Scattered in American forests roam packs of werewolves. These wolves guard territory lines far more ancient than the time bloodthirsty little men crossed the ocean to discover them. Their ways are strange and we are not meant to understand them. For our eyes they appear as men, and the white man has joined their ranks now as is important in all camouflages. The times must be obeyed. These beings that change from men to beast at will, skulk in the shadows, at the very edges of society. Like molluscs they stick rooted to their father's laws, their father's allies and their father's wars. They lie scattered and no cause will unite them. Prowling in the dark they are far weaker than they realise.
The Mors Pack huddled to the east felt safe behind their stone walls. The walls are constructed from thick grey blocks, not shaped smooth but instead resolutely rugged and sharp despite the years weathering. The walls are so thick that they become homes for the lowest kind of pack wolf, the Omega's. These miserable wretches are the dregs of society, pissed on in the hierarchy. They are slaves, descendants from wolves stolen in battle. Never will their children know freedom not unless they risk going rogue. But the life of a rogue is revolting and feared by all. Few chose it for the meagre prize of freedom. Life is bloodier and wilder out of a pack. So their Alpha's would have them believe.
The Alpha of the Mors Pack had been a grand, blustering fellow. He had been proud and traditional with an appropriate amount of snobbery for a man in his position. It had cut him deep when, his pack attacked by a foe they could not name, he had been forced to plead for aid from others, from a usurper no less. In the end his shameful display had been for nothing. His grand stone walls hadn't fallen. They just belonged to another set of hands now. No longer did the glowing eyes of the wolves glare down from the seven watch towers. His wolves were for the most part dead. The proud Alpha's head decorated a rather handy basketball hoop that acted in the stead of a more traditional spike. The man, Zeke had been his name, had hurtled into battle and done all he could to defend his people. For that he had been granted a clean, swift death. It was mercy not often shown.
Now behind these high stone walls and seven watch towers is huddled the ghost-like settlement of a very close knit community. The school house has become extra space for prison cells. The square, that had once seen carol singers now housed a soiled execution platform. The people scurry passed it, eyes averted save for the twisted few that look up at the blood stained wooden slats and smile. The Alpha's mansion has been transformed. It works as a community hall, a place for prayer, communal dinners and debate. But washing lines run along its gloomy corridors like creepers and damps clothes and sheets create a labyrinth.
We follow now a set of feet that lightly progress through this labyrinth. The owner of these feet does not mind the obstacles but walks confidently the quickest route, navigating with ease. It had been his idea after all, so he had no reason to complain. He had been tired of his sheets stinking of smoke and so had hung them up in the billiard room instead. He reasoned that this old house seemed to encourage the cold and the wind so the clothes would dry just as well as if they had been left out doors.
We might examine his boots, old, black made from soft leather. They're not new but they've been well cared for, recently polished and the laces are fresh and tied with severe harshness. His feet are narrow but large, supporting a man who towers over most. On his left foot, though you can't see it, he has a tattoo of an eye and on that foot's heel, a daisy. The floral decoration can't be ridiculed. He has no shame in it for he knows the story behind it. Besides, he's not a man to have his masculinity questioned.
His past is his to tell. You only really need to know that he is not a werewolf. He knows their ways though and sympathizes for he is not fully human either. But he's busy, much too busy to sit and speculate about what it means to be him. So instead he strides out of this crumbling mansion and heads purposefully across the yard. Men and woman nod respectfully as he goes by, fear but also admiration in their eyes. Perhaps for a few there is even more than admiration. Walking tall and confidant, a jacket dons his broad shoulders but still reveals his chiselled torso. His muscles ripple as he walks with the deadly saunter of a jungle cat.
Claudia rises to her feet when he approaches, her lashes fluttering in dismay. He puts a hand to her blushing check, resting the tip of his finger on her rose bud lips.
"I've come to see the other Alpha, my sweet." He drawls carelessly, aware that right now her stomach is tightening in excitement, her heart hammering in her chest and her pupils dilating. His hand lingers a fraction longer, allowing half a promise before he drops it lazily to his side.
"He's awake now but we've given him some juice to keep him down." She explained lightly leading the way. The pack had its own prison, one now reserved only for special cases such as this one. Our man walks with relish down the worn stairs. In its dark depths he feels more at home than he does reclining in an airy office. Give him a bed of abused straw and unforgiving manacles any day. His dark eyes flicker across to Claudia and his mind wonders. He mentally conjures up the image of her completely naked, breasts lose and pert, her dainty wrists bond and a gag securing those rosebud lips. His tight trousers start to feel uncomfortable.
"Was that necessary?" He murmurs coolly, his face an expressionless mask. They have reached the bottom now and Claudia flicks on the light of the main room. The inmates begin to stir, groaning and drawing ragged worthless breath. The cavern is circular. At the sides barred cells contain enemies that are all left to languish unless something entertaining for them to do comes to his mind. When he first entered this place the centre was occupied by a simple chair and desk for the jail warden. Now a mutilated body hangs down from chains. Their movement disturbs the air and the chains creak menacingly at the corpse sways slightly, rotating to face them.
"Yes, he's different than the others. He's strong." Claudia responds softly already halfway across the room to the single door the other end of it. But she pauses when she realises she's alone. Our man has stopped and stands before the decaying body. He gazes at it, lips compressed and eyes shining with excitement.
