FULL MOONLIGHT---Ch 30---Define Monster, Part 1. (PC-13)
Posted: Wed Jun 01, 2011 1:45 am
DISCLAIMER: I don’t own “Moonlight”, or any of its wonderful original characters. I’m just taking them out for a run!
SUMMARY: A multi-chapter action-adventure, featuring Mick, Beth, Josef, Logan, Talbot, Simone, and a few really big werewolves, among others!
SPOILERS: Follows on from all 16 episodes of “Moonlight” as aired on CBS. Follows on from Allegrita’s very steaming FanFic, “Presto Agitato”, Ch 1 & 2. Also follows on from Desdemona’s awesome FanFic, “Silver”, Ch 1 thru 7, only. And, I borrow from the tremendously talented Eris, with her kind permission, her fantastic original character of ‘Karl’.
Ready? On we go!
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Beth came awake in gradual stages, slowly, reluctantly returning to the world she had temporarily escaped in her deep slumber. She felt the soft silk sheets against her bare legs. She felt her oversized cotton tee shirt warm against her torso. Before she was even close to fully awake, she inhaled, instinctively scenting the room around her…….taking the measure of it……..
Claudia, the Lead Cleaner, was gone now. Her scent lingered in an after image of her presence, but the vampress was no longer in the room, as she had been when Beth fell asleep.
Someone had taken Claudia’s place……Beth’s nose informed her groggy mind that it was the Irish werewolf, Phelan, in his human form. He was in the room now, sitting quietly nearby. His distinctive scent was familiar. She could hear his heart beating at a relaxed pace, hear his soft respirations. The page of a book was turned……. the hiss of paper sliding across paper. Phelan was reading. Had he been someone Beth did not recognize.…..especially an unknown wolf…..she would have snapped awake in an instant, probably Shifting to defend herself in the process. But Phelan presented no threat…..so Beth’s mind and body continued taking their time in rousing from slumber.
Beth stirred as she awakened further, and drew in another soft sniff of the room around her…….Mick was here too, but still asleep in his ice box in the adjoining alcove. Disappointment and relief washed through her simultaneously…… At least she would not have to face him….. yet…… to have him know what she had done…… That would come soon enough. But he was okay, and he was with her……. That alone soothed her troubled spirit.
As she made the final leg of her journey to wakefulness, Beth listened to the vast house around her……Josef’s sprawling estate. She could hear songbirds singing outside, even though the Newbie Suite was subterranean. Its ceiling was the concrete and steel reinforced floor of the mansion’s first story. Beth could hear bustling in the Main Kitchen upstairs…..Chefs at work to feed Josef’s Harem of freshies, as well as the other human members of his numerous Staff. So…..it must be daylight outside, either lunch or dinner. That would explain why Mick still slept.
Sighing, as she gave up the last vestiges of sleep, Beth’s sky-blue eyes slid open. She was facing Mick’s freezer alcove, and could see him sleeping peacefully inside. A pleasant sight to awaken to……her mate was magnificent, beautiful….. so peaceful as he slept. She smiled softly at the sight of her lover……. before the horrific memories assaulted her waking mind……and the crushing guilt she endured…..the things she had done last night…….
She winced, a whimpered moan escaping her lips, and squeezed her eyes shut again.
Mick had told her once that he had done “terrible things” during his early years as a vampire. He said he carried “tremendous guilt” for these “things” that he never wanted to discuss.
As she lay still, her eyes screwed shut, Beth found herself wondering how he managed to bear it…… If his feelings of guilt were even close to what she felt now…… how did Mick manage to keep going? How did he stand it? Waking up to those memories every day……like she was doing right now? It was unbearable.
Beth sat up in bed slowly, and turned to face the only other conscious person in the room. Phelan sat there watching her, once again looking for all the world like a lumberjack…..a green plaid flannel shirt that brought out his eyes……April must have picked that one out for him, Beth decided…… Blue jeans, and work boots. His tousled, coppery red hair, and his neatly trimmed, deeper red, mustache and beard completed the look. Brilliant green eyes regarded her calmly.
“Mornin’ dearheart!”, Phelan said brightly, beaming a smile at her from the overstuffed leather recliner where Claudia had been sitting when Beth fell asleep hours earlier. “Did yae sleep well?” He set down the book he’d been reading on the little butler table beside the chair. Beth caught a glimpse of the cover as he did so….. ‘Remembrance Of Things Past’, by Proust. Huh…. That surprised her. It was such a……cerebral……book. Phelan didn’t seem the type to enjoy anything like that……..
She had read it once, in College, and had found it to be as depressing as hell. One man’s sad, life long, struggle to cope with, and understand, the ravages of time itself…..an inexorable force that slowly steals everything from us, even ourselves. Can anything resist the forces of time? Or is everything, including ourselves, just crushed under the wheels of time’s unstoppable advance.
But, on the other hand, Beth speculated, time must be experienced quite differently by those who don’t age…… like vamps and weres….. who essentially live outside of time. Time still steals things, and people, away from immortals, but not their own health, or their lives, as it does with mortal men.
So, she decided, Proust’s dour lamentation about the thief of time might mean something else entirely to an immortal. They lose human friends and family, homes, Countries, ways of life, perhaps even entire Civilizations, if an immortal lives long enough. But, unlike humans, the immortal them self goes on……and on……and on.
As she remembered the book from College, the central character eventually concludes that only the past is safe from the destruction that time brings, that which has already past. What is past always endures, in memory and in history. Time cannot destroy history. And, Proust decides by the end of the book, the persons we have been in the past…..the child, the young adult, etc…., always remain in us, past selves sealed up within us, as a tree carries the rings of years past within it always. An immortal would have a lot of these proverbial ‘rings’……. many memories, and a lot of history, to recall.
All of these ruminations on Phelan’s choice of reading material skipped through Beth’s mind in a few seconds, as she blinked at the big Irishman sitting in the overstuffed chair near the foot of her bed.
Phelan’s thick Irish accent was lilting, as always….. as though nothing untoward had happened so recently. He had, of course, been aware that Beth was waking……he had heard her breathing change…..heard her scenting the room. But he had politely waited until she was ready to open her eyes and face the world again.
“Good morning.” Beth replied evenly, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands, “Where’s Claudia?”
Phelan chuckled softly, “Ah….. Out cold by now, I would think. If you’ll pardon the vamp pun.”, He smiled rakishly at Beth. When the little blonde only blinked at him, Phelan cleared his throat nervously and went on. It was going to be a long afternoon, he could tell…… “What I mean ta say, dearheart, is that I relieved Claudia once I had finished me elk breakfast. I took over settin’ with yae, and she went upstairs ta one o’ Josef’s guest iceboxes.”
Beth nodded, dropping her eyes to the bedspread, “Oh. That’s good. She was tired.”
“Indeed.”, Phelan replied. His bright green eyes watched the little blond she-wolf. The girl would have many questions…..he just needed to wait til she was ready to ask them……..and ready to hear the answers.
Beth reached over the side of the bed and reacquired the sweat pants she had shucked off early that morning. Dragging them under the covers, she slipped them back on as discretely as she could. Ever the gentleman, Phelan turned his head and contemplated the ornate wall clock while Beth made herself socially presentable.
Once her sweat pants were in place, Beth finger-combed her long blonde hair, and crawled out from under the covers. Still on the bed, she scooted down to the left hand corner of the king-size bed, closest to Phelan. Once there, she perched cross-legged and sat facing the big Irish werewolf.
Neither spoke for several seconds. Phelan offered what he hoped was an encouraging smile.
Finally, Beth drew in a deep breath, and began. “So…… What happens now?”
“Now, lass, ye must heal again, and move on from this battle.”
“Move on?”
“Move past it…..emotionally, I mean.”
“I…… don’t think I can.” Suddenly overcome by a wave of regret, and self-loathing, tears began to well in Beth’s eyes. She hung her head and let them fall, silently splashing onto the hands folded in her lap. “I’m…..a maneater now…….a monster.”
Phelan cocked his head slightly and regarded the young woman. Then he slowly leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Really? So then, ye plan on continuing ta eat humans?”
Beth jerked her head up and starred at Phelan, wide eyed, “What!? No! Of course not! Why would you even say a thing like that?!”
