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Adventures In Living With The Mythical |
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A military veteran is adopted by a werewolf and brought into his pack. Insanity ensues. About "Life With A Werewolf" Life with a werewolf is a dramatic blog. As such the characters in this blog are not real but maybe loosely based on real people. The situations represented are not real but maybe loosely based on real things that have happened in my life. There are a multitude of ways to view life, this is simply one of the ways I have chosen to view mine. Updated Every Friday unless I can't or don't want to. If this is your first time reading this...start here: https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/1040400-Welcome-To-The-Pack The first year is available as a compilation in print and on Amazon Kindle: https://a.co/d/gBLLL7E The first year is currently available on audible: https://www.audible.com/pd/B0G3SMJGFN/?source_code=AUDFPWS0223189MWT-BK-ACX0-482... My book, "Dreamers of The Sea" is available now on Amazon: https://a.co/d/0uz7xa3 |
| Hey everyone, it's Crash. You may be wondering what I had been up to while Jason was getting himself blown up. Well, my night can be summed up in one word: sucked. After Alexandre made his introductions, I shifted faster than normal and slipped into the tree line next to our home. Normally, I try to wait until nightfall before I go into the woods to do my work. But with Alexandre's introduction, the supposed claim on my house, and the threat of the Nobility infiltrating my county, I didn't have much of a choice. My "replacements" weren't exactly being quiet about the job they were doing. They started with "requests for move" which is technically what they say they're supposed to do. For "peace and tranquility of the human herd, blah, blah, blah." Those "requests for move" quickly became threats, which started turning violent. I wasn't fast enough to stop two deaths. Head's left piked in front lawns of wolves who told the Nobility to get fucked. The pikes when I came by them were dripping with blood, sometimes with people half transformed before their heads were violently removed from their bodies. The only thing left in their wake is widows and loved ones holding a headless corpse and crying. There was nothing I wanted more than to stop by, comfort those threatened and assure them that everything was being done to protect them. To help and reassure those who had lost someone. But if I'd done that, I would have never caught up to the bastards wreaking havoc. And the best thing I could have done for those who had been threatened, those who had been killed, was to give them the pint of blood they were due. Those bastards were smart, I'll give them that. One guy had followed a creek, the other a forgotten highway that is little used with anything faster than a tractor. A third was cutting through the woods itself. The plan was to zigzag through most of the major communities, it seemed, and spread as much terror and horror through the towns as possible. They were going to meet in the center, a place where, if you didn't know the Nobility all that well, you'd assume was the perfect spot to attack them. But my time with the Rodriguez clan had taught me a few things. Namely that the Nobility doesn't have a problem with having someone at their meeting spot in human form spraying silver bullets down on anyone who wasn't Nobility. No, the smart play for them is to catch up to them before they met up. Or at least I figured it would be. Pick them off before they met up, then maybe help the police deal with the mystery fourth person whoever they may be. I had been tracking the one moving through the creek since he was the closest to me. It hadn't taken much. Like I said before, they weren't being subtle, and the trail of destruction was like they had wanted to be found. But, I was far too angry to notice such obvious clues at that point. All I had known was I was pissed, and he was within eye sight. The wolf was mostly gray. He had black fur flecks in his ears. He definitely smelled Nobility as well. One thing the Nobility does, is they scent mark themselves with expensive flowers, whatever flowers might happen to be in season for the time. It is like a uniform of sorts for them. Stands out to us werewolves, but your kind would never notice it. Since he was more or less following the creek, I figured I'd be smart. I cut through the woods, and rounded to a lamp post that I knew was on the edge of the creek near the edge of a town. It was going to be easy. I leap out from the shadows, and drag him back into them. Then the Nobility is down one werewolf and I only have two left. Or so I thought. Shows how little even I know at times. I'll give the Nobility one thing. They certainly played me for a fool. I waited in the shadows. When he came close, I leapt out at him. The wolf didn't see me coming. But, I was so concentrated on the wolf that was killing and harassing our citizens, I