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Ice, Fire, and Blood

By Kyvr

The Thing that used to be human crouched over the carcass of the doe and used ice sharp fingernails to gouge into the deer's belly. The deer had not been long dead. Hot blood welled up from the ripped hole, creating a small black-red basin for the Thing to scoop its hands in and bring a double handful of blood to its chest. The Thing used to be a woman, on the cusp of middle age, with a slim, fit figure and dressed in a casual business suit that had become torn and frayed. When the Thing took over the woman her white skin had become ice-blue, her eyes had become black with feral emptiness, and her nails had become inch long claws made of razor ice. The most gross change was her torso. Her entire lower chest had been ripped open, leaving a gaping hole devoid of blood and organs. Her ribs, each covered in layers of thick white frost, stuck out obscenely from the gaping hole. As its hands brought the hot blood closer to the frosted ribs, steam rose, reacting from the sheer coldness coming from the gaping hole. As it washed the warm blood over the frozen ribs thin trails of steam accompanied the sharp hiss of ice melting instantly. The Thing let out an alien moan of grateful release as the blood melted the ice covering the woman's ribs. The moan was followed by an immediate long, sorrowful groan as the ice rapidly grew back.

"They're called Cold-Bones," Quinn had explained to me, "Not the most creative name, but pretty on the mark. They are demons that are said to come from the 'desperate sorrows of those who meet death by cold.' They possess people, take over their bodies, and warp them, giving them bare rib cages covered in ice. The Cold-Bones is always suffering; they can never find any real release from the cold pain they always feel. The only temporary release they can have is basking their ice ribs in warm blood, but that only works for a mere second before the ice grows back, and they suffer in constant pain again. Don't feel too sorry for them though, they're relentless and care only about getting their next fix of hot blood. They'll kill entire towns just for a few seconds release from their pain. The best thing to do is put them out of their misery."

My pack, the Eyes of Tyr, was on a hunt to destroy the demons that had infested the territory of our allies, the WindWalkers. They had invited us to help them purge the demons from the mountain forest that served as a natural boundary of their territory after they discovered that there were far more Cold Bones infesting the area than they first thought. The demons, in their "natural" wispy spirit forms had been freed from dormancy when a recent university expedition into the mountains discovered the remains of a Puritan wagon camp. The camp must have succumbed to some terrible winter during the Frontier days and lay uncovered until a few university students found their remains. Their souls were put to rest when their bodies were buried, but the demons, festering from the lingering emotional energy left long uncovered spread forth and started possessing random humans.

Even with a good number of Wolf-Brethren from two packs, we had to spread out to cover the vast forest. I was paired with Lucas, a lithe golden furred werewolf of my pack. He was my packmate, my lover, and my fellow warrior. It was late into the evening when we came upon the Cold-Bones dressed in the business suit, spreading the deer's blood on its frozen ribs. We slid silently between the long grass and tall trees, stealthily inching closer to the prey. I was silently grateful for my ebony pelt. It provided a natural camouflage in the darkness, despite the silver-white patch on my chest. I was a thick, muscular werewolf, who had to work on being stealthy, being careful where to place my extra bulk. Lucas had no such worries. His golden pelt was pale in the darkness, but his naturally lithe body and uncanny nimbleness gave him stealth that I could only dream of.

Normally while scouting we would have been in our four-legged wolf forms that are better suited for travel and stealth, but necessity made us travel in our natural werewolf hybrid forms. The necessity was that we had to carry weapons. Our natural fangs and claws are formidable weapons, but they require a prey that can bleed and feel pain for maximum effect. The Cold-Bones were human flesh covering an icicle skeleton. They do not bleed and the constant freezing pain they suffer blocks any trauma we could inflict on them. Fangs and claws are for ripping and shredding, which is useless against a Cold-Bones. So, out of tactical necessity, we carried weapons designed to shatter.

The Cold-Bones in the business suit was our third demon we took care of that day. Without a word Lucas and I attacked. I let out a loud thundering growl as I stepped closer to my enemy. I was no longer concerned about stealth. I let the ice demon see me as I stepped towards it. In my paw-hands I held a heavy metal club, forged by one of the WindWalkers. The club had a few dents in it that were souvenirs from the last two Cold-Bones when I used the club to shatter their skulls.

The ice demon whipped around and let out a screech that sent heavy clouds of frosty breath into the air. It crouched down, bending it legs, and flexed its icicle claws. It was ready to spring when a swift golden form flew behind it and two sharp cracks resounded in the night air. Lucas was very skilled with the set of nunchuku he carried. The two solid metal bars ended with a spiked metal flower that dug into the thick ice bones and shattered them. He lacked the sheer strength to break the skulls that I had, but he could break apart kneecaps and elbows with sudden, crippling precision.

The Cold-Bones fell, its kneecaps broken by the stealth attack. I was already charging in, swinging the metal club in a powerful, wide arc. There was a dull splintering sound as my club met with the Cold-Bones' skull. The thick ice skull deformed around the club head, the human flesh ripping and wrinkling as the ice bone shattered within. The Cold-Bones thumped to the grassy earth face down. Trying to scream through a jawless mouth, it tried to raise itself with feeble arms before I brought the club swinging down. The club finished its work obliterating the Cold-Bones' skull.

The demon's stolen body laid still on the grassy earth. Eventually the ice-bones would melt and all that would be left is a heap of cold, limp human flesh and clothing. The remains would rot away quickly. When Quinn told me about the Cold-Bones I wondered if it were somehow possible to save the possessed human, that if there were someway to reverse the possession. Quill had shivered when he answered me, "I don't think there's anyway. I mean, look at them. If you took out the demon then you're left with a human with no blood and a set of ribs gaping out of their body. How could they survive that?" The question ended the debate.

Lucas had let out a soft, derisive sigh out of his nose. I answered with a quiet growl as I agreed with him. It was all too easy. We had taken down three of the demons with the least amount of effort. We enjoyed the thrill of the hunt, but we had expected a greater challenge.

A long, shrill howl ripped through the night air. It sang to us a message of rally, of aid that was needed, of 'get here now!" The howl was cut short.

Lucas and I became speeding furry bullets. The forest flowed by as our instincts drove us forward. Our ears picked up the sounds of battle, high pitched seething screams of demons danced with the heavy growls and grunts of Brethren. The smell of hot, spilled blood, frustrated sweat, and corrupted ice stung our nostrils as we got nearer.

When Lucas and I entered the shallow rocky ravine we came upon the sight of an ambush in progress.

Four screeching Cold-Bones were clinging onto the massive silver-furred body of our pack alpha, Abram. The ice demons used their claws to rip cold slashes into his heavy flesh. His blood flowed dark down his silver body. His muzzle frothing in battle frenzy, Abram thrashed about striking at the creatures with the heavy metal mace held in his paw-hand. The hungry demons held fast to the bleeding werewolf.

At the end of the ravine, a tan-brown werewolf was holding off a huge Cold-Bones, wielding a metal staff in a whirling pattern. Quinn's long black hair was a dancing wave as he fended off a Cold-Bones that was obviously a powerful demon, stronger than any other that we faced that night. The human body it had stolen had been stretched to its limit. The cold dead flesh had rips and tears revealing dark ice beneath. Its jaw was a leering visage of a frozen skull stripped of flesh filled with multitudes of thin icicle spikes. Freezing sharp claws, over a foot long, erupted from the fleshy ends of its fingers, raking at Quinn with desperate, savage ferocity and speed. A constant cold mist rose from the tears in its body, the inner cold of its soul fighting against even the coolness of the night. The powerful Cold-Bones had managed to swipe Quinn several times, blood leaking from the long razor cuts on his body. He was loosing ground, using his staff to defend against the monster's powerful blows.

Without a word, Lucas and I sprung into action.

Lucas charged at the demons harassing Abram, using his nunchuku to strike at their limbs so they would lose their icy grip on our alpha. With blazing speed, he danced and jumped, cracking the demon's limbs one by one with his whirling nunchuku. Abram was bleeding head to toe, but his savage heart sustained him. He shook off the demons. Their broken limbs flailed uselessly as they soared through the air. Howling in defiant rage he brutally started smashing the Cold-Bones with his mace. Lucas made sure none of them escaped, breaking their remaining calves and knees with swift, precision strikes. He made sure that his alpha's rage was not denied. The silver werewolf relished in smashing his attackers into icy shards.

