INTRODUCTION:
They weren’t created. They weren’t made. They were born.
They weren’t science experiments. They weren’t like you and me. They were different.
They were SkinJumpers - beings with both human and animal make-up in their genes, creating a mix of angel and demon; beauty and beast. Different breeds sketching off into different groups of the same species, becoming Packs, Herds, Prides, etcetera. They hid at first, running silent in the trees, hesitant to show themselves amongst ‘true’ human kind. Threatened by a reaction of disgust and a vicious hatred that could turn deadly, for their ability to shift into their separate animal halves soon licensed them with the name 'abomination'.
But in the year 2048, a programme named Hound was brought to the attention of the world. Ice, Fire, Air and Water were becoming living things inside the minds of many a person. SkinJumpers were no longer a piece of imagination or wishful thinking. In retrospect, they weren’t the only difference out there. But it soon became clear that they may be the only species on the planet able to keep the Hounds in line. Terrors and nightmares lurk unseen for humans caught between this deadly war, with IceHounds beings without emotion, simply logic - the ultimate killing machines. AirHounds were a breeze of hypnosis to the unsuspecting, money makers to the rich and breathing taxes to the poor. FireHounds were pure emotion, a heated collision with Ice waiting to implode, for they think only with their feelings, with no caution; no sense for their own self preservation, only of their next high. And WaterHounds, slick beings, sly, masters of seduction. Refreshing with their talents, the hardest of all the Elementals to identify - they seem to consume those around them, working into the system’s of both humans and SkinJumpers alike like the Water’s they are.
These are the Elemental Hounds and the SkinJumpers.
These are the extermination, and perhaps the world’s only salvation.
They weren’t created. They weren’t made. They were born.
They weren’t science experiments. They weren’t like you and me. They were different.
They were SkinJumpers - beings with both human and animal make-up in their genes, creating a mix of angel and demon; beauty and beast. Different breeds sketching off into different groups of the same species, becoming Packs, Herds, Prides, etcetera. They hid at first, running silent in the trees, hesitant to show themselves amongst ‘true’ human kind. Threatened by a reaction of disgust and a vicious hatred that could turn deadly, for their ability to shift into their separate animal halves soon licensed them with the name 'abomination'.
But in the year 2048, a programme named Hound was brought to the attention of the world. Ice, Fire, Air and Water were becoming living things inside the minds of many a person. SkinJumpers were no longer a piece of imagination or wishful thinking. In retrospect, they weren’t the only difference out there. But it soon became clear that they may be the only species on the planet able to keep the Hounds in line. Terrors and nightmares lurk unseen for humans caught between this deadly war, with IceHounds beings without emotion, simply logic - the ultimate killing machines. AirHounds were a breeze of hypnosis to the unsuspecting, money makers to the rich and breathing taxes to the poor. FireHounds were pure emotion, a heated collision with Ice waiting to implode, for they think only with their feelings, with no caution; no sense for their own self preservation, only of their next high. And WaterHounds, slick beings, sly, masters of seduction. Refreshing with their talents, the hardest of all the Elementals to identify - they seem to consume those around them, working into the system’s of both humans and SkinJumpers alike like the Water’s they are.
These are the Elemental Hounds and the SkinJumpers.
These are the extermination, and perhaps the world’s only salvation.
PROLOGUE:
“Go on then, get out! And take your sorry ass with you.” A newly crowned eighteen year old Tamra Markosa stared into the eyes of a man who had never loved her. He had fed her, clothed her, housed her, but that was where their relationship ended. Kentaro Markosa had never looked at his daughter with love in his eyes, never hugged her when she cried or picked her up when she fell. All Tamra’s life she had tried to be a daughter to be proud of, but Kentaro wouldn’t have any of it. Turning thirteen was when things had hitched up a level. Teenage hormones had kicked in hard and a young, naïve Tamra only wanted a father that could hold her in his heart. But when the rejection had become a clawing ache in her own body, Tamra’s own realisation came with a bang. Kentaro didn’t care. Didn’t want her. Didn’t need her. Didn’t laugh when she smiled. He hadn’t wanted anything to do with her. So now, when the letter that could change her entire life had posted through her front door on the 1st August, Tamra’s eighteenth birthday, she had known instantly that she would accept to be a part of the Hound Programme, would choose out of the four choices to become an IceHound. Emotions had done nothing but harm her and break apart her childhood dreams. Why spend the rest of her life trying to be a person who wasn’t wanted? Why hold on tight to her wishes that one day she would be loved? Throw away those feelings and become a whole new being, a being who doesn’t scrape at their own selves to be different.
“Oh, I will - you don’t ever have to tell me twice.” Her pathetic father didn’t even flinch at the cutting words. I want to be like that, she thought. I want to be capable of not feeling anything.
“Good. Wouldn’t want to have to waste my breath on you.” ((STILL WRITING THIS PART, ONLY JUST STARTED))
CHAPTER ONE:
It was Tamra's 248th kill. Her gun was poised against her shoulder and focused on the head of Hugh Larton - her target. His life meant nothing to her, his family unimportant, personality disregarded; to Tamra, he was just another pawn in a game where there no winners, only players who paid with very generous prices.
Tamra's hand itched against the trigger, eager to slay, to end the life of the man serenading his crowd of followers inside New York's family park. Children wailed amongst the swings, and parents stood with their backs ramrod straight, staring at their leader. Sixty seconds remained before Hugh was scheduled to face the east wall of the park, becoming a clear shot for Tamra. The countdown had devastating consequences.
Sweat tickled down Tamra’s spine before she could control the pathetic human reaction. They take too long to fade, she thought, to feel so nervous was not in her nature, not any more. She had spent too long training her mind and body not to feel such things, but starting her life as she had came with consequences after she changed. Automatic responses to sounds in the night, crying when emotions take hold, and the feeling of love that weighed down their hearts - how she was glad to be rid of such impudent parts of life. Tamra was an IceHound, a being no longer with emotions to cloud the mind. She had earned her place amongst her people, earned the right to be called a JaguarShot. Tamra was a part of something bigger than she could imagine, and the key to destruction was at the opposite end of her gun.
***
Haden Reece
The Hound was sitting on the edge of the building, her killing machine atop her shoulder, aiming at the head of the most important person in Haden's programme; Hugh Larton, speaker for Packs across the country, and Alpha in his own, trusted rights. This Hound was not allowed to assassinate him, Haden Reece, Alpha of the MidnightWalker Pack, wouldn't allow it.
The wind brushed against his cheek, and lifted the crisp white shirt of the Hound before him. Revealed to Haden's sharp gaze was creamy, golden skin that shined against the sun's light. Her hair was pulled into a slick braid, falling to the curve of her hip - it's rich black texture running over her exposed skin. Haden had the disorientating urge to take the Hound into his arms and never let go, not for anything in the world. But no, he shook his head from side to side, forcing himself back into the correct frame of mind. He was here for one thing, and one thing only; get the Hound, and bring her in.
***
Tamra pulled the trigger at the precise moment a hand grasped her wrist, causing the gun to shoot out into the sky, missing it’s target. Turning, she looked calmly into the eyes of an animal before a heavy hood was pulled over her face. She grappled blindly with her opponent, but to no avail. The foul thing had her in a vice hold, there was no way out. And here came the reactions, claustrophobia kicked in hard, and Tamra felt as though she had been swallowed into a black hole. She fought the restraints of her captor once again, desperately searching for a way out, a connection to her IceHound, but she had been sucked in too deep. Tamra was being pulled along the roof top, but she wasn't in her right mind at the time. She didn't feel rough hands holding fiercely at the back of her neck, or the press of her own gun against her side, but instead the cold howls of darkness, of being trapped inside the hood. Her breathing was ragged, her mind feeling as though it was collapsing in upon itself and her hair was sticking to the crevices of her mouth. She was going blank, unconsciousness setting in. No sensation of steps beneath her feet as Tamra was pulled down the stairs, or the harsh brush of glass against her bare toes, only the silence. Her hands flailed around the stairwell, reaching out without her control for a hold on reality, on something she could feel. Tamra couldn't feel a thing, only scared and humiliated emotions. IceHound was failing her - Tamra Markosa was failing IceHound.
***
Haden felt the woman in his arms go limp just before he reached the door to the busy life outside. Her hand was already cold in his grasp, and he hurried towards the waiting car on the side walk.
Black tinted windows blocked any stray person seeing inside, and the metal was bullet proof - total safety. Haden launched for the back seat before he was seen, and it was just in time; the Ice in his arms had begun to melt, a burning heat now searing from her skin and when Haden placed the back of his hand against her forehead, the temperature was scalding. Though her hands were still cold… Ice cold.
CHAPTER TWO:
Haden stood outside the cell door, staring at the Hound who lay so still with her back against the cool marble floor. Her face had drained of colour, turning a ghostly white so different to the shine that he had glimpsed atop a rooftop in New York. Her hands were clawed against her sides, and her bare chest revealed a glimpse of the IceHound mark around her torso; a large silver circle placed openly on the centre of her chest with ice droplets reaching down to her midriff. The ring was surrounded by black thorns, crisscrossing through the centre before wrapping around the edge. In the middle was a single white rose bud, it's roots cascading around her side in slithering tendrils of spikes and sharp edges, running a loop around the entirety of her torso. The marks of a killer, Haden thought, but her eyes had already destroyed such thoughts from setting into Haden's brain. He had only seen them for a brief second, as she had turned around to face him before he covered her face with the hood, but they had been branded into his mind, a constant torment in amongst his dreams, leaving him to wake with heavy muscles and sweat coating his tense frame. Eyes of an angel, who had fallen into the hands of the devil.
