Victoria was very much the mothering type. In the hour leading up to our departure, she checked and rechecked my armour a dozen times, all the while insisting that I wear a helmet, much to Clarisse's annoyance.

"Put a muzzle on your cheerleader," she grumbled.

I bit back an angry reply. Victoria, however, smiled, "You're lucky I'm a good person, Clarisse."

Clarisse cocked a brow at her, "Oh?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Clarisse," I interjected quickly, "round up the others and wait outside."

Clarisse's jaw tightened, "Yes, team leader."

The door slammed shut behind her. Victoria returned her attention to my leg. Since it was a nighttime mission, and a certain amount of stealth was required, our bronze armour needed to be covered. We decided on wrapping dirtied cloth around our greaves, and wearing black ponchos over our breastplates.

"There," she said brightly, "no shine, no shimmer, just…dirt."

She wrinkled her nose, "Why did I do this for you? Now I need to wash my hands."

"You offered," I reminded her.

"Remind me to never do that again."

Laughing, I leaned forward in my chair so that our noses almost brushed, "You wouldn't last a day without someone to coddle."

Victoria gave me a kittenish look, "Care to place a bet on that?"

"Nah," I gave her shoulder a gentle nudge, "I enjoy your attention too much."

"Ahem."

We jumped apart at the introduction of a new voice. Chiron stood in the doorway, arms crossed and brow raised, "Am I interrupting something?"

"No," I said, my voice breaking. I cleared my throat and tried again. "No. We were…we weren't…"

Chiron raised a hand, "Forget I asked. It's midnight."

A thrill of excitement ran through my body, setting the small hairs on the back of my neck on edge. It was time. Never before had I been so afraid, and so excited at the same time.

"Okay," I said evenly, "I'll join the others in a minute."

Chiron approached me, his eyes roaming over my features, as though he was looking for something he had expected to see, but couldn't find, "You have the location, the Satyr's report and the plan all memorised?"

"I forgot my ABC's to make sure I remember."

Victoria punched my thigh, "Stop joking."

I smoothly took her hand in mine, grinning, "First of all, ouch; second, stop worrying. I've got a good team…and they've got me."

"I can't decide whether I love your arrogance or hate it."

"Settle somewhere in the middle. Black and white is boring."

Chiron cleared his throat again, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder, "Whenever you're ready, Owen. Good luck."

"We won't let the camp down."

I watched Chiron as he left the room. At the time, I was certain that, despite what he said to the contrary, he had little faith in me. Clearly, I wasn't the brightest light in the sky when I was seventeen.

Victoria's hand tightened around mine. I looked back at her, and found a look in her eyes which I would see many times more in the future.

"We'll continue this when you get back," she said, though she seemed to be reassuring herself rather than me. "Don't do anything stupid to get yourself hurt."

"Hey…" I brought my free hand up to tuck a lock of curly hair behind her ear. Her eyes fluttered shut at the gesture. "You're a very big reason for me to play this wisely. I'll get myself and my team back in one piece, 'cause there's a lot left for me to teach you."

Outside, my team was assembled at the foot of the steps to the Big House. They were all clad in the same black ponchos, their arrow quivers strapped to their backs. Silver blades clung to their hips, and they each regarded me with stony, determined looks on their faces. To this day, I've never seen a group of warriors more ready for a scrap, and believe me when I say that speaks volumes.

"Michael, take point. Sherman, you bring up the rear. Get your mean faces on, people, it's crunch time. We're going hunting."

We moved through the crowd that had formed to see us off. They cheered and shouted encouraging words, but I didn't register any of it. My mind was focused solely on the farm a mile to the south.

Are you watching, dad?

XXXXX

What felt like a few hours was actually more like fifteen minutes. We came upon the farm via a side road. The place had obviously been abandoned for some time, because the fields were bare, and the expected sounds of animal life were nowhere to be heard. The only light around the place came from inside the barn.

Michael held up a hand and we dropped to one knee, "What's the call?"

I scanned the area. There was a small ditch on the side of the road, which provided good concealment and a clear view of the barn. I moved towards it and took cover. The others joined me and waited in silence for my word.

"They're in there," I muttered. "See the shadows moving under the door?"

"All of them?" Malcolm asked.