Charging to Quinn's aid I let out a loud growling roar. I was a black-furred muscle tank hurling strait towards the monster. I made it see me and hear me. I raised my heavy club, ready to deliver a body blow, fueled by the shear momentum of my charge and the natural immense strength of my body. The world slowed down as my instincts took over. I could see the monster clearly, highlighted by the gleam of the moon overhead. It stood impassively, staring at me with dead black eyes. It did not see me as a threat. It was not intimidated by my savage power.

At the moment I would have swung for its torso I followed my deep warrior instincts and slid down into the ground. The monster was ready to bat me with a clawed hand, but was put off by my feint. I slid past its left side and its ice hard leg was exposed to me. Using my remaining momentum, I struck.

When the metal club hit the ice hard leg it bounced off, cracking a good chuck, but not destroying it. The club vibrated with the repulsed power of my strike, so hard it made my arms numb and my teeth grind. I lost my balance as the vibrations hit my legs. I fell to the ground, useless. I had no time to dwell on my failure as four blistering cold slices cut into my back.

I gulped down a painful whine as I rolled away, the dirt helping to clot the blood flowing on my back. Swinging my legs up, I rose, holding my club defensively. I knew then what Quinn's problem was: The monster was too strong. Even I, with my natural strength, could only take a decent chunk out of it, and that did not slow it down. My warrior instincts melded with those of a predator. We could not wear it down, it was a demon fueled by never ending pain. It didn't need food, water or rest. It would wear us down. I had to find its weakness and fast.

A rage filled howl disrupted my thoughts. Abram.

Our alpha was lost to blood rage. His life, and the life of his pack, was threatened. He had been humiliated by being ambushed. He had been wounded by his enemy. The raging alpha wolf inside him could not be denied.

He charged in, hot spittle flowing from his muzzle. His massive bulk slammed into the monster. The mace, gripped in both of his paw-hands, smashed against right side of the monster's neck. The metal head resounded off the hard black ice. An explosion of ice shards erupted, taking half of the monster's neck.

The powerful Cold-Bones hardly noticed.

Casually the monster swiped an icicle clawed hand across Abram's neck, slicing open the jugular with a long spurt of lifeblood. Without pause the monster used its other hand to pummel Abram on the side of his head. The blow knocked the alpha off his feet, and he fell.

Abram laid prone, trying to move his weakening body. His mind was wound-blind. With blood in his throat, he gurgled a weak, defiant growl, but he could not get back up.

My instincts flared. Our alpha was down. We were leaderless. The fearful whine rose in my throat, but I swallowed it. I let my practical mind take over, blinding myself to the raging feelings of hopelessness and despair.

The Cold-Bone's head was nearly off. If I got close to it I could pound away at it. If I got close it would attack me just as it did Abram.

"The head!" I found myself growling, a commanding tone coming out naturally, "Distract its claws so I could get to the head!"

Without question Quinn and Lucas obeyed. Quinn twirled his staff, hitting the monster's left arm and hand, trying to break off its' deceptively thin ice claws. Lucas danced around, trying to get the monster to notice him and swipe at him, letting out annoying yips and growls.

It was not working.

The Cold-Bones had its dead black eyes set on me. It watched me as I tried to get in, timing my movements with my packmates. It ignored Quinn's efforts and took a quick swipe at me with its left claw. The freezing tips made small slices across my chest.

Ignoring the pain I set my mind to defeating it. I had to distract it. I had to give it something...

The Cold-Bones had enough. Its dead face with its toothy grimace betrayed no emotion, but when it turned to focus on Lucas it seemed to move in a quick, frustrated way that betrayed impatience. Lucas was a hard target to catch, but it caught him off guard. It grasped his shoulder with its right hand, squeezing hard. Lucas growled in rage and pain.

I moved to strike the Cold-Bone's head. Everything was moving too slowly when I raised the club to my side. The monster's left claw was a darting arrow towards Lucas's chest. I hardly saw it move.

One moment the monster was grappling Lucas, the next the monster's icicle claws had embedded into Lucas' torso. The razor tips peaked out of the golden werewolf's back.

Lucas' eyes went wide with realization, and then his muzzle wrinkled as he growled defiantly. The growl weakened as he choked. An undeniable coldness surged through his belly. It did not bring the numbness cold usually does. It brought only freezing pain. The beautiful lithe body convulsed. His ocean blue eyes fogged over with unholy pain.

The Cold-Bones relished in the heat of Lucas' blood. It reached forward with its free hand to wipe the blood flowing from his mortal wound.

I did not give it the luxury.

I let the rage ride me. My practical mind had to wait by the wayside as the raging hot blood river of anger drove my body. The world became blood red. Sounds were muffled by my heart surging in my ears. I was only dimly aware of my arms swinging the club, striking the monster's neck again and again.

Quinn rode his rage as well, but his instincts told him he could not take down the monster. He focused it, aiming his boiling rage on the claws sticking into Lucas. Our packmate. Our warrior. Our lover.

As I pounded away on the neck, Quinn struck his staff on the monster's claws. The staff broke, but so did the monster's claws. Lucas fell to the ground, the icicle claws sticking out from his body.

I screamed a scream of a man who had lost his mind to grief and anger. I howled a howl of a wolf who had downed his prey after a long hunt. The roar blinded me to the world.

When I came to the Cold-Bones' neck was smashed apart, its limp body laying on the ground. The head was severed by a shattering cut. My arms were limp and numb. The metal club was almost broken, dented so much it bent backwards. My paw-hands were bloody, my right wrist was broken and several fingers were dislocated.

Without thinking I snapped my broken wrist and fingers into place. Werewolves heal quick, but they still feel the pain. Hesitantly I looked over to where Quinn held Lucas on the ground.

The four icicle claws stuck out of his golden furred body, steaming against his warm blood. His body was limp in Quinn's arms. Lucas's head rolled back, his muzzle opening and closing softly in semi-awareness. Quinn looked up at me with helpless eyes.

I breathed in a long, wet breath. My practical mind and instincts melded together, figuring out the triage. Abram was laying down nearby, breathing slowly and hesitantly. He had lost a lot of blood. Werewolves had a lot of blood to lose.

"Quinn," I began my voice craggy from a rough throat, "Go see to Abram."

Quinn was a better healer than I was, but Lucas' wound was fatal and strange. There was nothing we could do for him right now. Abram could be healed faster and had more experience with these kinds of wounds. We needed his wisdom as fast as possible.

I was surprised Quinn didn't argue with me. There was a questioning gleam in his wet eyes but he said nothing as I sat down to cradle Lucas. As he shivered slightly in my massive arms my eyes widened with helplessness. I knew it was foolish to even consider pulling the icicle claws out. As abhorrent as they were they were keeping the wounds from bleeding out.

When the icicle claws started to melt rapidly; becoming thin dripping streams of cold water that settled over Lucas' wounds, my mind froze in panic. The cold water sunk into the four slices in his chest, draining into him. In a millisecond scars appeared over the slices, scars made of hard, black ice. Gingerly I brushed one of the ice-scars with my fingertips only to take them away as they were burned with cold ferocity.

I could hear the alerting howls of the WindWalkers pack as they neared our position. Lucas started to convulse, cold tremors playing along his spine. I held him close, trying feebly to warm him with my body. I held his muzzle next to my ear, pressing my head into his. I could not help but let out a quiet, helpless whine. Lucas answered it with chattering fangs, huffing erratically with the unholy cold spreading through his body. The ice-scars burned against my stomach.

The WindWalkers had arrived and spread out to survey the damage and give us aid. By the time Blood Breeze came over to check on us, I was rocking Lucas gently.

"Silver-Heart?" Blood Breeze called softly. The WildWalkers called me Silver-Heart because of the patch on my chest. I could never get used to the name.

Blood Breeze knelt down and examined Lucas in my strong arms. She was a grey furred werewolf with a tan-brown patch that spread over her stomach. She had long, raven black hair that she kept in a tight ponytail. She was learning to be a mystic from the WildWalkers' elder, Bear Killer.

Her bright yellow eyes widened as she ran her claws lightly along the ice-scars on Lucas' chest.

"The demon," she cursed with a growl, "It is inside him."

I was without reason as I glared down at the unholy ice-scars and growled at them, my chest rumbling as my heart squeezed tighter.