Thinking back, he remembered each void into the Hounds soul with absolute clarity - silver iris's with a piercing blue framing the outer-edge, and dark grey teardrops swimming through the sea of silver. Those eyes would be a summer's breeze, but there was something lurking beneath their depths, something Haden couldn't place. Like nightmares that had been dreamt into reality and leaked into the dreamers pupils, so that whenever they closed, all that was seen behind the darkness of closed eyelids was an memory impossibly true. Those silver stars kept him awake at night, they were what stole his focus - those eyes, this woman, that piece of Ice.
“Haden, anything to report?” Haden turned slightly from his stiff stance against the cell door, the memory of those cold, almost wolf-like eyes still holding him captive. The man by his side impatiently harrumphed, "I said, 'anything to report?' You will answer me when I speak to you." Joseph's voice was rough now, teetering on the edge of becoming a barely controlled snarl.
“Dad, please. Give me a break and don't pull that ex-Alpha crap on me. And besides, you've got to go or you're gonna miss your flight.” Haden's parents, Joseph and Blair Reece, were due to fly over to England. They had recently bought a house in the outskirts of Yorkshire, the same house the two had met in when Joseph was going through his Alpha training. Haden's father had been Alpha for over thirty years before giving up the title ten years ago to watch as his eldest son stepped unwillingly into his place.
Though Joseph is now a senior member of Pack, helping the training of young Jumpers and watching over the business between his family and the Hounds, he still maintains enough Alpha inside of him to take control when needed, and demands nothing less that the highest respect and loyalty from Pack mates - no matter who he may be with at any given time. Joseph Reece is one animal you would not want to stand against... Unless, of course, you felt the need to be mauled, humiliated, or flat on your back in the mud, then you would be wise to steer clear of the Beast.
Haden's mother Blair, however, is the chink in Joseph's armour. Complete opposites of the other, the two somehow connected like pieces of a puzzle; Joseph with his no-nonsense attitude and Blair with her care-free outlook on life. Joseph with his chestnut hair that curls in ringlets to his shoulders, flecks of grey sprinkled a few inches in from his scalp and amongst the scraggly forest of his beard. He has prominent features set into a deeply tanned face and there are laugh lines etched around the sides of his almond shaped eyes. His mouth is forever tilted, as though he holds the secret of a constant dare that he wishes to tell everyone whilst at the same time being unable to do so. In contrast, Blair's golden, ruler-straight tresses fell elegantly to the smooth curve of her waist, no specks of grey to be seen. She had a cute, heart-shaped face with soft eyes that hold an immeasurable amount of kindness, their soulful blue colour swimming with the essence of the sea. Blair's pale complexion reminds all of crushed pearls, and her skin shone in delight against the moonlight.
Haden's mother is a being at one with the night, and is rarely seen out during the ray's of day. Because of this, it was a huge shock when the news of Blair and Joseph's mating rippled through Pack many years ago. But now it is a feast whenever Blair is seen out in the daytime, always playing amongst the cubs, and throwing back her head when she laughs in soprano joy. When Blair Reece enters any spotlight of sun, Pack will hold it's breath as her untainted beauty shines, her compassion mixed with love for Joseph and Pack a living, breathing thing. Joseph's heart has grown severely because of Blair, it now encompasses not only his Pack, but his two sons and the world around him. Despite the fact that Joseph struggles to tolerate any type of Hound, he thinks with the logic of Ice, fights with the red hot passion of Fire, breathes the same breath as Air, and is refreshed by the exact liquid that is Water.
"We've moved back the time." He countered, "and after the way you acted earlier, all the more reason for doing so."
***
Twenty Four Hours Earlier
Haden sat silently in the back of the safety car, the IceHound lying across his torso, her head limp against his shoulder. He turned his face discreetly so his cheek lay balanced on her hair, the effort to keep his expression tense and facing the other way a personal order he no longer wanted to keep. Haden caught the eye of Nichols in the rear view mirror before sniffing the Hound's delicious scent.
"Nothing," he mouthed, "she smells normal." If normal should entail reminding Haden of fresh due and pine. "Completely human." Haden saw Nichols' tight nod, and as his jaw set, turned sharply into a side road leading to Pack's Medical and Science Building. He noticed a harshness to Nichols' entire posture, and Haden realised how very uncomfortable the soldier was around the Hound, so he leaned forward without jostling the Ice in his arms and placed a hand lightly on his friend's shoulder. Nichols didn't flinch, but Haden watched as the storm raging in Nichols' eyes began to dim bit by bit at his Alpha's touch, and he only removed his hand once he was certain the soldier was once again in control.
"Don't worry Boss, I'm fine. She just brings back memories that I'd rather forget," Nichols' voice sounded forced - strained, so Haden replied in a tone fully Alpha.
"This Hound will cause no harm to us, not another member of my Pack will fall pray to the end of their icy guns." But as Haden remembered the lush picture of bronze skin beneath a crisp white shirt, and the penetrating force of a gaze that may have just sent him to his knees, Haden wondered if the silent promise just made to his greatest friend in Pack was a lie and that He would be the one falling prey, losing his position as predator....
CHAPTER THREE:
When the two men and IceHound arrived at the Med and Science Building located in central New York, three other members of Pack were waiting for their arrival outside the front door.
“Is it safe?” Haden now spoke into his earpiece. Nichols jerked ever so slightly at the break of companionable silence, but didn't speak or turn back into an animal tensed inside human skin. His eyes flicked around the parking lot, to any sign of unusual activity behind the building windows, and when he thought it clean, nodded a signal for the others to move. Haden had done the same check, and had had the area cleared only seconds before Nichols, but needed his soldier to feel the safety of his Alpha running through his veins, otherwise disloyalty or thoughts of not being wanted as a soldier may seep it’s way into his Sentinels’ minds - and that was not advised to happen.
A rush of movement caught Haden by surprise, watching as members of his normally well organised and stationed Pack suddenly burst out from the Medical and Science Building.
“Good job on the check, but I think it’s time for you to scram.”
“No kidding Boss, their worried faces scare me more than the Hounds.” Nichols waited for his Alpha to step fully out of the car, the Ice held securely in his arms, before putting the car in gear and speeding away.
“Show off,” muttered Haden, before snapping into his earpiece, “and don’t call me Boss.” Silence from the other end of the line, the message ‘not received’.
But as Haden glanced back to the pasty white face of a woman that should be beautiful and full of life, not hard like Ice and limp in his arms, all traces of humour vanished. He cautiously stepped into a mass of predators poised for attack, and nosy, but worried members of Pack who had arrived without consent to catch a glimpse of the most dangerous of IceHounds, and to be certain that their Alpha was unharmed.
There was an audible gasp as the sight of the Hound reached the peaking eyes of Pack. They stood frozen, transfixed, gawking at her deathly white face. She's still beautiful, Haden thought, as he suddenly felt a tidal wave of protectiveness for the Ice in his arms, as though he would fight against his own people to keep her safe.
“No,” he ground out, teeth clenched. Heads immediately snapped up to his and a few people even took a shaky step away from him, fear evident in their eyes. Had they thought he was talking to them? That he would use such a cold tongue, as though he himself was a piece of Ice? Did they fear the rigid emotion present on his face before he composed his features into that of an Alpha male in control, but still with a line of compassion for his Pack? Haden simply ignored them instead, walking straight for the main entrance of the Medical side of the Medical and Science Building. His people rippling out of his way like reeds being pushed apart in water.
Haden turned to face his Pack when he first heard the faint scuffling sound of feet against the ground, of murmured whispers telling one another to, "go on, follow him!"
“Do it!”
“Come on, I dare you!”
“You go - look at his face, I'd never be that stupid.”
Haden set his face into a hard structure of pure Alpha demand, his shoulders pushing back as he stood to his full 6 foot 4 inches of height.
“No-one but my highest sentinels and soldiers are to step foot into this building. Anyone disobeying a direct order will have me to deal with... is that clear?” His voice rang loud through the hushed crowd, and Haden waited only for the first few nods of understanding and utter loyalty before signalling to the three people that should have been present whilst he and Nichols had brought the Hound in.
Though Haden shouldn't have to check that his Pack had heard an order, and would fulfil it, it was in the face of this IceHound that he felt every need to hold complete certainty in his mind that she going to be safe. It was irrational to feel such possessiveness over a being who should repel his animal senses on all levels. Instead, with just a glance of her eyes she now held him in her palms, and when she woke, and she will wake, Haden thought, she might be able to crush him without so much as an Icy disregard. It would mark him as nothing but a dirty animal who should lie beneath her notice - or lie beneath her feet.
“Sorry Reece, we told 'em all to bugger off on numerous occasions-”
“-But they didn't pay attention and-”
“-And you didn't want to pull rank on them. It's fine, you don't have to explain yourselves to me, I will always trust my sentinels.” His last word was a sigh, the weight of the day finally putting a tension between his shoulders.
“Exactly,” Tike, a young, pretty-faced soldier, added at the end, eagerly putting in word of his existence in the conversation. Though his full young face still looked as though he was about to break down under the thought of failing his Alpha by letting so many people near the Medical Building. Tike had just come out of trainee camp, a facility for young soldiers to hone their skills and learn the hardships of what becoming a soldier and protecting your Pack is all about. Haden’s father had been specifically assigned to him due to his scent. Sid Tiken had the scent of a warrior, of a SkinJumper who could become an Alpha one day, and Joseph had taken it upon himself to train and mark the boy as his own. And it was because of this, that Haden expected big things from the boy. No petty mistakes made or coddling from the women, but hard work and respect that he has earned.
Haden calls on Tike for such occasions as this, one where a delivery should have been quick and easy without mess… and Haden had certainly not expected his Pack to have come streaming, with no control, into the Medical Building. He expected them to do their jobs; look after the cubs; not stick their feline noses into things that should not concern them at this time. A slithery thought ran through Haden's mind. They don't trust I'll be able to withstand falling under the spell of an Hound again.
