WoDA Fiction World of Darkness: Attrition - Snowy, Dark and Deep

[Owns-The-Night]

June, 1992.

Somewhere in Montana

"He was always striving to attain it. The life that was so swiftly expanding within him, urged him continually toward the wall of light. The life that was within him knew that it was the one way out, the way he was predestined to tread."

He didn't like the truck.

His uncle had explained that it was necessary. That the machine was no different in essence than a rifle or a stove. But Declan didn't like the truck. It smelled funny, made too much noise, and for a six year-old boy who hadn't even seen or heard of an automobile before his uncle had retrieved it from the old shed and spent yesterday repairing it, the contraption was terrifying.

"Don't fret, boy." His uncle told him without real impatience as he glanced sideways to where the dark-haired boy was moodily kicking at the underside of the dash. "You got to get used to riding these things. They make life's journeys a little faster and easier."

"Why can't we walk?" Declan didn't quite whine: his uncle was a kind enough man in a rough-hewn way, but didn't tolerate whining. The odd cuff around the back of the head had quickly cured the boy of that. But his question was definitely accusatory. "I don't care how far it is. I want to walk to Livvy. I can walk to any place."

"It's Libby, Dec. And yeah, you're a good strong walker. And yeah, we would get there... by evening." His uncle grinned through a short dark beard streaked with grey, pale blue eyes twinkling. "All the shops would have shut, and you and me would be stuck in Libby for the night." He reached over and ruffled the child's hair, prompting a mutinous glower from his nephew's silver eyes. Bob Perault was a little taken aback. Damn, last time I saw anyone with that look, his dad kicked my ass. "Don't you look at me like that, boy." he said, forcing a growl into his voice. "You got to get a lot bigger and whole lot meaner before you can throw looks like that one around, goddamnit." The tone worked, and Declan dropped his gaze and mumbled an apology under his breath. Bob reached out and laid a hand on the kid's shoulder.

"Is it that bad, Dec? Look outta the window, kiddo. Ever go this fast before?" His question roused the boy from his sulk, and Declan clambered up on the bench seat and watched the world go past, face pressed to the window as he forgot his gripe in the way children do. The rest of the trip was more harmonious. The kid was a quiet sort anyway. Apart from the occasional question about something he saw, he would just watch the landscape blur past. Bob privately wondered what he'd do on the day that he couldn't face down his nephew. It was coming, sure as snow in winter.

Pulling the truck into a parking space outside the store, Bob got out. "You stay with the truck, Dec. It needs watching." Declan's disappointment at being left behind was softened by being given something important to do. He started to get out, but his uncle shook his head. "Stay inside the truck, Dec. Folks around here aren't always friendly. If anyone causes trouble honk the horn, okay?" The large man indicated the horn button, and Declan nodded. "It'll make a big noise, and I'll come running out."

Declan nodded again, then watched his uncle walk into the general store. He spent some time watching the street, but Libby was a small town and there was not much to see. After a few minutes, however, a small knot of local children gathered to stare at the beat-up old truck and the pale-eyed boy staring out at them from inside it. Eventually, a group consensus achieved, they approached the truck behind a chubby ten year old wearing an orange t-shirt and faded jeans.

"Hey!" The leader, a kid called Joe, said, looking up at the open window that Declan was currently staring out of. He knew how this was supposed to go: harass the new kid, see how they fitted into the pecking order. But this weird-eyed kid didn't answer, he just stared at Joe like some kind of creepy dummy.

"Are you a retard or something?" Joe asked, not entirely unkindly. It wasn't nice to pick on retards, after all.

"He looks like one." giggled Steve, one of Joe's friends. The strange kid just tilted his head to one side as if considering Steve, then answered in a soft voice.

"What's a retard?"

Joe blinked and glanced at his friends as though seeking some sort of advice, then looked back at Declan.

"Wow. You must be real young to not know that." He said patronisingly. The weirdo frowned at that, looking defiant.

"I'm six!" He said with some heat, falling for one of the oldest pieces of bait in the schoolyard fishing compendium.