I felt Blood Breeze's paw-hand on my shoulder, "We have to get him to Bear Killer," she said, "Quickly."

Without question I rose, carrying Lucas in my arms. I followed the grey werewolf as she led me through the dark forest.

As I ran I held Lucas close to my chest. I was a big werewolf, with plenty of fur, fat, and muscle. There was plenty of warmth to spread around.

Despite it all, Lucas shivered.

***

Bear Killer's lodge was on the side of the closest mountain, overlooking the forest. It was a series of circular buildings each made of thick logs supported by boulders. We entered the main lodge. The walls were covered in yellowed hide that reflected the light coming from the circular fire pit in the center. The ceiling was recessed with a hole at the top where the smoke from the fire leaked out. The room smelled of stuffy wood fire and spicy sweat.

Bear Killer was silently laying a huge bear pelt on the floor as we came in. He was a tall werewolf, taller than Abram, and when he was younger he must have been thick with muscle, but old age had withered his thickness away. He still moved with an undercurrent of strength, his body covered in a rough, fraying dark brown pelt that he covered with a large, heavy poncho. He kept his long, silver-black hair tied in a thick braid that curved around his back. He had heavy wrinkles on his forehead and muzzle, highlighting the impressed scars he received from great battles long ago. Despite his heavy, sad-looking brow, his dark green eyes had an all-knowing and optimistic glint in them.

He padded the bear pelt lightly with a paw-hand topped with yellowing claws, motioning me to put Lucas on top of it. I laid the golden werewolf down carefully. In the light of the fire I could see the dark, drying blood on his chest clearly, along with the ice-scars that gleamed darkly. Lucas was totally oblivious, his eyes half-shut with constant tears welling out. He breathed in short, strong huffs, his breath misting, letting out the unholy cold in his body.

Bear-Killer brought over a steaming cup of water and, without pause, dumped it on top of the ice-scars. A gout of white steam rose from Lucas' chest like it was a frying pan splashed with water. The ice-scars remained.

Bear-Killer let out a low growling sigh, "Knew it wouldn't be that simple." He motioned over at Blood-Breeze and then waved a claw towards me. As Bear-Killer brought out a rag and started cleaning the blood off Lucas' chest, I felt Blood-Breeze spread a thick substance over the wounds on my back. The biting pain faded from my wounds.

"Demons," Bear-Killer explained to me as he examined the ice-scars, "Take over the body by first taking over the mind. They twist the memories. Convince the mind that they have always been a demon, so the possession goes without challenge. Usually," he looked at Lucas' face, "Brethren are strong enough to resist possession, so much so that demons hardly consider us worth taking over. But this demon has entered through a mortal wound, a weakness."

I thought on his words before I asked the dreadful question, "So he will become one of them?"

Bear-Killer's only answer was a sad paw-hand on my shoulder. I let out a growling-whine in despair. My mind raced through the terrible, horrible future.

Lucas getting sicker.

Lucas getting colder.

Lucas' rib cage bursting from his body, becoming a dark, cold hole in his chest.

I will have to kill him.

The thoughts cut deeply into my soul. I love him. I will not let him suffer. I love him. I will not let him become a monster. I love him. I will kill him. I love him.

The red, hot boiling sea of rage was rising within me. I was useless. There was nothing I could do to help the one I loved. I wanted to vent my rage and despair on something, anything, but I could not find anything.

"Kenneth," Bear-Killer called my name with a strong, forceful voice, forcing me to focus on him, "There is a way to help him, but first..."

"Lucas!" A powerful voice howled from outside. Abram burst into the lodge, his silver pelt still stained with black blood, and his orange eyes burning franticly. He lumbered over to Lucas, still weak from the blood loss. Quinn stepped close behind him, ready to support him if he fell.

Abram fell to his knees to the left of Lucas, reaching out with quivering paw-hands to stroke the golden werewolf's shivering body. The silver-furred alpha let out a trembling growl-whine that ended in a yell of frustration.

"What...how...what is happening to...?" Abram huffed, his eyes watering from exhaustion and grief. Quinn slid silently beside him and wrapped his arm around the large alpha the best he could. The tan-werewolf nudged his muzzle underneath his alpha's. Abram sagged.

Slowly and stoically I told him. As the grim details came out of my muzzle Abram sagged even more, threatening to topple Quinn with his bulk. Abram growled one moment then sobbed the next as I told him Bear Killers' diagnosis.

When I stopped a sudden flame flared in Abram's eyes. "What do we do?" he growled at Bear Killer, slobber spraying from his muzzle. "Tell us what to do you old bastard! Tell us before I rip you apart!"

The angry words did nothing to Bear Killer as he silently poured water into a rough clay bowl.

I stepped around Lucas and embraced Abram, letting him rest his head on my shoulder. Abram sobbed, the rage leaving his tired and wounded body.

"I'm sorry," he said through tears. "I failed. I should have..."

"Shut up," I said sharply. I was surprised by the words that flowed freely from my mouth. "You are our alpha and you helped us defeat the enemy. You did what you could do. Just as I did, as Quinn did, and just as Lucas did."

I lifted Abram up and gave him a strong verdant glare into his dim orange eyes, "Blame the enemy, not yourself."

Abram's throat swallowed hard as he chocked down a heavy sob. Some fire came back to his eyes.

"Yes," he said roughly, "We have an enemy to slay." He nodded to me in thanks, and then tried to stand up. I held him down with my arms. The alpha let out a warning growl to me, but I answered with only a silent strong glare.

Stay down. Don't be an idiot. You need rest.

Abram growled again, but he got the message and let Quinn cradle him.

Bear Killer walked over to us and, without a word, started pulling a bit of fur from each of our foreheads. We all stared at him in disbelief as he took our samples of fur and threw them into the bowl filled with water.

"The demon is inside his dreams and memories now," the elder explained as he watched our fur sink into the water and collect at the bottom, "The only way to defeat it is to follow it. One of you must take a spirit journey into your packmate's soul. There you will find what remains of the demon and will be able to defeat it."

Bear Killer swished the water with a single claw, watching the bits of fur dance around, before turning and pointing his claw at me, "You."

"No!" Abram protested, "I am the alpha. It is my responsibility."

"You are too weak," Bear Killer stated plainly, causing Abram to growl. "Perhaps if you were not bloodied up you would be up for the journey, but if you insist then you risk not only your own life, but the life of your packmate. If you are truly interested in saving the Gold-Child then you will let Silver-Heart take the spirit journey."

With effort, Abram swallowed his growl. He shook his head slowly. He knew what Bear Killer said was true, he just didn't like it. He also did not like how he was acting, the blood loss was making him lose grip on his emotions.

"Why him?" Abram asked, giving an apologetic nod to the elder.

Bear Killer stared into my soul, "This warrior has dealt with dark dreams and has conquered them. He already has a...special place in the spirit world."

If I had more time I would have asked him to explain more about my 'special place', but time was fleeting.

"How do we do this?" I asked.

Bear Killer called Blood Breeze over and gave her a list of ingredients. As she bounded out of the lodge, Bear Killer instructed me to lay down beside Lucas as he took out a long brown leather cord decorated with rough colored beads.

The elder took my left paw-hand and placed it gripping Lucas' right paw-hand before he started wrapping the cord around them both, tying us together. I suppressed a shiver that ran from the coldness beating out of Lucas' hand.

"The demon is shattered," Bear Killer explained as he mixed what looked to be several large, ugly brown mushrooms and several smelly herbs in a bowl, "It is a broken mirror. Its shards are scattered throughout Gold-Child's soul, some are small and weak, others are large and powerful. Each one is poisoning his thoughts and memories, hiding themselves inside them, posing as important people and things that were a strong influence to him. Follow your gut, watch for the signs that will reveal a demon-shard in disguise. You must destroy each one."

The elder bent down and lifted my head, bringing the bowl to my muzzle. Without question I gulped the dirt bitter sludge that stung my throat as it traveled into my belly.

"You are ready for this journey, but be careful. The body cannot survive without a soul. If you are wounded and killed in the spirit world, there will be no soul to come back," Bear Killer said softly, and then his eyes widened, "You will see a big grey bear, always standing near the portal you need to go through at each memory."

He let out a grunt, "Guess you decided to help you lazy ass," he said to no one visible in the room.