Haden sighed once more, disregarding the thought. “Can we hurry this up?” His voice was terse, and as he hefted the Hound a little higher in his arms, he felt his heart constrict when her head landed neatly between his shoulder and neck. Haden could feel lips against his skin, and he wanted them to kiss the pulse pounding there, he wanted to feel their softness and human heat properly against his skin. But for now, they were cold - too cold. Haden Reece picked up the lope of his long cat legs, and the group of animals moved faster.
CHAPTER FOUR:
Walking through the Medical Halls Haden’s high senses could only detect the faintest trace of painful cleaning products and the general hospital type of scent. He liked to ensure that any MidnightWalker, his Pack, was comfortable in such a foreboding building. Haden even had a tendency to let a few injured humans, and on rare or needed occasions such as this, a sparse amount of Hounds - but no Ice, not after what happened to Nichols, never Ice… never until now.
The four cats slid through a private corridor and slinked behind a large, metal door at it’s end marked DANGER: UNKOWN CONTENT, giving them free passage down to the secret medical and science facility behind it.
This is where the Hound was to stay, until Haden, Haden and his sentinel’s, or Haden and his father could decide how to continue with their own personal programme now that, for a while at least, Hugh Larton and, through Hugh, his employer, were safe and unharmed.
“Ti-…Sid, I think this is where I draw the line.” Sid's face fell so fast, his eyes crinkling so tight, that Haden felt an unexplainable urge to take back his silent order and to pull the poor kid in for a hug... and that should not be happening.
Angie slapped Tike around the back of the head, and the strange spell was broken as Haden and Sid's locked eyes were forced apart when Tike's head fell forward from the hit's impact. Haden, with the Hound now lugged over his shoulder, was holding Tike's chin in a hard grip and had him against the corridor wall barely a second later, his growl roaring from his throat and his beast prickling at the loss in it's control.
"What the hell was that?!" His voice was thick and as sharp as needles, it echoed around the cats like an attack from all sides. The soldiers' animals tensed.
"That," Angie placed a hand on her Alpha's shoulder, comforting him through touch, though he didn't acknowledge the anchoring gesture, "is our little Tike's new trick. No wonder Joseph," his father's name was an instant release on his anger at the young soldier, Joseph would be disappointed at his son's lashing out, "took such as interest in him as a cub, that man could - can - smell a Trick from a few miles off."
Tricks - the talented SkinJumpers that held more than just an animal inside, but a talent their other half possessed when they were exactly that - a complete animal.
It was a rarity amongst any Packs, but the Snakes were well known for their ability to coax their prey into a sense of false security, and their Tricks went so far as to holding a part of another's thought's when looking them directly in the eye. Pulling strings and taking away a SkinJumpers will... some Tricks aren't liked very well, SkinJumpers much prefer being in control of themselves, and hate having a Snake taking hold of the reigns... especially an Alpha.
The Snakes were a sly, slippery Pack, but they normally keep to themselves and don't interfere with the games played between rival prides.
"How?" Haden's question was blunt and unexpected, but he felt Sid stiffen in his grip, his spine straighten as he failed to lift his head. His Alpha's hold was firm.
“My mother,” he spat, trying to speak past the hand wedging his chin, “was a Snake, my father a Cat. Looks as though I inherited a little something from both sides of the table.” His churning eyes sought Haden’s.
“Now you stop that shit with me Sid Tiken, I’m no frivolous female,” a hiss from where Angie stood, he’d apologise later, “for you to play around with. You treat me with respect if you want to move up in this Pack - or even be in it. You hear me?” Tightening his grip on both Tike’s chin and his protective grasp on the Hound’s legs, Haden looked Tike directly in the eye, giving him an opening, the opportunity, to ruin his chances as a MidnightWalker and to bring his Alpha under a foolish, untrained and inexperienced control. “Do you understand?”
Tike new when not to push his Alpha, Pack members were given lenience when they prodded, challenged half-heartedly, but when the chips were down, everyone knew their place, and that no matter how hard they tried, Haden Reece would never back down.
“I understand.”
“Good, we’ll see you later.” A hint, it was definitely time for Tike to leave.
Haden’s beast pounced as he let loose Tike’s chin and turned to watch his stiff, retreating back hunch down the corridor.
“Hey Tike,” Haden called after him. He stopped dead, but the Cat inside pricked back it's ears to listen. “Keep it up and next time you’ll be flat on your ass, but you’ll become a fine soldier. Now go find Myrian and break some innocent girl’s heart.”
“You know your brother’s a prick Haden,” Tike chided over his shoulder, “and besides, I don’t need him to get a girl - I’m a heartbreaker all by myself.” His white, sharp toothed smile flashed and both Haden and Angie laughed. Even tight lipped Jamie let out a chuckle.
Walking through the Medical Halls Haden’s high senses could only detect the faintest trace of painful cleaning products and the general hospital type of scent. He liked to ensure that any MidnightWalker, his Pack, was comfortable in such a foreboding building. Haden even had a tendency to let a few injured humans, and on rare or needed occasions such as this, a sparse amount of Hounds - but no Ice, not after what happened to Nichols, never Ice… never until now.
The four cats slid through a private corridor and slinked behind a large, metal door at it’s end marked DANGER: UNKOWN CONTENT, giving them free passage down to the secret medical and science facility behind it.
This is where the Hound was to stay, until Haden, Haden and his sentinel’s, or Haden and his father could decide how to continue with their own personal programme now that, for a while at least, Hugh Larton and, through Hugh, his employer, were safe and unharmed.
“Ti-…Sid, I think this is where I draw the line.” Sid's face fell so fast, his eyes crinkling so tight, that Haden felt an unexplainable urge to take back his silent order and to pull the poor kid in for a hug... and that should not be happening.
Angie slapped Tike around the back of the head, and the strange spell was broken as Haden and Sid's locked eyes were forced apart when Tike's head fell forward from the hit's impact. Haden, with the Hound now lugged over his shoulder, was holding Tike's chin in a hard grip and had him against the corridor wall barely a second later, his growl roaring from his throat and his beast prickling at the loss in it's control.
"What the hell was that?!" His voice was thick and as sharp as needles, it echoed around the cats like an attack from all sides. The soldiers' animals tensed.
"That," Angie placed a hand on her Alpha's shoulder, comforting him through touch, though he didn't acknowledge the anchoring gesture, "is our little Tike's new trick. No wonder Joseph," his father's name was an instant release on his anger at the young soldier, Joseph would be disappointed at his son's lashing out, "took such as interest in him as a cub, that man could - can - smell a Trick from a few miles off."
Tricks - the talented SkinJumpers that held more than just an animal inside, but a talent their other half possessed when they were exactly that - a complete animal.
It was a rarity amongst any Packs, but the Snakes were well known for their ability to coax their prey into a sense of false security, and their Tricks went so far as to holding a part of another's thought's when looking them directly in the eye. Pulling strings and taking away a SkinJumpers will... some Tricks aren't liked very well, SkinJumpers much prefer being in control of themselves, and hate having a Snake taking hold of the reigns... especially an Alpha.
The Snakes were a sly, slippery Pack, but they normally keep to themselves and don't interfere with the games played between rival prides.
"How?" Haden's question was blunt and unexpected, but he felt Sid stiffen in his grip, his spine straighten as he failed to lift his head. His Alpha's hold was firm.
“My mother,” he spat, trying to speak past the hand wedging his chin, “was a Snake, my father a Cat. Looks as though I inherited a little something from both sides of the table.” His churning eyes sought Haden’s.
“Now you stop that shit with me Sid Tiken, I’m no frivolous female,” a hiss from where Angie stood, he’d apologise later, “for you to play around with. You treat me with respect if you want to move up in this Pack - or even be in it. You hear me?” Tightening his grip on both Tike’s chin and his protective grasp on the Hound’s legs, Haden looked Tike directly in the eye, giving him an opening, the opportunity, to ruin his chances as a MidnightWalker and to bring his Alpha under a foolish, untrained and inexperienced control. “Do you understand?”
Tike new when not to push his Alpha, Pack members were given lenience when they prodded, challenged half-heartedly, but when the chips were down, everyone knew their place, and that no matter how hard they tried, Haden Reece would never back down.
“I understand.”
“Good, we’ll see you later.” A hint, it was definitely time for Tike to leave.
Haden’s beast pounced as he let loose Tike’s chin and turned to watch his stiff, retreating back hunch down the corridor.
“Hey Tike,” Haden called after him. He stopped dead, but the Cat inside pricked back it's ears to listen. “Keep it up and next time you’ll be flat on your ass, but you’ll become a fine soldier. Now go find Myrian and break some innocent girl’s heart.”
“You know your brother’s a prick Haden,” Tike chided over his shoulder, “and besides, I don’t need him to get a girl - I’m a heartbreaker all by myself.” His white, sharp toothed smile flashed and both Haden and Angie laughed. Even tight lipped Jamie let out a chuckle.
“Perhaps we’re ridding you of that strange British humour of yours, ay Jamie?” Angie scoffed and punched him in the arm. Though Jamie let her, his courtesy for females preventing him from grabbing her wrist in mid-air and forcing it behind her back without wasting a breath as Haden knew he could do.
“Perhaps,” he mimicked, “I find it amusing when you two old ladies laugh at the absurd sight of a sour mouthed cub. Oh, the horror of it all!” His lips twitched.
Angie stopped twirling a strand of red curly hair around her index finger and stared, gob smacked, at Jamie as he tried to hold in a burst of laughter. And both Haden and Angie were amazed at Jamie’s attempt of a joke, if not from how bad it was, then from the fact that he’d even bothered to try. Haden, for one, had only ever heard him retaliate back at Angie when she’d seriously insulted his ego and ‘manhood’. Now that, Haden mused, had been a good laugh, especially when, as rumoured, Jamie had supposedly shown Angie just how much ego he had and how ‘manly’ he was!