Phelan smiled. Now he had her full attention. Enough with the sulking, already. “Well, dearheart……ye referred to yerself as a maneater in the present tense, not the past tense……so I just assumed…..” He shrugged casually.
“No!” A low snarl crept into Beth’s voice, “My gosh! How could you think that I would…… Would I be this upset if I was happy with what I did?! If planned to continue?!” Her volume was rising, and her eyes tipped from sky blue to sapphire blue.
“Easy lass…..take a deep breath and dial it down a bit.” Dealing with a new Turn like Beth was always a dicey situation. Their emotions are so raw, and Beth was particularly vulnerable, given the traumas she had just survived. Phelan knew he needed to keep her focused, lest he find himself in yet another dogfight with his pupil. “So then……ye meant to say that ye WERE a maneater, in the past…..and not currently?”
Beth allowed a snarling peel to escape her lips, baring teeth as she did so….. “Of course!”, she snapped, glowering at the Irish werewolf seated across from her. Her eyes slowly faded back to their human shade of sky blue. “But….. I DID eat three men last night, and THAT makes me a maneater……by anyone’s terminology, I think!” She paused, blinking at him, “Right?”
“Aye, dearheart,…….it does, but it is not all black and white. There are always shades of grey,” he paused to nod toward Mick’s sleeping form in the case on the other side of the room, “as I’m sure yer vampire can attest to. There were……circumstances…..that effected yer behavior. Ye were deep in Territorial Rage, defending yer Pack and the ones ye love, for one thing. Plus, yer still just a pup, still learning to control your impulses. Then, while in battle, ye were shot in the head. That injury destroyed all conscious control. Any Pack Authorities would see those things as justification for yer actions. Mitigating factors, as your lawyer friends would say.”
“Pack Authorities? You mean I could be in some kind of …….legal……trouble? With a Pack?”
Phelan straightened and sat back in the overstuffed recliner, steepling his fingertips in front of his face in a way that reminded Beth of Josef. After a moment’s thought, he spoke, “It’s complicated, dearheart…..but aye, if we were to run into a few visiting werewolves upstairs, they would undoubtedly try to kill yae. And if they didn’t think they could take the two o’ us…..which they couldn’t…..they would run, trying to get to their cellphones as fast as they could.”
“Why?”
“Because of yer scent right now, dearheart. Ye are what ye eat, as they say……and yer scent shrieks ‘maneater’ right now. Any unfamiliar wolf would act on yer scent alone and report yae, and yer location, to the National Pack Council. That’s providing they didn’t want to try to kill yae themselves first, and phone it in later.”
Beth rested her face in her hands, covering her eyes, “Great…..I smell like a maneater…….that’s just great. How long will that last?”
“Only a few days, dearheart. Just a few hearty…..non-biped…..meals, and a few days. Yer body will burn up the last of….. that fuel….. and ye’ll go back to smelling like a proper venison eater, or elk eater, as the case may be.” Phelan shrugged and offered a sympathetic smile as Beth lifted her face to look at him.
She blinked slowly at him, “I’m sorry…..this is just….. so much to process.” She shook her head, and rubbed her eyes with thumb and forefinger.
“Not a problem, dearheart.”
“So…....maneating is…..illegal…..among werewolves?”, she asked.
“Very. Vamp-eating too. Both are punishable by death…….unless there are mitigating circumstances that led to an isolated incident…… such as yer situation.”
“Well that’s good…...”, Beth responded absently, looking slightly dazed for a couple seconds. Then her eyes snapped back to Phelan’s face. “But……I remember Josef telling us that the Pack Council wouldn’t help us when…..my Sire…..was running around LA eating vampires right and left. Why wouldn’t they come kill my Sire?”, her eyes wobbled towards deep sapphire again as anger returned to her tone, “That would have been awfully decent of them. Especially if they had managed to get the job done BEFORE that monster had the chance to tear me up, and Turn me into a wolf, just like him!”
Phelan sighed. “First of all, lass, yae are nothing like yer Sire. But, regarding yer main question, as I understand it,” he replied, “the National Pack Council was afraid of pissing off The Legion. They had heard that a culling action had already begun in LA. That bunch o’ chicken shit mutts wanted to stay out of the Legion’s way.” He snorted derisively and shook his head. “Pardon me crude language, lass.”
Beth nodded, her eyes fading back toward sky blue, as she reigned in her anger. She let out a deep cleansing sigh, “Okay….it’s starting to make sense now, I think. So, man or vamp eating is illegal, and punishable by death……if the Pack Council finds out about it…… and as long as it’s politically expedient…..and safe…..for them to intervene?”
“Pretty much…..yeah.”, Phelan nodded, “In most cases, however, ordinary werewolves will take out any maneater or vamp-eater they encounter, if they can. It’s become almost a reflex in us over the past few hundred years. This is because rogues pose a threat to our secrecy, and to the fragile peace between Pack and Tribe. Sires now drill it into all their Turns from day one…..kill maneaters on sight, etc….. But, there weren’t any werewolves in LA…….until ye came along, dearheart.” Phelan paused, smiling gently at Beth, “Ordinarily, if the National Council gets wind of anything that sounds like a maneater…..in the News, for instance….. or if they get a complaint about a maneater, or vamp-eater, from a local Tribe, they send a team to hunt down and kill the offender. In your Sire’s case, they received both wind in the News, AND a formal complaint from the LA Tribe…… but the Legion’s presence spooked them.” Phelan snarled softly under his breath, “Cowardly hounds. I knew there was a good reason I avoid Pack life.”
“So…..”, Beth asked, “If any werewolf reflexively wants to eliminate any maneater, then why aren’t you trying to kill me now? Or running to the phone to call in some furry strike team?”
Phelan grinned and snorted, “Because, lass, I’m old enough to remember the days when it was not so, and I understand the circumstances……the very mitigating circumstances. I know the situation yae were in…… why you did what ye did. If a Council kill team were to show up now…… and, if we could get them to stop and listen to what really happened…… they would have no choice but to absolve ye of any wrong-doing. Yae were sorely provoked. Yae were defending yer Pack and yer territory. Yae aren’t even a month old yet. And, yae were shot in the head. The hard part would be in getting them to stop and listen, to hear us out, and not rush to judgment. Our kind can be very……single minded……when our blood is up.”
“But I still ate three guys!”
“Aye…..ye did that….. but remember what I said about those shades of gray?”
Beth nodded slowly.
Phelan leaned forward, met her gaze, and held it, his green eyes suddenly fierce, “Now ya listen to me, dearheart. Those three guys weren’t some innocent lads who had done nothing to ye! Don’t forget that…..who they were, and what they had done. They tried to kill Josef and Mick! They nearly succeeded. They played with fire…..and they got burned. Do not pity them…..and do not regret their deaths, for it was richly deserved by them all!”
Beth blinked at him in surprise.
Phelan let out a long tired sigh, and slouched back in his chair, before continuing, “Lass…..there are different kinds of…… knowledge. There is the knowledge in yer lovely head, the things ye learn from the people and things around ye. And then there’s a different kind of knowledge……one ye don’t have to learn. It boils in yer blood and sings through yer bones. It tells ye when to run, and when to fight. It whispers through yer deepest thoughts, and tells ye what ye must do to survive.”
“Instinct.”
“Aye, dearheart. Instincts. Humans don’t think they have ‘em, but they do. They don’t think their behavior is ever impacted by deep, primal, instincts. But it is…..frequently. Humans even respond, unconsciously, to pheromones put out by other humans…… feeling either repelled or attracted by those pheromones. They just don’t realize it. They say they have a feeling about something, or they’re just not comfortable with some situation…..never understanding that they are unconsciously responding to the pheromones of the other humans around them. Their instincts effect their behaviors in other ways too…..for instance….. Young human females who are ovulating tend to choose clothing that shows….. more skin….. that day, advertizing for a mate, while having no clue that is what they are doing, or why. When they are not fertile, not ovulating, they choose clothing that shows off less skin….. no need for a mate today. They have no idea they are doing any of this…..but instinct and biology drives them, as surely as it drives the bull elk to bugle at his rivals in the forest, and piss all over himself. The cow elk think he smells wonderful, by the way.” He grinned playfully, as Beth wrinkled up her nose at the mental picture Phelan had painted. Bull elk piss on themselves? Why? Better yet…..how??? Never mind…..she decided she didn’t want to know.