"Nothing to worry about," Bear Killer dismissed as he gently used his paw-hands to turn my head to face Lucas.

The cold mist coming from Lucas' muzzle flowed over me as our muzzles faced each other, barely only an inch apart. His eyes were half-closed and blind, milky white ice shrouding his beautiful ocean blue irises. Hot tears ran down his face as he shivered, quickly turning into thin strips of ice as they traveled down his golden furred face.

As much as I hated it, I followed my deep instincts and glared into those sightless frozen eyes. Beneath them was my lover, in pain and crying out for help. Colors began to whirl in transcendent random patterns at the edge of my vision as the potion took hold of my mind. I felt my lungs heave out a mighty breath that hurled my consciousness towards those eyes.

With a silent howl that shook the spirit world, I plunged into the freezing lake of Lucas' soul.

***

I shiver at the oppressive coldness of the room.

I blink several times. The wall I face is a vague green color. It is fuzzy and non-descript. A half-formed memory.

Sounds start blossoming around me. I turn to face a pulsating white blob quickly defining itself. It melts into a vision of several people, dressed in green hospital gowns and wearing surgical masks, crowding around a table where two legs stick out of.

Push. One more. That's it, Kelly. Here we go...

The smell of virgin blood.

The sound of a shrill new voice screaming into the world for the first time.

"Ok, this must look weird," I say to myself as I walk up to the people around the panting, sweating woman on the table, "A full grown werewolf standing without a care while a baby is delivered at a hospital."

It's a boy!

The doctor handed the baby over to the man on his right. The man took the screaming, bloody infant into his arms carefully.

Lucas looks like any other baby. Small, weak, covered in blood and birth fluids. His skin bare and cold against the world he would live in. He screamed.

The man holding him reaches up and takes off the hood and mask.

His eyes shine with an unholy ice blue light. His teeth are thin icicles.

I am your father, it screeches.

I growl in challenge. The ice man does not notice me. It brings Baby-Lucas closer, the mist creeping out of its mouth towards him.

I lunge. My claws flow through the memory-image of the man like thick mist. My eyes widen as I feel something hard and cold within the memory-image. I grasp it and drag it out.

I snarl at the demon-shard as I pull it out. It is a tiny imp-like thing, its thin limbed body made of faint blue ice. It screeches and tries to bite me with feeble icicle fangs. I hurl it to the ground. It shatters like weak glass.

Some are small and weak...

I watch the ice melt on the floor then wisp away as steam. I look back at the memory-image. Lucas's father is a handsome man, with a soft smile and short, comfortable beard. Lucas takes after him.

Daddy, I'm your daddy, he tells Baby-Lucas. Their ocean blue eyes meet for the first time.

I hear a low grunt nearby. I turn to find a large, grey bear sitting near an open, dark doorway. He leans his immense back on the wall. His body is covered in long, thick scars. His heavy eyelids help along with thick eyebrows to hide his dark eyes.

I walk towards him. "You must be the Bear," I say.

He answers only with a wide yawn.

"Fine then," I say as I walk through the doorway.

An autumn breeze slides by me

Frail leaves skid across the dirty concrete of a small school playground. A square, red and brown bricked building looms behind me.

Run away Luke! Run away!

A large group of children are crowded near by the merry-go-round. They circle two children, who could be as young as 8 or 10. One is a boy who definitely is big for his age. His dark blue puffy coat can hardly contain the developing muscle mixing in with the baby fat that never went away. His cheeks are big, round, and red. His wet, blubber lips are set in an angry pout. His hammy hands are tightened into fists, waving at his opponent.

The big boy's opponent is another young boy who is almost swallowed by his red winter jacket, a messy mop of blond hair falling down on the boy's face, hiding his ocean blue eyes that stare at the big boy with simple intensity. Blood runs down the small boy's face, a red river flowing from his small nose.

Run away Luke! Just run away!

Feebly trying to fight back the crowd to make an opening, a pudgy girl dressed in a lime green jacket and with auburn pigtails flailing madly screamed at Child-Lucas.

Child-Lucas does nothing as the large boy hammers his jaw with a hammy fist. He falters back a couple steps from the force of blow. He feels his pain-numb jaw, and then stands straight again, his ocean blue eyes burning.

Fucking freak!

The large boy calls Child-Lucas. The large boy trembles, not from the cold, but from the fear welling up in his heart and causing his instincts to scream in terror. Child-Lucas' eyes betray the fierce Wolf-Blood within, and the prey in the large boy trembles. Child-Lucas stands firm, proving no matter what the large boy did to him, it would not matter.

Children! What are you doing?

Even I gasp at the commanding presence of the words. I turn to watch a slender, fit woman in her early thirties, wearing a thin blue jacket, with long light brown hair done up in a long ponytail walks toward the children.

The Teacher's memory-scent plays with my nostrils. I cannot understand the mixed messages I am getting. I smell the soft stinging scent of lavender, along with a certain subtle burning musk that I try to recognize...

Lucas, what were you thinking?

The playground melts into a large classroom filled with small desks and colorful posters with numbers and shapes covering the walls. The sweet pasty scent of crayons and the dusty scent of chalkboard dust dominates the room. Child-Lucas sits on top of a small desk near a window, the Teacher wiping his bloody nose with a handkerchief.

You are quite strong aren't you? The Teacher says to Child-Lucas.

A shadow movement catches my eye. Emerging out of the chalkboard behind the Teacher, a skeletal demon made of blue ice stalks out. As it steps lightly towards the memory-image of the Teacher, it begins to change. It becomes an icy skeleton version of the Teacher, with long, clinging icy tentacle hairs flowing from its grinning head, filled with ice thorns.

I let out a challenging growl. It does not notice me. It reaches with ridiculously long clawed fingers towards the Teacher. The claws graze over the fogginess of the memory-image.

I have to get its attention. I grab one of the small desks. It is incredibly light in my strong paw-hand. Without hesitation I hurl the desk. The desk collides with the demon, slamming it into the wall. A multitude of ice strands from its icy hair break off and litter the floor with gleaming icicles.

The memory-images of Child-Lucas and the Teacher are oblivious.

The demon hisses and hurls the desk out of its path.

It has noticed me.

Its dead black eyes light up in rage and confusion. It rushes towards me. I set my paw-feet firmly on the ground, the claws on my foot click against the linoleum floor. The demon's claws come an inch to my face.

It expects me to meet it in a combat embrace.

It is wrong.

With supernatural speed and strength, I bat the demon away, using another small desk as a club.

The demon screeches in surprise. It falls to the ground. Long icicle claws dances franticly towards me.

With a defiant growl I bring the desk over my head and bring it smashing down. Both the desk and the demon shatter in an explosion of false wood and ice.

I lift the remains of the desk flopping haphazardly in my paw-hand. I glimpse at the pulverized demon below me. A ruined clawed hand shoots up and rakes against my thigh. Cold burning slices erupt.

With another growl I look down at the demon. Its head is mostly ice dust, with one dead black eye that tries to melt me with intense hatred.

Batting the deformed claw aside I finish my kill. Using the metal remains of the desk, I smash it against the remains of the demons head. I complete the pile of ice dust littering the floor with pounding strength.

The ice dust starts to melt and wisps away in waves of steam.

I look over to Child-Lucas and the Teacher. The memory plays on.

You don't say much do you? The Teacher says to Child-Lucas. A lot of people are going to think that you're being timid, that you're too shy. I see right through it Mister. I know why you don't say much. It's a strength. To be silent when everyone is making so much noise.

I smell the confusing memory-scent again. Lavender with that subtle burning musk...

I wish I could tell you a secret, the Teacher continues, But right now is not the time. I don't think I will be the one to tell you, but don't worry. I'm not the only one with this secret. You have it to. It's in your Blood. Remember that alright? Try to be patient.

The Teacher stood up. The simple, beige dress she wore flowed off like thin water. She stood naked, light brown fur growing on her naked flesh. She looks towards me.

She looks at me. Her eyes are golden yellow.

She smiles and walks towards a large cabinet next to the chalkboard. She opens the cabinet. Spring sunlight spills out of it. She smiles at me and steps into the sunlight. A wolf's tail, covered in soft brown fur slips into the cabinet as the door shuts.

A hear a familiar grunt behind me. I turn to see the large grey bear. He sits by the classroom door.

