Four months ago.An abandoned warehouse on the borders of the bayou, Louisiana.
Magnus arrives on a stolen bike. There's
music blasting from somewhere inside.
Kicking open the large metal doors he is met with a wall of smoke and sweet scent.
In a pile of hay and shredded pillows he finds the guy he's looking for, surrounded by unconscious young men and women.
"Took me a while to find you.""It's been a while, friend.""Too long." Magnus looked at the female sleeping on Hale's shoulder with disgust. She was bleeding from the neck.
"Last time you said you were done with that."Hale laughed softly, without waking anyone up.
"Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.""Even if it's tabboo, at least vampire blood makes me strong. You just like to get high.""So? You sayin' it's unhealthy?" Hale spat sarcastically as he filled a dirty glass half-full with blood from the pale bloodsuckers neck.
"You're out of touch with your natural self. I can read it in your soul.""You can read it in my face, hear it in my words. I don't care. Haven't turned in years."Hale filled the other half of the glass with energy drink and vodka.
"How will the other wolves respect you now?""I don't want their respect. I don't care. If I need something, they'll listen to strength."Hale downed the cocktail in one go. The volatile mixture burned his throat.
Ecstatic."So.. I owe you a favor still don't I? Guessin' that's why yer here?"Magnus dropped a sports-bag full of paper money.
"I need a wolf army." ---
NowScreams and howls. Torrential rain. Darkness slowly falling.
Howls of pain were replacing howls of the hunt.
The army he had gathered crumbled slowly as all of the battlefield had descended into madness. No side really won here, all that survived would go home forever changed.
But Hale could pay no mind to such misery. The taste of blood brought back memories. Memories of wild rides and vile visions. This blood was strong and course. It was more sour than the drinks he used to make. The pain in his throat was refreshing. Like a bright light piercing your eyes at the break of dawn. Hale's body reflexively made a stand and rejected what he put in. Coughing and spitting he regurgitated a mix of acid blood and stomach contents violently over the abomination sinking it's teeth in his shoulder. The sting of teeth, the sapping feeling of draining blood, his empty stomach. It made Hale dizzy. As if in a trace he listened and smelled the battlefield. The mayhem and destruction were inspiring. Digging at something long forgotten. Then he noticed one scent. One scent that triggered a rage unknown. It was the scent of the Lady Mo. The scent of a dying alpha.
Hale felt an urge he had long suppressed. Until he had forgotten the feeling. The wild, the hungry, the true beast.
He let go a terrible howl. A cry distorted with pain and fury. An unsettling dirge that cut into every man's courage.
The sound of reforming bones, breaking and resetting. The smell of blood and hair. The sight of bright white glowing eyes.
Hale grew. His relatively thin arms grew muscular claws. His shoulders broadened accompanied by the sound of Kami's jaw dislocating.
Vile smirk made place for brutal maw, and rows of teeth closed around the neck of his, now smaller,
prey.
