A/N: World of Darkness, Werewolf the Forsaken and all related names are property of White Wolf.
CHAPTER I: Tired
I'm tired. I'm sick and tired. I'm sick, tired and angry. But, worst of all, I feel sad and lonely too.
They left me. Everyone. Moonbiter was the first, left us for that smug faced mage and his skank of a daughter. Then everyone else deserted me. They left me alone, stuck in this Luna forsaken place because "I'm too unstable to stay on the pack".
Then again, maybe they're right. I did do some pretty grisly stuff. We all did, to be honest... The difference between me and the rest, I think, is that I enjoy the hell out of it. I kind of like being what I am... I think I'll never say it out loud, but the best thing ever happened to me was my first change. Yeah, I killed people, some of them innocent, most of them guilty, and all that got my brain so fucked up I was little more than a beast.
Yet those where the best days of my life.
Don't start taking conclusions before I finish my story, you don't know the half of it. Look, my childhood sucked, okay? I had a house, but I spent most of my time in the streets learning how to survive and fend for myself. My mom was a drunken bitch who slept with different men every week, my older sister was a drug addict and my older brother was actually the guy who supplied the drugs to my sister and the whole neighborhood. Only my baby brother had some semblance of nicety, and that's because he was eight when I went full werewolf on my family.
Those last hours are seared into my soul. It was a moonless night and I had locked my baby brother and myself in our room while my older brother had an argument with mom's newest boyfriend. It seemed the guy was one of my brother's clients, and was missing some payment. I tried to distract my baby brother with some toy or song, but I couldn't stop paying attention to the mess outside. When the glass started shattering was when something snapped inside of me.
I remember hiding my baby brother in the closet, telling him to stay still. I remember his watery eyes as lunacy took hold of him and he started bawling. I remember tearing down the door even though I was a malnourished twelve year old little girl. I remember tasting flesh and blood. I remember the killing frenzy, and to hell with all the wolves who say they don't, I bet they do too, they're just too ashamed to admit it.
It should make me sad to say I enjoyed ripping my brother, my mother and her stupid boyfriend apart. I should not say I savored their taste as I got my first full meal in years. And I definitely should not say I wanted more.
Some of the wolves in our lodge say mother Luna is a bitch. I can understand them, Luna is a deity of change after all, and not all changes are good. But I love Luna. I love her because she gave me the strength to prey on those who would prey on the weak like my little brother. If I had never turned into that slavering monstrosity I would still be living in that trash bin, perhaps even taking drugs to soothe the pain of living. Scratch that, that was no life, that was just surviving.
Instead, I became death. I became the shadow in the darkness that sent fear into the hearts of all of those who deserved it. I hunted killers, rapists, drug dealers or any other criminals. My hometown was full of them. I'll never say I did good, tough, because I don't like to lie. I just set my inner beast loose on those who deserved it and enjoyed the results. Sometimes an innocent person would be caught in one of my rampages, maybe some junkie who just wanted out of his empty existence, or a whore who actually paid her family's sustenance with her body. I didn't care, really. I killed, I fed, I lived.
That was the whole point, actually. I was alive, finally. With every life I snuffed out of existence I lived a little more. Weird thoughts, these, make me sound like a vampire, and I hate them. But, in a sense, that was my existence back then, I lived to kill.
I had to live away from my sister and little brother, but it was okay, I guess. My sister tried to clean herself up, and I helped her by messily killing any asshole who even said a word about drugs to her. I knew I could not live with them, not as long as I was a beast, so I just started living on the streets. By daytime I washed cars or shined shoes, and by nighttime I lived the life Luna choose for me, I was the apex predator on those shady streets.
I can't even tell how many years passed that way. I do know that when the vampire came to my brother's school he was about twelve too. I'll not talk about that incident, not now, I'm not drunk enough to get trough that story without breaking to tears. Suffice to say, that's when the lodge found me, and when I realized that maybe being a beast was not a smart thing to be after all.
I really owe my life to the Sarge for keeping my body fit, and to mistress Fireheart for healing my mind at least enough so I could think like a young adult instead of a child. I'm still childish, I guess, but to take a step further, even slowly, is better than standing still forever.
The problem with growing up is that you have to assume responsibilities, and that's when I failed, hard. While I had Moonbiter watching over me all the time I was safe. I could goof around, do some silly stuff, and then get back on track when things got serious.
