My Little Ventrue Pt. 04 Ch. 02.5

First the male. He pounced this one, landed upon his back and legs with all of his weight, with his four sets of claws, and broke the man in many places. Bones snapping, cartilage tearing, his prey went down and screamed. Pitiful sounds. Mason stepped on the prey's head, and crushed his skull and brain like stepping on a cockroach. Pop.

The girl he would deal with last, the one who had instigated the attack on him. She cried out, begged for mercy, but they were just words, words he barely understood anymore. Something about 'help' and 'please don't' or some such. Just words. Nothing, meaningless compared to weight, muscle, meat, blood, tooth and claw. The hunt, and the kill.

He ran her down, and bit down onto her skull. It shattered. Hair, brain matter, blood, it filled his mouth. He spit it out, tore off the strange fabric from some of her limbs, and sank his teeth into—

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He woke up with a snap, a crack of lightning, a slap of white against his eyes, and dampness on his body.

Grass. He was outside. The sun was up. What the fuck.

He sat up, and regretted it. Pain danced up on his back and arms, a burning sensation he hadn't felt in a long time, since the last time he'd been to a gym. He'd had a good workout yesterday then. The fuck did he do—

Blood. He could smell blood. How did he know what blood smelled like? He fucking knew, knew it down to his bones, knew it like it was a part of himself to know, knew it like he knew the smell of eggs and rice he'd been eating for the past ten years straight. Blood and the other things, the sinew, the bone, organs, those smells were in the air and in his mouth.

He looked down, and froze. Blood, everywhere, on him, soaking him. Blood and bits of flesh. Oh shit, oh shit oh shit. He grit his teeth down as the memories started to rise from their graves, each pulling him down into a hazy mess of blood-soaked carnage and mayhem. Something was stuck in his teeth, and when he reached into his mouth to pull it out, he begged it wasn't something he didn't want to see.

It was a piece of clothing.

He tossed it away, turned, and vomited into the grass. Oh god, oh fucking god. More of the memories came back, blurry things, mixed together like a bunch of shit thrown into a blender. There'd been people, right? People, and... he'd eaten them, or at least bitten into them, tore them apart, ripped them open and shredded them.

His vomit didn't show any of the horrible things he was remembering, but as the memories came back, he was sure he could taste them. And hear the screams of the humans as he bit through them. Humans? Right, because, he wasn't human, not then at least, not when he was killing these people.

He looked at his hands. There had been claws. Fur. He could remember having a snout. He could remember being tall.

And he could feel it now, inside him, something that was hiding underneath the skin before, but now it was out there, in his eyes, on his fingers, between his lips and on his tongue. He could feel the wolf there, almost hear it barking and howling. A wolf, a fucking wolf, no denying it, no escaping it, he just knew it.

He got up, and looked around some more. The mess wasn't as bad as the memories told him it should be. Where were the bodies? He must have moved on from the site where he'd killed them.

He almost vomited again. Killed. He'd killed them. Shit, they were just kids. Kids who'd beaten him to shit and—his wounds were healed. No pain, other than sore muscles, and no bruises either. The beating they'd given him was gone, and in return, they were dead.

He stumbled around, and pressed his hand against a nearby tree. Right, he was maybe a mile out from Makeout Hill, and had run that mile as his... other... form... in minutes. He hadn't had clothes then, just fur, but now he had clothes again. How the hell did that work?

Shit. Shit shit shit shit what was he supposed to do now? Go back? People saw what happened to him, saw him walk out of the store, after those fucking kids beat him to shit, and now they'd be reported as missing. By tomorrow, they'd be on the news, dead, killed by some wild animal. Police would come to him, interview him, find evidence, lock him up.

Mason shook his head. No, don't go back to the city, you don't need to. No friends, no family, no nothing. Just, stay out here, in the woods, and do what wolves do.

What the fuck did wolves do? They hunted. But he wasn't a wolf. Yes, he was, he fucking was. With a little digging, he found a piece of that wolf in himself.

The fuck was he doing? The fuck was he going to do? Why the fuck was any of this happening? Did he really want to do this? Did he really know how this was going to go, how it'd work, anything? Just up, and go? Leave?

