All i wanna say is that the same warnings that were in Hell Raisers is also present in this story as well. There will be plenty of M/M fluff, lots of colorful language, and blood and sadness and death (no not this time), and other things. So that's your one warning.

Other than that, I still don't own Assassin's Creed, so there's the one disclaimer. Now start reading.

Oh yeah, this takes place a few months after Bad Moon Hell Raisers, and the second half of this chapter flashback. JUST LETTING YOU KNOW NOW

Desmond was alone, he thought. He was sure he was, for now anyway. His back was to a tree, his breath coming out in puffs before his face. He zipped his jacket up higher, shivering at the late night November chill. Wait- he checked his watch, holding it up into the bright moonlight of the full moon. Yup, it was after midnight, officially November. Funny, his first Halloween night not spent in front of the TV watching bad horror movies while gorging on candy and beer.

But instead of watching movies, he felt like he was in one. Except it wasn't the fat guy in the hockey mask chasing after him. Oh no, he had so much worse after him. Except, he had lost them a while ago…Or they lost him, which was very, very unlikely. Either way, he needed to keep moving. Desmond bounced away to another tree, moonlight illuminating his form for a brief second until the shadows hid him again. He knew they could hear them from wherever they were. Knew they could hear him from miles away, smell him as clearly as standing next to a grill with a steak on it. For them, finding him wasn't going to be a problem. Catching him, Desmond hoped to make that part difficult for them.

Even they could outrun him.

After living here for practically four months, Desmond still didn't know the mountainside as well as his hunters. For all he knew, he could still be the cabin again, or on the other side of the mountain. He had probably been chased all over the damn thing by now, you'd think he'd know his way. But he could still still tell he was near the base of the mountain as opposed to the top. The ground beneath him was relatively flat and didn't slope as much. Multiple times he debated going up, but decided against hiking up it in the dark without a guide.

No, not so much the dark. The full moons here were just incredibly bright and Desmond never had a problem finding his way around. Granted, he didn't know where he was, but he could at least somewhat see. And judging by the loud growling that suddenly came from behind him, he wasn't the only one.

Without bothering to look behind him, Desmond took off running. Dead leaves and twigs crunched beneath him, shattering any attempt at any stealth he had before. His pursuer was persistent, never faltering or never losing focus on him. He couldn't tell who it was chasing him, Malik could easily mow him down even with jus three legs. Whoever it was, they were going easy on him. For them, the chase was just a game, nothing they took seriously because it took more effort to fart than it did chasing down a full grown deer. Or full grown Desmond in this case.

Desmond was running out of breath though. He had been doing this all night since the moon came out, and even though he wasn't a too shabby of a runner, escaping giant ass wolves was a very exhausting activity. And he was apparently tired enough for one small stumble to be an open invitation to be pounced. A large body slammed into his back, knocking him flat to the ground. Desmond groaned in pain, then froze up when hot air blasted the back of his neck. Now, one of two things could happen here. Either they'd wrap their jaws around his neck in a display of dominance and as a reminder that he was indeed a ragdoll to them or…

"Oh god no" Desmond yelled, reflexively tensing up as a cold nose dug its way under his collar of his jacket and a wet striped was licked across the back of his neck. And dear fuck he hated that. "Get off me, you're so gross!" he whined, and the weight on his back lifted. A dark shaped circled around him and Malik's black furry face stick itself in his. Speak of the goddamn devil. "Hi, nice to see you too" Desmond greeted deadpanned, wriggling an arm out from beneath him to reach up and scratch at Malik's chin. The black wolf's rear plopped to the ground, his fluffy tail sweeping it furiously in delight.

As much of an asshole Malik was, he actually made a pretty lax wolf. That one night a month he was semi-nice, but at least sweet in a way. Desmond did like though, human and wolf halves. With Malik, it was different everyday as to whether or not he liked Desmond back. Some days he was pissy as hell and didn't want to be bothered. And then other days he was his normal, apathetic, but sarcastic self. Then every once in a while he was very, very affectionate.

