Angel

The store just looks completely out of place in town. There are archaic-looking runes carved on either side of the door, which looks like a solid slab of wood and is iron-bound with a large elaborate carving of a cross that covers the entire door. The cross unnerves me a bit, though I don’t know why. The rest of the building is made of brick, with crumbling mortar and faded green wooden shutters. The two display windows are empty, draped in sheets, and the whole building looks hundreds of years old; but there isn’t a single piece of graffiti on it. I stand there staring at the graffiti covered buildings to either side of the small store until Fang, tugging on my sleeve to get my attention, pulls me to the door.

“Try not to touch the cross,” he says over his shoulder. I look at him confused, “it doesn’t burn us, but it’s very unpleasant, like when your foot goes to sleep.”

An old-fashioned bell jingles as he pushes open the door and holds it open for me. I step through warily, feeling a slightly unpleasant jarring sensation that sends a shiver down my back. I almost step back onto the street but Fang pulls me farther in. To my heightened senses the small shop seems musty, and I can smell what seems to be centuries of human lives that have walked through the building; more than eighty percent of them Hunters. How I know this I haven’t a clue, and my confusion is threatening to break through the walls I instinctively built around it. The moment we enter the building a small mousey human smelling slightly of fear, which he hides very well, comes out from behind a beaded curtain strung across the doorway behind the antique varnished wooden cashier’s counter. He smiles somewhat nervously, licking his lips. The man seems quite unremarkable to me; his brown hair thinning slightly, and wearing a very bland tweed suit, but I can tell that he has some inherent power. I automatically recognize him as the source of the unpleasant jarring in the doorway; which I now realize as a vampire deterrent if the cross should ever fail. He looks at me, and tries to make his smile seem more welcoming.
“You’re new,” he glances up and down my figure in a way that I feel inappropriate. I glare at him and he stiffens, averting his eyes. He is even more nervous now and I can smell the fear coming off him strongly, like too much cologne. “So,” he clears his throat, “what have you decided to call yourself?”

I blink, confused, and stare at him.

“Your name, what’s your name?” he clarifies.

I wrack my brains, something always on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t seem to remember my name. I can feel Fang watching me, and I know that he is concerned. Then the fragment of a phrase comes floating foggily to the front of my mind.

“…goodnight, angel…”

“It’s Angel.” I say, and I can’t help the smallest of smiles from tugging at my lips.

“Interesting choice,” the man smiles approvingly, “and as far as I know you are the first Hunter ever to use it. I am Marcus.” He extends a hand out to me, and I take it gingerly; humans, in my mind, being frail creatures.

He grimaces and I know I’ve squeezed too hard. “Sorry,” I murmur, letting go of his hand.

“Happens all the time.” Marcus rubs his hand slightly, and then he seems to change into an entirely different person as he turns and lays the entire store out with a sweep of his hands. “Welcome. Let me show you around. You’ve obviously come here for more than just talking.” As he moves down the small aisle between the counter and the rest of the room, the change becomes even more dramatic. His skin darkens to a rich cinnamon, and his eyes seem to alternate between clear amber and warm chestnut. The unappealing tweed suit melts into a tight black leather jacket, skintight black silk shirt, and black canvas pants that fit tight from the waist to the calves, then flare dramatically. His face changes, becoming dangerous, but still human, and he gains several inches in height. The farther he walks into the store, the brighter the room becomes, until it is flooded with light.

“A glamour,” Fang is right beside my ear, “Marcus is a mage, forge magic mostly, but the glamour keeps the curious humans at bay.” I am listening, of course, but most of my attention is drawn to the wall at the very back of the room.

The wall, it seems, is a glittering mass of steel. Every type of sword ever created, or close, hangs in pairs on it. Every one of them is perfect and beautiful; some simply made, some covered in what seems like hundreds of gems and gilt. Even from across the room, my eyes can pick out every detail of every weapon. But I am drawn to one pair in particular. I cross the room without even noticing and stop; reflected in my eyes are two perfect oval sapphires, each set in the hilts of two elegant Spanish fencing swords. The base of each blade is a perfect delicate one-and-one-half inch, and this width extends out two-and-a-half feet then narrows to a delicate six inch point. A shallow trough runs from the base to just before it narrows; and each blade is engraved with different runes.

