Chapter Text
Prologue.
The Bulldog vaults onto the fence, cat-like reflexes kicking in. Though considering what's happening to him, he's not really surprised. A lacklustre breeze plays with strands of his hair, but he can't feel it. Biting his lip, he scans the drop with wide eyes. It's not too high; he'd jumped from this height before when he was a kid, and the worst he'd done was sprained his ankle. Of course being a kid, it was the end of the world. At seventeen years old, the drop looked easy enough. Child's play, really. That wasn't the problem though. The problem was the fact that he couldn't see properly.
Fuck, he thinks, gritting his teeth. Though not his actual teeth. There are phantom ones teasing his gums, ready to retract. But he won't let them. Adrenaline shoots through him like a drug, and he rocks back and forth on the fence, balanced perfectly. It's a strange feeling; being able to do this without falling. It was a well known fact that he was clumsy, and had been most of his life. Perched on-top of a fence, poised, ready to jump, made him feel...powerful. No. No way. He catches himself and shakes his head, those sharpened accessories folding back into his mouth. There was no way he was giving into this. He was getting help. That was the only way he was going to get out of this.
Blinking rapidly, he fights through the blur fogging up his peripheral. It's like trying to peer through a splintered mirror. The moon should have helped, ghastly white light leading him to safety. Except it's a hinder, viciously blinding him every-time he looks up, light brown eyes attempting to scope out some kind of path. All he sees is the dark, twisted trees with mangled branches ahead, just waiting to become yet another obstacle. it's not enough, he thinks, frustrated. The moonlight isn't enough for him to fully see where he's going, and he's running out of time. Fox Forest was turning out to be his enemy, with almost everything being an obstacle; loose branches snagging at his Letterman jacket and tore at his hair, scratching viciously at freckled cheeks. But he was fast.
After all, he'd been Riverdale High's varsity captain. He could out-run anyone or anything.
Including the Vixen gaining on him.
The Vixen tears through the trees with a grin plastered on perfectly painted lips. Unlike him, she welcomes the change, and everything which comes with it. Her cheer-skirt is stained scarlet and torn in places, but she doesn't really care. Like the night, she also owns the colours, vivid blue and gold complimenting her profile. There are ribbons flitting between strands of her hair, whipping the air as she reaps momentum.
Her eyes are locked onto the Bulldog, and she's faster than him. Stronger.
His teeth are ones of a fledgling, a child. While hers are bared in a snarl.
"I don't hear singing!" she trills, giggling. The girl is getting closer, and the Bulldog swallows a yell and leaps forwards. He's never been particularly graceful, and yet his body does a perfect C in the air before landing on filthy palms and primed toes. He can barely feel the pain that should be thrumming through his bones, except no. Instead, it's more of a mosquito sting. The Vixen laughs again, which sends him careening forwards, a whirlwind of crimson curls and shining moonlight fluorescent on ghostly skin.
"Sing!" she yells. It's a demand, and he can already feel the command seeping into his through process, turning his already cotton candy brain into putty.
"You're crazy!" He manages to gasp out, kicking himself to run faster.
Her laugh sends ice sliding down his spine. "You have to sing, sweetie. You know what happens if you don't."
At the back of his head, he knows this is true. Though maybe that's the Vixen's influence bleeding into his subconscious, puppeteering already muddled thoughts.
So he begins to sing. There's no music, no cue, not even a guitar. The lyrics come out like word vomit. It's the first song that comes to mind. A classic. Memories of singing it with his father come to the surface and he pushes them deep, deep down.
He can't think about his father right now. Because every time he did...
The smell isn't real. The Bulldog knows that, choking on the phantom scent of crushed coffee beans and motor oil. It ignites something inside of him, something he'd been trying so hard to push down. He wants to turn around suddenly. He wants to dart past the Vixen, all the way back to his house. Back to his father. The thought brings a feeling of euphoria. No. Better than that. The Bulldog's expression starts to shift. His eyes, normally the colour of mocha coffee start to darken. His nose wrinkles, and that pull, those relentless contractions in his incisors start again, brand new teeth emerging.
No. He bites them back. He wasn't a freak. And no matter how much his body tried to tell him how good his father would taste running down his throat, he ignores it, pushing himself faster. He sings louder, this time not just to satisfy the monster on his tail. It's a distraction from the burn beginning in his throat and blood, ready to set him alight. Though the faster he runs, his vision begins to clear until he can see in total clarity. It's dizzying, every little thing jumping out at him in vivid HD. Water droplets dripping from spindly branches and leaves, tiny insects burrowed underneath the earth.
Shaking his head rapidly, he struggles with twisted lyrics on his tongue.
"We're talking away
I don't know what
I'm to say I'll say it anyway-"
His voice is strangled but firm, a soft melodic murmur piercing the silence of the night.
