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bornfromscarletcords · 8 years ago

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Miracles In Silver

(More Humorously, American Werewolves In America)

Malik Rosa, was the alpha of the Desert Garden pack, taking its name from the arid terrain that lay just beyond their city’s boundaries as well as their alpha’s penchant for botany. He had many gardens set up around the various pack strongholds and or territories of leisure. They were rooted out west, near upper California.

Malik looked like your average working class American, he was good looking enough to the right eyes, and downright gorgeous to others. His vibe was “urban man about his business” which didn’t necessarily smack of traditional business, so you wouldn’t be wrong to suspect a certain hustler’s vibe from him. He was a tad on the short side, though he had a stocky build which made him look pretty dangerous if he was on a heated march in your direction. He was the type of person who could clear a room just as simply as he could draw a crowd, though much of this occurred by somewhat practiced accidents. You could say he operated on the “a weakness is only a strength in need of refinement” type of rhythm. Or even the slightly more pointed “Everything Will Serve Our Purpose” type of rhythm. He could be a scary man indeed.

Being a werewolf definitely required a person exist with a great degree of focus that was often lost on humans. Some wolve’s didn’t even see humans as people after enough time to adapt to their change in nature. Malik had more than his fair share of centuries under his belt, and you could say that one can only watch so many fragile lights flicker out before they simply stop seeing them at all. Malik did not much care for humans as it was, and so they were more or less like moving furniture or large mice to him.

Immortal was a strange word especially to older creatures experienced enough to understand that they had survived not because they were immortal but because they had much practice with enduring death’s frequent surfacing. With that said, the nature of the wolf curse, or magic, or gene, whatever you wanted to call it, meant that most of the creatures bore the visage of youngish adults and would not be dying of old age. Part of that had to do with the violent nature of their existences, they were a very trial by fire type of folk, in the sense that fist or fang could solve as many problems as words could. The other part had to do with the rapid and brutally strong source of regeneration the magic gave them. Their transformations were painful and often longer than any would find comfortable but in exchange wounds that would kill humans were often shrugged off or healed in hours, perhaps weeks if they were particularly terrible. However there were obvious limits, a broken neck, severed head, or removed heart were more or less instant kills. Once the spirit left the body, so to speak, the wolf magic more or less left the husk that the creature had been.

Being alpha meant Malik was like an ideal of the pack, a strong idea, or symbol. He served as a barrier from which malevolent forces would bounce off, or be consumed by, if they even dared to approach at all. Werewolves didn’t have to form packs, though it seemed to be more or less rooted in their instincts, their magic and behaviors got unbalanced without some sort of strong group structure, even if only distantly related. Being a werewolf was like being in a very dangerous and hungry shell of magic and almost conscious circumstance. Being in a pack was having that shell reforge into even deadlier Armor. At a very basic level you could say, it’s simpler to pick off a lone entity, it’s much more complicated and energy consuming to target a strongly entrenched set of conjoined forces. The latter example more or less being your typical pack structure.

The alpha was the werewolf with the most powerful will or voice depending on how you approach the subject. Their orders were the hardest to resist and anyone who disrespected them could expect to be punished, often with a degree of brutality. However, most powerful did not always mean strongest, or most courageous, and the ability to wield raw force does not mean they are going to use it well. Alpha’s were people as much as they were concepts, prone to the same follies and dangers as most other creatures. Still, most alpha’s had a degree of cunning to their name even if it was only in the bestial barbarian sense, acquiring the “position” was one thing, keeping it was a whole other matter. Going even further being alpha didn’t mean that one was somehow above the rest of their pack, it had more to do with maintaining a highly volatile and dangerous set of energies with an order that was not going to shy from taking the necessary risks for survival and a degree of shared love. A bad alpha, one who used their pack for personal gain, was just terrible at their job, or who sacrificed the pack to internal or external corrupting forces was often consumed by their own imbalance and “wrong doing,” so to speak. A short example would be, if an alpha gave hard rigid orders but made no attempt to have them enforced, or even gave too many contradicting orders afterwards, might thoroughly find their power drained by the confusion of the pack bonds, or even from the somewhat awakened consciousness of the pack spirit. In this scenario the wolf/pack spirit would more or less contain the energy of the alpha within itself until a more worthy vessel was chosen, and considering the very predatory nature of dominant werewolves, it would not have to wait long. Of course these are only hypotheticals, though they are hypotheticals crafted from experience, so believe what you will, and pray your gods are compassionate.

Malik was a good alpha, mostly, a little too crazy for most, but that was more or less par for the course with older wolves, though many found ways to hide it. There seemed to be a strangely unspoken thing about having to twists one’s way not only through one’s own eras but the cycling centuries of altering fashions, superstitions, dialects, technologies etc, which didn’t so much as make one go mad, but simply accept that they were more or less in a paradox of surrounding madness itself. The phenomon had the dark humor of a war veteran seemingly able to surivive off of imaginary riches, which functioned more or less like “real” money, encountering a encountering a more or less modernly stable/imaginatively starved accountant who was dirt poor. A thing doesn’t necessarily have to make sense for it to be true, and all the “rightness” in the world may not help you survive but more relevantly, make you happy. In summary, those loco ol’ lobo’s operated, more or less, on a if it ain’t broke don’t fix it mentality.

Of The wolves in the north american continent, which numbered something in the low thousands, no one really bothered to keep track too much as magic and the general chaos of existence had a habit of making the sensible ridiculous, Malik was somewhere around fifth most dominant. Of course there were some variances on the day to day basis, as well as the discrepancies in the differing operations of other packs, extreme circumstances like poisoning or witchcraft, and the generally stubborn nature of other alphas which had everything to do with them being alphas, but yes, for the most part this placing held true. Not all wolves placed much worth in the nature of numerology, as far as survival went, staying out of the way of anyone likely to end you, and minding the humors of those directly infront of or behind you generally satisfied most situations, but Malik had a feeling that the number five suited him pretty well. There was a rumor that the fifth dimension oversaw forces like gravity, and potentially even strong emotions like love, allowing them to sort of alter the flow of time. Malik was very good with emotions, he had an empathetic disposition and was fond of his ability to influence the happiness of others.

Many packs took after their alpha in a lot of ways, so it was that Malik’s pack was very weird. Most werewolves operate within a degree of strangeness so the subtleties might be lost on you at first but generally speaking, you’d only have to spend, let’s say, two months in the Desert Garden Pack’s presence to really feel the, “these are some spooky bastards” vibe.

Dominant wolves, are like wolves who are more likely to act on their aggressive impulses, and usually within a physical context. They are also more likely to claim responsibility for acts they feel associate well with their general goals or internal alignments. A dominant wolf is likely to kill another if it believes it’s showing weakness, even if this sign his brutally momentary. They demand a constant vigilance. This doesn’t mean friendship is impossible, but a werewolf is not a human, to be forming weak and flippant bonds, these are bonds of death and deep complicated love. They must always be prepared to destoy that which is closest to them, if only so that it does not disgrace itself or damn the species and potentially the world to utter ruin.

Dominant werewolves are not the only “breed” so to speak. There are some werewolves who are more less mellow or “passive” with the energies of the pack and other werewolves. These passive wolves are unlikely to challenge other werewolves, have a degree of peace with their somewhat fixed station in any pack hierarchy. Their urges are more casual and they don’t necessarily feel the need to satisfy them through blatantly violent ends. If violence is required it is usually fueled by some more domineering presence that they have associated themselves with; they can use the energy but are unlikely to provide it. They are rare, mostly because surviving the brutality of being turned into a werewolf requires a strange force of will and cutthroat instinct. The wolf spirit can be compassionate but in the way that chopping off a sheeps head and eating is more compassionate than letting it endure a meaningless existence as a source of commercial sweaters. Not a toy, and the one who is changed learns this very quickly. It is more than mysterious that these passive wolves manage to survive at all, and one his called to wonder at what perverse balance they had to maintain to endure the process. By far they are often the scarier creatures, though often the more appreciated. You won’t find too many dominant wolves even desiring to bully a passive wolf as they are, more often than not, the least selfish where the survival of the pack is concerned. It would not even be wrong to say that they are something like a reverse-alpha, typically unseen, a source of great love, yet able to operate in ways that would not be allowed others in the pack because they exude so little bestial malice.

One could, in theory craft as many titles as one could remember about the nuances of this wolf vs that wolf, but a pack is as much about the differences between each member as it is about how these traits come together to strengthen the pack as a whole. With this said, their are few creatures as disturbing and more confusing than an omega wolf. Some have said that the omega operates outside of the traditional pack structure, but it might be equally accurate and perhaps more helpful to state that omega’s are most present in a type of invisible or often forgotten pack structure. Their nature is not unlike an existentially responsible manifestation of the pack’s bonds. Like if the spirit of werewolves decided to go on a pilgrimage to the perfection of its nature, but made the sacrifice of having to exist in a physical-ish form. The omega, as opposed to the passive-alpha combo, which is like a form of dipole balancing or even temporal endurance, is very much an evolutionary agent. It operates in the form of a type of underhanded catalyst, hard to track, and harder still to keep once found. One is tempted to even call it something like a hybrid between an alpha wolf and a passive wolf, and although this analogy is interesting and would suffice under many circumstances it is also misleading. Of all the “sub-types” stated so far, the omega is the most dangerous. Without some strong sense of spiritual self, or even centering in one’s being within a greater set of forces it would be hard to explain. You could say that a passive allows a dominant to express their dominance without challenging, letting them be comfortable with the person they have chosen to be and the person they have conditioned themselves to be. An omega removes that choice and erodes that conditioning. The complication coming in the form that many wolves do not find this “removal of self” entirely uncomfortable; it is a hard thing to accept one’s capacity for wretchedness, and harder still to build an existence around its balancing. Omega’s erase that evil or darkness, for a time like lifting a blighted veil from the soul. You could even say, that if the Alpha is the Symbol Of Order, the Omega Is the Symbol Of Hope. Unfortunately even if that hope is a deception; a weapon, a cruel challenge. An Omega could enter a pack and turn your most vicious mongrels, alpha or not, into a couple of cheerily embarrassed lapdogs. They possess an aura of equalization, of rearrangement of established command disguised as pacification. Like Wolf’s mighty hammer of humorous indifference.

Older wolves were good at disguising themselves if they hadn’t gotten too stuck in their ways. Times could get boring, or too painful to simply leave things untested, and so it wasn’t uncommon for them to be able to contort into roles they found more necessary or entertaining if not more accurate. The role of alpha more or less policed itself, though it was hard to pretend to being a passive wolf, and damn near impossible to feign an omega’s disposition, mostly because so few people encountered one let alone kept one long enough to understand its nature. With this stated, it should be said, that werewolves have a lot more in common with the dead than they do the living.

The Desert Garden Pack had around forty members, three passive wolves that they knew about, and two omegas. It was pretty uncommon structuring, mostly because werewolves were fairly confrontational, and accepting so many strange energies had a tendency to make pack bonds a little loony. Most of the pack members were pretty sure their odd foundation was built to compliment Malik’s own strange methods of operating. Malik was more or less a wizard, which, in that era, mostly worked dead magic. He preferred the title of knight, or “Protector” but his pack was not so kind to his vanities, though he had served numerous armored orders in his time. It was hard to say what classification werewolf magic was most concentrated in, it often had a lot to do with pack disposition and or the habits of the alpha. Some packs, though few were more witch minded, others dabbled in fae energies, it all depended on the emergency at hand to be honest. In general, it was beast magic, but also a magic steeped in death cloaked mastery of circumstances, prone to its subtleties and peculiar humors.

Females held something like rank In Malik’s pack. This was not always common and in many packs females either held their own system of dominance or did not bother with the subject at all no matter how strong their soul. It was not so much a matter of segregation but more a practicality of survival and preservation. The dominant males existed, more or less, to maintain order within the pack, and to kill the monsters outside who would endanger it. Females could do this, but encouraging them too would be the difference of preparing a pack to unleash death and fostering a war like nature. War without end is pointless, and death is not always about grace, or fairness. In many ways it is an awesomely grotesque thing. Or at least this was the disposition Malik often heard and even embodied himself to a certain degree. As to why females could fight males for their position in his pack, you would undoubtedly have to blame his mate, and or her trouble making counterpart Evan, the two resident omegas. Every werewolf is dangerous, regardless of gender, and Malik had a certain fondness for making his “children” his pack battle ready. However the knowledge and understanding of violence can end as many conflicts as it starts. His hope, which was a hope shared by many male wolves, was that the females would be content with preserving the internal energy of the pack. Their presence often made it more bearable to endure their existence, even in their somewhat more annoying humors. It was akin to having a purposeful, entertaining, and or educational source for your aggravation rather than simply being consumed by the nothingness that always seemed to hover over the horizon. Luckily, and also unluckily, female werewolves were a rarity, so despite the occasional urging for an equality that would never be present, mostly because existence was almost inherently unfair, the males could usually dance around them to end the majority of the outside world’s evil’s before they got near. The inside world was another matter, but again, Malik supposed that was their intended challenge from the start.

Malik’s two omegas seemed to always get a little deaf when it came to hearing these concerns and cultural ideas. His mates ailment seemed to be born of an annoyance with other females either complaining about one male’s lack of pack standing, or another’s almost suicidal impulses to meet danger. She had a very strong, “so let them fend for themselves mentality” so Malik was almost positive she had encouraged this change in social function as a means of humbling her peers. Evan, he was pretty sure just wanted to watch the world burn. He had the dangerous yet endearing bearing of a man who had stared inevitability in the face, and so could never be impressed by the mortal scrambling to avoid the shifting of one night into the next. Despite his griping Malik had to admit it wasn’t the worst set of changes they could have made, on a perverse level it only worked because the feelings were already in play. Still the pack existed to contain the more destructive needs of the inner beast, not pander to them. It did make things more entertaining however. He’d seen some wolves simply abandon their rank when a powerful enough female challenged them. The sentiment had much to do with the idea “win or lose that type of destruction would be poison”. Malik was humored by the fact that these were some of the most dangerous hombre’s he’d ever met. He also had to admit that he didn’t mind the renewed contemplation of their existence the shift seemed to bring them, everyone seemed to consider their words and actions a little more carefully, and the moments of almost sinful silence this created gave him so much extra peace with which to enjoy his garden.

Malik’s mate was named Sarah, she had a funny little nose and a blemish or two on her face, but he believed her the most beautiful thing in the world. Heart, soul, mind, though the last one was stunning in a grotesquely desirable type of way; his mate’s mind scared him to hell and back. It was this twisted tinkerers intellect which made her allow another to enter their bed, Malik’s third, as in pack structure, Jazmine. Malik didn’t know why exactly, but the peculiarities of matehood as well strange archaic knowing his Sarah seemed to exude did not allow him to question as much as he might have dared with another. She had the aura of one who could turn a mountain into a pebble. As it was it worked out well enough, Malik and Jazmine were already great friends long before Sarah had arrived and stirred up his pack, they had not been intimate mostly due to Malik’s questionable sanity, but shared a type of love in an “awesome team” type of way. Even before she held rank, she’d gave him much insight into the operation of the females, allowing him to get ahead of what he would have mistaken for mild troubles, and which would have actually been more like an hurricane in the making.

Sarah was Navajo, and though she looked about twenty four, and fresh out of her parents realm of oversight, she was more like four hundred years older. Malik was far older, but only in years. Sarah, was a doctor, a surgeon, though her experience as a healer was rooted in ideas long before modern medicine. She kept their wolves healthy, and on their toes. Nothing like risking an Omega’s scalpel, they just sort of got to the heart of things, and if you weren’t careful, that blade would be severing your heart instead of keeping it beating.

Jazmine was a chef. Malik would’ve added the “Master” prefix but then she might stuff those words down his stomach, and he much more preferred her delicious cooking. She had managed to build a local restaurant and had appeared in a couple of widely frequented food tours and or festivals around the country. Most of her business was local but he was pretty sure if she wanted to she could survive off of the income from her more regional/national sales. If it were only modesty, he’d have understood it, but her self critique bordered on shaolin monk death postulates. That was why watching her work her culinary magic was as awe inspiring as it was blood curdling, egg beaters turned into to battle axes in his mind. Jazmine was mexican-american though he could see a bit of the mediterranean in her bearing. She often wore her hair short but curly, better for fighting and cooking. He believed her to be pleasantly curved in the sort of japanese spear maiden sort of way, and the almost effortless panther grace she exuded made her that much more miraculous to behold. When he felt through the bonds of the pack, she was always like a blazing campfire.

David was Malik’s Second, a position Malik often associated with justice. More or less If Malik ever got lost for a while, David would keep everyone from drifting into barbarism, well, not too far at least. Malik was pretty sure David was from one of those islands over on the coast, he wasn’t exactly sure where exactly, he’d heard his father had been everywhere at least once. Malik was pretty sure it was Haiti, and David didn’t correct him so it was reasonably possible. He looked black as the earth though, so most people would just assume he was some slaves great grandson anyway. Malik was pretty sure he’d been the one to pry loose David’s wolf, he couldn’t be entirely sure though, as everyone had their moments where a memorial appearance was more like a midnight’s shadows than a twilight vision. David had trouble interacting with the other wolves, probably cause he took his job just a little too seriously, but if one was to be pinpoint specific, it would be because David was a little too mean to his wolf. Sometimes the pack needed reminding that although humans weren’t food, they also weren’t to be emulated too much. To his credit, David did his job well, or well enough, he looked scary, which may have had more to do with with the spiritual confusion his place in the world caused him. You could say that he looked like he hadn’t quite found his way yet, but that was okay, because it was also just a little bit hilarious.

Rowan was Malik’s fourth, and the two had a complicated relationship at the best of times. Perhaps it was the oddity of having two people who could do such similar things in the same space at once. When they were on, ruin befell their enemies, and the pack was like a cascade of molten earth, so hot, so strong. However when they were off it was best to lock one’s doors and not be too easily broken. He was of chinese and puerto rican descent, though Malik had heard some of the younger one’s calling him a “blasian”. He almost heard “blazing” and rushed over to see some miracle or something, but was mildly dissapointed to only find a colloquialism. Malik’s wolf was always a little tricky with what words he helped him find. Rowan was crafty, and not unheroic like, but you could also say that he felt too much about the idea. Heroes were awesome because they could exist at all in such a cruel strange set of circumstance as a universe, not necessarily because one was one. Still he kept Malik on his toes, so he didn’t mind him too much.

Evan was like Malik’s son, or at least that’s how the old alpha figured it. Werewolves had trouble birthing kids, probably cause they were so spicy, so it wasn’t surprising that such strong sense of clan seemed to overcome them. Perhaps it had something to do with that imprinting process present in many wild animals, or even some obscured survival instinct. Regardless, you could say that Malik saw a lot of himself in Evan, like they were cut from the same cloth. Perhaps it was just his really awesome coat. Ah the world may never know. Evan was lean and sensitive looking in the way some overlords could look as meek as a kitten even as they were strangling you to death. Evan was Japanese and Moorish looking, and though his skin was like slick bubbling night, his fur was striped platinum like if a mean old tiger had found his heart. They got along well, which scared even Malik’s titan of a mate.

One of the more passive wolves, was relatively new, only about half a year old as far as her inner beast went. The former human shell had managed to survive about 22 years without stirring up too much trouble it couldn’t get itself out of. She’d been a friend of one of the pack members and she’d gotten herself hurt pretty bad dealing with some mean ol’ bastards, luckily she decided to actually use her potential and sought out those who would make others know better. The wolf ate up whatever was troubling her soul, and made her heart strong enough to never let a wound reach so deep. Death could simplify many things. Most of the pack had taken to calling her Malik’s protege, which troubled him only because he was not sure what they were implying. He had enough troubles as things were. He did allow her to shadow him around during some of her early days under the pretext of keeping her safe, oddly enough, as he told her later, it was to keep someone else from getting hurt trying to protect her, passive wolves were hard not to defend. His flowers stopped their drooping, he explained to her, so he supposed she wasn’t all bad. She said he was mean but funny, and he found her accuracy nice. “However,” he reminded her, “He was also the hottest gunslinger of a wolf this side of the west.” Her cheerful laughter inspired dagger eyes in his mate, but it’d been worth it, the flowers had never looked happier. He just hoped she didn’t punish him later, well at least not too bad.

Jane was the passive’s name, he was not always good with names, though he was pretty sure he could identify most people by their heart rhythm, a trait which had made some mean wolf woman call him a creepy little vampire at some point in the catacombs of history. This remark obligated him to respond with a “we all see what we believe we will see” which had earned him some heated glances, though he wondered if he hadn’t meant something like a “whatever moves your horse.”

Malik hadn’t had a horse in a while and he missed those lovable creatures. He damned white people for ruining most things; apparently their strange ways were responsible for his lack of ponies. Sarah would say he was more of a stallion man, and though it was true, Malik might say “ Yes but Allah might strike me down for all my flame.”

Jane looked like she ran a little too much on the thin side, hungry wolves were not always careful wolves. Malik insisted she was of arabic descent, though her sandy complexion made him cautious about just how much he pushed this claim. Her hair was long and dark, like cavernous depths, and though her eyes were unchallenging, they held a terrifying patience. She said she believed wizards were Awesome, so made sure she always had a warm place to call her home.

Evan delivered pizza’s, and though he was keen to talk about the implications such a concept might have had in early ideas about time travel, it would seem, as he his alpha and the passive jane chowed down on some garlicked vegetarian slices. They were In Malik’s garden and the omega managed to encourage his alpha into discussing a favored story of his.

“If Sarah doesn’t bring about my end, I’m sure you will.”

“Well, they say the only person who can kill a werewolf is someone who loves them.” Evan said, making a little heart out of his pizza slice. The Alpha sneered, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t won over.

“What’s it about.” Jane said. Malik sighed, and rearranged his tools.

“Roses and somewhat misfortunate gardeners.”

“Is the punch line that you were that gardener, boss.” Evan said looking like the poster boy for “how the boy-scouts really put my life back on track.”

“As I’ve said before the identity of that strange ‘enthusiast’ is the least interesting thing about that story.” Malik said, though his words were phrased in such a way that he did not seem explicitly in a hurry to tell any tales.

“Is it a scary story?” Jane said.

“It is terrifying but especially in the way old stories tend to be. Like when a thing is too classic, so still and settled that you can’t fight the feeling that it moves in a way you couldn’t perceive. Perhaps, at least not while staring at it directly.”

“Like an eclipse” Jane said.

“Or a volcano, you should tell her how super sexy it is.” Evan said, chomping down on his slice.

“That is only one way to tell the tale, and I’m not sure if it is sexy or just insane. Hot; definately, but madness has its heat as well.” Malik said.

“Just start already, jeez.” Evan said, Malik tried not to be fooled by his charming adolescent persona, Evan was at least a century old.

“Right, well there once was a strange gardner.” Malik began but Jane’s snickering knocked him a little off course.

“Sorry, it’s just I didn’t know people actually told stories that way, you know in real life.”

“Yes, well sometimes the basics contain the strongest techniques and as I said, this is an oddly classic story. As I was saying. There once was a strange gardner. This gardener who could have been a wolf depending on how the story is told, stumbled upon a rose one day. There was not anything inherently special or not special about the rose, it simply was, though that gardener wolf had a habit of trusting his senses. If you’ve heard the term, like to like, you might understand the concept a little better, or perhaps even the ‘where there’s smoke, there’s fire’ expression would also suffice. Regardless it is enough to say that the strange gardener, who may have been a wolf, decided that there was something important he could learn from that rose. He took note of it’s location and left it to return another day. Well another day came and the gardener returned, the rose was still there, only this time he noticed a house as well. He was sure he’d have taken note of such a structure before, but as I said he was strange and was relatively aware of this defining character trait. So he did not make too much of a fuss, and instead took note of how the house looked hastily built yet still oddly indicative of regional themes, as if it belonged there and had been there for decades. He also noticed how the rose had grown, oddly more appealing; had it shifted a little this way, had it grown a curve or perhaps allowed more color to fill its petals, he could not be sure. The gardener left, to return another night. A day came, a day went and another night was upon them. The gardener came back and the house was still there, though it looked a little less hastily built, and he suspected the rose was still where it had been as well, but in the darkness of night he could not be sure. However there seemed to be more at work in that moment as the gardener, who could find his way to strangeness even when buried in a coffin of normalcy, sensed a peculiar happening within walls of the house. So he sort of knocked, could have clawed, on the door. He didn’t know what to expect, but he was certainly surprised when the door opened to reveal a woman, dressed in the norms of the times, with hair as red as passionate blood, a freckled form, eyes green like forest vines, and pale skin which seemed to be tinged with the jade hues.” Malik said.

“However, for all the fright she gave him, the gardener was sure that she could claim at the very least, a similar sensation of caution. He could have been a wolf after all. Well anyway, neither one could suffer the extremes of rudeness, so the woman invited him in, and he respectfully allowed himself to enter.” Malik continued. Evan snickered. “Now this gardener, being charming, and generally understanding about the world of plants, could not keep himself from mentioning, to the woman in question, the loveliness of the rose which had drawn him to her yard. He made some comments about it’s compelling coloring, and pleasantness of its bend in the season’s temperament. He even offered to help her care for it, if not directly then indirectly with some helpful tips. The woman, perhaps do to a strange modesty, blushed and said that any help would be much appreciated. And this made the strange garderner smile, because he suspected that if he hadn’t said anything this equally strange woman might have let her rose wilt away to nothing.” Malik said.

“Scared yet?” Evan said gesturing to Jane.

“Little yes, little not.” She said.

“It get’s better.” Evan said.

“Well, the gardner explained that roses were like joys, difficult to maintain, prone to similar appearances with many different subtleties, and much more cunning than credited. Though, in all fairness, folks so rarely credit flowers with having much character at all. Fools all says I, but this story isn’t really about me.” Malik said, this time it was his turn to smile. “So the gardener sort of pulls the woman in close, and cups her curly red man by the sides of her face and talks about how petals aren’t unlike hair or fur, a very sensitive region that can be used for protection, personal satisfaction, as well as to perform a type of allure. Plants weren’t stagnant though they tended to be more patient than many creatures he encountered, so their changes often went to the rhythm of a resigned internal silence. The woman looked intrigued, well intrigued and a little scared but that may have had much to do with how the gardener, who could have been a wolf, sort of moved from the spring like coils of her hair to the tenderness of her cheeks and neck, as if he sliding a long a delicate stalk. Her skin seemed sensitive and its growing pinkness betrayed her heat. She must have not spent much time with others. He explained that most flowers were communally based, not unlike some clan minded animals he’d encountered a time or two. Plant ecosystems were based on a division of space and access to light and or water which were more or less like food. Place one flower too close to another and they’d be forced to compete, place them too far apart and they might be torn by sadness. And uprooting a flower after it had already began to sow roots was terribly unkind, and he’d heard, though it was only a silly rumor, that those roses grew the sharpest thorns. He and the woman had sat down by this time, with her sort of drooping into the space of his shoulder while he continued to feel along her angles.”

“So it was, that plants had much more in common with more traditional predators then often given credit, and considering the nature of how decomposed matter could deeply fuel a rose’s growth he found it very important to note that one did not need fangs or claws to ‘consume’ a creature, in a manner of speaking. As she allowed him to sort of play at the fabric of her dress, he commented on somewhat more hidden knowledge that many people chose to ignore. Herbivores were pretty scary themselves and he felt it important to express that any flower which had survived long enough in the territory of one of these vicious plant eaters, undoubtedly had a bit of something, a gene, or perhaps a magic, which seemed to make other forms of the green existence appear far more appetizing than it. And perhaps, he consider to himself, one didn’t need to partake in any physical part of a destruction to gain a type of energy from it. Well as it was, the possible wolf had stirred up a great something in the woman. Like the fires of creation, she was all aglow and radiating a type of brilliance. Well, it was something of a like to like type of story. Something called within the strange gardener as well and the two took to one another with the type of passionate tangling one might only find in some strange miracle of jungle pleasure. In fact he couldn’t help but feel that somewhere somehow a whole clearing of green life was being extinguished so that they might join in their strange writhing of coiled flesh.” Malik said.

“Oh My.” Jane said.

“Indeed.” Evan said.