The animal half of him, brand new but a part of him, brand new but as familiar to him as breathing, knew what to do. How? No fucking clue, no fucking clue at all. And either he could stand here, with the blood of a bunch of college kids he'd murdered on his hands and clothes, or he could leave this shit life.

Changing was easy enough. A bit painful, and he growled and groaned as the feel of muscles pullings and bones grinding filled him. His clothes vanished into his body, fading away like shadow, and he fell to his hands, almost signifying the lost of his human self. Hands became paws. Mouth became snout. Naked skin became fur.

Painful, but easy. Too easy. Should it have been harder? Did others of his kind do it like this? And there had to be others. He was a werewolf, a fucking werewolf, and he'd never been bitten by an animal his whole life. Whatever changed him could have changed others, must have.

Holy shit. Did he just accept abandoning his old, shitty life, accept that he'd killed a bunch of shitty college kids, accept that he was a werewolf, that other werewolves must exist, and did he decide to go on a mission to find some?

He looked at himself. A wolf. A normal, natural, normal wolf. Not the titan he was last night, but a normal wolf who could sneak and hide and leave, eat deer, and leave everything behind.

So he did. Being alone is horrible, and he had no intentions of staying a lone wolf. Maybe he could find a pack, other werewolves, if they existed.

God, how come this came so easily to him?

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~~The Year: 1991~~

Being alone is horrible.

He knew that, knew all along. What he didn't know was how different it'd be to actually have a family, and friends, to have people who watch your back, people who care about you and will put their life on the line for yours. Irritating to be around people so much, sure, but now he could sleep at night and not have to look over his shoulder. Sleep, actual real sleep.

Sleep under the stars.

Their pack was small, for now. Avery was certain they'd find more, and that their totem would grow along with the pack. Not like Mason was in any position to complain. Woman had saved him from wandering the woods as a literal lone wolf. Now he had a purpose, something he could sink his teeth into and pursue, something that clicked and made sense.

He was a werewolf, and he had a duty to hunt. Except, not hunt mindlessly, but hunt with a purpose, like keeping a population in check. His new job was to guard the barrier between the physical and spirit realms, and manage the spirits and humans in both, the way a wolf knew best. Hunting.

He looked to his right. Avery, leader of the pack, a tiny woman who was a bit older than him. Blue eyes with a hint of silver, light tan skin, and a black ponytail that went down all the way to her hip. Lot of scars. The fuck kind of wounds she'd suffered to get those kinds of scars, especially as an Uratha, he had no idea, but she had them, a lot of them.

The pack sat by the fire, and waited. To his left were Erica and Stephanie. Erica was an adult, like him, but Stephanie had just turned eighteen, with a chip on her shoulder the size of a mountain. The change had come upon her a year ago, damn young, and it'd ruined her life. So now, she was a bitch. He could understand that, a little, but it didn't justify how much she liked to take out that aggression on him and the rest of the pack. She'd been a part of their group for a month, and the only person she treated with decency was Erica, and Avery by necessity.

Carter sat on the other side of the fire, closer to Avery. He was older than her, but the man followed her lead. Such was the way of Irraka, hunting from the sidelines, quiet, unseen, necessary. Brianna sat on the other side of her, a strong woman, tall, the Rahu and muscle of their small pack. Erica and those two had been with Avery when they found Mason, and before him, each of them had been a recruit to Avery's new pack. Avery rarely spoke of her old pack, other than to say it was gone, destroyed, dead, and she was building it anew.

They were journeying south. Their pack was of the Meninna, Hunters in Darkness, and they did not like to travel. They wanted a home, a place where they could guard the territory, manage it, keep it balanced. Avery knew there were problems, major problems in the Hisil in Tijuana, and problems on this side of the Gauntlet as well, vampires wreaking havoc there. Seemed as good of an idea as any. And maybe they could find more for their pack there.

Heh, how long had it been since he'd just sat down, and entertained thoughts about his circumstance? He used to do it all the time, when he worked at a convenience store, lamenting his shit life. Times had changed, he'd changed. He learned he was an Elodoth Uratha, a werewolf of the Half Moon. Thinkers, according to Avery. He did like to think.

The night came upon them, darker, and darker, until the starlight above was a bright painting against the trees that surrounded the pack. They'd found a small stream to rest by, with a tiny waterfall that danced against an equally tiny pool peppered with pebbles. It was the perfect place and environment to speak with their young totem.

