C4 Creature

Hungry must have crept onto the historian's face, the weedy voice whistling out from the hole, almost crooning with enthusiasm. "I assume this means we're going into…"

Immediately, Beryn twisted back around, his teeth glinting sharp as he cut the man off. "We do business when she's awakened. Until then…" He paused, letting his eyes glow silver through the catacombs. "…I'm going to be kind and allow her to drink your blood until there is time to hunt in the morning." The thought made him smile. "I'm sure she would do the same for you."

He did not have to see the vampire's face to know the man had blanched.

Without another word, Beryn stalked back along the catacombs, taking the torch with him and leaving the historian in the darkness. By the time he reached the staircase, he was already calculating how his plans would be affected by this latest development. The rescheduling of their departure; rooms for a party of three rather than two. The payment required for something as precious as a blood-seer.

First, however, they would have to heal her. Wake her from the perilous half-sleep she had put herself in. For that, they were going to need blood. A lot of it…

…and by hell, there had better be a basin upstairs or this was going to get extremely unpleasant.

With that thought, he frowned, his foot halting with trapidation, the obvious coming to him with a wave of repugnance. Their bags were already at the docks. His hand trailed to the tailored lining of his coat, almost regretting his passage here. He had liked this suit. Removing the outer coat, Beryn began to ascend the staircase…

At least Wade would be in good spirits. The lycan had been eyeing the forests for quite some time now. Finally, he would get to hound himself a deer or two.

Perhaps three.

***

Three hours had passed since he had ascended the staircase...

…and Wade had still not returned with the deer.

Seated against the monastery door, Beryn was teaching himself a lesson in patience, tapping his left knee maniacally with a knife-handle and fiddling with a silver pocket-watch in his right hand. Almost four minutes had passed since he had last checked the time, an unyielding part of his brain always counting in silence. It was a strange habit, one he had developed over the centuries, so much so that he could not remember a day when he did not count since the death of…her. A coping mechanism, a friend had once coined it.

Three minutes and forty-six seconds.

Lost in thought, he had almost forgotten the blade in his left hand, the watch-case held his attention so much. It was an exquisite piece of workmanship, the front and back engraved with a fearsome hawk, a long silver chain attaching it to the grey coat folded on the floor. Like the coat, he had already laid aside all his gentlemanly attire in preparation for the deer bleeding. His torso was bare, his lower half covered in a pair of ancient leather breeches scrounged up by Silas the vampire. Allowing the watch to hang from the chain, he watched it turn slowly just shy of the sunlight. Always just shy of the sun, for there was no sense in letting it glint for distant eyes to see.

Catching it in his palm abruptly, he pressed the clasp, eager as the watch opened with a sharp click, reading the time at a glance. 7:06 am. The minute hand continued to tick, tick, tick, just shy of the hour. He snapped it shut, allowing his thumb to run over the engraving again.

He clicked the watch open again.

7:07 am.

Damn.

He should have paid the watch-maker to make it go faster. How long did it take to find a damned deer? It was the Hungarian countryside, for bloods' sake. Five steps into the forest and you tripped over the things.

Dropping the watch on his coat, he abandoned the knife and now leaned back on his palms, staring intently at the forest edge, scanning for movement. Wade had headed north, and more than likely would return from the same heading. The grounds were empty, the silence complete save for birds. The rain had stopped ages ago. Except for the entrance, all the inside doors were shut against the sun. He didn't need to see through walls to know the vampire had already removed his wrist from the bloodseer's teeth by now. No matter…she would get her fair share soon enough.

If Wade ever returned.

Unable to resist, he glanced at the open watch again.

7:08 am.

Damn.

He had already prepared as much as could be prepared without the bloody deer, and now there was nothing to do but wait. He hated waiting. There was probably an ancient book to flip through behind him, except he couldn't muster the required patience to focus on a page right now. He had the knives, the rope, the basin, the fire…all he needed was the damn deer. He picked up the knife and began tapping the seconds away, switching the blade from hand to hand.

Another minute passed...