“Now,” Phelan continued, “vampires know they have instincts, but they like to think they are the master of those instincts, that they can control them. Sometimes they can……sometimes they can’t. Only we werewolves really embrace and accept our instincts…..perhaps because we are so close to the natural world….to the wild. We see the geese flying south in Fall, we see the salmon swimming upstream, and we know that instinct is as powerful a force in us as it is in those simple creatures. We let instinct guide us, because it is our strength…..our gift.”
Phelan paused, and glanced over at the little blonde, who still sat Indian-style on the corner of the huge King Sized bed. She was watching him closely.
“Last night, once ye were shot in the head, yer instincts took over to keep ye alive. While yer conscious mind was unavailable, yer instincts took a message…..so to speak…… and did whatever needed to be done so that yae could survive. That included…….procuring the nourishment necessary to heal yer many terrible wounds.”
At the mention of the…..nourishment……Beth hung her head again and contemplated the small hands folded in her lap. How could those now dainty, feminine hands have torn a dozen people to shreds last night?
Phelan waited in silence, until she was ready to continue.
“Am I going to have more trouble now?”, Beth asked softly, barely above a whisper, “I mean…..with…….wanting……something other than venison?”
Phelan nodded solemnly, “Aye…..I’m afraid so, dearheart.” He hesitated a moment, “While ye slept, because this is an unusual situation, I took the liberty of reading yer scent.”
He paused, expecting Beth to protest, or express outrage at such an intrusion, but when she remained silent, he continued, “Even though ye don’t consciously remember the maneating, yer body does…… and yer body liked it……a lot. It will be harder for ye to resist that temptation now, because ye have tasted it, and yer body remembers. It will be easier for ye to cross that line in the future. Ye’ll always have to keep a tighter rein on yerself around humans from now on, most humans, that it…….. I doubt you’ll have much increased desire around humans you consider part of your Pack, but other humans, yeah…….undoubtedly. The drive will be stronger.”
Beth nodded, sighing. She had suspected as much. “Has it been done before? I mean……have other werewolves…. eaten people……. and then found a way to not be a maneater anymore? Is it even possible? Or should I just wake Claudia up and ask her to whack my head off right now?”
Phelan chuckled softly, and ran a hand through his coppery-red hair. “Aye, lass. It’s very possible. Hunting both humans, and vampires, for food has only been illegal among werewolves for about three hundred years. Prior to that, it was a free for all, as ye Americans say. Where do ye think all the legends of maneating monsters come from, eh? Those stories were real. Back in those days, only a wolf’s conscience stood between him, or her, and a steady diet of bipeds. The vampires, too, placed little restraint on themselves back then……with the exception of vamps like Josef and Mick…..the ones with a conscience.”
Phelan sighed again, and absently scratched at his short beard, pondering how to phrase what he needed to tell his student. He glanced up at Beth, who was watching him intently, her mouth hanging open slightly in surprise at these revelations.
Clearing his throat, Phelan continued, “Humans were highly prized, but vampires were the brass ring, on a werewolf’s menu hundreds of years ago. And, just as vampires can live on animal blood, or corpse blood, if they have to, but crave fresh human blood to be at their physical peak, so too do werewolves crave human flesh, and even better, vamp flesh. I’ve always thought of it as nature’s answer to humanity…..filling a vacuum, if ye will.”
Beth’s brow furrowed in confusion, so Phelan explained, “In nature, everything has a natural enemy…..a predator for every prey. The predators keep the prey healthy by weeding out the weak and sick. In turn, the prey’s healthy abundance allows the predator to survive. They need each other. The deer have the Timber wolf. The seals have the Great White shark in some areas, and the Polar Bear in others. The penguins have the Leopard seal. The mice have cats and owls. The rabbit has the hawk. But, humanity is an intelligent, and abundant, prey with no natural enemy….. save one another. Nothing else preys on ‘em, and nature abhors a vacuum, as they say. I’ve always thought that both vampires and werewolves were intended, by nature, to be the intelligent predator meant to hunt this intelligent prey…..to keep humanity’s numbers in check, just as the Great White shark keeps the numbers of seals in check. It’s why we crave them, I think. And because we, vamps and weres, are the top of food chain…..it’s why we crave each other too. We kept each others’ numbers in check as well.”
Beth was staring at Phelan now in jaw-dropped horror. He glanced at her and smiled sadly. “I know, dearheart, I know. Me theory is a terrible one, but it makes sense, I think, and it explains much. I didn’t say I agreed with it, mind ye now. I only said I think it is why we, vamps and weres, seem to be hardwired the way we are. But, fer us to carry through with this law ‘o the jungle, we would have to put our conscience on the shelf. I could never do that….. neither could Josef…… and neither can ye, or yer Mick. People shouldn’t kill people.”
Beth winced and nodded in solemn agreement.
“But, lass, sometimes we have no choice.” Phelan looked down at his work boots on Josef’s expensive carpet, and continued, “Eventually, with the advancement of human weaponry and technology, as well as the increasingly combative relationship between Pack and Tribe, it was decided that a change had to be made. Just as vampires stopped randomly killing, or abusing, their human prey, the werewolves outlawed maneating. The risk of discovery by humans, and retaliation with their increasingly deadly weaponry, became too great. It is far safer to be a myth, a legend. Weres melted into the forests, hunting only that which ran on four legs. The vamps no longer kept blood-slaves, who were terrified, abused, and eventually killed. The pampered human harem of willing donors, as Josef has today, was born. Worked out better for everyone. And, in a much-needed Treaty with the vampires, it also became illegal for weres to hunt vamps for food…… and visa versa.”
Phelan paused again, collecting his thoughts, choosing his words carefully. “After that…..the term ‘rogue’ was born. Prior to this change in both our societies, there was no such thing as a rogue. There was only werewolves and vampires being werewolves and vampires, which included preying on each other at every opportunity. They loved our blood, and we loved their flesh. Just as many vamps were eaten by the likes of me, so too was many a werewolf slain and hung up like a hog to drain their blood into containers. Our kind was a prized centerpiece at any vampire gathering feast long ago……much like a thanksgiving turkey is to humans today.” He chuckled softly, “But…..unlike a Thanksgiving turkey, the vamps ‘o old took their lives into their own hands in order to obtain a werewolf for one of their feasts. Those prized ‘turkeys’ fought back…....hard. For every wolf who was captured, and later slain, for a vamp feast, dozens of vamps paid with their own lives in the effort. Our kind doesn’t go down easy. And often, the dead wolf’s Pack would track their missing pack-mate, and descend on the vampires’ feast, slaughtering everyone there in retaliation.
This only made us more valuable to the vamps…..because we were so costly to obtain. The risk….the danger……made our blood even sweeter to them. Vamps have always been thrill-seekers, to a certain extent. To successfully capture, contain, and then slay a wolf for a gathering celebration meant that the founder of the feast was a very powerful, influential, vampire indeed, someone of great resources……. someone to be feared. And, they preferred us on all fours…..more blood in the carcass that way.”
Phelan paused, “I heard stories of some wolves who deliberately returned to their human forms just before the death blow was struck…....cheating the vamps out of the majority of the blood they sought, as well as the trophy of a lupine body. That sounds like the obvious thing to do…… if ye know ye are doomed…..but it’s harder than ye might think, when yer blood is up, and ye are struggling to take just one more of yer tormentors with ye afore ye die. To surrender…..and Shift back to human form in that instant……”, Phelan shook his head slowly, “it would be very hard to do.”
“But……”, Beth interrupted, her voice breathy with veiled horror, “I thought vamps couldn’t drain a wolf! Josef said wolves can make it faster than any vamps could take it! Why kill us at all? And…..if vamps can turn us into a …….holiday roast……why do they fear us……if we’re so easy to kill?”
Phelan glanced at her with a grim smile, “I never said we’re easy to kill, dearheart. Quite the opposite. As I said, for each wolf that fell, dozens ‘o vamps were killed in the battle. And, sometimes….. if the unfortunate wolf had a Pack to avenge him….. entire Tribes were later wiped out in an act of retribution. We were a very costly feast, indeed we were! But, just as a group of motivated, and properly armed, humans can pull it off……so could vamps, back in the days when we hunted each other.