Wolf

The rest of the journey was uneventful, and I stopped five miles from the meeting grounds around dusk at the end of the second day. I brought down a small doe and a pair of rabbits earlier in the day, and though I was eager for venison I refrained, grudgingly, saving it as a gift for the bitch. Alphas expect gifts from loners returning for the meet on the full moon, it shows that the ‘wolf is successful and able to take care of themselves; so the bigger the gift, the better. I grimly set to skinning and cleaning the rabbits for myself, though with many longing glances at the plump young deer that I had tied up in a tree to keep it from scavengers. I was still hungry when I went to bed. The winter fur on the rabbits helped to disguise how scrawny they were, but it was too late to get more. I stared at the fire, ignoring both the grumbling of my stomach and the tempting smell of the deer, and then slowly drifted to sleep.
I awoke early, with the sun, and resumed my trek in human form to be able to carry the deer without ruining the hide with puncture marks. If I had been in a normal pack, the whole ordeal would have been ceremonious. Werewolves don’t normally leave the pack out of spite towards the Alpha, or out of anger. A lone werewolf is simply that, lone. They leave the pack because they would prefer to live a solitary existence. But, since I am no ordinary werewolf, I carried my burden toward the pack-meet with my heart sinking to my boots, and anger replacing it.
A werewolf pack-meet isn’t a meeting at all, but a holiday of sorts. A time for new births to be celebrated (yes, werewolves can have children, they just aren’t always werewolf because we weren’t at first), special announcements to be made, and rank challenges to be made, allowing for advancement within the pack. It’s also a time for the lone members to regroup and catch up on pack news. And to possibly meet some new faces. In Farra’s pack, however, there are no new births or special announcements; and hardly any challenges. And you can basically forget seeing any new faces. Farra hasn’t made any new pack members in a very long time, and she most likely won’t start again. As for the births, Farra is sterile as far as any of us know. She’s tried several times, though not with me, but with no results, so she gave up.
I heard the pack-meet long before I saw it, and almost turned in the opposite direction, when the directional gut-tug that had led me all the way gave a vicious jerk that nearly sent me sprawling and Farra’s snarling, whiney voice rang out in my head.
Danny boy you made it! And here I thought you would ditch.
I made my way sullenly towards the clearing, knowing what I would see when I got there, and silently seething at her stupid nickname for me; I didn’t even care if she could hear me. In fact I flung my thoughts at her, all the resentment and anger that I had build up since the last pack-meet, and hit her square in the face with a mental slap.
The whole pack was growling when I reached the clearing, both those in human form and those not. My mental slap had reverberated through all their minds and they were quick to defend their leader’s wounded pride. As for their sniveling bitch of a leader, she stood in all her glory, five-foot nothing with her blonde hair obscuring her face and her green eyes blazing through the curtain of hair.

OMG I've been busy!!!!!

Holy shit, its amazing how much time has gone by since i last wrote. I've barely had any time though. It's pretty unbelieveable how much time a boyfriend can take up. Well, fiance anyway since he's proposed; and then I had to move out of the school dorms. Mom and dad don't have internet so I was out of luck then. Now I'm living with my future husband and his parents and we actually have internet; but his mom is on there alot so I was still out of luck until I got my own computer.
I've had my Toshiba laptop for about a month now, but I've been too busy planning the wedding for September 12 I haven't had time to get on. No worries though, I've been working on this baby hardcore for a while now, so posts are good to go.
It feels pretty good to be back, and living with a guy has given me some good inspiration for Wolf's character. I have even picked a name fianally. So here goes. the restarting of Wolf and Angel.

Angel

Fang’s blood is sweet, his smell in liquid form, rich and heady. I drink and drink, losing myself in the intoxicating taste of it. I barely notice when Fang tries to pull away, and when he forcibly yanks his arm out of my grasp I snarl at him, trying to take it back. He places a hand on my chest and I start, looking at him, confused. He seems paler, almost translucent.
“I don’t want you taking too much, blood loss can affect even me.” I blush at that, embarrassed, and he smiles, pulling me close

“Now what?” I ask, the taste of him still on my tongue.

“Now we wait. It won’t be much longer, and it will be painful; but I will be here so don’t be afraid.” He reassures me because I have started to tremble. “Would you like me to distract you?” I nod, “what should I talk about?” he seems genuinely perplexed.

“Anything,” I whisper. I think for a moment. “Tell me what we do.” I am curious about this, but I hope I’ll actually be able to comprehend at least some of it.

“Very well.” He nods, as if satisfied with my choice.

I don’t get a chance to hear much, as soon as Fang starts talking, there is a stabbing pain in my abdomen. I gasp, doubling over at the sheer enormity of the pain. Fang holds me tighter, but doesn’t continue. The stabbing spreads, as if knives are being shoved through my insides, tearing and ripping them to shreds. It slowly works its way up from my abdomen. When it reaches my head I scream, unable to bear it, burying my head in Fangs chest as he crushes me against him; his strong arms shaking along with my spasms. The pain in my head subsides to a bearable level, but then starts in my bones, along with cracking and splintering noises as my bones lengthen, changing my body structure completely. I can feel muscles building, hardening along my body; but I am swallowed again in the pain of my head as my skull shifts, lengthening. My eyesight blurs momentarily, then snaps into sharp, almost painful focus; I can see perfectly in the pre-dawn gloom. I inhale sharply, entranced by the rainbow colors of the dust motes floating in the air, and find that I can smell things I could never smell before; dust, the sheets of the bed, the fainter traces of Fang’s scent from his previous visits here. I hear a faint noise and realize that it is the rushing of my blood, and of Fang’s. Our heartbeats seem painfully loud, as does the shifting of the house, and the mattress springs’ soft creaking. The pain slowly ebbs away, leaving me as drained and shaken as I was only a moment before.