Starting to flip the knife, he spread out on his back, grey eyes focused on the blade, the feel of cold stone pressing against his skin. Originally, he had waited in the dining room with the vampire and the bloodseer, but they proved to be ill company. He had merely pointed out that it had been several years since he had skinned anything and immediately, the vampire had started backing away as if he meant to practice. No sense of humour. As for the seer, all she did was lie there acting like a cadaver. Hardly good company. Tense, he continued to flip the knife...

...and then he smelled it.

Sharp adrenaline. The scent of sweat and shredded tobacco.

Immediately he sat up, catching the blade in the same movement and staring towards the forest.

Finally, he thought.

In the distance, the tiny figure of a man loped from the trees, the coveted deer hanging from his shoulders. The grounds were expansive between the forest edge and monastery compound, and yet within moments, Wade stood before him, grunting as he flipped the dead creature from his tall shoulder and onto the monastery step. He was breathing hard, bent over and leaning against the doorjamb with a hand on one knee, slowly catching his breath. Probably exhausted. They had not slept since the day before, and killing deer without drawing blood was not an easy task when one was tired. Staring up in complete and utter silence, Beryn managed to hold his tongue for almost three seconds…

"You seem winded, Wade…all that running." Unconsciously, his knife began to tap again, his quiet words cutting sharp through the air. "Are you planning to track the next one through its lifetime as well or should I consider this a fluke of nature?"

Wade's scent spiked in answer, his expression tightening into a dark thundercloud. Without so much as a word, the affronted man turned his back and headed for the forest a second time. As he accelerated to a run, his spine began to lengthen, every stride pumping him further and further from his human form.

Watching in stillness, Beryn remained seated until he saw Wade had reached the far end of the grounds, a full-fledged werewolf disappearing among the foliage, water rustling from the leaves in his wake. It was just as well. The man would hunt better with his anger fuelling him. Unfolding, he half-rose from the stone step and then crouched beside the dead animal, running a hand along the fur and briefly examining its condition, grey eyes darting along its body. Quick and efficient in all of his work. By the markings, it was a purebred fallow hind, mottled with a brown coat. There was no obvious sign of disease, and the creature's neck had been broken so as not to leave a scent trail. Allowing his nails to grow by a slight margin, he began to comb through the soft fur, his fingers moving swiftly across the still form, searching for any sign of lice or parasites. Both could taint the blood, and tainted blood could kill during an awakening. His search came up empty. The body was warm, a healthy creature save for the broken neck.

Dead within the half hour.

Satisfied, he grasped the deer around its forelegs and hauled it onto his shoulders, the skinning knife still held in his right hand.

***

In the midst of his work, he was scarcely and yet clearly aware of Wade's steps approaching him from behind. He was aware of every sound, every nuance as the other lycan dropped the second beast at his feet; the cracking sound of a lycan changing his form and awaiting orders. Still carving, Beryn remained silent, but through the corner of his eye, he took note of the antlers, the broken neck of a young stag, its body strong and mirroring the colour of the doe's skin. With the faintest hint of lycan blood in the air, he knew this second quarry had not been so easy to catch.

Slicing the last cut of meat from the body, he finally stood, knife in hand, his gaze travelling along the back of the second creature. The young stag that mirrored the dead doe. Wade had taken his criticism to heart, for the stag was in prime condition. There was enough blood and meat there to feed them for three days on top of the doe.

A true prize.

His eyes focused the source of the lycan blood scent.

Wade had received the creature's attack from the side, a sharp cut along the lycan's flank. It was already healing, but thoughtful, Beryn considered the presence of the wound, aware of the silence that suggested Wade was waiting for something. Praise. It was praise the lycan wanted. Another reminder of the lifelong responsibilities which no longer held appeal for him. As alpha, he must praise and rebuke the pack as he saw fit. He must keep them in line. He must lead them in their actions…

…and Wade had done very well over the past few days. Tired to the bone, the man had outshone himself in the hunt.

"Well done," Beryn murmured, already turning back to the basin. A strong scent of satisfaction drifted from the other lycan's vicinity, but uncaring, Beryn moved on to other things. They would have to get rid of the first deer carcass to make way for the stag.