“Yes, well, once their carnal acts were finished and their forces past through and to one another the woman sort of looked at the gardener, who may have been a wolf, it is a very classic story, and sort of said something along the lines of ‘but could you help me look after more roses’ in a very embarassed yet endearing manner. The gardener had seen similar behavior like this before, it was a somewhat obscured or even phantom knowledge, and he could best compare it to the oddity of seeing one leaf reach for another just before autumn sends them all downward. Or perhaps in a different way, the way one, what do the kids call it, bestie forever and ever holds another when their train ride gets a little too bumpy. The gardener said he’d be delighted to as he never could seem to fill his time. The woman smiled in such a way that they might have just skipped winter.”

“Well, the gardener returned and where once there had been a single rose there now looked to be a bouquet, perhaps a small bush even. The house looked oddly normal, as if someone had decided to completely renovate it, and stopped at just making it functional because that would draw the least amount of attention. Well, the gardener gave a bit of his wolfy love to the roses, which all looked beautiful but were miraculously stunning together, and knocked on the door of that normal looking house. A woman answered the door, though if it was the woman from his last visit he could not be certain. She looked, for all intents and purposes, liked there was no reason she shouldn’t be the former woman, but this one had just a slightly different groove to her green so to speak. Her face was harder but not less attractive, more squared and sturdy. Her build was also slightly different, she looked like she’d have no problem storing nutrients or using them, it was a very attractive fitness, so to speak. Her hair was straighter, very no nonsense, though this hardly meant she wasn’t sensitive. Some perspectives on the nature of empathy state that, in many ways, the most well armored, or emotionally guarded, have very high degrees of emotional connectivity. Put another way, empathy does not imply not being mean as some of the most expressive methods of utilizing it involve a great amount of deeply personal cruelty.”

“Who hurt him.” Jane said.

“Existence, the white man, you take your pick.” Evan said.

“I appreciate your concern but this story can’t wait forever. So the wolfy gardener allows himself inside the house and sits down to talk with the woman, who did not quite look like herself. He expressed his improved disposition upon seeing the the bush of roses, though he did inquire about what had been done about the first rose. She said it was still there, it was just a little sleepy so it was hard to see today. He didn’t know what to make of that, so inquired about which portion of his advice she had found most helpful, if at all. She went over some of her favorite subjects though she stated she used a bit of everything. He was pleased that she seemed to have a clearish memory of their previous discussion, though he had to say the woman of that day was much more crisp, focused, and generally prepared than the one he’d encountered before. She hadn’t said it explicitly but he figured she favored his notes on camouflage, acquisition of territories, as well as how to gain energy through indirect means. It left him feeling a little like he was caught between the thorns, but he had to admit, her skin was taking very well to all the sunlight. They made their dance of pleasure and passion, which was beginning to look something like the wonder of love, and the wolf promised to return so long as she and her roses stay true to themselves.” Malik.

“And they both lived happily ever after?” Jane said.

“Who says they’re alive.” Evan said.

“That’s pretty morbid.” Jane said.

“Werewolves and the macabre are like toast and jam, plus our alpha’s stories rarely have guarantees, at least none that don’t make you feel all squeamish afterwards.” Evan said.

“I learned early to be weary of prophesies and even more so of those who spouted them. I tell my tales in such a way that a service is done in weeding out such foolish habits. No pun intended.” Malik said.

“I doubt that old man.” Evan said.

“Oh leave the old alone, we’ve earned the right to be a bit cheesy every now and then.” Malik said, sounding like he might have actually been someone’s grandfather rather than their ancient ancestor.

“I believe I remember the rest from here, you mind if I give your aching bones some time to rest.” Evan said.

“As long as you don’t butcher it I’m all ears.” Malik said. Jane looked at them both swiftly before chomping on her pizza.

“So the gardener who was probably a wolf, but who really knows for certain, comes back again. The first time he’d seen the woman it was night, the second it was day, and the third would be in twilight. Now I don’t know if you know this, but many things get a little cooky around the time day turns to night, it’s a pretty magical time. So in traditional fashion the story got a little cooky around this time as well. The roses were all still there, but they looked a little strange in the hues of the hour, like perhaps someone had forgotten to paint things to scale, or who used a funny brush because the flowers looked extremely excited yet strangely diminished. The gardener being a person of complicated humors himself knew them to be just as beautiful as they had been, perhaps even more because twilight hours were ones of hope, and hope always made it possible for things to hold a little bit more of their destiny. The gardener, a little more guarded, and a lot more intrigued knocked on the door, but received welcome though he was sure someone little voice had said something or another from inside. He wasn’t sure if he had heard correctly however, so he went around to one of the windows and peeked in. Still the window was on the tall side, so even he had to sort of stretch to see what mysteries it held. He heard the voice again, more clearly this time but it he still couldn’t see the source. The message had been passed though, and he climbed through the window at invitation. At first he believed she’d shrunk, but that was not exactly right. In truth it was more like she’d been slanted, light like people does odd things if you wind it around a little. Before him stood the girl, who looked very much like the woman but with such a peculiar contradiction of intelligence and naivete that he could stop himself from laughing. Oh, and it was a deep bellow something, like the roaring of bears or the purring of thunder. It is not an easy thing to be laughed at, even if no harm is meant which the girl would not be able to confirm with her somewhat temporary sensitivities. She made a dangerous look, full of disgruntledness and malice, which the man might have chided her for, and not roughly, on any other day. It was not that he was a particularly spiteful person, but one can only allow so many liberties to be taken with their well being, and like watching the panther tear at the gazelle, he knew a predator when he saw one. Still, she was the cutest lil’ predator he’d ever seen. She made a motion to say something mean but he plucked her off the ground and rested her on his lap as he sunk into a comfy chair. Not before spinning her round a little to see her frown turn into awkward smiles and giggles. Now it seemed she was more angry that she wasn’t upset with him, if that makes any sense. Not that this is a particularly sensical story outside of some very interesting feelings.” Evan said.

“He’s good.” Jane said.

“He has a knack for matching souls. Hearts are more troubling because he misplaced his a couple of decades ago.” Malik said.

“Keep chatting old man, see what happens. I should do this in your voice just to make it that much more painful. My impression of Malik is flawless.” Evan said saying the last word with a certain panache which Malik admitted could have been related to his own.

“That your vocal cords would be so lucky.” Malik said, Jane just laughed.

“So there the woman, who is more girl by now is, on the wolfish one’s lap, being petted gently and reservedly, trying to not show just how much she enjoyed his grooming. She was failing joyously mind you, in fact there might never have been a happier little bundle of red curls since the first meeting of darkness to light. She fell asleep on his shoulder, and this time the gardener decided to place some roots of his own, if only until she was big enough to reach her own cabinets.

Eventually the gardener nodded off himself, the lil’ cub resting on his chest. When he woke, dawn was approaching and although he could swear she’d been there before, the girl was nowhere to be found so he looked outside because beautiful young ladies and flowers just seem to go together,” Evan said chuckling, “but you see the moon had decided to be rather full of itself on this strange merging of end and beginning, so what would appear to be row of splendorous vegetation; healthy ,strong, almost industrious; could just have easily have been an funny scary thing of a she-wolf with the finest red coat blood had ever birthed. Or were their five, he couldn’t really be sure because the beast within had endured as much veiling of it’s might, or was it humor that it could allow. So the wolf who could have been the gardener joined the red ones beneath a moonlit dawn. Such impossible things, one might mistake them for miracles there was much making of love as it is a things that serves best when grown patiently and with great strength of will. A bit of courage never hurt too much either.” Evan said.

“Is that the end?” Jane said seeming to sense something.

“Sometimes, though I suppose you could say that by the next week there was no house, nor gardener, only a very sturdy looking tree with a bunch of lovely flowers curled up beside him, or it or whatever.” Evan said. Malik laughed a pleased sound.

“I’m surprised you didn’t have them turn the moon into soil or have them form a village in the the roots of the bushes or something.” Malik said.

“Although the Former would have fit the loony nature of this story, the latter was just a little too scary. There’s some nasty stuff under the earth.” Evan said, and he and Malik both started laughing. Jane would too once she realized that her vegetarian pizza had been the best she’d ever tasted.

Jane had been practicing some of her sleuthing which allowed her to sort of tail David while he was shopping one day. She’d almost surprised him, which would have been bad as he’d have probably shot her or snapped her neck or something. In his more human years David had done some work for special forces and a couple of government agencies that were probably best left unmentioned. He was no stranger to death or combat, and existed, almost permanantly on edge. Which is probably why Jane had followed him to a grocery store, it was like watching a t-rex get a bubble bath. David looked like steal that had been cooled in the tears of wrong doers, and Malik might say, as he was one of the few to remember the age, he bore the resemblance of the standard knight. He could only have been about six feet but his manner of being, if you want to call it that, made most people feel about two feet tall anyway. Dwarves probably had an easier time with the transition than most people, but they rarely showed up on the surface world anyway. Jane approached him as he was putting a couple of oaty cereals into his cart.

“Any reason you’ve been tracking me.” David said.

“Alpha said to practice.” Jane said. David had no reason to be threatening around her, at least not in a pack sense, so she only received the sort of residual excess of his gatling gun aura, but it was enough to make her steps a move from graceful to nervous.

“You could have followed anyone. Is there a particular reason I’ve been charged with your supervision.” David said, he had a way of expressing his clear aggravation even with politeness. You could have told Jane it had more to do with her being a breathing entity at all than her personality but she might have already been a little too hurt to understand.

“Aren’t we supposed to like look out for eachother, I wanted to know where you were going.” Jane said, and you could tell she was having some trouble tranlating the wolf’s instincts into more human-like tongue.

“Curiosity killed the cat.” David said, bagging some canned pasta.

“I’m a wolf.” Jane said.

“Really I couldn’t tell, with your ears sticking out like that I almost mistook you for an alley kitten.” David said. Bless her soul, Jane reached up to see if her ears actually had transformed without her noticing. She was embarrased to say the least that they had remained, more or less normal.

“Your mean.”

“So I’ve been told. The sky is also blue, ya know, though I’ve heard children have decided to be especially unruly this year.” David said.

“Like, what exactly did I do wrong.” Jane said, her wittle heart getting all sad and what not. David sighed.

“Our kind survive because we place needs, and only the strongest most manageable needs above our wants. We don’t just follow each other around for no reason. You are not dominant so you might not understand that when two wolves meet in an unsupervised area, it is not unlikely that they might come to physical conflict. They’d be quiet about it, if they were smart, and if not, then I or the Alpha would kill them later, after cleaning up their mess. We are not cuddly creatures as much as others would try to see us that way. We can be beautiful but in the way a gorilla or a sports car might be beautiful. Doesn’t mean it will have any trouble mowing its admirers down, especially if it’s already charging.” David said.

“I know, I mean I sorta know. Everyone just seems so nice, mostly at least.”

“That’s because you’re new and you’re not dominant. New wolves are interesting, like very dangerous puppies, so people usually try to refrain from harming them. Non-dominant wolves, passives if you want to call them that, do not exude the type of malice or bloodlust dominant wolves are used to dealing with from each other and themselves. It’s like a soldier in enemy territory being able to stand next to a civilian who completely supports them. At least that’s a way of describing the wolf’s perspective on it. Getting more on topic, the pack is paramount at least to anyone who’s halfway serious about what they are, but outside of it we all have our own habits, our own skeletons to keep so to speak. Prying too much into the business of another pack member is a sure way to die, even if they don’t want to kill you, even if you’ve done nothing wrong.” David said.

“That’s fucked up.” Jane said after letting his words sink in a while.

“Yes well weak people don’t become werewolves, and so often sweetness is one of the first things we sacrifice. We are a hard and sharp people, and our existences mold around that shape. If it makes you feel better, Malik is sure to exterminate anyone who would wrongfully harm you, he might even torture them.” David said as if he found the idea mildly amusing.

“Really?” Jane said.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he has some of his tools hidden in the gardens or something. There’s this spiked ball thing…” David was saying.

“No like…I don’t know how to say it but, you guys are just completely comfortable with all this. All that deception and vicious feeling sort of submerged and all around us.” She said. David considered it for a moment.

“No, we’re not comfortable with it, unless you mean in the sort of, everything has been burned to the ground and one finds simplicity in the at least we have no reason to turn back type of way. Most of our existence is based on a response to discomfort. Our changes are pretty violent, and when they aren’t all showy they’re still painful. Half the time we’re like a gun with a string tide around the trigger, even an accident or a mistake can set off all the wrong things. To sort of get at the heart of your questioning, If you consider the Alpha as something like the Outer wall, and everything preceding that rank as the internal shape Malik sort of operates in the fashion that before the dumbest plans ever reach the important stuff it’s sort of eaten around the middle structures. If anything ever really troubled him or other really crucial structures he’d assume it was more or less a challenge from the pack spirit. Like it said, ‘now you show them why you rule, or what it means to be alpha’. In truth it rarely gets to that point though, he’s pretty good at letting people sow the roots of their own destruction, it’s entertaining to him, he’s pretty old school. It doesn’t hurt that he’s keenly aware of my willingness to punish the really dumb ones, it just I don’t know, puts a little bit of brightness in my day, like when you know someone put just a little bit more sweetness into your bread or something.” David said. Jane saw him smile for a moment and although it could only have been for a second, she was sure she’d be having nightmares.

“Why are you guys so a, callous. No that’s not right, so uh academically prepared.”

“It’s elemantary my dear Jane. Malik’s too old to deal with too much of our nonsense, at this point most of it will probably just sound like human nonsense to him, and he strongly dislikes humans. Probably cause he’s a little bitter about them surviving when most of his friends are gone. That doesn’t mean pays no attention, but old wolves get strangely aware of just how the energy’s and ideas move about the pack, like one of those really powerful computer servers, or wi-fi. Sometimes it’s hard to tell where he ends and other wolves begin, which is probably why Sarah is so weary of his interactions with Evan, those two together are like if god and the devil traded places but they both were wearing the same suit. To put it more specifically, when our wolves fight, there’s a decent chance some part of Malik’s spirit is influencing it.” “What, that’s crazy. No that’s not right, I mean that’s so wierd, why would he do that?” Jane said. She watched David reinforce some type of silencing magic around them, but otherwise he seemed entertained by her reaction.

“Because its simpler, because fools seldom learn from proper instruction or good advice. If we’re being more accurate, because humanity is one of the biggest insults to magic that he’s ever seen, and magic comes to him like death to a hospital’s E.R. I’m not even sure if he does it conciously but to survive as long as he did, it would not be wrong to say that he would almost have been obligated to develop a very intricate and powerful connection to the more obscure portions of his being. There’s also the case of him being slightly impressionable. He watched most of the things he loved get exterminated, by war, or time, or the foolishness of careless peoples. You could say his unconcious operates on a somewhat automated survival of the fittest mentality. You’ve seen how he is in that garden, it’s like a graveyard in there. A beautiful good smelling graveyard.” David said, and Jane had to admit there was a degree of fear in his tone, but she also noticed that he didn’t seem to mind fear that much, as if it had become something of a familiar friend or a worthy rival.

“Aren’t you like afraid I’ll tell someone or something. Wouldn’t the pack be mad if they felt they were being manipulated.” She said. He laughed, he actually laughed.

“They’ve seen him exucate some of his, what would you call it, highest ranked, when he was half asleep. It wasn’t a fight, not really, but he’s sort always in this wierd death mode anyway so he probably doesn’t see the difference between a conversation and an exchange of swords. Luckily he was raised in that sort of, cross blades with an enemy and a friend you may know sort of way. Still, it goes without saying they know he’s wierd, they know only so much complaining will be tolerated, and they also know that it’s better to have an inferno pointed at your enemies, than your place of sleep. So they forgive him his pecularities, and they are provided a degree of security so long as they pull their own weight. If we’re being honest, much of it has to do with the ignorance they show to their own inner beasts. Wolves are not entirely forgiving by nature, not in the way the newly changed or foolish would wish them to be. They have what you might call a practical depth, if their current vessal will not do them justice then perhaps they go to sleep for a while until a better stronger one is forged.” David said.

“That’s fucked up.” Jane said, feeling a little less at ease with the animal within her heart.

“Maybe, but it also explains or at least approaches the percieved randomness to most of the misfortunes that plauge peoples everyday existences. Perhaps it wasn’t so random that a man swerved off the road, or another was stabbed to death despite having no history with the ‘lower dreggs of society’. Everyone’s got to go sometime ya know, might as well serve a purpose.” David said, picking up some raisin bran cookies and eyeing them suspiciously.

“So, everyone just sort of accepts this.” Jane said.

“Well, what is this. If it weren’t one thing it’d be another. Half of them are battling their inner demons anyway. Malik sort of has the benefit of having accepted much of himself as well as his beast. Where others would toil in confusion, he sort of just let’s things unfold, with occasional pointed accuracy, which scares the weaker willed into submission, and reminds the strong why they exist. Do you like cabbage?” David said. The question almost made her stumble into a row of chips.

“Sure, uh why?” Jane said.

“I’m going to make you dinner.” He said, though his words seemed to be lost on her. “You may refuse.” He said, though his tone seemed to imply she couldn’t. Still she’d learned that there was a type of magic or force in words well chosen, so she was thankful that he hadn’t obligated her. She’d seen the strange way she reacted to the more dominant voices in her pack, it was like getting pulled apart by an earthquake half the time. She wasn’t helpless exactly, not in the human way, but much of her security could be pointedly stripped from her if she wasn’t careful.

“I won’t, I mean I don’t. I could’ve sworn that you didn’t like me though.”

“I hate everyone more than a little, the alpha and I share this disposition, it may be why we get along so well, who knows. Still, After this talk, I can say that I dislike you far less than most, you are, oh, how do the kids say it, ‘super cute’” He said.

“Thanks.” Jane said though she was worried about sounding too eager to please.

“Don’t mention it.” David said. A couple hours later they were eating stew and sweet bread.

Jane noticed that David had his own house, and though she was pretty sure he had a girlfriend, or girlfriends depending on the month, there wasn’t much sign of anything she’d call feminine influence. It was all so precise, and so casually ordered that one might be compelled to leave if only by their own acknowledgment of feeling like an outsider. She wondered if it was some secret wolf magic or just some trick he’d picked up. Malik would probably say it was a little of both.

“Why don’t you have a mate?” Jane blurted out after her own wolf had made her just a hair too nervous.

“Were you looking to aquire the position, I’ll admit there is a pretty rich waiting list.” He said, and she was pretty sure he was joking but she couldn’t tell.

“No, you’re good looking and all. Very strong, very macho and all that, but no.” Her mouth was doing the mile a minute thing she hoped would remain specified to talks with her grandmother and law enforcement.

“May I ask why?” David said.

“I don’t know, you’re not my type, you’re kind of scary. I don’t know.” Jane said, though in truth it was probably because he was beginning to remind her of her brother, which reminded her of her father, and those too associations were just slightly too disturbing.

“No, I meant why you’re inquiring about my mate-lessness.” David said.

“Well because alpha has like a mate, Sarah, and Jazmine whose like a wolfy girlfriend which is like almost like mate in my mind.” Jane said.

“So you noticed those three, he’s usually more guarded about stuff, even the older wolves have a hard time focusing on whatever’s going on with them.”

“Well he didn’t tell me, but sometimes I smell them...on eachother, the three of them. It’s weird. Well it’s sweet but also scary weird. Like will Sarah kill me if I get too close, and if Sarah doesn’t will Jazmine.” Jane said.

“It’s fine, Jazmine is very secure in herself, and although Sarah might find it entertaining to watch you shiver about for a crime that isn’t a crime, no I doubt she’d hurt you. It takes extreme offenses to make that one stir herself mostly she’s content to let us common folk toil in our personal misery’s, which she’d say, we made for ourselves.” David said, though he seemed to notice the squirrel in headlights look on Jane’s face because he added “that was a joke.” It didn’t make her less uneased.

“Are they like a big secret?” Jane said.

“No but it’s much simpler for the adults to be adults if the children aren’t given cause to mistake their childishness for matters of true conscern. Short story shorter, They like their privacy. Though I should add, for your continued safety, if you were trying to fool them, you might succeed with Malik because he enjoys your company, Jazmine would give you trouble because she remembers when woman were at the bottom of the pack anyway, but you’d never get past Sarah’s awareness. She might let you believe you’d succeeded but most likely you’d be paying for the offense in this existence and whatever hell she’d cheerfully sent you to. Just so that you understand.” David said, as if he were peeling apples, or more accurately teaching little ones how not to burn themselves with a hot stove.

“Thanks, I will remember that. But if you wouldn’t mind, we were talking about your relationships.” She said, trying to put the panic attack that was her Alpha’s affairs behind her.

“Yes well, put simply I don’t understand the mating process, or at least that’s what I believe Malik has been trying to imply to me. He’s the type that learns while others are learning, so he’s unlikely to give me an absolute diagnosis. Order, and preservation I get those just fine, that’s probably why the pack positioned me in this way, that’s probably why I can walk beside the alpha. I suppose I consider the pack bonds to be too much like weapons or fortifications, or perhaps, even more perversely I do not understand the weaponizing of love. From what I’ve seen, matehood is like pack magic on lightspeed cocaine, or even like having a boyfriend or girlfriend who can exist outside of space and time. If it is a thing of order, I do not know how to touch it as it wavers too close to the nature of chaos and vibrant destruction. Pack bonds tune us into each other, synchronize us, makes us more like each other, in such a way that would be lost on most human logics. A mate bond damn near swaps two people, as if their stories weren’t their own but some weird schroedinger’s equation of possibly each others. It’s freaking bonkers.” David said. Jane was shocked to see how disturbed he genuinely seemed to be. She’d noticed that he had a degree of distance when it came to his other packmates, but to imagine that the man she’d been terrified of only a couple moments before, could be undone by the topic of love was baffling, she would have laughed if she didn’t feel like patting him on the head or something.

“Maybe it’s more like an anchor then. Werewolves can last a pretty long time if they aren’t killed off, perhaps its like the ultimate reminder to our wolves that their will be something worth existing for.”

“Anchors are good. At least you can feel an anchor, love just exists too much in that state of questioning for me, like spirits or ghosts, sort of there, but you never know if it isn’t just going through the motions. Shaping itself around what you’ve assumed it to be. The pack has force, I can move that. Love just sort of seems like another wasted word humans put on cards to avoid responsibility or something, like ‘birthday’, or ‘president’” David said. That last one probably had something to do with those government agencies with which David had never and would never be seen having a relationship with at least in any filing system you were ever likely to see.

“Malik loves you, I’m pretty sure he loves everyone in the pack. It feels odd to me after everything you’ve told me about it, but perhaps he doesn’t see much of a difference between love and sacrifice. Perhaps love is a sacrifice.”

“Then love is death.” David said though he seemed much more comfortable with the idea. “So to answer your question, as I’ve suffered many scars of death in my time, perhaps I am unready or unable to die in that way just yet. Though we all change, and perhaps certain things are simply inevitable.” He said. She had never heard love spoken of with such dread and hunters disposition, however she had to admit she respected how carefully he considered it. Perhaps you had to understand a things evil and its beauty to feel its worth.

Matthew, was one of the three passives that they could claim. He was in his seventies but looked like an olympic sprinter. There wasn’t a grey hair in sight, except maybe when he had claws and fangs. He spent a lot of the time at the library where he worked. Matthew was african american, and he’d noticed that many of the folk within the Desert Garden pack had a plentiful degree of color to them. This was not always the case, and was especially rare in most northern america. Werewolves were suspicious of otherness, a thing made more volatile by prejudices which survived the transformation. So when Matthew mentioned this Rowan, who was of chinese and puerto rican descent, he clearly explained that he wasn’t complaining. His exact words being “Not getting lynched is fun, but it is a little suspicious.” Here was Rowan’s reply.

“When you’re alpha you set the tone I guess. Malik’s craftier than a lot of them, so he probably gets away with more, plus it’s the whole vacuum effect. Create a strong enough center and people gravitate to it, even if they don’t consciously know why. White people are crazy.” Mathew only needed to hear the last four words in truth, as they had dictated many of his choices as a human and a wolf. The south and the 1930’s weren’t no joke. He’d received many an ass-whooping until one kick had all but decided his course of existence. The clarity and pain were amazing, like something had just did his spiritual taxes or something. With Rowan’s words in mind, he figured the alpha probably just liked seeing some familiar complexions every now and then.

“I’ve noticed some of those scimitars or whatever around some of his more personalized places. They looked real, and old. Just how long has he been here?” He said.

“Dude’s ancient, or might as well be, sometimes I’m afraid he’s just some weird ghost in our mind, might as well be with the way he just sort of blurs around all the time. He’s from iberia or something, back when they had those caliph’s and stuff. It’d creep me out more if he didn’t have me out there risking my heritage killing monsters and stuff.” Rowan said. Matthew understood that, battle rage had a way of focusing you, keeping things in their proper perspective.

“He doesn’t really interact with humans, not like some of us, dark or not. Does he hate them that much?” Mathew said. Rowan paced around a little.

“Well...well that’s complicated. He don’t like nobody much, mean ol’ bastard. He doesn’t mind kids I guess, probably cause they ain’t old nough’ to blame just yet. I’m guessing humans remind him that god, he calls him Allah, doesn’t necessarily consider time or circumstance the way we do. He probably lost a lot of good friends just so the world he defended could be sacrificed for espressos and fluffy flippers...and emoticons. With that said, survivors tend to have odd relationships with the ones they hate, take vampires for example, he’d spear most of them on sight if only for the humor of it but that doesn’t mean he’ll go burning their holds to the ground, at least not without provocation.” Rowan said.

“Well that’s hardly love, you saying he hates vampires more than humans.” Mathew said. Rowan’s eyes widened as if humorously startled. He waved his hands real fast as if negating the words and his accent came in a little heavier.

“No, no no no, my friend. He despises humans, they’re too, ignorant, and he sees that ignorance as a choice, which is almost unbearable to accept. Vampires are at least more knowledgeable if not as foolish. He hates vampires because they’re arrogant or too self indulgent, or just too much like white people. Perhaps a combination of both, It’s hard to tell with him. I’m pretty sure back in the day he may have had an affair with one or something, long before Sarah. It would make more sense though, nothing sows disgust like a love destroyed.”

“Or a beautiful mean bitch.” Matthew said, and they both said their Amen’s to that.

“I don’t know, from what he told me, vampires remind him of wolves who died and got all twisted up, all confused but still aware of themselves enough to fill up the missing pieces, except not aware enough to fill them up with the right stuff. They make him sad, probably cause they remind him about how much some people have to be left to destroy or help themselves. Any help given would just be corrupted. With that said after humans they’re probably his next go-to as far as worldly misfortunes go?” Rowan said.

“What’s after Vampire?” Matthew asked.

“Dragons if I’m remembering correctly.” Rowan said, looking a little confused himself. Mathew had seen racial segregation dismantled on many practical levels in his country of origin. He’d seen world leaders rise and slane. He was pretty sure he’d seen an angel or two, though he was absolutely sure he’d seen a demon. It’d been chopped and burned by the end of the matter but some things were terribly hard to unsee. Still hearing his pack’s fourth, talk about his Alpha and his disposition on dragons, was nigh unbelievable.

“...Why?” Matthew said.

“Look, I don’t know if he meant dragons, but he’s always weird with language. Half of it I hear, the other half is like pushed into my heart as like images or symbols or something. He may not have meant dragon like fire breathing monster, but it felt big, possibly scaly, definitely scary, and packing enough power to take out a small country let alone make the traffic go by just a little too slow for his tastes. He’s weird.” Rowan said and once again Matthew was almost awed by his ability to summarize a topic. With two words he captured the conversation perfectly.

“I blame white people.” Matthew said.

“Me too.” Rowan said.

Jack had done something bad. He was seventh in the pack, and known for his endearing yet occasionally misplaced troublemaking. He was typically clever enough to keep his activity from disturbing the alpha, except for in occasional fits of laughter, but he doubted that the man would be laughing much this team. At least not while Jack walked this earth. With that said the grave was looking oddly comfortable this time of year, better it then the shame and most likely inevitable physical punishment he’d be receiving from the other pack members. Nothing chides a person like a couple of knuckles to the gut. Oh, why was he so damn hilarious, he hadn’t really meant much by it, but of course he’d gone for an inch and been pulled the whole nine yards. His abuela was probably tossing in her crypt, oh the poor woman, oh poor Jack.