I turn back to look at the cabinet. It sits darkly in the corner. I sigh in lost opportunity. I take a step towards the bear-guarded door...

"Kenneth?" I hear a child voice say, full of fear and hope.

I whip around to see Child-Lucas staring right at me. He clutches his arms across his body and shivers.

"Lucas?" I ask timidly.

Child-Lucas hurls his small body off the desk and towards me. I crouch as low as possible and open my large arms. When the small child collides with me, I give him a warm hug as gently as I can. His small fleshy body is cold against my immense fur and bulk. He starts to cry into my chest.

"It's so cold here," his moan is muffled by my fur which he buries his face in.

I squeeze harder, trying to lend my warmth to him.

"You're warm," he finally says.

"Yes," I find myself saying, pulling him away just enough so my face looks into his. His face is a beautiful innocent angel, crying fearful tears. His body is drowned in my dark fur.

"Remember that will you?" I speak automatically, my dream-logic taking over, "It's important. I don't know why, but it is."

He nods his head silently, scrunching up his young angelic face in determination.

"You have to go, don't you?" He accuses me.

"Yes," I say, breaking our embrace. I rest my paw-hands on his little shoulders. They almost cover his entire arms. I lean forward to touch my muzzle-lips to his cold forehead.

I rise from the ground and give Child-Lucas a parting smile.

"Remember," I say to him as I walk towards the doorway, "I'm warm."

Child-Lucas gives me a small, brave wave as I step through the doorway.

The pungent salty scent of stale urine and toxic flowery scent of cleaning products mixes in my nose.

My huge body is cramped in a green painted bathroom stall. My feet stand on each side of the toilet and my shoulders reach the top of the stall. My arms drape over the sides, and my head almost touches the tiled ceiling.

I squirm a little bit and test my mobility. Not much.

I hear a door open and close. Two sets of footsteps walk closer to the stalls, their silent body movements are echoed by the cavernous bathroom. The stall door opens and two young teenagers stuff themselves in. They are completely oblivious to the huge muscular black furred werewolf sharing the stall with them.

You wanna do this? The first boy says. He is a tall, gawky teenager, still growing in his long-limbed body. He wears a wrinkled, hand-me-down plaid shirt and torn-up jeans. His head is topped with a rough shorn brown-red mop of hair. His cheeks are too large for his face, bulging out comically, covered in large yellow and red splotches of zits.

I guess, whispers Teen-Lucas, shrugging his shoulders. His messy blond hair is wild, covering his eyes as he looks down at the ground. He wears a blue t-shirt and tan cargo pants. That drape over his young, fit body.

Zit-Cheeks leans forward, reaching out with a shaky hand to grasp Teen-Lucas' left arm. Teen-Lucas looks up as Zit-Cheeks puckers his lips. Their lips come closer and closer.

No

, Lucas whispers and gently pushes Zit-Cheeks away. The rejected boy's face turns red.

What's the problem? Zit-Cheeks stammers, Look, We're the only two gay guys in this fucking loser school. We might as well not be alone, you know?

Teen-Lucas leans on the wall and looks away from Zit-Cheeks, casting his hair shrouded gaze downward. I guess, he answers in his wispy voice.

Then what's the problem?

Zit-Cheeks asks as he leans in, ducking his head down to try to make eye contact with Teen-Lucas. _It's my zits isn't it? I'm taking pills, okay? Come on, just give it a try.

I don't..._

Teen-Lucas began before Zit-Cheeks slams the wall next to him with a small fist.

Come on! Zit-Cheeks whines, Just one kiss!

Zit-Cheeks' body crushes into Teen-Lucas'. He keeps his head turned as Zit-Cheeks rubs the side of Teen-Lucas' face with his. Their lips almost meet.

Get off! Lucas yells and pushes Zit-Cheeks away.

Zit-Cheeks' thin body rebounds off the other wall after a very short trip. _Fuck you! _ He screams as he pushes open the stall door and storms out.

The door to the washroom opens again. I hear three boisterous voices continue an inane, teenage conversation.

Hey, faggot! I hear one of the voices call. Teen-Lucas straightens in recognition.

Where you goin' faggot?

Another calls.

Teen-Lucas walks out of the stall. Unhinging my large body and limbs from the stall, I follow.

Three young teenage men, each one of them wearing dark blue jean jackets and sporting buzz cuts, stand at the front of the washroom. Zit-Cheeks runs out the door when they all turn and see

Teen-Lucas standing there, silently challenging them.

What do we have here?

The obvious leader of the group leers.

Suddenly a cold wave shivers through the washroom. I look around franticly.

"We know how cold it is Lucas," a hissing voice calls from the lead-bully's mouth. "We can help you take care of it. We know how."

Teen-Lucas is now clutching his sides, shivering. His mouth breathes out wisps of cold frost. "Please," he pleads, "So cold."

I look back at the bullies. They appear as they did before, but now they have dark dead eyes and clear ice teeth and fingernails.

I hardly get a chance to let out a challenging growl before the lead ice-bully points a frosty fingernail directly at me.

"Take care of him," the leader says to the one on his left.

Hissing softly the ice-bully rushes towards me, bringing his right arm up, ready to pummel me.

There is not much room to maneuver. I stand dwarfing the Teen-Lucas to the left of me, and the almost closed door of the bathroom stall brushes my right arm.

The ice-bully rushes closer. He comes at full momentum, expecting my lack of maneuvering room to be my weakness. He is right, but I still have strength and cunning.

I wait until he is a few feet away when I grab hold of the metal bathroom stall door with my right paw-hand and put all my arm strength into slamming it into his body. I feel the ice-bones shatter beneath the cloth and flesh, crunching sharply against the metal door. His left arm, uncaught by the door, comes hurling down. The frozen-hard fist strikes my exposed left forearm. I wince as I feel the cold hard impact that threatens to break bone.

I grimace through the pain. I throw back the door. The ice-bully's face is scrunched and broken, bits of broken ice poking sharply out of cold dead flesh. I grab his shoulders. His right arm hangs uselessly, a dangling collection of broken ice-bones held in a dead flesh sack. He tries to strike at me again with his good left arm, but misses when I turn him around and grab the back of his head. Using a paw-foot set against the stall for extra leverage, I hurl the ice-bully's head straight into the sink on the facing wall. I feel his ice-skull fracture as his head meets porcelain. The sink shatters. I let go of the limp body. It falls to the floor lifeless with a crunching thud.

I look over to the end of the bathroom to see the two ice-bullies hovering over Teen-Lucas. They send ice-lased words to him. I cannot make out what they are saying. It is a hissing, empty language. The language of demons.

Teen-Lucas shivers, tears running down his face. He shakes his head in denial. The ice-bullies hissing intensifies.

The lead ice-bully's dead blue eyes meet mine. With a flick of his finger, the other ice-bully charges at me.

I meet him head on. I close the gap, taking several large steps until I am at the edge of the last stall. He charges in, his arms raised in a double-fisted strike. I duck low, putting strength into my shoulder.

With unnerving speed his right foot springs out and hits me in left shoulder with ice-hard force. My shoulder screams in cold bruising pain. He brings down his double fists.

I hardly manage to catch the fists, grabbing them with my paw-hands that engulf his human-sized hands. My protesting shoulder betrays my muscles. My hold weakens and threatens to break. He leans in, letting his entire ice heavy weight crush onto me.

With a violent howl I tell my pain throbbing shoulder to shut up. My paw-hands grasp his arms tighter, feeling the ice-bones beneath scrunch and bend. Using most of my strength from my good shoulder I fling him towards the mirror covering the wall to the left of us. His head splinters the mirror and bounces off with a sickening jerk.

I feel a sharp, breath-stealing pain as his foot comes up and gives me a quick kick in my ribs. The pain takes my breath, but it also feeds my strength.

Taking hold off the scruff of his neck I swing his entire body, slamming the side of his neck into the sharp corner of the first bathroom stall. His ice cold hands try to squeeze pain into my arms, but I slam his neck into the corner again. His neck sags jerkily. Once more I slam him into the edge. The ice-bone of his neck snaps. His head rolls freely, still attached by the tube of broken ice filled flesh that was his neck.

With a huff I let the body fall to the floor. I take only a moment to rub my sore shoulder.

