You’d think that standing in a semi-circle of blood demons would phase me. You might think that being sexually harassed by various werewolf mutts would leave a lasting impression. I can’t say that it has yet. Living in the inner city of New York has made me fairly impervious to the transgressions of the supernatural.
What bothers me is the fact that they bloody me, sending me whimpering back to my blood demon other half. Its quite scary. But not for the reason that you would suspect.
I walk into his room, my lip swollen and bleeding and blood slashed across my stomach. Damon jumps up from his bed “What happened to you?!” He exclaims.
“Nothing.” I reply, taking off my shredded shirt and throwing it on the unsoiled carpet. Everything about Damon just screams sanitary. His room and entire Victorian home are completely devoid of dirt or anything else filthy. The only thing that has me convinced that he isn't a germaphobe are the ashtrays he has placed throughout the house. He himself always has the aroma of cigarette smoke and peppermint. How he manages to keep the fancy ornaments and decorative knick knacks smelling like hand sanitizer, I will never know.
Damon looks down at it, the crimson pool of blood seeping into the thin threads of fabric.. As much as the blood taints his sense of smell, alluring him and soaking into his primal instinct to attack, he restrains himself for my sake. I can see the veins working in his jaw as he clenches his fangs tightly. “You call bleeding out on the carpet nothing?” he says, his voice shaking in concern.
“Yes. Yes I do.” I say, going into his bathroom. He follows me, his jaw nearly off the hinge in disbelief. “Tell me. Now.” he says in a commanding voice. His eyes have gone steely, as opposed to their normal pale slate color.
“I can’t really talk about it, but I’ll show you tomorrow night.” I answer, dabbing my lip with a towel and observing my face in the mirror. A diamond shaped face with piercing blue green eyes, thin light brown hair framing it and falling in my eyes. Not beautiful, but not terrible either. Damon scowls at my reply and takes an antiseptic out of the cabinet above the sink. He has taken to keeping it handy since I arrived. He douses a rag with the foul smelling cleanser and tends to the deep gash on my stomach. I hiss slightly at the burning sensation.
“I found something.” I say vaguely.
“Apparently.” he retorts, sarcasm heavy in his tone. His fingers press softly as he twines gauze around my stomach. “You’re a werewolf. What the fuck did this to you?” he growls. I can’t blame him for asking. It seems to be his primary instinct to protect me, as annoying as I find it.
“A werewolf.” I reply simply, taking a strand of gauze in my teeth and winding it around my hand quickly. The texture against my pointed fangs causes me to gag and raises goosebumps on my arms. Sure, being nearly beaten to death I can take. Yucky texture, however, I can't deal with.
“But of course.” he says, rolling his eyes and mocking my tone. He licks gently at my hand where a slight abrasion has started to seep blood. I smile wryly at the tender yet disgusting gesture, though he doesn’t see it. “You promise you’ll explain later?” he asks, stroking the laceration to make it bleed more.
“Yeah yeah, whatever you ask, oh blood demon master.” I reply coldly, pulling my hand away before he can ingest anymore of my life force. I curl up in a ball on his bed, waiting for the nightmares to find me. Damon doesn’t join me, he never does. His kindness ends at taking care of my wounds. I never allow him any closer than what is necessary. He goes to another room and waits for my screams to shatter the night. They always come. It is an inevitability.
Not long ago I woke in this bed, curled in the fetal position on its silken sheets. I didn’t know who I was, where I was or why the man standing above me seemed so concerned. Ever since then, flashed of my past life have haunted me in my slumber. The cold is the most vivid, my veins seem iced over when I wake.
I wonder vaguely why he worries about me so much, or why he seems to know so much about me. I don’t have enough time to think about it before the first blood demon is on me, his jaws dripping a nauseating mix of blood and saliva. At this point, Level E, the demon is more like an animated corpse than he is a vampire. A zombie that seeks the high of any blood, sinking so low as to drink from his mortal enemy. Me, a werewolf. A Loup-Garoux.
I grab him by his shoulder, my grip bone-crushing. Blood spurts from the indentions my thumbs leave. His jaws gnash at my throat, his teeth clicking eerily and guttural sounds escaping his throat. I wrinkle my nose at this atrocity. Probably better to put it out of it's misery.
Before I can twist it's head off, more Level E's are on my back, scratching off my flesh with their fingernails, crippling my joints with their super human strength. I can feel their fangs in my muscles. Searing pain shoots through them, leaving me temporarily immobile as their venom works its way deep into my system. Just as I think my world is going to end, my body ripples in anger.
I shriek in agony as my muscles contort under the pressure of the Leeches poison. My bones snap and crunch into place as my wolf form takes hold of my consciousness. A snarl escapes my lips and echoes off the alley cobble stones, rebounding and making my growl of rage sound a thousand times more threatening than it really was.
