by Amos Cassidy
In Raven’s inner world the buck always stopped with him and so if the pack was in discord it was a reflection of his leadership. The blast of emotion had been his way of communicating this to his pack, better than words could ever do.
“Shit, Raven. I’m so sorry.” Roman shook his head as if to clear it. “I just…I don’t know what got into me.”
“It’s not you, Roman.” Damon jerked his head in Harold’s direction. “It’s him.” One of the youngest in the pack, and the same age as Raven, Damon had proven to be the most insightful and the most honest, sometimes brutally so. “He needs to get a grip and step into the 21st century. We are no longer living in the Dark Ages,” he finished, shooting daggers in Harold’s direction.
Allowing his hands to drop to his sides, Raven walked toward Harold until they were almost nose to nose, his gaze glacial. “I don’t care what your opinions are but they are yours to have. However, I will remind you for the last time that this is not a democracy. I am the Beta, what I say goes.” He paused, his eyes pinning Harold where he stood. He waited. After a moment, Harold nodded his head once, a jerky stiff movement as if his brain was struggling to issue the required command to his neck muscles.
Raven took a step back, releasing him from eye contact. He made to turn away but then paused as if another thought had occurred to him. He turned to face Harold again, his voice casual as he delivered him next line. “If you try a stunt like that again, I promise you I will rip your throat out.”
Harold’s eyes widened just a fraction but he held his ground.
His expression dead pan, Raven turned away from the group heading toward the lounge. “What you all standing around for? Dinner isn’t going to cook itself.”
At twenty-one years of age, Raven was the youngest Beta in the history of the werewolves. But having proven himself as a warrior and an academic, with a strong dominant nature, he had been the natural choice. The decision had been met with much chagrin and protest from the some of the other packs. His age was an issue, true, but more than that was his sexual orientation. As the only openly gay werewolf, he had drawn a lot of attention and derision. Dominance wasn’t a trait associated with a gay wolf. Raven knew that in another time, in another place, he would have been forced into a lone wolf existence, existing outside the pack or even worse, torn to shreds by the pack, seen as an anomaly, a liability. The beast within each member of the pack would treat him as a virus to be purged from the entity that is the pack. Thank God, things were different, thank God he was dominant, and thank God for Richard, their Alpha.
The modernisation of the pack and their shift into urban areas had come a century ago. As the rapid development of technology made humans bolder, less afraid and less likely to read into superstition, the werewolves’ habitats were encroached upon, and destroyed, making way for human developments, factories and houses, supermarkets and leisure complexes. The fear of discovery was too strong, too much of a risk. The best course of action was to live in plain sight, to mimic the humans, to work alongside them, trade with them and in doing so survive. This decision had its price. The price for survival was a loss of the old ways, the old power and a leaching away of the beast within.
For this reason to attempt to keep the beast alive, for without it they would fade, the pack was ordered to attend a retreat twice a year. Every six months, the active members of the pack had to leave the pack territory in London and head to the retreat for two weeks of activity, which required them to be in wolf form each day to hone their skills and senses. Although they could change at will, they were required to change once a month in order to maintain their individual bonds with their beast. The rule also served another more preventative measure. Too long in the human form could result in an involuntary shift, where the beast took over completely leaving the human side powerless to control it. Bloody rampages were the upshot of this scenario. By completing the retreat and running wild, the active pack members also fed sanity into the beasts of their civilian pack members– those who had embraced a more human and civilian existence, through a consciousness that could only be described as magical. Their dedication kept the whole pack alive. In a world where technology and industrial revolution had taken over, the magic that surrounded the werewolves of old had all but been lost, and the natural dangers the pack may have faced had all but been eliminated. The urban werewolf therefore needed to retreat back to nature, back to itself and its instincts or face losing himself. The retreat provided the release that the wolf inside needed to survive, to function.