"Oooh! Siiiiix!" Steve giggled again. "Are you a big boy now?" The other kids laughed. Declan felt his teeth clench at that sound, shrill mockery and humor at his expense causing his hands to grip the window's edge harder.

"I'm plenty big enough to do lots of things I bet you can't! I can track, and hunt, and one day my uncle will teach me to shoot!" Declan said with anger in his voice now at their continued laughter. "Which is more than you all can do. You stink so bad that you'd scare the game away!"

"I don't stink!" Joe stepped up to the truck door, clenching pudgy fists as he looked up into Declan's silver eyes. "You come down here and say that to my face, or are ya chicken?" Declan was torn now; on the one hand, his uncle had told him to stay with the truck and honk the horn in case of trouble. On the other hand this fat boy, with his soft features and smelly breath, was calling him chicken. The inner conflict didn't last long. It couldn't. Something inside him whispered that a challenge had been made, and something in Declan's soul rose to it, teeth bared.

He jumped out of the truck window with a little growl, landing on Joe's upturned face and sending them both crashing to the floor. The yelp of pained surprise from Joe stifled the noise of the other kids as Declan rolled and came to his feet in a crouch, not even concerned about the grazes and cuts on his arms and bare legs under the shorts. The older boy struggled to his feet less gracefully, touching one finger gingerly to a bloody lip. He looked at the blood and glared daggers at the unflinching boy crouched before him.

"You're DEAD!" With that shrill battlecry ringing in the sleepy main street air, Joe rushed at the wiry kid with his arms outstretched. Growling under his breath, Declan swayed to one side before launching himself at Joe's ample midsection. They went down in a tangle, punching and grappling with each other. Size and experience was on Joe's side, however, and despite the wiry strength and ferocity of his opponent, the older boy gained the upper hand and was soon kneeling on Declan's chest.

"Give in?" Joe was sweating and breathing hard from the effort of the fight. Declan's answer to the civilised question was as simple as it was primal. A fist-sized stone, held in a small hand, came up and smacked the larger boy on the side of the head. Crying out in pain, Joe rolled off Declan and tried to get back to his feet, shaking his head to clear it. The watching kids saw the strange boy roll to his feet in one smooth motion, a killing light in his silver eyes as he stalked towards the still-kneeling Joe, taking a firmer grip on his rock. He raised it high, teeth bared in a snarl...

Only to have it snatched from him by a large hand. Growling, he whirled on the interloper, only to receive a cuff that sent him sprawling as Bob Perault tossed the rock to one side.

"Stay down there, Dec." Though he didn't sound angry there was steel in his uncle's voice, and the boy heeded it and stayed put as Bob helped Joe to his feet and examined the lump on the boy's skull. "You're alright, kid. Get some ice on that and you'll be fine." He told the other kids to get Joe home, then turned and moved over to the prone Declan. Squatting down next to him, he reached out and ruffled the boy's hair.

"Let's get you home, boy. You need some lessons on handling your temper in a fight so's you don't kill folks." Declan took the offered hand and was pulled to his feet. "You also need lessons on what "Stay in the truck" means, dammit all ta hell!" His uncle growled at him before walking away. Scuffing his shoes on the ground, Declan followed.

Sure as snow in winter, Bob thought as he opened the truck door, a chill running down his spine as he remembered the look in Declan's eyes. I just hope it ain't the death of me.

[Owns-The-Night]

Late December, 2011

Libby, Montana

"The cub's fear of the unknown was an inherited distrust, and it had now been strengthened by experience. Thenceforth, in the nature of things, he would possess an abiding distrust of appearances."

Large airhorns blatted from the road. He looked up from the asphalt he'd been studying and felt a sense of disorientation. The general store was gone now in favor of a large, sprawling eatery and bar. The dusty rock and earth parking lot had been covered with black asphalt that glistened in the chill November rain. Libby, Montana had been brought up to date. As a waystation on the North-South trucking runs.

