Beacon Hills

April 19th, 1862

The boy and his father looked at the faces of the Hunters, and knew for certain that they were about to die. Barely sixteen winters old, and the boy, Caleb, had already seen his mother pulled apart by their torture-machines. His father Eowin had begun the Wasting…the slow death he was doomed to as his inner wolf struggled to follow his beloved wife Elana into the other world, where they would attend the Great Alpha for eternity.

"This is against the Treaty. My son is only a boy, and neither of us have killed except in self-defense."

"Treaty? I know of no treaty. I seem to remember Tristan Argent speaking of one, but I don't see him anywhere. Just two rabid wolves, begging to be put down. Looks like my men can track just as well as you dogs!" snarled the leader of the assembled men (all utterly loyal to him), a man with an eye-patch visible just under the brim of his black fedora. "I survived my own death…" he continued, pulling at his shirt collar to expose an old and weathered rope-scar. "…yet I doubt you will survive yours. Are you ready to face Judgment?"

"Judgment? Our god is the Beast, who does not judge… except to decide who is prey and who is not. We are all of us welcomed into his fold…the Great Pack…when we are killed. You know werewolves well, mighty Hunter," Eowin spoke this term in a tone of sheerest contempt. "but you know nothing about true wolves. Wolves only kill to survive, and to protect their Packs...it is only Man who kills for sport or pleasure. Or revenge."

The one-eyed Hunter shouldered his rifle and slid off his horse, approaching the pair of werewolves who lay shackled and bloodied on the ground.

"Are you saying that no werewolf ever killed…ever maimed… just for the joy of it?" The good eye blazed in its socket. Unconsciously, the man put his hand up to the eyepatch, stroking it gently.

"Werewolves…are part human. Some let that part pervert the purity of the beast. It is the man-part that pollutes us…that makes us give in to temptation. It is not the wolf that we struggle with…but the human desires that are given teeth and claws." The man's eyes smoldered. With one finger of his chained hand, he scratched a spiral symbol into the dirt. It began to glow a fitful red.

The Hunter laughed. "Then tell me…are you struggling with it now?"

Eowin shook his head. "No. This one time, we are united in purpose."

"Purpose? What purpose could a bound wolf possibly have?" So saying, he brought up his weapon, and aimed it directly at Eowin's heart. This was one of their specially crafted bullets, made with all things toxic to werewolves by a master craftsman by the name of Samuel Colt. Colt had died earlier that year in bitter regret over the weapons he had created.

The expression on the face of the older werewolf went from defeated to bestial in less than a second. "You will learn that to your everlasting sorrow, fool! We can endure a thousand years in the strongest chains! But like the Great Alpha himself, WE WILL ALWAYS BREAK FREE!"

And with a strength that should have been impossible for him to possess having suffered the ravages of the Wasting, Eowin burst the shackles binding him to the boy and leapt at the Hunter, his shape twisting into a ravaged looking (but still quite deadly) Alpha.

The Hunter fired his weapon, realizing too late that this had been the older werewolf's plan. As the body fell to the ground, Alpha strength now flooded into the boy. His father had given him both freedom and power in one tremendous act of sacrifice. Caleb was already fleeing, his speed now greater than even the fastest of their horses as he dropped into a four-legged lope.

"And I will be here…to hunt every last one of you down!" the Hunter muttered softly to himself as his gaze tracked the young new Alpha. "I'll always be here…"

From the single functioning eye, a tear tracked a slow path down his dusty cheek.

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Whittemore Manor

The Present…the Calm before the Storm

Jackson finished tucking Dylan into bed, and they watched Dylan's favorite Power Rangers DVD before the boy inevitably fell asleep. On the screen, Rita Repulsa (Inter-Galactic Witch) was just tossing her magic staff from the moon all the way down to Earth. As it lodged into the ground it began shooting bolts of mystic force in all directions, causing the earth nearby to collapse into a yawning chasm.

"Magic Staff, make my monster GROW!" she screeched. The monster, some insectoid type of creature, promptly did just that. As it swelled to enormous size, the Power Rangers scrambled around in their ridiculous looking costumes, brandishing fake-looking weaponry and calling their Dino-Zords to kick the bug-thing's ass…if it had an ass. The program bored the hell out of Jackson, especially since every episode plot-line was exactly the same except for the type of monster Rita employed. It was all worth it, however, to see that look of childlike wonder on Dylan's face…Dylan, who'd been given the childhood Jackson always dreamed about. No mystery in his life where he came from, and no mystery about who he would become either. There was no question the boy would ever have that Jackson would fail to answer. So of course, he displayed a perverse lack of curiosity about his family, except of course for the werewolf stuff. As long as Dylan had his Power Rangers, his Thundercats, his He-Man and his (bizarrely) Sponge Bob, all was right in his world. Hell, he would even watch She-Ra in a pinch with Christine when she insisted.

