No Questions Asked
Disclaimer: Characters © me
Summary: Being the love interest of the next werewolf pack queen is difficult enough, but when Lark asks Parker to do the unthinkable, will he be able to keep up?
Author's Note: Rating comes from second chapter. First chapter is rated K, and is used to try and explain my idea of werewolf civilization and life. These ideas are mine, please do not take/use them without written permission.
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It had been an exhausting day—the day when all pack members who had come of age were brought out for a true hunt. With only a hunt master and two of her favorite hunters, the young teens were left mostly to themselves to maintain their lycan forms and bring down a game animal the hunt master led them to. If they did not, they would not eat tonight.
So this ritual had existed for years in one of the largest werewolf pack in North American—often calling themselves the "Disillusions". One of the only packs to stay true to their origins, they chose not to live amongst the humans in secret. Many elders had long ago lost the ability to shift back into human form and simply moved between their lycan and wolven forms freely. The young of the pack were born as wolf cubs rather than humans, and unless in human form there was little use of clothing. Because of this choice they had maintained a small command over magic, if only enough to help them conceal their dens.
Taking tally of the fruitless paws before her, the hunt master gave a heavy sigh. She was a monster of a female to behold—standing nearly as tall as a lycan male at just under seven and a half feet, well defined and toned body. Her umber pelt was graying around the muzzle and paw pads, though a stray word of her true age had not been uttered in centuries. Her jade eyes were also beginning to loose their youthful luster, and now the dull orbs took in each youngsters face.
"What a pathetic display," she grumbled softly, moving a massive forepaw to massage her forehead. "You will not eat at all this week if you do not gain more control over your shifting and lycan bodies. You are werewolves…not bungling human hounds!" The last statement was roared out rather angrily as the aged Huntress turned and began heading back to the dens. The hunters she had brought with her, her only two sons, ushered the youngsters to follow and brought up the rear of the group. They matched their mothers coat and eye coloring, though somehow their dispositions had escaped without much scarring.
In the middle of the procession rested a very interesting youngster of about 17 if he were pure human. Trying his best to stay in lycan form to gain him any kind of points possible, his ashen grey pelt glistened between the color of soot and tanned skin as he tried desperately to hold it longer than he'd ever attempted before. His name was Parker, and he –for the time being-- seemed to be the child-queens selection as her possible mate. If anyone was expected to be successful quickly, it was him.
Compared to the other young males in the hunting group, Parker looked the part of the runt. He was just a little too small for a male of his age, just a little too thin, just a little too slow. Not the ideal choice for an alpha, though the young queen had quite the eye for him. And no one dared question the future queen. After all, the precious white queens were only born one at a time, centuries apart.
The trek through the sparse spring wilderness went slowly. Songbirds were beginning to return and plants everywhere were budding. Everywhere Parker had looked had been the same scene. He nearly rammed into the teen in front of him as the group stopped on a steep hillside, the Huntress studying a sun-bleached fox skull she held delicately in her hands.
She ran a nail over the top of the skull, blowing gently into the gapping hole where the nose should have been. The skull began to squirm and clatter its teeth, waiting for something.
"Altari dereem mariter" The Huntress whispered to it, looking into the dead eye sockets. The skull stopped clattering and sat very still for a moment. "Sister…" The word came slithering out from between the exposed teeth like a venomous serpent. The Huntress nodded to the skull, suddenly crushing it between her huge paws. She cupped her paws with the dried dust in them, and blew the contents into the air.
Before the small group, a whole new world became clear. The hillside opened, revealing a den door that had not been there before. The youngsters knew the drill—move quickly. All raced inside through the misted skull dust. Parker looked over his shoulders, watching the door to the outside fade away as the dust settled to recreate the skull resting among the dead leaves.
Once inside the hill, there was an entire city filled with dens, a fighting arena, and a grand meeting cave for the elders. Everything was made from the earth—clay, self-cut wood, and furs. It resembled the ancient civilization it was, leave one thing. In the midst of it all, built the highest, was a single den—the den of the queen. Many had heard that inside was where all their modern tools and things were kept, though few actually saw the inside. Parker looked up at it as the Huntress drew near to one of the pack elders—an aged salt and pepper female called Zaira. The Huntress looked sternly at her, and shook her head. "Fruitless." She said simply.
Zaira nodded her old head. "Try again tomorrow, Kaali. They will learn and grow under your guidance." The Huntress bowed and took her leave, sons on her tail. Zaira turned her attention to the youngsters. "You may leave as well." The small group began to scatter, but an aged paw grabbed Parker's shoulder.
"The queen has asked for you endlessly today, young one." She said with a soft, knowing grin on her face. "I suggest you go and see to her. You may be the next alpha, after all—don't leave your queen waiting." Parker nodded, watching the old one slink away into the shadows. He finally allowed his lycan manifest to escape him, leaving his deeply tanned skin all nearly exposed. Around his waist was a piece of tanned hide adorned with raven feathers and patched of decorative fur from a deer. It was a gift from the child-queen herself. He looked himself over—still lanky and awkward, except now there were splashes of dirt rubbed into his skin and pieces of moss and leaves in his hair. 'Perfect' he thought— it helped his 'rugged' image out some
Parker walked through the sparse crowds of older lycans, all the females seemed to be snickering at him as he went. The males beamed, a few patted him heartily on the back. Parker felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. 'What is going on?'
Strange and snickering stares were nothing new to Parker—he was the son of a low ranked female, after all. He was close to an outcast, or as he liked to call himself, a 'sociological punching bag'. However the stares and snickers today were different. They were not so much in the malicious tone as in the… dare he think it? Supportive tone. Lowering his head and saying his best 'excuse me's' and 'thanks you's', he pushed his way towards the queens den. The climb to the queens den was a long one, and when the young male reached the top he was greeted by none other than the Warrior himself.
The Warrior, so he was called among the pack, was a strange one for this queen to select. The legend of how the queens came to be was a long one, though Parker knew two key parts of it. They were mysteriously born when the old queen died—always the only pure snow white werewolves, and always female. That, and with every new queen born there came a new Warrior. The Warrior was chosen by the queen within a few hours of her birth, and from then the chosen one was bound to serve and if needed die for his queen.
This particular Warrior was a Shifted—bitten by the queen herself when he was only 18. The now adult beast sat at the entrance in lycan form, deep maroon/black fur holding on it even darker rune markings. He had a mane that ran down his back and cascaded over his sides and into his face, nearly covering the eerie eyes. One pale moon yellow, the other solid white; colors of loneliness, pain and suffering that it was always assumed the Warrior had bore. Parker stood there, slightly awestruck. The young male himself was still only about 6 feet tall in lycan form. The Warrior stood a daunting 8 feet tall, and looked at the boy, distrusting.
"I'm…." Parker began, but the Warrior interrupted him.
"I know," he growled lowly, seeming very displeased at his job today. "She will have only you in her company." The behemoth took one step to the side, only enough to allow Parker passage. A few cautious steps were all Parker took before the Warrior reached down and lifted him off the ground by his shoulders. Holding the boy at eye level, the Warrior raised his lips slightly.
"You are too young to understand this, but I'll tell you only these things—hurt her and you will die. Make me into a babysitter—you'll die then too." Then he dropped Parker. Landing on his feet clumsily, Parker watched the huge Warrior stalk off as he proceeded into the den, wondering what he had meant.