The Power-lock (UNDER CONSTRUCTION)

CHAPTER 17 : ROSS

   Connor O'Donnell, Alpha of the Fulmine Pack, stands in the near, legs slightly apart, feet planted firm on the ground. He is a picture of pure and utter confidence. "Well?" He says a bit annoyed. When I said I wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone's BS, I meant it. No, you said you weren't in the mood to deal with ANDERSON'S BS. Rossco, like always, fails to take my side. Whatever!

   Connor tries to downsize me but that's obviously not happening. We're too...err...alike. Same title, same height, same... hair color? Rossco completes the sentence for me. Uh, yeah. I guess. I never noticed that before though. I stand tall in front of him, authority rolling off of me in huge twisters.

   I can feel his patience cracking. Well, no shit. Aggression is in our genetic makeup; there's no denying it. His heart rate is rising; pupils contracting and shifting their light caramel-gold to a dark, dangerous and ghastly black; his wolf is surfacing. Technically, it's my fault. I'm the one that tresspassed a foreign territory without the concerned Alpha's permission but I can't back out of an inviting fight. That would be very un-Alpha-like, and that is simply not how things are done.

   I call to Rossco and let him take control. With pleasure...he roars as he takes the reins. A wild, animalistic growl escapes my lips as everything starts to become slightly cloudy for a second. My skin feels like fire as my hackles stand up first, the rest of my fur sprouting out of the epidermal surface later. I have no vital control over my body but I'm still here, ready to aware Rossco if anything escapes his attention.

   At a distance, I can see O'Donnell letting his wolf free, too: long, slightly wavy, striking gold fur pushing out from every point on his 6'4" frame. I see his bones cracking, resizing and rearranging into a more dominant form, as mine follow suit. Immediately as the slight twinge of pain subsides, I open my eyes to witness the world in the highest definition possible : no colors but that doesn't matter a bit.

   First shifts are always crippling, especially for Alphas. Our first shifts are supposed to take place inside our mothers' womb, where the physical conditions are highly favourable for the reverse-shift, too. However, I was born immature, due to the stress my parents were in at that time. I was born as a meek cub, twisted in an odd position, with a  broken spine and damaged lungs. I was every parent's nightmare but mine didn't give up on me. No matter how weak and incapable I was, they kept on prepping me.

   I lived the beginning of my childhood trapped in a canine figure. I was too immature to decipher the existence of Rossco back then. I never acknowledged him. For two years, I ran, barked, ate and slept as a wolf. The only time I felt in place was when the other werewolves shifted around me. I couldn't talk like a human but I could understand what the rest around me were saying if they used primitive sentences.

   I learned how to channel the mind-link in less than a year. So, it became easier to communicate even though every time they had to shift into their wolves to do so. This is how they taught me how to speak more accurately - through the mind-link. I imagined words, imagined a masculine voice that laced my each and every word with existence. That voice happened to be Rossco's. I just didn't know it back then but soon, I accepted his presence, not as a separate entity but as an imaginary friend. Needless to say, this helped a lot, and in less than 2.5 years, I was a very healthy and strong werewolf who had successfully reverse-shifted.

   I shake off the nostalgia, whilst being grateful for my present, and concentrate on what's in front of me. A very pissed off Alpha, great and furious as the tides, positioned with his paws slightly elevated at the heels. His claws grind into the earth, piercing enterons of energy. His flew moves back slightly, showing off his sharp canines.

   He leaps into the air, pouncing on me. The impulse enhancing his weight. I can feel the air hit me hard as he approaches me, heralding his arrival. I jerk my hind-paws back, on my digits, anticipating the hit.

   Just as he is less than a millimeter away, I jolt away. I am barely able to balance myself that he aims for my tail, mouth wide open, revealing his fangs. This is the safest play - avoiding any serious damages yet getting upon an agreement. If he is able to bite my tail, I'll have to submit to him, go with whatever he proposes but all the while, staying unharmed. This is what he intends to do, as I can decipher. He doesn't want bloodshed but still wants to make it clear that I am unwelcome here. I completely understand his point of view. Feuds between adjacent packs can lead to severe catastrophes.

   However, I can't let him have the upper hand. Thus, I quickly push my loin to the lateral side, forcing my croup in the same direction. Slumping my back and withers, I make my route from underneath him just as he kicks the ground with his hind-limbs to pounce on me again. I am free from his grasp but his hocks are an inch away from me as he leaps in the air.

   I have the best chance to bite him there. This would perfectly cripple him. However, since I don't want anymore antagonists, thus, I decide against it. Instead, I concentrate on the long, fluffed tail that hangs betwixt his thighs. I part my jaws as much as I can, letting my razor-sharp canines enclose rapidly around the feathers of his tail.

   Rossco howls in triumph, the roar echoes all around, declaring its finality. I let his tail go. He scurries behind a tree where he shifts back to human-form. I see him fumbling around a bit. His expresses a sign of relief as he reaches down to produce a pair of neatly arranged sweatpants. He puts them on and bends once more to pick another pair which he flings towards me. The article falls on the ground, accumulating dirt.

   I shift back and grab the pants, sling them on, and turn towards Connor. He stands ready for whatever I'm about to say. Normally, a war would have started, involving the rest of the werewolves of our packs, but I, just like Connor had done earlier, ended it with the testa e coda - head and tail.

   "I don't want to fight", I state the obvious, breaking the eerie silence. "I already got that", he responds and continues after a sigh, "Why are you here?" I honestly don't know what excuse I'm supposed to thrust in a situation like this, so I go with my usual plan A: the truth.

   "I spotted a siren trespassing into your territory ", I start. Conor interrupts, obviously not seeing the connection of it with me, "And...you...are here to...inform me?" He stretches almost every word to display his lack of understanding. God, this conversation is getting weird beyond reason but, ignoring his interruption, I continue, "alongwith someone from my territory."

   He tenses up slightly and asks, "Who?" Stall him. Rossco advises me to keep it confidential but I know I'll have to trust him. He's not putting up a fight, if I avoid any knots and twists, I'm hopeful he'll help if it is needed. "Ah, she's an MR", I reply. A look of recognition crosses his face as it brightens up. He exclaims cheerfully, "Smiley!" Smiley? He realizes he wasn't supposed to say something and steers the conversation in a different direction.

   "MR, huh? You mean that girl with the big mouth and a truckfulla dog-jokes. About yay big", he says as he levels his right hand with his navel. What the fuck? Is dog-jokes her trademark? I scratch the back of my neck and say, "Yup, that's her. Anderson." He smirks understandingly. I bet she's given him a hard time with her venomous wit. I wait for some kind of protest on the issue of her disrespect but nothing. Suddenly, I'm starting to feel somewhat nervous. What if something happens to her? The nervousness is felt by Rossco, too. I told you to grab her and run but why listen to the smartass wolf? I feel worried just the same. I should've listened to Rossco. I contemplate on giving orders to someone from the pack to track her down.

   As if the awkward pause played a signal, Connor  answers my unasked question, "She'll be okay. Trust me." Sketchy? Rossco interferes. Not in the mood, Rossco. He snorts. Every time you say you're NOT IN THE MOOD, something comes up. I decide it best to not respond. He's actually stating a fact. However, I take Connor's word for it. He seems to know Anderson more than I do. Perhaps, she sneaks off like this in the norm but that still doesn't explain the siren...