Chapter 1: Exposure

John crashed through the bramble violently, paws pounding against the dirt as it pulled up beneath his feet. Every stride was an exercise in endurance and his breath pulled sharply from his lungs with each long stride he took. The hunters were on his tail, guns loaded with bullets that, once broken through skin, expelled a liquid silver that spread like fire almost immediately. The hunters had been chasing him for hours at this rate, and each step felt like an extra kilometer, but John knew he couldn't stop. His body hummed with adrenaline and fear, knowing that one misstep could cost his life.

John regretted stopping for water at the stream, but he had been on the verge of collapsing without the liquid to keep him on his feet. It was only a moment, but the hunters had been on his heels all night, and it only brought them closer to his locale. John was completely outnumbered, and the hunters had split up to gain more ground, reminiscent of the way John would have hunted prey with his pack, and he could feel himself slowing down and growing weaker.

Darting sharply to the left, John's sharp eyes could see a break in the trees. There; a house in the distance, lights, maybe a safe haven for him. John had never gone this deep into the woods before; his pack had dwelt on the outskirt of the forest, closer to the main road, which he thoroughly regretted now. Trying to cohabitate with humans had gotten his mates slaughtered. John lifted his nose to the air and scented, looking for danger he knew lurked around every corner. He could smell another one of his kind. Not good, he thought to himself, that was not good at all. If he was encroaching on someone's territory, they were likely to rip his throat out before the hunters ever got to him; John just didn't know which death would be a better mercy.

The forest hummed with invisible life broken only with the sound of leaves scattered up into the air in his wake. John took a quick leap over a thin stream of water and raced further into the woods and tried not to feel quite so hopeful as he noticed the lights looming closer and closer with every stride he made. He didn't know who occupied the cabin, only that it looked safe and would provide shelter for him and a place to hide. Those thoughts were soon forgotten as a noise too close to be the hunters grabbed his attention. John faltered in his steps, wondering if one of the hunters were waiting in the tangle of trees to ambush him. With sharpened vision, he peered into the darkness to discern what might have made the noise. Whatever it was, It came quickly from a tangle of thorn bushes, barreling into his side harder than anything he had ever had the fortune of not feeling. The force of the tackle caused John to slam harshly into a great oak tree, becoming stunned as his head slammed back against the bark, eyes squinting open to see his new problem charging towards him brazenly. He had just enough time to roll over onto his stomach before the next attack, limping backwards as he assessed his opponent.

Perhaps death by hunters would be a better mercy, once John saw what he was up against.

A wolf, black as night, stalked closer, hackles raised in defiance as well as a true anger John could feel almost as potently as the fear radiating off of himself. The wolf was long of length and stood almost four feet, a mammoth of a specimen, all lean muscle and stealth. If the hunters found him, he would be quite the match for them, and maybe John could get away, but before he could even finish that cowardly thought, John could feel his stomach twist in revulsion. John Watson had never been one to back down from a challenge and he wouldn't start now. He knew he would stay and fight both hunter and werewolf if he had to.

The dark wolf let loose a terrifying snarl that would unsteady any hardened man, lips pulling back over gleaming white teeth that could easily break through bone and gristle, and set his body into a crouch, finding threat in John's defensive posture. However, before he could proceed to attack, a snapping twig and rustle of leaves pulled his attention to the darkness John had been running from. The black wolf threw his head back and howled just as the hunters had finally burst through the foliage, guns at the ready. John knew the wolf had called for backup, and he realized that there was a battle about to take place in this clearing.

Three men and a woman emerged from the line of trees, an old family of hunters that had been tracking John and his kin for months, with none of them the wiser. Stupid, stupid! How could they have missed this?

The black wolf threw himself forward, artfully dodging their bullets, and John hesitated only a moment before he scrambled up and charged towards the enemies. The other wolf was a dirty fighter, a trickster, darting around and causing confusion one moment and a hair's length away from breaking every bone of their legs with sharp canines. He was intelligent and quick, where the hunters rarely had experience fighting one such as he, but they were also fast on their feet, making it hard for the wolf to get a grip, only ripping off pieces of fabric as they dodged.

John tackled one of the men, a red-haired, solid brute wielding a shot gun no doubt loaded with silver bullets. He growled, launching his body from the ground paws first and slammed into the man's chest, aiming to disarm him first and foremost. For a moment he saw fear swimming in hardened blue eyes before they resolved into anger and the hunter began to fight back. John liked to think of himself as a sturdy wolf; wide and strong from years of protecting himself and his former pack, a little on the short side, but what he lacked in height, he more than made up for in strength and bravery. John was sure he could take this Goliath.

John heard a sickening snap come from the other side of the clearing, and turned to see the other wolf had the human pinned to the ground with his weight, teeth locked around the man's neck. Blood dripped from his dark muzzle as he pulled, ripping through soft flesh and cartilage, creating a gruesome display, his intelligent eyes glowing in obvious glee. John allowed himself a moment of fear, knowing that had the hunters not showed, that would have been him. This was not just a werewolf; this was a predator, a killer.

The hunter beneath John took advantage of his momentary distraction and grabbed him by the scruff at his throat, using it as leverage to propel his body off and away, slamming quick feet into John's already bruised ribs. A high pitched whine was snatched brutally from his throat as he landed heavily into the dirt, vaguely noticing as more wolves arrived, blocking out the noise of the hunters with ferocious, deep-throat growls. It was a bloody battlefield and John surveyed with hooded eyes as the wolves tore down the last of the hunters, including the man John had pursued, their pained screams ricocheting loudly off the trees. As the screams abated so did the sounds of the forest, recognizing the predators that now lurked within close range.