Relaxing in the chair next to his son's bed, Jackson fell quickly asleep. A distorted dream played through his mind, perhaps inspired by the insipid program.

In the dream, a lunar eclipse overhead caused the ground he was standing on to shake. Nearby, Derek, Erik and Robin stood facing each other in a triangular formation. They were all shirtless, and the two boys had tattoos on their backs roughly the size of Derek's triskelion; Erik's represented the full moon with crescents on either side, while Robin bore a stylized image of the sun. They were on a large island of black rock in the center of a misty lake. Jackson had never seen the place in the waking world, but he had the distinct sense that he had dreamed of being here many times.

As the ground continued to shake underfoot, Jackson realized with horror that there was a monster trapped in the earth that was struggling to break free. Flames shot up from the ground at the feet of the three, tracing tight spirals around each of them. As the three miniature spirals widened, the three flames met in the middle and the earth cracked open with a loud explosion. The crack raced outward, tracing an enormous spiral design from which a hellish red light emerged. This new spiral was huge, and Jackson had to leap out of the way as the ground opened under his feet. Gradually, the sound of a triumphant growling howl came from the earth. As the spiral chasm reached the full width of the small island, it became unstable. Sections rose or sank as the pieces fell away from each other. Out of the center of the island, an enormous paw broke through the collapsing crust and slammed it's massive talons into the earth to the sound of a sonic boom. The size of that paw made Jackson's blood turn to ice-water. If that single paw was so huge, the size of its body would have to be…

Jackson turned to run, and as is the way of dreams he tripped and fell as his lupine reflexes seemed to abandon him. It was too late to run, so Jackson could only cover his eyes and hope that he would die before seeing the enormous eyes of the monster, the enormous ears…and the enormous teeth. It was free, he could tell from the way the ground shook. The hot wind of its breath made Jackson scream as he flailed backwards to escape the inevitable…

"Dad!" A small voice screamed at him. Jackson awoke roaring in full Beta phase, hyperventilating and struggling to get his bearings. Dylan was standing by the door to his room, looking ready to bolt. Jackson rarely phased in front of the boy, and Dylan had never seen him in such a state of arousal. For the first time, Dylan felt a small twinge of fear of the wolves that lived within his family…and the one that slept somewhere inside him. The twelve year old shook his head. Christine would clobber him if he told her. He had no reason to be afraid, ever. Bravely, Dylan approached his father and laid his small hand on top of his Dad's (mindful of the sharp claws).

Lydia burst into the room, panicked at the sounds and smells of fear and rage coming from her husband.

"Dylan, step away from Daddy. Come to Mommy right now honey!" she called, trying not to let her panic show in her voice.

"It's just Daddy! He won't hurt me, Mommy!" Dylan insisted. Then he jumped backwards as his father suddenly shot to his feet. Dylan ran and hid behind his mother.

"Jacks, what's wrong? Did you have a bad dream?" she asked.

"The word 'nightmare'…just doesn't do it justice. Dylan, I am never watching another Power Rangers DVD as long as I live." His son chuckled, relieved his father was okay.

Lydia's eyes lost their 'concerned' look, and she rolled them impatiently at her husband as she irritably shooed Dylan back to bed.

"I'd give you some sarcastic comment if I hadn't had a 'Barney' nightmare when Dylan was three. Stick to Sponge Bob from now on."

She wrapped her arms around Jackson's neck and pulled him into a tight embrace, unnerved by the still rapid beating of his heart audible to her sensitive ears.

"Come to bed. We're all wound up, and having to spend the next few days training our parents to be halfway decent Betas will not be easy. I still can't believe that's not a dream." She shook her head ruefully. "Once I didn't believe in werewolves; now…it's just part of the scenery."

Jackson chuckled, and he shifted back as he clung to his goddess of a wife, supremely confident in her ability to make bad things go away. "Beacon Hills, Werewolf Capital of the World!"

"I wouldn't ever want to live anyplace else…which is why we are going to destroy any damned Hunters that try to take this away from us. Come on, come to bed."

Lydia and Jackson kissed Dylan in turn and tucked him in. Jackson put the sleep timer on the television and followed his wife to their room.