The rain soaking through his clothes brought Declan out of his reverie. Well, they weren't his clothes, really. He had stolen them about 100 miles away from the back of someone's car, along with a backpack which he had filled with food. He had made the first leg of his trip in wolf shape, eating up the miles at a steady tireless lope. He could have stayed that way, but reason told him he would need a human guise at some point. Hands were better than paws for some things, and so he'd hitched and hiked the last 100 miles to Libby, a quiet passenger on those rare occasions someone actually stopped.

He walked up to the building, feeling in his pocket with wind-chilled fingers for his cash roll. He grunted as he counted it off. Less than twenty bucks and change. Well, it would get him a warm meal and some time to dry out a little. Entering the bar, he was assaulted with noise. It had been so quiet on the trails and game paths of the wilds that Dec had forgotten how noisy human places could be, how out of sync with their surroundings. He nearly turned around and walked back out again, and be damned to warming up.

And yet he stayed, wrestling his instincts back under control and snagging a table next to a radiator. Ordering a burger and fries with milk, he managed to smile at the pretty young waitress before looking uneasily around the crowded bar. He didn't feel threatened so much as... isolated. None like me, he thought, a trifle mournfully, and was shocked to realise that he was actually lonely. Had it really been only half a year since he'd been used to solitude? Ever since the party, since August included him in her world, he'd grown used to... having friends. To drop by Oneca's and raid the fridge, to laugh and flirt and joke with the girls there, even to visit the Chantry a couple of times on social occasions. He'd idly considered coming out of the werewolf closet to some of the Chantry's leaders, to be included more permanently in their 'pack', but that idea was very much on the back-burner. It was sufficient that, thanks to Remy, they had an idea he was more than he seemed and so he was mostly welcome. More than welcome, where some of the women were concerned.

His meal arrived, and the Vargr inhaled the burger and fries, winking at the waitress who was staring at the rapidly disappearing food. She blushed and hurried off, and Owns-The-Night's eyes followed her until she went out of sight, even though his mind was mostly elsewhere. He missed August, and would have invited her along only she had holiday plans already. Besides, it would have changed the nature of the getaway, and the nature of our friendship too, he told himself not for the first time. August's afraid of getting involved like that with me, and to tell the truth, I'm worried it'll make things weird. He paused his train of thought to consider how 'normal' a medium all-but-dating a werewolf was, then amended the last part to weirder. That was good for a low, quiet laugh, and the Vargr sat back and drank his milk while watching the rest of the room, idly wondering what time the waitress got off work.

As it happened he was gone by then, leaving a twenty dollar tip behind. He had ground to cover, after all.

Next Day

Somewhere in the Montana Hills

He stopped at the top of the rising, his breath wreathing his head in the cold air. He did not overmuch feel the heavy pack on his back, or the cold that had nipped at his face for the fifty mile trek through hilly, heavily forested terrain. Such were his tenacity and vigor that even his exertions of the previous night had little impact on them. But memories of soft skin and the perfume of desire were far away from Owns-The-Night at that moment as he looked down into the sheltered dip in the landscape.

*The crisp feeling of snow under bare feet, the cold unnoticed against the thrilling song of the night. Of running free through pine wooded hills. Of chasing a hare vainly just to see it run. Of dancing wild circles, moon-mad. Of being chased, loving the game of it, wanting only to play.* The welter of memories flooded him, a return to a time of innocence.

He blinked once and started down the slope towards the large cottage in the hollow. As he drew closer, Declan saw that two outer walls had given way somewhat to the elements, and the roof over that corner had collapsed inwards. The large shack that used to house the truck was still mainly intact, but the outhouse was merely stubs of broken and rotted boards. There was no sign anyone had been here since he had left.