Vamps have their tremendous speed, and they are very strong. When they attacked a wolf in large numbers…..well, it often ended badly for the wolf. We have great endurance, and can run a vamp into the ground….. but vamps are so fast……in numbers, they move like a swarm of bees around a lone wolf. Their speed is their real strength….. It’s the one thing a wolf cannot match. A wolf unlucky enough to be caught alone by a band of hunting vamps could find himself trussed up like a calf afore he knew what hit him.
And, as far as vamps not being able to drain a wolf……that’s true. Provided the wolf is alive at the time, we can make new blood at an astonishing rate. But…..it is impossible to make new blood while ye are swinging by yer hind legs above a bathtub with yer head cut off. Then, yer life drains into the tub beneath ye, and ye are just dead. Killing the wolf made more sense to the vamps back then….we’re natural enemies, after all……and a live wolf would have kept fighting, possibly escaping to kill them all. The vamps wouldn’t take that chance.
Afterwards, the vamps had their feast, as well as a trophy for their wall. And, if they were lucky, and careful, no Pack would track them down to retaliate. They had to avoid using silver to kill us…..lest they taint our blood for their own use. But with vampire strength, speed, and sheer numbers, it could be done. It was done…..many times. They would just bind us with stout chains, lop off our heads, and collect the blood.”
He paused with a wry grin, “Of course…..I heard stories of a couple cases that turned out differently. In one, a she-wolf was captured and chained by a mob of vamps. She told me later that she could feel weakness in the chains, and knew they would not hold her……those vamps had really been sloppy!” Phelan chuckled softly and shook his head, “But she made a show of struggling, snarling at her captors, as they wheeled their prize back to their master. Once inside the fortress of the Lead vamp, she snapped her chains and was free among them.” Phelan’s smile widened, “The vamps were not able to regain control of her, or kill her, in time. Most of that Tribe, including its stunned Leader, died that night…….but the clever she-wolf trotted away….. with a very full belly…… to tell the tale. She sported only a couple battle scars, from silver weapons.
Phelan chuckled again and glanced at Beth to be sure his charge was still paying attention. She was…..Beth watched him breathlessly, her eyes round, her delicate mouth hanging ajar. He continued, “Another fellow I talked to had a similar story of survival…..his being an example of the tremendous self-control, under duress, that I spoke of earlier. He was mobbed, and trussed up with chains too thick to break without a running start. He too, made a show of continuing to fight, struggling against the bonds, snarling as the vamps hooked his bound hind legs to a pulley in the ceiling and hoisted him upward, hanging head down. Beneath him was the large vat that his blood would pour into once his head was lopped off. Of course, the over-confident Leader of that Tribe could not resist standing up to triumphantly address his guests at the feast……. with his snarling, snapping, soon to be slaughtered, prize hanging upside down from the rafters behind him…….a show of his wealth, courage, and resources. His guests cheered and applauded that Leader’s greatness. There were apparently Leaders from neighboring Tribes present also.”
That grim smile again….. “The vamps didn’t cheer for long. As the Lead vamp enjoyed his accolades, the wolf hanging behind him grew still and quiet. None of the vamps noticed, so focused were they on their celebrations….. In an instant, the wolf Shifted back to human form. The loops o’ chain binding him were now much too big, and his human form dropped right through them, landing in the vat below. The second he hit the vat, he Shifted again…..and that impudent vamp Leader turned just in time to see his intended feast coming straight at him, jaws agape, once again a huge wolf, leaping from the lip of the heavy vat. Once the Leader was cut in half on the spot, pandemonium erupted, and that cunning wolf was then like a fox in a hen house. As always, a few of the vamps used the chaos to scatter and escape, but the majority of that Tribe, and its visiting dignitaries, didn’t survive the night.”
Beth starred at Phelan in horrified shock, her sky blue eyes wide. “When did these stories happen?”, she breathed, “And where?”
The big Irishman smiled gently at her, “Don’t worry, lass. The vamps outlawed those “feasts” three hundred years ago. They haven’t hunted us since. But, those two stories both happened when I was still a young wolf, back in Ireland, nearly 500 years ago.”
He sighed and continued, “After the Treaty, and new laws, any vamps or wolves who could not adapt to the change where hunted down and killed, each by their own kind. The vamps were always better organized, so they managed their Rogues as easily as a duck manages water. It took us…..werewolves, I mean…..alittle longer, since we’re basically wild at heart. But, with modern communications, our ability to police ourselves improved steadily. To survive now, a Rogue werewolf must live off the grid, and isolate himself from other wolves. If another wolf catches the scent of a maneater or a vamp-eater……the offending wolf is killed on the spot, if possible. And if stories of mauled victims hit the News……the wolf responsible is hunted down and killed by other wolves.”
He snorted and shook his head. “Unless, of course, the Pack Council is scared to death of The Legion! Spineless curs. ” A growl rumbled in his broad chest.
“But…..”, Beth ventured tentatively, “You were a lone wolf…..weren’t you? How did you avoid ending up as some Tribe’s……holiday roast?”
The big Irishman chuckled. “Aye, lass. I spent most of my long life as a loner. But the first couple decades of my lupine existence were spent in a large Irish Pack in my homeland. I was chosen, and Turned, because of my sheer size. I was muscle, brute force, pure and simple. I was a formidable Beta Male…..standing at the shoulder of my Alpha. I always had his back. He was a wise wolf……and he taught me much……including the ways and tricks of vampires that might be seeking a centerpiece for their feasts.”
Phelan sighed, and his expression turned sad. “But, as time went on, my Alpha grew suspicious of me…..because of my size and strength. He worried that I would eventually take the Leadership of the Pack away for him. I was bigger than him, bigger than anyone……so I could have. But, what my Alpha never understood was that I didn’t want the job.
Eventually, I grew tired of the suspicion and bickering of Pack politics, and I struck out on my own. I left Ireland and wandered through Europe until I found meself in Romania. I liked it there, and decided to settle down and stake out a territory. I became friendly with the closest villagers, and eventually met Josef. The rest you know.”
“Were you ever hunted by vampires?”, Beth asked quietly, “I mean, spending so much time alone…..did that make you a target?”
The burley Irishman smiled. “Aye, it did, and I was…..more than once.”
“How did you get away?”
“I’m bigger and stronger than the average werewolf…… obviously. But, surprisingly, I’m also pretty smart.” He quirked a smile at her.
Beth grinned and snorted. Phelan took that as a good sign…..alittle humor from her. She must be doing somewhat better.
“I had to dodge several vamp hunting parties over the decades of my wandering, mostly prior to when I settled in Romania, and long before Josef was born to his human parents. Alertness was the key to surviving, as was the use of our greatest strength, our endurance. Run and dodge, run and dodge. That’s how ye survive. Yer anger, yer pride, will tell ye to stand and fight…..but that will get ye killed. Ye must follow yer instinct and flee, when facing a mob o’ vamps. Wear ‘em out in the chasing o’ ye. Never let more than one of them get ahold of ye at same time. Never allow yerself to be surrounded, or cornered. When I heard, and smelled, a vamp hunting party closing on my position, I would simply bolt. They would pursue, with their superior speed, but as soon as one tried to get ahold o’ me to throw a loop of chain, I would whip my head around, kill him, and keep running without missing a beat. I did the same each time, again and again, until the survivors were too exhausted to keep up the chase. Then, of course…… what’s good for the goose is good for the gander!”
Phelan winked, “By the time the survivors had worn themselves out in their fruitless pursuit of me, I was just getting warmed up……. and I was always hungry. I would swing around and come back for them. Fair’s fair, I told meself. They wanted a hunt……and I gave ‘em one…..only, they found themselves on the receiving end of it by then. Those were the only occasions when I allowed myself a little vamp flesh. They had started the fight…..I finished it, I was hungry, and my blood was up. While I enjoyed their intoxicating, energy-rich flesh at the time…..I would feel tremendously guilty afterwards, and would beg God’s forgiveness for the consumption of a fellow sentient being. Even though they had meant to do the same to me. I would always tell meself, afterwards, never again. But, of course, the next time I was hunted by vamps, I almost always gave into that temptation again. Me self-control in battle was usually pretty terrible.