wasn't paying attention to the one stalking me. With fury and vengeance I leapt, fire in my eyes, drool dripping off my fangs. I'd love to say I gave some bad ass line when I did. Growled a threat that was equivalent to Bruce Campbell smirking "come get some" in Army of Darkness. But, in truth, all I did was growl. As low and vicious as I could make it. There was a brief touch of my claws against fur. Then I caught a glimpse of movement in my peripheral. I looked up and saw a silvery brownish wall of fur coming straight at me. All I could do was twist into it. The form hit me hard, knocking the wind out of me and slamming me into the ground. I lifted my knee into him, but was rewarded with the first werewolf slashing at my face. It definitely was a pup. Any old wolf knows you don't play around like you're a monster in a cheesy scary movie. Go for the throat as quick as you can. Otherwise, you could end up regretting it. I slashed quickly, taking out the Achilles heel on the young pup's left foot. What can I say, some lessons are painful. It yelped and stumbled backwards, almost falling over. This was while dodging the one on top. He was snarling and snapping at my throat as quick as it could. I dodged and snapped back, getting nowhere. It wouldn't be long before the young pup would be back in the fight. Werewolves heal quick, after all. He snapped, I dodged to the left. He snapped, I dodged to the right. He tried to follow with his muzzle, and I grabbed his ear with my claws and began tearing. The ripping flesh made the wolf yelp then whine in pain, rearing back enough for me to kick him off. He climbed to his feet as quick as he could. It was a stare off with two werewolves, one at my right and one at my left. The sun had just started setting. We weren't exactly in the middle of nowhere. A few houses were scattered along the stretch of road we were on, with mostly green grass and trees to witness our particular corner. But we weren't completely obscure. If I had the ability to stop and observe the homes, one a nice cottage, another a double-wide trailer, I'd be able to see the glint of dying sunlight coming off their windows. I had to get this fight in private, and fast. One came in with his claws, another with teeth. I slashed and dodged, then kicked off one and spun in mid-air only to be tackled by the young werewolf and bitten on the shoulder. I cried out and slashed into his pelt. He jumped to his feet before I could do any real damage. I was panting. The bastard was grinning and wagging his tail. Damned arrogant young werewolves and their speed. The larger one slashed at me, I ducked and was struck by the younger werewolf again. He was on my back, holding me, claws digging into my flesh as I tried to dodge. It was looking grim. His claws dug into my chest and shoulder on one side, my hip on the other. He was grabbing on with his teeth and holding my other shoulder, trying to work towards my jugular. The other werewolf slashed, and snarled, hitting my gut, my legs. It cut through my natural pain tolerance and was beginning to hurt. Soon, it became too much. I fell to my knees. Looking up at the werewolf standing above me, he smirked in that way we werewolves do, in our ears and not with our mouths. "Not as tough as they claimed." He reared back. I glared up at him. Then a brown blur slammed into him, knocking him off his feet. The young pup looked up at the wrong time. While the other werewolf was getting up, my boss grabbed the younger werewolf and ended him quickly, tossing his body onto the street. The other werewolf looked at us both and dove for the woods. I gasped and nodded my thanks to my boss, then prepared to go after him. I was still bleeding, but most of my wounds were healing and before I caught up to him, I'd have been as close to one hundred percent as a werewolf could get. The explosion didn't sound like a loud boom where we were standing. It was a duller thump. Like someone two houses away hit the bass drum as hard as they could once. Me and boss both looked at each other, panic in our ears and on our muzzles. "Office" was all we said to each other. We raced towards the building that we both had jokingly called 'home' at one point or another. We had been there so much. There was so many friends who worked there. Many who had never taken another life. Just because they were a werewolf, didn't automatically make them a killer. There was one in our office who was a strict vegetarian cause they didn't like the thought of eating something that lived and breathed. Now that person may have been dead. As well as Jason. I ran harder. It was all I could do. I was not prepared for the carnage that would await me or for the rest of the horror, but I knew one thing, Alexandre was going to pay. |
