A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Aftermath | January 30, 2010

When the Alpha werewolf goes in to fight and wins over whatever challenger was naive enough to fight him, or her, as the case maybe, they are not helped up.

For the Alpha, weather injured or not, it’s a show of their leadership in the pack, to walk away from a fight by themselves.

For the challenger, it’s a show of their weakness. They are not acknowledged in any sense of compassion. To do so would be insulting to the pack leading Alpha. To do so would be like an act of defiance to the leader’s victory and ruling. It’s just not the done thing.

You get yourself into a fight with an Alpha werewolf, and you somehow manage to survive it, then you get the right to carry your own weary carcass out of the fight zone and warpath of the Alpha.

But you do it yourself.

And if you can’t, then you’re left exactly where you are. To figure your own way out of your own predicament.

Paris walks over to me, back in human form.
Back Dog lay curled in on himself, on the ground, still in lipwerei form. Breathing heavily and bleeding slowly. His back legs, pushing, and slipping against the floor and blood. Trying to move himself forward and up. Black Dog’s front legs are next to no use to him. He’s not even trying to use them. If he were a werewolf, we’d probably all be picking up on his pain. But he’s not.

So I force myself not to care.

Paris probably severed a tendon or two with his claws, when he sliced him open. Doesn’t always take much to make your enemy immobile, you just got to have the willpower to over power them effectively. But it can hurt like hell, and werewolves are not known for playing things safe or soft. If we’re in a fight, in our animal form, you can expect nothing less than ruthlessness.

The crowd breaks up and wanders off.
Music returns, flowing through the club loudly.
Everything as it should be.

People take to the dance floor again, drinks flow and gradually chatter returns to the soundtrack of the night around us.

You do not fuck with the wolves and get to brag about it.
We will have your pride served to you in the gutter over you bleeding, broken, body before that’s allowed.

Addison and the other seconds in command, check in with Paris, who assures them he is good. Waving them off before they all back off again and I’m left standing in front of him. I wrap my arms around him and bury my head in his shoulder. Listening to the rapid thudding of the heart beat in his chest. His arms close around me and we held each other tight.

Just because he won the fight, doesn’t mean he wanted to fight.
But he can not let authority go unchallenged and he can not allow an outsider, not a werewolf, to walk into our world and think they can insult any of us.

It’s one of the first sensations I picked up on when he shape shifted back, it was so strong. The aftermath of doing the expected thing. Of carrying the pressure of expectation. Of being the leader.

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