*They had come for him, ignoring his pleas to be left alone here. The law wouldn't allow it; there were rules. A twelve year old boy could not be left to fend for himself. He had screamed and fought as they dragged him to their car, crying that he was sorry, so sorry for his uncle's death, that he hadn't intended the older man to catch sick and die. The adult faces were determined, stony. They had a duty to do, and wouldn't be swayed from that. He had bitten a hand, fresh blood in his mouth making his tongue tingle, and made a break for it. But his tears half-blinded him and he had slipped and fallen: they had caught him easily.*

The wind felt cold on his cheeks as he watched the ghostly image of his younger self dragged, unkindly and with not a little rough shaking, back to the car and thrown into the back seat. Declan turned away from the scene and studied the cottage with a discerning eye, trying to determine the first course of action. The past was a world away now.

He walked into the cottage, wincing at the damage to the interior. They hadn't shut any of the windows, closed any of the doors. It had been simply abandoned. In a half hour he had made a plan of action and smiled to himself. The project would give him focus, to rebuild what Man's carelessness had let be destroyed. He opened up the wood cellar, and smiled as he heard the chittering complaints of raccoons down there. The little bandits had made their homes here for a few of their generations now, by the tracks and scent. Declan shut the doors again. He would let them keep their home: after all, he wouldn't need all of it yet. Let them move out once the winter was over if that was what they wished.

* * * * * *

A few days later, and work was well underway. Declan had made a day's trek to Libby and back for the supplies he needed. Self-sufficient to an extreme, he bought only tools - axe, hammer, plane, etc - and nails, along with a few thick waterproof tarpaulins. He had jogged nearly the entire trip, tireless as always even with the load on his back on the return journey. He exulted in his strength as never before: here it didn't seem to be something that could mark him apart. Rather, it was his connection with the land itself, deep and enduring as it welcomed him home.

He had cleaned out the debris of ages from the ruin, then fixed the doors and windows in the roofed portion of the building. He slept through the mornings and worked through the afternoon until it was dark.

At night, he hunted.

At first he was alone, but by the third night he had company. He had heard them on the first night, howling across the intervening miles. He had listened to the song and howled his reply, hearing them fall silent as his paean to Life echoed over the land. The third night he had taken down a buck, wearing down the beast over a long chase before finally breaking it's neck with one strong bite of his massive jaws. As he had howled his joy to the moon, he realised he wasn't alone.

Dark shapes flitted through the trees around him, circling, their scent both worried and curious. He planted his feet solidly over the buck and lowered his head, growling long and low in a clear signal that this was his kill, and not to be stolen. The surrounding wolves yipped and whined to each other, sensing something like and yet not-like themselves and unsure how to proceed. Finally the alpha had approached - not directly - but sidling in a placatory fashion.

*Friend?* he had asked in the manner of wolves, caution in his scent. As well he might be - the Vargr was a giant example of a wolf, and he was technically in this pack's territory. Wolves seldom truly fought other wolves - except over territory, when they would fight to the death. The alpha had led his pack for three years now, and was canny enough to realise that this new wolf was beyond his own strength.

*Friend* Declan had confirmed, taking in the lean flanks of the pack and realising that in winter, good hunting was scarce. He looked at the steaming body of the buck, then cocked his head at the alpha. *Share kill. Come, eat.*

As peace offerings go, it was a great way to make friends. Owns-The-Night brought down two more bucks that night, his supernatural vigor and strength more than adequate to the task, and the pack ate their fill. By the time dawn came, he was unofficially the alpha with no need to fight for the position. Wolves are practical creatures, and in the face of the Vargr's clear superiority the incumbent saw no shame in falling back to a beta male posture. When he changed to human form in the morning the wolves had been astonished, sniffing at him curiously and whining in the backs of their throats at this strange occurence.

*Silver-Eye like female!* the former alpha had said in astonishment. *Female come last snow, big wolf like Silver-Eye, but smaller. Sniff around man-cave then leave.*

*Female might be Silver-Eye's pack* Declan had admitted. It sounded like Lise. But what was she doing here? *Female find anything? Take anything from man-cave?* It took some remembering, because wolves don't really remember things they consider trivial, but one younger male finally remembered that he might have seen the female take a stone from the cave. It wasn't terribly helpful - the wolves considered anything that wasn't meat, bone, or plant matter to be a stone. But it made Declan think. What had Lise - if it had been Lise - been looking for?