"Wolves don't stray from the pack if they can help it."

Clarisse made a skeptical noise, "When did you become a Wolf expert?"

"About nine years ago," I answered. "Greta, you ready?"

Greta slung her bow over her shoulder, "Let me at 'em."

"Good. Alright, you lot, nock your arrows and watch that door. Greta, whenever you're ready."

Greta climbed out of the ditch and set off towards the far end of the barn, keeping low as she ran. To my left, Malcolm's hands trembled around his bow. My own hands were surprisingly steady.

"Easy, Pace," I told him. "Slow, deep breaths."

Malcolm closed his eyes and inhaled as Greta disappeared out of view. It was only a few brief moments later when a faint orange glow came from behind the barn, followed soon after by Greta. She grinned from ear to ear as she made her way back to us.

"Ready yourselves," I told the others.

Greta slid back into the ditch and readied her bow. Smoke was rising from behind the barn, and fire peered out around the corner. Low, growling voices came from inside, as well as the clattering of objects falling to the ground. I drew back my bowstring

The barn door burst open. Black smoke billowed out. Two large men emerged out of the smoke, coughing and cursing. They were ridiculously hairy, yes, but aside from their tattered fur robes, they looked like normal people.

"Loose!"

Six arrows whistled through the air. One struck the barn door, but the rest hit their targets. The two men howled in surprise and pain. The silver coating worked. I dropped my bow and, in one fluid movement, drew my sword and leapt out of the ditch.

"With me!"

The men rounded on us. Closer, they didn't look quite so normal. Their scarlet eyes widened. Instead of attempting to fight, they turned to flee,but they were big men, and we were much, much quicker. We were on them in seconds, slashing and stabbing, and bashing with our shields.

Strangled screams of anguish escaped their throats as they crumbled under the force of our onslaught. It was pitiful. I drove my sword through the back of one of the men, piercing his heart. He exploded in a shower of dust. His companion met the same fate not a moment later as he succumbed to relentless strikes from Greta, Malcolm and Clarisse.

And then there was silence, save for the roaring of the fire which was quickly engulfing the barn.

That was the first time I felt it - the high of victory. I'm older now, and I've learned to suppress it, but I was young, and that feeling of arrogant indestructibility washes over me like a wave. The dangers of such a feeling quickly became clear to me, when Malcolm made the observation I had neglected.

"Where are the others?"

"Hm?"

"The others," he repeated. "The Satyrs said there was a pack here."

On cue, a threatening snarl came from the treeline on the opposite side of the road. In unison, we turned.

"Ah…" I said flatly. "Bollocks."

They were little more than silhouettes at first, but as they neared, their matted fur became discernable. They were like regular Wolves, only much larger, and standing on their hind legs. They advanced slowly, moving with an eerie grace that unnerved me. Their great heads tilted curiously from side to side.

That curiosity died quickly. They noticed the piles of dust behind us, and their eyes seemed to glow even more brightly in the darkness.

"'Wolves don't stray from the pack'," Clarisse drawled. "Yeah, you're a real expert, Kemp."

"Shut up and get in line!" I snapped. "Showtime, people. Get those shields up and stay light on your feet!"

The Lycanthropes probably expected us to be afraid - maybe the others were - and that thought latched onto my mind. I was filled with a kind of spiteful defiance. I stepped ahead of the others, my arms held out wide.

"Well, if it isn't the Kibbles-and-Bits crew!"

The creatures stirred at that, and suddenly, the eyes of five seven-foot man-eaters were on me. I focused my gaze on the one in the centre - the Alpha. He was broader than the others, with grey fur and countless scars running along his torso. His eyes burned the brightest. I pointed my sword at him.

"How's it goin', Fido?"

The Alpha snapped his jaws at me, the claws of his hind legs digging into the ground. Anymore taunting, and he'd pounce.

Remember what I told you about poking the bear?

I lowered my sword and raised my shield. Over the top of it, I looked him dead in the eye.

"Ready to get neutered, big guy?"

That did it. With an angry snarl, the Alpha kicked off, dropping onto all fours as he charged straight ahead towards me.

"He's all yours, Kemp!" Clarisse yelled. That was exactly how I wanted it. Alpha versus Alpha.