Continued Below........
SUMMARY: A multi-chapter action-adventure, featuring Mick, Beth, Josef, Logan, Talbot, Simone, and a few really big werewolves, among others!
SPOILERS: Follows on from all 16 episodes of “Moonlight” as aired on CBS. Follows on from Allegrita’s very steaming FanFic, “Presto Agitato”, Ch 1 & 2. Also follows on from Desdemona’s awesome FanFic, “Silver”, Ch 1 thru 7, only. And, I borrow from the tremendously talented Eris, with her kind permission, her fantastic original character of ‘Karl’.
Ready? On we go!
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Beth came awake in gradual stages, slowly, reluctantly returning to the world she had temporarily escaped in her deep slumber. She felt the soft silk sheets against her bare legs. She felt her oversized cotton tee shirt warm against her torso. Before she was even close to fully awake, she inhaled, instinctively scenting the room around her…….taking the measure of it……..
Claudia, the Lead Cleaner, was gone now. Her scent lingered in an after image of her presence, but the vampress was no longer in the room, as she had been when Beth fell asleep.
Someone had taken Claudia’s place……Beth’s nose informed her groggy mind that it was the Irish werewolf, Phelan, in his human form. He was in the room now, sitting quietly nearby. His distinctive scent was familiar. She could hear his heart beating at a relaxed pace, hear his soft respirations. The page of a book was turned……. the hiss of paper sliding across paper. Phelan was reading. Had he been someone Beth did not recognize.…..especially an unknown wolf…..she would have snapped awake in an instant, probably Shifting to defend herself in the process. But Phelan presented no threat…..so Beth’s mind and body continued taking their time in rousing from slumber.
Beth stirred as she awakened further, and drew in another soft sniff of the room around her…….Mick was here too, but still asleep in his ice box in the adjoining alcove. Disappointment and relief washed through her simultaneously…… At least she would not have to face him….. yet…… to have him know what she had done…… That would come soon enough. But he was okay, and he was with her……. That alone soothed her troubled spirit.
As she made the final leg of her journey to wakefulness, Beth listened to the vast house around her……Josef’s sprawling estate. She could hear songbirds singing outside, even though the Newbie Suite was subterranean. Its ceiling was the concrete and steel reinforced floor of the mansion’s first story. Beth could hear bustling in the Main Kitchen upstairs…..Chefs at work to feed Josef’s Harem of freshies, as well as the other human members of his numerous Staff. So…..it must be daylight outside, either lunch or dinner. That would explain why Mick still slept.
Sighing, as she gave up the last vestiges of sleep, Beth’s sky-blue eyes slid open. She was facing Mick’s freezer alcove, and could see him sleeping peacefully inside. A pleasant sight to awaken to……her mate was magnificent, beautiful….. so peaceful as he slept. She smiled softly at the sight of her lover……. before the horrific memories assaulted her waking mind……and the crushing guilt she endured…..the things she had done last night…….
She winced, a whimpered moan escaping her lips, and squeezed her eyes shut again.
Mick had told her once that he had done “terrible things” during his early years as a vampire. He said he carried “tremendous guilt” for these “things” that he never wanted to discuss.
As she lay still, her eyes screwed shut, Beth found herself wondering how he managed to bear it…… If his feelings of guilt were even close to what she felt now…… how did Mick manage to keep going? How did he stand it? Waking up to those memories every day……like she was doing right now? It was unbearable.
Beth sat up in bed slowly, and turned to face the only other conscious person in the room. Phelan sat there watching her, once again looking for all the world like a lumberjack…..a green plaid flannel shirt that brought out his eyes……April must have picked that one out for him, Beth decided…… Blue jeans, and work boots. His tousled, coppery red hair, and his neatly trimmed, deeper red, mustache and beard completed the look. Brilliant green eyes regarded her calmly.
“Mornin’ dearheart!”, Phelan said brightly, beaming a smile at her from the overstuffed leather recliner where Claudia had been sitting when Beth fell asleep hours earlier. “Did yae sleep well?” He set down the book he’d been reading on the little butler table beside the chair. Beth caught a glimpse of the cover as he did so….. ‘Remembrance Of Things Past’, by Proust. Huh…. That surprised her. It was such a……cerebral……book. Phelan didn’t seem the type to enjoy anything like that……..
She had read it once, in College, and had found it to be as depressing as hell. One man’s sad, life long, struggle to cope with, and understand, the ravages of time itself…..an inexorable force that slowly steals everything from us, even ourselves. Can anything resist the forces of time? Or is everything, including ourselves, just crushed under the wheels of time’s unstoppable advance.
But, on the other hand, Beth speculated, time must be experienced quite differently by those who don’t age…… like vamps and weres….. who essentially live outside of time. Time still steals things, and people, away from immortals, but not their own health, or their lives, as it does with mortal men.
So, she decided, Proust’s dour lamentation about the thief of time might mean something else entirely to an immortal. They lose human friends and family, homes, Countries, ways of life, perhaps even entire Civilizations, if an immortal lives long enough. But, unlike humans, the immortal them self goes on……and on……and on.
As she remembered the book from College, the central character eventually concludes that only the past is safe from the destruction that time brings, that which has already past. What is past always endures, in memory and in history. Time cannot destroy history. And, Proust decides by the end of the book, the persons we have been in the past…..the child, the young adult, etc…., always remain in us, past selves sealed up within us, as a tree carries the rings of years past within it always. An immortal would have a lot of these proverbial ‘rings’……. many memories, and a lot of history, to recall.
All of these ruminations on Phelan’s choice of reading material skipped through Beth’s mind in a few seconds, as she blinked at the big Irishman sitting in the overstuffed chair near the foot of her bed.
Phelan’s thick Irish accent was lilting, as always….. as though nothing untoward had happened so recently. He had, of course, been aware that Beth was waking……he had heard her breathing change…..heard her scenting the room. But he had politely waited until she was ready to open her eyes and face the world again.
“Good morning.” Beth replied evenly, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands, “Where’s Claudia?”
Phelan chuckled softly, “Ah….. Out cold by now, I would think. If you’ll pardon the vamp pun.”, He smiled rakishly at Beth. When the little blonde only blinked at him, Phelan cleared his throat nervously and went on. It was going to be a long afternoon, he could tell…… “What I mean ta say, dearheart, is that I relieved Claudia once I had finished me elk breakfast. I took over settin’ with yae, and she went upstairs ta one o’ Josef’s guest iceboxes.”
Beth nodded, dropping her eyes to the bedspread, “Oh. That’s good. She was tired.”
“Indeed.”, Phelan replied. His bright green eyes watched the little blond she-wolf. The girl would have many questions…..he just needed to wait til she was ready to ask them……..and ready to hear the answers.
Beth reached over the side of the bed and reacquired the sweat pants she had shucked off early that morning. Dragging them under the covers, she slipped them back on as discretely as she could. Ever the gentleman, Phelan turned his head and contemplated the ornate wall clock while Beth made herself socially presentable.
Once her sweat pants were in place, Beth finger-combed her long blonde hair, and crawled out from under the covers. Still on the bed, she scooted down to the left hand corner of the king-size bed, closest to Phelan. Once there, she perched cross-legged and sat facing the big Irish werewolf.
Neither spoke for several seconds. Phelan offered what he hoped was an encouraging smile.
Finally, Beth drew in a deep breath, and began. “So…… What happens now?”
“Now, lass, ye must heal again, and move on from this battle.”
“Move on?”
“Move past it…..emotionally, I mean.”
“I…… don’t think I can.” Suddenly overcome by a wave of regret, and self-loathing, tears began to well in Beth’s eyes. She hung her head and let them fall, silently splashing onto the hands folded in her lap. “I’m…..a maneater now…….a monster.”
Phelan cocked his head slightly and regarded the young woman. Then he slowly leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Really? So then, ye plan on continuing ta eat humans?”
Beth jerked her head up and starred at Phelan, wide eyed, “What!? No! Of course not! Why would you even say a thing like that?!”
Phelan smiled. Now he had her full attention. Enough with the sulking, already. “Well, dearheart……ye referred to yerself as a maneater in the present tense, not the past tense……so I just assumed…..” He shrugged casually.
