Recovering by Blood and Hate

[Alena Wulf]

Cold drops of rain fell heavily on the roof of the black sedan as Alena was chauffeured through Stockholm city proper, to the outskirts were her Den had been established for many centuries.

The last 20-odd hours had passed as if in a haze. Alena had fled London by car, driven as far as she had the fuel for, and when that ran out, she ran the rest of the way to the Scottish border on all fours. Within moments of her arrival, the few Lycans crazy enough to inhabit the country were informed of her presence and an immediate effort to get the Werewolf Queen back to Scandinavia was put in place. It didn't take long for a private plane to arrive, bound for Sweden for the single passenger. Upon her landing in Sweden, a personal convoy was already waiting to escort her home. She said nothing to the Werewolves assisting her about Szandor's fate, nor about much of anything in fact, and they did not pry.

Szandor was supposed to be sitting beside her right now. Instead, his seat was occupied by a lamb-skin blanket and a set of clothes, both of which the Queen of Wolves had refused to utilize. Alena sat naked in the back seat of the sedan, leaning against the back of the seat with her arms crossed, staring out the window. She watched idly as the rain trickled down the tinted windows, ignoring the scenery passing by. It was all things she'd seen a thousand times before, things that let her know she was home; but this brought her no comfort tonight.

The large, wrought iron gate creaked gently as it opened to allow Alena and her train entry. The drive to the Den after the gate was quiet and smooth, as there was no oncoming traffic. Surrounded by trees, the two and a half kilometer long driveway finally opened up, with the Werewolf Den standing tall and proud in the night. It was 22:28 on a night of the waxing moon, Luna's power was growing with each passing night, and much of the Den was still awake, feeling the energy and anticipation. Lights in many of the rooms were one and Alena's acute hearing allowed her the ability to pick up traces of activity in the forest around the building and throughout the property.

Coming to a stop in front of the entrance to the Den, the sedan parked so that Alena's door had the quickest path to the thick double doors. A young Lycan who appeared to be in his early 20's came around, opening the door for his Queen and holding an umbrella over her as she stepped out of the vehicle; not because she'd asked him to, but out of respect. Goosebumps covered the entirety of Alena's body as the cold, Stockholm air touched her bare skin, and she got out of the car. The heavy double doors opened wide, pouring light out into the night as Alena took her first step toward the mansion. Looking over at the Lycan holding the umbrella over her head, the Werewolf Mother brought a hand up to his cheek. Dirt and blood were ever embedded under her nails, but the young man bowed his head in reverence at her acknowledgement.

From inside the mansion, a small group of Werewolves approached their Queen, including a young, dark-haired girl who appeared to be related to Alena in some way. The Lycans all bowed in some way or another, except for the child, who walked right up to the Wolf Queen with a giant smile on her face, "Welcome home, Mormor." The girl placed her small hand inside Alena's and proceeded to lead the Queen inside.

Alena did not bother to return the smile of her great-great-grand-whatever daughter, but allowed the girl to escort her into the Den. Had she been new to the position of leading, had she been new to the Lycan way, new to death and loss, Alena would have balked at her kin's touch, crying and shouting at the party of Werewolves come to welcome her home. This was not her first loss, however, and not her first day in charge. The rage she felt inside would have to wait. The news she carried with her would affect the entire Den in some way, and her composure during this time would be the example that the Pups would look up to; she had to watch herself.

The mansion doors closed behind her and Alena stopped in the lobby, letting go of the girl's hand. Looking into the face of the Werewolves around her, the Wolf Mother crossed her arms, "Szandor was killed in action last night." Her voice was hard. Though they were her words, her voice sounded distant and foreign. It felt like she was observing herself outside her body, though that was far from the case. Saying it out loud made the Lycan feel heavy all of a sudden, but she continued, "In the morning, I will pay a visit to our neighbor's in Oslo. Round up some volunteers, but take care who is chosen."

"Mistress, with respect," the young Lycan who'd sheltered Alena under the umbrella spoke up, "You're wounded."

The pain had been part of what fueled her during her drive through the United Kingdom. The majority of her wounds had healed, but because they'd been incurred through silver methods, they healed slower than Alena would have liked. At least the injuries inflicted upon her were focused on her forearms, where she'd blocked Dane's fury with Raven's silver sword. The bullet wounds had repaired themselves quickly due to Alena's diligence in removing them right away. Still, she must have looked a little worse for wear than she actually felt. Though much of the blood she'd been covered in had dried, flaking off in transit, a good amount of blood (her own and Dane's) remained stubbornly behind her ears, down her arms and across her chest.

Alena shook her head slightly, dismissing the young man's concerns, "So was Dane. Although not enough..." As if that concluded business, Alena began to walk away, but stopped abruptly, remembering something. "What is the word on Damien and Adele? Have they secured Rome?"

There was a moment's hesitation among the group before one of the senior Werewolves spoke up, "My Queen. We received word from the Lycan Ambassador from America, Pete. Rome has, indeed, been secured under Lycan power." He paused for a moment and glanced down.

"That's all well and good," Alena spoke with a hint of impatience, "I would like to hear that from Damien. Get a hold of him."

"I'm afraid something may have happened in Rome," the senior Wolf started again. "Pete informed me that Adele and Damien have been off the grid for 26 hours, my Queen. He cannot reach them through their phones or our mental link."

A spark of laughter bubbled up from her lungs and Alena had to physically hold her mouth shut with a hand to keep the manic sounds from escaping. This was the cherry on top. Adele, she could understand. The girl was often without a reliable phone and was clearly uncomfortable in many social situations. Damien though... Alena had taken that boy under her paw from the moment he arrived at the Den; he was a good boy who knew to keep his Queen up to date on important events. This did not sit well with the Mother of Lycanthropy. It seemed unlikely to be Vampyres, however. No, Alena suspected it might have to do with Geoff, and perhaps Pete. For his sake, she hoped not Pete.

Turning back to the group, Alena motioned toward the senior Lycan, "Kristoff, you're taking two teams to Rome tonight. I want the groups that Damien and Adele led in Rome's siege to accompany you. Do not inform Pete of your anticipated arrival. I want Adele and Damien brought to me alive, in person. And Kristoff, you know what we do with traitors."

The older Lycan bowed deep, "Your will be done," and turned to leave.

Something about hearing those words calmed the Lycan Mother and it wasn't until that moment that she realized she was clenching both fists by her side, digging her nails into her palms. She really needed to tear something apart. "Rhenn." Alena addressed the young Lycan who'd escorted her inside under an umbrella, "Assemble the volunteers for tomorrow's mission. I won't need many."

With a quick bow, Rhenn dismissed himself, disappearing around one of the mansion's many corridors to fulfill his duty.