Avery stood up first. "It won't be long before we're in Tijuana. I have an old friend there, and I'm pretty sure he's in deep shit with the Kindred there." Words she'd said before, but it was normal for a leader to recap; in this case, for Stephanie's sake as well. "Erica, Mason, Stephanie, none of you have ever been in a city, not as Uratha, and not when it's a hotbed of shit. You'll have to get used to vampires trying to shoot you in the back."

"Why the fuck would they do that?" Steph said.

"Cause they know they'd lose if they tried shooting us in the front."

"No, I mean, why are they shooting us at all? We making enemies? This doesn't have to be like those other cities you've been to. Doesn't have to be like Dolareido."

Mason facepalmed. This girl. Why couldn't she just shut up and listen? Always arguing.

"Don't start, Steph," Avery said. Everyone else waited, and listened, because this song and dance had happened plenty times the past month, and now it was going to happen again.

"Why don't we go someplace where the people there aren't trying to shoot us in the back? Or hell, maybe some place without vamps? I spent a good chunk of my life in Tijuana, and I don't want to go back there."

Mason leaned back against a tree, and grit his teeth, silent. He had no words to interrupt this argument, none that wouldn't explode in his face and get him skewered.

"We need to find a place where we can do some good, Steph."

"We can do good out here, in the woods, just... watching, taking care of the spirits that get uppity here."

"These wilds are peaceful, Steph, for tens of miles in any direction. Balanced. The wild usually is. More often than not, it's where humans congregate that everything gets out of balance." Avery stood there, and tapped her foot on the ground, arms folded across her chest. Patient, more patient than Mason would be, and more patient than he had been.

"Yeah, I know that, you've told me. A dozen times."

"Then why—"

"Because I don't think we should have to put our lives on the line for a dead ancestor! Father Wolf is gone, if he ever existed, and children inheriting the sins of the parent is some pretty old world, illogical bullshit."

Well, shit. Mason winced, and waited for the explosion, for Avery to tear into the young pup and set her straight. But the small woman didn't. Avery sighed, shook her head, and sat down on the ground by the stream once more. The gentle splashing of water against water and rock was probably the only thing keeping her temper in control.

"Stephanie, I'm sorry that Luna has never spoken to you. You are Rahu, and it's understandable for that to be the way of things. But I've been on this Earth far longer than you, and I've had the visions. Many Cahalith do. We've been tasked with Father Wolf's duty. If you want to leave and—"

"It is, perhaps, best if she follows her heart."

Everyone went silent, and stared on as a swirling mist of color rose above the stream. It wasn't normal for Uratha to rest out in the open, but it was where the nearest stream was, and their totem found an easier foothold to manifest near water. Such was the way of Flowing Sanctuary.

They all turned, and watched the spirit grow, manifest, become visible as waves of blue and navy, azure and cerulean, flowing with the sparkling crystal of living water. Angel wings rose from the gentle waves, and the color of blue faded from them until only the white of pure, heavenly feathers remained. Flowing Sanctuary itself started to form and manifest its body, and everyone stared on as womanly curves joined the floating waves. Shoulders, but no arms, falling fog where arms should have been. And the spirit's legs never solidified into more than mist, the upper half forming into something almost human looking, carved of crystal-like blue, with hair like water flowing down its back.

"Even the damn spirit agrees with me." Stephanie stomped around in place, pacing side to side as she threw up her hands. Here came the raised voice, right on schedule. "I don't care what Luna's tasked us with, I didn't ask for any of this."

They all looked at each other, and then Avery, and then Flow. The spirit hovered away from the stream, and toward Stephanie. Its wings, its mist, they did not touch the physical, but there was no hiding the light its body gave off, how a gentle azure buried them all as it radiated from its form.

"You Uratha, always seeking purpose," it said. A lovely voice, almost a singing voice, feminine like its figure. Only the bright white of starlight in the spirit's eyes looked hard.

"Don't talk to me about purpose, spirit. You're a fucking spirit, you don't even know what it means to exist without purpose." Stephanie struck out, but her hand passed through Flow without resistance. Might as well have been trying to hit actual mist.