There were packs that still lived by the old ways, deep in rural areas as isolated from human civilisation as they could get. They lived as wolves, ruled by their primal instincts, allowing their humanity to slip. The high council allowed them this small privilege on the condition that their actions didn’t risk exposing the whole werewolf race and with the understanding that they remain out of other packs’ territories. A rogue wolf would be tried if he still maintained the capacity to reason and eliminated otherwise.
Raven never took his status and place in the pack for granted. Even though he knew he deserved to be where he was, he also understood the beast within and its primal prejudices.
Harold was one of those protestors. Although overall he kept his views to himself, there were occasions such as tonight where he couldn’t help himself. The beast was strong within him. He, more than any other member, embraced the beast and allowed it to dominate his human side. He coveted the position of Beta and the fact that Raven had been chosen over him– also a dominant male, older and experienced, still stung. He would have challenged Raven, could have challenged him under the old rules, but things were done differently now and he had to suck it up or leave. He’d seen Raven fight. He was fast, graceful and unstoppable. He had even sparred with him, and Raven’s perfect win record irked him even more.
Harold had disappeared to his room without another word to the other three. So it had been left to them to prepare the evening meal– a tray piled high with steaks, cooked rare, just the way the wolves liked them.
Roman watched as Damon carefully sliced tomatoes and cucumber in accordance with his insistence on a balanced diet. Balanced for a human maybe, but for a werewolf?
“I don’t know why you bother. Meat is our food of preference, and it’s what our bodies need.”
“Yes, but our human bodies need more.” Damon insisted.
“We’re not human,” Roman said. Of all the wolves, Damon was the one who clung to his humanity the most. On occasion, it seemed as if he used it as a shield.
“Wolves in sheep’s clothing.” Harold said as he entered the room. Picking up a steak, he bit into it, closing his eyes as he chewed. “Mmmm, delicious.” He swallowed, opened his eyes and looked straight at Damon. “We are but beasts hiding within a human skin. No amount of posturing is gonna change that.”
Damon looked stricken, but quickly hid is expression behind the sophisticated mask he had cultivated. Sensing his discomfort, Roman stepped in.
“Yeah, we’re not human but we share some of humanities traits. The beast isn’t all there is to us. So, we’re immune to the illnesses and diseases a human might be affected by, and we age slower and metabolise faster, but we can love and hate and protect just like a human.”
Harold grunted.
“Don’t tell me you don’t like humans. I’ve lost count of your lays.” Roman said with a smile in an attempt to change the subject.
“Yeah, I fuck ‘em just like you do, but that’s it. Aside from fucking and going to the gym, I avoid them. To me they’re nothing. Weak, snivelling creatures that need warriors like us to protect them.” Harold finished off his steak.
Roman winced, it was true. The wolves went through women, and men in Raven’s case, like dirty socks. But it wasn’t by choice, but by necessity. Werewolves had amazingly high sex drives once they reached maturity, and until they met their mates the urges needed to be satisfied somehow. Sex to Roman would always be a two-player game, unlik
e Damon who preferred the company of his hand. So he had a playboy image, so what? It suited him fine. Raven, Damon and Kris were slightly more discrete but he liked to advertise which meant he never went without.
“Harold?” Roman paused as if a thought had just occurred to him. “Doesn’t body building make your dick smaller? I mean, I read that somewhere.” He turned to Damon for confirmation, his expression serious.
”You fucking little shit! I’m gonna-”
“Erm, Harold. Could you give me a hand setting the table?” Kris had popped his head into the kitchen, his lips twitched as he struggled to maintain a straight face. Werewolves had exceptional hearing even in human form, which meant he had heard every word.
Harold pulled himself up to his full six-six height, looking down his nose at them. He turned on his heel and strode out of the room, shouldering Kris aside. Kris rolled his eyes and followed.
As soon as they were gone, Damon burst out laughing shaking his head. “You really know how to push his buttons.”
Roman shrugged. “Well he needs to learn to control his beast. All I’m doing is testing his control.”