I stood my ground, gritting my teeth and bouncing on the balls of my feet, ready to spring aside at the right moment. I could feel the Alpha's heavy footsteps. When he was only a few feet away, I sidestepped. It was perfect timing. The Alpha lunged at that exact moment. I briefly hoped the others had moved out of the way, but thankfully, they were already moving to engage the rest of the pack.

I span to catch the Alpha with his back turned, but he was already rounding on me. He recoiled away from the descending tip of my blade and let out a growling bark.

"What's that, boy? Little Timmy fell down the well?"

He bared his teeth, and so did I. He began to circle me slowly, looking for an angle to attack, but I kept my shield facing him. In the brief pause, I thought back to everything I had read about Lycanthropes in my seven years at Camp Half-Blood. He was bigger, stronger, faster, but he had to have a weakness that I could exploit. Silver would hurt him, but it wouldn't kill him on-contact.

Very quickly, I began to form a plan. His mobility would have to go first.

"Come on," I snarled, "you flea-ridden, ball-licking mutt, come and get me!"

The Alpha charged at me again, this time extending his claws to reach me. I met him in the middle and shifted to the left. He took the bait, twisting his body to slash at my shield. I rolled away to the right. His claw missed me entirely. I swung my sword in a downward arch and slashed at the protruding ligaments behind his knee. The Alpha yelped, its leg buckling.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the others battling fiercely, ducking and weaving around claws and snapping jaws, but failing to get in range to strike. They needed my help. I needed to finish the Alpha quickly.

The wound behind the Alpha's knee seared. There was no blood. The silver must have cauterized the wound as quickly as it had opened it. He slashed wildly. I ducked, got behind him, then slammed my shield into his back. Already off balance, the Alpha fell forward and sprawled onto the ground. He rose quickly, but I was on his back in an instant, my shield abandoned as I held on for dear life, fingers digging into the tough flesh which hid below the thick fur.

"Down boy."

I drove my sword into his side, twisting, then pushing deeper through his ribcage. The Alpha thrashed and writhed, and suddenly it was like I was riding a mechanical bull. I withdrew my sword, then drove it back in, this time higher, through his throat. He evaporated below me in a thick cloud of dust.

The weight beneath me suddenly vanishing, I fell, and landed on something sharp. That sharp something was the edge of my sword. I had sharpened it thoroughly only an hour or so ago. The blade edge sliced into my barely-armoured upper thigh. On top of the obvious pain, I recognised the clammy feeling of blood running where it shouldn't be.

It was an excruciating pain, but I ignored it. There was a battle to win.

A high, blood-curdling howl filled the air, followed by another, and then two more. The remaining four Lycanthropes mourned the death of their Alpha, each of them backing off from my teammates.

"Damn!" Sherman cried, his laughter almost manic, "Good going, Owen!"

He had turned his head to look at me, his shield still raised against his opponent. I saw what was happening before it happened.

"Sherman! Focus-"

The Werewolf before him gave a furious snarl, raised its arm, them swung it down in an arch. Sherman heeded my warning, just in time to be caught by a large, muscular, swinging forearm. He was lifted off his feet and sent soaring, at least twenty feet, across the open ground. And he would have travelled further, had it not been for the quickly-collapsing barn, the wall of which mounted no resistance as he crashed through it.

"No!" Michael forgot his own personal peril; ignored the giant of a beast opposite him, and ran to the barn. He disappeared through the door and into the smoke.

"Team!" I called. "Form up around the door!"

We retreated, our backs to the barn, keeping the Lycanthropes in sight. They followed us cautiously, their fangs bared. Now they were afraid of us. We came together at the door, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in a wall of bronze and silver. They attacked one at a time, lunging forward and clawing without success at our shields. Each time we drove one away, another took his place.

"Michael!" Greta called, her knees almost giving out as one of the monsters slammed directly into her shield.

"Here!" came Michael's muffled voice. "I've got Sherman! He's in a bad way!"

I stabbed over the top of my shield, grazing the side of a massive, furry face, "Get out here, Michael, now!"

"Coming, boss!"

Boss, a little voice in the back of my head said. I like that.

Two attacked us at once. Their combined force drove our heels into the ground, but we stood strong. We pushed them back. I lowered my shield and bared my sword.