I slowly uncurl myself, feeling slightly stiff, and stretch. I jump when my feet touch the end of the bed because I was sure they didn’t before. I scoot up careful not to wake Fang, resting my head beside his on the headboard and grinning when I notice that we are the same height, even though I’m not sure why I do. I laugh, feeling slightly confused, and Fang starts, opening his eyes. He gazes at me, his lips curling up in amusement at my evident wonderment, though I notice a touch of concern; for what I’m not sure.

“Feeling better?” He mumbles sleepily. I nod, smiling at him. “Nice teeth,” he half-yawns, then smiles back.

Realizing what he means, I run my tongue over my teeth, and nearly cut them open on my fangs. I’m startled, again without really knowing why; this makes me even more confused, but I am determined not to show it. For Fang’s sake. We simply sit there for a while, watching the rising sun slowly push the shadows across the room. When the whole room is full of light, we slowly get up and dress. I am shocked to find that my clothes don’t fit, I am sure that they did yesterday; they are several inches too short. As if I’d grown nearly a foot and a half overnight. But that wasn’t normal. Fang looks at me for a moment; I know my confusion is apparent on my face.

“I guess we’re going to town today.” He hands me a pair of boots, his, and a long sleeved shirt to cover the gap between my jeans and shirt. He then leads me downstairs and through several rooms, more than I thought could fit in such a small house, and out the back door where a sleek black Harley waits.

Getting to town seems to take forever, although I have no idea why it should have taken less time. Surely it takes just as long as it usually takes. The town seems different to me, and I wonder exactly what has changed, because I can’t remember how it looked before. This sudden realization throws me off for a moment, and my grip on Fang loosens slightly. He looks back at me, concerned, but I merely smile at him, lost in my musings. Why is it that I am so confused this morning, and does it have anything to do with me not remembering how town looked before? Before I can get very far on that thought Fang stops in front of this dingy-looking little store that I don’t remember at all, even being confused like I am.

Wolf

There is one thing that I do like about the full moon. The change comes easier, and you are able to change without having to strip down or rip whatever you’re wearing at the time. Your clothes sort of just turn into fur, and then back into clothes. Of course, stuff that isn’t clothes doesn’t change; like packs, or swords, so you do have to lug that around. I stood in the calf-deep snow behind the shack and faced the forest that spread out in front of me. The fierce wind was stinging my face, swirling the snow around, so I quickly surrendered to the pull of the moon and felt myself simply melt into my other form. There was a brief moment of dizziness, then I tipped back my furred head and howled.

I turned my head, checking on my load, then trotted under the canopy of the forest, feeling the change instantly. The forest stilled the howling of the wind and reduced it to the barest breath, so that I was able to travel more comfortably. I stretched my trot out, gradually picking up speed as I followed the faint tug that grew stronger with every second. I was soon grateful that I had taken every opportunity to eat a full meal; I would need all the energy I could get for the fifty mile trek into the Canadian wilderness. Once I had settled myself into a proper run, I kept myself on constant vigilance, scanning continually for any sign of danger. I wanted to avoid as much trouble as I could, it would be better for me to arrive fit and healthy, not to mention strong, instead of injured. A lone was supposed to return so that the Alpha knew that they were able to fend for themselves. If I showed up to the meet injured, or even hungry, Farra would pounce on the chance to force me to re-join the pack; where she could keep an eye on me. My nostrils flared, and I sifted through the smells, noting which ones were prey, and which ones were forest; no danger yet. My biggest fear of course was humans. Not that they would kill me on sight, because wolves are endangered here now, but I would make a pretty peculiar sight, trotting around with a sword on my back.

My stomach rumbled suddenly, and I sighed mentally, I checked what I could see of the sky and told myself firmly that it was much too early to stop for the night, let alone to think about hunting. But I automatically started looking for sign of prey, and smelling the wind. I looked up again, it was getting dark, but the trees had obscured the fact; it was already dark enough to be twilight under the canopy. I catch a whiff of rabbit and freeze, inhaling deeply, pinpointing its location. I sprang suddenly, flying upward in a short, lethal, fox-like jump. I landed squarely on a pair of rabbits, breaking their backs and killing them instantly. My mouth watered as I picked them up, but I refrained from eating them searching for a spot to stop for the night; it would not be good for me to eat them raw and then change only to lose my supper.