In a flurry of fur and claw, I snap the first one up in my jaws and fling him into a building wall. There's a sickening crack like a gunshot where his skull strikes stone. My lips pull back in a sort of wolfy smirk and I snarl again. Bring it on. I say to the Level E Blood Demons.
I pull one off my back and tear its throat out, the taste of iron and fear exploding on my taste buds. The others back off, widening the crescent they formed around me. I pant with my tongue out, bloodied and bruised but my resolve flaring in my chest. My light brown fur stands out in spikes and my eyes are dilated in excitements. I imagine I look something like a dog with rabies. A dog that is four or five times the size of the biggest German Shepherd in the world, but a dog nonetheless.
The blood demons seem to reconsider their advances as a primal snarl escapes my jaws, my stance widening to make myself seem bigger than I really am. They turn and run away, slipping on their comrades blood as they go.
I bare my fangs and thrust my snout up, releasing a warning howl that rises into the stale night air. I'm told that the howl of a loup-garoux creates a sense of chaos within even the strongest of demons hearts. The threatening note extends to the farthest reaches of the city, echoing into the silence that was once peaceful. As I lower my head and twitch my ears, I hear the satisfying clicks of doors being locked and and the scraping of barricades being placed haphazardly.
That's right.. lock your doors or I'll come to devour your youngest offspring.
I think, smirking in my mind. The fact that my breed of werewolf is one of the most revered is something that I praise deities above for. It allows me to do as I please.
I saunter off into the darkness, my muzzle dripping blood and my fur matted with the venom of blood demons.
War was never something that I expected while living my life amongst the few good blood demons that existed in the gritty back alleys of New York. Nor would I imagine that I would be a key component to the survival of my kind.
It happened the night Damon was throwing a party in honor of the night I joined him. My "rebirth", he called it. The night that I was turned into a werewolf and the night that I turned my back on them for the the vampires. They held it in a sort of celebratory manner, saying that they had finally got the rise on the wolves that they needed. When truthfully I was the one that chose to stay with them. Nothing held me here. Only Damon and his sanitary safe house bound me to their blood-reeking world.
The night of my birthday, his house was anything but a safe haven. Leeches were everywhere, drinking blood from wine glasses and laughing like they were some sort of aristocratic assassins. They looked beautiful among all of Damon's expensive items and dressed in their finest. When really the Lamia are a dying breed, much like the loup-garoux. My lips curls over my canines in a bizarre smirk. Look at them chuckling about humans they've eaten, movies they've seen. I bet there's even couples fucking in the bedrooms over head. They pretend to be so high and mighty when really they're just as bad as humans.
I bite the inside of my cheek until it bleeds, thinking about how I've lived the past two years of my life. Like their pet, their dog. The word makes the iron taste in my mouth turn sour. Living with them while I secretly loathe everything about them makes m e sick. I hate pretending that I love them and acting like I care what they have to converse about. I'm tired of being their bitch.
"Aleu!" one greets me. I turn to her obediently, practically wagging my tail. "Hello Madame." I greet her, with a slight bow of my head. I've never seen this woman before in my life. She's a full head taller than me, with corn silk hair that cascades to her waist in waves and curls. There's a beauty mark next to her lip that I can't help but lock my eyes on, despite the disgusting amount of cleavage that she is displaying.
"I hear that you and Damon are planning a wedding for sometime in the Spring?" she asks innocently enough. I see it in her eyes first. A small glint of scarlet that shows her true opinion on the matter.
"Oh?" I reply, doing my best to give a shocked reply, forcing my mouth into a gaping position. "I didn't know that Damon was planning any such thing, let alone without telling me."
Her eyes scrape over my figure. From my sheer satin gown that reflects light into halos and the way my hair falls casually in front of my eyes, as if I haven't even bothered to comb it. They finally rest on my normally blue green irises. They are surely glowing golden brown in my disdain for this woman, for this entire party.
She smiles grandly, flashing all of her pearly white teeth. "Oh no! Have I let the cat out of the bag?!" she laughs a laugh that is so high pitched and false that I can't believe anything could be so fake. "Well surely you could go catch it Aleu! I hear you're quite the huntress." She adds, deprecating me further. I can feel all eyes on us now. I resist the urge to rip out the arteries in her neck and leave her on the floor to bleed in a room full of blood thirsty ticks.
"Good enough to find you when you least expect it." I whisper threateningly and walk away from her. I can feel her malice directed at my retreating figure, her eyes boring into the back of my head. Surely I've made an enemy this night.
I sigh, walking down the burgundy carpeted hallways and out onto the small terrace on the side yard. It's dark, even with my vision. I cna barely make out the bushes that mark the edge of Damon's land. My bare feet are cold against the marble flooring. I rest my head on my arms against the railing that winds it's way around the entire residence. I don't know how I came be to here. I don't even know how I came to be a loup-garoux.