“No!” A low snarl crept into Beth’s voice, “My gosh! How could you think that I would…… Would I be this upset if I was happy with what I did?! If planned to continue?!” Her volume was rising, and her eyes tipped from sky blue to sapphire blue.
“Easy lass…..take a deep breath and dial it down a bit.” Dealing with a new Turn like Beth was always a dicey situation. Their emotions are so raw, and Beth was particularly vulnerable, given the traumas she had just survived. Phelan knew he needed to keep her focused, lest he find himself in yet another dogfight with his pupil. “So then……ye meant to say that ye WERE a maneater, in the past…..and not currently?”
Beth allowed a snarling peel to escape her lips, baring teeth as she did so….. “Of course!”, she snapped, glowering at the Irish werewolf seated across from her. Her eyes slowly faded back to their human shade of sky blue. “But….. I DID eat three men last night, and THAT makes me a maneater……by anyone’s terminology, I think!” She paused, blinking at him, “Right?”
“Aye, dearheart,…….it does, but it is not all black and white. There are always shades of grey,” he paused to nod toward Mick’s sleeping form in the case on the other side of the room, “as I’m sure yer vampire can attest to. There were……circumstances…..that effected yer behavior. Ye were deep in Territorial Rage, defending yer Pack and the ones ye love, for one thing. Plus, yer still just a pup, still learning to control your impulses. Then, while in battle, ye were shot in the head. That injury destroyed all conscious control. Any Pack Authorities would see those things as justification for yer actions. Mitigating factors, as your lawyer friends would say.”
“Pack Authorities? You mean I could be in some kind of …….legal……trouble? With a Pack?”
Phelan straightened and sat back in the overstuffed recliner, steepling his fingertips in front of his face in a way that reminded Beth of Josef. After a moment’s thought, he spoke, “It’s complicated, dearheart…..but aye, if we were to run into a few visiting werewolves upstairs, they would undoubtedly try to kill yae. And if they didn’t think they could take the two o’ us…..which they couldn’t…..they would run, trying to get to their cellphones as fast as they could.”
“Why?”
“Because of yer scent right now, dearheart. Ye are what ye eat, as they say……and yer scent shrieks ‘maneater’ right now. Any unfamiliar wolf would act on yer scent alone and report yae, and yer location, to the National Pack Council. That’s providing they didn’t want to try to kill yae themselves first, and phone it in later.”
Beth rested her face in her hands, covering her eyes, “Great…..I smell like a maneater…….that’s just great. How long will that last?”
“Only a few days, dearheart. Just a few hearty…..non-biped…..meals, and a few days. Yer body will burn up the last of….. that fuel….. and ye’ll go back to smelling like a proper venison eater, or elk eater, as the case may be.” Phelan shrugged and offered a sympathetic smile as Beth lifted her face to look at him.
She blinked slowly at him, “I’m sorry…..this is just….. so much to process.” She shook her head, and rubbed her eyes with thumb and forefinger.
“Not a problem, dearheart.”
“So…....maneating is…..illegal…..among werewolves?”, she asked.
“Very. Vamp-eating too. Both are punishable by death…….unless there are mitigating circumstances that led to an isolated incident…… such as yer situation.”
“Well that’s good…...”, Beth responded absently, looking slightly dazed for a couple seconds. Then her eyes snapped back to Phelan’s face. “But……I remember Josef telling us that the Pack Council wouldn’t help us when…..my Sire…..was running around LA eating vampires right and left. Why wouldn’t they come kill my Sire?”, her eyes wobbled towards deep sapphire again as anger returned to her tone, “That would have been awfully decent of them. Especially if they had managed to get the job done BEFORE that monster had the chance to tear me up, and Turn me into a wolf, just like him!”
Phelan sighed. “First of all, lass, yae are nothing like yer Sire. But, regarding yer main question, as I understand it,” he replied, “the National Pack Council was afraid of pissing off The Legion. They had heard that a culling action had already begun in LA. That bunch o’ chicken shit mutts wanted to stay out of the Legion’s way.” He snorted derisively and shook his head. “Pardon me crude language, lass.”
Beth nodded, her eyes fading back toward sky blue, as she reigned in her anger. She let out a deep cleansing sigh, “Okay….it’s starting to make sense now, I think. So, man or vamp eating is illegal, and punishable by death……if the Pack Council finds out about it…… and as long as it’s politically expedient…..and safe…..for them to intervene?”
“Pretty much…..yeah.”, Phelan nodded, “In most cases, however, ordinary werewolves will take out any maneater or vamp-eater they encounter, if they can. It’s become almost a reflex in us over the past few hundred years. This is because rogues pose a threat to our secrecy, and to the fragile peace between Pack and Tribe. Sires now drill it into all their Turns from day one…..kill maneaters on sight, etc….. But, there weren’t any werewolves in LA…….until ye came along, dearheart.” Phelan paused, smiling gently at Beth, “Ordinarily, if the National Council gets wind of anything that sounds like a maneater…..in the News, for instance….. or if they get a complaint about a maneater, or vamp-eater, from a local Tribe, they send a team to hunt down and kill the offender. In your Sire’s case, they received both wind in the News, AND a formal complaint from the LA Tribe…… but the Legion’s presence spooked them.” Phelan snarled softly under his breath, “Cowardly hounds. I knew there was a good reason I avoid Pack life.”
“So…..”, Beth asked, “If any werewolf reflexively wants to eliminate any maneater, then why aren’t you trying to kill me now? Or running to the phone to call in some furry strike team?”
Phelan grinned and snorted, “Because, lass, I’m old enough to remember the days when it was not so, and I understand the circumstances……the very mitigating circumstances. I know the situation yae were in…… why you did what ye did. If a Council kill team were to show up now…… and, if we could get them to stop and listen to what really happened…… they would have no choice but to absolve ye of any wrong-doing. Yae were sorely provoked. Yae were defending yer Pack and yer territory. Yae aren’t even a month old yet. And, yae were shot in the head. The hard part would be in getting them to stop and listen, to hear us out, and not rush to judgment. Our kind can be very……single minded……when our blood is up.”
“But I still ate three guys!”
“Aye…..ye did that….. but remember what I said about those shades of gray?”
Beth nodded slowly.
Phelan leaned forward, met her gaze, and held it, his green eyes suddenly fierce, “Now ya listen to me, dearheart. Those three guys weren’t some innocent lads who had done nothing to ye! Don’t forget that…..who they were, and what they had done. They tried to kill Josef and Mick! They nearly succeeded. They played with fire…..and they got burned. Do not pity them…..and do not regret their deaths, for it was richly deserved by them all!”
Beth blinked at him in surprise.
Phelan let out a long tired sigh, and slouched back in his chair, before continuing, “Lass…..there are different kinds of…… knowledge. There is the knowledge in yer lovely head, the things ye learn from the people and things around ye. And then there’s a different kind of knowledge……one ye don’t have to learn. It boils in yer blood and sings through yer bones. It tells ye when to run, and when to fight. It whispers through yer deepest thoughts, and tells ye what ye must do to survive.”
“Instinct.”
“Aye, dearheart. Instincts. Humans don’t think they have ‘em, but they do. They don’t think their behavior is ever impacted by deep, primal, instincts. But it is…..frequently. Humans even respond, unconsciously, to pheromones put out by other humans…… feeling either repelled or attracted by those pheromones. They just don’t realize it. They say they have a feeling about something, or they’re just not comfortable with some situation…..never understanding that they are unconsciously responding to the pheromones of the other humans around them. Their instincts effect their behaviors in other ways too…..for instance….. Young human females who are ovulating tend to choose clothing that shows….. more skin….. that day, advertizing for a mate, while having no clue that is what they are doing, or why. When they are not fertile, not ovulating, they choose clothing that shows off less skin….. no need for a mate today. They have no idea they are doing any of this…..but instinct and biology drives them, as surely as it drives the bull elk to bugle at his rivals in the forest, and piss all over himself. The cow elk think he smells wonderful, by the way.” He grinned playfully, as Beth wrinkled up her nose at the mental picture Phelan had painted. Bull elk piss on themselves? Why? Better yet…..how??? Never mind…..she decided she didn’t want to know.