"Charge!"

I rushed them. A clawed hand reached out to turn my face into shredded paper, so I cut it off. There was definitely blood that time. A severed artery splashed unusually thick blood across my face. Clarisse drove her spear through the leg of the same Wolf, then backhanded another with her shield. Malcolm and Greta weaved between the other two, their swords a blur in the air as they delivered one shallow cut after another.

Our charge had caught them completely by surprise. Wounded and leaderless, they ran, turning on their heels to make for the same treeline they had used to ambush us.

"That's right!" Clarisse screamed after them. "Run, you leg-lifters, run!"

"Guys, I need your help here!"

Michael emerged through the smoke, dragging Sherman along in his wake. The doorway was blocked no more than a second later by falling debris. Michael fell back, coughing and wheezing. I went to Sherman's side.

His face was blackened and his hair was singed, but he looked okay. He looked up at me, his eyes wide but unfocused, "We won, right?"

"Yeah,' I told him. "Yeah, we won."

"Ah, crap…" Malcolm whined. I looked up at him, then followed his gaze, and my stomach turned.

Our armour protected our chests, backs, forearms and shins, but it didn't protect the lower midriff. That was exactly where a large piece of splintered wood had pierced straight through Sherman's body. Despite the roaring fire next to me, I suddenly felt very cold.

Sherman coughed, and spittles of blood escaped his lips. He grinned up at me, his teeth stained red, "Oops, right?"

"Okay…" I breathed, my mind racing. I continued in a stronger voice. "Okay, Sherman, it's all right. We're getting you out of here."

Clarisse knelt down opposite me and reached for the offending object in his gut.

"No!" I snapped. "Don't touch that until we can control the blood loss."

"He can't move with that lodged in him," she argued.

"Which is why we're going to carry him."

Sherman snorted. Yet more blood escaped him, through his nose this time. His voice was strained, "I'm the heaviest person here."

"And I'm the strongest," I countered. It was true enough, but Sherman did have a point. I could pick him up, but I doubted I could carry him for a mile. He coughed again and groaned in discomfort. I searched for a solution, and my eyes fell upon the barn.

I imagine it must have been quite a sight for the other campers when we returned, dragging a laughing Sherman Yang behind us on a large section of a barn door. They were all crowded around the bonfire, no doubt awaiting our return. Only a few heads turned at first, and then someone shouted, and every pair of eyes in the crowd fell on us. A great cheer of joy erupted amongst them.

The rushed towards us. The others moved to meet them, but I was impaired. Even when supported, Sherman was a heavy boy. The crowd enveloped the rest of the team.

"You should've seen your faces," Sherman giggled, for what felt like the fiftieth time. I allowed myself a grin.

"That was stupid, by the way, taking your eyes off of the enemy like that."

"Eh, it worked out fine."

"You have a chunk of wood sticking out of you."

Sherman waved a hand, "A flea bite, that's all it is."

A few heads in the crowd turned to find me. They grinned, and then they saw Sherman behind me. The cheering died abruptly as they flocked towards us.

"Someone get Chiron," I barked, lowering Sherman's makeshift stretcher to the floor. Several someone's separated from the crowd and ran to the big house. I tried to kneel, but I was exhausted, and gravity took me all the way. Sitting heavily, I looked up at the faces surrounding me, looking for one person in particular.

"Move. 'Scuse me. Sorry," came a familiar, breathless voice. Victoria squeezed through two burly shoulders to the front, her eyes finding me instantly. She looked as exhausted as I felt.

"You're wearing my coat," I observed, the realisation flooding me with warmth.

She frowned, then her hands leapt to my coat - the hem of which reached her knees - and she flushed, "I-I was cold."

"You have your own," I told her, fighting, and failing, to suppress a triumphant smirk.

She pursed her lips, "Whose blood is that?"

I wasn't sure if she was concerned, or trying to change the subject, "What blood?"

"Your face is covered in it."

"Oh…" I remembered severing the Lycanthrope's hand. "Yeah, not mine."

Victoria nodded, her shoulders sagging as she exhaled a sigh of relief, "Good."

"I'm fine too, by the way," Sherman said behind me, "thanks for asking."

Without looking away from Victoria, I reached behind me to slap him on the ear, "No sympathy for idiots who let themselves get backhanded by Lassie."