I stopped in a small clearing, not really all that much, but it had signs of having been a campsite before, which was good for me; people are less likely to notice the remains of a fire in places where there have been fires before. As soon as I’d changed back, I got a fire going and gathered enough to last the rest of the night. I skinned the rabbits with the hunting knife I keep in my boot and set them to cooking on a spit, turning them idly as I watched the flames. I had two days to complete the journey, with fifteen miles under my belt already. I could make it, I knew, but it was a question of how soon. As soon as I finished off the rabbits I stoked up the fire to keep it going and hunkered down for the night.

Angel

I hurry to do as he asks, struggling to keep quiet as I rummage around in my closet, then turn to face him, expectant. He listens for a moment, although I hear nothing, and then beckons to me. I walk over to the open window where he stands, suddenly nervous. He picks me up, kisses me fiercely, then puts me through the window, silently maneuvering me through then letting go so I land on my feet. I wobble, but don’t lose my balance; turning, I see he’s already there, picking me up silently and starting to run, faster than any human can go. I hide my face against his shirt, out of the wind he creates, and drink in his scent; relishing the feel of his arms around me.

We stop sooner than I had anticipated but, looking around I realize that we have left the suburbs far behind, and the city with it. Fang sets me down in a lawn of tall grasses that is in need of cutting and points to the small house in the middle of it. It’s rather worn looking and old.

“That is where I stay when I am near here. I know it’s not much but it’s warm and dry.” He takes me by the hand, twining our fingers, and leads me to the door. He reaches for the knob and it swings open silently. I wonder why it wasn’t locked, then realize that it probably was.

Fang doesn’t stop to let me take in my surroundings; as soon as we’re through the door he pulls me to him and into a passionate kiss, drowning me again in his scent, his black curls tumbling around me. He is very tall, I’m five-six and my feet raise a good foot and a half off the floor. He pulls away and, while I’m still recovering from the head rush that the lack of oxygen caused, picks me up, literally sweeping me off my feet and carries me up the stairs. He smiles down at me, and so suggestive is his grin that I start to untie the laces of his shirt, exposing part of his chest. Since he’s carrying me, that’s all I can do; so I content myself with laying my head on his shoulder and trace the swirling pattern of the tattoo that shows half its form where the shirt lays it bare. He goes faster. Smiling slightly, I trail my fingers down his chest and he picks up more speed. I slowly lean in, keeping my hand on his abdomen, and kiss him on the neck. He takes the stairs two at a time, kicking open the door and breathing heavily for the first time all night.

I lean up and he kisses me, hard and passionate, leaning into it. He slowly walks forward and lays me on the bed that dominates the room. Fang is suddenly looming over me on the bed, his eyes inscrutable through the red glow. He slowly leans down kissing me gently as he, just as gently, pulls the old shirt I wear to bed over my head. I reach down, sliding my hands up his torso as I divest him of his shirt. I can hear him fumbling with the button of his pants in the darkness, then he stops, kicks off his shoes, and lies down beside me. His eyes smolder as he looks at me and I can sense that he is impatient; I wonder what could be stopping him and reach out, but he stops me.

“You’ve, never done this before, have you?” I feel my cheeks heat up, embarrassed. I shake my head and see his teeth glint in the darkness as he smiles. He strokes my hair, “we’ll just have to go slow then.”

He leans in to kiss me, pulling me close. Gently, he rolls so I am lying on my back; then it happens, so utterly unlike anything I was expecting that I gasp slightly, and clutch Fang’s shoulders. He stiffens, thinking he’s hurt me, then relaxes again kissing me on the neck. I’m so caught up in everything that I don’t notice when his fangs break the skin; but I notice when he starts to suck my blood. It isn’t really painful, but I’m uneasy and push him slightly and he stops; raising his head to look at me, a dazed expression on his face. There is blood on his lip.

“Don’t you want to be together with me forever?” he seems hurt, and I nod quickly ashamed of myself. “This is the only way that can happen, you must become like me.” He leans back down, covering the wounds on my neck with his warm lips and pulling my hot blood into his mouth.

I clutch at his shoulders, feeling the muscles ripple under his smooth taunt skin and press myself against his hot marble torso.

When it is over we lie side by side on the rumpled bed panting for breath. My mouth is dry and my throat is parched, I feel almost drained, spent and exhausted. I start to shake, tremors wracking my frame, most likely from loss of blood. Fang looks at me concerned, then reaches over me to grab something off a small table. It’s a pocket knife and as I watch, he makes a small cut on his arm; dark blood wells up from the incision. He helps me sit up and sticks his arm under my nose; weakly I shake my head.