“Now,” Phelan continued, “vampires know they have instincts, but they like to think they are the master of those instincts, that they can control them. Sometimes they can……sometimes they can’t. Only we werewolves really embrace and accept our instincts…..perhaps because we are so close to the natural world….to the wild. We see the geese flying south in Fall, we see the salmon swimming upstream, and we know that instinct is as powerful a force in us as it is in those simple creatures. We let instinct guide us, because it is our strength…..our gift.”
Phelan paused, and glanced over at the little blonde, who still sat Indian-style on the corner of the huge King Sized bed. She was watching him closely.
“Last night, once ye were shot in the head, yer instincts took over to keep ye alive. While yer conscious mind was unavailable, yer instincts took a message…..so to speak…… and did whatever needed to be done so that yae could survive. That included…….procuring the nourishment necessary to heal yer many terrible wounds.”
At the mention of the…..nourishment……Beth hung her head again and contemplated the small hands folded in her lap. How could those now dainty, feminine hands have torn a dozen people to shreds last night?
Phelan waited in silence, until she was ready to continue.
“Am I going to have more trouble now?”, Beth asked softly, barely above a whisper, “I mean…..with…….wanting……something other than venison?”
Phelan nodded solemnly, “Aye…..I’m afraid so, dearheart.” He hesitated a moment, “While ye slept, because this is an unusual situation, I took the liberty of reading yer scent.”
He paused, expecting Beth to protest, or express outrage at such an intrusion, but when she remained silent, he continued, “Even though ye don’t consciously remember the maneating, yer body does…… and yer body liked it……a lot. It will be harder for ye to resist that temptation now, because ye have tasted it, and yer body remembers. It will be easier for ye to cross that line in the future. Ye’ll always have to keep a tighter rein on yerself around humans from now on, most humans, that it…….. I doubt you’ll have much increased desire around humans you consider part of your Pack, but other humans, yeah…….undoubtedly. The drive will be stronger.”
Beth nodded, sighing. She had suspected as much. “Has it been done before? I mean……have other werewolves…. eaten people……. and then found a way to not be a maneater anymore? Is it even possible? Or should I just wake Claudia up and ask her to whack my head off right now?”
Phelan chuckled softly, and ran a hand through his coppery-red hair. “Aye, lass. It’s very possible. Hunting both humans, and vampires, for food has only been illegal among werewolves for about three hundred years. Prior to that, it was a free for all, as ye Americans say. Where do ye think all the legends of maneating monsters come from, eh? Those stories were real. Back in those days, only a wolf’s conscience stood between him, or her, and a steady diet of bipeds. The vampires, too, placed little restraint on themselves back then……with the exception of vamps like Josef and Mick…..the ones with a conscience.”
Phelan sighed again, and absently scratched at his short beard, pondering how to phrase what he needed to tell his student. He glanced up at Beth, who was watching him intently, her mouth hanging open slightly in surprise at these revelations.
Clearing his throat, Phelan continued, “Humans were highly prized, but vampires were the brass ring, on a werewolf’s menu hundreds of years ago. And, just as vampires can live on animal blood, or corpse blood, if they have to, but crave fresh human blood to be at their physical peak, so too do werewolves crave human flesh, and even better, vamp flesh. I’ve always thought of it as nature’s answer to humanity…..filling a vacuum, if ye will.”
Beth’s brow furrowed in confusion, so Phelan explained, “In nature, everything has a natural enemy…..a predator for every prey. The predators keep the prey healthy by weeding out the weak and sick. In turn, the prey’s healthy abundance allows the predator to survive. They need each other. The deer have the Timber wolf. The seals have the Great White shark in some areas, and the Polar Bear in others. The penguins have the Leopard seal. The mice have cats and owls. The rabbit has the hawk. But, humanity is an intelligent, and abundant, prey with no natural enemy….. save one another. Nothing else preys on ‘em, and nature abhors a vacuum, as they say. I’ve always thought that both vampires and werewolves were intended, by nature, to be the intelligent predator meant to hunt this intelligent prey…..to keep humanity’s numbers in check, just as the Great White shark keeps the numbers of seals in check. It’s why we crave them, I think. And because we, vamps and weres, are the top of food chain…..it’s why we crave each other too. We kept each others’ numbers in check as well.”
Beth was staring at Phelan now in jaw-dropped horror. He glanced at her and smiled sadly. “I know, dearheart, I know. Me theory is a terrible one, but it makes sense, I think, and it explains much. I didn’t say I agreed with it, mind ye now. I only said I think it is why we, vamps and weres, seem to be hardwired the way we are. But, fer us to carry through with this law ‘o the jungle, we would have to put our conscience on the shelf. I could never do that….. neither could Josef…… and neither can ye, or yer Mick. People shouldn’t kill people.”
Beth winced and nodded in solemn agreement.
“But, lass, sometimes we have no choice.” Phelan looked down at his work boots on Josef’s expensive carpet, and continued, “Eventually, with the advancement of human weaponry and technology, as well as the increasingly combative relationship between Pack and Tribe, it was decided that a change had to be made. Just as vampires stopped randomly killing, or abusing, their human prey, the werewolves outlawed maneating. The risk of discovery by humans, and retaliation with their increasingly deadly weaponry, became too great. It is far safer to be a myth, a legend. Weres melted into the forests, hunting only that which ran on four legs. The vamps no longer kept blood-slaves, who were terrified, abused, and eventually killed. The pampered human harem of willing donors, as Josef has today, was born. Worked out better for everyone. And, in a much-needed Treaty with the vampires, it also became illegal for weres to hunt vamps for food…… and visa versa.”
Phelan paused again, collecting his thoughts, choosing his words carefully. “After that…..the term ‘rogue’ was born. Prior to this change in both our societies, there was no such thing as a rogue. There was only werewolves and vampires being werewolves and vampires, which included preying on each other at every opportunity. They loved our blood, and we loved their flesh. Just as many vamps were eaten by the likes of me, so too was many a werewolf slain and hung up like a hog to drain their blood into containers. Our kind was a prized centerpiece at any vampire gathering feast long ago……much like a thanksgiving turkey is to humans today.” He chuckled softly, “But…..unlike a Thanksgiving turkey, the vamps ‘o old took their lives into their own hands in order to obtain a werewolf for one of their feasts. Those prized ‘turkeys’ fought back…....hard. For every wolf who was captured, and later slain, for a vamp feast, dozens of vamps paid with their own lives in the effort. Our kind doesn’t go down easy. And often, the dead wolf’s Pack would track their missing pack-mate, and descend on the vampires’ feast, slaughtering everyone there in retaliation.
This only made us more valuable to the vamps…..because we were so costly to obtain. The risk….the danger……made our blood even sweeter to them. Vamps have always been thrill-seekers, to a certain extent. To successfully capture, contain, and then slay a wolf for a gathering celebration meant that the founder of the feast was a very powerful, influential, vampire indeed, someone of great resources……. someone to be feared. And, they preferred us on all fours…..more blood in the carcass that way.”
Phelan paused, “I heard stories of some wolves who deliberately returned to their human forms just before the death blow was struck…....cheating the vamps out of the majority of the blood they sought, as well as the trophy of a lupine body. That sounds like the obvious thing to do…… if ye know ye are doomed…..but it’s harder than ye might think, when yer blood is up, and ye are struggling to take just one more of yer tormentors with ye afore ye die. To surrender…..and Shift back to human form in that instant……”, Phelan shook his head slowly, “it would be very hard to do.”
“But……”, Beth interrupted, her voice breathy with veiled horror, “I thought vamps couldn’t drain a wolf! Josef said wolves can make it faster than any vamps could take it! Why kill us at all? And…..if vamps can turn us into a …….holiday roast……why do they fear us……if we’re so easy to kill?”
Phelan glanced at her with a grim smile, “I never said we’re easy to kill, dearheart. Quite the opposite. As I said, for each wolf that fell, dozens ‘o vamps were killed in the battle. And, sometimes….. if the unfortunate wolf had a Pack to avenge him….. entire Tribes were later wiped out in an act of retribution. We were a very costly feast, indeed we were! But, just as a group of motivated, and properly armed, humans can pull it off……so could vamps, back in the days when we hunted each other.