"That was a big Lassie."

A few people laughed nervously. Chiron's voice reached my ears. He emerged through the crowd in Centaur form. The other campers were very obviously in need of sleep. Chiron, on the other hand, appeared to be wired, his eyes alert.

"Owen," he said, and I detected a hint of relief in his voice, "is Mr. Yang okay?"

Sherman raised a hand, "Just a scratch."

"That looks like much more than a scratch, my boy. I'll have you brought to the Big House."

Travis Stoll stepped forward with his brother, "We'll take him."

I scooted aside as they moved to either end of Sherman. They lifted him together.

"Pleasure working with you," Sherman said to me as he passed. I gave him a nod, then looked back at Victoria. She hadn't taken her eyes off of me. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth and she was anxiously tapping her foot on the ground.

"I assume the mission was successful?" asked Chiron.

I grimaced, "Either they knew we were coming, or we picked the worst time to attack. They ambushed us."

Victoria winced at that. More to reassure her than to answer Chiron, I continued, "We killed the Alpha and two others. Four got away, but they're hurt badly. We won't see them again."

Chiron nodded his head, apparently satisfied, "Well done, Owen."

"It was a team effort," I told him.

Michael Yew interjected, "Yeah, but we can't take credit for the Alpha."

Even Clarisse gave me an approving smile, "He rode the big, hairy idiot like a bull. It was pretty awesome."

I tried a modest shrug, which felt exceedingly unnatural, "I had to get creative. Kinda stabbed myself in the process though."

"Where?" Victoria asked me sharply.

I patted the gash in my thigh and smothered a wince, "It's nothing."

"I'll decide that."

She was by my side in a flash, her small hands prying open the skirt-like leather armour which covered my thighs. A few people looked away with embarrassment on their faces.

I grinned, "So you don't like getting dirt on your hands, but blood is fine?"

"Shut up."

The bite in her voice rendered me mute.

"That's a deep cut," she said. She looked up at me, her eyes flashing angrily, "You promised you'd be careful."

"I was careful," I told her. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

Chiron cleared his throat, "Safety is never guaranteed in combat, Miss Wright. I'm sure Owen took every step in his power to protect himself."

"He rode a Werewolf."

"It was a tactical decision," I said. "Would you rather I stood in front of him?"

Her jaw tightened. She looked back at the wound, then back at me, and I suddenly knew precisely how to handle the situation. Before she could resist or shout again, I pulled Victoria close and wrapped my arms tightly around her. She stiffened in my arms.

"I'm okay," I assured her. "We won, and we all came back alive."

"You're okay?" she said in a small voice against my chest.

I smiled, "I'm okay."

The tension left her and she melted against me, her arms snaking around my waist. Chiron gave me an approving nod and moved away through the crowd, who all followed his example and silently dispersed, heading for their cabins.

Victoria didn't move or speak for several long moments. I would have felt quite ridiculous, sitting in the dirt in the middle of the night, but her slow, steady breaths, and the feeling of her pressed against me dominated my mind and my senses.

"Does it hurt?" she asked me finally.

"Nah," I lied. It did hurt, quite badly. "I'm Owen bloody Kemp. Pain doesn't exist for me."

She sighed against my chest, "You almost cried when you stubbed your toe, big guy."

Her arms tightened around me briefly, before she pulled away. Even with dark bags beneath red eyes, she was beautiful.

"So…" she began slowly, "you've proven you're a big, bad soldier-boy. But when are you going to man up?"

I froze, perplexed, "Uh, what now?"

Unblinking, she tilted her head to one side expectantly, "You know."

I didn't know. And then I thought I knew. Then, finally, a rush of warmth spread through me, and I did know.

Very slowly, still slightly unsure of myself, I framed her face in my hands. Her radiant smile told me I was on the right track.

The world I had lived in for the past seven years was terrifying, but wonderful. There was so much history, so many stories, and so much more to see and learn.

Just for a little while, when I kissed Victoria, all of it went away, and I was glad for it.

XXXXX

I had a hard time writing this one. Action is apparently difficult in first-person. Your feedback is invaluable to me; I love to hear what you enjoyed, and what you didn't, so feel free to let me know!

Cheers!