Placing a heavy hand on the young girl's head, the Lycan Queen eyed the small group of Werewolves waiting for her next orders. None of these were Lycans she wanted to speak with right now. Running her fingers through the girl's hair, Alena scooped the child up easily in her arms, "Mormor Alena needs you to help her out with something."

The young girl met Alena's icy blue gaze, and her smile brightened. She seemed eager to help the Lycan Mother.

"That's a good girl." Alena put on a smile, "Run and tell Auntie Evelyn to meet me in the basement, hmm? Go find her for me." With that, she set the child down, watching momentarily as the girl sprinted happily away.

To the rest of the Werewolves waiting around, Alena waved her hand, dismissing them. She didn't want to speak any more.

As they departed, the Mother of Lycanthropy looked up at the ceiling in the lobby. Slowly at first, then picking up like wildfire, she could hear and feel the news of Szandor's death traveling through the mansion. As each Lycan learned of his demise, Alena could feel their reactions through the mental vibes they sent out. While some Werewolves took the news in stride, many reacted with heartbreak. Alena could feel her Pups' fear and despair at the news of her Lieutenant's death; she could feel warm tears falling down the cheeks of the Werewolves' collective consciousness.

Running her hands over her face and up through her hair, Alena squeezed her eyes shut tight. No Lycan here meant for their Queen to feel their reactions, but after having been a Werewolf with all the gifts being a Werewolf entails for over two millennia, Alena couldn't help but feel her race cry out. Her mental link and empathy toward other Lycans had become quite acute over the years. Usually this affected her very minimally. Though she could sense the others' reactions easily, her give-a-shit factor was pretty low for most of her breed. Long ago, she'd learned to guard herself. With all the loss happening around her, to save the shreds of sanity she coveted, Alena had put up barriers. Unfortunately for her, Raven and Szandor had been around before those walls went up.

No, she could feel her heartbreak amplified by the minds of hundreds of Lycans. Yet the only thing she could do was put on a stern face and remind her Pack why they fight; what to live for. Pushing the anguish below, Alena opened her mind to all the voices she'd shut out, all the insignificant voices of Pups whose names she could not remember. She let them all in for the smallest moment, and heard their worries and fears. Only for the briefest moment, though; then she pushed out the strongest feeling of hope and singularity that she could. She wanted to corral the Lycan race, turn their grief into anger and determination, into power and perseverance. She didn't use any words, but with all the mental force she could muster, she reached out to every Lycan in the Den, and to those in the nearby cities: Unite and fight, don't lose hope.

[Peter Sharpe]

He would have been embarrassed, being carried under the arm by a girl who had just begun her twenties, but circumstances were dire. Perhaps even more dire than usual. During his short absence, the Den in Rome had been nigh obliterated, he accidentally stumbled upon the powerful leader of an bloodthirsty faction of Lycan deserters, and then managed to escape the rebels again - this time barely escaping with his life. Jason wasn't as lucky. The only consolation was that with the immense amount of time and effort it took the human girl, Kali, to hobble him inside what remained of the Den... the rain had worked it's magic and washed away a good portion of the blood that had begun to cake on his head and neck. To the unobservant, he could have simply been infirm, or possibly the victim of an unfortunate sports injury. It was better that way, Pete wouldn't likely survive any more attention that night.

The Den was in shambles, and the condition of those inside mirrored their surroundings. Kali had suggested that he seek medical treatment, but it seemed that his powers were returning to him. The laceration on his head had already begun to heal, and likely wouldn't leave a scar - though his broken ribs would bring him a resurgence of life-affirming pain when they began to set and mend. But the first of his gifts to return was his inhuman sense of smell. It assailed his nostrils and filled his mind with it's forlorn presence. It was the coppery scent of blood and death. The scent of his failure. Adele had simply disappeared, and Damien stood silently by the door. He didn't need to say anything - after all, no words could undo the events of the past few days. No words could bring the dead back, and no words would comfort the Swiftpaw. This was not the time for grief, but grief suffered no man, and no wolf. He felt it slowly at first. The creeping realization that when - if - he returned, he would have to explain to Jason's loved ones that he died trying vainly to protect his superior, who should have known better than to come to foreign lands alone. Next was the soul crushing grief of having lost one of his best students, a good man, and a friend. It was all he could do to maintain his composure. But it was more than that... he could feel it through the mental link that connected all of their kind. They too felt despair - but it was at the passing of another. Szandor Colden.

It was like old times, Pete reminisced. Not the good "old times" either. Not the old days he spent traveling the world in search of himself, and his own adventure. In those days he believed himself to be a hero. The righteous and just protagonist of his own story, meting out justice as he saw fit - in those days he felt safe, nearly invulnerable. It wasn't always so... in fact, as a Lycan, Pete was borne into a world of darkness and war. A world where Vampires ruled the night with impunity, and those few wolves had fought together for the survival of their species more often than out of camaraderie or loyalty to the pack. He had lived in fear in those days. Not just for himself, but for the scraggly band of Lycans he'd managed to one way or another save as well. He'd become a leader all too suddenly, and without anyone to guide him. The man... the wolf, rather, that turned him had disappeared or died shortly after the deed was done - He was left to his own devices as the transformation wracked his body and turned him into what he is now. In those times, death awaited he and his companions in every shadow, behind every door, watching and waiting fo them to slip up. Pete had survived the war, he and his friends had not only seen the fall of Vampire Hierarchy as it was, but were a part in abolishing that tyranny. It was by his blood and tears, and the sacrifices of many a friend, that he became a true leader. But he no longer believed himself to be a hero. Heroes didn't lose as many comrades - heroes triumphed over adversity and brought about peace. Triumph - How far fetched and unrealistic. That was the difference between heroes and himself, he supposed. I survive. My legacy will be measured by those I've lost, but I will survive. And that's exactly why this new found battle in Europe needed him. They had no need for a hero - Beset on both sides by Vampires and Rebels alike, they needed a survivor. He would return to Alena in Sweden. He'd sent Damien to fetch Adele while he went ahead to Stockholm. Pete and the human girl would rendezvous with allies from America and meet with the queen immediately, as it was all too apparent that it was too dangerous to travel alone - Damien and Adele would catch up when they could.