“Go on, before it closes up again.” I shake my head again. “This is important,” He growls, impatient, suddenly I’m frightened. “Do you want to die from shock or loss of blood?” I shake my head, resigned now, “then drink.” I look down, the wound has closed up again, but before I can think another cut appears and I lower my head, pressing my mouth against his flawless skin, and drink.

Wolf

I woke to the sound of someone calling my name. Not for real, but inside my head. I listened for a while; loathe to answer the bitch’s call with the full moon still a week away. I ignored both her voice and the tugging that started in my gut in response, that is until she snapped at me.
Hey Fido, get up!
I bristled, snarling mentally at the insult, but she ignored that and sent me insidious remarks about what would happen to me if I didn’t make it to her in time. I growled quietly at each one, but got up and started getting ready for the journey.

I hate Canada. Especially in the winter time, not because of the cold, though it is an inconvenience for travel when all you have is a motorcycle; it’s not the country itself, or the people in it. Well, one person; Farra. I hate Canada because I have to drag my ass up there every month so I can get a little peace and quiet the rest of the time. So you can imagine that I was reluctant to cross the border, and not just because I don’t have a passport. I made it there about three days before the full moon; and the effects of the waxing moon were telling on me. I was shaky, paranoid, exhausted, and sporting a permanent five-o’clock shadow no matter how often I shaved. Whenever I went through a town people avoided me like I was an addict; I certainly looked the part. In spite of that I made it to my hideaway on the border without incident. The hideaway is nothing more than a shack where I can stash my bike, but I was grateful for its protection nonetheless. The North Dakota winter was harsh, there was already a foot of snow on the ground and more coming down, with clear signs of a blizzard on its way. I half considered just hunkering down there in wolf form until the storm blew itself out, but I knew the tugging of my gut would only be harder to resist in wolf form. Plus Farra was likely to send someone after me if I were late.

I sighed and started getting ready to leave. I don’t like taking a lot of things with me when I’m traveling, but there is always the risk of getting myself hurt, pack fights are likely this time of the month, and there is also the (slight) possibility of meeting a Hunter, so I was prepared. I slung the small pack over my shoulders then turned back to my bike and carefully extracted The Tooth from its bindings. The Tooth is a four-foot broadsword, a perfectly formed killing instrument, able to hack through bone and even toughened vampire skin with a single swing. Its grip and pommel were simple, leather wrapped (no silver of course) without decoration and a full two hands in length for extra swinging power. The blade was four inches wide and three and a half feet from hilt to point, housed in a simple reinforced leather scabbard and hung across the back in a harness. I carefully adjusted the straps so that the sword would still hang comfortably after the change and settled The Tooth on my back. It may not have a very creative or frightening name, but The Tooth has never been made fun of. I adjusted the straps one last time, then open the door and step out into the storm.

Snow

It's snowing here, so i have found myself with nothing much to do, there being no classes today. I'll probably be hanging around here for a while, not much else for me to do but write.

Playlist

hey, I will be posting a new playlist soon, I just have to get the right code. There will now be two playlists, Angel and Wolf.

Angel

He comes to me in darkness, his ebony hair shining in the moonlight, pale skin glowing from the light streaming through my open curtains. Slipping into the darker abscesses of my room he makes no sound; his eyes burn, awakening my senses and rousing me from the deepest of sleeps. He is a Hunter; the enticing perfume of him wafting to me from across the room easily confirms that. I shiver, shifting towards the wall. The Hunter “disease” can only be spread to a person of the opposite sex, in this case me, it’s obvious why he’s here. I’ve heard stories about girls changed into Hunters that make my ears burn just thinking about them. The process is supposedly very erotic, until the pain starts.

The Hunter shifts in the shadows, aroused by my fear, and his eyes begin to glow a hellish red. A whimper escapes me and I press against the wall and wrapping my covers tightly around me. In all the stories, their eyes glowed red when they were ready to … start. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself not to cry out; silent tears dribbling down my face and soaking the bedspread. My ears strain to catch the slight sounds as he steps towards me; my heart is throbbing somewhere in my stomach. The delicious perfume gets stronger, grabbing me, drowning me in an ecstasy of scent. All thoughts are washed out of my head; a warm glow starts in my chest making me gasp, then spreads to my fingers and toes.

I open my eyes; I had stopped crying what seems like ages ago. I sit up, letting the covers slide off, and face the godlike figure standing two feet away smiling at me. The smile makes him so beautiful that I can’t help but smile back, a welcoming smile. He steps toward me and I forget everything except his face and the warmth spreading through me.

Through the warm haze I hear him speak, he has the most beautiful accent, but I can’t seem to place it. A foggy thought drifts through my mind, something about his accent and teeth… but it is gone in the next second. I try to focus as he speaks again, and this time his words break through the warm fog in my head.