“Right, let’s get to business - this is important.”
“Yes, Boss.” Angie smirked, and Haden felt a humoured growl run up his throat and escape through his smile.
"I’ll get Nichols for letting that loose. And then I’ll leave you to him... Which for once, I’m sure you won’t enjoy.” Haden’s voice was full of false accusation underlined with mischief, implying just what he intended for Rupert Nichols by letting that retched nickname slip - and with Angie, if it suited her, it was most definitely going to stick no matter how many threats her Alpha made.
“Here goes nothing,” he said under his breath, so low that the cats around couldn’t hear. His own purred it’s agreement, trying to comfort the man, and receiving a mental stroke from it’s human half in return for the soothing effort.
“Haden Joseph Anthony Reece, pleasure to finally meet my own Alpha - if only the circumstances had been slightly different,” the speaking scientist sighed.
Said Alpha didn’t bother with said pleasantries, he was here as Alpha, taking care of a business that shouldn’t be happening in the first place.
“May I dare ask why on earth you have the Hound over your shoulder?” Prissy and pompous, no wonder Haden hadn’t actually spoken to the Cat… he sniffed the air, much to the scientist’s disdain. This SkinJumper isn’t a cat, Haden realised… prey!, his first primal instincts screamed as his beast leapt at it’s frail human flesh restraints, wanting to hold the dominant stag between it’s teeth and show rank.
“Damn,” Angie was quietly chuckling behind Haden, and most likely jabbing Jamie in the stomach, too, “he’s as English as you Jamie - worse even, I’d never thought it possible!” Jamie kept silent, holding back what Haden could only imagine to be a snarl, but he could hear the rough grinding of teeth being clamped together, his jaw must be steel, Haden thought... poor guy.
“Shut it, Angie, unless you want me to throw your feline ass out of here, too?”
She placed a hand on the back of his neck, careful not to touch the Hound, and squeezed.
Haden spoke his approval out loud- “Thank you.” He turned his face slightly towards Angie, calmer through Pack touch along with her promise to keep her mouth closed, and winked at her in a purely cat way.
Haden sensed Angie’s cat practically preening at the open affection of his flirt as he, once again, turned to face the scientist.
“Perhaps,” he mimicked, “I find it amusing when you two old ladies laugh at the absurd sight of a sour mouthed cub. Oh, the horror of it all!” His lips twitched.
Angie stopped twirling a strand of red curly hair around her index finger and stared, gob smacked, at Jamie as he tried to hold in a burst of laughter. And both Haden and Angie were amazed at Jamie’s attempt of a joke, if not from how bad it was, then from the fact that he’d even bothered to try. Haden, for one, had only ever heard him retaliate back at Angie when she’d seriously insulted his ego and ‘manhood’. Now that, Haden mused, had been a good laugh, especially when, as rumoured, Jamie had supposedly shown Angie just how much ego he had and how ‘manly’ he was!
“Right, let’s get to business - this is important.”
“Yes, Boss.” Angie smirked, and Haden felt a humoured growl run up his throat and escape through his smile.
"I’ll get Nichols for letting that loose. And then I’ll leave you to him... Which for once, I’m sure you won’t enjoy.” Haden’s voice was full of false accusation underlined with mischief, implying just what he intended for Rupert Nichols by letting that retched nickname slip - and with Angie, if it suited her, it was most definitely going to stick no matter how many threats her Alpha made.
“Here goes nothing,” he said under his breath, so low that the cats around couldn’t hear. His own purred it’s agreement, trying to comfort the man, and receiving a mental stroke from it’s human half in return for the soothing effort.
“Haden Joseph Anthony Reece, pleasure to finally meet my own Alpha - if only the circumstances had been slightly different,” the speaking scientist sighed.
Said Alpha didn’t bother with said pleasantries, he was here as Alpha, taking care of a business that shouldn’t be happening in the first place.
“May I dare ask why on earth you have the Hound over your shoulder?” Prissy and pompous, no wonder Haden hadn’t actually spoken to the Cat… he sniffed the air, much to the scientist’s disdain. This SkinJumper isn’t a cat, Haden realised… prey!, his first primal instincts screamed as his beast leapt at it’s frail human flesh restraints, wanting to hold the dominant stag between it’s teeth and show rank.
“Damn,” Angie was quietly chuckling behind Haden, and most likely jabbing Jamie in the stomach, too, “he’s as English as you Jamie - worse even, I’d never thought it possible!” Jamie kept silent, holding back what Haden could only imagine to be a snarl, but he could hear the rough grinding of teeth being clamped together, his jaw must be steel, Haden thought... poor guy.
“Shut it, Angie, unless you want me to throw your feline ass out of here, too?”
She placed a hand on the back of his neck, careful not to touch the Hound, and squeezed.
Haden spoke his approval out loud- “Thank you.” He turned his face slightly towards Angie, calmer through Pack touch along with her promise to keep her mouth closed, and winked at her in a purely cat way.
Haden sensed Angie’s cat practically preening at the open affection of his flirt as he, once again, turned to face the scientist.
“Name?”
“I… Claude Vaesting, of the old German Pack SonneGelübde, that’s SunVow in English. Do you want my animal, too? I’m sure you’ve already sniffed me out.” He appeared completely affronted by the bluntness of such a straight question, and that had turned into childishly rude retaliation.
“Listen Claude, I agree with you, meeting under any other circumstance then yeah, I’d be friendly and keep my claws sheathed, but right now?” Haden blew out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, “Right now I have no time for polite acquaintances and only time to hand this Hound over and get as much information out of her as possible.” Thinking of the lengths some of his Packs more far out and reaching scientists took when given a Hound full of juicy information and scientific realisations to play with, Haden’s fist had clenched by the time his miniature speech had concluded. Claude, eyes scandalously flicking to, and then settling on, Haden’s fist, suddenly lost his upper class demeanour, instead falling back into a pinched expression against his tight features. His cheek bones cutting sharp through his slightly stubbled face, as though he hadn’t shaved the previous night or morning, too anxious to get his cleanly cut finger nails on one of the deadliest Hounds in New York - in fact, most likely the top killer; only the age of twenty eight and possessing an unbearable record of 247 kills. Two hundred and forty seven mistakes, Haden thought. And lucky for her, she hadn’t been able to kill one of the most important men in SkinJumper society, in fact, if the file Haden’s Scavenger Dmitri had retrieved was correct, she had in fact killed over fifty of his breed. But saving her pathetically emotionless life, how fortunate that none had been his SkinJumpers, his cats; his Pack. If any one of his Pack had been touched by this Hound, she wouldn’t have only collapsed atop a roof in New York, which, even now, Haden intended to inquire about, but he would have sliced her neck with the small compact knife in his back pocket without hesitation, before thinking about asking questions, and he would have done it with the same cold logic that, given the chance, the Ice would have done, too.
Claude’s light, knowing gaze retreated slightly, to then become piercing in all their pale glory, assessing the stance of his Alpha and the two sentinels silently flanking him, aware of every sound, every fleeting movement the others in the large, private lab made. Haden watched, considerably amused, as the proud stag male before him took in his wide shoulders and heavily muscled chest, seen easily through the slick grey T-shirt he was wearing beneath a rippling black leather jacket. The scientist watched as only an extremely experienced and qualified one such as the likes of Claude Vaesting knew how to do.
Haden recognised him now, or should that be remembered? His thoughts flew back to a time when the SonneGelübde Herd were held in very high regard, a truly respected group in an unlikely control of parts of North America. But something had gone terribly wrong, the honourable Deer had disgracefully been stabbed in the back and they had had to separate, they had had to run. Haden knew the story of how the SkinJumpers in SunVow had been betrayed in their Herds heart, by their version of an Alpha’s mate. She had fallen for the allure of a WaterHound, bewitched by their slickly spoken words and refreshing temptations.
She had been persuaded into believing that her own mate was being un-loyal and that he planned to leave her for a younger, prettier model.
The Hound had driven Sabine to violence acts amidst her Herd, cracking her kind, sweet mind until it was ruined, a distant putrid memory of how she once had been. Water had slid inside of her, become a part of the Deer’s inner being and had tampered with every thought she possessed. The Hound Programme had taken no chances when it had come to the seduction, using their best weapon to infiltrate the loving woman and maddening her so far with dark thoughts and whispers of revenge on her ‘worthless mate’ that it finally drove her over the edge. She had made love to him one last time before brutally murdering Christof in his sleep. Sabine had then called on her WaterHound saviour to tell him of her triumph’s, inviting him to join her inside the blood soaked bed in the middle of the night, only to be greeted with the same death penalty her silent mate had received. An army of IceHounds had then overrun SunVowed territory, killing and slaughtering any SkinJumper that crossed their paths. The Herd had had no choice but to part from one another, to find sanctuary with other Packs - stronger Packs. And it seemed Claude Vaesting had done just that. MidnightWalkers were the top Pack in America, rivalling fiercely with WaveRipplers - wolves that were a constant threat to Haden’s rule. Protecting Pack was of the utmost importance, even when a Pack member had been ‘adopted’ for safety; nothing would stop any Cat from gutting, or, more to their nature, using their claws to rip into shreds, a Hound who dared inflict harm upon any breed of SkinJumper - nothing, not even if they were
wolves.
“I… Claude Vaesting, of the old German Pack SonneGelübde, that’s SunVow in English. Do you want my animal, too? I’m sure you’ve already sniffed me out.” He appeared completely affronted by the bluntness of such a straight question, and that had turned into childishly rude retaliation.