Their flight was just a hair over three hours, it went without complications of any kind, though unfortunately there were many questions about his physical condition that were difficult to provide answers to. Security was always the most painful part of flying, though certainly less painful than the crumbles of his ribcage realigning. Though inconvenienced by this... Kali, she acted as both camouflage and crutch as standing unassisted and blending in to the crowd were both beyond Pete's ability in his current condition. As he didn't want to bring any more suspicion and scrutiny upon them, his allies were instructed to meet the pair outside of the gates of the Den in Stockholm - not at the airport. Surely they would have no difficulty finding it... Though none of them had ever ventured outside of the United States, the Den in Stockholme might as well have been a lighthouse. It practically was a Lighthouse to Lycan-kind, the high density of werewolf population, as well as the presence of the Queen herself acted as a sort of beacon to any being sensitive to the mental link. Worst case scenario, if they couldn't find IT, the guards would find them. It would work out just fine either way. That is... if they weren't killed as traitors before they could explain who they were.

Securing a temporary vehicle was no problem at all. The human girl had suggested that they rent a car at the airport, but that was out of the question. There were channels in place to transport Lycans to the Den, channels that happened to be much more subtle, and that required no paperwork or proof of identity. Their driver didn't ask any questions, but seemed mildly curious about the presence of the human in the car. Pete simply didn't have the energy to explain himself to anyone besides Alena. In fact, he didn't want to explain himself to Alena either. There would be questions, the answers to which weren't reassuring, and were not expected to bring any joy to the Queen. At least the weather was nice. Well... as nice as it ever was there. It was raining. It was always raining here - a veritable mystery of meteorology. He could study the workings and makings of weather for eternity, but he knew it could not be explained. Some things just are what they are. And there outside the gate, just as ordered, were Pete's men, gathering around the vehicle as their leader made his less than graceful exit, assisted by the human girl.

These men were his finest - his honor guard. They were in charge of the day to day running of his Den while he was out and about doing "Pete" things. These men were experts in everything from assassination to eggs Benedict, and everything in-between. Due in part to large influxes of pups with shockingly common names, most of the Swiftpaw clan were addressed by their surnames. Setlik had been working with Pete since the Den's early days. He had long, flowing brown hair and glasses. If he were a woman, he would have been beautiful. Most likely a librarian, as well. Setlik like the rest was a proven combatant, but always served in a fashion more suiting of a tactitian of his calibre; his job was to advise and bounce ideas off his leader. Axberg was the other blonde of the group, and an old friend of Setlik's. He was a yes-man, and worked closely with his old friend and sire. It was his job to see that plans didn't go awry, making the logistics of the Den's operations a reality. Gartee was unmistakable - spottable in any crowd, anywhere. He always dressed in flannel, which only served to "accentuate" his tall brown fauxhawk and massive red beard. Gartee specialized in two things - being a lumberjack, and leading troops. And rounding out the troop was Kerbis. Kerbis was a giant of a man long before his transformation, standing at 6'8" and about 250 lbs in his human form. Although he was a gentle giant, and loyal to a fault, nobody had ever measured him in his other form. Through countless exploits back home, he'd earned the nickname "The Kerbeast".

The human girl helped Pete hobble his way to the gate's intercom, with his honor guard in tow. "Open the gates and send someone to get me, Alena will have your head if I die out here. She's expecting me."

The party drew many curious looks as Pete made his way towards Alena's chambers, all the while his honor guard swatted away any attempts the underlings in the compound made to attend to the Swiftpaw's injuries. Alena was not to be kept waiting.

Finally he was in the presence of the Queen. Though she was currently not in his sight, he could feel her presence. Sensing her entering the room, he knelt, in fealty, before opening the mental link to chastise his entourage. "Stand towards the back of the room. Do not approach, and do not speak to Alena unless addressed. I am expected here... but you are not.

"My queen. We've suffered more casualties, and I'm afraid I've been gravely injured. We encountered my traitorous brother... I was not able to kill him, but managed to protect Damien and Adele." This was of course all true, after all, one does not lie to Alena. But he hoped she would not probe further - he in fact let Geoff go, and prevented the pair from pursuing the man and their own deaths. "This human is also under my protection... Lycan blood has been spilled, and I will not see said sacrifice be in vain. Will you house her while I figure out how to go about this... situation I've found myself in? Straits are dire... But I have not lost hope." He would likely need to explain the situation further, but there were most likely more pertinent questions to be answered

[Alena Wulf]

In the lower level of the basement, a floor many Lycans didn't even know existed, Alena Wulf met with Evelyn. While not quite the next senior Lycan after Szandor, Evelyn had proven herself often and well during her thousand-odd years as a Werewolf. Evelyn had waited patiently for centuries to advance in Alena's eyes, not daring to challenge Szandor's position because of her queen's love for him. Now, with Szandor's death, it seemed Evelyn's time had come.

For the better part of two hours, the Wolf Queen drilled her Pup, testing the woman's strength, agility and critical thinking. She certainly wasn't Szandor and could never fill all the roles he'd performed for Alena, but she stacked up pretty well. Another hour passed while Alena helped Evelyn set up a defense strategy for the Den, which she would be in charge of while the Queen was away.

By 02:00, all of Alena's orders that night had been fulfilled. Evelyn was fully prepared to defend the Den and ward off any foe that came around; Rhenn had gathered a handful of volunteers to go with Alena to Oslo early in the morning; and Kristoff had left for Rome with two teams to search for Damien and Adele. Leaving the basement, making sure it was safely locked, Alena walked barefoot to her chambers. She wanted to be alone. Well, she wanted to be with Szandor, but alone would have to suffice. Her room, located on the ground floor, tucked away down a quiet corridor, consisted of three rooms and a bathroom. It was fair to call her living area 'chambers', as the inside of her room had been decorated far more lavishly than any of the suites on the floors above or beside hers. Upon entering, it was clear someone had made their home here for quite a few centuries.

As Alena entered the room, a lone, white wolf came padding up to her side, wagging its tail at the sight of its Alpha. Absentmindedly, Alena scritched behind the wolf's ear. It followed her throughout her chambers.

The main room, which the door from the hallway opened up into, was the largest of the three. Pushed back against the far wall, Alena's four poster, mahogany bed was the centerpiece of the room. Dark red drapes hung from the tester of the bed, and ornate carvings on each of the four pillars looked to have been created by a master craftsman. At the top of each pillar, a goddess was carved, looking down at the earth below and her worshipers. Men and Beast alike seemed to be scaling the pillars for a chance to bask in the glory of their goddess, for a chance to touch her and earn her favor. The pillars had been carved in the late 17th century as a gift to Alena, from a Human she'd seduced who claimed that She was the goddess. That man had long since died, and though Alena didn't think about him much directly anymore, every time she'd run her fingers along the carvings, she'd think about his devotion. She'd sure had him fooled; she was no goddess from above, but a demon from below...

The next room over had a fancy bed as well. This was where Szandor often stayed, if not in Alena's bed or his own room down the hall. A few of his personal belongings littered much of the second room, and the Mother of Wolves could easily pick up his scent throughout her chambers. The moment she walked in she was accosted by his smell; it felt like a silver-tipped knife was being stabbed into her heart.

