Soon, I will join you. Soon, but not yet. Not tonight. Tonight, someone else dies.
I made my way past fallen trees and crab-brush, running as if the hounds of Hell were chasing me. No man could match me in the forest, no one could follow the land as easily as I could, as if I were running laps on a track. Marchus knew that. That's why he'd made our duel in an open area. A place where my speed and sure-footing would grant me no escape. As if I wanted to escape. It was me that wanted the Challenge, me that wanted the pack. And Marchus would hand it to me on a silver platter.
The Thronnos Rokke Clan had been in existence almost six hundred years. Ulfrics, Wolf Kings, had come and gone, each leaving their mark on the pack. Some left a mark of peace and prosperity, while others left a dark blotch on our Clan's proud history. Marchus left one of the latter. A horrible leader and strategist, he had left our terrtory open to attack after attack. Neighboring tribes wanting our land and females for their own, while the males were either killed or run out of town. He was no more Alpha than the bitch he was bedding. But I'd show him what an Alpha was, what we could do. Tonight was the night I took the pack for my own, to take my rightful place as King.
I approached the clearing less than sixty seconds before the full moon crested the horizon. He was late. It was tradition for the current Ulfric to await the arrival of the challenger, so that he could publicly either accept the challenge, or deny it and have the council of elders force him to fight. This was a direct insult. By having me appear before him it showed the symbolism that I would wait on him, that nothing would be done unless on his terms. Fine by me.
I shed my clothing and sat, carefully gathering my strength for the fight ahead. This was no sparring match, no punches would be thrown here. This was the oldest of all traditions, Lunaldiok, the Blood of the Moon. Only one walks away from this circle. The other, well, the other is absorbed into the champion, to gain his power and skill and add it to their own. The winner ate the loser.
I had no plans on being dinner.
I caught his scent on the wind before I ever saw him, the smell of old shaving cream and cinnamon. I hated that scent. He appeared on the far side of the field, wearing nothing more than a tattered pair of blue jeans. He didn't say a single word to me, but started his shift immediately. Bones popping, skin stretching and covering with fur, and a howl was all I heard. I still hadn't opened my eyes. I opened them now, and smiled wickedly.
He charged me, full force, and I stepped aside from him easily. I knew he wasn't a real Alpha. He's gone from his human form to wolf, without hitting the in between phase. Real Alphas could shift to any of the three, within seconds.
I didn't shift at all.
I let my eyes darken, becoming the amber of my wolf, but my body stayed human. This was a demonstration, more than anything. I wanted to show the entire clan, and those that had come from far away places that the Thronnos Rokke Clan would no longer be compromised. Marchus clawed the ground, looking almost comically like a bull getting ready to sprint, and leapt into the air, hoping to land on my back and tear the back of my neck out with his teeth.
I dropped to one knee, and shot my hand straight into the air, aiming for the soft underbelly of my adversary. My eye was good. My hand connected, hard and true, and I pushed from the ground with all the strength in my legs. I looked up when my fingers touched bone, and forced my hand through. I impaled him with my forearm, hand showing through his back. That quickely, the Challenge was over. The Clan had a new Ulfric, barely twenty-five years old.
I shifted to my wolf, honey colored fur covering my skin, and howled, long and deep, and was echoed by my new pack. I looked down at the body of the old ruler, and snapped my jaws. Only one last thing to make it complete, and I would be ruler by all rights and procedures, just one last thing...
I jolted upright.
My bed was soaked with sweat, the rays of the early morning sun peeking through my closed curtains. That night haunted me, the same recurring nightmare that was no more a nightmare than the Holocaust. Every aspect was real, had happened, and had burned the memory into my mind. How I wished I could just forget that night, forget the feel of Marchus' flesh giving way under my teeth, the taste of his blood as it filled my mouth, the rush of power as I absorbed his soul. I couldn't. I'd tried. I'd failed.
