So nothing was bigger and better in Apterton than hunting season. For five weeks everyone pulled out their guns, tramped out into the woods and shot deer all day. And ohhhhh boy did Altair and Malik love it. Aside from cooking up steaks on the grill, Desmond had never seen them more excited about anything. Hard to tell if it was just the prospect of going out and shooting something riled them up, or the potential hunt to satisfy the wolves in them.

And the hunt, Desmond had to think, was the absolute fun part for them. Animals hated the boys. No, fear them really, ran from them and hid until they left. Couldn't even walk down the street without a dog on the other side of the road freaking out the hell out. Stepping out the front door was a five-mile long announcement to get the fuck out of dodge while you still could. It was helpful in terms of pest control, no mice ever lived in the barn and no birds ever attacked Connor's vegetable patch.

How every full moon the boys managed to bag a deer or a rabbit was still a mystery. They were master hunters in wolf form and could pop up next to you without any sort of warning, but surely these animals weren't that unobservant to not see the two-hundred pound wolf coming at them. So how the boys managed to hunt in human form, with guns, and with dozens of other people all after the same thing was something Desmond was going to have to figure out for himself firsthand.

And sitting in the truck bed huddled next to Altaïr, he was excited in his own right. This year was obviously different because Desmond was getting in on the action. The rest of his summer had been spent learning how to use a rifle. The Assassin's, in terms of firearms, preferred small pistols, or semi-automatics. The hunting rifle however, was something Desmond was unfamiliar with before Altaïr had taught him to use it properly (then again, all Desmond knew about any sort of gun was point, shoot. and hope you don't miss).

With this open season, Desmond could finally show his incredible teacher what he could really do. He didn't know why, but impressing Altaïr was suddenly the most important damn thing in the whole world. He had been working insanely hard to get his older cousin's approval on his marksmanship. Mostly because nothing impressed Altaïr since he could apparently do everything ten times better than everyone else. Wasn't even a wolf thing either, just big headedness that succeeded in annoying everyone.

But to really impress the giant walking prickass? To get a "good job" or a pat on the back from him? Fuck yes. It really shouldn't have mattered this much to him, but Altaïr was the one who payed the most attention to him, and had actually liked him right off the bat and-

"Sonofabitch!" Desmond cried as his ass flew up into the air and came back down with a hard thud.

"Oh my god that was everything I had hoped it would be" Altaïr cackled, literally holding his sides as he laughed.

"You ass, why didn't you warn me about that bump?!" Desmond moaned as he rubbed his now sore tailbone.

"Because that wouldn't have been as funny" Altaïr chuckled. "Maybe you should be paying attention to the road instead of being off in la-la land, baby cousin"

Desmond huffed and kicked out at the Syrian. His foot was easily caught, and he was pulled close to his cousin before being shoved across the truck bed. Desmond smacked into the tailgate with a loud "oof". As Altaïr sneered at him triumphantly, Desmond reminded himself that messing with the alpha male in a moving vehicle was a terrible idea, especially when he was lucky that he was thrown across the truck bed, and not out of it.

There was a line in front of the ranger station by the time they arrived. Desmond dreaded every second he had to stand in it. Because one, it was chilly outside and two, the other hunters scared him. Hardened, big beefy hunting vets with beards shaggier than the boys as wolves. And like the boys as wolves, they all stared at him like he was a slab of meat with a sign around his neck that said "eat me".

The staring in general was uncomfortable. Not because staring was rude, but in wolf world, that was an open challenge. Desmond couldn't bring himself to look up at any of them, respectfully keeping his gaze on the floor. May have been shy and weak looking to the normal people, but in wolf talk, he was basically saying "you're my better, I'm submitting to you". He had to do this with the boys just about every day, it was pretty much second nature by this point. But the staring did openly stop when Altaïr and Malik gave everyone glares of their own that cause the others to look away less they catch on fire.

Season wasn't even open yet and now everyone knew that Desmond Miles was fresh meat and no competition whatsoever, Great.

He was completely silent the entire time they were in line, his companions idly chatting with the other men they were at least friendly with. He heard about all sorts of things, like new guns, new strategies, goals to bring in the biggest buck, But his heart nearly thudded to a stop when someone mentioned hopefully bagging "those damn wolves" that were running about. But everyone, including the pack, laughed at the man who mentioned it. Everyone went on to tell him that there absolutely were no wolves around Aperton, all he ever was heating were coyotes, and even if there were wolves, shooting them would be illegal anyway. Desmond was able to relax after that.

It wasn't ever like Altaïr and Malik were troublemakers. They stayed away from other farms around the base of the mountain, never threatened people's livestock, and basically kept to themselves. They were relatively well mannered wolves on full moons, and just the thrill of being able to run free was way more important than some dumb cows. And it wasn't like any farmer could harm them, not with normal bullets anyway.