After that night, Declan had found them waiting for him as darkness fell at the end of each day's work. Every night he ranged with the pack, running over crisp snow on wide paws. They respected his prowess and size, and the alpha was glad (though puzzled) that Declan did not seem to want to lay claim to his females. Over the next few days, the pack came to live around the cabin, lounging around the clearing waiting for sunset whilst the cubs and yearlings played, watching their friend with quiet amazement in their wolfish eyes as he clambered over the strange wooden cave doing incomprehensible things with metal stones. As the sun sank and the pack stirred, Declan would jump down and remove his clothing, stashing it safely inside the house, before sprouting fur and trotting four-legged across the packed snow to join them. The pack became healthier, their coats sleeker from the improved diet, and Declan lifted his voice in concert with theirs every night, their howls drifting across the snow-covered hills.

[Owns-The-Night]

April, 1996

Capital High School, Helena, Montana

"He became quicker of movement than the other, swifter of foot, craftier, deadlier, more lithe, more lean with ironlike muscle and sinew, more enduring, more cruel, more ferocious... He had to become all these things, else he would not have held his own..."

The bell rang long and loud, and the hallways erupted with noise and motion as nearly a thousand bored and hungry teenagers spilled out of their classes. Jostling, laughing, chattering, they formed knots and whirls of friends and peers as they headed off to whatever the lunch hour had in store for them. Declan opened his locker door and dumped his books inside, retrieving his lunchbag and running gear and trying to ignore the sight of Allanah Farden, cheerleader, girlfriend of the quarterback, and all-round cocktease as she bent down to rummage through her locker across the corridor from him. Already dressed for cheering practice, the short green skirt did little to conceal her strong smooth legs and shapely rear.

Despite himself, he was fascinated as only an adolescent male could be at the sight of her backside shifting from side to side, like the haunches of a cat. A fact that wasn't lost on Allanah: she looked at him out of the corner of her eye and smiled to herself. Alannah liked to tease every boy in the school, but she particularly liked to tease him ever since he'd transferred in this semester. Declan didn't respond to the provocation, didn't rise to the challenge. He was on his fourth damned high school already, having been kicked out of the others for fighting. Something in him would not tolerate the normal dominance games that adolescents played. He was quiet and kept to himself, but was an indifferent student, preferring to look out of the windows and draw on his exercise books. All he really wanted was to get his GED and get the fuck out of Helena. Maybe he could join the Army or something? Damn, but that girl has an ass that won't quit...

Abruptly he realised two things: that Alannah had straightened up and was smiling at him, and that he had a pants-straining boner threatening the integrity of his jeans. Oh shit! He spun back to his locker and fumbled to close it, taking longer than strictly necessary. Go on, go and giggle with your fuckin' friends... Nothin' to see here. He felt angry: with himself, with her, with her asshole boyfriend who would relish the chance to play hero. Fuckin' girls ain't worth the hassle. Just let me get through this last semester and I'm outta this shit.

"Hey, you're Declan right?" A waft of Juicy Fruit, Victoria's Secret perfume, and Female made him tense. He finished closing his locker and turned to see Alannah looking at him from only a couple of feet away, blue eyes sparkling and the fragrant fall of her auburn hair reaching the curve of her sweater-covered breasts. She gave him a little smile and shrugged. "I asked around some. I've seen you out on the field running." Her eyes took in his shoulders, broad for a 16 year old boy. "You should try out for the football team." Her smile was mischievous and inviting. We could have so much fun it seemed to say.

Declan knew he should get out of there. He should make an excuse, nod and smile, and leave. But he was trapped by his instincts, by urges that were stronger than reason. His eyes locked on hers, but he stayed silent.