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The McCall McMansion

Vivian Argent craned her swanlike neck, turning her face full into the spray of the shower. The stinging spray took her mind off of what was going on beneath her skin after Derek bit them this morning, a phenomenon she once thought she would die rather than let it happen. The wolf that she had pursued and hunted almost to extinction with her family was now on the inside, racing through her veins. Vivian knew, despite that the ex-Sheriff had survived his turning, there was no guarantee Vivian herself would. It would almost be poetic justice for the wolf to destroy her from within, as it had never been able to do from without. She had already placed her and Chris' affairs in order in case the worst happened. They had even made peace with the idea, as if it would be an atonement accepted by whatever power ruled over these matters. The more worrying concern would be if she survived the re-making, to have that other within her, its needs blending with her own. After all, she already had a killer instinct. She would just have new weapons to express it with. She doubted they would need any of this 'training' that the Martins and the Whittemores would be going through. Vivian and Chris knew tricks the werewolves likely never heard of.

She heard Chris enter the bedroom, and smelled the sharp odor of Scotch…in itself a sign that that Derek's…bite…was doing its work. Chris had never had more than two or three drinks in any week; in the past few hours, he had put away nearly three bottles, not to mention whatever he drank at the local tavern.

"Ha…no effect…" she heard him mutter clearly. It was changing him too, rather than killing him then. The thought that only one of them might survive had not crossed her mind until this moment, they were so sure their fates were intertwined…just like the damn wolves.

Wait, scratch that. She was a damned wolf now. 'Scratch that' held an entirely new meaning…

She shut the shower off and wrapped herself in her thick white robe. The mirror was fogged from the steam, and her blurry reflection seemed younger somehow. The face of the young woman she used to be stared back at her, free of the lines the Hunter life etched deeply into it. She smiled then, her vanity was still intact after all. Sighing, she wiped the mirror with her hand and stared again.

The reflection was still the same. Her face had changed.

Vivian opened the door and beheld her husband. He was unshaven, and his hair was unkempt, the only signs of the toll this was surely taking on him. But he too looked younger than ever; like a young college professor or even a high school teacher in the first year of his career.

"You look…" they both said at the same time. Then his gaze sharpened with a look she knew all too well, but hadn't seen in a number of years. Responding to his obvious need, she let the robe fall to the floor. A low growl of pleasure escaped his throat, and his eyes took on a dim and subtle glow. He pulled his shirt over his head and wrapped his arms around her tightly, kissing her with savage passion. She leapt for him, and they fell onto the bed, where he mounted her with brutal ferocity.

"You know," he grunted. "I think I can get used to this." Then the power of speech was taken from him.

Upstairs and on the other side of the house, Scott and Allison McCall looked at each other in horror as they heard (in exquisite detail) the rekindling of the elder Argent's sex life. They reached into their respective end tables and brought out heavy duty ear plugs to minimize the number of years they would be spending in therapy. Thank goodness Christine could sleep through an earthquake…since there seemed to be one going on in the guest bedroom. Melissa was out dancing with Steven, of all things. Since both of their spouses had died of illness, it was entirely possible that they would become mates…if they haven't already.

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The Kean-Turner Home

Danny bid his mother good night, shutting the door to the guest bedroom and hoping against hope that she would live through her turning bite and not leave him an orphan. From what Derek told him, the chances were very good since members of the same family shared the potential to become a werewolf in their hereditary DNA. If Danny had lived through it, then his mother likely would too. The only real worry was for Jackson's parents, since he was adopted…but they had begun showing positive signs already. Derek's Pack was going to be one huge inter-connected family. The thought made him smile, regardless of the dreadful need that caused it. He walked down the hall and checked on Robin. Ted was with him, engaged in their shared (and incomprehensible, to Danny anyway) passion for chess.

They played on a hand-crafted set made by Ted; the pieces resembled werewolves on one side and Hunters on the other, painted gold and silver respectively. The board that would go with the pieces was still a work in progress, so they were using a cheap store bought one for now.

"Check. And that's a double check, counting the discovered one here. Your only option is to move your king to this square, where you will be checkmated on my next turn. If you like, I can make the move for you so as not to waste time." Robin tried to keep the smugness out of his voice and utterly failed.

"I bet Erik's been coaching you." Ted responded miserably, flicking the King Hunter over with a finger.

"Erik would have flattened you about twenty turns ago, right after that move where you hung your Queen. I spotted it too late." Robin replied absently. He fussily replaced the pieces in their starting positions and returned the board to his desk. "Nothing makes me sleepier than 'Giuoco Piano'. You have to learn to develop your pawns quicker, Dad."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Ted said irritably. He got up and stalked to the door, his annoyance making him forget the customary good night hug he usually gave Robin. The teenager promptly got an alarmed look on his face.