| The picnic basket sat in the back seat, jostling around as I drove into work. Normally, I don't drive into work in the evening. Boss likes to keep me working the normal day shift, preferably afternoons. After all, it's when they get the most calls from humans. Who better to talk to a human than another human? It's also how they can keep me on part time. Besides, most of the excitement is at night, and in general, they like to keep the human away from that. Not because I can't handle it. But because, I suspect, they think I'll be too likely to jump in and assist. After the threat we'd gotten from the royal inbred, I figured they'd need me that evening. Besides, I still had to inform boss that we were going to be at war. Which turned out to be a useless gesture. From the state of the office, he already knew. And had a good idea who the war was against. When I'd gotten there, all hell had not quite broken loose. Not yet. But it had sawed through the bars and was lowering the makeshift rope out the side window of it's jail cell. The phone was ringing off the hook. Boss had shifted in office and was in full werebear mode. I brought the picnic basket in to his office, and began to explain. "It's what's left of..." "Put it in the back," he snarled, cutting me off. "We'll contact his family tomorrow. Crash has already been in one fight, and I got to go assist before he gets himself killed." I set the picnic basket on the table in the break room, not knowing what else to do with it. After all, we didn't exactly have a morgue attached to our building or anything. And there wasn't much of a risk of anyone looking inside it. No one was going to get time to eat that night. In hindsight, I suppose I should had felt something off. All I knew was that it had some heft to it. There was so much going on at the time, that I didn't have a lot of time to diagnose where that heft was coming from. If I had, I'd have noticed how the weight felt weird. Perhaps I'd have taken a different action than setting it on a table at the rear of the building. Instead, I sat down at a cubicle and began fielding some of the saddest calls I'd received in my short time on the job. There was three werewolves alright. They were tearing a line of destruction through the county. They had started with idle threats. Explaining that they were the new law in town, and that every mythical had to either get with the program, leave, or die. Some of the ones who refused were already being made examples of. Werewolves got special treatment. Either pledge allegiance to the Nobility or suffer the consequences. I wasn't certain to the condition of Crash. He can't exactly carry a cell phone in that condition. After all, where would he put it? He also wouldn't be able to answer it if he did. We had our own system, but I'd have to wait for Crash to do a check in. Since boss was already on his way to him, that meant Crash had just checked in. So, his next check could be anywhere from two hours away to sunrise. Thinking on that lead me to another line of thought between calls. The trail of destruction from the three impostors was going to run foul of the police sooner or later. That would turn bloody most likely, due to the trio not recognizing the authority of the police. Even Crash and the office recognized their authority over certain aspects. They only intervened when it was obvious the law would die if they tried investigating. If the police were murdered by werewolves working for the county, wouldn't that cause those in power to want answers? To desire a change in leadership, or at least a change of affiliation? How much political pressure would it take after that to force a change? Wars are won on two fronts after all: logistically and politically. Crash and the rest of us would suddenly start talking about how nice Mexico sounded about this time of year if things went that way. And they certainly could. It was a political power play with the added benefit of bloodshed and payback for the Nobility. They could in the end pin the entire thing on me, and say that I wanted the war in the first place. After all, less than an hour prior I had called his entire lineage inbred half a dozen different times in the span of thirty seconds. Boss was already out the door. Crash was on patrol. Things were getting more hectic out there. In our office there was three other individuals working that night. Every one of them had asked not to be included in the blog when I was hired. I've respected their wishes up until now, and won't violate them after everything that had occurred. I've been told that things aren't my fault. I don't have the equipment for indepth detection like boss or Crash. They had taken measures to avoid detection, and besides, it's not like silver has a strong scent. Sometimes, you just get tricked. I'd been tricked. But tricked or no, you just don't get over making a mistake that big. At that moment in time, I was more focused on the trail of destruction the three werewolves were causing. It wasn't accidental or chosen at random. There was a deliberate trail being drawn through, one that had been picked out weeks ago. Noticing the trend, I asked the others to hold the phones for a bit while I grabbed the map to start tracking these calls and see where they were going. It took