Probably just normal person behavior mixed with wolf behavior, but still as confusing as a girl in middle school. Wolf-Malik though, he was alright. Because while he acted like an overgrown puppy most of the time, he was still a vicious, two hundred pound predator that could gut a bull no problem, so Desmond did his best not to piss him off.

A howl split the night air, a long and wavy echoing through the trees. A second, harsher howl followed it, a fake sound that couldn't fool anyone into thinking it was a wolf (anyone who knew the difference between man made and the real thing anyway). Malik's head jerked away from Desmond's hand, ears rotating this way and that. Then the black wolf threw his head back and howled a reply. Desmond quickly pushed himself up into a sitting position, cupped his hands over his mouth, tilted his head back and join in on Malik's message.

From wherever they were, Altaïr and Connor had called out asking where are you, where are you?

And his and Malik's reply was here we are, here we are!

Altaïr howled again, and Malik hopped up to his feet and started to limp off. Desmond stood and followed after, grimacing at the pain blooming around his chest and shoulders. "You play too rough, dude" Desmond grumbled. One of Malik's ears flickered in response, but Desmond knew he wasn't sorry. Desmond trailed after the wolf along to God knows where, another walk of winding around the mountainside aimlessly. Perhaps that's why Desmond couldn't find his way around for shit, Malik and Altaïr tended to just pick a random ass direction and just started walking.

They followed invisible trails and paths that seemingly went in circles until they ended up in a place completely different from where they started. At least when the ground began to slope up, Desmond knew what direction they were going. And he had a hunch as to where exactly they would end up. That clearing way up on the mountain he was led to on his first full moon was the favored spot of the boys. Every month, they went back to that spot to eat, play, romp, and rest. That is where Malik took him in the end, and that is where Altaïr and Connor waited for them. Altaïr's wolf all but barreled into them, throwing himself at Malik to lick at his mate's face and rub against him. No matter how long they had been apart, they always acted like they hadn't seen each other in forever, like every moment not spent together was completely unbearable. True puppy love.

Connor was farther back, tending to a small fire he had going. Desmond moved towards him, muttering a greeting before plopping down next to the survivalist.

"Cold?" Connor asked, using a long, thin branch to stroke the fire and keep it burning.

"Only when I stop moving" Desmond said. All the walking and moving helped him stay a little warm, but now sitting on the freezing ground, he was desperate for warmth. It wasn't like he had a fur coat like Altaïr and Malik, nor was his own jacket the most appropriate for the climate. And he wasn't built like a tank like Connor was, who just didn't seem to feel cold at all. Desmond's winters were always spent in nice places, like San Diego or Miami. Warm places. Not places that had a threat of snowfall.

"Get used to it then, winter's just starting here" Connor chuckled, whistling for the boys. The two wolves bounced over, Altaïr finally acknowledging Desmond and attacked the younger Assassin's face with kisses. Deeming it too cold out for wolf kisses, Desmond grimaced and tried to push him away, except then his hands also came under assault to licks as well.

"Yes, yes okay I love you too" Desmond finally laughed. A coffee colored tail wagged delightfully, and only Altaïr could make a happy face work on a wolf. Altaïr gave him one last lick to the chin before deciding to curl up on Desmond's lap. Desmond gasped as two hundred pounds of predator draped itself over him, and it would certainly not be long before he last feeling in his legs (like they always did when the boys decided to act like cats and not wolves). But oh it got worse when Malik , not wanting to be left out on the love, crawled on as well. The black wolf was half on top of his mate, half on the ground in front of them.

"Aw, cute, they like you" Connor teased with a smirk.

"And it really fucking hurts" Desmond gasped, trying to shift in his spot but couldn't as the boys were like two crushing weights keeping him in place. And only four more hours to ho until morning.

Four Years Ago

Consciousness came and went after that. His eyelids would flutter open for the brifest of moments

before sliding shut. He only caught glimpses of where he was, who was around him, and what was happening. These moments Altaïr still cannot recall properly. Fleeting memories of a time when his body was at war with itself. A time when a new presence made itself known, another soul bleeding into his bones, sharing his body instead of conquering it like a cancer. If he had been properly awake for it, Altaïr would have been terrified of this growing parasite within him. But thankfully, the awakening and growth of the beast was exhausting at vest, and sleep was a necessity.