“Listen Claude, I agree with you, meeting under any other circumstance then yeah, I’d be friendly and keep my claws sheathed, but right now?” Haden blew out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, “Right now I have no time for polite acquaintances and only time to hand this Hound over and get as much information out of her as possible.” Thinking of the lengths some of his Packs more far out and reaching scientists took when given a Hound full of juicy information and scientific realisations to play with, Haden’s fist had clenched by the time his miniature speech had concluded. Claude, eyes scandalously flicking to, and then settling on, Haden’s fist, suddenly lost his upper class demeanour, instead falling back into a pinched expression against his tight features. His cheek bones cutting sharp through his slightly stubbled face, as though he hadn’t shaved the previous night or morning, too anxious to get his cleanly cut finger nails on one of the deadliest Hounds in New York - in fact, most likely the top killer; only the age of twenty eight and possessing an unbearable record of 247 kills. Two hundred and forty seven mistakes, Haden thought. And lucky for her, she hadn’t been able to kill one of the most important men in SkinJumper society, in fact, if the file Haden’s Scavenger Dmitri had retrieved was correct, she had in fact killed over fifty of his breed. But saving her pathetically emotionless life, how fortunate that none had been his SkinJumpers, his cats; his Pack. If any one of his Pack had been touched by this Hound, she wouldn’t have only collapsed atop a roof in New York, which, even now, Haden intended to inquire about, but he would have sliced her neck with the small compact knife in his back pocket without hesitation, before thinking about asking questions, and he would have done it with the same cold logic that, given the chance, the Ice would have done, too.
Claude’s light, knowing gaze retreated slightly, to then become piercing in all their pale glory, assessing the stance of his Alpha and the two sentinels silently flanking him, aware of every sound, every fleeting movement the others in the large, private lab made. Haden watched, considerably amused, as the proud stag male before him took in his wide shoulders and heavily muscled chest, seen easily through the slick grey T-shirt he was wearing beneath a rippling black leather jacket. The scientist watched as only an extremely experienced and qualified one such as the likes of Claude Vaesting knew how to do.
Haden recognised him now, or should that be remembered? His thoughts flew back to a time when the SonneGelübde Herd were held in very high regard, a truly respected group in an unlikely control of parts of North America. But something had gone terribly wrong, the honourable Deer had disgracefully been stabbed in the back and they had had to separate, they had had to run. Haden knew the story of how the SkinJumpers in SunVow had been betrayed in their Herds heart, by their version of an Alpha’s mate. She had fallen for the allure of a WaterHound, bewitched by their slickly spoken words and refreshing temptations.
She had been persuaded into believing that her own mate was being un-loyal and that he planned to leave her for a younger, prettier model.
The Hound had driven Sabine to violence acts amidst her Herd, cracking her kind, sweet mind until it was ruined, a distant putrid memory of how she once had been. Water had slid inside of her, become a part of the Deer’s inner being and had tampered with every thought she possessed. The Hound Programme had taken no chances when it had come to the seduction, using their best weapon to infiltrate the loving woman and maddening her so far with dark thoughts and whispers of revenge on her ‘worthless mate’ that it finally drove her over the edge. She had made love to him one last time before brutally murdering Christof in his sleep. Sabine had then called on her WaterHound saviour to tell him of her triumph’s, inviting him to join her inside the blood soaked bed in the middle of the night, only to be greeted with the same death penalty her silent mate had received. An army of IceHounds had then overrun SunVowed territory, killing and slaughtering any SkinJumper that crossed their paths. The Herd had had no choice but to part from one another, to find sanctuary with other Packs - stronger Packs. And it seemed Claude Vaesting had done just that. MidnightWalkers were the top Pack in America, rivalling fiercely with WaveRipplers - wolves that were a constant threat to Haden’s rule. Protecting Pack was of the utmost importance, even when a Pack member had been ‘adopted’ for safety; nothing would stop any Cat from gutting, or, more to their nature, using their claws to rip into shreds, a Hound who dared inflict harm upon any breed of SkinJumper - nothing, not even if they were
wolves.
“Well, we’d best begin then.” Claude motioned for Haden and his entourage to walk further into the room, signalling to a younger boy, about Tike’s age, to bring forward three chairs. Haden and Jamie both stood, but Angie, after sending Haden the eyes, mussed the boy’s hair when he ducked it in embarrassment, sat down slowly to watch the sudden teenage interest spark in his low slung eyes, and blew the puffing cub an air kiss that caused him to knock into a lab table and Claude to bark out something indisputable in German that had obviously been translated for the other scientist in the room; they all tried, and failed miserably, to hold in their laughter at whatever profanity had come from Claude’s lips and the retreating figure of the blushing apprentice.
“Hold your tongues,” he stormed.
It appeared that Claude was the Alpha here… or is it just Stag?, Haden pondered. Considering he is a deer - I’ll get Dmitri to find out.
Jamie stood watch just behind Angie; facing the door to be prepared for any intrusions whilst still having the entire lab in full view. Haden had watched the hand closest to Angie flex when walking to stand behind her chair, and he forgot all his duties in that moment, wanting to ask his friend why his jaw was now clenched tight and why his eyes were becoming vacant - guarded, clouding up with regret. Haden felt as though Jamie’s thoughts were far away, reliving a past Haden still struggled to understand. Still, too, in the present, focused, yet - distant.
The slight clearing of a throat caught by the sensitive drums inside Haden’s Cat ears pulled him from his reverie and had him unconsciously manoeuvring the Hound once again into his arms. Claude’s aquiline eyes zeroed in on the move, and before his open mouth could excrete any sound, Haden was already striding towards him. His Beast was satisfied with the Stag’s almost disobedience of tongue when Claude’s Adam’s apple bopped nervously in his short, stubby throat.
“Where’d you want her, then?”
“Over on the examination table - I want to get a good look at the thing before we proceed with the experiments… or anything else.” Haden stopped short in his pace towards the table, a sudden, uncontrollable rage spilling through his veins and boiling around his heart.
“She’s not a thing,” Haden snarled low under his breath. He left his tone quiet enough for Claude to hear the undercurrent of threat, the minute blades that scratched alone the Stag’s perfect skin.
The same surge of protectiveness Haden had felt when looking down into the Ice’s defenceless face surged within him at the sound of such a beautiful being being labelled as something other… She is other, an old, quiet part of himself whispered, just like the last one who watered your heart.
When the Hound was lying flat back against the examination table, Claude grunted under his breath about how the limited space would hamper with his work, and Haden, after hearing the implied desire, immediately caught eyes with both Jamie and Angie, the meaning of the contact loud and clear between Alpha and Sentinel. The two Cats left within the minute, but, Angie being Angie, of course couldn’t leave without enquiring after the young Cub she’d played with to a slender scientist who appeared to be in the earlier stage of her twenties.
“Who? Kyle? - Brown, floppy hair that you just want to run your hands through?” Angie nodded. “Then yeah, that was Kyle.” The tall, blonde scientist blushed a sweet cherry shade across the tips of her model-like cheekbones as Angie sent another air kiss in Kyle’s direction, asking the girl - “Mickie; everyone calls me Mickie,” to be certain that the kiss met Kyle ‘Shmack on the lips, honey!’
Mickie looked after Angie and Jamie as they walked swiftly away from the lab and through the corridor that lead to the normal section of the Medical and Science building, the one where workers and patients were completely unaware of the technologies and experiments present down the end of the dark, PRIVATE corridor.
“Mickie,” Claude called as he began to slowly peel away the sweaty, wet clothes on the Hound‘s body, “make use of your SJ’s speed, dear girl, and fetch me some scientific equipment - I'll put it onto your report the choices you chose - and medicines... strong ones... one's that'll put this non-thing,” a sneer, "to sleep properly for a while."
Haden’s beast leapt at it’s cage then, staring with absolute precision at the roaming hands of Claude Vaesting, wanting to rip the stag’s throat out from it’s neck within a heartbeat. Instead of giving in to the dark temptation a Cat like Haden’s induced, he simply stood to attention on the opposite side of the medical table the Hound lay in defeat upon. His Cat hissed at such a lack in power, and as the hairs pricked up on Claude’s arms, the SkinJumpers’ eyes clashed with one another’s. Claude’s latex glove-covered fingers were itching towards the back of the Hounds flesh coloured bra, and Haden couldn’t control himself. He flicked away the scientist’s hands with enough force to crush bone, and as he heard the satisfying crunch and whimper of pain from suddenly white lips, replaced the empty space where Claude’s hands had been with his own.Haden could’ve sworn he saw something swim behind that pale gaze as he took up Claude’s position leaning over the Hound, something full of malice, like a hatred so strong that it couldn’t be contained behind the business-like composure of a big-headed scientist. Something that was gone in an instant, as though it had never been there to begin with, and Haden simply put it down to the pressure banging at the back of his head, the tell-tale signs of a pounding headache just waiting to make an appearance, and as nothing more than the adrenaline of the entire day finally taking it’s toll upon his mental and soon, most likely, his physical state, too.
"There you are, my girl!" The cheery, wide eyed mask returned as young Mickie entered back into the lab from what appeared to be a small supply closet. "Why don't you put all that down over there and come help Mr. Reece remove these sodden clothes? I can't work like this, their wetness may impede the stability of any possible results."
“Yes, sir. Right away.” Mickie stumbled over to Haden after carefully placing the petite tray of medical drugs onto the table by Claude’s hanging science jacket and gloves. She stood by his side, though careful not to brush against him, his prowling Beast easily recognisable in the sharp shine to his mossy green eyes, the tension blade caught between his shoulders, and the way he watched her touch the Hounds skin with a false laziness, his Cat a feral snipe beneath the gleam his eyes held.
