XVI
Eleven years prior
It began, like many other things, with a death. One death was like one snowflake in a blizzard, quiet, unassuming, but builds up into something so much more; one death was the flutter of a butterfly's wings in the middle of an ocean, casting ripples wide and far across the world. The only difference in every death was how long the ripples take to travel through the sea.
Remus Gray did not consider himself an accomplished man. He would more likely call himself a victim of many tragedies.
It began when he was turned. His family's townhouse stood several miles from the closest civilization, farmland steadily stretching out far and wide behind and around the lonely house before being abruptly cut off by a dark forest with ominously looming trees. He had, as a young curious boy just stepping into the rebellious stage of adolescence, had gone exploring she his parents were looking elsewhere.
He entered the forest, and never emerged again.
The forest floor was padded with pine needles and rotting leaves. Feeble golden rays of sunlight tore through the thick canopy to illuminate patches of dark green and brown. There was no obvious path through the trees, so seldom a human ventured under the gloomy cover of the immensely tall trees. Remus shuddered, half from the damp coldness that soaked into his skin, and partly due to the unnerving feeling of being watched.
That was when his footsteps reached a patch of wet mud and dirt, uncovered by the green foliage, and he noticed something that was neither leaves or twigs, and nearly gave him a heart attack.
It was a footprint, or, more specifically, a paw print.
A great big, circular palm, with three smaller ovals tipped with triangular marks of claws around one end of the circle to form an echo of a monstrosity whose one paw was larger than two of his hands put together, fingers splayed wide.
Then, from not far to his left, there was a snarl interlaced with a growl, he looked up to fid gleaming yellow eyes staring unblinkingly at him, and then the crouch, the tensing, the pounce, the screaming, and the darkness.
πρωίωςτοβράδυ
He didn't know what brought John Collins to the pack, but he was already there before him. They were around the same age, and Remus' first memory of the other young boy was his first turning. The moon was beautiful that night, but it was difficult to enjoy a night of full brightness under the excruciating and ripping pain of a forced transformation and savageness.
He did not remember screaming, only the sensation of air scraping against his throat and ripping past his lips. His ears felt closed and blocked and stuffed with cotton, his own heartbeat pounding against his eardrums. But beneath the rhythmic, desperate pounding, was a steady voice that whispered unimaginable comforts until that voice was marred by growls and tightened with the same pain of transformation.
The first time was the worst, and probably the most memorable. It doesn't get any easier, but one gets used to the pain. Or, at least, that's what John told him; that's what John forced him to believe. When Remus regained his human consciousness, they became fast friends. And for Remus, not just friends: John became a life line – he would have committed suicide otherwise.
Although, sometimes he felt like he should have done that instead.
πρωίωςτοβράδυ
Civilization was a sweet breath of salty air pleasantly polluted by unnatural smells. Remus reveled that day he brought the pack – his pack now, he kept reminding himself – out of the forest into a wonderful, beautiful city that didn't just survive: it lived.
Many others were more wary and cautious, John being one of them. But his friend had seen the open joy on his face and gave him a bright, supportive smile, encouraging this advancement, this step forward, despite his own reluctance, for their beloved pack.
He smiled for him, and hugged a little boy closer to his side, hiding the golden-brown hair – so similar to his own – under one broad hand. Shy, but bright blue eyes peeked up at Remus, who smiled down at him and asked, "Do you know where we are, Sam?"
"No, Uncle Remus," came the timid reply. "Daddy didn't tell me."
"This," Remus spread his arms wide, "is a city. And this is our new home."
No more hiding in caves and hunting whatever they could find.
No more looking human and acting wolf.
Nomore…
πρωίωςτοβράδυ
Civilization was a sweet, fragrant flower that hid poisonous thorns under its beautiful petals.
Remus had picked the flower and pricked his fingers, but had forgotten about the poison.
Until he found the body.
Golden skin bleached sallow white, blue eyes vacant and lifeless; no sign of his murderer except a long, ugly gash that tore open his throat. But there was no blood, save for a trail of dried black trickling from the corner of white lips that no longer breathed or spoke. Drained.
And there was something else too: a smell, alien, invading. Reeking of-
"Daddy!" The boy was too young, but old enough to understand and remember.
John Collins was killed by a vampire, Sam Collins was orphaned at the age of six, and Remus thought that if only he had died and never became the leader of the pack and never allowed them beasts to venture out the forest into a city, his friend would not have been killed.
But what was done was done, and all he could do was swear over a corpse to keep his child safe.
πρωίωςτοβράδυ
Remus was most displeased when he discovered that Sam's new friends were vampires, but the boy's feverish and passionate protests finally convinced him to turn a blind eye.