But then that traitorous bitch left us.
And, to make matters worse, I met this other wolf. He's not a member of the lodge, by Luna, he's not even a Blood Talon. But he cares about me, I guess, in his own way. I don't know how I feel about him. He's cute, he's funny, and he's definitely a nice guy, but he doesn't understand what it is to be a monster like me. I need discipline, I need hierarchy or I'll devolve into that beast again, I cannot be a free spirit like him.
But I would love it. I think.
However, I might have got a little touchy with him... I did some stuff I'm not proud of, and some other stuff I am positively ashamed of. It's really funny, you see? I'm not ashamed to say I killed and ate someone, I do that. But I'm terribly ashamed to say I wanted to kiss someone... Well, I might have not stopped on kissing, but I wouldn't know how to do that. Never did it.
That was when the Sarge decided I needed some fresh air. He took us away from São Paulo and into some swamp in Mato Grosso. I got pissed. I pouted like a child, and threw tantrums at the slightest reason. Then I went and charged the Ivory Claws elder we were chasing...
I learned how to stab with a knife before I learned to spell my name. I can bench press a man twice my size without breaking a sweat. I can move fast and make no sound. Luna made me a predator, the Blood Talons made me a warrior and the Lodge of the Jungles made me a soldier.
I hope that after I said all that you understand that when I say I butchered him and ate his heart out, it's not hyperbole.
Of course, the Forsaken don't condone cannibalism. Even the Pure tribes aren't exactly cool with it, to be honest, so the Sergeant had no choice but to kick me out of the pack and send me to where I am right now.
It's a prison. Only it isn't. It's quite the nice place, actually, a small farm in the middle of nowhere. I don't even know which state we are in. I say 'we' because I'm not alone, well at least not literally alone.
This place is some sort of vacation camp for girls like me who just lost it. Yeah, girls. Not a single male in a two kilometer radius, I smelled it. The whole amazonian thing was set up by mistress Fireheart, so she could send those she-wolves who can't keep their legs shut to some much needed rest away from civilization and temptations. Of course, not all werewolf women are as horny as literature would make you believe, so the Lodge decided this was a good place to send the raging monsters like me too.
There are elders here. Nice women who lead us into meditation and weekly rituals to Luna and Father Wolf. They are warriors who felt the same urges I feel, and probably could teach me a thing or two about rage.
But they're old. They drew blades at spirits before we had snipers with fetish bullets. They chased down vampires before we could google up the bastard and learn a lot about him without the need to expose ourselves. They fought the Pure with fang and claw, not fire and lead. They went through their first change after being fully grown adults, they experienced more than just animal rage. They know love, and kindness. They had the time to gossip in high school, or even party. They could experience the joys of spirit and flesh. They know rage, but they don't know only rage.
I can't relate to them. I don't care if they're my superiors. I respect them, and obey them, but my feelings are mine. Those who could understand even a small part of them have either betrayed me or deserted me, so now I stand alone.
And I hate very second of it. I miss them. I miss my pack, with our strenuous training, dangerous missions and the fun times between them. I miss Moonbiter, and how she was the older sister I should have had when I was growing up. And I miss that stupid, stupid wolf who makes me think there can be more to life than killing.
I promised myself I wouldn't cry.
I'm writing this laying on my bed, with some wood animals I carved myself for witnesses. I can hear four of the other girls playing volleyball outside. One of them even knocked on my door earlier, asking me if I wanted to join them.
She was this tall, statuesque blonde with a silver streak in her hair. I think they call her "Sound of Thunder" or something like that. She's a Cahalith, a gibbous moon, one of our people's lore keepers. I saw her and some others making ritual drums yesterday, she is very dexterous with a knife, but the way she forcefully pulled at the pigskin...
Maybe I'm not the only angry one in this place. I know I'm not the only sad one. I just, I don't know, don't feel ready for it yet. I guess I'm afraid of being betrayed again. I do feel empty, I guess. Werewolves where never meant to be alone, and I've been with the pack for so long I forgot how it even felt to be alone. I guess I thought I'd never be alone again...
Screw this, I'll go punch that bag downstairs until my hands bleed. It will take some time, especially since I can regenerate such trivial stuff really fast. I don't care.
I won't cry. Predators don't cry.