Damon continued to prepare the salad, cutting some yellow pepper. After a moment, he laid down his knife. “You know what? He’s right. I can’t help it. I love them…humans. I love the culture, the music, the art…I couldn’t live in the wild. I just…” He shook his head.
“And you won’t have to, man. We’re a new generation of urban wolves, remember? The sooner Harold realises that the better.”
Dinner had been a quiet affair but the tension between Raven and Harold had been tangible. Kris had attempted to ignite a conversation but it hadn’t taken. After clearing everything away, the troop had retired for the night.
Roman couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t the sound of the heavy rain against the window, or the howls of the wind outside that kept him awake. It was tomorrow.
He crept out of bed and headed downstairs on a mission to find a really thick and boring book to help him fall asleep. As he came down the stairs, he saw Raven sitting in the living room, gazing into the fire.
“You okay, Raven?” Roman asked as he stepped into the room.
Raven looked up. The flames set off the blue tones in his hair, making them stand out amongst the deep black ones. “Just a little restless,” he said. “Can’t you sleep?”
Roman sat down next to Raven. “I’m a little nervous about tomorrow. I’ve only ever met Rose once. We were both what…about nine or ten years old at the time?”
“I’m sure you’ll get on fine.” Raven said it with such certainty that Roman almost believed him.
“Yeah, can you see it? Me under the same roof as a hot chick?” Roman said.
“How do you know she will be attractive to you?”
“I have a feeling about this one.” Roman said with a wink.
Raven looked at him quizzically. “Surely you’re not suggesting that just because she is a woman you will immediately want to get her into bed?”
Roman held up his hands and laughed. “This is me you’re talking to, mate.”
“I don’t believe that. This playboy image you have is just that, an image. It’s not the real you.”
Roman sighed. “I’ve been playing the image for so long I’ve forgotten what the real me is.” He ran his hand through his already tousled hair.
“I know what you mean,”
“What?”
“Never mind.” Raven brushed the question aside, lifting his glass of brandy for a swig.
“I guess that isn’t your first?”
“Four boisterous werewolves will do that to you.”
Roman chuckled. “Are you okay? Why were you sitting and staring?”
“I’m fine, really.”
“No you’re not,”
“It doesn’t matter.” Raven’s eyes moved back to the dancing orange flames.
“Raven, I don’t care if you’re the Alpha’s second in command and all that. You’re my best friend, you can talk to me.”
Raven sighed and smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Being away from the/our Alpha is difficult. I’m supposed to be his body guard and when I’m so far away I feel so helpless, so useless.”
There was a long silence, then, “Raven?”
Raven looked up. “Yes?”
“Stop brooding and let’s go for a run.”
“Now? It’s two in the morning and we have a ten o’clock train from Cardiff-”
“Raven, Raven, my dear Beta who I pledge my allegiance to,” Roman said with a mischievous wink. “You can sit here and ponder, or you can get into your wolf clothing and tear up the night? Maybe even a little hunt?”
Ravens lips twitched. “The steak wasn’t enough for you?”
“I’m a werewolf. When is any food ever enough? An unfathomable appetite is a common hurdle in our daily lives. Come on, Beta. Come out and play. Think of the wind rustling through your fur, the sounds of the terrified hares and all the other prey ringing in your ears as the big bad wolves come knocking.”
Raven regarded his friend for a moment longer and then he smiled, baring his teeth so he looked every bit the predator he was. His silver eyes glinted with the beginnings of bloodlust. “What are we waiting for?”
3.
NUMBER FIVE
“I really need to piss.” Rose dragged her suitcase away from the platform and into the busy sea of people within the gothic grandeur of St Pancras International.
Faye sighed. “Why didn’t you just go on the train?” She flipped her deep red hair back over her shoulder. People always commented on the colour of her hair and were amazed to discover it hadn’t come out of a packet. It set off her glittering, emerald-green eyes and sat against her luminous skin in waves.
Rose pointedly ignored her. “I can’t see any signs for toilets. Go look,” she urged.