In the last 5 years or so my pack had dwindled, become no more than six or seven pack mates left, and soon they too had gone. Off to wherever to fulfill whatever dreams they had, and leaving me completely, and utterly, alone. I hadn't scented another of my kind in over six months, and for a pack run species, an Alpha without his herd is a sad thing to behold. I bagan to search for others of my kind, following whispers of farm animals mauled to death, or rumons of people that couldn't be seen on the night of the full moon. For almost a year I searched, unable to find anything conclusive, yet compelled to keep looking. I looked a long time.
**Present Day*
Almost thirty years had passed since the day of the Challenge, and still I hadn't seen hide nor hair of another lycanthrope in all the towns I visited. I finally settled in a small town south of Nashville, Tennessee, a place called Smithville. It was small, even for a backwoods, one horse town. A Wal-Mart, dive bar, movie theater, and pizza place was about all there was, and you had to drive for ten miles just to see another human being. I began frequenting the bar, drowning myself in Jack Daniels and Coke, trying to figure out what I was doing with my life. My parents had left me all the money I would ever need when they died, so work was never an issue. I knew I had to find something, or I would surely die of boredom, if something else didn't get ahold of me first.
I head the bell on the door jingle as another patron walked inside. I could hear people greeting the newcomer, hands being shaken, yet I never turned away from the bar. I caught a scent riding the winds, something I hadn't smelled in almost thirty years. My spine went rigid. How in the hell could I have searched for half a lifetime and found nothing, yet one lives in the same town as me and I didn't know?! I concetrated on the scent, staring into my glass and trying to remain inconspicious.
Lavender, nutmeg.
His scent was intriguing. Never had I met a male that smelled of flowers and spice before. I laughed silently, and waited patiently for him to approach the bar. Sure enough, his thirst got the better of him. He walked up and leaned on the polished wood of the bar, directly to my left, and ordered a Corona with lime. I cringed slightly, such a horrible drink. The barkeep went into a small storage room off to the side of the bar, presumably to change the tap, and I leaned over to him slightly.
"I think you and I should have a talk, friend."
I knew my voice was less than friendly as I said it and didn't care. I needed to know what type of pack he was, where he came from, how he came to be here. He stared at me for a few moments and then chuckled.
"Sorry, bub, I don't swing that way. You might have better luck in Nashville."
He laughed loudly, and I became annoyed. The barkeep had gotten him his drink and he took a decent swig from the bottle. I let a small amount of my aura trickle outward, just enough to raise the hairs on the back of his neck. He looked startled, and stared me down hard.
"I said, I think we should talk."
"Yeah, I guess we should."
He downed the rest of the beer and I followed him outside. We stood there in the parking lot for about twenty minutes or so, him talking, me asking the occasional question. He knew a surprising amount about the supernatural underbelly of modern day civilization, and prided himself on it.
"Name's Bara. What do you go by?"
Panik, he called himself.
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Panik and I talked for almost two days, about where he was from, where he was going, his "family", and his search for others like us. He was just passing through town on his way back home, and just happened into the bar, following up on a dead end lead about a pack in the northern Tennessee mountains. Nothing there, of course, but he, like me, had to check every possibility. He was from a smaller clan than mine, the Ranko Nuennos, way up in the northern Appalachians. His clan had died out because of infighting and persecution from Homo Sapiens, until he was the only one of the tribe left. Now he made his living as a mercenary. Working for a kinship of people who called themselves The Covenant of the Sword. Said he made pretty good money with them, and was always able to fight. I told him I had more money than I'd ever need, but the fighting aspect intrigued me.
Apparently, The Covenant was one of the premier monster slaying kins in the northeastern hemisphere, and were in constant battles with some form of evil or another. Apparently they were looking for warriors...
That was how I came to be sitting here, on my bed, picking out something to wear for another one of Panik's damn parties celebrating us kicking the ever-living hell out of something. Eh, well, could be worse. At least she wouldn't be there. I knew she was involved with the kinsmen, but she was also new. The party was to celebrate the warriors' victories, and she hadn't won anything. Maybe I would end up having some fun after all, tonight.
Eh, fuck it. At the very least I can get shit-faced drunk.