"Wait, Dad! I'm sorry! Please don't be mad at me!" Robin ran and hugged a startled Ted. The boy's heart was pounding fiercely, almost enough to cause a shift.

"Robin, I'm not mad at you, just a sore loser, that's all!" Ted hugged him back tightly while he exchanged an alarmed and guilty look with Danny. Robin's body was shaking, and tears were flowing down his face. Ted felt panic welling up in him.

"Robin! Hey! Listen to me, there is nothing you can do that will make me stop loving you! C'mon, guy! It was just a game!"

With a few shuddering breaths, Robin got himself under control. His face burned with embarrassment, but he couldn't help himself. Even after all this time, he was waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under him; to suddenly lose this miracle of a family life he now knew he could never live without.

"S-sorry. I uh, still overreact sometimes." He stammered. Ted got teary eyed himself as the guilt settled in deeper. He had a pretty rough upbringing himself, but he had to remember constantly that it had been so much worse for Robin, and that these reactions were natural.

Ted walked Robin over to the bed and tucked him in, and Danny made sure to hug him and tousle his hair. The physical affection that they had to keep themselves from those first few weeks was now necessary to reassure Robin they did and always would love him. Though Robin was sixteen, he seemed to be going through his childhood again to make up for what he missed the first time around. His parents indulged him, and Robin's therapist assured them this was natural and that he would stabilize in time.

The therapist, a fellow by the name of John Sands, had been recommended to them by social services and had so far proved invaluable not only in helping Robin deal with his past but in educating Ted and Danny about what to expect. He had confessed privately to the new parents after the first session that Robin's story had caused him to break down into tears for the first and only time in his career. They never missed their weekly individual and family appointments.

As Danny and Ted retired to their bedroom, Ted sat on the edge of their bed and faced away from his mate, staring at the wall.

"Ted," Danny began.

"I'm an insensitive, uncaring jerk with his head up his ass and no right to be a parent." Ted said lifelessly.

"Ted." Danny's voice was flat. He hated when his mate did this to himself.

"That look on his face, when I walked away from him in a huff over a stupid chess game…"

"TED!" Danny snapped.

Ted jerked around to look at Danny, then sighed.

"I know. I'm projecting my parent issues on him. John's helping me get a handle on that."

"Not as fast as I would like! Ted, if you were insensitive, you wouldn't be in the pain I know you must be feeling right now. But don't you get it? It's because he loves you so much that he's so terrified of losing you! Don't get me wrong, I know he loves me too…but you two hit it right off. You understand him in ways that I don't, and he knows it. You are NOT going to hurt him the way your family hurt you."

"You can't be sure of that. No one can, least of all me." Ted rubbed his eyes vigorously.

"Yes I can. This whole experience has made me love you more than I thought possible. I've seen sides of you that…oh, nevermind."

"No…go on. I need some ego boosting right now. Tell me what a great guy I am." Ted was grinning now, his handsome face losing that haggard guilt-ridden expression that broke Danny's heart on the occasions he began to doubt his parenting skill.

"I'm not good with words. How about I show you instead?" And he proceeded to do just that.

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Hale House

Erik lay in bed and clutched a picture that was one of his most prized possessions. It was taken the day of the pool party at Robin's home; just the two boys standing there with their arms around each other's shoulders and grinning into the camera. That feeling of rightness, of a perfect fit washed over him again, bringing a stinging heat to his eyes. The feeling he got whenever he looked at his own parents, the feeling that there were two people who were meant for each other…he now felt that for Robin.

And there was a war coming. Wars brought separation, tragedy and despair. And death.

It wouldn't happen. It better not happen. Not to Robin, not to his family, not to anyone. He would see to it.

"Mine." He muttered. And he meant it. The Alpha within him growled deeply at the thought, and somewhere (in a forest that was not strictly on Earth), a legion of wolves picked up the growl. He felt them out there, somewhere in the night, echoing his concern and latent rage in a frightening chorus. Erik heard them as if they were somewhere above him, and he trapped underground. As sleep took him, he struggled in his blankets and experienced a curious sense of being constricted…confined. He growled louder, and the wolves with him. He grew angry then, and with an impossible strength tore his thick blanket in two.

"Free…I'm free…" he thought dreamily. Free to deliver something his powerful enemies had richly deserved for millennia.

Vengeance.