Angel

“Don’t worry about me, this job should be easy.” Fang is packing a small bag as he speaks, shoving wrapped nonperishable food and what looks like vials of blood into it along with spare clothes and some assorted daggers and knives. “The leader of this pack should be pretty weak, being female, and after she is destroyed, most of the others probably won’t defend her. In fact, they’ll most likely scatter. If you’re still here when I get back, you can help me hunt them down. That will be tiresome, but it’s a good way to get experience.”

I look at him quizzically, “what do you mean, if I’m still here?” Am I more likely to die if I am left on my own?

“You don’t have to wait for me here; you are free to leave if that is what you wish. I cannot keep you here against your will.” He is serious the way he says it makes me wonder exactly how many Hunters he has made, and whether any of them have felt the special connection that I feel with him. Is there a connection? I shake the stray thought away, confused again. I am very confused today. I wasn’t confused like this yesterday… was I? No, Fang would have mentioned it yesterday if I was… was I even with Fang yesterday? My chain of thought is interrupted when I realize that Fang is talking to me.

“What?” It’s hard for me to meet his eyes; I am ashamed for having doubts like this, I feel like I should be
less emotional, that I should be brave and just head out into the world.

“I said do you feel like you are ready to leave and go out on your own?” His black eyes seem to have hidden depths like a well, with the water sparkling at the very bottom where a sliver of sunlight just manages to touch it. It makes me want to reach out and grab ahold of his shirt and drag him into the bedroom. But I don’t. I smile, and I nod. Not trusting myself to say anything more, in case I break down and sob uncontrollably.

“Then why don’t you go ahead and pack and you can just leave when I do?” He smiles, “it would save you the trouble of having to lock up the house and I could show you how a proper Hunter packs.”

He leads me upstairs and shows me how to fold and position everything so I have as much room as possible for weapons and food, which he tells me to “only eat when you’re hungry,” and he magically manages to fit an extra pair of boots in there, along with six extra daggers, a gun and some bullets (silver and non-silver), and some sharp little metal stars that he calls shuriken. He then proceeds to show me where all the pockets are in my coat and outfit and fills each one with weapons; spare rations for eating on the move; several maps, one for each major country that hires Hunters for jobs; and a list of all the outfitters that supply Hunters with everything they need. The last thing he does is open up a small drawer and then he takes out a medium sized vial filled with a red viscous liquid. The smell hits me; even with it closed I can smell the amazing scent of it. It makes my mouth water and my stomach feel as though it has been empty for years. He looks at me seriously.

“This should only be used in an emergency, when there is no other living things around that can give you enough blood to satisfy the need. It will happen every month; it is the only thing that a Hunter can depend on to happen regularly. Try your best not to get yourself in a situation where you need blood and don’t have it. Find a willing donor, or go to the blood banks even, but only if you absolutely have to, and then only take the type that they can get the most of, which is usually A or B. and never take blood from a person that looks like they may use any kind of drugs, or is wanting a certain amount of money, never suggest or accept a price, tell them the price they will get. You must take control of the situation. Also, the blood in this vial will only fill one need; you must find another way to fill the other. It will be hard when you are on your own in the wilderness. But in the cities, and even in the towns, there will be plenty of opportunities with those who are willing, and as long as you do not give them your own blood and do not take too much of theirs, they will remain human.” It is the longest I have ever heard him speak, and I wish that it wasn’t about emergency blood and the needs that I will have while we are separated. But I am curious about one thing.

“What would happen if I drank another Hunter’s blood?”

“That must never happen, it can cause a bloodlust and you would be unable to stop drinking blood. You would become like a vampire, but worse; you would drink and drink, becoming bloated with blood until you were either killed or you exploded from the pressure. There haven’t been very many cases, thank goodness. It is mostly done by curious newborns that become too attached to their creators.”

“Oh,” I shoulder my bag, dejected that we won’t be able to share such a deep connection; if we even see each other again. But we do have forever, almost. A Hunter’s life is dangerous.

We don’t say much then, just make our way down to the door and head out into the near evening dusk. Fang waves to me as I stand in front of the locked door of the small two-story house that has held my entire life as a newly created being. I may not remember what my old life was, but, until here recently this life has revolved around the person that I am watching walk away as the sun sets off to his left. He heads north and I am left to wonder what will happen to me.

Wolf

Farra avoided the pack-meet for the rest of the day and all night, even declining an invitation to the hunt that evening. The absence of her presence made it the best pack-meet I’d been to in years. I was actually enjoying myself, something that has never happened before. My former pack members accepted me wholly, or at least as much as they could while still respecting my choice to sever all ties with them. We gorged ourselves on raw meat, bringing down a small herd of ten or so deer, and feasting on them right where we caught them. There wasn’t much left when we were done, besides bones, and we left whatever we couldn’t eat for the scavengers. I can actually accept being wolf when I’m with the rest of my kind; I didn’t leave because of them, just Farra. I always knew, instinctively, that Farra wasn’t meant to be an Alpha. It’s wrong, none of my pack is even supposed to exist; we’re abominations, freaks, if it was even suspected that the pack was out here, they would be destroyed. And Farra, that bitch, would squeal where I was before the Hunter slit her throat.