"I know that without purpose, Uratha and humans alike, crumble into nothing." Flow floated around Steph, getting between her and the rest of the forest. "Your pack leader found purpose when she found me, after the death of her former pack and totem spirit. It has given her not only purpose, but joy, something to pour her energy into, her essence."

Mason winced with the spirit's words. Yeah, no purpose was fucking horrible.

"I don't need that purpose! I'd be cool being a Ghost Wolf and—"

"Would you?" The spirit flew into the air, gentle, a wisp of mist on the breeze, except six feet tall and a wing span of ethereal cloud to follow. "A lost pup, wandering alone, afraid of the spirits with tooth and claw that do not appreciate an Uratha in their midst."

"I'm not—"

"Be silent," the spirit said, and shattered the air around them with thunder. Avery didn't flinch, but the rest of them did. "Avery presented to you a purpose, and you chose it. What's changed in that scant amount of time, little pup? I said it is best to follow your heart, and not long ago, your heart took you from your home, your city, and threw you into this wild journey with Avery."

Yeah, what had changed? Flow was frustratingly smart, and Mason appreciated that; also appreciated how good it was at getting to the root of a problem.

"I didn't... I didn't think it'd be like... Arg, fuck this. Fuck this and fuck all of you." She threw her arms up, and stormed off.

Avery got up, hand up to her neck and stroking little necklace it held. Just a string, a black string, and one the woman liked to touch whenever she seemed upset, stressed, or when Flow was summoned. He didn't ask, because, yeah, no reason to.

"That woman," Mason said, "is insane."

Avery shook her head. "She's not insane, she's just young and confused. Go talk to her."

"I guess she—wait, what?"

The small woman came up to him, sat beside him, and gave him a punch in the shoulder. Soft enough to leave him unmoved, hard enough to hurt a little.

"Go talk to her."

"I uh, um... why?"

"Because you two don't get along, and this is a perfect opportunity to use some of that frustration for an eye-opening exchange."

This woman was strange. His leader was very strange. Wise, but strange. Ugh, he threw up his hands, stood up, and walked after Stephanie. Wasting my time, wasting my time, wasting my time.

It didn't take long to catch up to Steph. The damn woman had stopped only maybe a few hundred feet from the pack, and had sat down by a tree. He was approaching her from behind, bit of an angle so he could see her shoulder, but he could see the frown through the back of her damn head. God damn this idiot girl.

He found a tree maybe five feet from her, and sat down against the grass as well, back to the bark, arms hanging off of his knees.

"You're a real bitch, you know that?" First words out of his mouth. Yeah, this was going to go real well.

"Fuck you Mason."

"Serious. Avery gave you shelter and a group of people you can rely on, and you—"

"Sorry if I don't feel like I should have to die for that."

Oh, fear of death. Yeah, that should have been more obvious. Christ, why hadn't that been more obvious? He was Elodoth, he broke things down into logical equations, weighing the facts and the realities, while forever being disconnected from the emotional weight of them; so Avery told him, anyway. He didn't entirely agree, didn't like being put into a box like that, didn't like how she bypassed the nuances with her generalizations. She called it good storytelling.

"You won't die."

"Won't I? Avery's old pack died."

"Avery's old pack was lead by some guy named Simon, and the man was asking for trouble. You know that, she told you that. Not all packs go out like that."

"Bullshit. Avery's taking us into a shit storm. I don't want that, I want to find a calmer territory."

"... you really don't. You'll die of boredom, and you said you didn't want to die." It seemed like such an obvious problem, with an obvious fix. Afraid of dying? Get over it. What else was there to it? Apparently a lot, because he couldn't crack this egg, couldn't figure this girl out. Christ she got under his skin.

"I wanted to let loose, go out there, be a fucking werewolf, fuck and fight and kick around some punks who have the nerve to waltz into our territory. She wants us to go fight someone else's fight, and try to clean up streets, like... like... fucking cops."

"We are cops."

"Excuse me?"

"We are cops. We're supposed to be keeping the—"

"Fuck that, I didn't ask for this. I—"

"You wanted to join the pack. Avery offered, and you—"

"I didn't want to be alone!"

He pulled his head back, and blinked. "... yeah, I know that feeling."

"The fuck do you know about being alone? My family went and... I... Fuck it, I'm not going to give you some ridiculous rant describing my life."

"Same."

She threw her hands up, and snarled. "Like you know anything about being alone."