Vamps have their tremendous speed, and they are very strong. When they attacked a wolf in large numbers…..well, it often ended badly for the wolf. We have great endurance, and can run a vamp into the ground….. but vamps are so fast……in numbers, they move like a swarm of bees around a lone wolf. Their speed is their real strength….. It’s the one thing a wolf cannot match. A wolf unlucky enough to be caught alone by a band of hunting vamps could find himself trussed up like a calf afore he knew what hit him.
And, as far as vamps not being able to drain a wolf……that’s true. Provided the wolf is alive at the time, we can make new blood at an astonishing rate. But…..it is impossible to make new blood while ye are swinging by yer hind legs above a bathtub with yer head cut off. Then, yer life drains into the tub beneath ye, and ye are just dead. Killing the wolf made more sense to the vamps back then….we’re natural enemies, after all……and a live wolf would have kept fighting, possibly escaping to kill them all. The vamps wouldn’t take that chance.
Afterwards, the vamps had their feast, as well as a trophy for their wall. And, if they were lucky, and careful, no Pack would track them down to retaliate. They had to avoid using silver to kill us…..lest they taint our blood for their own use. But with vampire strength, speed, and sheer numbers, it could be done. It was done…..many times. They would just bind us with stout chains, lop off our heads, and collect the blood.”
He paused with a wry grin, “Of course…..I heard stories of a couple cases that turned out differently. In one, a she-wolf was captured and chained by a mob of vamps. She told me later that she could feel weakness in the chains, and knew they would not hold her……those vamps had really been sloppy!” Phelan chuckled softly and shook his head, “But she made a show of struggling, snarling at her captors, as they wheeled their prize back to their master. Once inside the fortress of the Lead vamp, she snapped her chains and was free among them.” Phelan’s smile widened, “The vamps were not able to regain control of her, or kill her, in time. Most of that Tribe, including its stunned Leader, died that night…….but the clever she-wolf trotted away….. with a very full belly…… to tell the tale. She sported only a couple battle scars, from silver weapons.
Phelan chuckled again and glanced at Beth to be sure his charge was still paying attention. She was…..Beth watched him breathlessly, her eyes round, her delicate mouth hanging ajar. He continued, “Another fellow I talked to had a similar story of survival…..his being an example of the tremendous self-control, under duress, that I spoke of earlier. He was mobbed, and trussed up with chains too thick to break without a running start. He too, made a show of continuing to fight, struggling against the bonds, snarling as the vamps hooked his bound hind legs to a pulley in the ceiling and hoisted him upward, hanging head down. Beneath him was the large vat that his blood would pour into once his head was lopped off. Of course, the over-confident Leader of that Tribe could not resist standing up to triumphantly address his guests at the feast……. with his snarling, snapping, soon to be slaughtered, prize hanging upside down from the rafters behind him…….a show of his wealth, courage, and resources. His guests cheered and applauded that Leader’s greatness. There were apparently Leaders from neighboring Tribes present also.”
That grim smile again….. “The vamps didn’t cheer for long. As the Lead vamp enjoyed his accolades, the wolf hanging behind him grew still and quiet. None of the vamps noticed, so focused were they on their celebrations….. In an instant, the wolf Shifted back to human form. The loops o’ chain binding him were now much too big, and his human form dropped right through them, landing in the vat below. The second he hit the vat, he Shifted again…..and that impudent vamp Leader turned just in time to see his intended feast coming straight at him, jaws agape, once again a huge wolf, leaping from the lip of the heavy vat. Once the Leader was cut in half on the spot, pandemonium erupted, and that cunning wolf was then like a fox in a hen house. As always, a few of the vamps used the chaos to scatter and escape, but the majority of that Tribe, and its visiting dignitaries, didn’t survive the night.”
Beth starred at Phelan in horrified shock, her sky blue eyes wide. “When did these stories happen?”, she breathed, “And where?”
The big Irishman smiled gently at her, “Don’t worry, lass. The vamps outlawed those “feasts” three hundred years ago. They haven’t hunted us since. But, those two stories both happened when I was still a young wolf, back in Ireland, nearly 500 years ago.”
He sighed and continued, “After the Treaty, and new laws, any vamps or wolves who could not adapt to the change where hunted down and killed, each by their own kind. The vamps were always better organized, so they managed their Rogues as easily as a duck manages water. It took us…..werewolves, I mean…..alittle longer, since we’re basically wild at heart. But, with modern communications, our ability to police ourselves improved steadily. To survive now, a Rogue werewolf must live off the grid, and isolate himself from other wolves. If another wolf catches the scent of a maneater or a vamp-eater……the offending wolf is killed on the spot, if possible. And if stories of mauled victims hit the News……the wolf responsible is hunted down and killed by other wolves.”
He snorted and shook his head. “Unless, of course, the Pack Council is scared to death of The Legion! Spineless curs. ” A growl rumbled in his broad chest.
“But…..”, Beth ventured tentatively, “You were a lone wolf…..weren’t you? How did you avoid ending up as some Tribe’s……holiday roast?”
The big Irishman chuckled. “Aye, lass. I spent most of my long life as a loner. But the first couple decades of my lupine existence were spent in a large Irish Pack in my homeland. I was chosen, and Turned, because of my sheer size. I was muscle, brute force, pure and simple. I was a formidable Beta Male…..standing at the shoulder of my Alpha. I always had his back. He was a wise wolf……and he taught me much……including the ways and tricks of vampires that might be seeking a centerpiece for their feasts.”
Phelan sighed, and his expression turned sad. “But, as time went on, my Alpha grew suspicious of me…..because of my size and strength. He worried that I would eventually take the Leadership of the Pack away for him. I was bigger than him, bigger than anyone……so I could have. But, what my Alpha never understood was that I didn’t want the job.
Eventually, I grew tired of the suspicion and bickering of Pack politics, and I struck out on my own. I left Ireland and wandered through Europe until I found meself in Romania. I liked it there, and decided to settle down and stake out a territory. I became friendly with the closest villagers, and eventually met Josef. The rest you know.”
“Were you ever hunted by vampires?”, Beth asked quietly, “I mean, spending so much time alone…..did that make you a target?”
The burley Irishman smiled. “Aye, it did, and I was…..more than once.”
“How did you get away?”
“I’m bigger and stronger than the average werewolf…… obviously. But, surprisingly, I’m also pretty smart.” He quirked a smile at her.
Beth grinned and snorted. Phelan took that as a good sign…..alittle humor from her. She must be doing somewhat better.
“I had to dodge several vamp hunting parties over the decades of my wandering, mostly prior to when I settled in Romania, and long before Josef was born to his human parents. Alertness was the key to surviving, as was the use of our greatest strength, our endurance. Run and dodge, run and dodge. That’s how ye survive. Yer anger, yer pride, will tell ye to stand and fight…..but that will get ye killed. Ye must follow yer instinct and flee, when facing a mob o’ vamps. Wear ‘em out in the chasing o’ ye. Never let more than one of them get ahold of ye at same time. Never allow yerself to be surrounded, or cornered. When I heard, and smelled, a vamp hunting party closing on my position, I would simply bolt. They would pursue, with their superior speed, but as soon as one tried to get ahold o’ me to throw a loop of chain, I would whip my head around, kill him, and keep running without missing a beat. I did the same each time, again and again, until the survivors were too exhausted to keep up the chase. Then, of course…… what’s good for the goose is good for the gander!”
Phelan winked, “By the time the survivors had worn themselves out in their fruitless pursuit of me, I was just getting warmed up……. and I was always hungry. I would swing around and come back for them. Fair’s fair, I told meself. They wanted a hunt……and I gave ‘em one…..only, they found themselves on the receiving end of it by then. Those were the only occasions when I allowed myself a little vamp flesh. They had started the fight…..I finished it, I was hungry, and my blood was up. While I enjoyed their intoxicating, energy-rich flesh at the time…..I would feel tremendously guilty afterwards, and would beg God’s forgiveness for the consumption of a fellow sentient being. Even though they had meant to do the same to me. I would always tell meself, afterwards, never again. But, of course, the next time I was hunted by vamps, I almost always gave into that temptation again. Me self-control in battle was usually pretty terrible.
Continued Below........