The last ice-bully is caressing Teen-Lucas' tear soaked face with ice blue fingernails, whispering hissing promises. The ice-bully leans in, his cold lips close to Teen-Lucas' shivering mouth.

The instincts of a warrior and a lover mix as I howl and shove my two massive paw-hands between them. I push the ice-bully away. He slams into the tiled wall behind him.

He does not attack. Instead he looks past me, into Teen-Lucas' eyes. He reaches out with an open cold dead hand, hissing soft commands that send cold wisps of breath over to us.

I growl and huff out strongly, the hot steam from my nostrils dissipating the cold wisps.

"Wait," Teen-Lucas says to me weakly. I turn to face him. His face is almost dead, his cheeks sagging. His ocean blue eyes are dim.

"I'm cold," he says to me. He did not say it to complain. He said it as a fact. "The cold is with me. I have always been cold..."

"No!" I yell. I grab his shoulders and glare into his eyes. A flare of life erupts behind them.

"Remember what I told you?" I yell, shaking him slightly.

Teen-Lucas' eyes go wide and become brighter, "I can't...Oh God...I can't..."

I remind him. I lean in and bend so my eyes meet his. I press my muzzle lips to his human lips. I grind my immense body into his and try to ignore the sheer coldness of his body.

There are many things wrong with the kiss. My muzzle and his lips lock awkwardly. His mouth breathes cold wetness that numbs my tongue. The angle is odd and uncomfortable. Our neck muscles strain and become sore from desperate effort.

But only one thing has to be right about this kiss. Lucas moans as my tongue enters his cold mouth. My lustful, powerful warmth travels wetly onto his tongue. I feel his body tense and then go limp as the fire travels down to his groin and ignite the memories of warmth and passion.

"Warm," he moans as we break the kiss. He takes a moment to feel the lingering wet warmth in his mouth with a passion-drunk tongue.

I hear a desperate hiss from behind me.

I let a low growl out of my throat as I turned my menace filled eyes towards the last ice-bully.

How dare he?

How dare he threaten someone I love?

How dare he have the audacity to even try to corrupt such a beautiful, strong soul?

I will not have it.

I will not allow it.

Like the others he charges at me.

My instincts flare. A strange, powerful fire erupts within me. With blinding speed I simply grab him with my paw-hand, and with hardly any effort at all, hurl him towards the wall at the end of the bathroom.

When the ice-bully's body collides with the tiled wall it erupts in an explosion of tattered dead flesh and crushed ice.

I stare at my paw-hand dumbly.

I'm strong, but not that strong.

Although my paw-hand looks normal to me, I feel a primal fire traveling through my veins. The fire quietly dies down. I am left without answers.

I turn to see Teen-Lucas staring at himself in the shattered mirror. His image is sliced and cut up into a collection of fragments.

"No!" he yells into the mirror.

I blink. Teen-Lucas is gone.

Thinking blindly I desperately feel the area where Teen-Lucas stood with a flailing paw-hand. There is nothing.

I hear a familiar low grunt behind me.

I turn to the large bear sitting by the doorway. I swallow my instinct to get answers from the bear. To make him tell me what happened to Lucas. But I know he would not tell me. I had to find out for myself.

I step through the doorway.

Wind rushes through my fur-mane around my head. I am sitting in the back seat of a familiar beat-up jeep colored with rusted flaking red paint. The jeep is moving along a very familiar dirt road flanked by large trees.

Quinn drives his jeep, his long, black silky hair flowing over the back seat behind him. He smiles widely, wearing his human skin. Dark glasses hide his eyes, but you can tell they are smiling along with his mouth full of perfect pearl teeth.

Lucas sits next to him. He seems no older than when I first met him. His messy blond hair flows chaotic through the wind. His ocean blue eyes are set on Quinn. A new lover's stare admiring his first love. He tenderly moves his hand to caress Quinn's smooth arm.

Quinn turns briefly and gives him his charming smile before looking back to the road. Almost there, he says.

The large house that I have come to love and cherish comes into view. It is a bright spring day. The sunlight casts cool shadows through the trees onto the warm wood of the pack's home.

Quinn parks his jeep on the gravel driveway. He opens his door to get out, but pauses as he glances at Lucas. Lucas is staring at the house is disbelief. Slowly he lowers his head and turns it to look at Quinn, the surprised look still on his face.

Look, Quinn begins, I told you there were things about me that you didn't know, that I couldn't tell you about. But today is your lucky day man. I know it's kind of weird, because, well, it is kind of weird, but I know that you know it's all right. You trust me, right?

Hesitantly, Lucas gives Quinn his small smile and opens his car door to get out. I take a moment to move my large body carefully, and jump over the car door. I land on the gravel below just as Quinn puts a loving arm around Lucas.

There's someone you have to meet.

The gravel beneath my paw-feet suddenly becomes soft, familiar carpet. I blink. I am in the huge living room of our house, the sunlight shines through the large two-story windows facing the clearing outside. Abram stands near the window, wearing his human skin, his warm smile on his face. He wears a pair of well-used jeans and dark green turtle-neck sweater with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his beefy, thick haired arms.

Hello, Lucas, Abram says to someone behind me. I turn to see Lucas, his eyes wide with genuine surprise and wonder as he looks at our alpha.

We have met before, some time ago. It's time I explained some things to you...

I watch Lucas nod. A cold breeze slices down my spine. Lucas' breath comes out in misty clouds. I slowly turn to look at Abram.

It is not Abram.

"You...fucking...bastard," I curse.

Not-Abram spreads his arms, his eyes flare with unholy cold light. His body mutates, sharp icy spikes erupting out of his flesh in a mockery display of a fur hide. His chest erupts out in eight jagged icy spiked ribs. His hands grow monstrously large, growing meter long slender icicle talons a top of each finger. His head erupts in a hard, icy muzzle and roars silently with a maw filled with a mess of sharp icicles. The creature towers over twelve feet, its head scrapes the ceiling.

The air becomes dry and frozen. The carpet freezes into a solid mass of rough ice. Hard frost grows upon the windows in a rapid pace until they shatter from the pressure, letting in a harsh winter wind.

"I am your leader, Lucas" Not-Abram says in a strong, hissing voice that cuts my eardrums, "Listen to me. I will tell you of your destiny. The cold is your destiny. The cold is undeniable. But, if you let me, I will tell you how to embrace it."

The rage within me boils my blood. Hot steam pours out of my nostrils.

How dare he? How dare he corrupt my packmate? How dare he corrupt the image of my beloved alpha? How dare he think he could get away with it?

I know I must attack. I must destroy the monster.

I quickly check on Lucas.

He stands, clutching his sides tightly, holding back the cold void that threatens to erupt within him. He has taken his true werewolf form. His golden fur has lost its innocent shine. His slender frame has become frail. His bones press against thin skin. His beautiful eyes are shut in pain, freezing tears running down his slender muzzle. Soft, cutting whimpers of pain emit from his muzzle.

My heart explodes with righteous anger. I could say a million insults and challenges to the monster, but only a hot, slobbery howl comes out of my rage-wrinkled muzzle. I hurl myself at the monster, the hot rage fueling the muscles in my legs as they bound me up and into striking distance of the monster's head.

My talons scrape the monster's muzzle.

With a casual swing of its arm, the monster's claw pounds me aside. I feel the bones in my right arm and the right side of my ribs snap by the force. I can hardly register the pain as I go flying through the air. My body hits a wall nearby and bounds off. I go crashing down to the ice-hard floor below.

I wheeze. My right lung screams slicing pain. Blood joins the river of snot and slobber running out of my muzzle and nose. My right arm hangs uselessly, the bone breaking out of the skin. I use my left arm to get up. My righteous anger dulls the pain.

I wobble as I stand. The monster is now standing over by by Lucas, hovering over him, hissing lies and corruption into his blistering ears.

"Get away from him!" I roar as I take several careful steps towards the monster.

The monster sets its blazing cold blue eyes on me.

"Here Lucas," it hisses, gesturing at me with long icicle claws, "Here is your salvation. See the warm blood flowing from him. It is the key. The warm blood will make the cold go away. You just have to get enough of it."

"Warm?" Lucas asks feebly, his eyes cast down to the floor. He is not shivering as much as he was before.

"Get away from him!" I roar again.

