A Shift of Shadows

by bloodpurple and murkpond green

The old werewolf bloodlines have returned to Lupine Ridge, seeking safety in pack and the freedom to run. Now that Connor Slaughter and his half breed pack are dead, those remaining surviving scattered bloodlines are returning. Connor Slaughter did not die however, and in world where strength determines all, a human female will shatter the balance. Connor/OC. Jason Momoa Inspired.

1. Chapter 1

He watched them from the woods, watched them move about the old estate, a sprawling Georgian styled ranch. He could hear the yells and calls as furniture was moved, the thump of footsteps on wooden floors, the creak of rusty moving vans, the scent of diesel in the air. But beneath it all, crackling through the air like rampart raw electricity, was werewolf. A whole clan of werewolves, an old line had returned to Lupine Ridge, an old line of pure blood. An old line that had been told that the infamous rabid Connory Slaughter was dead. The mountain pack of lawless half-breeds was dead. An old line that had been told wrong. Connory had not died that night, a shift at the last moment as his heart pumped his blood out onto the dirt, spurned by the deepest instinct to help his son, had healed the deep lacerations across his throat. His help, however, had not been needed and he had dragged his wretched body through the dirt, dust and corn stalks away into the woods to heal.

He had healed slowly. He had lost himself for days in thought. All he had known had unravelled and now he had returned to the beginning of himself. Strangely free yet burdened by knowledge at the same time. The half breeds he had collected were gone, scattered to the wind or simply dead. He no longer had the burden or the safety of their presence. A presence he had kept about him to drown out the echoing silence of defeat and loss. And the lie. All the lies.

There had been a son. His son. Lucinda's son. A son that had been taken from him and was now lost to him. A son, that essentially, never was and would never be. And yet, he ached for a child – male, female it didn't matter. A child to protect, to keep safe and protect. A sense of home and belonging within a living being. A purpose beyond all this blood and instinct. Lucinda had once been that purpose but she had chosen to be weak, beaten down by her father and her family. Beaten down to the point that she begged him to claim rape, to save her and the baby. To take the fall and protect his family, the unborn child in her womb. His child. And in the end, he had protected nothing and lost everything, her, the child and himself.

And now an old line had settled into Lupine Ridge.

An old line with a female.