me about four minutes to find the cork board. Luckily it already had a map tacked onto it. Apparently the boards sole mission was to hold that map, something it had done skillfully for many years. Tracking the destruction was easy. One trail followed a creek in the south, where a family was threatened. A werewolf who vowed to die rather than join was killed and his head impaled on a stick in the front yard. An old punishment from the Nobility's reign of terror in Europe. Then it traveled north. Another came in from the northeast and was traveling south. A family of vampires had been threatened. Vampires believe in the long game when it came to such wars and simply agreed to move for now. Then they called us. If we didn't act, I'm certain there would be revenge within twenty to forty years, and it would be brutal and difficult to deal with. After them was a minotaur couple who was told to move or become hamburger. Then one very familiar hulderfolk family was attacked. The trail of destruction traveled southeast and crossing into every major community they could. They weren't being silent about things. They were threatening families in communities in the evening light, no less. The sun had barely crossed the horizon when I'd came in. Which gave credence to my theory. They wanted everyone to know. They wanted the uproar, the chaos. Regular people rightfully scared not understanding what a werewolf or a mythical was would start trying to defend their families believing monsters had come to life. The mythicals would start defending themselves and... It would become Doveland 2.0. The Nobility could sweep in and take over. Not only the werewolf community, but politically, socially, every facet of society almost. It was brilliant. It was destructive. It was horrifying. "Everyone shut up for a moment," I shouted, walking over to the board. The board had been pushed towards the front near the door where everyone could see it. The three individuals all reluctantly hung up their phones and stood. They looked at me impatiently. "I think I know what they're doing," I began. Boom! The explosion ripped through the office from the break room. The bomb planted in the picnic basket had went undetected. All I knew was I was going to talk. Then there was an explosion. And then there was darkness. |
| Some people don't hesitate to give you the right impression. From the way they talk, the way they move, how they take their sunglasses off, even to the pretentious vehicle they're driven around in, they do everything they can to make sure you hate them. Verner Behring's replacement certainly did just that. We did dislike him before he even spoke to us, but he really did give us a lot of reasons to hate him. It was in the evening when the car rolled to a stop in the middle of the street. It stopped in front of our house, blocking traffic that could come from both ways when it did stop. As if he owned the entire road and the county that the road rested in. By the time his driver got out and walked around the vehicle to let out his passenger, me and Crash were standing on our front porch watching him. The SUV stood out sharply in a community like ours. It was of European make, a luxury brand that I didn't immediately recognize. Something with a stylized animal in the logo and at least six zeros in the price. Six shades of purple was in the paint job, and also deep burgundy red that I'm certain was chosen cause it reminded him of blood. It was the type of paint job where all the colors had been flaked and faded into each other, so it appeared different depending on the angle you viewed it from. The driver was wearing an actual chauffeurs hat. You don't see too many of those in the Midwest, especially in small towns. The man raced to the rear door and pulled it open. The door was what they called a suicide door and opened opposite of the direction of the front. Then he stepped out. The driver took his sunglasses, and quickly closed the door after the man, then raced to sit back in the car, almost as if he knew the person walking up to us didn't wish to see him. I swear he was moving as if his life depended upon it. And from the way the man who approached the house acted, it may very well have. He was carrying a large picnic basket, one that set Crash's nerves on edge. I looked up to Crash. "Don't tell me to be nice." Crash growled, then patted me on the shoulder. A quiet signal that I didn't have to be. Not this time. His buttoned down coat wouldn't have looked out of place in a palace. The man was wearing a blood red ascot. It somehow made him look more pretentious and dangerous all at the same time. I could see from his shoes that each one was worth a thousand dollars or more. It wouldn't have surprised me in the slightest if he had been the type of person who didn't wash underwear, but wore them once and tossed them away afterwards. When he approached, he began to speak with a thick French accent. The curl in his lip said he hated everything about where he was and what he was looking at. It