About halfway through the pack-meet, that is the second day, I had a chill; something bad was going to happen, maybe not now, but soon. I knew suddenly that I had to get back home, pack my shit, and split fast. The only people who didn’t seem upset to see me leave and were disappointed that I had to go so early, I made up some lame-ass mumbled excuse, was Farra (no surprise), and Sven (but I’ve mentioned that he’s not all that bright so I didn’t expect him to even notice me). Before I left I tipped off a good buddy of mine that I had a bad feeling and told him to spread the word to keep an eye out. He promised that he would and wished me luck, telling me to “travel safe.” I told him that I would, and that if I didn’t the Tooth would definitely assure my safety. We both had a good little laugh about that. The guy wouldn’t make a bad leader, if things were different he already would be.

I tried to take my time, but there was a feeling of being hunted that I couldn’t get rid of, no matter how hard I tried, and I ended up streaking through the forest like a pack of baying hounds were on my scent and thirsty for my blood. I’m such a coward.

Angel

“I see that Calliope and Calypso have charmed another with their Siren song.” I start, Marcus’ voice beside my ear, breaking the trancelike state that had come over me. Even with the extra height he gained by losing the glamour, he only comes to just a little above my shoulder. I wonder slightly if he is ever unsettled by the fact that all his female customers are not only strikingly beautiful, but a foot taller than him.

“Is that their names?” I can sense, below the surface of the gleaming metal, a consciousness that is almost sentient, stirring languidly at my voice.

“Yes, that is what they have chosen to be called. In this language anyway. In the language of the forge mages they are Dryghamine and Dryghone.” The words sound faintly German, but there is an underlying power in them that makes the air hum and the runes on the swords flare up when he speaks their names.

“Are they yours, is that why they have never been sold?”It doesn’t seem right that two such beautiful weapons could never have found buyers; and it seems a little odd for Marcus to be displaying his personal weapons with items that are for sale.


“No, I am not worthy of owning such beautiful masterpieces. Besides I am not capable of doing the work they were made for. The swords choose the Hunter, Angel. See if these will sing for you.”

I reach out my hand and, looking at Fang for confirmation, lay my left hand on the flat of Calliope’s blade, and my right on Calypso.

“Dryghamine,” I whisper, “Dryghone.” I close my eyes, breathing slowly, and wait. I hear Fang gasp slightly and open my eyes. The runes on the sword blades flare up brightly, and on the back of each of my hands is a rune etched in fire.

“Incredible.” Marcus whispered, “In all of three hundred years these blades have never found a partner. Seasoned Hunters with several hundred years of work behind them flocked to my store when I first made these and every one of them was turned down, and instead they pick you. There must be something big in store for you, my dear. I sensed when I was making them that there was a great destiny waiting for whoever wielded these.” He grasped the swords by their hilts and handed them to me blades first. “There is one last thing you must do before they are yours. Hold out your hands.” He pressed the tip of each blade into the palms of my hands; Calliope in my left, Calypso in my right. A dark bead of blood welled up around each point and then was drawn up the blade into the trough, sinking into the grooves of each rune, outlining them. “Now they are truly yours. I expect no payment, because destiny isn’t bought.”

He flips the blades around and hands them to me hilts first. I note the fact that they are now encased in
beautiful silver-plated sheathes that are etched in runes to match their blades, and they are hung on a leather harness to wear on my back, and smile slightly at Marcus; he smiles back, noting my amusement at the small magic he performed.

“Here, try these on.” Fang hands me a pile of clothes and steers me towards the dressing rooms.

I come out clothed in black; a skintight black corset-shirt made out of silk and leather, that is actually spell-reinforced armor, over a thin black silk long-sleeved shirt, black leather pants that hug my butt and my legs like a second skin, also spell-reinforced, and knee-length black leather high-heeled boots. I smile at Fang, acknowledging his taste in clothes, and knowing how good I look. He holds another armload of clothes, because I am obviously in need of a new wardrobe. I turn to Marcus, wanting to be complimented. He is holding out a long black leather trench-coat.

"Here, my dear, to complete the look.” He says, holding it open for me.

I slip it on, knowing that it is a perfect fit, and zip it up, admiring the way it hugs my body to the waist and then flares out down to the floor with a split up the back. I turn, showing it off a bit and smile at Fang; he smiles back, but it’s not quite the smile I was expecting; a sweet smile, to be sure, but not quite the sexy, suggestive, damn-you-look-good smile I was hoping he’d give me. I stand next to him while he pays Marcus for the clothes, feeling disappointed; but then I perk up a bit when Marcus speaks, only to stop when I realize that he’s talking to Fang.