Bringing a hand up to her breast, Alena stopped in the second room. None of the torches had been lit, so the only light in her chambers came from the half moon shining through the window.

Faintly, in the background, she could hear the doors to the Den open as a party came in from the night. The white wolf's ears perked up and it looked toward the source of the noise. Though Alena didn't bother to probe who it was, she had a feeling she already knew. Then, a mental message from Rhenn letting her know that Pete had returned, confirmed her suspicions. She would rather it have been Damien, who was supposed to be keeping an eye on Pete, but she supposed talking to the American Werewolf in Sweden would have to do.

Alena didn't bother leaving her chambers to greet the blond; she couldn't pull herself away from Szandor's smell, and she knew he would come looking for her soon enough.

In the moments between the Den doors closing and her chamber doors clicking open, Szandor's worn, leather jacket had found its way into the Lycan Mother's arms. How she ached for him. Dane would pay dearly for her lover's death.

Though she heard the door to her room open, and people shuffle in, Alena remained in the adjoining room a moment longer, holding her consort's jacket gingerly. Had she ever really told Szandor how much he meant to her? Did he know? Putting the jacket back where it had been tossed by her lover just days ago, Alena looked toward the nearest window. The Wolf Queen doubted her consort knew the full extent of her feelings; but thinking on it further, Szandor out of everyone would, or at least should, have known her fondness and gratitude toward him. She may come across as cold to everyone else in the Pack, but Szandor (and to an extent, Geoff, before he defected) had seen Alena's softer side. He'd known the Mother of Lycanthropy before her sadism fully bloomed and before she became the strong leader she is today. He had known her when there was still a glimpse of Annia left in her: the quiet, nature-loving girl who adored her family and would do anything to keep them safe. Szandor had seen Alena with a pack of children running around in her wake while she smiled and waved to the men in her life who called to her. She'd once been a caring mother and a gentle lover; and though she'd changed over the centuries, Szandor's service to her had not. Szandor watched as, over the years, Raven's love destroyed parts of his mistress while calloused new parts grew out of necessity. He'd been there for it all...

Something shifted in the forest outside her window, and Alena's attention came back to the present. Resolving herself to meeting with the Lycans in her room, the Werewolf Queen walked out of the adjacent room where Pete and his entourage waited. The wolf walked out toward the group, sniffing them curiously while she stood on the brink of the room in the darkness, observing her visitors, one of whom (the only female in the group), smelled Human. Pete seemed to be in bad shape, as was evident by the fact that the Human girl was holding him up. While Alena did not relish the thought of having guests right this moment, she looked forward to hearing what this Lycan had to say.

Stepping out into the soft, silver beams shining through the window from the partial moon, Alena acknowledged each of the Lycans by meeting their eyes. She did not bother acknowledging the Human. The light from the moon illuminated the Wolf Mother's silhouette as she stood before these Pups. Alena was not shy, and in fact preferred to walk around nude when not in either of her wolf forms. Most everyone in the Den had seen their Queen in all her glory, man, woman and child alike. Most were too polite to mention or question her lack of attire, even when answering the door, but many a Lycan had turned red at the sight.

The young, white wolf padded back toward its Alpha as she came into the light, sitting by her feet. Together, Alena and the wolf watched as Pete laboriously knelt. Given his apparent condition, the act and symbolism of his gesture spoke volumes. The Mother of Lycanthropy watched the blond, searching his features casually as he addressed her and told his story.

She stood relaxed in the moonlight as Pete spoke, her hand on the wolf's head beside her. As he informed her of his encounter with Geoff, Alena kept her facial features stoic. She wasn't surprised when Pete explained that the Human was with him; it was clear the girl knew what kind of creatures she was surrounded by, but did she fully comprehend the danger she was in? As the American Den leader spoke, it became clear that he was in need, but that he could prove to be useful. Without having to reach out mentally, Alena could tell that what he spoke was the truth, if not the entire story. The relaxed way in which her pet wolf sat during Pete's report supported this thinking. At the moment, it didn't matter. Dane and the Vampyres were far more important than mounting Geoff's pretty head above her fireplace. She may have misjudged Pete's character a bit.

"Pete, it is completely normal to take on Human lovers. It is not acceptable, however, to bring a Human to this, or any, Den." Alena paused briefly, licking her lips, looking at the Human girl to acknowledge her for the first time. She'd rather kill than entertain this girl, but she decided to grant Pete his request for now. "She may stay, but she is your responsibility. If you cannot take care of your new pet, I will have to put her down." Alena stood with her hips square, facing Pete completely, asserting dominance in subtle ways. "Now tell me: what has happened with Damien and Adele? I am told they are unable to get a hold of. I would see the two golden-eyed Pups before me."

Lifting her right hand, Alena motioned for Pete's Pack to help their Den leader up. He'd paid his respects, Alena would let the man stand if he so desired. She watched and listened quietly, her pale blue eyes glistening in the moonlight as Pete spoke.

[Pablo]

" Stop here. This is fine." The lycan said even though the cab had already come to a halt. The cab driver looked at Pablo, appearing bemused, but only slight. He knew the deal. His role was to drive lycans from within the city to the den. He doubled as a taxi driver. This was at least the dozenth time he'd given Pablo a ride. Each and every time Pablo would tell him to stop at the outskirts and that he would walk the rest. Whether or not they were moving was not relevant apparently. Then the young man insisted on not only paying him, but also tipping. Neither were necessary. His payments usually consisted of what ever was in his pocket or wallet. Sometimes it was ludicrous amounts of cash, once he had given him a handful of lint. "20, 40, 60, 80, 100." The driver watched the lycan count each individual bill. "You're payment." He took the money and continued to watch as his customer counted and handed him another hundred dollars worth. "And you're tip." The driver remained silent refusing to humor his brother in any way. Promptly the lycan left leaving his wallet behind. Curious he inspect the wallet. Empty, of course. He inspected the i.d. It bore an image of the lycan grinning widely, beneath it his name. "Ryan McNeal." He grumbled, knowing for a fact that was not his name.

Pablo always enjoyed walking the long winding road that led out of the city and to the den. He walked beside the road the first time he had come to the den, and every time since. For a moment he reminisced. Perrin had only told him to go to Stockholm and that he would know where to go from there. At the time, only a boy his intentions were different from what they were now. Under order's from his cousin he was to infiltrate the pack and dismantle it from within. He smiled at that thought. Things were different now. He wasn't here to destroy the den. He was here to save it, or at least help save it. The vampires were up to something. A thought that was more often true than not. A feeling in his gut told him he should know. Something Lucia had said. Somehow she knew he would have no memory of his interrogation. His head ached painfully. He winced and rubbed his temple. The bump on his head was almost cartoonishly large. Though it had shrunk it was the only injury that remained. As always everything else had healed quickly. All things considered the vampires left him largely unharmed. The silver chains were the cause of most his trouble, draining him of strength to the point of near death. His wrist still looked like he suffered from third degree burns, but that was fading. He inspected his hands closely. Oh, and the haziness had faded. All in all he felt nearly whole again. It would have been a happy day for him if there wasn't a death in the family.