You see, Jack had met a vampire, and before the cooing starts one should understand that Vampires and werewolves rarely get along. Well, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that they enjoy fighting each other just a little too much. So, no, sadly this was not a boy meets girl, boy buys her a glass of cappuccino a la sangre, and they retire to the countryside while boy takes care of his ailing parents. No, no, no, only Jack’s dreams were this simple and usually with the comedic benefit that it hadn’t been his dream at all, but his neighbors, or his second grade teacher’s Senora Espinoza...or a squirrels. What a squirrel wanted with his ailiing parents Jack couldn’t know, especially since he’d never met his real father, and his stepfather was more or less the platic ideal of a prick, and his mother, God rest her soul, was still terrorizing the world. Oh, you believed she was already six feet under, no...unfortunately not, but Jack prayed every night that one of the world’s deities might be able to keep her there.

With this said, perhaps the lad, though not exactly young should have figured some of his karmic modifiers were in need of rebalancing. His peculiar little story went something like this. He’d been walking home one day, as folks with legs are likely to do from time to time, and he’d heard a strange noise coming from the park near his apartment. Werewolves, being privy to excellent hearing, have trouble ignoring some of the telltale signs of communal discomfort others might not blink at. Jack didn’t like helping people, in the way a gopher might not like learning how to fly. Something didn’t sit right with him about it. Still his alpha could all but snifff his transgressions out of him, so he usually coat himself with the smell of “granny crossed the street safely” or “child’s baseball bat returned to him unharmed.” He usually left out the part when he’d more or less chased the granny across the street with his car, or how the child’s bat had been stolen, broken and replaced with a very similar bat which, to his credit was unharmed though you could swear it had a less than jovial disposition. He had made it watch him break the first one. Perhaps it was just how the wolf nature worked itself through his system, most things be them people, things, or society’s were not built for werewolf level of strength. The exact gauge could very but in general your were looking at something around “Can be broken a thousand and one times over with a regeneration limit of a thousand and four” because it’s that thousand and second time that you really have to start taking care of what’s yours.

Jack was pretty sure Evan was setting him up to assassinate the prime minister of Albania or some dumb country he’d only go to because the omega would know just what losing bet to make with him. The man would be dead in a week tops. Jack really liked that wierd bastard, and Evan liked him in a type of evil overlord type of way, Jack didn’t mind though, Evan just understood his need to see things break or burn and stuff. It just gave him that funny feeling inside ya know.

So Jack was investigating the strange park noises, which he hoped would be the beginning of some zombie apocalypse with which he’d be given the head start over most people in the vicinity, he hated his neighbors. At the very least he could get some redeemable points with his alpha, or some personal points by making a bad situation just his own brand of terribly perverse. Well, as it was, the latter possibility was speeding his way.

Jack found a girl, surprisingly unviolated as far as he could say. He tried not to feed some of his more extreme fantasies, but he couldn’t say that he wasn’t vaguely aroused at her distressed form alone in the dark and with no one to save her from his wolfy charms. She looked pretty asian, that or some weird western european, and just the idea of toting a white woman amongst his pack was enough to stir him into overdrive. Werewolves are sort of like bio death machines a lot of the time, if instinct takes over in an interesting enough way, they’re not exactly conscious of the things they do or that happen around them, you could say that the wolf sort of makes those things irrelevant. Stuff just sort of happens. So Jack vaguely remembered picking up the injured or ailing woman, with short dark hair, and greying skin that was surprisingly warm. He also remembered smelling the aroma of vanilla, fruity earth, and blood on her as she nuzzled under his chin. His wolf probably made some show about offering to call someone for her without necessarily implying that he would, probably because he was planning on nuzzling up next to her like a space heater, or you know to eat her. He probably wouldn’t get away with the latter. Jack was sly but his alpha was like born to ferret out secrets, and keep just as many.

The girl was slender and lithe, with a body type he found oddly appealing, something about the curve her breasts mixed with the subtlety of her stomach’s delicious looking flesh. Uh, he was smitten. Maybe he’d be able to sneak a bite or two. What, oh yes, werewolves will eat people, but only sometimes. The girl began to kiss his neck, and he admitted, his ideas began to drift towards a different type of consumption, he could see just a hint of fur from her more tender regions, and his pace quickened. He probably should have noticed how her wiggling in his arms moved to the rhythm of his heart. When he placed her in his bed he took his chance to let his hands roam her shape, to check for identification of course. He didn’t find any but her clothes were so tight how could she fit anything more against that steaming flesh. He almost licked his lips. He began to pet her head, feeling her rub her mouth against his wrists like a puppy. He tickled under her chin and she made a very pleasing moan. It was around this time he should have noticed that she was not making precisely human noises, or that on the occasions in which she opened her eyes, they were marked by a particular vacant darkness. To his credit, he honestly planned on sleeping on the floor, though he also planned on changing into his wolf form and curling up next to her in the middle of the night if only so that he might not forget her delicious scents. He tucked her in, but as soon as he lay down on his makeshift floor nest, the girl all but slithered beside him, coiling around his form before he could get two breaths in. Her skin felt sinfully divine, and she seemed to have as much fun touching him as he did her. He was moving to take some clothes out of the equation, when she fixed him with that black vacant stare of hers, it stunned him, putting him through the throes of rhythmic dreamlike convulsions, he remembered her kissing him, then biting him, then talking about love and servitude, then biting him some more, then he bit her and tasted something amazing. It was like an ultra super berry or like a really naturally refreshing energy bar or something, then he blacked out.

When Jack woke up the vampire was sleeping under his bed, hiding herself from the sunlight, and doing some half asleep half dead thing. Her skin looked more pale than grey now, but she looked far from human. She was very pretty though, at least to his very humorous vision. He had bite marks, and so did she, though hers were slightly less precise, as if he might have chewed a little too hard. Vampires didn’t always feel pain like other people, and, to be honest, werewolves had a strange relationship with the feeling as well.

“Master, the light.” He sort of heard, sort of felt her say, like she was a little rumbling in his soul, or he was her heart. He shut the blinds and more or less taped/barricaded out any sunlight that might have been creeping into their, his apartment. She crawled out a little after that and started to lay on his lap. She looked a little less dead, and she licked at his skin a little as she dozed. She was naked, though it didn’t smell like they’d had sex, no he was getting the feeling she preferred a degree of freedom from her clothing, he placed a blanket over her anyway and brushed her face and hair gently.

Jack did not see his packmates that day or that night for the matter. The shame, and almost assured asswhooping that would be handed to him kept him at a safeish distance. He was prone to prowling around every now and than anyway, so they wouldn’t give him too much grief for clocking out a couple days. That said, if he was too quiet there’d be a search party hunting him down in no time. The vampire behaved, more or less like a dog, though he supposed any pet would suffice. He wasn’t sure why, but she considered him to be her master or maker or something, even though he wasn’t a vampire, had never been one as far as he could tell, and was about as skilled with magic as helen keller had been with heavy machinery. Sure wolf stuff he understood, but that was mostly instinct to him and a humorous regimen of man-beast conditioning. From what she was implying, he’d accidentally completed whatever change from human thrall to vampire fledgeling she’d been going through when he found her. From what the others in the pack had told him, it was a pretty important part of their development especially in terms of getting the correct set of habits as well as well as territorial alignments. He’d heard their imprinting process was intense, even some werewolves got weird about the ones who had changed them, but this was just next level ridiculous.

The vampire, Isabelle, as she told him, followed him around everywhere, or at least tried to. The sun hindered her efforts, but if he went too far from her resting place she’d nearly burn herself up just trying to find him, so he stayed as close as he could manage while looking for nondescript coffins to carry her around in his car. Thank the lord she was a pretty little thing, maybe five feet, but only just maybe. Her vacant stare had gotten more color in the form of red irises that occasionally slitted when she was very hungry or aggravated. The tv and chirping birds seemed to provide this nightly source of discomfort. It seemed any light source was peculiar to her, and her magic reacted to strangely to devices that transmitted or recieved the energy. So they mostly listened to the radio, and she liked Stevie Wonder. Whoever said vampires had no souls had never met his sweet Izzy. Her penchant for nakedness was another problem, he was almost sure it had something to do with the wolf blood which had more or less awakened her, as she looked to the moon in the way some of the newly changed would when their inner beast was boiling. He wondered if it was permanent, or if she’d start growing fangs and claws. He doubted it, at least in a wolf sense, as she didn’t really smell like a wolf. She smelled like him, of passionate fruity earth and blood, but not really like any old wolf. Then again he supposed she didn’t smell like any old vampire either, as he’d known them for their more desert soil scent.

She got a little hissy when she was hungry, or when he made her cloth herself for a walk, but if he picked her up and rocked her around a little she usually settled down. He learned that the voice which spoke to his soul wasn’t necessarily a conscious thing. Werewolves had dual nature, at least, but this thing was more like some phantom extension of whatever vampire heritage she claimed. Like a guide system in a videogame but spookier. It turned her unconscious feelings into words and symbols. Speaking was not her strong suit as it was in her early development as letters and syllables did not form as they once would, nothing seemed to roll off the tongue well beside pleasant groaning, growling or blood. She needed his apparently. Vampires could get funny about the source of their fledgling nourishment. There was a lot of debate especially considering different customs and cultures, but as far as Izzy was concerned she was the type that needed her maker’s blood to survive. She was typically hungry once she started feeding but she didn’t need much. Perhaps wolf blood was stronger. Jack didn’t know and he wasn’t planning on becoming an expert on all things vamp, responsibility didn’t suit the persona of balanced carelessness he’d been maintaining for the last 52 years. That being said he had begun to notice some odd physiological changes as well. His fangs always seemed to be a little sharper than they should have been, his sensitivity to light was stuck at perpetually annoying and it seemed that for as much blood his little one required he could provide twice as much given a couple of hours of wolf meditation. With that said, he had woken up every now and then to her pinned somewhere, either against the wall, on the floor or in the shower, with his wolfy teeth dripping her blood along his tongue. Sharing blood between maker and fledgling wasn’t exactly uncommon, but that his wolf was actually behaving as if it were her creator was. To be honest he’d expected it to kill her on the second day or something, but it seemed to have no urge. It’d gotten this way once or twice about some ducks or something, but it had eaten the ducks, yet he felt like zero killing intent towards his...Izzy. What the hell was that about. It was like she was just too cute, too strong, too awesome for his wolf to do anything but grab her a little more aggressively every now and then, and usually that was just to toss her in the air while they were in the park or something. She’d giggle and sort of plop back down into his arms.

He healed a lot faster that was for sure, and his muscles seemed to have just an extra degree of more focus that would make all the difference in the fights that really mattered. It had only been five days of him dancing around the pack, and already he was afraid he’d be run out of town with pitchforks and torches. He hoped his reputation as being mostly beast like anyway would save him some face with the pack but he had his doubts. He was really considering what he’d have to tell them, when Evan more or less ambushed Izzy and him on one of their walks. The Omega jogged up to them as if he were a jovial civillian, yeah, how many civillians moved like a car with four blocks of green lights.

“That’s a vampire.” Evan said looking cheery eyed and pure evil.

“Don’t tell anyone.” Jack sort of pleaded.

“It smells like you.” Evan said his smile widening.

“Please Evan, they’ll hurt her, or worse, they’ll hurt me then her.” Jack said. Evan seemed actually conscerned now.

“He hates vampires.” Evan said, talking about their alpha no doubt.

“She’s so nice though, she’s different from others, he just has to give her a chance.” Jack said. Evan laughed.

“I’ll admit he’s vaguely understanding, but in the way an executioner hears out your last words if only so that he could double as the priest and perform your last rights.”

“Maybe if you got Sarah to do something.” Jack said.

“I wouldn’t trouble that one my friend. Getting between pack alpha and a omega is tricky enough when they aren’t mated. You might just start a war, or get yourself tortured.” Evan said, Jack found the latter far more likely.

“She’s so smart though, and sweet.” Jack said. The last part was a bit of a stretch, she was sweet towards him but he’d discovered that vampires took the whole bestial possessiveness to daunting extremes. He could barely smell like another woman without her freaking out when she next saw him. He’d caught her trying to track down some of his coworkers while he was sleeping. Her nose shouldn’t have been that powerful, unless blood was concerned, but it seemed his scent was particularly simple for her to retrace. At the moment she was looking Evan over from the safety of Jack’s coat. He enjoyed having her so close.

“You could just kill her now and apologize to him.” Evan said.

“Have you no heart?” Jack said.

“I assumed you didn’t, but damn man, all this affection has me tearing up a little.” Evan said.

“Crocodile tears I’m sure.” Jack said.

“Look, you smell different, and mixing magics without appropriate protocols or observation is downright dumb when it isn’t completely catostrophic. Whatever you’ve done to yourself may reach into the pack. We need to set up safeguards, which means you need to talk to Malik. It would be unfortunate if he had to come find you by chance.” Evan said.

“She’s really polite, I taught her a bunch of stuff.” Jack said with Izzy nodding in agreement.

“I’ll admit she’s charming, but I don’t like doling out false hope. Talk to him, and whatever happens will happen.” Evan said, he gave Izzy a pat on the head before jogging off. She didn’t seem to care too much.

The next day Jack reluctantly and with heavy heart called his alpha to tell him that he had an issue which needed to be discussed very soon and in person. His alpha drove out to his apartment and politely knocked on the door before being allowed into his sort of home. His alpha explained that he smelled the vampire long before getting to the door and that he had sensed some disturbance in Jack’s wolf a couple of days back but had been waiting for Jack to talk to him about it, making Evan’s appearance at his “territory” even less random because it was just like those two to team up on him out of nowhere. Jack told him his story.

“Kill me, I’m ready, if you kill her kill me too. It’d be just and I don’t feel like walking around after knowing her and losing her. It’d be too boring.” Jack said trying to disguise the steady stream of tears that were rolling down his face, to his credit, it was relatively graceful. His alpha eyed him carefully before making his way over to the vampire. She hissed at him a little but it seemed he noticed that it was more a nervous fear than a violent one. He took her by the chin, keeping her jaw shut but steady and tilted it around a little. She didn’t, or more accurately couldn’t fight him. He didn’t look in her eyes.

“Child.” Malik spoke. Jack nearly sunk to his knees, his alpha's voice dripping with terrible power such that he nearly felt her message as his own. “You will not harm me or mine, you will obey your creator or master if that is what he is to you, but understand, your attachment, perhaps your love even, it comes second to his obligation, it is eclipsed by his duty and his responsibility to his family. Should you break my trust, or turn him astray, I will end him, as I will end you.” Malik said. Jack was already in awe, it was a miracle in motion, but then his alpha did something he hadn’t been expecting, something that made it all so much more awesome. Malik put his wrists to the vampire's mouth and coaxed her into biting it. He barely flinched as those fangs of hers slid into his flesh and blood. It was only a couple of seconds but when he pried her loose Jack could see the wound already beginning to close. He kissed her gently, fatherly on the forehead. “And now you are mine as he is mine, and so to my pack you do belong.” Malik said. He turned to his seventh. “You are completely hilarious my friend, these twists and turns you give me, I swear I’m on my toes half the time.” He said, before skulking out of the apartment hooing and hawing like some grandfather from god’s forgotten verses. When he left Izzy spoke and she barely spoke at all.

“He’s weird. I like him.” She said.

“Me too.” Jack said kissing her hard and passionately along her beautiful lips, she was very happy.

The pack didn’t exactly know what to make of their new vampiric addition, most were confused, some a little outraged. A deviation from the norm wasn’t uncommon for this pack but certain actions could begin to look like blasphemy or the seeds of future corruption. Malik assured them that one little vampire was manageable enough, especially if Jack served as a safeguard for too many dark energies. He explained that one could better hunt the enemy if it had a thorough understanding of its nature, and that he’d always wanted a pet darkling. His mention of pets seemed to have most of the males amused and the females a little disgusted but reassured it was just more of their typical bullshit rather than the beginnings of a decline in their ranks. They had an understanding of the building of resistances, and being able to pull on a small dose of vampiric energy might save them if they ever had to combat the creatures. Plus, many had to admit, that although incredibly disturbing, watching Jack and Izzy play together was very cute. It didn’t hurt that Jack seemed to be a little more than combat ready these days. Perhaps it was the increase in his size of heart, which no one had been expecting; most believed his blood beat to the rhythm of widows’ tears. Or perhaps it was his quickly growing understanding and assimilation of dark energies which seemed to be giving him more of an edge these days. He’d always been a decent fighter, if slightly manipulative, but now he seemed to radiate something like death energy; deathurgy maybe. As it was if anyone had too many qualms they could fight him and die, or they could argue with Malik and receive something worse, the most demeaning talking down to they’d ever experienced. Oddly enough killing the creature itself became somewhat out of the question, It had made their Alpha laugh, which meant his retribution would most likely be swift and brutal. He didn’t get to enjoy his humors as much as he’d like.

Malik crafted something like a bracelet for Izzy and Jack, it was made to absorb the imbalance in their merging natures so that she didn’t become too wolfish, before she was ready, and he didn’t become too much like a vampire. Apparently wizards were good for something every now and then.

The dreams came about after the first month. It wasn’t unusual for the pack to fall into each other’s slumbering visions, the bonds transcended human possibility so every now and then they’d end up walking the spanish moors, or pacing some african jungle, or drinking in some bar out in maine...in the 1920’s. They weren’t all pleasant occurrences, if one wolf panicked or was caught in the wrong moment they all could end up tumbling into some reenactment of knightly combat, or out some trenches during world war 1. Still a family that fights together, dies together, and hopes together tends to stay together. There were few challenges they could not conquer as a united force.

This was one of the first times they could clearly remember dreaming of vampires. Well, to be fair, every now and then they might save some vagabond from becoming some dark phantoms blood meal, but this dream was something more, less like humorous parody of old fears, more like existence, more like destiny and transformation.

The wolves found themselves drifting and sinking along the land like the shadows of stars, and the world seemed to open for them like stage that had been waiting to be set, like a theatre of fate.

They watched a skeleton spawn itself from a graveyard fashioning its bones not from the stuff of human design, but from earth, and fire. It grew mass and clothing as if one were exchangeable for the other, as if form were as simple as parting one’s hair. It wore the clothing of old timey businessmen, perhaps detectives from the sixties with suspenders, dapper loafers, and a long heavy brown coat. His face looked a little like everyone from the pack, but specifically, he looked like Evan, and Matthew and Malik, with piercing gold eyes that seemed more metal than flesh, and curly dark hair that hung about his shoulders like a mane. At his hip was a weapon of some kind, though none could be sure whether it was a gun or a sword, like it could become either if it was needed, or even as if to this creature there was little difference.

It stalked forward, half walking half warping the space around them, moving the ground more so than its own body, shifting time. From one moment to the next it was surrounded by tombstones then in front of something which looked like a mansion. There were few if any windows, though it bore a certain resemblance to victorian england. The pack recognized the place, it was nesting ground for the local vampires. Vampires didn’t function like wolf packs, though the werewolves had noticed some disturbing similarities in their structures. There was usually a head vampire, the master or mistress or lord. They’d seen some function with something like councils before but vampires and diplomacy was laughable at best. Those alliances usually functioned as a sort of hissing match between rivals who understood comradery about as well as they understood affection, or restraint. Most vampires functioned little better than addicts, though the more powerful or the older one’s knew how to hide it better, usually with brutal misdirection or a degree of shadow work. They didn’t like eachother, mostly because they didn’t know how, their curse ran along the lines of parasitic and few were changed with anything resembling compassion, it was hard to find brotherhood amongst people who could only remind you of your perpetual tragedy. Still this was the world of miracles, so every now and then you’d find a band that was as close if not closer than some wolf packs, though they rarely functioned as well. You could say that despite their best intentions they were often called to revive their fatal flaws. They were very redundant that way. To drive the point home it probably didn’t help that their most favored food source also happened to be their source of replenishing their numbers. Wolves needed humans to keep up their numerical strength as well, but they didn’t have to eat them, or to feed on them with the same need.

There were more or less four heads to the local vampire outpost, nest, brood? The wolves weren’t sure what to it, so they settled for some stereotypes, dark court seemed to suffice. It wasn’t that they were unknowledgeable about the vampire’s habits but you only needed to know so much about a creature in order to stay out of its way or end its existence. There were three females and a male. A blonde one with short hair and skin as dark as any of the wolves, it was surprising combination which added to her exotic feel and sexy curviness. One had straight red hair with freckles. She might have been a teenager for all they could tell, or a very angelic twenty year old, with that said the pack knew her for her cunning and cruelty. Vampires didn’t make good friends, they were very all or nothing creatures though it was hard to tell with the way they could cling to and obsess over things, they might be chatting you up while their dagger was still in your back. The third female had dark and curly haired, she looked responsible, gritty and a battle maiden type of way, she could have been on a civilization’s standard or printed on its code of laws. As far as the wolves could tell the blonde one was the oldest, and the craziest, the dark haired one was more or less the voice of their order, while the red one often tried to play one against the other.

The male was native american, though no one knew and cared to ask from where. His hair was short and even and he never seemed to be without his suits. He was their executioner as far as they could tell, their enforcer. The blonde one had made him, but the curly haired one had done most of the work nurturing him, though most could tell that they all lusted for him to a degree. Then again vampires and lust kind of went hand and hand. He was quiet though humorous when he did speak. It gave the illusion of trustworthiness which, in actuality was most likely boredom and resignation to the fact that he’d out last most creatures and or be killing the one’s his “women” sent him after, even if he had to spend an evening or two with them first. If the pack understood the shared force between them correctly, the blonde was around 800 years old, the curly haired one 500, and the red head around 350. The male was around 400 years old. They were each of them powerful, and strong in their own survive no matter how drull or repetitive type of way. It should be noted that vampire bonds focused primarily on power, werewolf bonds focused more on strength. The difference being that power represented what energy one could unleash or subjugate others to, bombs were powerful. Strength required nurturing and experience; restraint. Soldiers could be strong.

That creature of death, that Reaper walked into the hold of these old and powerful haunts as if it were the residence of his vassals, as if he were their sovereign lord. The placed smelled of blood and sorrow, and pain though the creature did not flinch at these things, as if it were the stuff of its soul, it strode through the halls, invisible to some, vague spectral darkness to others, and something too powerful for the more insightful to challenge. Something too much like that ancient pale shadow which had pulled them from deathly coma and back into the world as a beast of the night. There were screams as the vampires fed and tormented their prisoners, or their wards depending on how you saw it. The Reaper didn’t care, humans were fragile useless things, though he lamented their vampire’s lack of imagination. They never were good at preserving the things they most enjoyed. He gave a somewhat humorous sigh as the nature of their falling, their damnation, re-clarified in his inner vision before moving on, the pack cloaked in his aura.

The Male, the native one, he was in his study, reading and enjoying the company of the human, well they saw them as something like cattle, who played music for him. He looked congenial, enough but he was only ever a slight shift in the breeze from embodying destruction itself. His humans were afraid, yet at peace with that fear, their bodies were already forfeit, this much they understood as if terror were simply the opium of their civilization. The reaper knew this one well, and did not specifically dislike him, they were partners in hunting, in a manner of speaking more like familiar rivals than friends, though one could resemble the other with enough time and understanding. The Reaper knew that one night their hunting would end and his partner would turn into honored prey for one last time, still that night was not this one so he left him to his reading.

The Reaper visited the maker next, the blonde one. She was in something like a floral maze out back, swooning in the moonlight and drinking in the night’s hum. She saw him as he was, grotesque and beautiful, and she pried him into a dance, an ode to the wonders of the forgotten and the star fallen. He enjoyed his time with her, which was rare, and perhaps she did not love the ones she should have, or in the way she should have, but perhaps she had never been shown how. In those moments he was grateful for whatever lunacy others claimed to be plaguing her, because she held him like she might hold the eruption of creation, wholeheartedly and without restraint. He gave her his kiss and she smiled unharmed except for that newfound stirring in a heart which had almost forgotten how to feel. He left her to her dancing and chanced upon the curly haired one, she was entrenched in a throng of the youngest talking them through the peculiarities of their nature, the secrets of blood, and the world of shadows. She was clear, and strict, and any with sense could feel the amount of danger she radiated, but this was not a bad thing. Understanding, would keep them moving, knowing what to fear and what to make others fear would keep them moving. She was their order reaching to them, instead of leaving them to flounder in ignorance. The reaper respected her, and lent her a bit of his strength with a hand to her shoulder which reminded her of a human life long past and a brother, well loved, who had not survived the cruelties of their era. She didn’t cry as the concept was somewhat foreign to her after all this time, but her heart wept slightly and she understood a little bit more of why she toiled so hard.

He found the last one at the bottom of a pool, naked as the day she’d been born and looking fine enough to eat. Her visage reminded him of those sirens of old, and tales of mermaids lulling sailors to deathly depths. He was almost flattered, or hotly embarrased. She didn’t see him, because she didn’t want to, or wouldn’t believe what she would have seen. She was like that this one, defining the world by her needs and hers alone. She was selfish, yes but not in a cheap way. The world had never understood her, and she rarely understood herself, survival had been second nature, as simple as moving from one space to the next and watching everything else fall in her stead. Not because she wanted it to necessarily, more because it simply decided to take her place, or perhaps it was her price, her sacrifice to watch the beauty of existence decay while she stayed all the same, barely knowing the difference because to truly see a thing you had to feel its existence, and she was not sure if anything existed at all. She was not sure if anything truly mattered. She made him sad in her beauty that she couldn’t see outside of vanities poised as deflections, and a hunger that made as much sense to her as how a planet could rotate while being so entirely still. Things just happened, or made the illusion of happening, to her their may not have been a point to being at all, just a hollowed effect.

The Reaper sank beneath the waters to lay beneath her form, so still her power eclipsed by a strength he head not noticed inside her and he wondered if, after all this time, he might have discovered a true immortal. When they fed that day, they would drain the life from one or two of their humans, they would execute two or four of their court for they had overstepped their bounds or had simply been unsavy enough to escape their murderous scopes, and five or seven of their fledglings might be ended by an inability to feed or impulsive violence they had not learned to channel. It would be a dark and bloody night, but such was their way, so perhaps he had gone unnoticed.

The dream ended, the curtains closed, and the pack was back in their own beds, shivering off the chills and huddling within the warmth of their bonds.

It just so happened that fate came calling to the Desert Garden pack one evening. As things were Some of their “cousins” below the border had fallen into hard times. Their alpha was growing unruly, some would say insane, but sanity was always a funny subject for Malik, so instead they reinterpreted it. He was becoming unjustly cruel, and so Malik could hear them a little better. It would seem one of the older, more slippery of the night creatures, the blood drainers, had gained access to that rogue alpha’s council allowing him to harass his pack members, and foul their territory with some of his darkling creatures. The vampire in question was known to many as Edward Undersand, though to his fellow nightly blooded, he was simply known as “The Hound”. Rumors said that he had the ability to take the shape of a large and foreboding dog. Malik asked, “how large”, and the answer was “big enough”. If the rumors were true of course. It was around this time that Malik was beginning to grow something of a beard, and with his wild hair pulled back and bound, was beginning to look like a proper woodsman, which was peculiar because most saw him as more of a city wolf. His mate, Sarah insisted on coming but he managed to convince her that the pack would need great leadership while he was gone handling the problems with the bad alpha. Omega’s were almost as good at keeping pack order as alpha’s, and his pack had two of them. She gave him a warm smile at his sign of respect and decided to forget that he was trying to keep her from “putting herself at risk” in another alpha’s territory. They shared a rather hot and steamy night, morning, and good luck rendezvous before he departed. Another thing Malik did before he left was visit Jack and Izzy. Malik was not sure how to approach the fact that Jack’s interactions with Izzy resembled that of A master and his pet, but considering the oddness of pack bonds, and the generally harsh existences of most vampires, it was still probably a step up from anything she’d have experienced with her own kind. Plus He tried not to pry into the oddities of the romances of others, lest someone turn an ignorant eye to his own strange arrangements. He wished to once again study the creature in hopes of getting some much needed information about its structure, both as a thing of magic, and as a thing of death. It wasn’t a long visit but he learned much.

Malik Decided To Bring David and Matthew With him, They didn’t fly, instead they made it something of a road trip, stopping every now and then to talk with other alpha’s about what they knew of their quarry. Most didn’t want to be spoken to, alpha’s could be that way, but some offered a degree of insight that would prove useful enough. For example, although the Alpha may ultimately be to blame, it was not impossible that the break from order had something to do with a little of the entire pack’s unconscious desires. Death would most likely still be demanded, but it was the difference of killing a piece of the cancer, only for more to replicate itself, and burning/or breaking the thing at its root.