But he could remember first becoming aware. Those first terrifying days of re-birth, when the wolf, just a mere newborn pup, was waking up and connecting to his senses. Altaïr remembered being blind and deaf, unable to see where he was or hear his own cries. His nose, a useless thing, could barely smell a thing. But he knew the feel of a blanket when his hands clenched one. Despite his panic, he could feel how comfortable he was. The sheets beneath him, the pillow below his head and the mattress against his back…A bed. He was in a bad.

And he was cold. And he was hungry. He had been an utter wreck of a man during this time. Later on, when he was able to see and able to hear again, he had been told of how needy he had been, how weak and pitiful he had become during that first two week interval. How he was always too cold or too hot, his body temperature constantly jumping around. His appetite was another oddity. He could be absolutely ravenous, but he'd hardly eat for a minute before pushing it away and falling asleep.

Vexing behavior that slowly improved.

By the third week, Altaïr was able to find the strength to open his eyes and finally try to see again. His sight was foggt and cloudy, and it took several days to clear up. When it finally did, by god he could see! Every small inch, every detail was suddenly very, very visible. When the nurse came around to check on him, he could see every wrinkle, noticed every bunching of muscles, the tiniest of movements he would see!

His hearing returned along with his sight and that's when things really got concerning. It was so gradual, merely just the blood coursing through his ears. then his heartbeat, the scratching of sheets. The monitors that recorded his vitals, their dull hums and shrill beeps. Then birds tweeting at each other, outside of his window. And if he concentrated hard enough, the hum of traffic out on the street. Or perhaps nurses treading through the halls, the squeaking of cats, the sounds of other people. It was enough to give him a headache.

The scariest part of it all? When the doctor or a nurse was with him…he could hear them too. Their blood swirling through their body, the beat of their hearts in their chests, the inhale and exhale of the their lungs. He could hear all that. It scared him because no one should be able to see or hear this way. And it only kept getting worse from there. It got worse when his sense of smell kicked in. Antiseptics, metal, wood, cotton, paint, sickness, medicine, urine, sadness, pain, prey. Altaïr spent a day lying in bed learning to cope with it. Like it all the excess noise, he needed to learn to block it all out, just ignore it.

It was frightening when a nurse came in. She smelled like soap, and cotton, and something floral like (perfume?). And like milk, and food, and of other people and she smelled good. Altaïr had barely been able to look at her and not think of maybe a cowering rabbit or a mouse. Small, soft, weak, prey food. The mucky goop they fed him soon became something he could no longer swallow, it had become too unappetizing and made his stomach roar. And it didn't help when his mouth salivated occasionally when looking at the nurse. Those soft muscles would have been so easy to tear through…

So he asked for meat. Something meaty, a steak or a chicken wing, something that would calm his appetite. Altaïr practically had to beg them- "Bring me something made of meat, please!"

And they finally, finally did. A large, well done steak that he shredded and devoured in seconds, and then asked for more. He desperately needed more! His new appetite was a great curiosity to the hospital staff. How could a man, pitiful and weak, change this much in less than four weeks?

But then again, they were still trying to figure out how a man could grow back his esophagus trachea while he was just being admitted into their care. At the time, they had no explanation for it. And when they finally did, they still didn't quite believe it.

Eventually Altaïr conquered his sensory overload, learning to ignore all the excess details that was present during his stay in that damned hospital. They refused to discharge him even after his body had long since repaired itself. He was trapped there to sit in that bed, bored out of his skull when he finally felt healthy enough to kept up and run.

So one day he just ripped off what chords were monitoring him, threw off the blankets, and climbed out of bed. He was only ever allowed to do so with a nurse's supervision for the purpose of attending to nature's pressing matters. But the restroom was not his destination, but the hall, to the rest of the hospital.