“You go and look,” Faye said. ‘And where’s the please?’
“I’m crippled by the agony of needing urinal release and I swear if I move around too much I will explode. Seriously, Faye, I can only manage one journey. Please.” She crossed her legs.
Faye harrumphed. “Still dunno why you didn’t go on the train”
Rose gave her a pleading look
Faye rolled her eyes “Okay, okay, just…hold it.”
Rose laughed, and then thought better of it. She didn’t trust her bladder to take the strain.
Faye wandered off a little way ahead and was quickly swallowed up by the crowd. Rose bit her lip. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold it. Faye was right she should have gone on the train. She craned her neck and caught sight of Faye winding her way back toward her.
“They’re not far. There’s an escalator up ahead, they’re just down there.”
“Thank God!” Anticipating relief, Rose yanked her suitcase along making a hasty journey past the coffee shops, bookshops, a group of lost French tourists, down the escalators and finally reached the toilets.
“Christ!” Faye wheezed. “You moved so fast I’m surprised you didn’t piss yourself.”
“Shit! There’s a queue!” Rose groaned, jigging on the spot.
“And you’re shocked? When is there never a queue at the ladies?”
Rose released her suitcase from her grip. “Guard this with your life.”
“Have I really got to wait here, protecting your knickers and bras while you queue?” Faye complained.
“Yes.”
“But what if I need to go?”
“You were smart enough to go on the train.”
Faye smiled smugly.
“Now stop being bitchy and watch my bags.”
“Okay, okay, go.” Faye shooed her off.
When Rose finally got to a free cubicle, it was with a blissful sigh that she emptied her full-to-capacity bladder. She was not, absolutely positively, going to use the toilets on the train. All the train had to do was jolt and a simple procedure would end in tears.
There was no one
by the sinks when she left the cubicle. The place was quiet and empty and Rose relaxed. She could wash her hands and freshen up a bit in peace.
She switched on the hot tap and let it run, staring into the mirror before her.
Here she was. London. The big city. The capital. The place where her life would start a new path. Then she thought of her dad. He was now alone. Rose wondered how it was possible to be with the one you love but experience the most painful loneliness imaginable like he was. Her mum was there, but she was just an empty shell.
Guilt stabbed at her but she mentally told it to fuck off. This was her life. She couldn’t stay at home and carry on the way she was. What she needed was a new start, a chance to live. She reached her hands out for the soap and placed them under the hot water.
Then it happened. Her head spun, the air around her seemed to vibrate, to pulse and move. Nausea gripped her stomach and the muscles tensed preparing to squeeze and eject. Grabbing onto the sink she swallowed back bile, breathing through her nose until the sensation passed. She looked up into the mirror and yelped at her reflection. Her face was melting and contorting as if the image were hot wax. A fresh wave of bile rose in her chest as the image began to spin and swirl, the room continuing to vibrate. She swallowed back the foul acidic taste, shuddered and looked up. The mirror was full of colour, thick paint-like colours bleeding and oozing into one another. An invisible force compelled her to raise her right hand, commanded her to reach out and touch despite every inner voice screaming at her to keep her hands away. But she was unable to resist. She reached out. The air felt thick as she moved the tips of her fingers to the mirror. Her breath caught as skin met glass and an explosion of images that she could not decipher struck her in quick succession. Her skin prickled and icy hot fear shot up her spine. There were iridescent eyes, and then razor sharp fangs tore through flesh, rivers of blood, dark, crimson and viscous, flowing with abandon. With all her will she pulled back with her body and her mind, trying to release herself from the grip of the mirror, focused only on her desire to be free. Suddenly something gave, snapped as if an elastic band had been stretched beyond its limits. She fell backwards, the pulsing sensation and nausea dissipating as if they had never existed. She scrambled to her feet. Thanks to her quick reflexes, she had managed to roll onto her side as she fell and thus avoided a serious knock to her head. The mirror was just glass once more. Breathing hard, she stared at it in confusion.