“Mr. Reece?” Young Mickie’s voice sounded distant to Haden’s ears, his thoughts on the pale face of a being who had pulled on his protection strings. He mentally shook himself as the cub called him again, her tone that of one full to the brim with wariness. Haden smiled to the girl, the curve of his lips strengthening when yet another blush bloomed across her cheeks. Hugging Mickie close to him in a quick, reassuring move, Haden leant down to speak into her ear, “Sorry, Mick. I’m tired, is all.” She nodded in understanding, snuggling closer into his hold as Pack mates do when caring for their Alpha. Haden felt his heart squeeze at the thought of his Pack caring for him, a laugh threatening to be tugged from his lips. He nipped at the lobe of Mickie’s ear before placing a final anchoring kiss on top of the nip - a final reassurance that her Alpha was truly ok.
The sound of a throat clearing yanked Mickie from Haden’s arms as she fell back into rushed work.
“If you wouldn’t mind my disappearance for a minute or two, I’m afraid I must attend to finding a brace for my hand.” At Mickie’s confused and, surprisingly worried expression, Claude added, “Don’t fret, my dear, I seem to have-” a flickering glance towards Haden… his Beast snarled in skinned silence-“only mildly sprained it. I’ll be back in tip-top condition soon enough.”
"Yes, sir, of course that's fine." She hesitated, obviously contemplating her next words, "Would you want any assistance?" Mickie paused in the removal of the Hounds hair tie, smiling a thanks as Haden took up the neglected job of pulling free her thick curls.
"Do I look incapable of wrapping a single bandage?!" Claude snapped, his tone sharp and unforgiving. No wonder the poor girl jumps in her skin at the sight of him.
"I'm quite assured, Dr. Vaesting, that you are very much able to do so," Haden fisted a hand in the Hounds hair, finding a strange comfort in it's lemony scent and through the coarse strands that ran over his knuckles upon tightening his hand. He made a concious effort to release anchoring grip on the Hound, angling himself slightly in front of Mickie, not so much as to show her weak, but to be prepared for any figure of attack. He squeezed a safe hand on the back of her neck in protection, though his tone of voice was light and friendly, on the brink even, of being patronising - as though he scolded an insecure child, "Mickie was simply being thoughtful towards the intricacies involved when bracing a hand... In fact, you currently being-" he paused, eyes assessing the limp curl of the fingers on his left hand being cradled by the palm of his right- "handicapped, I think, in the end, you will very much appreciate your apprentice's consideration."
Silence.
CHAPTER FIVE:
The very room seemed full to the brim with tension and an apprehension as to what the response of a collected Stag who prides himself with a status of "the top of the hierarchy" would be.
A choked laugh was pulled from Claude’s lips, his eyes slitting so slightly, pride billowing out the beats of his chest from his inner animal. Haden understood the sudden test, he had hurt the pride of a Stag and, therefore, was left to deal with the consequences.
“Haden!” Angie was knocking on the lab door, oblivious to the saviour status she had must made herself by preventing the great mistake Claude was about to make. “Haden, your dad’s here - he wants permission to come down… Says you might be having some trouble… ‘holding it together.’” Angie recited the end with a hesitant, though no doubt curious note to her silky voice, “Can I let him down?” She asked after opening a gap through the door and peering her head inside. Her quizzical expression tenses as she took in the mess apparent in the lab - Claude’s face was slowly de-fuming, Haden felt Mickie let loose the capturing grip she had, unknown to him, had on his arm as Angie’s eyes skated across the connection. Haden saw the young apprentice flinch when Angie stepped fully into the room, and he thought it sad that such a bright spark had been trampled on by the Doctor so much that simple movement caused her worry. The resonating sound of Angie’s heels clicking against the green tiled floor finally shook Claude completely out of his tall, chest billowing stance and back into, once again, the submissive, polite but outspoken scientist he was.
“I do beg your pardon, Miss Karophé, but could you repeat - oh, you seem surprised by my knowledge towards your name. How silly of me! Of course, being a different breed of SkinJumper and, furthermore, being, as you say, ‘adopted’ into MidnightWalker, I but took it upon myself to become fully acquainted with the names of those in my new Pack. Naturally, you my dear, being a Sentinel, it only seemed adequate that you should be on the list of those I enquired after.” His ending smile was slick, glinting white against the artificial light hanging loosely from the ceiling.
Angie and Haden both shifted on their feet, Haden and his Beast outraged towards the man’s secrecy, and a large furrow replicating a scowl was becoming present atop Angie’s forehead. She hides it well, Haden countered - she pushed forward with a beaming smile and a flirtatious flick of her deep ebony coloured hair.
“Naturally,” was her only reply, a reflective response of how Claude had ended his deceiving monologue.
Haden sensed it before he heard it - a shuddering caress of absolute pain crawled it’s way down his spine just as a curtain of darkness was skimming across the lens of his eyes… eyes burning with a passion equated to that of unshed tears.
And that was when he heard it… the scream.
CHAPTER SIX:
Haden turned to the devastating sight of a Hound arching in silent agony before falling back onto the hard slab of metal she was lying upon. A lake of tears were swelling over the reddening slope of the Hounds cheek, and her open eyes revealed a thunderous turbulence of grey cloud, the pupil having shrunk into the size of a pin-head so small that it appeared completely smothered by her storming irises.
"Haden!" - Fingers clawing into palms. Arms writhing, punching out into the empty air.
"Mickie, pin her down! Haden, help us!" - A sheen of sweat covering a face contorted with agony.
Breath failing.
Eyes slowly closing, crying blood.
A Hound savagely dying.
No!
"Move Angie! Get out of my way!" Haden's roar reverberated against the walls, causing Angie to wince at the feral tone just as his hands turned to complete claws as he threw her from his path. Her squeal of pain as her small body crashed into a rack of sharp utensils was a distant connection to Haden's conscious, for his soul focus was that of the Hound who had enraged his most primal instincts of protection with only the erratic sound of her frightened heartbeat as he'd stolen her away for the safety of his people and the life of their most trusted speaker amongst humans. Without the smiling face of Hugh Larton out in the open, talking with easy charm and humour, then SkinJumpers would once again fall to the label of 'abomination', their true identity hidden beneath false accusations and fear.
His vision was a breaking haze as another piercing scream cut through the air, and balance became a hard task to conquer from the loss in sight.
"Mr. Reece, she needs to be sedated." Claude practical voice was a slap in the face as Haden found himself leaning over the Hound in a futile attempt of holding down her arms whilst trying to bring her back into the correct state of consciousness. "You must let me get to her or the Hound may end up killing itself." Another hit, this time a verbal punch in the stomach.
"Do you know why this is happening?" He shouted over his shoulder, barely aware of Angie rising unsteadily to her feet with Mickie acting as a helping hand. She swore at the blood clotting her hand as Angie touched the back of her head with light fingertips, and Haden felt a minute sense of clarity and sorrow towards his rash actions against his wildfire friend before he was once again consumed by a cold, animalistic surge of protectiveness.
"That's not a conversation for now," Claude was moving cautiously closer, a syringe held tight by his side, "At this second the most important thing you need to know is that, by not moving, you are essentially murdering my patient. I must sedate her - I must reach her." The doctor's face twisted in fury when Haden continued his pointless exertion, "Now!"
Frankly, Haden was in no position as of late to be the cause of a murder, even if the effects of this particular Hounds death would ripple catastrophe through the Programme and give his and many other ruling Packs the opportune chance to attack at the strike of sudden weakness and remove the Elements from the world once and for all. Like a bug crawling with the constant click-click of it's feet scuttling over dirty floors, they had to be squashed.
But here was the problem; Haden let this Hound die at the expense of many Pack members when they attack, or they went with the original plan - take all information about the Programme from the one Hound who had knowledge of all it's hidden secrets. She either gave them willingly - or the information would be taken by the most brutal of forces.
A striking white light of luminescence caught Haden's attention from the corner of his eye then, and as he turned, he was faced with the Hound's representational 'Ice' markings more than just the colour of black tattoo ink, but literally burning with white fire. The slight rose inside the center of her torso was a bright flame beneath her skin, and it was exuding spits of it's poison through the thorns that wrapped around her body.
"What is that?" He whispered, nearly silent to his still wringing ears, but Claude was close enough now that his Stag's hearing was capable of hearing Haden's rough whisper.
"That," he stepped forward past Haden's frozen frame, "is the reason the Hound is dying." And he plunged the length of the syringe's needle straight into the burning heart of the rose.
"Haden!" - Fingers clawing into palms. Arms writhing, punching out into the empty air.
"Mickie, pin her down! Haden, help us!" - A sheen of sweat covering a face contorted with agony.
Breath failing.
Eyes slowly closing, crying blood.
A Hound savagely dying.
No!
"Move Angie! Get out of my way!" Haden's roar reverberated against the walls, causing Angie to wince at the feral tone just as his hands turned to complete claws as he threw her from his path. Her squeal of pain as her small body crashed into a rack of sharp utensils was a distant connection to Haden's conscious, for his soul focus was that of the Hound who had enraged his most primal instincts of protection with only the erratic sound of her frightened heartbeat as he'd stolen her away for the safety of his people and the life of their most trusted speaker amongst humans. Without the smiling face of Hugh Larton out in the open, talking with easy charm and humour, then SkinJumpers would once again fall to the label of 'abomination', their true identity hidden beneath false accusations and fear.
His vision was a breaking haze as another piercing scream cut through the air, and balance became a hard task to conquer from the loss in sight.
"Mr. Reece, she needs to be sedated." Claude practical voice was a slap in the face as Haden found himself leaning over the Hound in a futile attempt of holding down her arms whilst trying to bring her back into the correct state of consciousness. "You must let me get to her or the Hound may end up killing itself." Another hit, this time a verbal punch in the stomach.