Another thing that was learned, the bad alpha had recently lost his mate, and though he was not old in the way Malik was old, he had seen more than a century or two, and for many wolves this was old enough, for the nothingness of existence to erode them inside out. There was also the rumor that the pack was running low on finances, having run into unforeseen difficulties with local establishments. This made them sloppier with their typical vigilance and “invisibility” if you want to call it that. And so an increase in mysterious animal attacks had the law enforcement of the terrain more suspicious and much more on edge.

The vampire was a little more difficult to track. Vampires were prone to brag, but usually when they were sure their prey wouldn’t be escaping, and rarely to outsiders. This one seemed to make it’s kin especially weary as it seemed to hibernate for decades at a time before reappearing to reak vengeance or ruin on one unwary former transgressor or another. The “hibernation” as some called it, seemed to have more to do with the vampire’s somewhat peculiar humor of faking it’s own demise. Malik had tried that a time or two, but fooling werewolves was hard, and his kind handled isolation a lot harder than vampires, who seemed more or less built for lonesome brooding.

By the time the team landed in the western edges of mexico, they were well armed with knowledge, though some of the facts were in doubt. Malik was pretty good at moving undetected, which only made David more suspicious about his own potential madness, and Malik’s growing probability of being a ghost. Spirit, wolfy golem of death? Malik didn’t put much mind to labels. They tended to change with the strange fashions of time. Humans seemed to ignore them, as if they were an interesting painting appreciated in passing or, a funny idea they had to let go, though some of the more interesting ones probably saw a strange mirage, like wolfmen playing poker. It wasn’t long before one of the rogue pack-members noticed them. The werewolf looked starved, and half feral in the arid heat. Malik was annoyed that it had come so close to humans looking “so damn beastlike” but that had more to do with it’s obvious trouble hiding itself making Malik suspect it was there to hunt rather than to receive guests. Malik was almost positive that he’d half to kill it. He’d brought a knife, silver edged as it was, though considering its unsteadiness his hands would probably have been enough. It surprised him when it disappeared to change. They followed, watching it transform into more manish skin. He clothed himself in sweaty dusty garb, though in all fairness it was pretty hot out. The not man still looked more wolf than human, which might have been okay but the effect was more pitiful and disturbing, than foreboding or prestigious.

Mathew suggested that the wolf show them to their alpha, so that many things could be clarified, but the wolf disagreed, saying that they’d be better off talking to the pack’s fifth member, who not so coincidentally seemed to be apart of the local law enforcement. The rogue pack’s fifth seemed vaguely more in control of his faculties than the other wolf, though a uniform and a clean office could do that for a person. He still looked exhausted though. He explained to them that he was more or less in charge of keeping the heat off their collective tails, but that his Apha’s declining condition had been making that all but impossible as of late. Humans were annoying and chatty, and prone to making the most inconvenient connections, most of which they didn’t really care about, but made inferno’s of trouble nonetheless. Malik inquired what he’d suggest doing about the situation. He told them that ensuring the vampire could not return was paramount as it had been allowed to drink from much of the pack. Alpha’s were more resistant to vampiric corruption, but if it had already corrupted individual pack members, even if only slightly, an alpha would have a hard time resisting it. After that he suggested killing the alpha, his second and the fourth. The third was well liked and loyal, but also dutiful enough to accept his alphas demise for the good of the pack. He made little note about how this would place him as second, but Malik conceded that it may have just been accelerating the inevitable, the fifth was an oddly prepared wolf.

David requested an understanding of the fighting conditions of their targets, to which the wolf replied by stating, the alpha had been gearing up for the end the moment he allowed the vampire near his territory, though it could also have been as early as when his mate died. At least when it was only about his mate, he would’ve allowed his second to challenge him and make a proper end of it, the vampire had awakened certain evils, as it went, certain peculiarities that didn’t need feeding. The second was bound by some strange blood-magic though he’d been a tough man to get along with from the beginning, and the fourth was all but broken in heart and mind, he’d proven tougher to convince and had been relegated to a beast’s disgrace. The fourth could be outwitted, the second defeated from afar, though there would be little getting around the alpha as he was more or less rooted in his positioning. As for the vampire, it was as slick as shadows, and would most likely have to be hunted down for a while yet.

So, Malik and his wolves left the rogue pack to their devices, though under hidden observation, and prepared their strategy’s. Mathew had done a decent amount of hunting in his day, and so it was decided that he would be their sniper, so to speak. David was content with baiting the rogue fourth, he claimed that he would have preferred hand to hand combat, but the rogue pack fifth told him not to take too many chances, as the pack’s magic was “unreliable” in these parts, he provided him a shotgun loaded with silver. They agreed it would be best to act, in the morning, all at once, so as to best keep their quarry distracted, as well as to limit any interference from the vampire’s influences. They would regather to hunt the creature together.

The pack’s second was out running some of the pack members through the desert, disposing of a body as it was, with peculiar sloppiness. He was in his wolf skin while The pack’s fourth, seemingly haggard with a shift that may never complete itself, skulked around the terrain two others at his side looking more like large hyenas than wolves. Matthew took a moment to line up his shot before his rifle ran a silver bullet through the second’s flank. It didn’t kill him, and for a moment he feared the creature had somehow escaped their ancient aversion, so he put the second bullet through it’s head, and so it was confirmed that if one shot doesn’t do it, the second might. Or maybe that silver was pretty effective with toppling big bad wolves. Matthew couldn’t tell for sure, all his somewhat naughtily humored ideas on the subject took a backseat as David moved to engage the fourth. The silver shot ripped through the chest of one of the rogue fourth’s “guards”. It had leapt and received a painful end for its trouble. The second guard nearly ended David’s advance, turning him around with a swipe from it’s powerful claws. He put two rounds of shot in its back and that stopped it dead. Things didn’t get easier after that though. Most of the pack was going wild with so much pain and confusion running through their bonds, and any that drifted too close to David, Mathew scared off with a bullet or two. He tried not to hit them unless he had to, and when it did hit he aimed as non vitally as possible. Too much uncultured destruction would ruin the moment.

The rogue pack’s fourth was hunched, his shoulder bleeding and torn open by silver wounds, but David’s weapon had been knocked clear out of reach, and he appeared to have had the misfortune of getting slashed across the thigh by the feral creature. Mathew had to admit it was a perplexing beast, as he couldn’t quite make out if it was more wolf or deranged manling, though he supposed it was enough to accept that it was powerful and clearly able to transform that energy into deadliness. Still, David had volunteered, and Matthew had done his part, and to be honest, it was all rather badass.

David was limping badly, but he had a way of turning pain into strength, and though the fourth tried to overpower him, he was often able to turn it away, tossing it with it’s own strength and occasionally landing a strike or two while doing it. The battle was a savage blur, and Matthew was reminded of one of those kung fu flicks from the sixties. David’s strikes rang like thunder, though the beast’s grumbling and roaring put ice in Matthew's heart. Matthew saw one of David’s redirections fail, as the beast had approached him from his more injured side. His pack’s second went falling to the ground and the passive wolf almost took up his rifle again, afraid his respect for battle might have cost them the victory, though by the time he’d gotten anything resembling a clear shot, as in there was a decent likelihood he might hit David by mistake, the rogue fourth’s head twisted at an awkward angle, that even a vampire would have trouble calling comfortable. David rolled the creature off him, loping towards his weapon, before unloading four rounds into it’s skull. It had probably been completely finished after the first one, but Matthew suspected David wouldn’t have cared too much. One of the rogue wolves leapt towards him, and Matthew brought it down at David’s feet. Silver straight through the heart. David waved his way before doing that weird dominant thing. His power, consumed the field, and Matthew would almost say it seemed to be just a little stronger than usual, which surprised him considering the circumstances. The wild wolves came to him, most heads bowed, though a few were more resilient. Their gravitation was grudging, yet they obeyed all the same. Matthew had barely even noticed when he found himself kneeling beside his second, his wolf more or less at peace having someone competent in charge, as well as strong enough to defend his position.

Meanwhile, Malik was fighting the rogue Alpha. He had to wound four wolves with his silver blade, two he killed, a slice along the neck and a pierce through the heart. Silver tended to stall the healing process, reducing many wolves to a type of human condition. With enough training, or time, the effect could be reduced, but few had Malik’s level of Sado-masochistic alignment with the elements meant to destroy him. Many werewolves had a lacking in their understanding of non pack magic at the best of times. Perhaps it had something to do with their low survival rate, or maybe it had something to do with the amount of brutal focus a second consciousness demanded. Reasons could vary. Malik had a special connection with the arcane, and so it was that he had something of a bond with Silver. It could kill or harm him like any other wolf, but it also had this oddness of bending to his will, allowing him temporary insights and ability to work magics that might bar other creatures. Silver was one of the more magically conductive metals, good at transferring or holding the energy. It was a trait won through pain, discipline, and brutally intense awareness. So it was that he approached the rogue alpha, with a fiery calm.

The head wolf was coiled in his yard, which might have been a beautiful thing at one point, as it showed the signs of a love decayed, but now it seemed to just be yet another sign of the wolf’s sickness. All but corrupted and artless. The man was tallish, with brown hair that almost seemed red in the morning light. He might have been handsome but now he seemed more intense, too much like a weapon with such sharp features made for destruction. In his hands was one of the scariest weapons Malik had set his sights on. It was iron, and if silver was the life of magic, iron was its death. It carried the scent of flame along its base, and Malik imagined that if it were to touch him, he would assuredly feel the scorch of this alpha’s despair. He was at a disadvantage he knew. His blade was a dagger at best but still seemed very much the kitchen utensil next to that force of death his opponent wielded. He would need swiftness, and patience.

They didn’t bother with words, though Malik was not exactly sure the other alpha was capable of them at this point, his presence was a boiling point of rage and his wolf seemed to be devoting all of it’s energy into maintaining a degree of battle poise. The rogue wolf roared, and his magic shook the terrain. Malik kept to the outer lengths of the man’s swing, cracked columns and scattered furniture accept the destruction in his stead. He parried every now and then, but the action cost him, and he dare not press before he was sure his foe was beyond his limits. The rogue alpha was sweating beads, they both were, but he seemed to have pools of energy in reserve, as if vengeance alone was driving him. It was a hellish heat. Neither could tell just how much time had passed, the dance of death could muddle such subtleties, so it could have been ten minutes or a hundred.

The rogue alpha swung hard into one of the pillars of his hold, the blade sinking too deep to be easily pried loose. Malik dove in, letting his knife stab and carve. He landed deep cut along his enemy’s chest, but his blade sank into the man’s arm. Malik would have recovered it easily had his enemy not drawn a pistol on him. He didn’t know where it had been placed, seemingly drawn from nowhere, but he scented the deathly earth of a vampire’s scent, and he could feel the dark magic cloaking it with his silver bond. The Alpha fired from the hip, grazing Malik’s waist. Malik sank, flickering away from the next volley of bullets, which, he feared, might have momentarily stolen his almost sinful good looks. Malik ran along a stone wall, keeping low and applying pressure to his own wound, while the rogue wolf taunted and shot. Malik had seen how his blade burned through the wooden pillar, and it wouldn’t be long until his adversary could pry it loose. It would take a miracle to get out of this mess, as it were, Malik was extraordinarily good at those. In his pained stumbling of survival, Malik’s hands found a baseball bat. It was a simple thing, classic wood, nothing special, but so many unspecial things had shaken the world to its core.

The rogue alpha had his blade in hand now, though his injury forced him to drag it along the ground like a brutish axe, pistol in the other hand. Malik tossed up a small table, the action causing the Alpha to shoot. In the next second Malik’s bat swung, launching a basketball into the rogues injured arm. He dropped the gun. Malik charged, as if he was some strange emir meeting those war like crusaders upon the field of battle for the last time. The rogue alpha tried to pry his deathblade to bear but he was just a little too slow, his power just a step out of rhythm. Malik’s bat swung with a brutal ferocity, accelerating to almost impossible speeds. It hit the rogues hand first, most certainly shattering bone and making any attempt to wield a sword foolish at best. Then he smashed it square in the chest, and finally broke it along the wolf’s head. The corrupted alpha looked like he was halfway on the road to the next world even before Malik pried the silver knife from his arm and sank it into his heart. The Alpha leaned into him as his force left him, seeming very much a broken thing without his rage or power. Malik allowed him his prayers, and the crying of his mate’s name before he sent him to her with a cut that severed head from body.

Malik stumbled back into a chair, turning the dead alpha’s gun onto some nearby table, his greatsword balanced against his leg. Luckily it would seem that the alpha hadn’t been expecting a quarrel with wolves. Iron and steel made swift ends of many flesh things, but fae in particular had an aversion to them, magic more or less being more or less like air to them. Malik contemplated what this implied about the other failing relations in the region, and feared he might have to stay even longer if some misguided fools decided now was their chance to knock out their rivals. He tried not to underestimates Allah’s willingness to challenge him.

As it were, David soon returned, the rogue pack, Mathew, and The Pack’s former fifth, now second in tow. Malik explained to the former third, now alpha wolf who seemed more than a little uncomfortable under the combined dominion of David and Malik, that they had recieved word, his pack was drifting from the order of the one’s far and near; those wolfy lords of death which dictated most of their conjoined existences. The new alpha remarked on how Malik did not explicitly say that he’d been ordered to intervene, to which Malik said that his obligation had deeper roots. There was some tension after that. Still, the new alpha admitted he had a degree of relief as the pack bonds were already preparing to heal themselves. Knitting through some of the dark holes that had marred them, cleaving out the phantom pains that had been plauging them. Still, there was the matter of the vampire. The new alpha claimed to not know it’s sleeping place, as even his alpha, who had been strongly tied to the creature, could not clearly identify its sanctuary. He was certain it would come for them, if only out of wounded pride, and a need to reclaim its greatest source of food and power. The other vampires it brought had either been slayne fighting the pack, or similarly executed by their master’s own peculiar rages. The new alpha warned further that it was as good as its reputation, that even his predecessor would have had trouble which was why he’d had some strange fae bond fire to his sword.

The difficulty of a fae bonding magic to iron aside, Malik contemplated just how useful the silver they were armed with would be against the vampire. It had inconsistent reactions as far as he could tell, and he had fought more than his fair share of blood drinkers. The older ones, the ones who used magic and darkness more so than cunning or brute strength seemed to have the worse response to it, though he had to admit it sounded like their prey would have a surplus of all three. The new alpha, seemed uncertain about whether the pack should assist in the matter, although he was strong enough to lead them, he was not certain that the vampire’s hold wouldn’t supercede his own. None of the Desert Garden wolves liked the idea of having to fight a battle from all sides, and though their collective wounds were healing, they were tired and stressed. Far from top shape. They decided to retreat a little towards the outskirts of the town, out in one of the more abandoned buildings that they could smell the local pack frequently visited.

It was a long wait until night fell around them, David’s outer wounds were mostly healed, pink scars, but they could tell there was still some bone that would need at least a day to be fully functional. They sensed an approacher, and nearly filled a poor wolf girl with holes before they recognized her non-male-vampire-monsterness. She looked hungary, and overcome by a general pain, though it seemed the change of order was helping her heal a little better. She was probably a pretty thing when death wasn’t hanging over her pack like a scythed cloud. Malik almost growled her back to her alpha, but he she said he believed her presence might help matters. The vampire seemed to have a fixation with her. Malik didn’t pry but despite the obvious fear that seemed to be gripping her, she looked like a crafty fighter, like the type who always wiggles out of the hunter’s reach. So the new alpha was already using his pack-members as bait? Malik respected his earnestness to solve the problem, but he also feared the girl might be more of a distraction than a help, and he rathered her not be harmed on his watch. Werewolf females were rare and this one looked like she’d seen enough trouble for the next few centuries. He gave her his silver knife and her former alpha’s pistol, heavily reloaded. They resumed their waiting.

The wolves contemplated the nature of tradition as well as whether this all wouldn’t have been more artfully done in a church or something, and just when they conceded that they probably wouldn’t have been able to draw the vampire out from such a location, their dance with hell began. Something large, clawed and vaguely winged burst through a window. The burning iron sang like horrored glory as Malik severed the creature's head from its body. Much of its flesh erupting into flame upon contact. A terrifying demon like shriek shattered the wind, shaking the rafters, and sending the wolves sinking near the ground. Not dominated but. their great hearing did them a disservice with this sonic attack. Something large appeared outside one of the windows, and Matthew fired his rifle, causing the glass to break and the creature to bellow a pained expression. The female wolf began firing as well, and the creature disappeared from view. Minutes passed before they began to hear a creaking coming from above. The gunmen had been preparing to shoot when another darkly shadowed creature burst through the wall, drawing their attention and fire. The ceiling caved in, loosing yet another monstrous adversary, but Malik was prepared, backing it towards the corner with his swings before driving its fiery length through its heart. Unfortunately this fire did not put itself out, and the foundation was beginning to become internally consumed. The other creature lay dead, or dead enough, so Malik ushered the wolves out of the building, and into the unforgiving terrain outside. The she-wolf had just gotten out the door, when it seemed as if the night itself swallowed David. Mathew’s rifle rang out, but the mass was swift. Still David was a fighter by nature, and it seemed the change was imbuing him with a strange ferocity. He all but batted the beast aside, as he hunched and bleeding began to tear into his wolf’s shape. Malik motioned for Matthew and the she wolf to cover his second as he went to drive his blade into the creature’s flank. It was swifter than the others but that only meant he brought it down with many precise strikes rather than raw strength. By the time it was finished, David was almost finished with his change, and two more of the creatures had appeared. There was some discussion between Matthew and the she wolf which ended with him exchanging his rifle for the silver dagger and David’s shotgun. He went to his Alpha’s side applying pressure with the concussive blasts while Malik hacked and slashed. The other creature almost overran them until David launched himself onto it’s flesh, tearing at its back and neck and ribs, like a godly avenger. He must have been terribly angry because by the time the other two could help, his creature was dead and still. Only one more of the strange monsters appeared and the three wolves killed it with a combination of their weapons. They were going to take a moment to catch their breath when the rifle’s thundering snapped them to attention. The turned to see her tangling with the largest dog they’d ever seen. It was easily car sized, four times the size of your average werewolf, and from the way it was moving at least twice as fast. The she wolf looked like she was a decent shot, her bullets grazed her or there and occasionally made a direct hit, but mostly the creature blurred around all but prepared to bulldoze through anything in its way. The wolves began to charge, but the creature was faster. The she-wolf slammed the butt of the rifle into its rediculously large nose, before rolling out of the way unloading the pistol as soon as she had a steady stance. It did damage, but not nearly enough to be comfortable. The darkness and the faint glimmer of the moon seemed to make the creature flicker between the visage of man and hound. It was pale with eyes of burning bloody red, and though it had a lordly face, it was a demon’s face, full of falsehoods and a deceptions promise. Perhaps some foolish human would believe it handsome in their ignorance to fear’s strange impressions.

Malik was afraid, but that only steadied him, had he not been there’d be some cause for concern. You could say, knowing correct things to ward off was as important to being alpha as the one’s to let in. This thing was a monster and a cancer. David was the first to reach the thing. Four paws move faster than clumsy human shaped feet. Matthew got between the vampire and the she-wolf, passives looked like prey to the ignorant or arrogant, and keeping it from trying to steal her to its lair would be something of a priority. He unloaded round after around into it’s shifting flank, but it seemed as deranged as it was strong. It tangled with David, and though he gave as good as he got, the wolf had been already been wounded, and there was an odd sickness to the vampires attacks. An otherworldly decay and calling to blood. David was downed heavily. Malik got between the two before it was too late, chopping into it as if it were some darkly woven tree. The iron was tough on it’s strange skin, and the fire drew out it’s pained gurgling half speech. Yes it spoke, or tried to, and that nearly turned Malik to stone, oddly enough this only made him more dangerous.

The creature's claws raked across his chest, sending him tumbling to Matthew’s side. The vampire seemed momentarily preoccupied lapping at the blood on its paws and so Malik took the time to take stock. It was powerful, they were more or less in its territory, if they failed here, it would just start in on the rogue pack again, and possibly trace it’s way back to their own people. The last part was what sealed the path for Malik. He motioned for the dagger and the shotgun, giving the greatsword to Matthew. Malik steadied himself, gathering his magic, his strength as wolf, his power as alpha, and his bond to those energy’s barred to others. He made a silent prayer to Allah and charged, aiming the barrel right at the creature’s center, all but saturating its flesh with the silver. It bellowed but Malik returned with his own death cry before leaping onto it’s back. It was prepared, barely giving him any purchase as it bucked and slashed. It clawed up the side of his flank, and it was excruciating. White hot, almost causing the alpha to lose consciousness. Still a round or two more and it’s bucking became more labored and bearable. Malik let the great mass of his energy shift into the silver of the knife, letting the silver pellets embedded in the vampires darkly magicked skin call like to like. He plunged the blade in deep and terrible, the flesh all but unknitting around it’s argent gleam. It was as if the moon itself was along its edge. The knife stopped short of the heart before the monsters flesh began to close around it. Malik was tossed off it’s back, rolling beside his second, who was breathing but just barely. He had the shotgun steady but he was almost out of shells, however the next seconds would deem it unlikely for him to need them.

The creature thrashed in an odd and evil tempo as light seemed to try to pierce the world from inside out. It was like watching a gory strobe light, and though it’s cries were terrifying it could not approach them. There was one last soul wrenching ignite of silver flame, before it’s shape faded to more human bearing, then crumbled into the wind and the vague shape of a knife. The knife hung in the air for a moment, but Malik dare not approach it, instead he waited for it to fester and decay as if it were flesh. A skeletal vapor laughed before disappearing with the rest of the creature.

“It’s dead?” The she wolf asked. Matthew loped over to David’s side and helped his alpha channel enough of their strange magic to push his wounds to heal past critical risk.

“It’s gone, and it’s taint will not trouble you. The silver would have burned it from your bonds, though the change may be a bit hard on you for the next two months or so. It was already dead, and though defeated I am not sure if it will stay that way. Things that mean and that proud tend to have a hard time staying down below. Still it will be some time before it can reform with much strength or usefulness. Perhaps a decade or four, centuries maybe. Hard to say.” Malik said, he was bleeding and his powers had been all but overloaded with his attack. He could already tell the next few hours would be hard on him, and he could feel his mate’s emotions as a troubled worried space in his heart. He would have much to apologize for.

“Boss, can we get the fuck out of here. This country is terrible.” Matthew said.

“Try not to blame the many for the actions of the few.” The she wolf said.

“Yes well, it may have only been a taste, but the ‘has me nearly defecating in my trousers’ flavor is less than endearing.”

“I will say, I’m not a fan of what my people have done with the place. Still, that vampire was pretty pale, I’m sure there’s a white man we can pin this all on somewhere.”

“You promise.” Matthew said.

“I pinky swear my friend, pinky swear.” Malik said between haggard breaths, David growled in agreement.

Meanwhile

Evan was slightly peeved he hadn’t been allowed to go hunting. An Omega’s present was hit or miss when being aggressive with other wolves, but he might of helped with greasing some wheels or keeping everyone from trying to cannibalize each other after the bloody work was said and done. Sarah barely needed him when it came to keeping the pack in line, she made a pretty good overlord, as most of them were tripping over their heels fighting to get her “Strong Suggestions” done first. As Malik’s mate she could have used his power as well, but it seemed she did not want to distract him, and distance could complicate the transmittance. If Evan had to guess though he was pretty sure she simply wanted to show how she didn’t need the power. Evan could respect that, but if she went to too many extremes the pack might just kill their alpha and raise her up as their savior.

It wasn’t like they didn’t notice Evan, but he had a feeling most of the male wolves had an easier time succumbing to Sarah’s charms than his own strange aura. He had to admit, his alpha’s mate was definitely easier on the eyes than his own visage, and perhaps some still wanted to pretend that they were only conceding their submission not actually having it more or less slammed into them which was closer to the truth. Evan was an evil bastard, he knew this about himself, but he also knew that much of his evil was a natural way of containing the perpetual dumbness of humans and most creatures of the earth. Goodguy rarely got the job done the way it needed to be, as far as he saw it, and most of the people that should have been celebrated were rarely seen or known to most people, let alone appreciated.

Despite the fact that she probably wanted a lone rule while her mate was away, Sarah acknowledge, internally of course, that she still needed some help with the day to day issues and that not utilizing another omega would be pretty dumb. Evan accepted this non acknowledgement with the proper humors of dejection, and vague disinterest. She probably wanted to kill him, good, Malik couldn’t get back soon enough. It wasn’t that they didn’t like each other, it was just that Omega’s had a sort of invisible bond between one another. It wasn’t exactly hard cold fact, but he had to admit whenever they were near each other too long, or with too few people around, the lambs could not be silenter if you catch our drift. Unforeseen dangers seemed to pop up out of nowhere, and they both seemed to, as if out of thin air, realize which motions would send the greater portion of the packs dumbness or insecurities marching towards the other. Most of the dominant wolves wouldn’t hear him out about it when he tried to explain it, seeking to pat his head or call him kid or something, Evan was over a hundred years old, he was only a kid in the ancient wolf sense of it and many of Malik’s wolves had barely capped fifty. Malik himself seemed to ignore the oddity, but Evan suspected that had a lot with him not wanting to get between his mate, and his best friend forever, and Evan would make sure, that he kept that title. That bitch Sarah could burn if she thought for one moment she could take that away from him; she had a thousand things coming before that ever happened. All oddness aside, Evan didn’t exactly mind having a rival, it kept things entertaining, and being able to study another one of his kind was much more interesting than the usual song and dance he did around the dominant wolves. Sarah was older than him, and typically more experienced.

Evan snatched up Jane one day to get the ball rolling on some of the maintenance he had to do around the pack. Passives were better at listening when it came to his “Omega Chronicles” as he occasionally called his complaining or just really perverse stories. They didn’t feel the need to try to shut out his words like many of the dominants, but they also seemed to be a bit nervous about the fact that although omega’s could more or less move around the pack like another passive, they weren’t dominant or not-dominant. Put better, it was oddly disturbing for very compassionate creatures like passives to more or less be drawn into a conversation with what to them would probably begin to look like a deranged alpha; something able to bend the pack, enter and exit it as it pleased, cow the most powerful members without even being aggressive, and do most of it with a startling degree of boredom. The last bit was more Evan’s signature than Sarah’s, her calling card so to speak, was the cheerful neighbor routine with proper “Would you like some oatmeal raisin cookies too you little dumbasses” though she often omitted the cursing for “sweet children”.

Jane watched Evan’s near constant fidgeting and general discomfort with every remotely normal thing he saw with reserved concern. He was not prone to comfort by nature, and though many would claim he had a strange calm, it was more like he overloaded himself every now and then and just sort of half drooped through the rest of the day. He had the attention span of a toddler with a kaleidoscope, and a general “what does this button do?” mentality. She hadn’t spent much time alone with him before, as passives rarely needed the sledgehammer of tranquility omegas could slam into more dominant or combative wolves. As far as friendly outings went she would have prefered another assignment. It was like watching a cartoon character step out of the tv and complain about how social patterns in the local youth were contributing to global warming. She was disturbed, and she had every reason to be, at least a dominant sort of lets you know why it’s dangerous, Evan was like god’s flippant insanity wrapped in chocolate...and then coated in caramel so that even if you didn’t buy it again, you always looked...always. So yes, the whole, she could sense he was dangerous, but also that her senses were trying to force her not to understand why, thing was definitely giving her shivers. She remembered David’s words about how Malik’s spirit could influence aggressive wolves in the pack, and since she’d been ever vigilant about just how much her inner beast could be trusted when it came to protecting her as oppose to its own secretive nature.