My existence seems wrong and horrid. A werewolf living with a bunch of blood demons. Engaged to a blood demon. I rest my cheek against the smooth surface. As much as I think that beings such as myself or like Damon are freaks, I'm the only one that truly doesn't deserve existence in this world. I let my arm swing off the rail, my fingers brushing the tips of the un-manicured grass, when something occurs to me.
The hair raises on the back of my neck, a growl rising in the back of my throat. Two golden eyes are refracting light my way from out of the brush at the edge of the yard. No sooner has the growl escaped my lips than a pair of large paws have planted me on my back and a muzzle bearing it's teeth is in my face.
I lay stock still, waiting silently as the giant auburn wolf sniffs my hair and growls for a moment, then removes its paws from my chest. It's a male, I can tell by how large it is. The muscles in his shoulders ripple and his paws are much larger than mine have ever been. He looks confused and paces for a moment, his eyes darting to the party inside and the yard.
I stand slowly, my eyes burning golden. He doesn't seem to know what to do. He whines and looks at me, confused as to why I'm here.
"Were you going to attack the party?" I ask him, trying to keep my voice low to hide my excitement. He jerks his massive head in my direction, his ears swiveling to pick up my voice. He's like me, of my breed. I thought I was the only one in New York.
Before I can say anything more, he bounds over the entire terrace and disappears into the brush. Without so much as the flick of his tail. There aren't even any paw prints. I watch after him for a moment, then look back into the party where people who can't stand the sight of me wait.
Go on Aleu, this is what you've been waiting for.
With that thought, the ripple of my excitement cannot be ignored and the change takes over me in all it's painful ecstasy. I am after him the moment I have paws, sniffing the air and tracking him as I run through the underbrush.
He isn't going to get away from me.
Most sane people wouldn't follow a giant werewolf into the night. I can't say that I'm sane. Or a "people" for that matter.
I follow the werewolf through the night, dirt wedging itself into the pads on my paws. I'm not used to tracking anything into what is considered the wilderness around these parts. I'm used to the pavement of the city, the sharp bite of car exhaust in my nostrils. Here the smells are strange. They fill my nose with their aroma. overpowering any trail I had over the male.
I refuse to lower my nose to the ground like some sort of bloodhound, so I wander around in circles for a few moments, cocking my ears this way and that. I hear nothing. All is still. I search around for something that might be causing the silence until I realize that the thing is me. I look around in the darkness, suddenly feeling very small and obsolete. How can such vastness exist? A whimper escapes my throat despite my resolve to not be afraid. And honestly, can you blame me? There are so many confusing sights and smells that I can't seem to function properly. In a place where a monster like me should feel at home, I am out of my element and frightened.
I growl lowly, pacing in a small circle before I head off in the direction the male wolf was headed before I stopped. I know it is a stupid action. No experienced hunter like him would head in a straight line to his home. Especially not when confronted with another of his kind that could be a traitor. But it is the only thing that I can do as of this moment.
I finally subdue my pride and lower my nose to the ground, something I've refused to do since becoming a canine. It just seems to belittling.
Once I am finally on the verge of finding a trail, my sense start to kick in. My tail bristles and the fur on my back rises. Something is watching me. I don't know what it is, since I cannot make out any smells. I look around frantically, seeking solace in a pair of owl eyes or a small rodent. There is none, only me and the darkness that is blanketing the forest. Whatever it is, I won't hear its approach thanks to the thick padding of pine needles on the ground.
I don't know if a being like my kind can hyperventilate, but my lungs feel like they're about to explode. Once the suspense is about to kill me, something heavy and solid pounces on me from behind. A snarl lets me know that it is another werewolf. Not the male, but another female. Smaller than me, but lithe and muscular. Her fur is auburn, her fangs slightly yellow and already dripping in my blood. She lowers her body to the ground, looking almost feline.
She attacks before I can recuperate from her pounce. Her jaws snap at my throat before my instinct propels me into her, growling and snatching at the flesh on the back of her neck. The action is also instinctual, if I can grab her there it shows dominance between two wolves. I don't know how I know this.
I grab her fore paw in my jaws and yank her to the ground. I feel something pop. I don't know what it is, but it makes the other female yowl in pain. Something in me rises in my chest, a feeling like anger or worse. It is hot and pulses through my blood. I grip her throat between my lips and force her to the ground below me. I snarl viciously, standing over her in a stance that only an alpha female should take over a lower wolf.
My snout is in front of hers, daring her to move so that I can end the onslaught. When she tries to escape, I easily grip the skin on the back of her neck and toss her to the forest floor again. I dance around her in a sick game, my tongue lolling out of my mouth. She is no longer a threat, she is my toy. The female whimpers, rising to her feet but not daring to raise her head higher than mine.
I am about to finish her off when a collection of growls and snarls reaches my ears. I twitch them and look around. I am encircled by more wolves, a pack. I look down at the female. And I have just taken out their alpha female it would seem.
Oh Aleu.. what have you gotten yourself into?