"Do you know why this is happening?" He shouted over his shoulder, barely aware of Angie rising unsteadily to her feet with Mickie acting as a helping hand. She swore at the blood clotting her hand as Angie touched the back of her head with light fingertips, and Haden felt a minute sense of clarity and sorrow towards his rash actions against his wildfire friend before he was once again consumed by a cold, animalistic surge of protectiveness.
"That's not a conversation for now," Claude was moving cautiously closer, a syringe held tight by his side, "At this second the most important thing you need to know is that, by not moving, you are essentially murdering my patient. I must sedate her - I must reach her." The doctor's face twisted in fury when Haden continued his pointless exertion, "Now!"
Frankly, Haden was in no position as of late to be the cause of a murder, even if the effects of this particular Hounds death would ripple catastrophe through the Programme and give his and many other ruling Packs the opportune chance to attack at the strike of sudden weakness and remove the Elements from the world once and for all. Like a bug crawling with the constant click-click of it's feet scuttling over dirty floors, they had to be squashed.
But here was the problem; Haden let this Hound die at the expense of many Pack members when they attack, or they went with the original plan - take all information about the Programme from the one Hound who had knowledge of all it's hidden secrets. She either gave them willingly - or the information would be taken by the most brutal of forces.
A striking white light of luminescence caught Haden's attention from the corner of his eye then, and as he turned, he was faced with the Hound's representational 'Ice' markings more than just the colour of black tattoo ink, but literally burning with white fire. The slight rose inside the center of her torso was a bright flame beneath her skin, and it was exuding spits of it's poison through the thorns that wrapped around her body.
"What is that?" He whispered, nearly silent to his still wringing ears, but Claude was close enough now that his Stag's hearing was capable of hearing Haden's rough whisper.
"That," he stepped forward past Haden's frozen frame, "is the reason the Hound is dying." And he plunged the length of the syringe's needle straight into the burning heart of the rose.
CHAPTER SEVEN:
Tamra felt such agonising pain. Her very skin seemed to be sizzling at incandescent levels, pulled taught over bones that could have been breaking - tearing apart crack by torturous crack.
Another scream was pulled from between her teeth as the burning flame touched the outer rim of her failing heart. It licked across each nerve, poisoning any feeling in the tips of her fingers. She felt her arms fall limp to her sides, their spastic shots of movement stopped by the numbing burn racing through her veins.
Behind closed eyelids, Tamra was seeing stars. They flew through the course of their lives, from being born inside a bright, magical silhouetted nebula, to dying amongst a cloud of red smoke and combusting into flames. Some shone with colours she had no name for, whilst others stayed constant in their solitary status, confined to a life of isolation amongst the ever-growing darkness of space. Her back arched once more in what she prayed would be the end of her suffering. Why is this happening?! Tamra’s mind raced in confusion. I don’t understand!
It was when an icy slither began working it’s away into the bright sparks, enclosing each rainbow of colour into a tomb of cold confinement that Tamra finally felt the receding ache of the monstrous poison inside her. Each star’s light flickered out, and the heavy lull of her battered heart fell flat for an instant, before coming to life with a spectacular leap of power. She felt it’s resonating pound inside her head, and the continuous drum beat seemed to time the retreat of the black void the pain had presented by consuming the only light amidst the excruciating misery Tamra was tangled in. All strong thumps of her feebly beating heart sent blood to a single point upon Tamra’s torso, and she tried to life her head to see why a specific part of her body still burned; still felt like it was trying to conquer the soul of Tamra Markosa.
She felt a mystifying amount of pressure circling inside her head, weighing down any hope there had been of moving, and just as her thoughts began to process her current state beneath the heavy blanket of strain, Tamra felt the ball of fire explode in a final wave of triumph. It’s speed descending over and through her so fast that she didn’t even have enough time to open her mouth and scream out for help when the icky, sharp strands of extremely pained ice caught hold of Tamra’s weak heart and threw her into the ongoing darkness of a timeless space behind closed eyes.
CHAPTER EIGHT:
Haden saw red. He watched as Claude shot the needle straight into the IceMark of the Hound he had felt such a ferocious need to protect it nearly blinded him. The sedative, one that had to be so very powerful, seemed to fly through the woman, short-circuiting her system and sending her into a limp, sweaty heap upon the cold and hard surface of the examination table.
Haden’s Beast leapt at it’s feeble human restraints, clawing at the insides of his skin with a power that sent most Jumpers running for cover, tails hung pathetically between their legs - literally. He wanted to turn all his current anger into action, and like a spring, without thought, he snapped into motion.
Turning with inhuman speed, Haden’s unexplainable rage was a tangible thing. His Animal senses buzzed to become fully alert, and the movement of sweet, innocent young Mickie kindly retrieving a towel for the ongoing bleeding of Angie’s head, unaware of the turbulence tearing way inside him, completely sent Haden over the edge.
“Mine!” He roared, freezing both Mickie and Angie in their tracks; Mickie from being the considerate ‘nurse’ she trained to be, and Angie from pulling through any pain, ignoring it as best she could until the job at hand was done.
“As to what do you refer, Mr. Ree-.” Claude was unable to finish, his words silenced by the hand that was wrapped around his throat.
Claude’s neck spilled over the rim of Haden’s hand, bulging and quaking as he grappled for breath. His eyes turned bloodshot, sparkling bright with tears that wouldn’t fall. A single hand scratched at Haden’s hold, making no ease with the pressure he was fighting against, but over and over again the scientist tried, the speed of his Jumper working on overload. But without the ability for his move to Jump into his Animal, Claude was left to work with only his human shell.
A part of Haden watched from a type of outer-body experience, seeing himself through eyes that weren't tainted by anger. Haden knew he was watching through Angie's, it was one of the many Tricks an Alpha was blessed with - in times of struggle via his own mind, all Alpha's are able to grasp the threads of any member of their Pack within a certain distance. Unknown though, was who the searcher would take a hold of, it's a way of enlightenment when an Alpha becomes lost in some situations, to see himself through another's perspective allows them to pull themselves back into their own mind. And as of now, Haden could feel the pain of a large cut ripping at the back of his... her head, and a wave of nausea blanket her head that Angie quickly brushed away as she stepped towards the mess before her. Haden saw himself with a hand wrapped firm around Dr. Vaesting's throat, sweat dripping down the Stag's face as he loitered between conscious and unconsciousness. Unaware of his presence inside of her mind, Angie rushed forward to Haden's side, giving him a full view of himself as she tried to reason with him - Angie knew any type of physical effort would be a pointless exercise, her strength matched against an Alpha's was minuscule, attempting to reach him through speech and the bonds of Pack were her only choices.
"Haden..." Her voice was soft, though no less panicked as Haden forged ahead with his outtake of anger towards the doctor. He looked through the eyes of friendship at the state his true form was in; ragged, sharp features upon a heavily breathing face. A mouth set in a snarl, grimacing as he grunted against the weakening struggles of the man he held within a vice. Realisation hit - he looked like a monster, the quiet, rogue part of every SkinJumpers Animal risen to the surface, feasting on the weakness of a Jumper who's heart had been squashed when his Herd fell apart. Easy prey. A dish served atop a excuse of protection for another monster. An IceHound had caused the darkness within him to stir and harm an adopted member of his family, and never again would he let that happen, he had sworn by it many years ago when a WaterHound had tried to do what had been done to the SonneGelübde Herd - tear it apart through it's very core. And they had come so very close to falling, until the final Trick given to an Alpha had presented itself, one he was now having to use again after binding himself to the belief that he would never fall again into the blindness where he would need it.
Closing his own psychic eye against Angie's mind, Haden strained forward with mental claws as he'd been taught to do and grabbed hold of his actual state of being. He did so by shutting off all though and emotion he felt at that moment. It took leaps and bounds of concentration, and the sound of water rushing through his ears and the foul stench of perspiration stinging amongst his nostrils opened Haden's eyes with a lurch. He was faced with more than he had expected, i.e. the thoughts he'd recovered in sanity thanks to Angie in stark contrast against those already set in his own mind. Ones that told him to squeeze his hand harder, to release his claws and slash at the Stag's frame; tear him apart piece by painful piece until he screamed and writhed for mercy from his superior.
Giving himself a mental slap, Haden let loose a small, final piece of his intolerable angr by slamming Claude by the collar of his white lab coat against the hard wall. His head gave a satisfying crack just as a villainous snarl crawled in pleasure out from Haden's lips. Claude's eyes glazed over in pain, rolling around in their sockets with a stroll of insanity. He shoved him aside, turning to place a reassuring hand on Angie's shoulder. To her credit, she didn't flinch, and Haden had expected - trusted - that she wouldn't, but a flash of concern worried her brow, for two quick little lines indented above her nose and Haden moved his hand from her shoulder to her cheek, rubbing the soft mound gently with his thumb.
"Go fetch my father, Angie. Give yourself some time to clean up, too." His voice was coarse, his Beast still very much present beneath the surface.
"What about Mickie?" The girl gave a startled whimper at the mention of her name, and fear was radiating off the apprentice as Haden and Angie stepped towards her. Her eyes flicked between the two Jumper's, unknowing towards the cause of her Alpha's anger and afraid it may soon be directed at her, and confusion at the obvious calm coming from Angie even after Haden had thrown her aside with the ease of a rag doll.
Haden pursed his lips in thought, before saying, "Have Tike practice his new Trick," the words were full of implication, his intention that the soldier should try and entrance Mickie into forgetting what she had seen here. It was a cold and calculating decision. "But for now, I'm gonna need you to help me for a bit, Mickie," he dropped the usual roughness of his voice to a low, soothing hum, "is that OK?"