“…you may call me Fang.”I wonder vaguely if that’s a nickname, there’s no way it could be his real name. “I would love to tell you my real name my dear,” it’s as though he’s read my mind, “but I seem to have forgotten it. Time will do that you know.” He smiles again and this time the moonlight glances off his sharp pointed teeth.

The fog in my mind lifts fully for a moment and I gasp, shifting back towards the wall. But the gasp fills my nose with his sweet perfume and I stop; lulled back into stillness.

“Don’t be afraid,” he soothes, he sits on the edge of my bed, his face inches from mine. The long black trench that he wore lies crumpled on the floor, his double swords lying neatly on top. I don’t remember him taking them off. “I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice is low and soft, seductive. “I want to be with you; forever.”

The perfume emanating from him is so sweet and heady that I almost swoon. My heart is beating rapidly, and my breathing is so shallow that swooning seems even more likely. He caresses my face, setting shivers crawling up and down my spine.

“Come with me, into eternity.” He breathes into my ear, and then his lips are on mine for the briefest of seconds. For such a small kiss, it’s powerful enough to make me melt. I fall into his arms, clutching at his white linen shirt and feeling the throbbing heat come off his body in waves. He breathes in deeply; drinking in my scent, then stiffens slightly, listening. I peek over his shoulder at my clock, its little numbers glowing in the darkness; green for his red. Three a.m. I hear a door slam.

“That’s my father,” I whisper, panic driving off the fog.

I feel his laugh more than hear it, “I take he doesn’t like my kind.” He gently releases my panic-clenched fingers from his shirt.

“He’s a cop, he’ll kill you if he finds us.” I look up at him frantically. I don’t tell him that my father hates “cleaning up” after a Hunter job.

Fang’s smile fades at my serious tone; I know what I said was true, and so does he. His face takes on a more serious expression and he stands up, retrieving his coat and swords from the floor. “I’ll make sure that he doesn’t.” he tosses me one of my small bags. “Pack a few things, quietly, we’re leaving.”

THE TWIST!!!

Not really sure you could call this a twist, but I'm introducing a new character into the mix so from now on posts about her are Angel, while the 'wolf posts stay Wolf. :)

Don't freak, it'll make sense soon.

Playlist

Hope you enjoy the new playlist! The songs after "Run with the Wolf" will make sense eventually when I get to the twist in the story, I'm not quite there yet. Oh and, in your head, could you add "Possum Kingdom" by the Toadies onto the list? iLike doesn't have the complete song for some reason. :)

Bitches and Women

Farra is rouge and a real bitch if you ask me (both literally and figuratively). Many of the members of her pack would, grudgingly, back up her right as their creator. But it really pisses me off that her right has never been challenged (a ‘wolf Alpha can be challenged just the same as the Alpha of a regular wolf’s pack). In a strong pack, a leader’s right is challenged almost yearly, sometimes twice a year, mostly by newcomers (who almost never win). Why hasn’t Farra’s right been challenged? She has a bodyguard. His name is Sven; big guy, really strong, by all other standards he would have been leader long ago. Except for one thing, Sven’s not the brightest crayon in the box; he has about the mental capacity of a five-year-old and Farra’s got him sticking closer to her than if she had him on a leash. The guy absolutely adores her.

One other reason that women can’t be Alpha, they get to emotional during “certain times;” female ‘wolves more than regular women. Unless that’s just Farra, I really wouldn’t know because there are no other females in Farra’s pack. She handpicked every target for a reason, all of us young handsome high school boys. Except for Sven (whom she found in Russia and was her first member) she has the makings of a male harem, and she knows it. On top of that, she refuses to let us associate with members of other packs (for obvious reasons), something she enforces easily because of the mental link the Alpha has with the rest of the pack, even I am still controlled by her. There have been many times when I wished she would die so that link would be severed.

Before I went inside the little house I rented just outside town I quickly scanned the perimeter, inhaling deeply, checking for sign of other ‘wolves and of Hunters. My lip curled involuntarily at the thought. Hunters are the mortal enemies of both werewolves and vampires, the only living thing that can match us in strength and speed, and everything else. Plus they used swords, silver-plated swords. They were also the ones hired out to kill the packs of rouge wolves and, being lone, I didn’t get much news out here. I stood poised for a few moments, nostrils flared, ready to jump back on my bike and run or fight. I relaxed after a while, smelling nothing, and went inside for a hot shower and a nap.