kind of made me proud in a strange way. Cause if my very existence can piss off the likes of him, then I'm doing something right. "I suppose I'm talking to the gentlemen of the house, in a manner of speaking," he said. "I own the house," Crash said. "Ah, yes, well not anymore. I am Alexandre Heroux, and I am replacing your kind. I've heard of you, and of your 'friend'. To ensure a smooth transition to our power, we now own the bank that holds your mortgage. You have exactly thirty days to offer resignation to your position and to vacate the premises." Crash growled and was about to step down. He was preparing to shift anyway, and had already grown a part of a fur coat before I stepped in front of him. "You asking us for a picnic, cause I didn't get a chance to pick up the fancy wine," I said. He turned his head and snorted in disgust. "Yes, Jason Forte. The soldier. Everyone's favorite drinking buddy. I've heard of you, and your vulgarity." "Buddy," I smiled at him and threw my arms out as wide and welcoming as possible. "You have me at a disadvantage. You seem to believe that we were prepared to give a fuck. But you see, we gave our last one out this morning. We're fresh out of fucks to give right now." I snarled and pulled my pistol as quick as I could. He raised his eyes in surprise. I then pointed at the basket with the barrel. "Open it. Slowly." He gave me a growl, that, a few years ago would have taken me aback. "I see they got your reputation for vulgarity and stupidity accurate. Neither of you understand your betters. It's okay, I don't hold it against you. You are American, after all." With that, he lifted the lid of the basket. When someone dies, their muscles relax. All of them. It can be very difficult for loved ones to even identify their own children in such circumstances. That's part of the reason police departments tend to depend on things like DNA and dental records to identify the deceased, and not family members or loved ones. Still, I recognized the werewolf's head when I saw it. "Huh. Guillotined." It was all I could think to say. "Yes," he said. "He went out like the soldier he was. His bloodline still retains it's honor. He dishonored you in some small capacity of his position. This head is an apology for that." It was my turn to growl. Before I could say anything, Crash jumped in. "Friend, you misunderstand us. Your pet is going to shit on the curb, and I know you're not the kind of person to pick it up. So, I suggest you go." There was a glare in Crash's eye. One I recognized. There was going to be a fight soon if the idiot didn't leave. I wasn't certain I didn't want it. The interloper just took a deep breath, looking like a teacher who was dealing with a petulant child. "This is a peace offering in the hopes of a smooth transition of power. You do not want to go to war with us, mongrel. You had your fun, but the treaty has been broken. Pack up your things. Leave. You should start tonight. I will have three werewolves doing your job for you by sundown in this backwater inbred county." I began to laugh. He glared at me as if wondering what was so funny. "I know European royalty isn't trying to call us inbred. Aren't you the ones with the motto 'the closer the kin, the deeper in?' What was it you wanted to do, ensure that the blood line stayed pure, so you made sure the family tree didn't fork? I mean, I understand, after all, who better to love you than someone you knew your entire life, like your sister? What, are you pissed off that your mother/aunt/cousin isn't putting out tonight? I bet you're having an entire family reunion here all by yourself. Glad you brought your pet, you'll need someone to drive everybody..." He tried to hit me. He got as far as halfway before Crash intercepted him and struck him in the chest hard enough to make him stumble back two steps. It was within the span of a blink of an eye. He snarled, his eyes glowing as if ready to shift into his other form. "It is war then. I accept your challenge and will happily accept your surrender." He pointed at me. "And none of your pets gets a stay of execution this time. Any human or low creature associated with you mongrels is official combatants." He stormed off, leaving the basket with the werewolf's head in it in the grass. The driver raced to open the door for him, but was backhanded hard enough to knock him into the street. He climbed to his feet and opened the door all the same, keeping his eyes down at the ground. When he got settled inside, the door was slammed and the SUV sped off. I looked up at Crash after he left. "Was it something I said?" Crash growled. "No, he wants the war. Smug bastard thought he could scare you." "He's not too bright, is he," I said. I picked up the basket. "What are you going to do with that," Crash asked. "I'm going to bring it into work. His family will probably want the head with the body. Whatever family this poor guy had left," I said. "Be sure to tell boss that we got a war to prep for," Crash said. "I'll call the Rodriguez family," I