Part of learning to shoot was shooting at a live target. Altaïr had been that target. It had been the freakiest thing ever, a gushing stomach wound that had closed up in minutes. The fucking bullet was pushed out of Altaïr's body, and the wound healed itself over, scarred, then faded away. The only evidence of the whole ordeal was the dried blood on the waistband of Altaïr's pants. A shot from a rifle or a blast from a shotgun was nothing.

Finally it was Desmond's turn to register. It was like being at the DMV for the first time, a proud father with his son, announcing they were here to get said son's driver license. Except only Altaïr was all proud about it and Desmond wasn't sixteen. And he was getting a hunting license, not a driver's. But registration was easy, he just gave them false information they couldn't link him back to. Not that anyone would come check, which was why it was so easy and they didn't even physically ask to see his weapon's permit (which he didn't have on him because the Asssassin's didn't think it necessary to give him one when he came here). Small town hillbillies who didn't follow the laws were absolutely perfect.

Once outside, it was just another who knows how long of standing around and sizing everyone up to see who was competition and who wasn't. Like the one guy who pulled up in a battered pick-up and looked like the world's biggest loser. A scrawny, squirrely looking thing that scuttled into the ranger's station like the sky would fall down on him at any second.

The handful of men they were with practically erupted into laughter, who was this chump? So maybe Desmond had a chance in this unofficial tourney of manliness after all. What could that guy do that would be any better than him? Wanting to share his new confidence, he turned to Altaïr only to find him and Malik staring at the station. Their mouths were moving, but they weren't talking loud enough for the others to hear. Not like they were talking in actual English anyway. All Desmond heard was Arabic dripping off their tongues, but what they were talking about he didn't have a clue.

But they didn't stop staring at the station. Didn't stop when the wimpy looking nerd slipped back out, but turned their gazes towards him and watched him run up to his car, enter, and drive away. Once he was out of sight did they stop. But Desmond knew something wasn't right.

Altaïr didn't like this. And he knew Malik didn't like it either. They both really didn't like this. But they didn't know what to make of it. Why had he been red? No one in town was red, Well, except Captain Donalds (or Captain Scuzzbutt as Desmond like to call the crotchety douchebag of a cop), but that was because he had something against everyone. This guy though, that guy. He was red. And no one was red.

He hadn't even meant to use it, the wolf's enhanced vision. Or "eagle vision" as the eggheads back at HQ called it. It was an ability that the Assassin's had possessed for centuries. It just took a very skilled Assassin to unlock it. And becoming a werewolf was the right kick to use it. They could use it whenever they wished, a simple blink of the eye and their world would change. The ability very rarely turned on by itself without any sort of instruction, so it worried Altaïr when his vision went dark and that man glowed red as apposed tot he white and blue around him.

He had a feeling his wolf was trying to tell him something. That something about that pathetic looking man was dangerous. But how? He didn't look threatening, sound it, or smell it. Especially smell. Standing there with all the others, with his pack and mate, nothing had smelled wrong. And that was scary. His nose never failed him, it was always right. But this super sensitive nose hadn't picked up a thing from that man. All he could pick was he ever familiar pack smell, car exhaust, gun oil, men, pine, rabbit, squirrel, woodpecker, dirt…

But not that man.

Malik noticed it too thankfully.

"Did you get that?" Malik asked.

"There was nothing to get" Altaïr said, incredibly bothered by it.

"He was red. Why?"

"I don't know"

And it was really, really bothersome. When they finally did leave the station, Malim sat in the truck bed with Altaïr, pushing Desmond up to the front with Connor. Half the drive back into town was silent as they gathered their thoughts on this. That man had been red. Red meant he was an enemy. And he didn't have a scent they could pick up on. And, to Altaïr at least, made him want to throw up because his whole inside was panicking. Wolf was freaking out, and it was scared, and the anxiety of it all was making him sick.

"I hate this" Altaïr growled. "I really hate this, and I can't figure out what this is"

"He's not a threat" Malik stated. "But why are they acting like he is?"

"They know something we don't" Altaïr said. "Trouble is, how can they tell us? It's not like they can just open their mouths and speak English to anyone"

"We'll figure it out" Malik reassured. "All we need is a name. Besides, we'll be seeing him a lot sooner than we think"

Altaïr nodded, his hand creeping around them until he found Malik's. His hand was squeezes, and he managed to relax a bit. yes, they would figure it out. Maybe.

XxXxX

Okay guys, we need to get some things straight.

I just want you all to know, that, I am literally in the midsts of writing chapter 5 of THIS story. So rest assured, I'm still working on this, I've just been preoccupied with other projects and I just haven't been uploading anything. And I will apologize for that.

The other thing is, since I've gotten 3 or 4 questions about this, I'm just gonna say it now. The only pairing in this story is Altair/Malik. Other pairings will not pop up until the NEXT story in this series, Bad Moon Blues. Please do not ask me again about who is being paired with who, and please no suggestions as to who should be together. This story is written as you see it, and it's not changing. This installment in the series is just about Desmond and werewolves and guns and shit, not so much romances. Okay? I'm only going to ask this the one time, just the one.

Other than that, thank you all for the favorites and follows, and I shall try to be speedier about uploading chapter 3.