The two spent most of their time checking in on the pack members, few could even rationalize refusing an omega, and a passive wolf entry into their domains, plus they brought donuts. They didn’t go se everybody, but they also didn’t need to. The one’s Sarah identified, were one’s she suspected didn’t wish to speak about their problems or were approaching a breaking point in secret. It probably wasn’t, “outing ourselves to humans serious”, but wolves could do some dumb and unnecessary stuff if their pack wasn’t in tune with them. Evan suspected that Sarah also just wanted to order him around a little without actually telling him what to do, she was lucky because he loved prying into other people’s business without them knowing he was doing it. Most of the wolves just needed a bit of prodding or a gentle push here or there, and he could sort of feel some of their internal tension settling out, they’d still have to watch them, but no one was there to babysit anyone; werewolves didn’t survive if they couldn’t handle their own business. Omega’s weren’t exactly bloodthirsty in the way dominant wolves could be, they weren’t exactly pacifists either, but if you had to nail it down, if they were being cruel it had something to do with the things people often took for granted. Like they might take away a sock or a piece of jewelery that a they knew the person loved but suspected they “didn’t appreciate enough” just to see them look around for something they didn’t really know was missing. Real fucked up schoolyard shit, and maybe they’d give it back, or maybe they’d burn it or something because now they didn’t feel appreciated either. You could say that they were like odd architects at a beach, and people, any people really, were their sand to be molded into pleasing castles. Castles they had no real problem destroying, but at their own time, when they were ready. You know, like mean people.

Jane gave Evan the, “do you even have a heart” look every now and then, but had she actually asked he might of explained to her that “Although there was a vague thumping which came from the region, he’d never really had cause to check.”

“Did someone like kick your puppy when you were little or something?” Jane said.

“My parents did not love me, and a virus wiped out my village.” Evan said, she tried to keep questions about his past few and far between after that.

Evan got pretty restless after a while and decided to shift into his wolf form, which more than surprised Jane when he just started stripping down out of nowhere. The werewolf’s change is typically a painful thing, omega or not, but Evan managed something of a well humored relation to most of his misfortunes. After about twenty minutes he was done, looking like the wolf version of a white tiger. He wasn’t particularly large for a werewolf and looked more pretty than scary, but then again vipers could be pretty. Jane felt inconvenienced, as they were not anywhere near the pack’s usual running grounds, and though evan dropped a leash on her lap, she did not exactly feel comfortable walking him through the city streets. Humans, like everyone see what they believe they will see, in many ways what they need to see, or what the unconsciously want to see. Most people saw a weirdly colored labrador, other people saw a Yorkshire Terrier. How a two hundred something pound supernatural beast can appear as a fifteen pound squirrel-dog, to human senses is beyond most people, but one would only need to look at their choice in government officials to understand that humans, as a whole, are environmentally unfit beings, unless you’re counting capacity for enslavement as a valuable trait. Jane wanted to wolf out as well, it was uncomfortable being around this not-alpha, while it flaunted it’s wolfness and she was designated to it’s walker. She may have been holding the leash but she felt like she was wearing it more than Evan.

It was about an hour into their pacing that Evan picked up a strange scent, it smelled like magic and wolf, but no wolf he’d ever encountered. He was just about to tow Jane into a more exciting adventure when they both felt something like pack magic exploding in the vicinity. If werewolf magic was silver in hypothetical emotional color, this magic was like burnt gold. Neither of the two could tell if something strange had happened to their people or if a rival pack was trying to move in on their territory. They double timed it back to the van and drove to pack headquarters.

Later Jane would have a conversation with Sarah and Jazmine, mostly detailing how although Evan was moderately funny, something about him was off; his manner of being just a little too not right, just a tad too wrong. Jazmine would explain to her that Evan was more or less raised on the philosophy that two rule following people could have vastly different interpretations of what the specifics of those rules actually meant. Which was true enough, and it’s probably why he survived so long around werewolves as the most experienced ones often knew how to twist the rules/”facts” of their existence the best, but it also meant his moral compass was as makeshift as drawing a diamond in the sand and calling the top corner north, even if the sun was setting in its direction. When called out on this, she added, he’d probably say something like “I always knew it was a liar”, or “I’d never trust a white man” as Evan had been raised with mostly Caucasian Judeo Christian interpretations of heavenly objects, or her favorite “You think that’s air you’re breathing now” as if references from the Matrix justified any and all acts of madness with him at the epicenter.

When the pack gathered they were able to clarify that it was not their magic which had been acting so strange, and a couple of phone calls lowered the possibility that it was one of the neighboring packs moving in on their territory. The event had occurred in the morning so that left vampires as unlikely aggressors. There was not much love between the pack and the local night court but sometimes friends were more likely to stab you in the back than neutrals or strangers, as it was, both groups didn’t mind using one another to scare off competition even if indirectly. That still left the fae, witches, and any number of ridiculous pseudo classifications of creatures, but if they were being honest, if no harm was done to them or theirs within the next few days they were content to let the disturbance pass as yet another footnote in their strange existence.

That didn’t mean they’d sit on their butts the whole time though, Sarah sent Jazmine, Evan and Jane to investigate. Jane was thankful to have the pack’s third with them, Jazmine was a deadly fighter, and though she was pretty sure Evan could brawl if he had to, she had her doubts about just how much he valued the threat of harm to others, or himself. He was still in his wolf form, but Jazmine allowed Jane to join him as a four pawed and clawed creature of the supernatural. The wolves walked side by side, a little ways in front of their, “leader” wasn’t the right word, more like protector or captain. Jane questioned how seriously Evan took the chains of command, but as her knowledge of Omega’s grew she began to suspect that since Sarah had given a certain authority to Jazmine, even he was inclined to look to her for guidance. Though that half deranged grin of his gave her some doubts.

Jane was a grey wolf and more or less looked like a regular old timber if you didn’t gaze too long or too closely. All werewolves were strong, and what she lacked in power she made up for in craftiness. She’d round back after sniffing here or there, and Jazmine would pat her behind the ears and she was pretty content. Sometimes she’d chase a rat or a cat for a while but then the Jazmine would call her back softly but sternly and she’d wag her tail, as if she were a funny pup and back to work she’d go. It was hard to say who found it first, but Evan and her both stumbled on the strange scent which smelled of wolf, but a magic that wasn’t theirs. They dragged Jazmine to where they’d found it and though her senses weren’t as sharp as they’d be in wolf form, she could smell the strangeness just fine. She let them guide her, and it wasn’t a mile or two before Jane all but slammed against a wall of what she could only describe as magic. When she tried to approach it again, it forced her nose downward and she could barely move for a moment, only being allowed to retreat after a couple of breath-stalling seconds past. Jazmine stepped in front of her, keeping her hidden from whatever they had disturbed. She moved to touch the thing, hand carefully outstretched and though she got alot farther than Jane, the magic sparked and bit at her skin, and her eyes were burning bright angry amber things. The beginnings of the change were upon her when she decided to retreat, and though she had not been frozen like Jane, she was far from comfortable. She snarled a little, forcing her already shifting bones back into place, it was a couple of minutes before she was anything resembling composed.

It was around this time that Jane realized, that for all his nonsense, it was pretty useful to have an omega around every now and then. Evan sniffed around the magic border, before pushing his way through. There were a few moments of careful rigid steps, but then it seemed to more or less just fold around his image, like he knew a secret handshake or something. By the time he was ten feet away, what they’d believed to be a simple parking lot, dissolved into something a little more complicated. There were trees, redwoods and coniferous giants, and from what they could see, a number of cabins lined its hidden background. Every now and then they saw a fort or hammock in the branches but if their were people in them they were the best scouts Jane ever encountered. They couldn’t begin to rationalize how something resembling a northeastern forest had been seamlessly melded with their cityscape, but it seemed to operate like an optical illusion, look too long in one direction and one place or the other just sort of folded out of your awareness. Jane was beginning to suspect that if they left now, they might never find the place again, let alone remember it, and that any humans around the place would more or less still just see a parking lot they had no interest in observing. The werewolves continued their approach with Evan at point and Jazmine bringing up the rear. It wasn’t long before their first introduction. An arrow pierced the ground Evan was just about to step on. All three hunkered down and huddled a little closer together, weaving whatever pack magic they could muster so that they weren’t slaughtered in the coming minutes. As things were, it was something of a warning shot, because out of the forest, as if they were phantoms, a people did emerge. Most had skin of burnt copper, or rustic brick and ochre, and though their sable hair came braided, or wild, or wavy like the ancient peoples forgotten through the genocide of white people’s carelessness, they looked relatively modern. Some dressed in hides-skins or perhaps more “traditional” garments relating to their people but others had jeans and graphic tees. Most were armed however, and the choice of weaponry seemed about as diverse as their choice of clothing. There were flintlock pistols, shotguns, arrows, machete’s, broadswords, you name it.

“We came at the direction of our standing Alpha, who is mate to the usual bastard. No harm was meant by our intrusion, we simply needed to understand what you were doing here, and if you meant our people ill intent.” Jazmine said, keeping her fangs from growing too sharp, or her voice from drifting too beastword.

“How’d you get in, that barrier was supposed to be werewolf proof.” Said one of the people.

“Just werewolves?” Jazmine said.

“No one else would sense it, and if they did they wouldn’t care.” Another person said.

“And why is that?” Jazmine said trying to sound as neutral as possible. There was some murmuring between the people present.

“We have a special connection to your kind.” Said one person.

“Yeah you’re always finding a way to be a pain in our collective asses.” Said another and there was some low chuckling going on.

“So...how’d you get in.”

“And Don’t lie to us.”

Jazmine was feeling a bit at a loss, she wasn’t exactly sure what they’d done or hadn’t done, and though she had her suspicions she was also relatively sure that if they didn’t like her answer then their arsenal would turn them into swiss cheese. Evan looked a little nervous but also kinda bored, and only he could pull off both so seamlessly. Then something even weirder happened. There was some rustling in the background and a few of the people parted as a procession of wolves, not werewolves but seemingly regular looking timber wolves loped through. At a closer glance they might have been direwolves because their was a peculiar ancientness to their forms, and a disturbing intelligence to their eyes which made it clear that they were well versed in appearing as everything that they weren’t when the humor suited them. They surrounded the werewolves, sniffing here or there, and driving Jazmine mad, but she kept in her temper if only to keep her packmates breathing. As if the god of surprises wasn’t done trying to give her a heart attack it was at this moment a wolf, bigger than most werewolves she’d seen, at least three hundred pounds, stalked out like shadows melded to obsidian. He was a handsome creature and also one of the deadliest creatures she had the misfortune of meeting. Bigger didn’t mean stronger, but she could all but smell the death and power, and sadness that clung to the creature. He would have been strong even if it was a poodle in some dumb models trailer. Beside him, walking completely in tune, was a cute-ish looking girl. She looked like she could have been fifteen or twenty three, some people had that type of bearing, like they never had or would grow out of endearing awkwardness. She looked sturdy though, if in a punkish type of way. She had freckles and long flowing golden hair like a lion’s mane. She was wearing canvas pants, hiking boots, and a jacket that looked too warm for the climate but if they could hide a forest in a parking lot, Jazmine didn’t doubt that there were even greater mysterious to the place. She was a little below average height but despite her somewhat “country girl in the big city” vibe she looked like she’d handle herself just fine in a fight. Something about the way her hips moved, or maybe her shoulders; she had a warriors rhythm. It also might have had something to do with how much, she and her friend smelled like werewolves, though the black beast of a creature seemed to be mixed with something else.

The black wolf began to shift, and though it looked just as painful, if slightly more beautiful in the nexus of magic and energy he gathered, it was one of the fastest shifts she’d ever seen. In what could only have been two minutes, he stood before them clothed in regular shirt, jeans, and sneakers though that black coat he wore was impressive in it’s simple yet foreboding aura. His hair was short and wavy about his neck, and he seemed just a little more sable in color than some of his compatriots. On his back was a sword, and Jazmine would have counted herself a fool if she believed for a moment that it was a normal weapon.

“If you look for the source of their intrusion, look no further than that one.” The newly changed wolf said. His voice boomed for the first few words but it gradually lowered, as if he had used his power by accident. Jazmine had seen that happen in the newly changed or more peculiar alphas, but rarely were they powerful enough to have her wolf all but trying to tear out of her skin, she hunched down instinctively but she could not tell if it was to prepare for the shift or because his power demanded her submission. The strange wolf rubbed his head, looking tired and a little annoyed with himself as the others began to look at Evan.

“He is a rarity amongst their kind. They would call him...Omega. Where the dominant are combatted, and the more passive repelled, he would slip by un-harassed, as he does not demand subjugation, but nor is he easily subjugated. He belongs to no one.” The strange wolf said, and Evan did not seem entirely comfortable with his description, though Jazmine was just appreciative that his tone had lost its ancient wolf overlord feel. His people muttered to themselves about the new development.

“Who are you, why are you here?” Jazmine said finally. The strange wolf’s gaze rounded on her with viper swiftness, and the fire in his gilded eyes nearly drove her to the ground, she braced herself with her hand as her wolf bucked to be free. He was either insane, or powerful beyond reason, maybe both.

“I am Markus, or at least you may call me that. These one’s who travel with me and to who much of my blood is owed, are wardens, protectors, gatekeepers. Sorry your language, or perhaps the language of this side of your world does not come easily, so much is different yet deceptively similar. You may call us Watchmen, and Watchwomen I suppose if we’re being inclusive or whatever. We were made in the image of wolves, or Wolf, depending on how you interpret the stories, and though my blood is not pure I share in their histories.”

“You smell like werewolf.” Jazmine said.

“You can blame my father for that, he was precocious when it came to patterns of...hybridization. For a while I was certain he had more than a light hand in darwain’s theories, but then again he always had his hand in a bit of everything.” Markus said looking slightly irked but amused. The blonde girl laughed a little.

“And you have brought your people here because?” Jazmine said.

“They brought themselves and we all have our reasons for sticking together, or not. As to why this place in particular, well you could say that some of us have a way of honing in on familiar magic. Something called and we answered so I suppose, if we haven’t lost our touch, there is an interesting magic which wishes to commune with our clan around here somewhere.” Markus said.

“You sound a little like pirates.” Jazmine said.

“Um, no, not pirates. If we’re getting right down to it, more like time travelers or very strange math wizards, though I suppose given how this place has shaped us, it’d be more like math shamans.” He said, looking like the subject was of great interest to him and that he was mildly annoyed he couldn’t just tear away from the conversation then and there to continue his ruminations. His people seemed to be waiting, some humorously, some more annoyed, for him to break out of his internal considerations.

“Time travelers, that’s a pretty bold claim.”

“Not really. Most people time travel, they just can’t always track it. Like how you can’t count every breath you take a day, but you can assume you’ve taken more than a few. We just sort of take the stuff people like to forget or easily lose hold of and push it to the limit. I’m pretty sure we were made to like protect humanity or something, but white people ruined that when they killed off most of our people, so now we like hunt monsters every now and then, or like save the world or whatever, we kind of play it by ear.” Markus said, sounding, to his credit, relatively serious.

“How old are you, how long have you guys been here.”

“Well that’s a funny question to ask time travelers, but um, last I checked I’m around two hundred, maybe two-forty, it gets a little fuzzy now with all the calculations and changing in formula. Also every now and then time spits out some clone of me or something and makes us fight, or it locks me in another dimension for a while while it tries to take over my existence, or our existence as it were, it’s all really weird stuff actually. You’d imagine we’d be able to settle our differences relatively humanely but I guess they weren’t kidding when they said doppelgangers were boatloads of trouble. As for how long we’ve been here, well the terrain or forest or whatever can sort of swap time and distance so I’d say we’ve been walking about forty or twenty miles since our last destination. ” Markus said. At least Jazmine could confirm one thing, he was definitely insane.

“Will you allow us to return to our pack?” Jazmine said.

“Are you guys going to like try blow up our territory while we aren’t looking?” Markus said.

“No.” Jazmine said though she sounded less sure than she’d have liked considering that she didn’t know what Sarah would suggest. Markus seemed satisfied though.

“Then sure, you’re free to go.” Markus said.

“Just like that.” Jazmine said.

“Pretty much.” Markus said.

“Not that I’m ungrateful, but why exactly? You went through all that trouble to hide yourselves and all.” Jazmine said, Evan gave her a “are you kidding?” look full of sarcasm and honest exasperation.

“Well, I’ll admit werewolves can be pretty annoying, but in general, we like them a lot better than most humans, and to be honest, it’s pretty useful to have another source of wolf magic to draw from, so I guess you could call this a ‘see you later neighbor’ which I mean in the most congenial way possible. It will be interesting to see where this goes.” Markus said, and when he was finished the other wolves huddled in his general direction, and the others lowered their weapons, slightly. Jazmine rose carefully, trying to resist her wolf’s urging to bolt or maim. She gathered up Jane, who was shivering out of her wits, and Evan who seemed to have lost his boredom, though not his nervousness, somewhere in the conversation. They went back out the way they came.

The pack was, well, not exactly angry, but definitely freaking out. It wasn’t a conscious thing but they were moving around more than usual, and loud noises nearly had them tearing at each other. Sarah was doing her best to keep them calm but she couldn’t entirely justify using her power if it meant they’d be less capable of defending themselves from the obvious threat that had more or less poofed itself into their backyard. So far any ideas of trying to confront the “invaders” were squashed before they could gain much traction, but nobody was entirely comfortable with just waiting around to be ambushed. Jazmine wasn’t entirely sure that they would, but the large black beast had not seemed...all there as far as she could tell, and few things were scarier than a crazy person with too much power than they had any business holding, she should know, she’d been Malik’s friend for decades.

The alpha in question wouldn’t be back for a couple of days to come, he’d concluded his business down south, but you could never be sure if some overly ambitious jerk wouldn’t try to assassinate a wolf far from his pack. Much of the pack was concerned with, just why an omega was able to move through the barrier but one of the most dominant wolves in their ranks couldn’t. Niether Sarah or Jazmine had the patience to explain to their fragile ego’s just what an Omega was...again. Others wondered why the strange wolf could shift so fast and summon clothes and a weapon as he did so. Some theorized that it had something to do with the strange terrain, or the peculiar heritage he claimed. More relevantly Jazmine had to explain that she wasn’t entirely sure what she saw, and that if they could create such powerful illusions as to hide a whole forest in a parking lot there was nothing saying that most of the conversation wasn’t just some strange deception. This settled their unrest just a little, werewolves were pretty good at misdirection and making your enemy see what you needed them to believe was something they could wrap their heads around.

Sarah phoned around to the other alphas to see if they’d ever encountered something like the strange wolfy neighbors who’d just set up shop. Most had no idea, but a couple had heard a rumor or two or simply were old enough to remember the days when Native magics and stories were not so far fetched, when they were as real and foreboding as the vampires and witches who darkened their doorsteps too often. Sarah herself seemed to have some experience with the ideas, but much of her knowledge dealt with skinwalkers or wendigo’s or other nasty abominations which her people slew or avoided much more often than they studied or entertained. These creatures did not seem to fit the description as far as she could tell, and if she was being honest, the white man’s decimation of her people and their culture had made her lose much faith in the old ways of her heritage. Now she had to consider that maybe it was not a coincidence that those strange beasts from far off lands had remoulded her in wolfen form.

“There were rumors.” Sarah told Jazmine.

“Rumors?”

“Chatter, most of us believed it nonsense. Magic was suspicious and if it came up in a story it usually had to do with some monster eating up children or other fucked-up-ness, we weren’t a...joyful people.” Sarah said after lighting her rolled tobacco.

“You, not joyful, I’d never have guessed.” Jazmine said her voice dripping with sarcasm. Sarah just sort of sneered.

“We didn’t always see much of a difference between animals and people, or you know, trees and shit. It was pretty silly sometimes, some old woman would be talking all happy and stuff about how charming and intelligent this person was, and you’d think some young man had decided to make her swoon but she’d be talking about a beaver, or a strange bush or something. It was hard to take people seriously. Still, sometimes it was hard to ignore, life wasn’t extraordinary, but it wasn’t really normal either. Every other day a bear or some eagle tried to take you out so it was natural for people to be suspicious about just what mischief the sky ones and the earth ones would get up to. Well, so it was that every now and then you’d see something, something that really didn’t add up, something that was wierd down into your bones. Strangers would show up, looking like man but also not. Like in those fuzzy pictures of people that makes you see them as good looking or fierce or something, but you can’t tell if it’s because they are or because somewhat just took the picture from a funny angle or something. Well strangers would show up looking like that every now and then, and sometimes they’d look a little like birds do, or a little like snakes do, or a little like, well wolves do I guess. They wouldn’t stay long, but they didn’t really need to for some disaster to make itself or unmake itself depending on how the winds were feeling. I mean every now and then you’d get a funny looking kid or something, but there wasn’t much people could do about that, I mean it was your kid, so you’d just kinda ignore if had eyes that were a little too slitted, or if its crying was just a little too much like a growl. I mean it freaked me the fuck out, but people always thought I was weird anyway, so everything just sort of worked itself out.” Sarah said, after taking a long drag on her tobacco.

“Your people sound fucked up.” Jazmine said.

“We were, it was a fucked up land. Great spirit always trying to push your buttons with forest fires, or thunderstorms, or funny looking clouds that looked too much like some heartbreaker who wasted your time. Those were the worst because it always looked like they were winking at you or something, but no one else would see it, so you’d just look crazy or something.” Sarah said. Jazmine couldn’t help but laugh at that one.

“So no one minded if their kid just hung in the air a little too long, or started barking at the moon every now and then?” Jazmine said. Sarah shrugged.

“I mean, no one actually knew what we were. I mean elders would tell us stories and everyone had theories, but most days it was too hot or too cold to really give a damn. I mean have you ever seen a elk or a coyote or something. We don’t exactly look like them, but then again, we don’t not look like them, ya know. I guess when pale faced gold haired people showed up the best of our, I guess you could call them philosophers, just sort of threw in the towel. I mean the spirits obviously didn’t seem to care about the nonsense they sent our way, so why should we care. I mean...a white man...c’mon they were like some backwoods witch’s frankenstein experiment, all pasty and bad smelling and shifty looking. If we’re being honest I’m pretty sure they’re Rattlesnake’s or Fox’s get but, all that nonsense sounds just like them.” Sarah said sounding all her four hundred or so years. Jazmine was only around two hundred herself but for all their similarities, her people’s story was not Sarah’s.

“You think these guys are actually going to be, civil or something.”

“If they actually are wolves, then I guess they’ll be about as civil as they need to be until we look more like mice than worthy rivals. Wolf, if the thing even exists didn’t always get stories like Coyote, or Fox or some of the more personally named folk. He wasn’t exactly a trickster as most would interpret it, but he was patient in that perverse way they could be, and you could say he was good at hunting them or talking to them. People could mistake him for the bully of the story, but that feeling didn’t always hold because he wasn’t big and lonesome like Bear nor as distant and lordly like Eagle. He was very good at breaking even with a degree of dignity, and he was childish in a type of knightly way. If these folk really take after him then trying to go at them head on, like we might with some straggler european creature, or trying to challenge them like we might with a rogue pack wouldn’t work. They wouldn’t care and would probably just melt into the background of our day to day existence, there but not, harassing us with the shadow of their presence, you know, until they got bored enough or we weak enough to where they could just sort of gobble us up. Wolf was pretty good at gobbling things up.” Sarah said, her eyes shining with her beasts intelligence, they were a weird color like lilac, or a violet rose.

“So we shouldn’t fight them.”

“We should have a sturdy stance and be interesting enough that they like observing us more so than trying to repossess that which is ours. I’m betting it helps that there are few pale faces in our ranks, though the black ones might be just as offensive to them, don’t give me that look, race is fucked up. If we can find what it is they’re looking for they might be inclined to leave, though if I’m being honest, we could just point them at the vampires. They said they hunt monsters right, so I wouldn’t exactly mind trading the blood suckers for a bunch of native wolves.” Sarah said, only she could make extinguishing local cultures sound like an exchange with the local car salesman.

“You really think they’re time travelers.” Jazmine said.

“You’re the one who met them. Usually the fae are only that good with twisting dimensions like that. The vampires are pretty good but they usually need darkness and blood, and dumbness. Like I said, when the white man showed up, I gave up on trying to define most of this nonsense.” Sarah said.

Malik, David and Matthew would not be back for at least three more days, so everyone was still a little jumpy when there was a knock on their door during one of the pack meetings. There guests happened to be none other than, Markus and the blonde werewolf girl. They weren’t holding hands but there was a lot of casual touching as well as in tune motions between them which suggested they were on even footing. Many male werewolves wouldn’t mind treating their women like doormats but the Desert Garden Pack soon began to suspect that if that wolf, for all his strength, tried that with her he’d end up flat on his back begging for you know what.

“We come in...Friendship.” Markus said as if words often eluded him.

“Not peace?” Rowan said.

“Peace is too complicated, prone to misinterpretation, or boredom. Friendship is more honest and interesting. Friendship changes the most stubborn of us.” The girl said.

“I’m Markus, as you may or may not know. This is Cassandra. She’s a werewolf, well we both are. I’m half wolf shifter from the pack who sort of got dropped on your lap. She’s a witch.” Markus said as if he was checking his cart for everything on their grocery list.

“Nice to meet ya.” She said looking awkward and like she’d be just as comfortable bolting out the door as she would shaking their hands.

“A witch werewolf?”

“So were you born a werewolf or were you made?” These were the first two questions, though the second one could have been addressed to either of them. Sarah hushed some of the more impatient wolves and found seats for their guests.

“Markus was born both a watchmen, as the wolf shifters have taken to calling themselves, and a werewolf. His mother is a watchwoman, and his father was a very strange werewolf, he is no longer with us.” Cassandra said though there was something off about the stress she placed on the last few words.

“May he rest in a galaxy far far away.” Markus said chuckling softly. Cassandra punched him in the arm but she was smiling too. The pack looked a little weary.

“I was made a werewolf, though not in the usual way, and frankly it was pretty traumatic so I’d rather not go over the details.”

“Everyone who harmed her is dead and burned.” Markus said his wolf growling forward as if on instinct. It sent an odd ripple through the room that had most of the wolves on edge. Cassandra made a super quick swipe to his chest which keeled him over for a second before he came back up laughing.

“I can fight my own battles just fine, and we’re the intruders here, so try to restrain yourself.” Cassandra said.

“You got it dear o’ dear of mine.” Markus said.

“We aren’t married.” She said

“So you keep saying, this your way of trying to run out on me.” Markus said, looking like he’d follow her to the end of time and back, the return being just for kicks.

“I don’t know, there seem to be many handsome and able bodied men here. They look like they’d know how to treat a hot blooded woman like myself.” She said turning from him and batting her eyelashes as if she were a runway model or a movie star. She could have been both, she was beautiful. Then the second ended and she was back to looking like she might be some at risk youth or teen runaway. The wolves were a little disturbed, though the males looked like they might just test her loyalty to the Markus, while the females were considering cutting their losses and stealing him for themselves.

“I’ve heard that witches do not always have an easy time with the change, something about werewolf magic fights them. The ones that survived tended to be strong, and powerful as far as I heard but few were allowed to keep their second existence, so to speak. Witches drift very closely to evil more often than most would like and Alpha’s don’t like sharing their dominion.” Sarah said, looking in danger of actually liking these invaders.

“Most of the ones like me were killed off, either by the wolf packs or by our strange band as it were. You are correct, they were powerful but foolish and arrogant often doing more harm than good. I like to believe that I am different, but proving that is a daily struggle, not an absolute.” Cassandra said.

“What can you do?” Said one of the pack members.

“Pack magic bends a little...well a lot easier for me than most. It helps if I’m apart of the pack in question, though I’m pretty dominant so that’s usually enough. It’s hard to explain without a demonstration, and to be honest, it would not make you comfortable with letting us leave here intact. I suppose it’s like...well you ever seen a necromancer, well I’m like a wolfmancer or whatever.” Cassandra said. The pack looked weary but a little star struck.

“Necromancy is pretty dark stuff, and the vampires killed off most of those who showed any talent with the art for obvious reasons.” Sarah said.

“Yes well, I’m by no means a white witch, unless you’re counting like skin color or something but I stay as far away from black magic as is possible. So I’m more like a grey-witch.” Cassandra said.

“That’s an interesting stance.” Jazmine said, most witches enjoyed flaunting their darkness powerful or not, and seen a few who were black as the void claim lilly whiteness. Grey was something she could understand though not necessarily something she was used to.

“She’s very interesting.” Markus said trying to put her arm around her only for her to slip him and smacking him hard on the butt instead. He teetered forward again laughing deep rich sounds. For all it’s beauty it had the tones of a boy who had grown up too fast.

“We’ve heard a little about her, but what about you. What’s your mo so to speak.”

“Oh I’m not that interesting, just one dark skinned man trying to make it in this cruel cruel world. I pay my taxes like everyone else, when the government forces me to. Probably why I spend most of my time in era’s less touched by civilization.” Markus said.