said. "No," Crash snarled. I turned to him. "This is no time for grudges. We are going to need their help." "They're a last resort," Crash snarled. "Tell boss. He knows who to call." I prepared to head into work, wondering how much of Crash's instructions I should follow. If I ignored him and called them, they'd help, we could fend off the attack, whatever it was. Then he'd be pissed at me, probably mad enough to kick me out even. But, at least the county would be safe. Verner Behring had warned me that he would attack with a viciousness and intelligence I hadn't yet seen. I wished I had taken his warning far more seriously than I did. By the time I'd gotten to work, I was wishing I had already called the Rodriguez family in. By then it was far too late to make any phone calls at all. |
| The word schadenfreude came to mind when I saw him. The unkempt hair bore very little resemblance to the hundred dollar haircut that he had when I saw him last. His clothing wasn't bought at some boutique on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. They were torn, musty, and probably stolen from a Goodwill somewhere. But he had the same sharp look in his eyes when he saw me. Verner Behring didn't lose that at least. I knew he was hoping that we'd meet in some fancy restaurant. But, I couldn't afford such places, so I deliberately chose the fast food location that Mitch worked at. I made sure to arrive in the middle of his shift. Whatever Verner was up to, I wanted to be prepared. His sight frightened me at first. When approached he looked at me with large puppy dog eyes outside the restaurant. Words cannot explain the amount of damage I would like to have done to him. But it appeared that life had beaten me to it. The exhaustion and sadness in his eyes pulled at my heart strings enough that I paid for his meal. After getting our burgers, his being much larger than mine, I carried our food to the booth in the far corner and sat down. It was the only one in the restaurant that didn't leave one of us staring at the isle or the poor customers eating opposite. Verner glanced around, as if trying to find a spy hanging out near the bathroom or the side door. There was a defeated look on his face. "I never thought the last act I'd do on this Earth would be to help you," he said. He grabbed his massive burger and prepared to take a bite. I shrugged, "Well, I never thought we'd be dating, but here we are." "This isn't a date," he snarled, then a bit into his burger. "We met with the intention of spending time together and getting to know one another better. Plus, we met at a restaurant and I even paid for the food," I said. He cringed at the thought of actually dating a human. "I'd sooner date the albino," Verner grumbled. "Yes it is." I winked at him and blew kisses at him from across the table. He rolled his eyes. "This isn't a date. I'm here to tell you something, not to spend time with you." I smirked and took a pull from my soda. "That requires spending time with me." "You're an ass," Verner grumbled. "You're too kind," I laughed and began nibbling at my fries. "So, talk. Yes I told Crash. And my boss. They're both within earshot." "Not only that, but the albino in the back as well as the other werewolf that your boss called in, and the trolls who are sitting in the parking lot right now who think they're being sneaky," Verner said. He took a giant bite of his massive burger, nearly consuming one half of it. He chewed for a while, then wiped his chin. I just watched in amazement. That burger was nearly a pound of meat. "It's been days since I had human food," Verner said. "I apologize for my atrocious table manners. I've been living off of my hunting for weeks now and game is becoming scarce." I bit into my own sandwich as he smiled at me. "And now you are without a comment or a comeback. Have I finally disarmed the so-called razor whit of the great Jason Forte?" I rolled my eyes. "The only thing sharp about me is my knife," I said. "My whit isn't razor sharp. It's a bludgeoning object that I use repeatedly on the vain and inept." "I know," Verner said. "That was sarcasm." "If you have to say its sarcasm, then you're not being sarcastic," I replied. "You're just being dumb." "With the English lesson out of the way," Verner snarled. "I've come to warn you." "I know, someone took your place. And he's brand new to the job, so he's going to want to prove himself. The best way for him to do that, will be to tie up loose ends. How loose of an end am I?" Verner raised his eyes in surprise as he chewed threw another large bite of his burger. He drank down half his cola and wiped his mouth again. "That's the razor sharp whit I expected. The lone human who found a good use for zombies." "I got lucky," I said. He laughed. "We both know that. Tell that to the assholes who replaced me." "So, you were fired." "No," he said. Then he looked down at the table forlornly for a moment. "I'm to be executed. I had the displeasure of being exiled while the confederation came to a consensus about