"Or what Intruder?" The monster asks without expecting an answer, "There is nothing you can do. You are trying to stop what cannot be stopped. You are trying to deny Lucas comfort from the cold. You only have one purpose and it's time you served it. Watch Lucas. I will show you what needs to be done."

With one massive step the creature closes the gap between us. The cold air screams as its claws rend the air towards me. I step back. The claws rake past the inches of where I was standing. I try to think of a plan, try to think of what I could use around me...

Freezing pain seeps into my body. With a shuttering breath I look down. Four of the monster's slender icicle claws are piercing my left side. Blood enters my breath. I didn't even see him move.

Feebly I grasp the claws impaling me. I ignore the burning cold pain as I try to put them out.

My right eye catches the sight of four similar claws raking towards me before it is ripped out it's socket. I feel the icicle claws dig across the hard bone of my skull. My muzzle goes limp as tight muscles are violently severed. My neck sprouts thin rivers of blood as my jugular is cut in thin, deep slices.

The monster shakes his claw holding me, letting me slide and fall to the floor. My blood flows freely, steaming against the ice covered floor. I choke on the red liquid building up in my throat. Strength seeps out of my muscles.

"There Lucas," the monster hisses, "This is what you need."

The monster swirls the ends of its long claws in the large pool of my hot blood.

Lucas falls to his knees. His eyes are dark and clouded. He looks down at the pool of my steaming blood.

He screams as his ribs pound against the skin of his chest, threatening to burst out. He howls in pain.

"Lucas," I choke back blood, "Remember." Blood tinged tears flow from my remaining eye, joining the blood seeping onto the floor, "You are strong, Lucas. I know you are."

"No!" Lucas screams as he clutches his chest, denying his mutating ribs from bursting through. "No!" he screams as he shuts his eyes, shaking his head.

"The blood Lucas!" The monster hisses from above, "Feel how warm it is! Take it now before it freezes! It will be useless then, and you will suffer more!"

The pool of my blood grows larger. It reaches Lucas' knees and covers them. He inhales sharply, shaking his head in defiance. Slowly he takes his arms off his chest. His ribs no longer threaten to burst out. He opens his eyes slightly, breathing in long, controlled breaths.

He looks at me with pleading eyes, "I don't know what to do," he tells me in his soft, angelic voice.

Lucas is in control. He is strong, just as I knew he would be. But even the strongest of us would eventually succumb to the constant spiritual hammering of the demon.

As my blood starts becoming stiff in heavy clots, I use my good eye to look at the monster. It hovers over him, whispering its empty demon language. Lucas does not listen, but it is still there.

I am not a very spiritual person. I am used to the complexities of battles and conflict. I've always depended on Quinn and Abram to fill me in on things that were more metaphysical, and even then they mostly focused on how to destroy things. I know that, in my dreams, things had a strong symbolic sense. But these weren't my dreams. They were spiritual reflections of Lucas' memories.

But what about my memories? I was here too. Where did I factor into this spirit world?

I am given an answer as I try to raise myself with my good arm. On the ground where my head was resting, I see something, an image, forming inside the blood. I stare dumbly with my remaining eye as the image clarifies.

It's Lucas and I, on the bedroom bed, embracing each other with the early morning sun outside the window. Lucas whispers a single word into my ear. An important word.

Dumbly I stick a single claw into the image. It ripples like a pool of water, and my claw goes further in.

This is my memory.

I sense a familiar presence nearby. I look up in front of me to see the large grey bear resting casually on the frozen carpet, at the edge of the pool of my blood. He yawns, than looks at me with a tired, impatient stare.

I feel my body sinking into the floor, into the pool of blood. Lucas stares at me in bewilderment. Ignoring the screaming pain from my body, I use my last reserves of strength to reach out with my good arm and grab hold of Lucas' paw-hand. He does not resist, and his eyes widen as I pull him down with me.

The monster screams in protest and reaches out with a massive claw to grab hold of Lucas.

It is too late.

I keep my paw-hand grasping Lucas' as we plunge into a deep, warm pool of red water. We drown, but our lungs do not protest for air. Strange, strong currents in the water buffet us, and we are forced to hold each other as the violent underwater storm tosses us.

I open my eyes. Both of them.

I had just woken up from a good night's sleep. The soft morning sun shines over the treetops of the thick forest surrounding our home, casting warm rays through the tall window that leads into the pack's bedroom. I lay on the pack's bed, a bed made for all of us to sleep on. It is a huge, semi-circular mattress. My head rests on one of the large pillows around the bed. I blink my eyes to get the crusty feeling out of them.

I vaguely remember Abram and Quinn getting up earlier. You always notice when a packmember leaves the bed, because they take their warmth with them. They must be downstairs getting breakfast ready.

I inhale sharply when I feel two paw-hands caressing my thick torso with loving, hard strokes. A golden furred muzzle reaches up and gives the underside of my muzzle a quick lick.

"Good morning," I remember saying to Lucas.

I smile down at him. His head is buried in the thick fur of my chest, a golden furred predator stalking through think dark furry grass. He gives me a smile back, full of contentment mixed with a healthy dose of mischief.

This is the first time we made love. The first time we shared our bodies together. It was only a day after I had changed, I had become Brethren. The memory is strong and vibrant, filled with the heat of affection and lust.

A sudden, light cold breeze blows over our bodies. That was not part of the memory. My smile fades as I see the monster standing in the dark corner of the room.

It stands silently, its tall head scraping against the ceiling. The monster's eyes are empty, but watching. Its form is foggy and insubstantial. Here, in my memory, it has no power. It can only stand there and watch. An uninvited guest that we would have to endure.

I feel Lucas shiver against my body. We are drifting too far from the memory.

"Hey there," I say, remembering what I had said, "Are you going to do something about those?"

The those I was referring to was our fleshy members rubbing against each other, full and hard from waking up.

Lucas' ocean blue eyes widen and gleam as he remembers. He starts thrusting his crotch into mine. I moan and grab his flexing buttocks with my paw-hands, squeezing them, pushing down on them. Our cocks sing with hard, long pleasure that warms our bodies and sends wafts of salty lust up to tease our noses.

We give each other lust-growls, baring our fangs at each other with wrinkled muzzles, letting the hot, strong erotic energy take us over.

Lucas suddenly lets out a painful whimper, breaking from the memory. I feel the demon send cold chills through his soul. I hold him tighter, grinding my crotch into his to send erotic waves to melt out the chills.

I lunge my muzzle upward and lock onto his. Our tongues dance, remembering the undeniable wet, gooey heat of the kiss. His tongue is cold, but it soon turns warm from the heat I give him willingly.

I let out a whimper muffled by the kiss that soon turns into a long growl as Lucas reaches under with his paw-hand and grasps my hot cock. I surrender to the erotic shocks, going limp, as he gives a few hard, wet strokes.

As the beautiful golden werewolf slides down my body to begin lapping at my hot member, I take a moment to glance at the unwelcome guest in the corner. The monster's form is steaming, long, thick smoky trails evaporating off its body.

At the time it makes sense to me, although I know when I end my spirit journey it will seem strange. Our erotic memory was creating a undeniable heat that the ice demon could not endure. It was reinforcing Lucas' existence as my pack mate, my fellow warrior, and my lover. It would be hard for the demon to influence him while Lucas felt the heat of our memory. The ice demon was repulsed by it, but it was trying to stand firm. The only thing I had to do now is turn up the heat.

"Take this you bastard," I curse it, breaking from memory.

I let the erotic surges take over my mind again as Lucas finishes licking and sucking my aching cock. I grab his leg and pull to swing him around so his tail-end hovers over my muzzle, teasing my nose with heady, male musk.

I part his supple ass cheeks as he raises his fluffy tail in clear invitation. I close my eyes and let my nose and tongue tell me a tale of wanting need. My tongue blazes a hot, wet trail against his tail hole. I hear him whimper, urging me on. I lose myself in the sweet, almost cherry-flavored musk of his tailhole, lapping harder and deeper.

I hear him whimper again, but this time out of frustration and fear. He is facing the foggy image of his inner tormentor. I want to tell him to ignore it, but I lick harder and faster, desperate to bring him back to our shared erotic memory.

Too quickly, Lucas moves, bringing the front of his body to face me, straddling my waist. I rub the sides of his body, feeling the golden fur slip through my fingers, calming him down. He is so desperate. He knows what we need to do.