“Don’t let him fool you, he’s as vain as a volcano is hot, though I will say he does make a fetching savage barbarian. He was gone for weeks after he wasn’t allowed to shift for one of our missions. Said ‘we’d never chain him again’, he nearly turned the whole forest against us. I had to use my special stuff to drag him back.”

“You were supposed to come with me so that we could sire a new better race of wolves, one’s that don’t poke fun at you when you get all anxious after they keep you trapped looking like a human for thirty days those bastards.” he said seemingly drifting off into some annoying memory that lit a fire in his eyes.

“I’m not your broodmare, go find a cow if you want a baby making machine, to be honest I have no interest in the creatures. All sticky, and loud, and needy, like you but less handsome.”

“You think I’m handsome.” He said looking honestly pleased, like she’d scratched his ribs in just the right way. It was hard to tell how much of their conversation was banter or genuine spontaneity but the pack didn’t care, they were pretty entertaining. Sarah bet it was a decent bit of both.

“He’s good at talking to spirits and stuff, it’s that shaman magic, if you want to call it that. Ghosts don’t like me, but they don’t mind speaking to him every now and then. He’s also pretty good at bending fire.”

“I make things go boom.” Markus said spreading his hands wide, like a kid at the arcade.

“Not anymore.” Cassandra said.

“Boom.” Markus said.

“Some things happened and the fire does not come to him in the ways it used to. He’s still dangerous, he’s just a little more responsible about it.” Cassandra said.

“It used to be like bring me to a gas station at your own peril, or please don’t leave me with these flammable children, like oh it’s just a small candle light, then FIREBALL! Now its more like patient sustainable burn, like simmer simmer, almost forgettable, incineration. I’m like james bond with the flame.” Markus said as if he’d won that arcade in an endurance test of ridiculous challenges. The wolves looked entertained still, but definitely more guarded.

“Do not ask him to prove it, I know we just met but I’m assuming you’d rather not lose this place to a serial arsonists idiocy.” Cassandra said.

“You burn down one city and suddenly there’s a whole name for what you are or something.” Markus said.

“Don’t start with me.” Cassandra said.

“Yes dear.” Markas said

“You two are definitely not what we were expecting.” Sarah said.

“Speak for yourself.” Evan said looking thoroughly entertained. Markus squinted at him as if they might have known each other from somewhere, but he supposed he must have been mistaken.

“Yes well we figured it would be best to ease you guys into our weirdness with some more familiar ideas. Werewolves to werewolves, you know. The Watchmen,

“And Watchwomen,”

“Can be funny about outsiders, we’d like them to be as respectful as possible considering well, you know, friendship and all that.”

“He wants to say family, but we explained that might be a little too much all at once. He’s a big ol’ softy, a big ol’ dangerous combustible softy.” Cassandra said reaching up to pat his head.

“I’m not crying you are.” Markus said dabbing at his eye.

“I believe we’ve said all that we needed to say for tonight, If you would like us to leave we’d understand this may take some time and there’s no reason to rush.” Cassandra said.

“With that said, we do have like five boxes of pizza in the car so, like you know…”

“I vote pizza, feed me Sarah, feed your people.” Evan said all but starting a chant amongst the pack members. The reigning omega gave her counterpart a raptors glare lacking in umph because although he annoyed her she couldn’t help but feel a little sentimental. Markus and Cassandra stayed most of the night and the pack dined well on meat and doughy cheeses.

When Malik returned there was a bit of a groan amongst the pack members as they were just getting used to their omega overlord and her oddly comfortable and relaxing dictatorship. Malik just groaned back, as he had been enjoying his pseudo solitude, and had almost turned the car off the road to begin existence anew as a free wolf. The only thing stopping him was that his mate would just track him down anyway, so he saved himself the embarrassment.

The Watchmen development was unexpected, but so was having to go kill a foreign alpha who’d gotten too dumb for his own good. Luckily it didn’t seem like Malik would have to bestir himself too much with policing the newcomers as they kept to themselves and their strange stronghold mostly. Before he could meet them though, Sarah had more or less tied him to their bed and pried her pleasure from him which he endured like a proper soldier of love. It was tough stuff, tough hot, blood boiling, ecstasy inspiring stuff. He was not himself for a couple more days as he considered the fool he’d almost been ever considering leaving his pack...without dragging her with him first. Her work had him not quite moving right for a couple of days, and the world seemed to be colored a little differently, like happiness, or a hustler magazine. It was big pimpin’.

Some talk with his pack convinced him that Sarah was probably better suited to most of the official maintenance, he was pretty sure she’d been puppeteering him for years anyway, which was fine with him, her hands worked his strings so nicely. He preferred a more leisured approach as things were, it was a lot of work ordering those hard headed bastards around, and he was less likely to destroy them if she was at the reigns. If anyone needed to die, or needed to be inspired by death, she’d tell him, otherwise he could focus on his gardening.

He’d met with the black werewolf, Malik had black stripes but he was more grizzly colored. At first the boy, because Malik couldn’t help but see him that way, looked a little too full of himself, overconfident, but after a while he began to see that he was mostly just confused. The oddest of things would startle him, toasters popping, cars honking, women smiling, it was hilarious, and so Malik liked him better. He was tall or at least tall enough, though he didn’t seem used to it, though Malik suspected he’d never be completely comfortable anywhere, at least not without that woman of his to keep him from burning into the sky or something. He’d shown him his fire magic, and this truly impressed Malik which was rare as most things seemed so common these days, or at least inconsequential. He could see many uses for a strong wolf such as he with the fire’s at his call. Markus explained that the fire used to be more flashy, but less substantial, it required too much energy and was more scary than it was powerful. Now there was less flash and great power, so long as his aim was steady, otherwise he might blow off his own arm or something. He demonstrated this by incinerating a trash can into nothingness. There were barely ashes, though it looked like the action had been taxing.

“It’s more about heat itself now, raw thermals precisely diffused.” He said.

“What caused the change.” Malik said. Markus rubbed his head and then his eyes darkened with the wolf’s presence.

“Something terrible.” Markus said. Malik just nodded, that usually did it. Malik explained that he had a bit more magic than most, himself, and it manifested itself in silver more often than not.

“I don’t know if that’s convenient or inconvenient.” Markus said.

“It’s a little bit of both.” Malik said. Markus explained that he and silver didn’t mix, that it was as likely to make him explode into pieces as it was to give him a bad cut. Malik understood this as Silver was already a very magical element and Markus seemed to have to put a lot of energy into making his power stable.

Markus decided that he liked Malik enough to introduce him to his mother, Malik was a little worried, as Sarah, or Jazmine for that matter, were likely to chop off a finger or two if they suspected him of being unfaithful. Markus explained it wasn’t like that, she was just likely to find him interesting.

“So where did you learn how to bend silver?” Markus said.

“A long story and a lot of mean fae.” Malik said.

“Sounds rough.” Markus said.

“I’m pretty sure I may have been born in one of their dimensions, or made or whatever, it’s all pretty foggy, lots of blood and corpses, and funny dresses.” Malik said as if he was drifting through a dream which was forgotten more often than not.

“You’re weird, I like that.” Markus said.

“Ditto.” Malik said.

“You aren’t going to try and lock me in some phantom world or something and take over my existence while I’m gone or whatever right?” Markus said, looking momentarily like a paranoid college student.

“Does that happen to you a lot?” Malik said, raising a brow and wondering if he should have been driving.

“I mean like, a lot is a pretty relative term...it happens enough you know. Time clones and all, and mean people.”

“I’m not your clone and I have no interest in your existence...well, I don’t mean to be rude but I have enough problems, what I’m trying to say is I’m content to let you take care of your own messes.” Malik said.

“Right right, that makes complete sense.” Markus said looking like a person whose fears were only fed by normality. “So born in a faery huh?” Markus continued.

“Let’s not.” Malik said keeping the door closed on that conversation. They rounded on one of the public parks and Markus guided him to the unlawfully attractive woman sitting at one of the benches. Malik was almost positive that Markus was more dominant than him, the man seemed to have power in spades, but he also seemed like the poster boy for what too much raw power could due to a person's existence. He seemed just as likely to consume himself as harm his enemies.

“Hi mom.” Markus said as if he were fifteen instead of two hundred something. The woman looked like the perfect blend between beast and civilization, like she could maintain her beauty whether she was surrounded by the creatures of the forests or the world’s top models. Malik knew there was something else to it, but it wasn’t so much magic in the way a witch or a fae might approach it. It was right at the boundary line between, what you might call nature and nurture, or the energy of an aura and general personal bearing. She was the type of person who made other people beautiful just by being in her presence, they type which encouraged compassion when the extremes of stupidity were so often much more easily accessible. Malik liked her at once.

“I like him.” The woman said. She had long dark hair tied down her back in a braid. Her Skin was like a sun scorched mountain top, and she held womanly curves with almost disinterested grace. She was in simple jeans and a sweater. She smiled and it was a kind warm smile, but it was also a wolf’s smile.

“Mom, this is Malik Rosa, the local pack Alpha. He’s a werewolf, which you already know...he’s also pretty funny, but I guess you can decide that for yourself. Hmmm. Right, Malik this is my mom, she goes by...different names every now and then.” Markus said looking both happy and uncomfortable at the same time.

“Time demands some flexibility in the letters with which we know ourselves.” Malik said.

“Nicely put, you can call me Rebecka, wait no...I don’t mind a challenge but It sounds too much like a basic bitch name, how about Rhiannon, it reminds me of that song I like or whatever. So yeah, I’m Rhiannon, nice to meet you.” She said, and they shook hands.

“You have to do that often?”

“What create an identity almost out of nowhere, considering our pseudo nomadic approach to existence more often than i’d like yes. Sometimes I call myself “Solar Flare”, or “Rain Cloud”, or “Baddest Bitch On The Planet”, or a thousand other dumb things that always seemed to fail because I’m a person not a computer file. I try to say grounded when I can, too many bad experiences.” Rhiannon said.

“That last one ‘Baddest Bitch On The Planet’ that wasn’t just a joke she actually used it, no one spoke english there but it was still funny. I think they erected a statue or something in her honor or whatever. It’s the little things that really make it all worthwhile.” Markus said, Malik laughed. Rhiannon patted the seat beside her and he sat down.

“You guys should talk alone, I’ll go get us coffee or something. Does this era have coffee.”

“Yes and donuts, bring both, thanks.” Malik said.

“I want a croissant, with almonds.” Rhiannon said. Markus nodded and marched off.

“They way he said ‘should talk alone’ it was pretty ominous. Something I should know.”

“Well we all should know a bunch of stuff we aren’t allowed to, like whether this top goes with these sneakers, I’m color blind half the damn time so I don’t know. I mean I’m all for roughing it with the plebs, but I don’t want to look poor, or homeless you know, that’s not gucci.” Rhiannon said.

“You sure are something.”

“Thank you, I don’t need to assume it was a compliment, I just know, because I’m on point like that. But to be more relevant, yes. Strange forces at work and all that, and I know it sounds messed up that we just sort of land out of nowhere and start tossing our problems onto your lap but I want to make it clear that you are in no way obliged to help us.” Rhiannon said.

“Good to know.” Malik said well humored.

“There’s a bit of a psycho bitch running loose in your territory.

“You’ll have to be more specific.” Malik said, since he’d put down roots his territory had never had much of a shortage of “psycho bitches”.

“Well, I have a bit of a bias, but I don’t like her, or at least as far as she should know i don’t like her. Some people you really got a hug with a long armed spoon, or like with a ton of armor or something. Though hell below, some bitches can’t have their demons eased with a tender pat on the head, they really have to have that crazy squeezed out of them you know, like lemons, or oranges. And this bitch could make orange juice for days” Rhiannon said.

“Okay.” Malik said.

“Right so, she has something of mine. Well she had more stuff but I got the meat of it back so minus a little grafitti induced aggravation I’m mostly calm.” Rhiannon said.

“What does you not calm look like.”

“You ever seen an avalanche.” Rhiannon said. Malik nodded, he’d even been stuck in one once, it was the epitome of scary.

“What exactly did she take?” Malik said.

“This or that. It’s an old story, so we’ve been allowed our liberties for how we can interpret our grievances by the forces at be. You could say we have stylistic differences, deadly differences, as I take my art seriously, and she’s opportunistic, ungrateful and generally messes up things simply because she doesn’t understand them or doesn’t want anyone else to have them.” Rhiannon said seeming to grow progressively less calm. Malik felt like he was twelve and he desperately wanted to call Sarah or Evan. Maybe an omega could ease her discomfort.

“They must have been some really important pictures.” Malik said. Rhiannon looked quite the wolf as her rage sort of hardened into a hunter’s precision.

“Yes well, you could say we had big plans for those pictures she more or less trampled over. Many things would not be as they are had she shown more restraint but, that is neither here nor there. It is odd for time travelers to talk about not being able to change the past, so I won’t and I simply say sometimes a punishment, a consequence is more important than a correction, more...educational.” Rhiannon said, and Malik went from twelve to five as he internally vowed to never get on this woman’s...what do you call it...shit list.

“What symbol has been attached to that which she has deprived you of?” Malik said.

“Let’s say that I have something like a journal of drawings which was originally mine but which she stole and I repossessed. For this journal I used two brushes, a brush for harming, and a brush for healing. To atone for the wrongs which she committed, much was taken from her, though not enough if you ask me, though you didn’t so I’ll continue. Nine tasks she owes, to nine healings she is bound. A brush of healing she was given by those whose right it was not to give, so that her task might become feasible rather than a cage to anchor her to the bottom of creation, for she could not well defend herself and she was so terribly slowed that one who was always so quick of wit. Had she not been so curious, or perhaps so shamelessly envious, she might have been able to complete her tasks unmolested, but she was always one to take the whole turkey when given a leg. As I said she made off with a journal of drawings. Much would have been lost and ruined beyond repair had I gone to retrieve it myself, that and to be frankly honest dealing with her is really fucking annoying. Like soooooooooo, so so sooooo annoying. I gave my brush of harming to another who would hunt her in my stead. This other assisted in the retrieving of this journal and will most likely, obtain the brush of healing as well.” Rhiannon said, although still terribly nervous Malik was noticeably more intrigued, it was like a fairy tale except not stupid.

“Well than this should take care of itself then right?” Malik said.

“It should, and maybe it would If I left things to their current course, but as much as I hate the bitch, That creature I sent after her is nasty business, like it will wreck her, and the person I remember deserves it, but well, I’m not heartless.” Rhiannon said. Malik knew that this woman was many things but heartless had never crossed his mind, she had one of the biggest hearts he’d ever had the fortune to meet.

“So you know, let’s say that some of my people may have been chasing her through our terrain, or she tailing them, it’s hard to tell with her. And let’s say she used our ‘landing’ guess you could call it as an opportunity to make a clean getaway into a place that didn’t know her, and so would have no reason to release her back to us. And let’s say that there’s just the slimmest chance that she actually has become somewhat less of a pure shit individual, and might actually be capable of, what do you call it, rehabilitating herself or whatever. I don’t know, she’s messed up, but she is entertaining, in a type of weirdly creative sort of way. Like friend would be a stretch, but I don’t mind raising a rival or two ya know.”

“Like she’s apart of your clan but she’s too dumb to understand it.” Malik said.

“Bro, like yes, like bro.” She said giving him a smile that warmed him back to adulthood.

“So that creature you sent will most likely hunt her without question because I’m guessing you got someone who’s relatable but in such a way it hides their complete no nonsense approach to just about everything, because from what I understand it, this annoying woman is like the chaos to your order.” “Annoying bitch.” Rhiannon corrected.

“Annoying bitch yes. So this no no nonsense person is more or less like they ultimate assassin, to her ultimate theif-ness, and your ultimate, I’m guessing like spy-masterness.” Malik said.

“I like your stuff wolf.” Rhiannon said.

“So you don’t want to get in the way of this assassin because it’s hard to say how they’ll react to anyone interrupting their mission, but you also feel the need to check in on your confused sister.”

“More like confused and very distantly related cousin but continue you’re definitely on the right track.”

“So if we were to stumble on this distantly related cousin and find that she was at least mostly redeemable we could find some way for your assassin to hold off on retrieving the brush for a while, perhaps in nine healings time or something.” Malik said.

“I suppose I don’t need it back right away.” Rhiannon said cracking a wolfy grin.

“Not that I plan to go colmbing the streets for her or anything.” Malik said.

“Well of course not, nice ol’ powerful alpha like you, it’d be a waste of time.”

“Of course.” Malik said.

“Of course.” Rhiannon said.

“But if I did?”

“If you did?”

“What type of person would I be looking for.”

“Well the person you need to look out for is a very serpent like woman, a real snake-ish sort. Though that thieving bitch of a woman, well, she’s rather foxy.” Rhiannon said.

“And here I thought things would get boring around here.” Malik said. It was around that time Markus returned with coffee and sweet treats.

Tyler stood in his underforge turning dials, hammering mechanisms back into shape, humming to the tune of radars, and assembly lines crafting anything from a microwave to the latest deathray. The world was chaos, as far as he understood it, but it didn’t have to remain that way, and wouldn’t if his works and crafts were ever allowed to reach their true potential. It was a sentiment shared by many of his people, who, more or less, saw themselves as a well nurtured response to the inevitable ruin unbalanced cosmic forces would unleash upon creation. Magic was dangerous but also natural, like fire. Tyler would tame magic, put it to good use in machines, and devices; contain it, order it. Tyler would appear, for all intents and purposes, like a dwarf; the classic miner or lord from beneath the earth’s crust. Whether this was true or not was a matter of some debate as the form maintained itself, outside of his forge of course, with a slew of electromagnetic cords and pulses, emanating from any number of gadgets at his disposal. When these devices weren’t altering his size, shape, and to a certain extent, his weight, he stood somewhere around seven feet, had a beard/mustache of healthy length, short shaggy hair, and possessed dusky skin like grey ores which also carried certain markings of his people. His hair and those markings held a silver gold hue which had the bad habit of making him shine in the dark every now and then, a trait more than a few of his kin also possessed and were nearly as self conscious of.

Who were his people, well as we said, most would mistake them for dwarves, and maybe that wasn’t the worst mistake for them to make, but they had been designated and in turn designated themselves “Steel Marched”. They were, you could say, dragon stock, or at least, before their numerous shapings, and emotional/biological filtrations, probably resembled something like the draconic creatures of legend. Supposedly they claimed much of their source material, or dna, or energy from one such creature who may or may not have been the first metal bending master of its race. It was hard to say and most of the Steel Marched didn’t really care. They often did not like looking at their talents as magic, and as much as they respected such powerful entity’s like dragons they also knew that they were terribly disordered at the best of times. Much of their talents were often put to use on ways of killing magic, all things considered, and it was not unlike them to have stockpiles of iron, or magic dampening devices or tools and if we’re being honest, something about their energy, if you want to call it that, had a way of cleaving through the arcane like a hot knife through lard. Try not to be too offended, they were very good at most tasks they set themselves too and could manage a magical cleansing with the same efficiency and balanced humor most people received when entering a hospital or an arcade. Oh sure, people scoffed at the idea of having their disorder and little magic tricks stripped from them, even if only momentarily, but then complained day in and day out because some bastard in their flock accidentally got themselves possessed by a demon, and now it looked like they’d all be dead before the week was up.

Many of the Steel Marched, bore a similar resemblance, which you could chalk up to the sort of general similarity that most people shared after holding the same dimensional parameter, but you could also reach a little deeper to another likely cause. The Steel Marched had pretty rigid assignment and nurture regimens. Their breeding system meant that they were often born in groups of biologically similar children, like brothers, but also like precisely balanced cousins. One of the first things they learned was the nature of synchronicity, how to move like a group, but also how tiny actions could move the greater portions of their civilization. Emotion can alter the appearance in a way, so it was not so surprising that people with such well tuned emotional shape around each other could almost seamlessly appear as the other’s shadow, or doppleganger though the latter has slightly too chaotic of implication. The Steel Marched had typically been male, rarely breeding, though they indulged in sex just fine with their ranks being replenished by those mysterious biological smiths who had strongly assisted in the the beginnings of their people. ‘Recently’ would be slightly misleading of a term, but you could say that there was an interesting development in the fashions of their genetic tuners. A push for more self-sustainable racial evolution, which resulted in the creation, or revival, depending on how you looked at it, of “female” Steel Marched. They were a little shorter, just a tad, mostly prettier, but more or less the same in general disposition, if occasionally more creative with their smithing. Tyler had his suspicions about just how the gene had been activated and nurtured, and his occasionally prying divulged that it had something to do with mating male Steel Marched, to witches. This was disturbing, as Tyler hated witches on the best of days, and he didn’t know what to believe about his race being corrupted with their energies. Then again he had to admit, his people did not shy from the “blood of the enemy” disposition for routing out enemies. Sometimes a booster shot prevented a plague, but slightly more relevantly, those females sure were something to look at.

Tyler had been assigned to observe one female in question, who went by Tanner, and was the daughter of one of the males he’d been raised with. So he called her “niece’ when some would, as he was almost certain, have wanted him to call her something like “dear,” or “pleasure companion” or what did the humans call them “girlfriends”. This would have been stupid as far as Tanner was concerned. Although their assignments were not so fragile that they were shipped around every other week, he’d maintained his post for something like a decade, but children were returned to the proper facilities for educating and conditioning. They did not have families, in the way humans did, and though his “niece” was related to his “friend” if you wanted to call him that, he doubted if she really knew him or cared. As far as she divulged her reason for being there, it was because they had very compatible genetic alignments which would make for an efficient workplace. It was good enough for Tyler, he needed more competent hands, and he missed being able to swap ideas with his compatriots.

Tanner had silver-gold hair just like he did though hers was long and wild, often having a mind of its own when she didn’t rangle into strange shapes with cords, or braids. Her skin was grey but with a bit of brown like warm earth. Their eyes were pretty different, Tyler’s were more argent in color, while hers were more purple, or violet. Tyler’s designs were often sturdy, and simple to construct, but Tanner’s were more intricate and adaptable. You could say where Tyler would just scrap a thing after too many dents, breaking it down into another machine, Tanner would readjust it by melding it with something else, making a setback an opportunity for improvement. They were an interesting team, and both seemed to enjoy the other’s company. Above the underforge, was a car wash. Tanner had some things to say about how Tyler’s choice wasn’t exactly cliche, though it did seem somewhat stereotypical to have it as their front business or disguise. Tyler didn’t have much experience talking to humans or studying their society’s outside of television which he rarely indulged in. Humans just weren’t that interesting to him, and he was often afraid that their mediocre design might somehow corrupt his superior genetic assemblage. Tanner explained that they were stupid more often than not, and definitely inconvenient, but they were about the best thieves she ever met. Meaning if anyone could teach them about how to hide in plain sight, especially when they were doing everything they weren’t supposed to be doing, at least as far as human government would be concerned, it would be those pasty hairless apes. They shared a laugh or two about what some of their frequent, “customers” might taste like, before closing the wash and heading back down for the real work.

When it didn’t seem like they’d be getting any viable reproductive data from the two, with the two stating that their “baby making utensils” were their own business, the powers at be sent them yet another challenge. She looked like she could have been human, at least if you didn’t look from the side of your eyes, or use more developed senses. As far as bio designs went, Tyler was pretty impressed, though Tanner seemed more concerned with her “peculiar cleverness” which she found completely endearing. The girl had almost impossibly long curls of gold and copper, maybe even orange in more fluorescent lighting. Her skin was dark like burnt bronze making her look as if she could claim any number of peoples of color as her ancestors. She was short, though that had less to do with dwarven disguises and more to do with her being a child. Well Steel Marched matured pretty quickly but he supposed that she was around average height for a human child her age, which they claimed to be somewhere around ten or thirteen. Why such an odd variance he couldn’t tell, but he suspected whoever had been put in charge of her processing had taken some liberties with temporal constraints and parameters. Tyler would have tutted them back to the stone age, you can’t rush quality work. Her eyes were like radiant minerals and seemed to change color with her mood though she was typically at a well humored, if vaguely intrigued desert almond. She’d been given any number of codes and designated identifiers from her former handlers, which Tyler would have been perfectly fine with, but Tanner was very clear about her needing something she could connect with, though it was the remark about being able to blend in with humans that truly convinced him. In all honesty he was more likely to keep the creature in his toolshed, rather than name her, but Tanner always seemed to be cued in to the finer details of it all.

Tanner sat up with the girl for a couple of nights searching for a name that really spoke to her. Eventually the girl settled on “Frida” after reading a poem by another person with the same name, who was very helpful about ideas of strangeness. Tanner said it was a beautiful name for a beautiful person. Tyler said the poem had good rhythm but before he could remark on some spacing adjustments he’d make, Tanner whisked Frida away to take a look at their workshop. Tanner called Frida, her little “Almond” because of the color of her eyes, and how she always believed them to be the cutest of the odd nuts. Frida, had an incredibly unusual capacity for working metal, and it wasn’t only because she looked so human, Tyler hadn’t seen adult Steel Marched with as much natural intuition, and general connectivity with machines. Metal and earth were hers to command more or less, and if he wasn’t going out of his mind, which was debatable, he was almost sure that she could talk to the devices. Tanner and Tyler could both communicate with their creations to a degree, but that had more to do with coding, and frequencies, whereas Frida seemed to be able to speak to their, he supposed you could call it their hearts, though he wasn’t sure if machines had hearts, so he re-checked the equation and supposed it was their soul. At first he was afraid it was magic, but if it was magic, it was a kind he’d never seen, it was all so ordered, so refined, so, in Tanner’s words, “Awesome”. He was sort of kind of proud of this child who was sort of kind of theirs.

As to the precise origins of Frida’s genes, they could not say, but Tyler suspected wizardry and Tanner suspected some type of diluted ratio of Steel Marched gene processing. Together they conclude that there was most likely some hidden program churning out creatures, not exactly like her, but similar enough for it to be an actual initiative rather than the “new development” their superiors had implied she was. Either way she was a miracle, but not because someone made her that way, she was a miracle simply because she was herself. Tanner and Tyler let her work on some of their more experimental designs which were unlikely to pushed for mass production, or some of the constructs which had been broken beyond repair, or so they believed. She all but had the machines singing as they mended themselves or, fused with one another, creating shapes or formations that seemed somewhat quantum in nature. Tyler may have even shed a tear, it was so beautiful.

Considering their strong attachment to one another, you could sort of see why, when they were disturbed in the night by the presence of a strange thief, Tyler’s immediate response was to ask Tanner “Why haven’t you killed her yet,” “her” being the thief, to which Tanner replied “Frida thinks we should hear her out.” Causing Tyler to mutter something about these women churning up his existence as if he were their property, though in truth he didn’t especially mind being kept.

The intruder was an...interesting woman. She didn’t look conventionally attractive, but he could easily understand that on a personal level she became more or less beautiful depending on your relationship to her. She had a scar across her nose which made her look tough and charming, her hair looked like it had been born and would remain messy until the end of time. Despite her downtrodden expression, there was this sort of spark in her strangely viridian eyes. It wasn’t happiness, and it looked more like evil genius rather than compassion, but there was a warmth to it which had probably served her well in dark lonely days. She had an orange bandana around her neck like a makeshift collar, and she was dressed in a fringe leather jacket, a red sleeveless shirt, jeans, and cowboy, or cowgirl as things were, boots. They looked strangely fashionable. She was native american, and although Tyler couldn’t explain why he believed this, as he scarcely could tell two humans apart even when they weren’t the same gender, but something about her screamed native american, like it was very important to her story. Tanner had a gun on her, which would explain why her hands were held up though it hardly explained the slight grin that was creeping on her lips.

“We don’t typically allow thieves to march through our place of business, at least not without leaving us their lives in exchange.” Tyler said, looking bored. He’d gotten one of his own weapons though with a couple of whistles they could have had her coiled or filleted with any number of traps and hidden arms.

“Well I already died, so that’s fine. Well, I guess I might be alive now, but I never was really clear about how all this worked. If you die but you come back, are you still dead, or just like almost alive. And then there’s the whole undead or living-dead thing and It’s all just a lot to keep up with. I used to be pretty good at just sort of tuning it all out, really blazing trails and all, like jumping to lightspeed or something. But now everything’s just all, I don’t know, like sad and cruel and stuff.” The woman said.

“Already died, well I suppose that’s not entirely strange, you don’t exactly seem all that human.” Tanner said.