Unknown, foreign territory he had only smelled from his bed. But now unrestrained, Altaïr had wandered the hall in an aimless search for nothing. He let his nose lead the way, past and current scents telling him more than sight or sound could. He could tell how recently someone had been in the rooms he passed, what their ailment may have been, their gender, and he even thought maybe their age!

Altaïr wasn't even seeing these people in the flesh, but he could just tell by the smell alone. And for the first time since waking up here, he was excited. Never in his wildest dreams could he ever hope for such abilities. They were strange and scary, but they his mind was racing ahead to what they could for him as an Assassin. He wondered if Mario knew yet, ah he couldn't wait to tell him! And oh, Ezio would think it amazing as well! His cousin would be thrilled…or jealous. And then he'd tell Kadar and Malik-

The sound of Kadar hitting the ground…A horrible snarling…Ripping of clothes, then flesh…screaming…screaming…screaming…

Those great jaws wrapped around Malik's bicep and tearing away hard…

Biting back biles as those images and sounds played across his mind, Altaïr slumped against the nearest wall. Kadar was dead. Malik possibly the same as far as he knew. Altaïr hadn't seen or heard from his love since. His chest began to ache terribly, and hot tears stung at his eyes. Until now, between his own mysterious torment, the Al-Sayf brothers hadn't even crossed his mind. To remember them so suddenly…It hurt so much.

"Malik" Altaïr whined pathetically. "Malik, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry"

That is what he had been reduced to, a sad, sad man crying alone in a hallway, who even with these odd gifts that hd been bestowed upon him, couldn't even find the love of his life. Or so he thought.

He thought he had heard it between his pitiful sniffling, pausing in his weeping when he just might have heard it a second time. The hall was empty save for himself, so what was-

"Altaïr?"

His head snapped towards the direction his name came from. His heart nearly thudded to a stop, was that, no it couldn't be…

"Malik?" he called out.

"Altaïr!"

Now he was running, flying down the hall like he was the wind itself. He slid around a corner, barreled down corridors, and came to a screeching halt at the end of one. This wing of the hospital made the hair on the back of his neck prickle as a foreign scent invaded his senses.

"Malik?" he croaked out, hoping wherever the other man was, he was not on the other side of this condemned territory.

"Altaïr wait, hold on!" Malik called out. Altaïr strained to listen, hearing the ever familiar throwing off of wire and blankets, the fall of feet on linoleum, and then the man himself appeared in a doorway. Altaïr's breath caught in his throat, there he was! But the first lungful of air had him growling at his boyfriend.

Malik's shoulders bunched up, body tensing, lips pulled back into a snarl. It was the first time they had ever smelled each another wolf aside from themselves, each with their own territories at opposite sides of the hospital. And right now, Altaïr was a stranger in a potential rival's territory, and their wolf sides had not liked it one bit.

They stood in that hall, growling and snarling at one another, slowly inching together without breaking eye contact. Altaïr, for whatever reason, kept thinking that the longer he stared, the more it would unnerve his boyfriend and cause him to back down. Unfortunately, Malik was just as stubborn, and their pissing match continued. It only ended when Altaïr glanced down for the briefest of seconds and finally noticed for the first time that Malik's left arm only went down to the man's shirt sleeve.

"Malik" Altaïr whispered, that vision of the wolf ripping off the other's man replaying in his mind. "Malik" he repeated, his bravado falling at the sight. Malik's shoulders slumped, his snarl disappeared and he turned away from him.

"Rude to stare you know" Malik grumbled sadly. That terrible ache in Altaïr's chest returned. Head bowed, posture relaxed, he slunk up to Malik, carefully brushing against him before flat out wrapping him in a hug and kissing his lips.

And thus, the alphas had found their mates.

I originally entertained the thought of Connor secretly being a werewolf too...But then it didn't make sense so that idea was scrapped before writing. But before you all get any bright ideas, no he will never ever became a wolf.

ANYWAY, ladies, gentlemen, and goats of the internet, hunting season is officially open. More story, more flashbacks, more Assassiny goodness.