With a single, forceful thrust he slams his ass onto my hard, standing cock. My eyes widen in surprise and concern as he whimpers. He opens his eyes halfway, and gives me a small, reassuring smile.

I nod, understanding. He is quite experienced at this.

Leaning forward he starts to thrust my cock into his ass. The warm, tight embrace causes my mating instincts to go on a rampage. All my sense of feeling focuses on my penetrating cock, letting the waves of pleasure travel along the roadmap of my pleasure nerves.

Growling, Lucas pounds faster. He needs it badly. The penetrating pleasure has enveloped him and he is greedy for more. The sound of his ass cheeks slapping against my cock echoes in the room, accompanied by odd intervals of growls and whimpers.

I lose it. My mating instincts demands attention. With a loud growl I raise. I hold him tightly around the torso as I flip him onto his back, keeping my cock firmly planted inside him. I snarl as I look down at him. His face is a tale of lust and bliss, his eyes foggy with erotic intoxication and his tongue panting wetly out of his muzzle.

I pound. I grind. I pound harder. I grind harder.

My instincts are on a one-course mission. My cock demands release and my lust relishes my lovers hot, willing body.

My balls flex, sending a message of orgasmic alarm that makes my body tense up.

I erupt.

Hot, liquid warmth spreads from me into my lover. The huge tidal wave of pleasure numbs me. With great effort I hold Lucas close and lay back down.

He raises himself, feeling his torso, playing his paw-hands along his lean, muscular body. He laughs in orgasmic bliss. He falls back down, rubbing his long, red cock along my pronounced abs. With a few grinding thrusts his cock flares and covers our embraced bodies with his warm white seed.

We grind into each other weakly. We laugh. We sigh.

We lie still as the lustful energy fades and we welcome the warm afterglow. Lucas stretches his muzzle towards my ear.

The werewolf who hardly ever says a word speaks. He never speaks unless it's important. That day, the day we first made love, he said only a single, important word to me:

"Warm."

We laughed, just as we did that day. The memory starts to come to an end.

I look over to the corner.

The monster is gone. There was no scream. No whimper. Just nothing.

I look back into Lucas' eyes. He nods to confirm.

The demon has been defeated.

I close my eyes. Ocean blue water, the color of Lucas' eyes, rushes over us and carry us gently. I let my body float upwards, towards the clear spirit sky above.

***

I first thing I heard when I woke was the sound of crackling wood in the fire pit. I opened my eyes to see the ceiling of Bear Killer's lodge. I was still lying down on the bear pelt, Lucas lying on top of me.

We were no longer tied together by the leather cord. My eyes widened as I realized my limp member was lodged in Lucas' rear end.

I looked around to find Quinn lying to the right of me, a sly, look-what-I-caught-you-doing smile on his muzzle.

"Was everybody here? When we..." I asked with a stinging, harsh throat.

Quinn chuckled, "The Windwalkers vacated the premises when you two started dream-fucking. It was quite a thing to see."

I heard a familiar warm voice breathe "Lucas," in loving relief. I just turned to my left when Abram grabbed Lucas and lifted him off of me. Our alpha hugged him so tightly the golden werewolf's blue eyes bulged in their sockets.

Still keeping a tight, strong arm around Lucas, Abram held out the other for me. Without question I rose and accepted the embrace. It was my turn for my eyes to bulge in their sockets.

"Thank you," Abram said into my ear, pressing his thick muzzle into my face. Quinn came up behind us and joined the pack hug.

I let myself sigh in contentment as I felt the warmth of the pack surround me. We were complete again.

I opened my eyes and spotted a sitting figure staring into the large fire pit, his shadow casting huge on the wall ahead of him.

"He stayed while we..." I began.

"What you two did," Bear Killer interrupted, still facing the fire, "Was nothing strange to me. Once I saw a turtle mount a porcupine. That was strange."

We all suffered from confused silence for a few moments.

"Anyway," Quinn spoke up, "What was it like?"

I opened my muzzle, but I failed to find the words to describe the experience.

"Not now," Abram saved me, "What's important is that Lucas is saved, and that we are all safe."

"And the enemy is destroyed," I found myself growling.

My pack shared my victorious growl.

***

The pack was whole again and that night ended like most nights. We laid in bed, using each other for warmth, too tired from our ordeals and injuries to do any serious lovemaking.

Quinn had told me that, during the whole ritual, Lucas and I had just laid still as logs. He was not even sure if we were breathing. There was no thrashing or moaning or sudden inexplicable wounds that bled from nowhere. The only thing that happened was when Lucas and I started "sleep-fucking" and scared the hell out of everyone (except Bear-Killer) in the lodge.

Bear-Killer had said very little to me as we left. The elder just nodded and rolled up the large bear skin blanket. I was too tired to get answers from him that day.

By the time we arrived home the night was almost over. When we laid in bed, Quinn and Lucas immediately fell asleep. The pack would be sleeping into the afternoon that day.

I was laying down, most of my back on top of Abram's wide chest and belly, my head resting just below his. Lucas laid in between us, cuddling between our thick bodies, his muzzle buried into Abram's belly. Quinn was sleeping below with his arms wrapped around Lucas' waist, his muzzle rested of the golden werewolf's thigh, his dark, shiny hair blanketing Lucas' legs.

Quinn and Lucas' soft snores echoed in the room. The dark blue aura of coming dawn filtered through the window.

I could tell by his slow breathing that Abram had not fallen asleep.

Nudging the underside of his muzzle with my nose, I quietly asked "What's wrong?"

I watch as Abram's paw-hand reaches over to caress Lucas' messy head fur. The golden werewolf's ear twitched.

"I failed," my alpha breathed sadly. Before I could protest he continued, "It's not about me being strong enough. I know now that I was too pain-drunk to think clearly."

"Then what's the problem?"

"The instincts of an alpha are hard to deal with sometimes," he sighed. "I care too much Kenneth. It is my strength, but it is my weakness as well. I want to do everything in the world to keep my loved ones safe. I punish myself when they get hurt, even though I'm the one who helps them get into harm's way."

"That's not a bad thing."

"No, but it is bad enough that I could not do what you were thinking of what you would have to do."

I straightened and lifted myself up enough to look into his sad orange eyes, darkened by the dark blue shadows, "What do you mean?"

"You were not the only one had those thoughts, of what you would have to do to him if we could not save him."

I held back the shiver as I remembered.

I will have to kill him.

"I couldn't do it," Abram admitted, holding back tears, "Despite the fact that I know it would be the best thing to do, I wouldn't be able to do it."

I had nothing to say.

"You could," he said to me. It was not a accusing tone, it was a statement of fact. "You would. You love him just as much as I do, and you would do it."

I choked, "Yes."

Abram gave me his warm smile and caressed the underside of my muzzle, "It's not a bad thing," he assured me, "It's just not something you want to do."

I just nodded.

"It's hard," he continued, looking away from me and at the peaceful clearing outside the window, "The alpha instincts are strong and they're telling me I've got a contender."

He looked back at me with flames in his eyes, "One day you will lead this pack."

I could not deny it, "Yes. One day."

Abram closed his eyes, letting out a long, heavy breath. I felt what he was going through. The instincts within us were telling us confusing messages. We were equals, but we were two alphas, contending for the top spot. We were packmates and lovers, but only one can lead and the other follow.

"Not today," I finally said, speaking from both reason and instinct.

Abram opened his eyes. They were warm and smiling.

"I've got a lot to learn from you yet," I admitted.

He sighed, "You will be a great leader, better than me."

"And the only reason of why that will be is because of you," I growled softly, "Don't forget that. We are a pack. We all have our roles to play. We are nothing without each other. I would not have the chance if it weren't for you."

I duck my muzzle underneath his and press into his throat, "Besides, being a leader has its downsides too. All that responsibility. I'm already getting all the perks of being in this pack. I'm going to enjoy them for a while. Let the old man worry about the responsibilities."

My soul brightened as I felt Abram's chest bounce lightly in suppressed laughter. He licked the top of my head.

"A great leader," he sighed.

"A great elder," I chirped back.

"Oh no," Abram chuckled, letting sleep come upon him, "Not yet."

Silence fell. I waited just a little while until I could hear my alpha snoring before I let sleep come over me.

The warmth of the pack embraced me and followed me into my peaceful dreams.