i kept it in my note on the back burner until I could some up with a plot.

Ironically enough, inspiration came from an unexpected source: the entire Nightmate before Christmas Soundtrack and film! I've loved Tim Burton all my life and enter my macbre phase pretty early in life but given the film came out when i was three (and the prieve was the one of the kid holding a shrunken head)-it totally terrified me so i REFUSED to watch it (i was adamant, when Kingdom Hearts came out i evn refused to go to Hallowwen world until Ursula became too annoying to beat and my brother said Halloween World was easier-much as i enjoyed the world i still never got around to watching the movie, though thank god for the cult following, i knew what it was but never really gave it a chance until a friend of mine mentioned the sound track was by Danny Elfman (Danny Elfman and Tim Burton that combination is SO genius) so i listen to the entire soundtrack and fell in love. So after years i finally watched the film and have not stopped watching it since.

Thus the inspiration for this story was born (as well as my complete and total obsession with Jack and Sally both as a couple and as characters)

Final inspiration to link it all together came from The Wild Hunt, A faerie hunt believed to take place on HAlloween i learned about while researching the Wlder King-even the Heare tree is believed to be associated with him.)

I had a huge debate about what to make Yugi, in the dream i'm pretty sure he was a red panda (a fv animal) bu i flirted with the idea of making him a Fox, a raccon or even a cat, after doing research I finally settled on a Raccoon-they're cute, clever, amazing dexterous and such cool animals, that no one ever uses-to I did!

Hope you enjoy the first chapter! the next one will be out next week!