They Say We Can Love Who We Trust (But What Is Love Without Lust?)

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based on this prompt at grimm_kink: I've read quite a few Nick/Monroe H/C fics but haven't come across any Renard/Nick ones yet. Come on, anon, we need some hurt! Renard here.

Title taken from In for the Kill by La Roux

The regnant is based on his first appearance in my story Drifting in Shadows, Waiting for the Storm. The stories are NOT taking place in the same universe! I just borrowed my own interpretation of what I think woul fit Renard. :)

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It had been a monumentally stupid idea. Continentally stupid. It would go down into the history books as being the worst thing a regnant had ever done.

Sean Renard was a regnant.

And right now he wondered when his brain had decided to take a leave of absence and hand over decision-making to his instincts. Probably right around the time he had lost track of logic and common sense somewhere in the miasma of primal surges.

Yep, had to be that.

Blood tracked down his skin, dripping into the ground.

Idiot, he scolded himself.

He had gone into this mess like a young, blood-thirsty warrior, not a seasoned Guardian of a city, someone who had claimed a territory and had protected and defended it successfully in the past.

The pain was more or less bearable. He could take a lot, had taken a lot in the past, but seeing that he wouldn't be able to count on anyone coming to his aid, this time was different.

The cuts were deep, messy, and maybe even a lot more than his body could cope with right now. He had at least two broken ribs and his hand didn't like him very much right now. Calling the sharp needles shooting from his wrist 'bothersome twinges' would be lying.

He was good at lying to himself.

He was dangerously exhausted, losing blood, and pretty much on his own since no one knew where he was.

'Fucked up' summed up his day so far.

And his head hurt.

Probably that blow to the head that would have split any other creature's skull, but regnant's were tough. Very tough. And Renard wasn't new at the game, just… surprised that anyone had had the guts to try and trap him.

It had been an elaborate trap, granted. They had taken care to throw him the right bait, lure him to this place with the perfect incentives.

Well, they had paid with their lives, but he was paying in blood.

Renard laughed, a breathy, wet sound that was barely audible. His good hand picked at the tatters of what had been his dress shirt and now resembled barely a rug. Bloody and torn and clinging to his skin because of the dark red liquid. Underneath the red was his skin, shifting colors between dark copper, bronze and burnt gold.

Not good.

He was losing control of himself as the pain took over, as instinct once again pushed at the boundaries set by control and logic.

There was a sound.

Footsteps.

The regnant pulled back lips over growing fangs, eyes the color of burning embers flared.

Renard was trying to regain control, but his creature side was now in full possession and it acted.

Muscles tensed, ready to unleash the last burst of power, ready to tear apart the new threat; add to the body count.

Talons grew, sharp and black and able to tear through armored skin.

The footsteps came closer.

The regnant rumbled softly, barely loud enough for anyone to hear.

A figure appeared.

He launched himself forward, colliding with a softer, human form, and bringing them down.

Claws buried in clothing that wouldn't protect the other, biting into flesh.

tbc...