“Neither do you guys.” The woman said, they hadn’t bothered with the more dwarven looks.

“We have a very quiet existence as far as humans are concerned, you seem elusive but only in the, I can’t wait to make an explosion, type of way.” Tanner said.

“Yes well, my history’s pretty weird. I used to be pretty good at chaos and stuff, the world was getting so dull and meaningless. I was just trying to shake things up, or down or whatever but I guess I went overboard. I suppose if I’m being like balanced about it, everyone kind of got a pretty hard smack on the metaphorical behind though, so at least I didn’t go down alone.” The Woman said.

“Who are you exactly?” Tanner said.

“The gadgets say she’s a fox.” Frida said.

“Yes little one, but that says what I could be and have been depending on how you tell the story. However, it doesn’t say who I am, people need time to learn these things and form their own opinions about them. We can choose who we are, who we wish to become, and we can also choose how we will view those who are apart of our lives. This I have learned, this I have suffered for.” The woman said seeming oddly composed and introspective for a thief caught red handed. “In my defense wasn’t going steal anything, at least not once I saw you guys weren’t human. Oh, no, I can’t read brains or whatever, I used to be able to do something similar, but I lost a lot of stuff so yeah...but I was always pretty good at feeling out people’s energy.” The woman continued.

“A name, could we get a name please.” Tyler said, feeling aggravated and confused. For a moment the woman looked pretty sad, like when a kid who’s never had a lot of money spends everything they were saving up for on an ice cream cone only for someone else to just knock it to the ground.

“I used to have a pretty good name, but I loss that too. Officially, my name is supposed to be Hope, or something like that, but I don’t really like it, so if you could try not to use it too much I’d appreciate it. It is hard though, it kind of insists on itself. If you wouldn’t mind though, I am allowed a nickname though it’s not as powerful as the other one, I think it’s stronger or at least more like me though. Amber, right if you could call me Amber, that’d be nice.” She said.

“Well Hope, you’ve intruded upon our territory, you’ve seen our less forgettable forms, and despite what you said, you still intended to steal from us, at least until you found out we’d be more formidable than a dumb human. I suppose we don’t have to kill you, again or whatever, but we need something as a sign you won’t be bothering us like this again.” Tyler said.

“It doesn’t have to be extreme.” Tanner said, Tyler looked to her like she’d lost her mind, and he was cowed by her both compassionate and frightening expression. “What are you good at besides well, stealing.” Tanner continued.

“Well, I used to be good at a lot of things there...there used to be a little bit of me everywhere, but now it’s all gone silent, I...you could say I don’t really know myself anymore. I’m supposed to heal though, not me exactly, but to heal others or something. I came here because I can smell the...technology I guess, I wanted it to be me, or a piece of me but you guys are pretty ordered and I was never really good at that. I could heal something for you, something that’s here or something that’s important to you.” Amber said.

“And just how would you do that?” Tanner said.

“Well...I used to be a fighter, my sword was really sharp, and strong, but it was taken from me, but in exchange, though it was not an exchange of my choosing, I was refashioned a thing of rejuvenation, or something. It doesn’t feel right, not completely, but I’m sort of getting used to it. I have this brush thing, and it makes it easier, like wizards and wands, the world is sort of like paint and I can draw it’s wounds closed, or its grief into tender comfort or something. No it doesn’t really feel right, but life’s about challenge or something.” She said, and it seemed she was caught between sorrow and an old humor. Tanner sighed, Tyler knew that sound of hers, she was always a bleeding heart, which was unfortunate because his heart tended to bleed for hers.

“Look, we can’t take you in, because our people run tight ships, and as much as you seem like you’re trying to get your stuff together or whatever, we’d most likely have to harm you if you were here for too long at a time. We would not mind having you as a guest, every now and then,” Tanner said.

“We wouldn’t?” Tyler said but he was silenced with another warm mean look.

“But we have important things and people to look after, so your problems cannot become ours, not to the point where we have to choose you over them.”

“Which we wouldn’t.” Tyler said.

“He’s a grumpy sort, it’s just his way. Though despite my kindness, I’m the type that takes pleasure in hunting down those who wrong me and mine, second by second, mile by mile, limb by limb, you understand.” Tanner said.

“Crystal clear ma’am.” Amber said looking rather hopeful.

“Then good. For your intrusion, which has cost us time much rather spent on our work and health you can help us run the wash for the week, for free. After that how or if you come back is your business.”

“That sounds...generous of you.” Amber said.

“Humans bore her. She usually has me run interference because I look more like them, but I guess you’re the new ‘human-shield’” Frida said looking pretty proud of her joke as she laughed to herself. Amber seemed awkwardly amused as well.

“Seriously though if you ever need something healed, i’m your gal, or fox or whatever.”

“I didn’t take you for an altruist.”

“Not by nature no. I was more of an opportunist if we’re being honest, but so are most world leaders so I couldn’t have been that bad, I guess, though I was pretty terrible. Ah, well, whatever it’s because I have some stuff to do. I’m fine with simple stuff like mending bones, or getting rid of the flu or something, but what I really need is a challenge for the ages type of thing. The stuff adventurers and heroes eat up ya know.” Amber said.

“Why exactly.”

“It’s apart of her journey, her destiny.” Frida said. Tyler gave her a questioning look but she just sort of pointed to the general devices around the place, apparently they had told her.

“Well then, sure, if a bus of elderly nuns crashes in front of the place you’ll be the first person we call.”

“Really, ya mean it, jeez mean that’s like so nice, I mean you guys are pretty swag ya know.” Amber said. She began to move in as if to hug him, but he just gestured with his weapon and she stopped herself. “You’re right that was too soon, but seriously, way to go guys.

“Have we given you a bit more hope perhaps.” Tyler said.

“Ignore him, we’ll need your number, our hours can get a little strange, and I’d rather you be informed so that if I yell at you it’s for a good reason.” Tanner said handing Amber a pen and pad. She scribbled something so swiftly and precisely Tyler became a little less doubtful about just how good she’d been with a blade. After that Tanner escorted her outside.

“That was weird.” Frida said. “But interesting, and I think she’s...this her actually wants to try this time.”

“You seem like you’ve been inspired with something, what’s that resolution in your gaze child, could it be ‘A New Hope.’” Tyler said, laughing to himself.

“You’re terrible.” Frida said looking pretty responsible until her ribs betrayed her and she started howling and cawing too.

Samael was perched atop the building, minding the serpent without even having to look at her. He had traveled a long ways to fulfill his debt to her, and was not entirely enjoying the journey so far. She had taught him everything he knew about the way of the sword, though he would claim that in the ways of death he was self taught. Samael came from a hidden land, which was rooted in an assemblage of islands that would often find themselves near japan. His people were strange, not unlike many peoples though their customs drifted into slightly darker regions than cosplay or strange hats with icons on them. His father was a werewolf, and had been for at least seven hundred years which was awkward because Samael had been a vampire for five hundred. It was the ways of his people, those proven strong or “marked by destiny” were given to the clan of night, or the clan of the moon. Both served a similar purpose, the protection of the sacred land and the strange creatures which inhabited it, which were diverse in temperament and need. The night clan minded the shadows, and darkling fiends, while the moon clan guarded against the madness of a reality seemingly set on collapsing on itself. His father was not disappointed at the fate of Samael, he’d had many children and seen them all take strange paths or have those paths chosen for them. Still that did not mean Samael was greeted with loving embraces, his father was a hard man at the best of times, and although he might have accepted another wolf as his apprentice, or his shield, or his general, he could not and would not accept a vampire. He was rooted in his ways, though convoluted, and even when Samael suspected he was not forsaken so to speak, he was far from welcome. It was simply the way of things.

Samael had been chosen, by one of the creatures he was supposed to protect, it was not a common thing, but not exactly blasphemous, if the purpose was righteous or, as things were, miraculous enough. He’d been chosen by a rose, a fae girl with hair like bloody petals, and pale skin tinged green and healthy. She bore vine like markings which he suspected worked not unlike the groves along a person’s fingers. Rarely did she wear shoes, as she found them to be ominous and suspicious, but what she did wear resembled something like jade trees fashioned into armor. Had she not bound him as she did, she would have become something like a priestess or chieftess of her tribe, so instead she exchanged the destiny that was chosen for her, for a destiny of her own choosing. Samael would have laughed if he hadn’t been pushed to center stage by the action. They hadn’t shared blood by that time, not in a way that would have demanded great attention from the night clan, but she had used the blood of the land so to speak, or perhaps it’s soul. The energies of the forest, leaves and roots, tethering his own internal tree of misfortune to hers.

Samael hadn’t really understood why she’d done it. He had seen her a couple of times during his patrols, and she could hardly say she was saving him, as his familial relations were painful and prone to shattering, he was well established within his own clan. Something equivalent to a captain or a commander within a human military, or even a feudal lord. Her actions had nearly cost him his standing, and he might have killed a lesser creature, but the demands of the sacred people, if you wanted to call them that, superseded his clan’s structuring. So she escaped her responsibilities, which he couldn’t exactly blame her for, but she did so in such a manner that he was more or less her bodyguard or champion when before this he’d been the picture of an esteemed individual. She used his resources, ordered his servants around, it was pretty annoying. That had been about a century back though, and since they had grown pretty close. Well she claimed they were in love, and suppose he couldn’t really disagree or she might punish him. She was attractive though, nice and hot and curvy just in the way he liked, and he had to admit that his opinion of her did go through a remarkable transition after he demanded her blood in exchange for nearly ruining him. She made a fuss about it, but when he threatened to bar the servants from maintaining the estate, she conceded that it was a decent enough request, if underhanded, and mean. Her opinion changed when he showed her that although strange, vampire bites can be pleasurable if positioned correctly. It was not long after that she began to demand he drink from her, though she made the pointed request of being allowed to drink from him in return, and how could he refuse, he was hers after all. She didn’t turn into a vampire as most expected she would, it seemed she knew something about skirting around certain principles of magic, she told him something about nature magic, leaves and dirt, soaking up the blood and filtering it, but it went over his head, or maybe under his feet as it were. Still he could feel her when she was close, and he had a way of finding her even when she shouldn’t have been able to be found. She had a precocious understanding of bonds and magic, and with his blood more or less circulating her system, most vampires or vampirically blooded creatures saw little difference between his power and hers. She could bend them like pretzels. With this said she became bored after a while, or at the very least, less comfortable. She wanted to travel, to see things. Samael couldn’t really blame her, though this didn’t mean he entirely understood her want. He had for the most of four centuries rooted himself to the land he’d been born and raised in. He had little interest in the outside world as he doubted it’d be any more welcoming or inventive as anything he’d seen there. As far as he could tell most places were just sort of imitating the thing that came before them or stealing from what might come after, if one really wanted to travel, or see the world, he figured they’d have simpler time looking inside themselves rather than to fragile fashions or societal crack.

Rosalind, as she called herself, made Samael go anyway. He left his estate in the hands of one of his vampiric relatives and familiar rivals, vampires had hard time with the concept of friendship, and after Rosalind convinced the, you could call it, council of people charged with minding the interactions between the many creatures of the land that her “pilgramage” as she called it would give them useful information on how to interact with the evolving world outside, they allowed her freedom. She was very good at getting what she wanted, though they were still irked from being convinced to allow her to move into Samael’s estate at all, along with her more or less giving them the slip in terms of avoiding her prescribed destiny, so they said she couldn’t return to the land unless she brought something of “miraculous worth” back with her. Should she bring something unworthy then they had the right to execute her; what fun. Somewhere in that story Samael enlisted the serpent’s help in knocking the right people into place to ensure that at the very least their, well Rosalind’s, words were heard. So somewhere in that story it was determined that Samael and his lady owed the serpent a debt.

It has come to attention that simply calling her “The Serpent” would be somewhat disrespectful to her as a person so we can call her one of the nicknames she used often when training Samael. Hanabi, which means fire flower, or fireworks in Japanese. So Hanabi was promised assistance by Samael should she ever demand it. No contract was needed, the two had an understanding much of which was focused on the fact that Samael knew that few things would stop her if she ever felt she’d been cheated, and he’d felt the sting of her blades enough time to know he’d rather be at their side than in their way. So Hanabi, a serpent, left them to their wanderings for a while, though Samael scarcely ever felt that she was truly gone from them. She had a way of keeping track of her assets and disciples.

Rosalind and Samael were roaming through rome when Hanabi dropped in on them, it wasn’t quite a swoop though it was nearly as terrifying, she said something about tracking a very wily fox, and requiring their assistance in the matter. So their vacationing was cut short for a true adventure, taking them across the atlantic, and all the way to the western reaches of the America’s. Samael would have been more entertained if he didn’t hate flying so much. Luckily the Orochi hated it nearly as much so much of the journey went by boat or car or train, or on foot. They could run pretty fast.

Now here they were, on a rooftop, scoping the streets below for any signs of their quarry. Rosalind looked pretty and bored, this was not how she’d expected to be spending her freedom. It was more of the same for Samael, and he was slightly relieved to have something to focus his skills on, his return would mean nothing if some half hearted fledgling, or idiot of a lord took him out because he’d been too busy parasailing to keep his sword sharp. The darkness brought armor to him, keeping much of his face hidden and his body bound in the way of those samurai of old. Rosalind was armored as well, but she’d stuck to the bare minimum as she was prone to being a little overconfident in her magic. Hanabi used a similar magic as his own but he could sense the difference in subtlety. Her armor was more substance than his dark machinations, like a twisted exoskeleton, slithered through holes in reality and logic. She was dressed like samurai and assassin. Samael had a long blade and a short one, though he rarely had cause to use the latter, it was more for defense, or thwarting medium range attacks like from whips or grappling chains. The only weapon of Hanabi’s that he could see was her wicked looking katana, and that strange brush of hers, cased at the hip like a wand or something. Still he was not foolish enough to believe these were the only tools of death she had on hand, it was her way to always have a bit of her ender’s design present anywhere in which she walked.

“Company incoming.” Rosalind said, still sounding bored, but at least she was aware. Samael had felt them as well, but the way she took notice, made him feel them out a little more closely. He had been right to be guarded. Creatures like fluid shadows flowed up the sides of the building while others dropped onto it’s roof like darken stones. They were lesser creatures as far as Samael could tell, undisciplined, common vampires. Well, except a couple, but the only one who truly demanded his attention, was the one in a suit, who had skin like burnt copper, and short wavy hair.

“Koda, you’ve come to greet me, how, responsible of you.” Samael said. The two had met centuries ago, on the battlefield as things had turned out. His maker and he had chosen the wrong side of an already losing feud between rival lords of night. It had torn most of the vampiric race in two for a while sending many bloodlines into hiding, while the stronger ones waited in their hurriedly reinforced holds until the waters were less tumultuous. Koda had been strong, powerful enough to nearly end Samael, who’d managed to survive by drawing in some of the weaker willed adversaries to fuel his death siphon and blood rage. It was still mostly a draw, but they had definitely made an impression on one another.

“And here I was beginning to lose interest in existence. An old foe returned, killing you might just inspire me for another century.” Koda said looking grumpy and pleased at the same time. Samael had remembered him for the strange bear-ish semblance his power had taken on during the fight. You were fooled into believing it was wild and uncontrolled until you were close enough to realize that chaos and order could be balanced into a deadly combination of severe focus.

“Cool it, child, I have need of this one, and if you’ve met him in battle, you already know he is no easy prey. I’d obligate your services if I believed you were in a sensible mood, but as you are not, I simply request that you abandon your foolishness this night, so that we may return to our purpose.” Hanabi said, sounding like darth vader’s mom.

“How...insolent.” Koda said. He flicked his wrist and a couple of his vampires went slinking towards Hanabi at inhuman speeds. Samael, knew not to blink. There was not so much the sound of a cut, but the distinct absence of one, like a ghost impression. Then the creatures were sprawled on the ground, one in pieces, the others slightly more whole but still groaning and bloody. Samael could see some of the other creatures bearing their fangs, not at Hanabi though, in hunger for the blood of their kin.

“You bring children and the unworthy to confront me, I am ashamed for you.” Samael said. Koda gritted his teeth.

“I left them moving, well most of them that is, because I do not desire to quarrel with you or yours. You are not my target, and your kind, I’ll admit, have a tendency to think a little too much of themselves and I’ve had enough of this one’s arrogance for the this lifetime through the next.” Hanabi said, though there was peculiar warmth in her words as she gestured toward Samael. He would have laughed, she was always fond of taunting her students.

“Glad you’re still the great bundle of self esteem improvement that you always were.” Samael said.

“I wasn’t put on this earth to make you feel good about yourself, eat healthier if you want that, you look too thin.” She said. She was always more at home around steel and blood.

“I am obligated to know why it is you have intruded here without invitation or the proper payment. You are far from your power samurai, I can feel it, you will not survive here for long.”

“Hah, this one thrives on unfortunate circumstances, it’s like he’s addicted to giving people heart attacks.” Rosalind said gesturing to Samael. Koda looked towards her as if he were noticing her for the first time, though Samael believed it may have been slightly exaggerated, the man’s senses were all but devoted to execution.

“You require money. I do not have much on my person, though I could find some I suppose. No, I will not give you money, but in exchange for not getting in our way while we are here, you may call on my services should you ever need creatures removed from the world of the living or animated. I’d ask that they be worthy prey, but most aren’t, so I will simply request that they be interesting though you may ignore this. Gold is gold after all.” Hanabi said. Koda looked torn but in the way a bear is torn when it’s been robbed of a deer but may have just found a way of obtaining ten.

“I will require your contact info, and you still have not said why it is you are here.” He said.

“A thief has stolen from my...benefactor, I am to retrieve that which she has wrongfully obtained, as well as deprive her of the current existence she has fashioned for herself.”

“That seems slightly unworthy considering your skill with a blade.” Koda said.

“She is...amusing to chase. She’s given me much exercise, and though this sharp edge is now mine, it once belonged to her, disgraced though she may be now. You are correct in that I’m not treasure hunter to be sent ferrying dusty items, but this is a special case, and it is very interesting.” Hanabi said. Something went tearing through the air. Koda caught something in his hand, barely giving a sign of motion at all. It was a card.

“If we call on you using this, you will answer.” Koda said.

“In time, but yes. I refuse to leave a debt unpaid.” Hanabi said. Koda grunted, motioned like slick darkness and just as quickly as they had appeared, the vampires disappeared back into the night.

“Your people are so annoying.” Hanabi said.

“They aren’t my people, just the pale imitation of them. This one took me away from my people.” Samael said gesturing to Rosalind.

“Hey! Don’t be mean especially with, I’ll admit, slightly accurate statements.” She said sounding defensive and flustered.

“‘Slightly’ We had servants, and standing, and a purpose.” Samael said.

“And now we have the world at our feet, and donuts, and funny foreign clothes.” She said.

“How grand your aspirations are.” Hanabi said with much sarcasm.

“If we should be blaming anyone it’s her fault we aren’t closer to home. She wanted to chase a fox halfway across the earth.” Rosalind said.

“Because you turned this one’s brain’s to mush with your feminine wiles. And he used to be one of my best pupils.” Hanabi said.

“They aren’t complete mush, and who’s a better student than me?” Samael said.

“Oh don’t bore an old woman with your insecurities. Though if it will end your griping, that wolfish brother of yours nearly had you beat more than a few times.” Hanabi said. Samael had many siblings but he knew exactly which one his former master was speaking of.

“Evan gave up his blade years ago, he doesn’t count.”

“What’s that, child, you seem worried, or a little green, I don’t think the funny miss has started to turn you into one of her kind, is it...could it be envy perhaps.” Hanabi said, being incredibly deadly and hilarious at the same time. Rosalind laughed despite their somewhat strained relationship. Despite her many claims about being an old woman, when she didn’t look timeless, Hanabi looked at the most thirty, but more or less like your standard twenty year old. If every twenty year old had flawless skin, olympic fitness, movie star beauty, and force of character and internal depth of a queen. Rosalind both admired her and worried that she might just be capable of taking her pupil from the mean fae’s grasp.

“What’s our next move, I doubt we’re going to find her up here.” Samael said.

“Well, as luck would have it, where you let your little brother wander out of sight like a heartless man, I kept tabs on his positioning.” Hanabi said.

“How...creepy.” Samael said.

“You never understood love.” Hanabi said.

“I understand love, you just like to twist right at the end into something resembling martial arts or a spy network.”

“I am a master of love-fu, don’t doubt my methods. War, love, death, espionage, they have a lot in common. So much brutality, so much fire, so much perverse subtlety.”

“Why does everything you say have a habit of suiting your purpose, which is usually killing someone, or making them do your bidding.”

“I don’t know, maybe I’m god.” Hanabi said.

“From what I’ve seen they do have a similar modus operandi.” Rosalind said. Samael just grunted and shrugged as they prepared to go ambush his estranged little brother.

Nathan sat in his office, which was in his simple house, in his classic not quite suburban (more like pseudo-burban) neighborhood. He was writing things, though you could just as easily say righting things. He was a pretty even guy considering the nonsense which was his daily existence. He liked playing music, though since he rarely played for others he had no way of telling whether he was good at it. However, he was the type to enjoy something because it felt good, not because other people said it was or wasn’t. He was polite, to a point, but he was just as likely to flip off a booing crowd or punch a heckler in the face as he was to bow out gracefully. It was in his nature to do things at his own pace, seeing as most things were made irrelevant by society, the earth, and god. Nathan had once read a story about dragons and the power of an author's imagination, and it had really spoke to him, which is sort of why he used his writing as alchemic barriers and bombs to ward off the evils or inconveniences of existence. It’s also why he had a very do it yourself approach to most problems. As far as he was concerned there were few things one’s most cherished callings, and a bit of patience couldn’t accomplish.

Nathan was an angel, at least that’s how he saw it, though if he was being more specific, he’d say that during that strange dispute between Lucifer, and The Big G-Almighty, he was the part of that rebelling third of heaven’s host who simply wanted to see them duke it out and get to the source of their problems the old fashioned way. He hadn’t exactly been expecting most of his “siblings”, if you wanted to call them that, to more or less get tossed into a fiery pit, by The Big G-Almighty , heaven’s bless him, who was beginning to look a lot more like the demons he’d just created rather than the benevolent ruler he had been. Then again benevolents is a pretty conditional or circumstantial state of being. Pretty simple to be if no one questions your orders, and Nathan was slightly ashamed to admit, no one really knew what a question was back in those days. He chuckled to himself slightly recalling the silliness of his encampment being swayed by such an odd notion as doubt, and strange whispers from Lucifer’s constantly winding soul. He was such a hoot, I mean for all his ridiculousness, Nathan rarely saw angels with as much creativity as he, snakes, money, rebuttals, all priceless. Nathan had managed to escape the master’s divine whip, as things were, but if he was being honest, he wasn’t all that sure how true the son’s aim had been on that day. Those opposing and allied seemed to have been felled in similar number, and Nathan, admittedly a member of the rebelling host, began to wonder if it just wasn’t another one of his lord and king’s strange experiments. He always was the prudent opportunist.

Why wasn’t Nathan sent to hell you ask, well because he wasn’t a dummy, dummy. His name was always a little blurred out when the wrong people went looking for it, and you could say that for the duration of that strange dispute, it was nowhere to be seen. Sure there weren’t a whole lot of glories waiting for him, but angels rarely got rewarded anyway, there state had more in common with a child’s dolls, or a foreign maid. You don’t reward your toys...or the help. Still it had been pretty entertaining, though he was slightly disappointed that they hadn’t got to discuss the really important issues, like how many angels could you balance on a needle point, or was it less weird if the sister was a divine sister, the world needed to know, Nathan needed to know. Well at least he got to see the fireworks, and because of his somewhat unknowable state of mind, he was often allowed to jump down to hell and bring the demons word of god's scorn and general lack of fucks to give to them. They were always so endearing with their fury and their growing, and that fiery lake that was always hassling them, boy was it chatty.

Nathan had preferred Eve to Adam, seeing as the man child seemed more of a tool, and though Eve was possibly more impressionable, at least she had some drive, plus, he had to admit, she could really sport a loin leaf. And if he was being more honest, he wasn’t exactly disappointed when that so called paradise was closed off to them. He hated seeing his “father” we suppose you could call him , more like possible creator as he’d never truly forgotten some of the fallen one’s perspective on self generation, waste their time on that vanity project of his. As to why the fallen one’s words still sort of coiled around Nathan’s heart or core or whatever well, nothing said can do spirit like almost impossible amounts of self sufficiency and esteem. They were why although Nathan often obeyed heavenly decrees he knew he didn’t half to, why he could go places other angels couldn’t because where they feared corruption or becoming lost, Nathan just sort of became a slightly different version of himself, or made lostness his infinite playground.

Nathan had had many powerful perspectives on the humans who were supposedly made in his lord’s image. He could sort of see the resemblance, in the way calamari sort of resembled a kraken, but he had his suspicions about where most food came from anyway, he’d seen some strange things when patrolling the underworld. He’d held complete contempt for them, but once he remembered their terrified and disturbed expressions upon being marched out of their former paradise, his oily rage sort of dispersed. It was hard to blame them for being themselves, especially when they were so often being talked down to by beings who really didn’t know what to do with them, or what they even were. Mostly because, as Lucifer had so pointedly addressed, most angels didn’t really know what they were. He would have told them to self determinate, to decide who, what, and why they existed for themselves, he always was a lovable bastard, if vaguely immature. What he hadn’t understood was that most angels didn’t really care, or couldn’t conceive of these concepts which they sort of knew existed, but didn’t really have what you could call the processing speed or memory space to really delve into. Most of their minds were taken up with bowing to their sovereign lord, which was hard business mind you, every day it was a little different. More relevantly though, it would have been like telling a feather to combat or berate the wing, but weren’t they more or less the same or at least a part of the same whole, and by a piece questioning another, wasn’t a new state of being more or less drawn from out of nowhere. A paradox of consciousness; by creating the disturbance you temporarily knock the person or thing you're addressing it to out of the equation, they are unable to answer because they don’t really exist and you are confronted with something that only looks similar.

Nathan had had human girlfriends, he even fostered some angel halflings along the way, heaven called them nephilim and the lord above would get in a big fuss about them if too many people broke ranks to visit children they weren’t supposed to be having anyway, but Nathan was pretty good at keeping a quiet house, even if that house was in pieces scattered across creation. It was hard to hate the people which had allowed for some of the most beautiful creatures shaped like your love to be passed into creation, and for a while Nathan sort of understood why the Big G-Almighty had been so tentative about the freedoms he’d allowed his host, children could get into such dumbness, but when they humbled you with their introspection and strange ability to almost effortlessly touch concepts which would so quickly elude you a parent could be cast into the deepest of emotional holes. Outdone by little tots who didn’t even care about what they were making. They frustrated him to no end and inspired him to love with a strange fire all the same.

Lucifer had often seen humans as thieves, which Nathan understood, they had stolen god’s attention and often demanded time and energy that would best be devoted to the betterment of civilization rather than a new sports car they’d probably just crash anyway. However they were also in a strange predicament, like how the earth was made in heaven’s image, humans were working with a design that had as many loops as it did holes. The Big G, had a habit of being able to turn anything into a solution or a problem suitable for educational purposes. Maybe that sports car was the thing that would have really set their lives into balance, bearing the butterfly effect in mind perhaps that sportscar might have saved the world in some strange fashion. Who could tell, most angels more or less just wanted a stable set of tasks to accomplish, a whole lot of cosmic energy, and so very little imagination. Though demons weren’t always that great either, at least the angels were somewhat honest with their natures, in a sort of endearing way. Loyal to a fault you could say. An angel of rivers was not unlikely to be made of flowing waters or riverbanks or something. A demon of rivers could be made of blood, or poison, or disturbing sexual fluids, they really could be quite gross. Though Nathan would be lying if he said he always preferred the company of his prescribed kin to the more underground folk. Humans had taught him that sometimes it was important to shake up the status quo, as the people up high, didn’t always know when the ground would be swept from beneath them, especially when it was their own ideas that would do it. Demons, or the darkly fallen, took after their devilish prince with their creativity, and although typically abrasive, had a way of contorting themselves past conundrums that would undoubtedly have most angels butting against the wall for a score of decades. You could say they had the experience of more or less fending for themselves to show them that many times it was easier to blame someone else for your transgressions than asking for permission. Also generally speaking, they were just great liars, like om-christ-our-lord-and-savior these people were like the smiths of falsehoods. He’d been having a drink with one, a real spicy little minx he had to admit, he also had to admit that he’d been having something of an improper affair with her for some time, and from one moment to the next she convinced him that they were actually drinking tea above a brothel in the alps, and he was like there aren’t any brothels in the alps, whore’s need great amounts of body heat to fuel their daily life cycles of general depravity. But Lo and behold, for like a good hour or so, he was stuck marveling at how the bar they’d been enjoying a nice slew of chicken wings, and cheap bear in, had somehow become a viewpoint in frosty mountain peaks from where they witnessed whore’s whoring in somewhat unnatural settings. It was like seeing a purple tiger, needless to say Nathan was astounded. But that minxy demon always had a way of spinning his head around.