"Louder!" she trills. He can hear the impact of the forest hitting her, slapping her in the face, scathing her flesh. But she bounds further, uncaring. That's what made her terrifying. He continues, spluttering on the lyrics and the stink of his father still snaking into the back of his nose, suffocating his thoughts.
"Today's a- another d- day to find you," unable to resist a look back, he turns his head, only for the girl with midnight hair to crash through the trees. She's barefoot like him, in the school colours, like him. But she isn't human. He still is.
He's still holding on, teetering to those precious fragments of mortality still clinging on. Narrowing his eyes, the Bulldog whips back around. His lips quirk into a smile despite his fear. Part of him enjoys the hunt. Part of him loves how close she is.
"I'll be coming for your love, okay." This time he bellows, ducking under branches, his body bending and folding at every turn, lightning fast reflexes taking over. Again, he tries not to revel in this feeling. Human, he thinks. He's human. He plays Varsity and has a 3.5 GPA and is failing English pretty bad. He enjoys having Pops milkshakes with his best friend and fixing cars with his father. That's what he was. Who he is.
Human.
Except despite his desperation, deep down he knew he wasn't anymore.
At least, he wouldn't be if the Vixen caught him.
"That's better." she says. The Bulldog can feel the glee practically radiating from her. If he was to turn around again, she would be glowing. She's close. So close, he can feel her icy breath that smells of nothing, grazing the back of his neck. He can sense every bone in her body moving under smooth, flawless skin. "Now the chorus, baby."
"Take on me," he sings, this time his voice is stronger. More melodic, perfectly hitting the high note. Unable to stop himself, he continues. The forest doesn't seem to have a ending, but he's no longer scared of it. He feels almost at home, bare feet slapping the dirt. It feels like he's flying, and there's no words to describe it. "Take me on."
Again, he pushes down on the note, forcing his voice higher, stretching out the latter.
The Vixen's scent erupts into his nose, and it's enough to send him stumbling. Sweet like maple syrup, tinged with filth and rot. "I'll be gone, in a day or-"
This time he doesn't finish. Before he can, the Vixen is leaping onto his back, giggling into his neck, sending him onto his knees. The rest of the song comes out in a startled yelp which twists into an animalistic screech. He fights. Of course he does. It's his humanity on the line. But he's not strong enough, especially against her. The two of them roll around in the dirt. She's on top of him, and then he's crawling across the ground, gripping on for dear life. He fights back a cry when claw-like fingernails latch onto his neck, yanking him jarringly. "No." the word is on his lips as he's pushed onto his back. In the distance he can hear faded whoops and yells of excitement riding on the wind.
Please. Staring up at her, he can taste the sting at the back of his throat. The blood he was forced to drink. He can still sense it; rusty change coating the back of his mouth. Thick and sour at first, but the more he guzzled, the Vixen forcing her bleeding wrist into his mouth, it started to turn sweet. Melted chocolate. Pops milkshakes.
Blood, he thinks hysterically. It was blood. He had drank blood!
Don't do this. His lips mouth the words, but he can't say them. He wants to snarl at her, tell her to back off. But he's stubborn. He refuses to escape the girl by giving in to these instincts. The Bulldog can only watch as The Vixen rakes her fingers through his thick red hair. She bunches it in her fist and with one swift jerk, yanks the Bulldog's head back, exposing his already pierced throat. The puncture wounds are still fresh, two perfect holes perforating flesh. She surprises him with a kiss. Her lips are sweet and soft latching onto his, and for a moment, he can almost imagine a time before. When her eyes weren't blazing red, blood stained teeth scathing his neck. Back when they were happy. When he played football, and she cheered. God, he'd do anything to go back.
To be human again.
With her.
He's dizzy on the phantom smell of his father, the lingering inevitability of his fate, a reining shadow over his thoughts. In his state, the Bulldog can't help smiling up at her, imagining her old self. In his crumbling mind she's back to normal. Her soft smile, kind green eyes crinkling when she laughed. For a moment he revels in the memory of her. He'd cry for her. But he can't cry anymore. When he blinks, however, the girl's expression morphs into that of a beast. Her lips are stretched into a laughing smile, those brace sharpened teeth nowhere to be seen. In their place are perfectly sharpened fangs glinting in the moonlight. The girl inhales his scent, letting out a soft moan, her eyes rolling back. The boy sees this as an opportunity. It's a glimmer of hope, and he's willing to take it. He's drunk on the thought; the possibility of being normal again.
"Well?" he manages to choke out, struggling under her impossible weight. "How's my singing?" The Bulldog puffs out a sharp breath, a mocking laugh.
"Is it good enough?"
The Vixen hums, tightening her grip on strands of his hair bleeding through her fist. His hair is the same colour as blood, and she loves it, twirling it around her fingers.
"Mediocre, Archie." Veronica Lodge murmurs into his mouth, before snapping his neck.