After an extended conversation with his cousin, much of the guilt he felt over Szandor's death faded away. When they had escaped Alena was locked in combat with Dane while Szandor tore through the vampire rabble. With those odds he would always chose his brethren. Something went wrong, something he wasn't involved. Still he would never forgive himself for allowing the vampire king to take him captive. Then there was the massacre. Unforeseeable they would say, but it was foolish to believe after losing Rome the vampires would go into hiding to lick their wounds. He made that clear to Alena. Retaliation was inevitable. Little was known of the vampire king at the time. He shook his head and with that shrugged off the thought. He would not feel guilt, it would be the end of him. He would remember the fallen and honor their memories. The rain that had gone unnoticed to the lycan stopped. The clouds parted and for a moment the moon revealed itself. He felt goosebumps on the back of his neck as Luna graced him with her light. His heart began to race as he felt his body begin to make demands of him. He was only a prisoner for days but it felt like years. He tore off his trench coat. Caught in a moment of revelment. He needed this. Falling onto all fours his transformation began. Thick brown fur grew from his body. His muscles bulged grotesquely, growing larger and larger. For a moment it seemed they would not be contained within his skin. His bones expanded to compensate while his jaw unhinged and protruded forward. Once in his lycan form, a hulking brown mass of muscle and fur he stood on his hind legs. Reeling his head back and up to the sky he howled, soaking in the moonlight. He was free again.

The mansion was near. Just a hundred yards down the road. The collective mental link of his pack was strong, Pablo could feel it reaching for him, nagging at his wall. He dropped it for a second and allowed them entry. An overwhelming wave of emotion hit him. He continued to howl, loudly. Alena was here, as well as Pete, at the moment they were together. He felt both their pain and sorrow, each grieving their own loss. What they felt was reflected in the rest of the pack. Again he howled. Now for the loss of his brother-in-arms; Szandor. Another howl, for those who were massacred in Rome. And then a third and final, for those who had yet to fall. It resonated louder than the others. He wished to speak with his friends, but not now. The woods were calling to him. The thick scent of damp earth filled his nostrils. In the distance he heard the frolick of deer, a secret rendezvous between two young lycan lovers, and the split splat of rain as it dripped off the branches and leaves. In Dane's mansion the world felt like a cold dead place. Closing his mental link he turned to the woods. If they needed him, they would know where to find him. He thought to himself as he leaped into the forest.

[Alena Wulf]

-45 minutes later-

The young, white wolf who'd been waiting in Alena's room for her now padded beside the Wolf Queen as she made her way through the mansion.

It was pushing 03:00, but still there were Pups up and about in the mansion and throughout the premises. Almost unanimously, people found that, upon becoming Lycan, their energy was nigh limitless. It was not uncommon for a Werewolf to be up for two or three nights at a time before finally crashing on the fourth night for anywhere between 8-12 hours. While some enjoyed this, feeling that finally there were enough hours in the day to complete tasks and hobbies; others called this phenomenon a curse that kept them up in boredom each night. Call it what you will, many Werewolves grew out of the boredom phase, and managed to occupy themselves after a fashion. Alena, in the past, was known for going up to six days before finally sleeping, with her record topping out at 11 nights of no sleep. Whatever the reason, on any given night at the Den, there were likely to be anywhere from a handful of Lycans awake on a night, to dozens occupying the mansion's forest and recreational facilities. Currently, Alena was on her fourth night of no sleep, and with the recent events, she doubted she would see any sleep in the near future; certainly not before her trip to Oslo.

Her talk with Pete was largely disappointing. It seemed Adele may have intentionally tried to shirk off her responsibilities to the Pack and leave unnoticed; although that wouldn't last long as either Damien or either of Kristoff's teams would find the girl and bring her back to the Den to account for herself. Pete seemed to know no more than what he said of Adele's disappearance. Although, if it were true that she had left to avoid serving the Den, there wasn't too much Alena could do to sincerely change the girl's mind beyond putting a bounty on her head and having her constantly monitored. If this was the reason Adele ran away, there wasn't much but time and space that would help the girl come to terms with her lot in life. Still, the Mother of Lycanthropy had dealt with similar situations in the past, and hoped that perhaps more diligent guidance would show Adele how to properly behave. In any case, she couldn't just let the girl defect with the power that had been given to her from her late Sire.

The Werewolves she passed in the hallway stopped in some form or another to give their respect, and though some may have wanted to inquire about current events, Alena brooked no conversation and continued down her path.

Making her way to the back of the Den, the Mother of Lycanthropy exited through a heavy door, shedding her Human skin as if discarding a jacket. While she walked upon two legs inside the mansion, passing the threshold to the outdoors, Alena dropped to all fours as thick, black fur covered her now wolf-like body. This was not the war form that drove fear into the hearts of Humans and Vampyres alike; not the towering beastial form that could throw cars and tear people limb from bloody limb. Rather. this was a form more closely likened to a Dire Wolf; this form was a beast among beasts, commanding respect and fealty from all lesser animals. And all animals were considered lesser to this form.

Clouds still covered the night sky as the rain cleared, but the moon, in all its stubborn glory, did its best to shine through, breaking out between the fog and shining subtly out from the trees. Alena broke out into a run, covering the distance of the clear space between the mansion and forest with little effort. Close behind her, the white wolf padded along excitedly. Running through the first trees into the dense forest, drops of rain covered their pelts as the leaves and branches shed the water from the downpour earlier that night. Everything around had a deep wet, earthy smell to it that lingered in the back of Alena's nose; but she could pick up so much more than that: fresh kills from the Wolves, both Lycan and natural, that called the forest and the Den their home. The scent of their prey's freshly spilled blood smelled sweet to the Lycan Mother, and her teeth ached to clamp around the dying body of her kill. Perhaps a hunt would do her well... Though the prey she really enjoyed would not be found in the forest on this night. The Lycan Queen would have to make do with what was available to her tonight.

