Chapter 1: The Hunted

[Roderick]

“I’m not about to trust this Vampire with one of our own!” came a growl from the pack.
Just because Roderick showed their leader respect didn’t mean he was pushover. One swift head-butt to the Garou playing Alpha male and he retook his place on the proverbial totem pole. When a second stepped in to play thrust out with his forearm as a batter would to bunt the ball. The crunch of his arm against the windpipe took the brutal angry words from his lips and James stepped back.

His strong hand took hold of Rhona’s wrist and without breaking gaze with the werewolf who was holding his throat he spoke.
“I’ll take her under my wing, but I won’t humor a pissing contest with your dogs."
This caused a stir of anger amid the rest of the group, and several more moved in only stopping in response to the huge paw that slammed into the earth next to the pair.
“He is right. This is not about vampire verses werewolf. He came here of his own volition, and under the full moon. We will show him the same respect and not dishonor his offering.”

Roderick glanced back, realizing why they had all halted, and why she was truly an elder of their kind. Grandmother Larissa was shifted into full Chrinos, a nine-foot werewolf with patches of grey fur and a mouthful of razor sharp teeth. But her shifted form was not what had his attention, it was that she still spoke with a human voice, a rare feat for someone in that form. Her distended jaw smiled, revealing even more teeth as she leaned in close to speak with them both.
“It’s time for you both to go,” she explained.
The same soft brown eyes looked between the two, pausing on Rhona.
“Until we meet again in the Umbra, my child.”

[Rhona Stephens]

She felt alone in that brief moment, until a growl was heard a voice of one from the pack. He had little trust in the vampire. Some of the hoard didn’t agree with grandmother. The problem of being headstrong. It seemed Roderick had other ideas as she witnessed the head-butt. Then another. Eyes turned up towards the statuesque Vampire, it wasn’t a wonder how he’d lived to long. Hindering two lycans in a brief time. How long would it taken him if he wanted it to be fatal? A shiver ran through her spine. Full lips gasped as his strong grip closed around her wrist.

Chocolate eyes danced up as a gleam of moon light shone. A full moon. How could she have forgotten? Mind raced. Words were spoken but she wasn’t listening. Not that she had even asked for this. When the full glow of the moon caught in her eyes she froze. Pupils dilated. With a burst of strength she’d broken free of Roderick’s grasp, eyes towards Larissa’s before the beast within her clawed to be let out. Every month she hated the full moon. Why, why had tonight been one. Feet hit the ground running from everyone around her, while a cry of pain was over come with the howl of a beast. With each transformation however she was getting better with the pain, dropping onto her knees behind a shrub fingers clawed into the ground until she was lycan. The curse that had been brought upon her.

With a heavy pant of breath something caught her attentions. A sound. Then the smell. Vampire. Another one, and the faint smell of another coming. Was this all a set up? A bullet ripped into the bark of the tree besides her. Raising in her large form she ripped a branch from the tree and flung it the direction the bullet had come from. With Lycan speed she was running towards where Grandmother Larissa had been with a cry of warning. The pack had already been moving, and Roderick was alone. The sound of another shot being fired and Rhona lowered herself into an animalistic pose on all fours, before Lycan orbs darted up towards the Vampire near her.

[Laila St. James]

Laila sat behind the wheel of her car, a silver 1967 Shelby Mustang GT 500, her head back and eyes closed. Nymphetamine by Cradle of Filth played in the CD player and she sang softly with the lyrics. She was hunting tonight and her quarry was out and about.

The human she was after was a feared by vampires and Laila’s employers would be all too pleased to be rid of Rachel Cross. Though the woman had separated from her organization, it didn’t stop her from falling into line with the Death Dealers and helping to keep the precarious balance of the Underworld. Laila could care less which way the power balance slid, so long as there were things for her to kill and plenty of money to compensate her.

Boredom had led to where she was, hidden by shadow in a car she had murdered for. As a 24-year-old, Laila had picked up the tricks of the bootlegging trade during Prohibition and became a favored runner of Dutch Schultz. Truth was, she wasn’t entirely loyal to the gangster, tending to lie, cheat and steal her way to a bigger paycheck. Those traits were what lured David Foster to her bed. What he had left her with the next day was indescribable. She nearly died in the early years, learning how to survive as a Caitiff vampire through trial and error, building upon her ruthless reputation.

There was no lack of employment for an assassin, as people were all too eager to slip some cash to a shadowy figure and not worry about their problems anymore. However, as a Caitiff, not too many of her fellow vampires wanted much to do with her and she stayed on the move, roaming from city to city. Her reputation was legendary and she was never without.

Yawning wide enough to show off her fangs, Laila sat up and shut off the car before getting out and locking it. She shrugged into a black leather jacket, concealing the gun under her left arm in a shoulder holster and the one clipped to her belt. A combat knife was sheathed at her lower back and she was more than ready to meet up with her prey.

Setting off at a brisk pace, she began to sing under her breath, “and the blinding flare of passion in the shade of narrow streets where their poison never rationed all the tips they left in me.”