Packs and other stuff

I woke up cold, naked, and very much human. My hand and chest were stained red and my hair felt stiff with blood. There was even blood in my nose where I had buried my head into the stomach cavity. My mouth and throat were coated, and the taste of blood was heavy and metallic. The deer was attracting bugs, and my stomach heaved at the sight, emptying itself of its unsightly red contents. I felt sick and just wanted to go home; but I knew I couldn’t go back covered in blood. I followed my ears, since my nose was useless, to a small stream where I immersed my head, snorting up water to clear my nose and nearly choking, scrubbing my hair until the water ran clear. I stood up, shaking the water out of my hair and coughing to get the last of the water out of my lungs; then started following my trail back to the clearing where I started and from there back to my bike.

It started growing light as I slipped my leather pants and coat on. I carefully backed the old Indian onto the road and started it up, loving the way its throaty growl thrummed in my chest. The cold wind helped, made me not feel so sick, though I still felt terrible. Despite my exhaustion I had no trouble keeping the Trailblazer on the road, my stomach protested every wobble the bike made, and every bump; so much that I ended up dodging potholes (and throwing up again for my efforts, which made me feel better). I have always hated the morning after; its worse that a hangover, though minus the headache, and there really isn’t a “cure” for it. All you can do is wait it out, or don’t change any more that necessary (which is impossible, because you’d have to be perfectly calm all the time). Either that or try to ignore both hunger and instinct as a wolf.

I thanked all the gods I could think of when I made it home in one piece. I thanked them twice as fervently that the full moon was still two weeks away. Full moon is the only time weres are compelled to change, higher powers being at work. So many cultures were right to worship the moon, or at least include it in some aspect of their religion. Full moon is also when all ‘wolves, whether lone like me or pack members, have to gather in their original pack under their pack leader (i.e. the wolf that changed them, they were always leaders). This is the main reason I became lone; my former pack is nothing but a sick joke, it leader (or Alpha) is female. No, I’m not being sexist. You see, when a human is bitten (changed into a ‘wolf) their entire way of thinking changes. Some go so far as to say that we stop being human but to be specific, we start thinking wolf.

In wolf society the pack is lead by only the biggest, strongest, and smartest wolf in the group. This is always male because female wolves are genetically smaller than males. Granted this way of thinking doesn’t seem fair from a human’s perspective but trust me, it’s for good reason. A pack leader has to be the strongest and the biggest because their right can be challenged in direct combat, usually to the death, at any moment. A pack doesn’t want or need a leader that requires protection; that is seen as a weakness and will be immediately changed. In werewolf society, the Alphas are ‘wolves that have created a pack of their own, these wolves were ceremoniously split from the pack and given their right of leadership through a test. You fail the test, you don’t get leadership and you don’t leave the pack. Although lone ‘wolves are allowed to leave at any time, they do not have the right to change anyone. If it is found that there are new ‘wolves in the area that none of the recognized Alphas are in control of, they are hunted down, mercilessly, and traced back to the rouge who made them.

Hunt

When the change was complete (and I was able to move without any discomfort) I stood and shook out my pelt; feeling the individual hairs settle in their proper places. Satisfied I sat back on my haunches and scratched, my mouth unconsciously pulling into a grimace of canine pleasure; my pelt always itched after transformation. Then I stretched, loosening all the muscles and joints, testing every spot for soreness or weak spots; even swiveling around my newly furred and pointed ears checking for signs of prey or danger at the same time I made sure the muscles were functioning properly. The entire procedure, from man to wolf, took roughly four hours this time; a short one tonight.

I inhaled deeply, the myriad scents of the forest assaulting my sensitive nose. My ears pricked forward at a promising scent and I followed it, moving almost silently through the trees until I came upon the source. A young buck, not even four-point, was browsing alone in a clearing. I tensed, instinctively going into a crouch and slowly creeping closer in time to the rise and fall of his head. Deer only see well when there’s movement, being colorblind, so whenever the buck’s head came up I stopped, moving again only when he had resumed eating.

I continued in this fashion, keeping upwind, until I was only ten feet away. I deepened my crouch, leg muscles bunching as I readied to spring. The leap was almost effortless; I reached out, the toes of my front paws spread wide, and landed on the buck’s back digging my claws into its shoulders. The combination of my weight and the force of my jump snapped the deer’s back, and as we fell I broke its neck with a quick bite and a twist of my head. The hot blood rushed into my mouth and the hunger that was always present after transformation made my stomach roar. I tore into the carcass, animal instinct prevailing making me not care as blood and gore splattered my face and pelt. I ripped into the soft underbelly of the creature, spilling its organs onto the dark ground as I feasted, eating flesh and hide, hair and organs in my haste to quell the angry hunger that coursed through me.

By the time my hunger had ceased its gnawing at my insides the carcass was half gone and I was too full to move. I settled down next to the disemboweled deer, absently licked the blood off one paw, and fell asleep.