Signaling the wolf pup accompanying her, Alena made her way through the maze of trees. She'd run this forest so many times before, she could hunt in it with her eyes closed. Though the environment changed each season, this was where the Werewolf Queen spent much of her down time. Dashing in between trees and under branches, Alena pushed harder and harder, bounding through acres of woods. The harder she ran, the faster she went, her paws dug deep into the wet forest floor, kicking up dirt and leaves. Thick muscles rippled as she sprinted through the trees. She ran for the sake of running; as if trying to get away from the events of the previous nights. It was all too obvious though, that there was no escaping that. All she could do was make sure Dane paid for every transgression.


At some point in the early morning, Alena had shifted back to her Human form and dismissed the young wolf who'd followed close by her side. Now, she walked casually through the forest alone, stepping carelessly over branches, letting the dirt and mud collect between her toes. Her hands were filthy, and her mouth stained red from the kill her young wolf laid at her feet earlier in the night. The wounds she'd suffered at Dane's hand were nothing more than silver scars down her forearms, and physically, she felt fine. No. Physically, it felt like she'd been woken violently from a nightmare; a nightmare that had its roots in reality. Part of her was confused, particularly with what exactly she'd been doing for the last seven years. While 7 years amounted to mere minutes of Alena's lifetime, she'd squandered ample opportunity to obliterate the remaining Vampyre forces. All because of the death of her first love; her love, who'd started this damned war in the first place. A war she should have finished almost a decade ago. Now, fully awake with her wits about her, the Mother of Lycanthropy had much to do, and much to account for.

Walking out from between another couple of trees, Alena could smell Pablo near. He was a Lycan she wished to speak with; one she wanted to be near for the moment. He was, after all, half the reason she'd gone to London; and now he was back. Safe and sound, or so it seemed. Approaching the young Werewolf slowly, Alena Wulf gazed up at the massive figure of her Lieutenant. Near his wrists and ankles, his fur seemed matted somewhat, as if irritated, yet beyond that he seemed fine. She could imagine the freedom Pablo must be relishing at this moment; the kind of freedom all Werewolves craved, yet few seemed to attain.

"You seem well. I'm glad." Alena's voice broke out into the otherwise quiet night, almost lacking emotion, but that could just be the careful candor she uses among inferior Pups. The Lycan Mother is very much aware that she is still being observed, and this colors her reaction somewhat, although she is being sincere. This is something, however, she feels she must say out loud.

[Pablo]

Pablo lowered his head, charging through the forest with reckless abandon, paying no heed to what lay in front of him. Certainly he left a trail of destruction his wake, but he cared too little to check. There was nothing in this forest that could deter him, save for maybe another lycan, and even then that pendent on who. He tore through a young deer, to slow to clear away from the hulking mass of fur and muscle. As he reached full speed, he jumped powerfully off his hind legs. Sending him, almost comically soaring up through the treeline and then above. The young lycan glanced door as he swooped by the woods below him. It was exhilarating to feel the world rush by him. It was the closest he would ever come to fight, simply an illusion and one that never lasted long. Eventually he always came crashing back down again. Not that he minded. Landing was almost as enjoyable as the jump itself. With that thought, as he hit the apex, he prepped for the fall. Shielding his face he fell back into the forest, crashing through the trees and branches alike. Landing surprisingly gracefully on his hind legs into a slide before falling back onto all fours to continue his run. He could not fathom how some of his kin saw lycanthropy as a curse. He could smell a lake. Not far from where he was. Some of the younger lycans enjoyed spending their time by it. If I time it just right, they'll be in for quite a scare. The slightest chance of mischief was more than enough to tempt him to jump again.

A few hours later Pablo lounged by the bloody carcass of a deer he'd just enjoyed. The night had felt far too short. The den was on the verge of war, and he expected to be in the thick of it. It would be a long before he would have another night to himself. At least, he had spent it well. Running, soaring, swimming, and feasting; it was good to be free again. Sending the young pups sprawling back into the forest, that had been the highlight of his night. He let out a half-hearted chuckle, the closest he could come to laughing in his lycan form. Pablo trudged back up onto his paws. Maybe it was time to head back to the den. Alena had wanted to speak to him, and he to her. He knew it was foolish to keep the Pack Mother waiting, although that was exactly what he had done. Though if anyone were to understand... it would be her. The lycan sniffled. Speaking of the devil. She was near, like his thoughts had summoned her. For a moment he was excited. Few seemed to understand how important Alena was to him. Though she had not been the one to turn him, in a way she'd taken him under her wing, and shown him what it meant to be a lycan. He always suspected that it was largely because of his relations, at least to begin with. After proving his loyalty to the pack, and her, time after time again certainly it had grown beyond keeping a watchful eye on her enemies cousin.

Under normal circumstances he would have approached Alena playfully. They were far from that though. The details behind his rescue; Szandor's death, and in some ways by not heading to the den immediately he openly avoided her. He turned his head to Alena as she approached him. Out of respect he lowered his head and waited for her to speak. As she spoke his heart sunk. Though she seemed to mean well she spoke to him like he was just a pup. In the grand scheme of things, he knew he was young still, but hadn't he earned her respect? He felt resentment growing within him. Didn't he have strength beyond his years, had he not devoted his entire life to the pack, had she not recently named him a lycan lord and given him his own den? He deserved more respect than this. In the back of his throat he could feel a growl forming. This isn't right. He restrained himself. She saved you. You should be gracious. "I am. Thanks to you. Once again I owe you my life." The lycan spoke in his low demonic voice. "I am eternally grateful." He fell to a knee and began to shift back into his human form. Where a monstrosity once knelt was now a young short man with a wiry frame. It surprised little to know which shape he preferred. Like Alena his mouth was bloodied. Unlike his Queen though he wiped the blood off of his mouth. "I must also beg your forgiveness." If he now no longer held her respect he knew why. " The den was a slaughterhouse by the time I arrived." The memory alone invoked the smell of death to him. He nearly gagged. "I was blinded by my rage and charged in recklessly seeking vengeance... and to save your daughter." The lycan stared at the grass by Alena's feet as he spoke. It was not her nakedness that diverted his few. Having embraced lycanthropy and all that came with it he was accustomed. Though it had been a source of much embarrassment in his early days. " I thought to kill Dane or die trying." She knew how the rest had gone, mostly. He failed to mention Lucia's involvement. The lycan paused, biting his lip before looking up at Alena dead in the eye. "Please allow me the chance to redeem myself. Let me be on the frontline during the counter. I need to make him pay for what he's done to us." He spoke spiritedly with a gleam in his eyes.

[Alena Wulf]

Watching as the young man shifted down from his Lycan form to Human, Alena searched the Pup's features. Though Pablo kept his head down, that alone was enough to tell the Wolf Mother what she wanted to know. The young Werewolf was typically not one to observe formalities so strictly with his Queen, despite that being one of the lessons the boy's late Sire had instilled in him from day one. Something felt different here, and it quickly became known what that was as the young Wolf spoke.