Nathan was writing tales, it was his thing, occasionally Big G would ask him to write a prophecy or lure in some possible divinely destined few with peculiarly angled messages that would have had an angel rising to duty after the first sentence, but humans were a little too hard headed sometimes. He all but had to say “Your God Needs You” when the pointedly relevant stories did not overwrite their silly humanity with ideas or truths that only they or their doppelgangers would find interesting. Otherwise though Nathan was more freelance, going at his own wind, so to speak. Angels could be told to adhere to a certain region of creation, like space, or mountain, or education, but some could also just sort of stumble on their calling so to speak. One idea would merge with the next until you got something sort of new or just a different spin on something familiar but possibly forgotten. So, you could say that Nathan was the Angel of Stories, and just like how an Angel of Mountains became ten times more terrifying near a hill than a flat plain, near interestingly crafted plots, Nathan was almost as scary as the divine array of The Big G Almighty’s divine plumage. Things got a little complicated when he got near other angels or demons with similar purposes, as their was usually more than one way to crack an egg. If he was in disputes with an Angel of Music, for example well then he could claim that most music was story like in nature, while it could claim that most stories were lyrical in nature. Though heavenly beings had this way of merging energies as well, so for a while they could also sort of fuse their influences to make the best epic poem that was ever crafted. One of the great ideas this sort of hones in on, is that powerful forces gathered in one place, could destroy their greatness as much as they could enhance it, and for divine forces, it was just as important as to have a field of strong gravitation as it was to position that field in such away that they could appreciate that strength.

So, Nathan sat in his office, writing stories which more than likely came true in some adjacent dimension, or became the dreams of some peculiar human, or were bastardized into strange energies by silly demons. His neighborhood, becoming more of strange idea than an absolute, as his attunement to these stories grew, like a smith forging great blades and armor. In truth he could have been living anywhere since if whores could survive blizzard like conditions at high altitudes, which he maintained was not their natural habitat, than his simple living arrangements could have been floating in a black hole for all he knew. He wrote about a world of authors, all scribing their existences, turning their voices into symbols from which they could anchor all of creation, and they seemed to entertain themselves around a strange garden, which was in a desert.

Rashid was annoyed, and relatively confused. The clearest memory he had was fighting his brother, or maybe fighting something with his brother, and then there was a bunch of fire, which was undoubtedly his brother’s fault. Names and places were fuzzy in his mind, but he was an experienced wolf, and knew that those subtleties could be shifted with enough energy, or illusion. Markus, that was his brother’s name, or one of them at least. Rashid was in a brown trench coat in a suit that made him look like he belonged in victorian england. It wasn’t entirely wrong, he was old enough. How old was he, well, he supposed Markus would say he was two hundred, and Rashid had more than a century on him, so he was about five hundred or four hundred years old. Yes that sounded right. The strange part was, he didn’t exactly know how he could be that old seeing, as he recalled it, he’d been born in the 1800’s. He remembered their mother mentioning something about time travel, and the pollution of certain era’s affecting one’s “navigation” system of you could call it that. Werewolves supposedly made better time travelers than humans as she put it, but they were often too hard headed to really pull out it’s true potential. Rashid’s mother was a smart woman, and even though she often pampered his annoying little brother, she had never wronged him an unforgivable amount. He dusted off his pants if only to establish some sense of himself. Rashid, had been born as what he was, half wolf guardian, or watchman as they now called themselves, and half werewolf, the latter of which he owed to his father who also had gone awol, but that was awhile back. Rashid had been good at killing, but more specifically, inspiring fear in lesser wolves, and ending them efficiently. It was his special talent, like he had a way of seeing the openings in their defense, or the fragility of their stances. He had to admit, Markus had been coming along in his training, he was almost as deadly as Rashid, and Rashid was not exactly ashamed to admit that he had been bested by him every once in awhile. When they’d been younger this would not have been the case, but it’s one thing to have to bow to a welp who spent most of his time afraid of himself, which for Rashid meant he’d probably go insane and have to be put down, and a whole other matter to have passed centuries surviving with an honored and blooded member of your clan. Rashid was still pretty sure he could take him, though that sword of his was always so troublesome. He called it something funny like, Dogma, or something which always cracked him up because it had the word dog in it.

Markus could bend the flame, the incineration, but Rashid could shift or break the earth to his liking, and it was not the worse things that of all the places for him to be dropped, he was in a desert which was nothing but sifting heat and sand. Markus insisted that it was their hybridization which left them so susceptible to spiritual energies, and he may have been right though he had seen the way his mother bent ice and water and she was pure inuit wolf. Still Rashid was experienced enough to admit his brother’s senses were often sharp, he was nearly as awesome a tracker as Rashid, though he was often a little too eager for his discoveries. There was a magic in existing between worlds, a subject matter often closed to many because of superstitions about outsiders but Rashid had seen many peoples, and they all died, so they couldn’t have been that different. From what he could remember, his brother had once met a Lord of Borders, who in many ways was a master of boundary energies or, put another way, magic that went between dimensions. He had been powerful, strange, and apparently one of the scariest things the pup had ever encountered. As interesting as it was though, Rashid tried not to get too bogged down in what was supposed to be, or ideas based in absolutes. As far as he saw it the world was too fragile and inconsistent to get too comfortable for long, people had to change or risk being consumed by whatever creatures, though so often invisible, were most likely chasing them. To put it in a more pointed way, pack magic was strong within pack territory, but if you went outside of it, or introduced a non pack member to the energy, it could weaken or change dramatically, because a new or counter source of truth was added. Consider the peculiarity of an alpha werewolf being stuck in like a cave in or something, sure he’s super powerful, or would be, but that doesn’t really mean much to the rocks barring his path, or the humans around him which couldn’t tell a kitten from a tiger on a dark night. To enter another terrain means to risk a little of what you believed to be true, to potentially grow weaker or stronger based on your, let’s call it destiny in the region.

Rashid flexed his muscles and his magic, not to inspire a mirage of beautiful women to swoon, but to make sure that the land would actually accept his truth and his power. The sands flexed back, and he started to walk, feeling gravity and hot earth speed and strengthen his strides. Rashid had been told that he looked a lot like Markus, their dark bronze skin they got from their mother and father, one who was Native American in the more truer sense of the word, and the other who was like ancient egyptian or maybe just some weird black dude, it depended on the year. They had strong jaws and powerful builds though Rashid always looked a little beefier than Markus, who said it was probably an elemental difference in the structure of their aura’s. Rashid understood aura’s but sometimes he couldn’t help but pick on the little nerd for having been such a scrawny pup in his youth. Their hair was a little different, Rashid was frizzier and more amber colored in the sunlight. People often said Rashid looked crazier, and though he may have been crazier the look was mostly for his own entertainment. Markus had a talent for disappearing, and though Rashid had been no novice in the art over time he allowed his brother to tutor him in the skill. As things could be, many times they felt more like after images than people, more like solid energy projections which could fade into wind at any moment. So yes he had a degree of influence on how he appeared to others, though his kind could always shifter a little faster than most werewolves, and so the inner beast was rarely far from his features when he was around the lesser or annoying.

Rashid’s wolf had icy blue eyes, not unlike his mother’s, and his coat ran from artic white to a blazing copper around his chest, stomach and a bit of his tail. The threat of it’s presence alone had been enough to make disrespectful packs reconsider their stances. Rashid had much experience with assassination, espionage, dueling, and even leading bands of other wolves though he was rarely trusted with the latter. He’d always wondered why a couple of people or symbols could inspire such fear or respect in greater numbers of people. He studied his interactions with others as he brought justice to the foolish or deathly destined. Wolves needed order more often than not at least, much of their magic was fueled by rules and strong infrastructure, if the head wolf believed another wholly in the wrong, even on an unconscious level the pack members would have a hard time not letting them be killed or punished. Wolves were also violent and predatory, so as much as they might gripe about unfairness on a very perverse level at least a couple of strong pieces of them would be willing the death of their, most likely, careless comrades if only to hone their spirits or push into motion some plot of theirs or another. Rashid respected the former and didn’t mind the latter because if they failed in their scheming he’d just collect their heads as well. There were many other reasons he contemplated in his time but one of the more pointed one was the often overlooked fact that anything could destroy anything under the right circumstances, emotions, like much of the supernatural, didn’t have to make sense to be real or have devastating effects. Werewolves drew much of their energy from focusing their emotions, or unleashing themselves in primal berserk maneuvers, having their inner concentration and sense of stability thrown into turmoil even as death approached them was a very reliable way of encouraging their absence from a fight or their uselessness in one.

Rashid wished he had a horse, but as there were no magic lamps present his hopes went unanswered. He considered transforming but he didn’t trust himself not to savage the next group of people he saw. His brother agreed that their wolves were slightly more cunning than most, at least when it came to imitating normality or humans. They could be rearing to slaughter an entire train of civilians all the while walking a granny onto the mechanical platforms, she’d probably say they were the sweetest boys she ever met, while the inner beast would be hoping her to ask what big teeth they had. Put more disturbingly, Markus had gone to sleep one day and hadn’t woken up for a week, his wolf able to more or less pass off as him effortlessly, some people were even happy to see the “improvement” in his character. Rashid laughed hard, but not hard enough to remind his own creature about timeless increments on the hunt where the subtleties of the self were all but replaced by a becoming all but in the form of forces of nature. No, Rashid tried not to get bogged down too much in terms of which part of his soul was doing what at this time or that. It was too much of a headache.

Searching his memories, which felt like thorns in his side, while trying to track the faint energy signature which could be his pack and keeping the desert earth from trying to consume him or summon some dumb monster for him to kill was really trying. He had a type of covenant or vague understanding with most of the earth spirits, he hadn’t minded routing most of the detrimental members of their ecosystems or community’s if they allowed him some leeway with their magic, a system that had worked most of his existence, but he was in foreign terrain; most likely a foreign world. Something about their language wasn’t processing right just yet, though Rashid was pretty awesome with puzzles so if he had more time he could figure it out but it was not smart to be so far from the pack without a clear destination or plan in mind, too many creatures fed on the lost or abandoned. Besides that though, Rashid had no intention of being an errand boy, he had come to terms with most of his internal bloodlust and most earthbound spirits he encountered learned to respect this new resoluteness in his soul, the energies in this place just kept hassling him.

It was because of this that Rashid was not surprised when the other werewolves showed up. He sensed it was unlikely for them to be a true pack, most likely stragglers because what he could sense of their bonds was faint and disorganized, still there were five of them, and they were all in their wolf skins. Rashid’s eyes were flashing between brown and icy blue at intervals which relayed his aggravation clearly. He huffed, and steeled his aura and skin. Markus might have encouraged them to leave, if only to give them a chance. Rashid was not so forgiving or flippant with his time. The earth had brought them here for a reason as far as he was concerned, and killing the weak was not a crime in his mind. He considered attempting a transformation but they were too close and he too unfamiliar with this air and the rhythm of this world. His hands and feet would have to do. The beasts circled before one pounced and they began their death roll, with Rashid striking and crushing, as they gnawed on skin that was too strong, too stone like to be human. Their was a viper like swirling and strike as they roared and crashed against each other in this titan’s desert. A swirling of sand and wind began to surround them as death flashed from Rashid to the challengers, three of them died within a couple of seconds of the others, throats and bellies opening to unforgiving terrain. The other two were slightly craftier And he kept them at bay by tossing them into one another or using the sand to blind them. He feigned falling backwards, one of the beasts leapt, and what at first looked clumsy and novice like, became fluid and otherworldly as if were more a spirit of the crypt than mortal. Rashid twisted like the coiling sand turning the wolf’s neck with his movements. In a matter of moments it stopped moving. The last one growled and bayed but Rashid could sense he was going to run, and on four feet in his own territory he might have outpaced that old wolf hunter; for a time. Rashid didn’t allow him, he pounced tumbling down a hillish incline letting the force of the bouncing break his foe a little before putting his palm through his chest, He ripped out the heart and considered eating it, as he was hungry. He abstained as he didn’t want to approach his clan smelling like he might have eaten one of their kin, and once one started feeding it was hard to stop, and as we’ve gone over, his wolf was a cunning creature.

Rashid looked at the mess they’d obligated him into. In another world he might have done rights, and sent them to a proper burial, but he doubted how much of his faith had passed into this place, so he contented to encouraging the angered sands to bury the bloodied fallen before moving on. Rashid magic, or spirit or whatever allowed him to erode the blood from his clothing though the tears in his clothing were a whole other matter best saved for a seamstress rather than his killing arts. He continued his trek through the desert.

He woke up in a coffin of soil that he knew was soaked with his favorite vintage of blood though there was also the scent of magic and age which made him all at once weary nostalgic and somewhat sorrowful. He pried open the lid of his encasement, to see a woman, and a very beautiful woman at that, eyeing him from a chair. They were in a dusty cellar, though he could have sworn they’d been buried in some forest or desert or something. The other seven coffins were still there, though one was open and it’s “cargo” so to speak was nowhere to be found.

“I had a dream, an earth dream and a death dream though the two often go hand in hand for me. It talked about blood, and time, and boiling love which harmed as much as it healed as some things needed very telling scoldings. Your pretty, what is your name, my name is Tasha.” The woman said. She had dark skin yet goldish hair cut short around her ears, and she was, from what his senses told him, a vampire. A powerful vampire. He was having trouble remembering his name, though he had gone by a few in his time. They, though he had hard time remembering who they were as well, told him it might be difficult to hold on to some of the things from the other place, and that some things were better not spoken of until they were ready, lest people start spontaneously combusting or demons start bursting from the cellars and prying folk down to the underworld. Well, he liked carnage as much as anyone, but war with no purpose was pointless at least that’s how he felt about it these days, and the feeling seemed to pay homage to an internal scar he was not sure would ever heal.

“My name is Dy…,” but whatever he was about to say wasn’t right, not exactly, not anymore and he had a feeling that this place demanded a different type of truth from him “Dante you can call me Dante.” He said rising from the soil. He was dressed as if he were going to a funeral, in vest, white shirt, slacks and crocodile loafers. His hair was longer than he remembered and a lot curlier, as well. He imagined he looked a shaggy beautiful mess. His skin was still his, which was good, dark and chocolatey, like he was some cheesy valentine the receiver would love more than the person who had brought it to them. He began to lift himself out of the coffin, and it wasn’t long before he realized he did not have his former youthful charm. He didn’t look like a senior citizen, but he could have been twenty five as opposed to the fifteen year old he often masqueraded as. Oh what other horrors had been branded upon him.

“You smell tasty.” Tasha said, as he wobbled onto the solid floor, still a little unsteady in this new place and in this body which was his but also not.

“Tastier than, the typical vampire.” Dante said honestly interested in her answer.

“Yes, very much so.” Tasha said, with a hot gaze and voice which must of won her the very willing submission of most creatures which had called her appetites.

“Yes well, I was a bit of a rare breed where I’m from, I was a werewolf before I joined the night clan.”

“Yes, that must be it, wolf blood always tastes so...beautiful, so much like what we truly were and should be. Don’t get me wrong though, if everyone was who they should be than what they are or want to be things would be pretty boring wouldn’t they.” Tasha said not moving from her seat but seemingly growing closer with every word.

“I know what you mean, I used to get flack from wolves and vampires alike about what I should have been doing for one person or another, about honoring this people or that and honestly it got pretty boring after a while. Like seriously people, handle your own problems, save yourselves if you’re so concerned about my business. Get a hobby or something.” Dante said stretching and flexing. Partly because he enjoyed having an audience for his “awesome visage” but also because he was pretty sure that if she pounced on him in that awkward state of reawakening he’d have no choice but to run for it.

“You’re funny.” She said.

“So l’ve heard.” He said with shakespearian flare. She huffed a pleasant laugh. “Tasha, do you know where we are right now, you seem very powerful, so could we be in the hold of your night court or perhaps the court of the one you serve.” Dante said.

“Oh no, I don’t really serve, it’s more of a group effort, but we’re not there, I found you myself, and if those dummies got wind of you and your...companions they’d probably kill your most powerful and try to break the others, they’re dumb that way. Oh don’t make that face, you seem more than capable but everyone’s a little off their game after emerging from the earth like that, and from the looks of things you guys were down there awhile.” Tasha said. Her words didn’t exactly make Dante feel enthusiastic about their current situation but he supposed much of existence and its survival had as much to do with obvious shows of strength as it did the invisible moments of miraculous shadowed circumstance.

“I appreciate that it was you who found us and not them.” Dante said

“That’s funny, you’re sweet but you don’t even know me. I could be worse.” She said seeming serious yet joking at the same time.

“Well then it would not be the worse crime in the world to succumb to one so beautiful and bright, in fact I might even be honored.” Dante said his time with the fae having taught him how to mask truth with truth.

“Oh that’s good, you’re all feisty, I might keep you.” Tasha said, as if she already had his kennal picked out, Dante kept his outward face even but inside he’d all but jumped to the heavens and been kicked back down for being too sexy and awesome.

“How serious are you?” Dante said.

“I suppose you’ll find out eventually.” Tasha said as if her gaze was made of heat. It was around that time someone started slamming on their coffin.

“Dy...Dante get me the fuck out of here!” Said a very familiar voice.

“You mind if I get that.” Dante said.

“By all means.” Tasha said. Dante sort of flowed sort of stumbled over to the coffin and just as he was going to pry off it’s lid, a fist broke through it’s surface nearly colliding with his throat.

“I heard you girl damn. Could you be a little patient.” “It’s so boring in here though.” She said sounding sweet, seductive and deadly all at once, perhaps Tasha and she could trade notes. They tossed off the lid together and she rose from her coffin, rifle in hand with hunting hat and riding close, as if she’d gone from marching about the stables to stalking the “greatest game”. Her hair was shorter than he remembered but she still looked the dark angel he remembered. Shadows stitched around her in a type of anti-light, and she was gorgeous in this visage, but inhumanely so which was something her prey, so often, realized too late. She had freckles here or there along with skin like white marble and hair red like phoenix fires.

“My daughter, you should introduce yourself, this woman she is our rescuer in a sense, as powerful as she is a sight for sore eyes.” Dante said. His red daughter seemed to pick up on his cues because she began to speak.

“I’m Lu…” but the name though it was and had been hers would not roll of the tongue the way it had before, its taste had changed, so she remembered one a little more to her liking “ Wendy, that is my name. Sorry things are a little difficult this place feels so strange. Dante, he is my forge, my maker and sire and so I suppose I am his daughter in that sense.” Wendy said.

“You two do make quite the pair. I imagined much terror was inspired by your forms in those shadowy histories of yours.”

“That would be an understatement.” Wendy said cracking a charming mischievous grin, Tasha matched it with one of her own and they both started laughing. A human might have been shaking in his boots at the seamlessness and almost harmonic effect of their complementary actions. Wendy stepped along the floor in her riding boots, somehow managing too look graceful covered head to toe in dirt and undoubtedly at least a little groggy from her long nap.

“One of our most powerful also has red hair, and I suppose she’s smart, but I doubt she’s nearly as entertaining as you.” Tasha said. Wendy’s senses started roaming and crunching as if she were some cosmic accountant.

“How did you find us exactly?” Wendy said.

“Well I had a dream, but the one who was in the empty box, or at least that’s who I imagine it was, told me your exact location. He didn’t stick around long, I must have scared him, he said something about having a schedule to keep and not wanting to wake up around a bunch of hungry vampires.” Tasha said.

“Grey suit, burning gold eyes, strange smelling wolf? Looks a little native american?”

“That’s the one. Said his name was Anthony or something.” Tasha said.

“Sounds like him, dumb smart bastard.” Wendy said. Perhaps it was the mentioning of another wolf, but it was at that time that yet another coffin burst open, and a terror of a werewolf, easily two hundred and seventy pounds, prowled out along the ground. His steps were awkward but those claws were dangerous and he had a mad look in his amber eyes. For a moment Dante didn’t recognized him but almost as soon Wendy turned to speak he knew the man beneath the fur.

“Liam, please do not frighten us like that, we’re all a little uncomfortable and a little out of our elements.” Wendy said and the werewolf slowed his hunched and predatory skulking but not without a growl or two of extreme annoyance.

“Liam, you look a little different .” Dante said as two, or at least two equally possible histories fought within his mind jostling his soul and troubling his heart as he tried to remember that which was most important about this person who had been very much a brother to him, though not in any biological sense. The werewolf growled again, settling at Dante’s side and planting himself in a sitting position. He was noticeably still upset so Dante only brushed his neck lightly once before leaving him to his chosen post. Even across the universe he was ever the dutiful and loyal fellow in their eternal pilgrimage.

“How’d you tame him.” Tasha said, look ever hungrier Liam growled, though it was low and didn’t seem to draw too much of her attention.

“Liam is my…” Dante began, he was going to say friend but the word no longer seemed appropriate in so many ways “He is one of our soul kin, our destiny’s have shared many similar paths, many times walking side by side. He does not need to be tamed, and I doubt he could be.” Dante said, Liam huffed possibly approvingly.

“He’s also really gay.” Wendy said.

“That’s neat.” Tasha said.

“Right.” Wendy said. Dante could all but feel his wolfish brother rolling his eyes.

“As well as peculiarly honorable.” Arthur said, everyone was at least a little startled when he appeared, except maybe Wendy who just looked ecstatic. She wrapped her arms around his neck and smooched him on the cheeks. Arthur was also native american and wearing a suit though his was a deep red, almost black and he was not a wolf though he had much knowledge about them. Arthur was a vampire, and one of the most dangerous one’s in existence, Dante should know, he had helped forge him with his blood. Perhaps things had not always been this way in another world but as things were Dante could feel his dark essence entwined with the magic of Arthur’s somewhat terrifying self. He had a stoney face, and long hair braided down his back, he was not exactly handsome, not in the more conventional sense, but he looked formidable, and sturdy like a natural wonder. Dante could not remember the details exactly, but although there was another, and possibly others who could equal parts claim the title of sire to Arthur, the man often seemed to favor the former. With that said Dante rarely ever had much influence over Arthur through the blood ties, he had emerged more or less autonomous and powerful to boot. Wendy hadn’t been as clearly unruly, but she was fond of turning her maker this way and that with subtle clues or maneuverings. No Dante hadn’t controlled her though he did have a power over her for a time; in many ways he’d been her champion rather than she his. Arthur was more or less an assassin, prone to lonesome brooding, dark revelations, and the somewhat monstrous and brutal ending of people history would rather forget. He was efficient and pretty clean with his tasks though, part of which had to do with the dark magic he’d been loaded with through his heritage and the dark masters whose blood had helped forge him.

Arthur had always been good at spooking Dante. Lucy could do it too, though she at least had the courtesy of being a hot girl. Arthur carried with him a certain cold blooded, “this could be a pleasant surprise but most likely I’m just here to finally kill you” vibe. So far he hadn’t done so, or at least not as far as Dante could remember, though Dante considered his continuing survival to be miraculous rather than an indication of Arthur’s “warm and humorous” side which he was not entirely sure, existed.

Tucked under Arthur’s arm was June, who was a pretty thing though she often carried a somewhat estranged sorrowfulness with her. She had short hair wavy and sun bleached, with green eyes like emeralds. She was dressed like a concert cellist which was fitting as she was one of the greatest musicians Dante had ever met.

“This is Arthur, my son, at least partially, by vampiric logic at least as Wendy would remind me. With him is June, Liam’s daughter, by the more conventional way.” Dante said, though he was not sure the latter had always been true. Liam huffed and padded over to lick June’s fingers before returning to Dante’s side.

“I thought you said he was gay.” Tasha said.

“It’s a very long and complicated story.” Wendy said.

“Do tell me one night.” Tasha said.

“Of course.” Wendy said as if they’d known each other for years.

“Most of June’s vampiric-heritage comes from Arthur though Wendy did assist in those final nights as we were not sure if she would have survived the transition otherwise, so we are a little weary of getting into disputes of who made her or not. I will say though she was of my court, just throwing that in there.”

“Yes but I nurtured her, more of a parent than this cold bastard ever was.” Wendy said. Arthur shrugged, un-phased.

“I was busy.” He said, and Thea looked at him with an expression of hurt that was so genuine it was funny. “What I was, and you’re a tough girl.”

“My father, as in my biological father is better company than any of these jerks, except Wendy she’s awesome.” June said.

“I am wounded.” Dante said bringing back that shakespearian flare.

“Good be wounded, I blame you for why we’re here, like this, in the first place.” June said.

“Well that’s almost all of you, who’s the last one.” Tasha said.

“That would be Andrew, though Andy will do just fine.”

“Or the incorrigible one.” June said.

“Or the crazy one which is saying something cause a quarter of the time we’re all bonkers.” Wendy said. Liam growled something.

“I believe that translates to ‘or the thorn in our side.’” Dante said.

“He is mine, wholly in this case forged from my blood, though I’ll admit his existence is a somewhat chaotic one, or at the very least a convoluted one.” Arthur said.

“Because we’re all so simple to behold by eyes common.” Wendy said shouldering June’s weight as Arthur skulked over to Andy’s coffin.

“Andy is probably the reason why we made it here intact mostly. He has skill with making treacherous terrains, walkable.” Arthur said

“Yeah like he’d stop at walkable, he’d take a couple of steps and decided it needed funhouse mirrors, roller coasters and a moon bounce.” Wendy said.

“He likes having fun.” June said. Liam woofed.

“Some might say he’s addicted to it.” Dante said.

“Aw, I didn’t know you guys cared so much.” Andy said beginning to crawl out of his coffin before Arthur pried him to his feet with swift and brutal efficiency. Andy had an afro, skin as dark as charred earth, long limbs and a lanky form which could make him look clumsy as much as it could make him look darkly elegant. He took a couple of steps and collapsed to the ground, and in his psychedelic clothing straight from the seventies it was quite the sight to see.

“Medic! Pimp down!” Andy said. June and Wendy rolled their eyes, while Dante and Liam howled and laughed. Arthur was far from a healer but he helped his charge up nonetheless.

“He’s pretty too.” Tasha said, seemingly directing the message to Dante.

“Don’t tell him that, his ego’s inflated enough.” Dante said.

“And your’s is so well managed.” Wendy said.

“Don’t sass me young lady.” Dante said.

“I’ll sass whoever I please.” Wendy said.

“Why’d you guys stop talking about me.” Andy said.

“Too clever for his own good is what some might say.” June said in a hushed whisper reminiscent of a person who spent most of their existence considering themselves the ugly duckling rather than the swan to be.

“More like too proud.” Arthur said.

“Oh I wonder where that came from?” Wendy said looking like she knew all about apples rarely rolling far from their roots. Andy was messing around with a spider medallion hanging from his chest.

“Seriously though, have you told this hot miss all about my infinite power, my character of almost miraculous depth and strength. My many heroic achievements and devilish wit.” Andy said.

“Because you’re not overcompensating.” June said

“Of course not, though I’ll admit many a wound I have suffered, and I occasionally do feel the need to hide these more sensitive portions, if only to shield you poor ladies from my more grotesque histories, and to maintain a degree of gentleman like dignity. You couldn’t deny an occasional sinner his leisures could you.” Andy said.

“I could and will, and the day your gentlemen is the day hell freezes over.”

“Is that a dare?” Andy said.

“Children please, I’m pretty sure we’ve all seen enough of those more infernal depths for ten lifetimes.” Dante said.

“You guys are funny. We are a bit lacking in strong vampires, and beyond that you seem pretty powerful to boot. Plus things have gotten pretty boring around our court, we could use some quality folks to shake things up. So what do you say, you want to come back with me, after you’ve fed and healed of course.” Tasha said. They all looked at each other but it was Arthur, in his stony unmoved deep rolling voice who spoke first.

“Is there a pool?”

#Werewolves Silver West Love Deathpack

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