John felt his breath come in quick, his body shifting and snapping back to its human form, naked and vulnerable, and the last of his energy depleted. He could feel he had been severely wounded by the attack from the black wolf and the hunter. If these feral werewolves wanted to kill him, it would be no trouble for them at all; John was weak and probably dying. The hunters who had been chasing him for hours had just been taken down quickly and viciously by a group of wolves with numbers and the intent to eradicate. John knew he was next and he would rather not be conscious for this bit. The darkness was already closing around the edges of his vision, so John closed his eyes and allowed it to swallow him.

...

John had been dreaming fitfully of a wolf so dark he blended flawlessly with the night. The eyes stood out in the darkness, glowing a color he had never before seen, intelligent beyond anything John had ever witnessed, frightfully observant and menacing. John dreamed sharp teeth plunging through skin, painted in red.

He slept terribly, to say the least, until his rude awakening.

John jolted awake sharply, shivering with the onslaught of ice cold water being heaped upon his person in the most violent way possible. His chest heaved as he breathed in and out, in and out. God, John could breath. He was alive! How could he be alive? John opened his eyes in bemusement, first his left, and then the right, not too sure if he was still dreaming or not.

The room was cold and dark, and stank of mold and stale water. Pulling up a hand to wipe the water from his eyes, John wasn't surprised to find them handcuffed to a rusty, though sturdy pipe rooted from floor to ceiling.

What the hell?

Sitting up slowly, John winced, feeling the wounds in his abdomen pull as he put pressure on them. Everything ached and his head was splitting into two as far as he could tell. Pushing through the fog of pain, John squinted up into the face of a man silhouetted by a dim light that hung from the ceiling. It was a dark haired man, tall and imposing as he observed John severely, empty bucket hanging from the man's fingers carelessly.

John blinked rapidly, feeling his pulse race double time, which no doubt the other man could hear... and the fear; John was sure the stranger could smell that, too.

"Who... who are you?" John's voice was steady, at least that he could be thankful for, and gravelly from lack of use, but his left hand trembled, a tell-tale sign of his distress.

The man tossed the bucket aside, the loud clank as it hit the wall causing John to wince as the noise echoed loudly throughout the room. The dark haired figure knelt down, getting eye level with John, head tilted in curiosity. A pale set of gawkers surveyed John cautiously, and the steel he could see there left him unsettled under this man's scrutiny. Those peculiar eyes... He had seen them before.

"I should have left you to die," the man sneered viciously, "bringing those hunters into my territory. My pack and I were cleverly hidden from any human presence, and now you've led them here, so shut up, and ask nothing."

John swallowed, taken aback by the malice and hostility in the man's voice. He hadn't thought about what his plan of action would be if he lived, but at this moment, John was more worried about staying alive now that he had been captured.

The man's eyes scanned over the captive's face as if reading every thought passing through his mind, so John masked his expressions and peered at the stranger under heavy brows. Piercing verdigris eyes flickered from John's face and down his bruised body, staying longer at some places than others as if he were collecting information and filing it away.

"You passed out from exhaustion, so obviously the hunters had been chasing you several hours before you got to my territory. You were alone; your pack was massacred by hunters or else you would have no reason to run from them. Most wolves stay and fight, you were fleeing, which meant you had no backup coming. The hunter you were fighting had a collection of used bullets in a pouch, most likely trophy's from his recent kills. By the number of bullets, he killed six of your pack mates and was planning on gloating once he caught you, before he rid you of your pathetic life, of course." The stranger tilted his head the other way once the stream of word had come to a stand still, as if changing perspectives and leaned closer. His words were spoken without emotion as if he were just listing off names and numbers, rather than the fact that John's entire pack had been slaughtered and he was next.

John's breath hitched in his throat, leaning back to place room between himself and his captor, feeling as defenseless as a newborn under this stranger's imposing gaze, feeling flayed as the other man laid out every incident leading up to now without John having said a word.

"What-?"

With the grace and inhuman speed of a practiced predator, his captor had a hand wrapped around the smaller man's throat, cutting off the air through his trachea, and effectively silencing him. "I said don't...talk." between words, the hand continued to constrict John's throat in a hold far stronger than the man looked to be. "More hunters will come looking for you, and you've led them straight to me." The man watched him with a warning , and John recognized it, nodding as best as he could while his throat was being held hostage. The stranger slowly released him, standing and taking a step back as he nonchalantly brushed non-existent lint off of his immaculate suit. He gazed down imperiously at the chained man, running a hand through the curls on his forehead. "Against my better judgment, I will allow you a day to recover, and after, you must leave; take yourself and your trouble elsewhere that won't cause my pack to suffer the same fate as yours."

The man turned abruptly, taking long strides to the door before John finally found his voice and called out: "Why are you helping me?" John swallowed nervously, feeling his stomach clench up in anticipation as the man stopped, one hand on the doorknob and the other resting relaxed by his side.

His captor turned only his head as he answered, not quite looking at him, but for some reason, John felt like he had this mystery person's attention.

"Because despite whatever inane, and quite frankly, irrelevant thoughts you may have of me, I am not a monster."

And then he was gone, and once again it was just John and the dim light hanging from the ceiling, casting everything into shadows.