Seeing Pablo in his Human skin, it became all too clear what the Lycan must have gone through in that cell in Raven's room. Alena approached the young Werewolf as he knelt. His body had seen much trauma and his spirit seemed quieter, though his resolve felt just as strong. Was this shame? Extending a hand, Alena wove her fingers in between tufts of Pablo's hair, "Stand, Pablo." She pulled her hand away as the Werewolf rose to his feet, but kept her distance close.

"Szandor briefed me on the scene in Rome when he arrived. I thank you for the efforts you put toward protecting my daughter." She set her jaw, thinking of Lucia, the fool, but continued, "Dane is certainly a formidable opponent." So formidable that it didn't make much sense for for Pablo to be alive if Dane had wanted the young Lycan dead. The Vampyre must have wanted Pablo alive for a reason. Not just to lure herself to London, she thought. In fact, it almost seemed as if Dane had let them all go. Though Alena had been engaged with the Vampyre King the whole time Xhel was upstairs pulling off the rescue part of the mission, it seemed to her that the whole rescue part had been easy. Too easy... -Fuck me.- Dane's reign would end in the morning. Even if he wasn't in Oslo when she assaulted their Norwegian Home, his Generals would fall, and Dane would go soon after. She would see to that if it were the last thing she did. "I'm proud of you. You fought bravely, Pablo."

Alena kept her icy gaze on the young man the whole time, "As for the Den in Rome: what remains is secured once more under Lycan rule. It seems, however, that there may have been further complications. Your Packmate, Adele, has gone missing." She watched her Pup's reaction, but did not pause. "I do no suspect Vampyre activity; this was perhaps the girl's own choice to leave. In any case, I have sent the team Adele led in the siege of Rome to find and bring her back. Damien is also tracking her."

Out of the peers Pablo now called Packmates, and perhaps friends, Pablo was the most senior, having arrived at the Den months before either Damien or Adele. Though Perrin had sired the boy, the golden-eyed leader died a few months after young Pablo arrived in Sweden. Where Perrin's training of Pablo had left off, Alena took up the mantle. Over the years, the Mother of Lycanthropy watched as the boy grew into a man and fought his way up the ranks in the Lycan Den. Though in the grand scope of things, Pablo had arrived around the same time as many of his peers today, he was different. Perrin connected Pablo, Damien and Adele; and while Adele and Damien seemed to have latent power within them, neither exactly had the right attitude. Pablo seemed to, from the start, already have the mentality needed for Immortality. He, out of his peers, seemed to know and really accept that becoming a Werewolf was not a free pass. It meant hard work, making sacrifices, accepting a new family and performing deeds for the benefit of new family. Pablo had worked his ass off and proved time and again his loyalty to the Pack. Alena looked on at the young man now, a Lieutenant in her army; how he'd grown. The years had surely tested the young Lycan, with the last few night probably being the most trying time; yet his spirit had not died.

As Pablo's gaze finally met hers, it was clear to see his drive and ambition. Alena respected his desire and intentions, but she had not initially planned for the Lycan to accompany her on this mission. The Werewolf Queen placed a hand tenderly on the side of Pablo's neck; an affectionate gesture. "Come what may, after tomorrow night, if there is still War, it will be yours." This was no longer her war; it hadn't been for many years. With the majority of the Founding Werewolves dead and many of the Oldest Vampyres gone, the younger generations had inherited the bloodshed of their predecessors.

Speaking low, just to Pablo, the Werewolf Queen's eyes seemed to bore through the young man, "I will bring a small squad with me to destroy whatever force lies in Oslo come sunrise. I want you to stay here. Protect the Den and await your Packmates' arrival." You are more dear to me than you know.

[Pablo]

As Alena ruffled his hair he began to feel more at ease. Pablo was never one to shy away from physical contact, especially not from the Pack Mothers. In fact he relished under it. More than anything it felt like a reward for his efforts, like he had done well. Usually it would bring a smile to his face, but now it only seemed to comfort his nerves; something he never really needed. He stood as Alena commanded. She did not seem upset with him. Something in him made him feel like she should be.

Then she spoke Szandor's name. It was a bit unnerving almost undoing any comfort she had brought him, but he tried to not let it show. Death was very much apart of their lives. At any moment lycans were at risk to be taken from them, and while they were accustomed to loss, that did not mean they shouldn't acknowledge it. Szandor was no pup, he had known Alena longer than all of them. His death had to have stung more usual. Still she spoke of him as if he were still alive. If she did not wish to speak of their loss than neither would he. His eyes rose to her's only for a moment as she mentioned Dane. Alena shared the same concern as he. Neither of them were fools, Pablo had realized while he was still a prisoner that he should be dead. To call Dane formidable was an understatement from his perspective. The Vampire King had toyed with the lycan. Even when he had grappled the vampire, he wondered if it wasn't part of the bloodsucker's plan. "I know, I shouldn't be here." He muttered quickly. It was even more obvious now with news of Oslo. He was taken alive to be used as bait to lure Alena away while the vampires struck deep within lycan territory. " Lucia said I was her... captive..." He forgo usage of the term pet, as Lucia refereed to him. "and under her care." That had done him little good. It was her 'care' that had nearly killed him. Still though he found it difficult to muster up resentment against her. "Though in truth I think she had little choice in anything." He then added with a hint of fondness in his voice. "She's not clever." This time he eyed Alena for a reaction. She did not seem so happy at the first mention of her daughter, but Pablo believed the two could still make amends. Their relationship was turbulent at best, but still salvageable. He knew for a fact Lucia still cared for her mother, and Alena certainly had not gone to London just for him.

Adele was perhaps his closest friend in the pack. Either her or Pete, the former though he had known for longer. It was clear Alena sought his opinion on the matter. "Adele would not defect." He didn't entirely believe that. She was not suited for war, something that accompanied their lifestyle. It was a shame. For someone with such a troubled past he always believed she would embrace lycanthropy and the empowerment it brought. "I believe recently she's come into her own." That though be believed earnestly. She had come a long way from the young pup with an overabundance of power and absence of confidence. She was finally getting a hold of her abilities. To leave now didn't seem logical. Certainly if Adele were to abandon the pack, she would seek his opinion on the matter. The thought wasn't entirely comforting. Hopefully she wasn't in danger. Her loss would sting more than most, but he would not fret on the matter. Alena had men searching for her, Pablo's concern at the moment was Dane. "To leave now at all times does not seem likely."


