Thanks to everyone who reviewed, you guys are absolutely terrific! I'm very sorry it's taken me so long to update, but real life dictated that I take finals. Meh. The next part should be out much faster. I'll try very, very hard, at any rate.
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Derek grunted under the combined weight of the corpses he dragged behind him. Damned Bloods, he thought, kicking a mutilated body out of his path. The tunnels were littered with the remnants of vampire and lycan warriors. There was an arm here, a torso there…and blood everywhere, dripping down brick walls and swirling in viscous puddles.
Let the Bloods rot here. They brought this on themselves. Derek didn't look back; he'd seen the carnage many times during his numerous trips down the tunnel to retrieve his fallen comrades. So many of his pack…just gone. So many…he'd known them for centuries…and he'd never see them again.
A savage kick launched a severed vampire head against the tunnel wall. Derek heard a satisfying plunk as gravity worked its magic, splashing sewage on his thigh. He ignored it, continuing his slow, methodical pace toward the abandoned subway station where the remaining members of the pack awaited.
The physical labor had eased his mind slightly, but it had reopened his many small wounds. Bite marks and deep scratches seeped blood, leaving him with only pleasant, tingling warmth. He'd long ago learned how to force his body to perceive pain in that way, so as not to debilitate him when it mattered, a lesson which had served him well in the last few days.
A lycan a full foot taller than him lunged forward, claws extended. Derek sidestepped smoothly, allowing his opponent to rush past him. But five hundred pounds of pure animal instinct wouldn't be deterred so easily, as his challenger changed course, using his forward momentum to make a dive for Derek's legs. His vision reddened as claws found and tore flesh. "First blood to Remy Garroux," called out Shred, the mediator for the match. Derek recovered quickly from Remy's assault, and viciously counterattacked. Derek's open handed blow caught the other lycan across the stomach, cutting deeply enough to give Derek a glimpse of slimy innards.
Blood flowed freely from their wounds, which would soon cause them to tire. Derek knew he had to finish his rival quickly, lest he lose his ever so slight advantage. In battle, a person's luck could change in less than a second. Even in a traditional battle to establish dominance it wasn't unheard of for there to be fatalities. Death was a very rare occurrence though, as lycans were notoriously quick healers.
Derek growled low in his throat as he gazed up at his opponent from a safe distance. Remy was lager and more muscular than him, but Derek was much faster. In a fight to third blood, sometimes agility and wit won more battles than brute strength. Derek's sides heaved, but he forced himself to concentrate. There! His challenger was favoring his left leg. He must have wrenched it when he dove, thought Derek.
He let his lupine instincts take over as he circled his target. Remy had known too many battles and was too experienced a fighter to let Derek get behind him…which was exactly what Derek had counted on. When the rival lycan shifted his weight to his injured leg, Derek lunged. It was over in less than an eye blink. Derek's jaws sank into the meat of his opponent's shoulder and his claws grazed Remy's back.
"Third blood to Derek Constantine," called Shred. "We have a new leader, proven in combat…unless there are more challengers?"
No one spoke. Derek almost sighed in relief. He had been in nine other matches today before this last one against Remy, and he was ready for it to end. He was ready to sleep for a week, too, but the pack was regarding him expectantly, waiting for him to give them orders, to fill them with purpose. For six hundred years they had fought to bring retribution to the Bloods, seeking revenge on Lucien's behalf. They owed it to him for freeing them, for taking care of them, for leading them. For teaching them to survive on their own, and allowing them to realize that they weren't inferior to anyone.
The deaths of Lucien and the vampire Elder didn't really change anything. The war wasn't over…and the lycans had to be prepared for another attack.
With practiced ease, Derek slipped into his human form. It was like putting on a well-worn set of clothes. It was comfortable, but not as satisfying as being naked, as being the true, primal self. Derek's olive eyes gazed out at the sea of faces around him. He was silent a moment, drawing all attention to him. He prayed for the strength to be a great leader, like Lucien.
"Nothing has changed," he began, projecting his voice so that it echoed in the soul of every lycan present. "We are still hunted, and therefore we must still be ready to meet the vampires in battle. But we will not make it easy for them. They have found our den, so we cannot remain here much longer. But before we leave, we must honor those who have fallen here, who have given their lives to protect the rest of us. There are brothers and sisters we will never see again.
"I'll need volunteers to gather the bodies of our fallen comrades, so that we can lay them to rest."
A few men stepped forward, warriors, for the most part. Men who had watched friends and family die. Derek nodded to each one, then turned and headed in the direction of the tunnels, ignoring the fatigue from the night's challenges. He could rest later. Much later. For now…he had a responsibility to fulfill.