"Thank you." Sam looked visibly relieved. "Thank you, Uncle Remus," he repeated. "For everything."
So much for protection.
A year later, Sam stopped coming home. Remus sniffed high and low, and found the scent of his friend's son around the Nightwalker vampires' base. And according to the vampire they've captured and tortured, the werewolf had followed a group of Shadowlock vampires into the lair, attempting a fool's rescue of another vampire who was somehow more precious than his own life, was captured while his 'friends' escaped, and had already been executed after being extensively tortured. His remains were burned and scattered in the forest, and to say that Remus was furious was an understatement.
He was livid.
But Remus knew to remain calm, especially in wrath.
The vampire was screaming as he forced the ash spike though skin and muscle to pierce her unmoving heart, but their intense little liquor party had prevented her companions from waking, barely stirring even when she screamed their names over and over again as dead, black blood seeped from her wound, spraying messily around the room whenever the ash spike shifted, and she was weeping as she died.
And he decided to ignore her desperate cries for "Sam, where is Sam? Please-!" because a vampire was a vampire, and they were the poison hidden in the thorn.
πρωίωςτοβράδυ
Ellis and Dreyon were alone. There was no one left with them, and it was just the two of them, with dead bodies and ashes haunting over them. But they knew about the wolves, they knew who they were, and they knew where they were.
And so they went.
Following a fading trail of wilderness scent, they arrived at a large estate home just outside the forest. It looked like any other vacation home, with its white painted walls and blue tiled roof. There was a swing on the porch, and quite a lot of potted plants and flowers on the balconies and windowsills. However, all the curtains were drawn shut, and the overall vibe of the house was lifeless and empty.
But the scent of the murderer did not, and they continued on to knock.
No one answered, but there was the faint vibration of a warning growl laced in the air. The door was unlocked, but the moment they stepped in, Ellis found herself choking up as she took a deep, unnecessary breath, and inhaled Sam's familiar scent. Dreyon's hold on her hand tightened, and she glanced up to find his face as impassive as always, but jaw clenched far too tightly.
"Vampires." A voice trembled through the house, quiet but cold. A man appeared on the top of the spiraling staircase that led down facing the front door, and strode down. He was thin and wiry, with sleek grey hair and dressed casually in a button-down shirt and trousers, but the expression on his face promised no kindness. Seeing them, his eyes glowed a deep golden yellow, and she felt Dreyon tense behind her.
The man smiled, but not kindly as he spread his arms slightly. "What could truly bring you to my humble home?"
"You killed our friend," Ellis said. She clenched her fists. "You murdered her."
"That's only fair." This time, there was a growl laced in his tone, deep and vicious. "You killed my nephew."
"We did not kill Sam," Dreyon spoke. "He was killed by the Nightwalkers-"
"I don't care!" The man's composure cracked, and he roared. Dreyon and Ellis immediately took a step back, briefly stunned. "I don't give a shit about your covens and feuds, but your kind killed my nephew! That's enough for us to declare war on you, and we will!"
This time, his statement was echoed with approval. Ellis glanced around her, and saw more people – no, wolves in human skin – peering from the shadows, eyes glowing with anger.
The man pointed a finger at them, almost contemptuously. "Get rid of them."
The wolves pounced, sprinting across the room at an incredible rate, and they did not show mercy whatsoever. Ellis felt a pair of claws rake down her shoulder, and despite herself, she cried out in pain.
"Wait!" Dreyon yelled, his voice clear across the din of the chamber. "Sam was our friend!"
The hands scrabbling for her paused as everyone turned to see what the man, now clearly the leader of the pack, would do.
"He was," the man said. All of the rage and grief seemed to drain from his voice, replaced with only sadness. "He spoke very highly of you, Dreyon and Ellis."
Ellis felt another pang of guilt rack through her stomach.
The man straightened. "I'm Remus Gray, the alpha of this pack. And only because of Sam's friendship, I will be willing to give you a second chance."
"Thank you," Dreyon whispered.
Remus laughed bitterly. "Don't thank me. Less than a mile away is a forest, our forest. There is an amulet there, which a member of the pack is hiding as I speak. You must find that amulet while being hunted by my entire pack, even the elderly and the youth, and if they catch you, they can and they will kill you. However, you must not harm a single hair on their heads, or I will make sure you die painfully, amulet or none. Only when you return here with your prize to me, I will withdraw my declaration of war and spare your lives. Do you understand?"
Ellis was grateful enough that the enormity and impossibility of the situation hadn't quite crashed down on her just yet, because she managed to nod and mumble some coherent thanks. Then she added, "Do we get a head start?"
Remus grinned, baring his jagged fangs. "No."