"Wow. Your eyes are kinda cool." She leaned in and tilted her head this way and that, studying the play of light in his silver irises. Her pink-glossed lips were pursed slightly as Declan shifted on his feet, his own head cocking to one side as he gazed back at her. She suppressed a shudder of excitement at the look in those eyes, even as a part of her wondered why he wasn't speaking. Most guys would be either stammering or trying to be cool by now: what gave with Declan? He wasn't being cool - he radiated a watchful tension, as though waiting for something. "You're not talkin'. Don't you like me?" Her blue eyes looked soulfully up at him as she stepped closer. She wanted... no, she needed to get a reaction out of him.

He nodded, then cleared his throat quietly. It sounded like a growl, almost. "Yeah. I, uh, I like you fine." In that moment, he did. He forgot that she was trouble. He forgot that she liked making her boyfriend jealous at the expense of the poor guys she flirted with. A hard hand shoving him into his locker reminded him, breaking the spell.

"You tryin' it with my girl, new guy?" Joe Barris was a high school football hero. He captained his team well, was well-regarded by most people as more than a stereotypical jock. Overall, he was a nice guy. But his clay foot was Alannah. He hated that she seemed to flirt all the damned time. He couldn't stand it even when it was obvious that she was just teasing some scrawny guy. But she hadn't looked like she was just teasing this time, and the new kid wasn't scrawny. He was nearly Joe's size, despite being a year or so younger. There was an air about him of challenge, a rival, and Joe felt threatened by it as Declan straightened up and squared off, silver gaze narrowed. Alannah stepped back biting her lower lip, her eyes shining excitedly.

Declan wanted to fight. The whole fibre of his being wanted to lash out at Joe, to smash his opponent to the ground and take the spoils of victory. But he didn't. With a Herculean effort, he dropped his gaze and shook his head.

"We was just talkin'. Didn't mean nothin' by it, man." He kept his eyes down, the words like bile in his mouth as he tried to slip away. He didn't want yet another expulsion on his record, and if blows were struck, Declan knew that's exactly what would happen. He stepped to the side...

And was knocked down, his lunchbag going flying as Joe unloaded a powerful right hook to his cheek. Declan looked up and saw his enemy smirk, saw the enemy's woman looking scornfully at him, saw the ring of faces around him about to start jeering. His pulse thundered in his ears, his head ringing from the punch. He tasted his own blood...

And Changed, his skin rippling as fur sprouted from it's smooth surface, his bones cracking and shifting into new shapes. His eyes blazed like molten gold, silver tinted with the fire of his rage. He grinned at Joe's blanching face, his mouth full of knives, and snarled his fury at them all as he flowed to his feet.

Joe screamed once before the huge furry shape struck him with the force of a car, driving him back against the lockers across the hall. He felt bones break under the impact and dagger-like claws digging into his chest, but his eyes were terror-locked on the powerful jaws descending on his fa-

A crunching sound and a spray of blood painted the lockers with deep, dark red as Declan's teeth sheared the front half of Joe Barris's head off. He spat the wreckage to one side and howled his triumph, the sound rising above the screaming students as they stampeded for the exits. Declan dropped to all fours once more, letting the limp, twitching corpse fall to the ground and growling as his gold-tinged eyes swept over to Alannah. The girl was pressed against the wall, blue eyes wide in panic, her chest rising and falling as she hyperventilated, too frightened to scream. His jaws dripping blood, the wolf that was Declan approached the girl.

He took her there on all fours in the hallway, the blood of his kill pooling on the floor around them, it's scent mingling with the smell of sex. He growled in time to her whimpering as his jaws gripped the back of her neck, claws scraping her tender skin with each thrust into her sex. As his orgasm exploded from him to the accompaniment of a howl of lust and dominance, Declan suddenly realised that this was all wrong.

This isn't how it happened! he told himself...

...and he sat up, sweating, his heart in his ears. Jesus fuckin' Christ on bike! That was a fucked up nightmare.