Enter the Wolf

I could hear my pulse thudding in my ears, feel it throbbing behind my eyes and at the base of my throat. I staggered, feeling half-drunk, over to my bike, a ‘56 Trailblazer. I wasn’t so far gone that I couldn’t ride, I just needed to get out of the town limits, maybe even out of the county just to be sure. I could make it that far. I kicked the rusty red Indian into full roaring life and carefully maneuvered out of my parking spot, concentrating on breathing steadily. I probably went faster than I should have but I made it out. Just barely though. When I brought the bike to a sputtering halt two and a half miles outside the county line I was shaking so bad I needed to hold on to the bike to stay upright. I managed to push it into the bushes and, barely, to remove my coat, pants, and boots. My shirt I could afford to lose.

I stood shaking and panting, half-undressed, in the small dark clearing in the woods on the moonless November night. I slowly cleared my head, she was still there of course, and then closed my eyes and surrendered. Every breath I took drew greater quantities of air into my lungs, which flooded my brain with oxygen. I threw back my head, my unseeing eyes turned toward the stars. I could feel new energy coursing through my veins, fueled by alcohol and anger. I fell to my knees as a shudder that felt like a trembling of the earth itself shook me from head to foot. I doubled over, planting my palms firmly on the ground as the nausea roiled up from my gut. I felt the sweat break out cold on my face and neck as I clenched my teeth, sucking in great gulps of air so cold they made my teeth ache.

A spasm tightened the muscles of my back, feeling like the stabbing of a knife, making my arms shake and drawing out a gasp. I wouldn’t scream, I hadn’t screamed for close to fifteen years, but I groaned quietly through my teeth which were now almost locked tight. I had no idea how long it would last, it tended to differ in length and speed for reasons I had yet to discover. But it always started in the same place. There was a loud cracking noise and I could feel my spine shifting; lengthening, and rotating my pelvis a quarter of the way around. I felt my skin prickle as the hair, the pelt, started pushing its way through, accompanied by more cracking noises as more of my bones shifted; arms and legs shortening in some places and lengthening in others, ribcage expanding with a crackle like the snapping of so many twigs. My head was always the worst; from the nose down it lengthened, feeling as though a baseball bat were pushing its way through my face from the inside, my jaw snapping in about five places and giving me a major hangover quality headache for about eight seconds. After all the bone-shifting the rest wasn’t so bad, unpleasant but bearable though the teeth did hurt a bit.

This will go fast

Like I said in the intro, I'm moving a blog, so don't be suprised at the amount of material that I'm posting in just one day. It will slow down and then you'll be wondering when the next post will come. Just don't freak when that happens. :)

Wolf

I’d sworn that I’d never do it again. Not after what had happened the last time. Now I sat staring at the glass clutched tight in my right hand, stared at the ice floating in the clear amber liquid as I tried to contain the voice in my head that was struggling to get free. The voice that I knew would stop me. Instead, I concentrated on the sound of the crowd behind me; the boisterous laughter, the country music coming from the jukebox that was starting to get on my nerves. But I didn’t trust myself; I wasn’t sure how I would react to the other kind of music. There was always the possibility of hearing the song with the other music. So I focused mainly on the laughter and the drunken conversations of the people at the bar and the tables behind me. I really had no idea how I’d gotten in the grimy joint. I’d sort of come to my senses, like breaking a trance, sitting at the bar and holding a glass of bourbon on the rocks. The bartender told me that I had yet to touch a drop of the stuff.

I took a deep breath, the warm vanilla odor of the bourbon in my hand assaulting my nostrils. Automatically my hand came up and I took a drink, my mind still occupied with silencing the voice, and then downed the rest of the glass. My brain registered my actions only when I felt the warmth of the alcohol spread outwards from my stomach. Shit, I thought.

Stupid, wasn’t it?

I stiffened, eyes widening as the voice, resonated through my head. I’d let my guard down for one second and she’d gotten through! I could feel my pupils dilate and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle as my anger and frustration wreaked havoc in my head. I knew that the process that my anger had just triggered would only be helped by the alcohol I’d consumed, little though it had been. I stood stiffly, slapping down a bill and telling the bartender to keep the change. A very small part of my brain registered that the bartender was yelling something about stiffing her as I walked out the door. But I was beyond full comprehension now; I just needed to hang on until I got out of town. Or else I’d never be able to come back.

Intro (Hi there)

Hey to all the millions of bored people out there, a small selection of which have been bored enough to surf the web and so found yourselves here at my blog. Don't worry, if all this goes according to plan hopefully you won't be bored for long. If you like werewolves and vampires stick around; if you like anime I will soon be creating something for you, especially if you like Cowboy Bebop. I am a writer who is currently in college. I'm going to used this miracle of technology to post a periodical story series because publishing, to be honest, is kinda iffy. I'm actually in the process of moving a blog from one site to this (hopefully for more views) so I'll probably not get a lot of people to read this particular part.

Enjoy the ride and get ready for action!

peace