“I have a job for you, Fang. The man asked specifically for you; he says that he has a job that’s right up your ally.”

“And what exactly would that be?” Fang shoots back.

“Well, it seems that here recently a pack of rouge werewolves has been discovered in Canada. It isn’t too big, no more than forty members plus the Alpha, but the pack elders want it dealt with.”


“Why is such a small pack such a big deal? I’ve heard of rouge packs with a hundred or so members being left alone.” Fang seems confused as he asks this.


“It seems that the pack’s Alpha caused quite a commotion during a leadership ceremony about thirty years back; said that the rules weren’t fair and then split from the pack as a loner. Her name was Farra.”


“A female.” Fang nods, comprehension dawning on his face. “Of course, I see now. This is up my alley. Where do I meet my employer?” Fang leans forward, placing his hands in the counter as he speaks.


“Why such a big deal over a female pack leader?” I pipe up. The discrimination seems a little sexist to me. “Why can’t female werewolves be leaders?”


Fang looks at me, understanding my confusion. “Not only is it against pack rules for a female to become an Alpha, but it is also unwise because it goes against all the were’ instincts. A female werewolf is smaller than a male, and a leader that needs protection to keep leadership challenges at bay is seen as weak and will be resented by the rest of the pack. Werewolves think differently than the rest of us.”

“Not only that,” Marcus adds, “but it seems that Farra here has only been turning men into wolves for her pack. No other females means no companionship for the men; unless they’re willing to lean towards the same sex. It also means no births and no expansion.”

“Oh,” I nod, even though I don’t fully comprehend what they are saying. “Werewolves can reproduce?” I blurt out suddenly, “I thought they only changed people.”


“Not true. Werewolves are able to reproduce not only with their own kind, but with humans and even Hunters. With a human the child may or may not be a wolf, but a werewolf-Hunter child will be a crossbreed, a hybrid, and a freak.” I can hear a slight hint of malice in Marcus’ voice as he speaks, and Fang has a disgusted sneer on his face; as if the very thought of a Hunter and a werewolf coming together in that way is unspeakable.

I think that their ideas seem a little harsh to me, but I say nothing; they wouldn’t have heard me anyway, they were too caught up in what they were talking about. They debated a bit on how much Fang should charge for the job, given the severity and the fact that he would be going without backup, a fact that I didn’t approve too much of but Fang said I wasn’t ready so I had to stay home; and then Marcus told him where to meet his employer and when and we went home.

Fang left not one hour after we got there.

Wolf

I stepped up to her, eyeing the big wolf that she was keeping her hand on and knowing it was Sven, and unceremoniously dumped the deer carcass at her feet. Feeling the eyes of the entire pack on me, my feet were itching to run but my fingers were itching to fight, a fight I knew I would never be able to walk away from. Though the pack is smaller than average, a mere forty strong instead of the usual minimum hundred, I was still outnumbered in either form; even with the Tooth in my arsenal. I stood my ground, leaning towards neither of the options my brain was hardwired to, and merely let the entire pack look me over, or sniffing me over if they were so inclined. I could feel their minds passing through mine. Theirs' are weaker than the Alpha’s, they could get the gist of my thoughts but they couldn’t broadcast it to the rest of the pack. Some of them were actually passing on sentiments, even encouragement, so I knew I wasn’t entirely hated by them.

The last to approach me was Farra, and her thoughts were for me alone.

You stupid mutt! Did you really think you
could get away with that? I ought to force you back in the pack as punishment for such an insult!

She slapped me hard across the face, curling her fingers to leave four bleeding scratches across my cheek. My lip curled involuntarily, and I felt a growl rising up in my chest as the stinging slowly faded. I could feel the healing start automatically, but a gesture from Farra stopped it in its tracks. This was the worst punishment a werewolf could receive from its Alpha, for them to stop the regenerative healing of an injury they gave, leaving a permanent scar as reminder of the humiliation. I could feel her seething anger, as palpable as the blood running down my face.

She left, taking the oppressing anger with her, and the mood instantly brightened the moment she disappeared into the cave on the edge of the large clearing, Sven in tow. The rest of the pack went on with whatever they were doing before, most of the members who were in human forms changed to enjoy the experience of the pack-meet better. Pack-meets always seem better in wolf form. Wolves take
pleasure in simple things that humans would consider ridiculous. Like tug-of-war, or tag, or ridiculous mock-fights over scraps, or leaves, or nothing. We also hunt together or just run; and we howl, making music that seems much more beautiful when you understand the meaning. I would say that the sex is better too, but I wouldn’t really know. All the ones who’ve done it with Farra won’t talk about it, and even the pack members who are more inclined to lean towards the same sex won’t do it in wolf form. Some certain instinct is just stronger and harder to resist as wolves.

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.