He lay back and rested for a moment, calming his breathing, his gaze on the past. He hadn't turned into a giant wolf and killed Joe Barris. Nor had he raped Alannah in her boyfriend's cooling blood. He had erupted from the floor in a fury, outraged by the sucker punch. The ensuing fight had raged along the corridor, wrecked three lockers, two classroom doors, and ended up putting the star quarterback in traction after Dec had thrown him down a flight of stairs. Declan was not expelled, however. A fair few people, Alannah included, had testified that Joe threw the first punch. It was one of the few warm memories the Vargr had of his teenage years.

*Silver-Eye bad sleep?* a female asked from the edges of the wolf-pile in the main room of the cabin, her ears up attentively as she peered through the gloom of the pre-dawn cabin at the Vargr.

*Bad sleep.* Declan agreed with a whuff-ing noise. He rose from the makeshift bed and splashed water on his sweaty face. Wolves had no word for dream - the closest they came was bad sleep for nightmares.

*Silver-Eye should sleep with pack.* The female said with uncommon boldness. *Not good sleep alone.*

"Tell me about it." Declan said in human tongue softly. The she-wolf was still watching him curiously.

*Silver-Eye not sleep with pack. Not mate. This one thinks bad sleep will come.* Declan smiled then, shaking his head at the lecturing tone the female took.

*This one is not alpha here. Not want take Grey-Tail's females. Silver-Eye will go soon.* he explained. The female whined softly.

*Silver-Eye go where?*

*Man-place. This one will come back next snow, maybe before.* The assurance seemed to settle the female, who lowered her head, ears still pricked up as she regarded him sleepily.

*Silver-Eye should sleep with pack.* she repeated. Declan paused, considering that. Wolves did like to sleep in a pile together, yet out of some lingering human instinct he remained aloof. It couldn't hurt to try this aspect of being a wolf, could it? With a shrug, he dropped his human shape and padded through the doorway to the main room, the drowsy pack unquestioningly making some room for him and accepting him into their midst. He settled down among them and closed his eyes, aware of warm bodies all around him, their scents comforting the werewolf as he drifted off once more.

This time, there were no dreams.

[Owns-The-Night]

Christmas Day, 2011

Somewhere on the Interstate

Declan had left the cabin that morning, but it had still taken him several hours to jog to the nearest truck stop in human form. The wolves had paced him for awhile, but he had warned them that he was going to a man-place and that he would be coming back, which seemed to satisfy their curiousity. The snow had made the travelling hard going on two legs, but he'd persevered until he saw the lights of the truck stop through the misty woods.

Some things are important, after all.

Changing a ten for a bunch of quarters, he ordered a warm milk and headed for a payphone. Settling in, he dropped a quarter into the machine and dialled the number from memory. It rang a few times, then was picked up.

"Hello?" Her voice sounded hesitant, which was fair enough considering that her cellphone's display would show a payphone number. For a moment, Dec considered teasing her with some pervert-style heavy breathing, but even he realised that was probably going a little too far for some laughs. Besides, it was good to hear her voice.

"Hello August." he said, smiling though she couldn't see it. "How’re you doin’, frail?”

“Oh, Dec!” She sounded surprised. “I didn’t expect you to call! Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas. Well, I decided that some people are worth callin’ from a truck stop on the nearest interstate.” he said, chuckling a little at the surprise in her voice. “I was just makin’ sure you was eatin’ right over the silly season.”

“Uh…” She hesitated, as though his question had caught her offguard, but she sounded sincere when she answered, “I just stuffed myself on Christmas ham, so I’m going to say yes.”

“Good to hear.” A truck engine roared loudly outside, making him pause before continuing, a smile spreading across his lips, “Been working out?”

“I… Family stuff has gotten a bit crazy. So no. But I’ll start up again tomorrow.” She sounded so guilt-stricken that he immediately felt a little bit of a heel for ribbing her.

"Relax, I was only teasin'." He chuckled again, but this time was a little concerned. August sounded stressed out - normally she'd have picked up that he was giving her shit and played along. He got serious: "What happened?"

“Uh… My cousin Mike’s in a bad place and we’re all worried about him. He’s been fighting a lot-” August's explanation was cut off by someone nearby. Someone loud and brash.

“Who you talking to, Till?”