"He's an Alpha," he states without emotion. Claudia hesitates unsure if she should move to join him. A shudder slips through her control and she averts her eyes from the face riddled with maggots.
"It's not just that. He's different. He's stronger than the other one."
Slowly he raises a hand, his fingers trace the gash where flesh used to be and where now a set of teeth glimpse through. It is a sickeningly similar gesture to how he greeted Claudia only moments before. For a moment his hand rests but when he withdraws it part of the jaw collapses into his hand. He shows no disgust as he lets it fall to the floor.
"I had hoped he would be."
Claudia looks at her feet now as they pass on through the heavy steel door. This leads them down a narrow corridor only wide enough for one, at the end of which is the only private cell. A cell that briefly contained the Alpha wolf named Zeke and which now contains the Alpha wolf that goes by the name of Lewis who has been recently captured in a foolish attempt to spring free his comrades.
Lewis is a powerfully built man with a broad chest and shoulders. A strong jaw, fine nose and thick lips give the impression of someone regal. But his unkempt black hair sticks up and out, falling over his sharp crystal blue stare. Even after their 'juice' he doesn't lie still and vacant like the others would. His gaze is sharp, revealing an agile mind still functioning behind. It's only the posture that has suffered, shrinking the man by giving him an invalid's slump with a set of uselessly heavy limbs. "Thank you Claudia. That will be all." He doesn't even cast her glance before she leaves. He has eyes only on the man before him.
Lewis glares defiantly.
"Who are you?" He demands, his voice is deep and harsh.
"Allow me to introduce myself, my name's Ryder." Lewis appraises this new foe. The man speaks with an crisp English accent. His thin mouth is turned up in a polite smile that brightens his dark eyes. His manner is courteous and polished and yet his appearance is rugged. He looks like a biker or perhaps a rock star. His outfit reveals his ink with pride and Lewis's gaze flickers down to his hips where two guns, one either side rest. Lewis snorts. So this guy reckons he's a cow boy, huh? Ryder's eyes flash dangerously.
In one swift movement he has the limp werewolf by the throat. Ryder holds him close, the tip of his nose brushing against Lewis' rough jawline. "I know you." He warns icily. "The big Alpha male," he mocks. "You're the defender of your people. Meaning that you're the only one allowed to shit all over them!" Lewis registers the look of pure contemptuous loathing. The strong hand closes around his windpipe, crushing him. He struggles weakly but to no use, his arms and legs feel like lead and are completely beyond his control.
Suddenly Ryder releases him. Lewis falls to the ground gasping for breath. The air burns his throat and his deep blue eyes water. Ryder looks down at him and smiles kindly. "You're a product of your kind's society." His knees crack as he lowers down to be at Lewis' eye level. "But I can help you." Lewis frowns, his expression weary and mistrusting. "I know what you are now, what you have been and all that you can be." He grins flashing a set of perfect white teeth. "You could be glorious!" He barks a laugh and Lewis flinches from the booming sound. Ryder claps him on the shoulder. "I'll make you glorious." He promises, suddenly solemn.
Lewis looks down to where Ryder's hand just touched him. A foul stain has been left behind from the corpse he caressed earlier. Ryder doesn't see it. Lewis narrows his eyes, his nostrils flare and his pupils expand, enveloping the iris.
"Where's Lauren!" He growls in a different voice now, an animal's voice. Ryder doesn't start back, he looks merely disappointed. Sighing heavily he gets to his feet and moves slowly to the other end of the cell. "I swear if you've hurt her I'll RIP OUT YOUR INSIDES!" Lewis roars. His body is shaking uncontrollably and he starts to breathe heavily. Ryder doesn't bother to look around.
"You can't turn wolf in here my friend. I need you in your human form just now." Ryder comments with the air of talking about the weather. Lewis heaves and grunts in pain, saliva dripping down his chin as he bears a set of very human teeth. "Firstly, before I start answering questions, we need to address a very crucial issue." Ryder removes his jacket and folds it neatly up. He turns to Lewis now completely bare-chested. Lewis' eyes widen in fear as he takes in this change. Scenario's flash through his mind and foul bile rises in his throat.
Ryder stalks toward the weakened Lewis, his eyes bright with a cruel malice in their dark depths. "You rushed here, toward an unknown enemy to bravely come to the rescue of your friends." His tone was full of ridicule but Lewis stands straighter puffing out his chest with pride and dignity. "Your arrogance and pig headedness put more of your wolves in danger. You walked right into my clutches." Ryder's hand smacked Lewis across the face. The werewolf gasped in surprise, not many men had reflexes to match his own let alone reflexes that left him with a branding of a handprint on his cheek. He eyed Ryder with more uncertainty now.
Lewis flinched when Ryder moved close enough that he could feel his breath on his face. "You wasted the lives of your men." Ryder's cool hands brush against Lewis' naked waist, his touch feather light. Lewis shut his eyes tight fighting back the urge to make a sound of fear. Ryder put his lips to Lewis' ear pressing the length of his body up against him. "For that you deserve punishment." He whispered, shutting his own eyes. His arms encircled Lewis now. Slowly his hands trailed along the exposed skin until deciding to rest on Lewis' spine. Heat shot out from his fingers.
Pain like Lewis had never known before sliced through him. His screams echoed off the cell walls. Ryder held him tight, relishing the shrieks of pain, the tears that fell to his chest and the way Lewis writhed against him. It felt so fucking good.