what to do with me." "So, switch sides," I said, leaning forward. "We can protect you, we can help you. We can..." His laughter cut my sales pitch off. "Your boss didn't approve your offer, I bet. You didn't even discuss it with him, did you?" I stared down at the table. He patted me on the shoulder. "You honestly want to help me." It was my turn to snarl. "You'd be a valuable source." He gave me a sad smile. "You are a good human. I wish we had met under different circumstances, I think perhaps you could have been a great asset for us." "So, why warn me," I asked. "I loved my job," he said. "I enjoyed what I did. I enjoyed helping humans. I bet you didn't know that, did you? Furthermore, I had several human friends, you know. Not pets. They weren't beneath me. They were just...different. To a werewolf, you're not a lower class being to be pitied. You're just a different species. One we must live in harmony with, one we must help to achieve their full potential in this dangerous and chaotic world." I rolled my eyes. "Spare me the sales pitch. Why are you warning me?" He looked out the window. "I wish you could have afforded a proper restaurant. It would have been nice to have a proper meal for my last meal. Maybe a good dessert wine and a waiter. I've always said that humans make the best wait staff. Honest, I mean that. It's a good compliment." "I'm sure you think so. You're going to make me guess, aren't you?" He leaned back and patted the table with his good arm. He was wearing that damning smirk on his face that he was so good at. "Why don't you try?" "Well," I said, "Let's walk through this logically. You told me you're being executed. You are acting like you're having a last meal, I'm not catching any falsehood off of you from that. You also have shown some disdain when talking about being replaced. So, you hate the person who took your job. You resent what the confederation is doing to you, but you're still loyal to the cause." "To a point," Verner said. "I may have failed to kill you, but I was a damn reliable and a damn intelligent operative. I did not deserve to be replaced or executed. This was his doing." He leaned forward, glared at me with that familiar glare. I could see a shadow of the wolf in his eyes. "I know you think I'm horrible. Incorrigible. But he is a thousand times worse. I actually like your kind. I admire you. He sees your kind as a nuisance. A mistake God made on his way to creating werewolves. One he intends to correct." "Sounds like a fun guy," I said. "Who is he?" "He will introduce himself. That is his way. He will declare formal war with you. Then he will attack you with a ferocity and intelligence you haven't seen. You, your department, your friends and family, everyone and everything you ever touched could be under attack. You will not see it coming." "So, I have to prepare for everything," I asked. "I sincerely hope you do it, you know," Verner said. "I hope you manage to kill that bastard and survive." Then he smiled. "Can I have a milkshake too?" "So, you want me to kill him?" "If anyone deserves it, it's that bastard," Verner said. "You're really being murdered," I asked. "Executed. Guillotined to be specific. I know you don't understand, but it's honor. What he is doing to the Werewolf Confederation and our human brethren is dishonorable. I'd rather die with honor than to serve dishonorably." I understood. Of all the things I wanted when I was serving in Uncle Sam's involuntary sandbox party, the one thing I wanted to do was come back alive. If I couldn't, I wanted to die with honor. I stood, and patted him on the shoulder. "I'll get you a milkshake. And another burger." He smiled, and patted my hand like an old friend. "See? We could have been good friends." I turned his hand pat into hand holding, and smiled "See? It's a date." He snarled at me and pulled away while I went to place the order. I sat with him and made small talk, which he's asked me not to print here, so I'm abiding by his wishes. If circumstances were different. If I hadn't known about werewolves, then I do believe we could have been friends. His pompous attitude is fun to prick, but he still tended to roll with the joke rather than take any real offense. I don't miss the meth headed vampire. I don't miss Kheid. But Verner, I'll miss in my own strange way. In a sense, I feel someone has to, and I'm not sure anyone else alive will. Needless to say, this hasn't helped my over preparing. The yard gets patrolled at night in the manner Uncle Sam trained me to. I have spent most of my money on silver bullets, and even have tried to instruct the guys on the basics of self-defense. They're just humoring me. But, bless their little hearts, they're trying. I do feel the coming storm. It will be a big one. I don't know how much I can protect my pack. I'm trying, but I just don't know how much I can do. It's like swimming against the current in a raging river. Is all we have, all we know going to be swept away? |
un: 
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