“Just a sec, okay?” she told Declan, then the phone muffled as she covered it with her hand or something. Despite that, the Vargr's keen ears could hear her disgruntled tone, if not the words, before her voice came back once more. "That was him, stirring shit again. Sorry."

"Fightin'? As in, he's being an asswipe?" Declan asked, and was gratified to hear a real laugh from August. It warmed him more than the milk, hearing that sound, even over the phone.

“Yes, pretty much. It doesn’t help – with my mom in the hospital, arranging to be there to open gifts and get gifts to her is always a little stressful.” He heard her sigh, a heartfelt sound. “It’s hard on everyone and Evan’s being a little bitch about everything. So enough about me. How’s your trip going?”

"Oh, runnin' wild, hunting and lettin' it all hang out. Found some friends up here - kinda gettin' the rock star treatment." He laughed softly, remembering how the wolves were around him. “Feels good to get some snow between my toes once in awhile."

“Ooo… sounds like fun." She sounded cheerful... a little note ringing in Declan’s hindbrain as she continued in the same tone. "Four-legged friends or ones more like you?”

"Four-legged. Though they say there was another like me around early this year. My cousin, I'm guessin'." He paused for a moment, considering. August sounded like she was glad to hear from him, sure. But there was an element of... forcedness in her cheery tone. "Are you really okay, August?” he asked soberly, letting her hear the concern in his voice. “I can be back there in less than a few days if you need a pal around."

“No, no,” She replied a little too fast, a note of worry in her voice. “I appreciate it, but you don’t need to come back. It should blow over soon.” She hesitated then. “You don’t know a lot of other people like you, do you? Some guy named Aeron? He had that whole primal-thing you’ve got. I wondered if you knew him?”

A guy called Aeron. Primal-thing? Dec frowned at that. Was there another werewolf hanging around? He repressed the urge to growl at the thought and forced his instincts to behave as he answered. "Aeron? Never heard of him. There were a couple at that party you girls threw last summer, though..." he ventured, remembering the blonde hottie and the big surfer-dude, Finn.

“No, he wasn’t there. I would have remembered. So would you. He was... very memorable.” Dec frowned again, wondering if he should be jealous. “Anyway, just curious. I’m glad you’re having fun. You’ll have to tell me all about it. And… I have a gift for you.”

"A gift?" That caught Dec off-guard. He wasn’t used to that, and it showed in his voice as his reserve slipped. "Wow... You din't need to do that, you know. I... I didn't think to get you anything." He admitted in an embarrassed tone, then muttered, "Never really had Christmas before, as such."

“Of course you didn’t, you’re a guy.” August replied, taking her turn to tease him. “It’s okay. You don’t have to get me anything.” Another voice intruded on the conversation, a woman this time:

“Tilly? We’re ready to go. Stop talking to Scott!”

“And that’s my embarrassing grandmother” August sighed, and Dec could almost hear the blush. “We’re ready to go so I should let you go.”

"Yeah, I'd better make tracks too. Take care of yerself,” Declan grinned then, a teasing note re-entering his voice “...and when I can get back you can tell me all about Scott." August groaned, mortified.

“I repeat: embarrassing grandmother. Hey…” She paused then, and Declan could almost hear something on the edge of being said as her voice dropped an octave before she resumed, in a more normal tone “Take care of yourself and have fun. Call me when you get in, okay?” Declan smiled into the phone.

"Bet on it. Merry Christmas again, August." Miss ya. Would rather be cuddled up to you than a wolf. Wish you were here. Damn, but those would all be dumb things to say.

"Merry Christmas." She replied, and Dec hung up, head lowered as he considered. He almost called her up again... but hesitated before deciding against it. Over the phone with a thousand miles between them was not the time to get mushy, if indeed there was a correct time for that where he and she were concerned...

“Dammit.” He cussed softly, finishing his milk. “See ya soon.” he told her softly, unheard, before he turned and headed back out into the cold... and back to the wild. The long walk back to the cabin gave him plenty of time for reflection...

Unfortunately.