His return to the den had been nerve wracking. The prospect of speaking with Alena was usually met with excitement, but considering the last week he feared she would be ashamed of him. That seemed to be far from the case. She had done wonders to calm him. He smiled widely under her show of affection, although as she spoke it grew fainter. She doesn't plan on bringing me. Pablo realized almost immediately. Maybe she was disappointed with him. He didn't want to inherit a war. He didn't care for the war. He wanted to be by Alena's side when they confronted Dane. Still he remained silent, assured she would say more. Never looking away, he flinched as she spoke what she wished of him. In another day and time protecting the den would have been the greatest of honors. Now it seemed like a punishment. There was no redemption to be found here. It was unfair, she was not the only one Dane had wronged. This was just as personal for him. He tried to hide his disappointment. "Are you sure that's the wisest course of action? A sizable invasion force would be needed for the vmapires to take Oslo. A small squad may not be enough." He could not miss this opportunity. Dane would be in Oslo, he could feel it in his gut. "I can still fight. They didn't break me. I'm ready to fight to the death." Death he no longer feared. Not since he first arrived at the den. Recently marked and barely a teenage Alena herself had told Pablo his first transformation would kill him, like it did most his age.

[Alena Wulf]

Watching Pablo as he spoke, Alena listened to the meaning behind his words. The young Lycan was smart; he'd always been a quick learner and very crafty, making the best out of whatever situation he found himself in. He seemed to fully comprehend the position he'd been put in in the last few days.

While the Pup initially sounded as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, his voice seemed to recover as as he spoke of Lucia, "No, she is not clever. I'll grant you that," Alena restrained from grimacing and added further comment, "Raven sheltered the girl overmuch." Not that she was the best parent; clearly she'd gone wrong somewhere with Lucia.

The Mother of Lycanthropy took what Pablo said about Adele to heart. "No, I thought not." Surely it would make things easier if Adele hadn't left of her own accord, but that meant she was perhaps attacked. It seemed unlikely that the two golden-eyed Pups had run off together, as the last Alena had seen, there was still awkward tension between them, and it seemed to contradict Pete's story of Damien going off to find Adele. Whatever the case, Alena was confident she'd at least see Damien alive and in one piece; Adele's well being seemed more questionable.

Removing her hand from Pablo's neck, Alena listened as the young man respectfully questioned her wishes. No, the Vampyres did not seem to have broken Pablo; his fight was just as strong as ever. The Wolf Mother could understand: Pablo felt shamed and like he'd been violated, and he had. Not only had Dane bested him after killing every single Lycan in the Den he'd been given charge of, but the very person Pablo had tried to protect, Lucia, ended up 'keeping' him as a 'captive'.

Looking over the young man, something caught her eye, drawing her attention to a spot on Pablo's neck that her hand had previously covered. It was faint, but Alena was close enough to see the bite marks on her Lieutenant's neck. They were nothing more than mere scars, now, that would fade in time, but they were unmistakeable: the four-fanged bite of a Hybrid. Clenching her fists briefly at her side, Alena looked back to Pablo's earnest gaze. Lucia had clearly left her mark, but what effect it had was yet to be seen, the Queen of Werewolves thought.

Seeing the bite marks made Alena remarkably angry, but she checked herself, consciously softening her voice to speak to her Packmate, "There may be thousands of Vampyres in Oslo. There is, however, only one I am concerned about being there." She did not need to say his name; she was confident Pablo would understand. "I do not doubt that you are ready. All your years here have shown me you can fight. You are one of the most capable warriors I have." Pausing for a moment, Alena considered her Lieutenant. She had already briefed Evelyn on defending the Den and was confident that the woman would keep her Pack safe or die trying. Still, it would have eased her mind to have Pablo here as well. Yet, Alena could feel how much Pablo wanted to accompany her to Oslo; he'd go whether she approved of it or not. "You may join my squad and I in the morning." Alena put a smile on her face, her fangs showing momentarily.

"My daughter may well be there as well," she warned. "I left the mansion in London as nothing more than scraps. I imagine Lucia will be following Dane like a lost pup." She was curious what Pablo were to do if he encountered the girl again.

[Pablo]

The lycan bit his lip. Pablo wished to discuss Lucia a bit more, there were some things he wanted to say in her defense; especially in regard to the choices she made, but he knew better. She had chosen Dane over Alena in the wake of Szandor's death, that could not have sat well with his Queen. He never intended to upset or stress her further. Still, reminding her that Raven had been dead for the better half of a decade was on the tip of his tongue. The parental duties during Lucia's teenage years would have fallen to Alena. She should have had much say in the development of the hybrid. Alena must have known she was responsible for much of this.

He smiled, glad that Alena seemed to heed his advice. The thought of Adele missing though was of concern. In most circumstances he would have volunteered immediately to search for her; his friends were of utmost importance to him, but there was a war to be fought. He trusted Alena would not let the Perrin's heir vanish into the night without a trace, and he trusted Pete in any situation. If the matter was not resolved by the end of the war; something that would likely come by the end of the day he would take it upon himself to search for her.

A sudden wave of anger seemed to flow from Alena, brief but noticeable. Was she mad at him? He knew at times that Alena could be reasonable. Sometimes her temper was a short fuse, and in truth nobody truly enjoys being second guessed. That could only be especially true for an immortal being whose life had spanned millenniums. Still he believed to have taken a very diplomatic approach. Pablo tried to not think too much of it. Maybe her anger wasn't directed at him. There were any number of things that could preoccupy her thoughts.

He listened intently as always whenever Alena spoke. Usually he would gush with joy at any complement Alena threw his way. They were very few and far in between, but they were always earned. Right now he wasn't certain that was the case. Anyhow they were not the words he wish to hear. Still bearing a half smile, he quirked his eyebrow as the pack mother paused. Yes! He nearly jumped at her acceptance of his request. His smile turned into a full beaming grin, as he stood frozen unsure whether to kneel or hug Alena. "Thank you. This means the world to me." Pablo dropped to a quick bow, raising as soon as he knee touched the dirt. "I won't fail you." He could see it now, his claws sinking deep into Dane's chest clawing into the vampire's heart. Though more realistically he also imagined Alena shredding the Vampire King into two. His excitement at the moment knew no bounds. The opportunity at vengeance was one thing. To fight alongside Alena and her hand picked squad was another. To fight among the lycan elite was an honor. Together they would claw through the vampire horde and send Dane to hell. "I'll go prepare the essentials." He said turning his back to Alena as he began to run into the woods.

Alena's words stopped him dead in his tracks. Though it was more of respect than the words themselves. That said the thought of encountering Lucia brought butterflies to his stomach. He looked back over his shoulder to Alena. Confronting the hybrid was not something he had considered. "She and I have a rapport, I think. If you wish, I'm certain I can convince her to stand down." He turned to face her completely. "Lucia still cares about you. I know that for a fact. She asked if I would fight with you..."