Her deep eyes still churned in confusion, melting to a shade of midnight forests. They continued their flickering, but now included both her rude, obnoxious boss rolling in a pathetic lump on the floor, and the finally quiet killer with smooth, porcelain skin and hair the colour of the night sedated on top of the examination table. Settling, after a long, tense silence on Haden, they filled with a fierce kind of resolve that sent pride shooting up his spine. Perhaps we won't use Tike after all.
"OK," she said, head nodding vigorously and voice without the faintest of tremors.
"Thanks honey, you're doing us a real favour," Angie said, arms outstretched as she went for a sisterly hug. Mickie fell straight into her embrace, relaxed in a way Haden envied. I can't have that, he thought, I hate that I can't have that.
Aware of Angie rushing out and down the hallway, Haden began directing Mickie in a tone of pure Alpha. The instructions seemed to calm her even more, "Mickie, I need you to wipe away the blood from her body, pull back and tie her hair and call me as soon as that's done. I'll give more orders after."
"'Her'?" She queried.
"The Hound, Mickie."
"Yes, Haden..." She scrambled, "Sorry." About to turn away, she paused, "What'll you be doing?" Curiosity had sparked, and Haden felt his lips twitch despite the situation, humour letting him tease the young Jumper, "I'll be finding a dumpster for Dr. Vaesting." He growled with the fun part of his Animal, his dry humour coming into play.
Taken the complete wrong way, the familiar to his close friends humour didn't meet halfway with Mickie. Her general persona had visibly heightened since Haden had relaxed, after seeing through Angie the monster he was portraying himself as, but after his latest comment, her face had once again become a deathly white shade, blanching with her mouth dropped wide open and her fingers twitching by her side, as though she was just aching for a way to run from the room.
Haden sighed, long and heavy, "Let's just get to work."
CHAPTER NINE:
2065 - 10 YEARS AGO
“Excuse me, um, I’m here for the-”
“Tamra Markosa. Yes, we know why you’re here,” the receptionist said, utter defiance tinged knowledge withering inside his thin eyes, “Please, take a seat and I’ll call in for you.”
Nodding, Tamra walked to the settle herself in a row of soft, plump red waiting chairs. She felt nervous shake of her fingers begin to double, and chose to clench her fists tight along the bent table of her thighs. Physically and mentally calming herself, Tamra began counting down the minutes in her head, and allowed her eyes to flicker around the building, absently clocking the nearest exits. The time, she noted whilst checking her watch, was one o’clock in the afternoon. She was five minutes early.
There was a plain white door across the room, and she found it’s simplicity laughable compared to the ornate grandness of what surrounded her. First walking into the building, Tamra had had to control the admiring rush she’d felt at seeing such riches in any one place. The floor appeared to have been one single block of marble, hinting at specks of gold that fluttered delightfully over it’s reflective surface. Every wall was covered in decoration, from pictures that held bold stories she didn’t have the time or patience to decipher, to individually placed rows of ornaments that shone in the many shades of ancient pasts. Many of the paintings were envisioned clearly under the same genre. They focused on a faceless man standing atop mounds of Earth. From where he stood, mauled veins of dead grass spread out from beneath his feet. He appeared, in all portrayals, to be physically connected to the ground he stood upon, his bare feet tucked between wilting petals and browning leaves of the undergrowth. The faceless man radiated a sense of power and authority, and Tamra had barely recognised his symbolism before the violating scene of the painting next to it stole her breath away. The faceless man was once depicted as a copy as seen on all other images, and was as emotionally alone and superior in this piece as he was in all others, too. But in stark contrast, though the leading man stayed anonymous, only the complete opposite could be said for the hundreds of tortured people crowded before him. Their faces had been drawn with magnificent accuracy, as though the artist had spent his entire life’s work catching each separate essence of terror and fear onto his canvas. Every brush stroke emphasised the cold cute along the people’s arms, or the battered bodies of pale, sickly skinned victims sprawled in inhuman positions on the hard, sharp-stoned cobble floor. Inspiration tells it’s own story, she thought in defiance.
If there had been a face to their murderer, Tamra knew it would have been smiling.
“Miss. Markosa?” The desk clerk sneered, his nub face indifferent to the obvious fact that Tamra was the only person waiting for an appointment. A small meeting in plain contradiction to the discussion of her very future.
Tamra stood abruptly, discreetly swelling, as she had spent her entire life practicing to do, the choke of pity lodged in her throat for the images of a sad artists imagination.
The sound of her shoes clapped against the marble floor, resonating with a bodacious echo that made Tamra feel suddenly self-conscious, as though all eyes had turned upon her.
She smiled in quiet acknowledgement of herself at the receptionist as his round, beady eyes ran over her appearance with obvious disdain. Tamra was wearing the same clothes her father had finally kicked her out of the house in. A pair of dirty cotton huggers were slung low on her hips, and crusted tennis shoes were tight on her feet. They had left haggard marks atop the surface of the pristinely clean floor, and only then did Tamra begin to contemplate how far out of her league she was. Finishing the clothing ensemble, was a second-hand jumper Tamra had once found in her old houses’ attic. It hadn’t belonged to Charlotte, her step-mum, or Tamra’s younger sister, Melody. The only explanation had to have been an old remnant of her real mothers memory.
“But Charlotte’s our mama,” Melody had cried when a once bright faced Tamra had told seven-year-old Melody of her discovery. Her sister hadn’t understood the sentimentality of a “stinky wumper,” didn’t grasp how Tamra had dreamed of a comforting mother’s touch her entire life - having a father that takes any and every opportunity to squash her need for a dad or the feeling of belonging to a family wasn’t something innocent Melody had ever been able to relate with. She was loved full-heartedly by their father. Nothing Tamra said made any indent into the pairs relationship. Instead, Tamra had been met with the verbal abuse she received alone, biting her tongue in silent acquiesce until that wasn’t good enough anymore. She’d been told - ordered, really - to fight back. To make some sort of spirit and flame against her father. But Tamra had refused each offer, slowly becoming the cold, hard shell she often played many times in her pathetic excuse for a childhood. Her father had laughed at her frozen ‘inability’ to defend herself, “Pathetic girl,” he would spit, “afraid of your own father?” And eventually: “I’ll give you something to be afraid of.” He began to push her, slap her, violence and pain his only intent and violence and pain Tamra’s only company. And all because she screamed to keep a lilac coloured jumper that belonged to her mother.
Holding back the choke of the memory, Tamra did what is had taken her eighteen slaying years of hell to do - she forgot parts of her life, blanketing them in pockets of empty darkness inside her mind. The steel of her spine soon rose, and with it her confidence grew. Right now, the loss of a family in her past was forgotten. In Tamra’s hardening eyes, she had always been alone, and she needed no-one. She was strong; a cold, fighting spirit no man would ever try to break.
Tamra walked with purpose towards the receptionist desk, staring at him straight in the eye as the pompous worked handed her a blankly written clipboard.
“Sign your name.” He said. Then, proceeding to pause, added slowly, “Please.”
“Uh huh, and what do you want me to sign with? Do you see me holding a pen?”
The man blanched at the coldness in her voice, scrambling blindly to gather his bearings as the ice of Tamra’s eyes finally made legitimate contact with his own.
Reaching far beneath the desk the receptionist sat behind, he pulled back with an elegantly formed black pen in his hands. Tamra took it from the implying grasp with a stiff jerk of her arm. The pen itself, she noted, would most likely cost more than all the jewellery laced across her step-mothers fingers. Reminders from Tamra’s father as to who he favoured in his family. Melody was prized most of all, but against her sister there was no jealousy - only a furious love she held secret for, not her own sake, but Melody’s. His actions were cheap, in more than one way, but effective; Tamra had understood all implications.
“What Element you here for, then?” A voice caught Tamra by surprise, as a boy of similar age came out from the white door behind her. He stood proud in it’s frame, measuring an easy six foot against the eye, before gliding silently towards the reception desk. The white door closed soundlessly after him.
“Something called none of your damn business,” Tamra sliced as she turned back around to pass back the disheartening pen to a suddenly jaw-slacked desk clerk.
The boy laughed, finding obvious pleasure in Tamra’s retort, and it’s sound bled over her. It tasted dark and full of things she’d never dared taste before. She thought it felt as if fur was rubbing thick against her consciously initiated icy shell, and she was forced to resist the fierce shiver of delights that she wanted to let free up her spine. Tamra sensed his smile by the warning prickles on the back of her neck, and she immediately threw up wall upon wall of resistance, testing her limits for an emotionless psyche against a male she’d never before spoken to in her life.
It soon worked - a lifetime of practice and hard experience doing her proud. The strange feelings began slipping off the shield Tamra wore like armour, dripping away from her as the charm of the boy soon failed to reach her. She looked pointedly at the receptionist - Tag, further inspection of his name badge revealed - deliberately ignoring the anonymous boy and wanting the clerk to quickly tell her what happened now, where did she go, who does she talk to and had he spoken to anyone? They were all questions Tamra wanted answered, and they could be seen clearly in her grey gaze as she stared at him.
Smooth hands slid over Tamra’s covered arms, slipping solo until they met her own. The boy greeted hard fists with a light chuckle, gently plying each finger outwards and into his own. Tamra stood frozen, still, she’d had many encounters with someone unknown or hauntingly familiar touching her. She knew the exhausting drill - hold out till the end, and soon it will go away. That’s what mum promises when I dream of her.
But here and now, in the ElementalHound building, her response seemed atomic, as though the logical, self-empowering surge she felt boiling inside of her was as natural as breathing.
The male behind her breathed slowly, exhaling along a tickle of air towards Tamra’s solid state, “IceHound.”
And she pounced.
A part of Haden watched from a type of outer-body experience, seeing himself through eyes that weren't tainted by anger. Haden knew he was watching through Angie's, it was one of the many Tricks an Alpha was blessed with - in times of struggle via his own mind, all Alpha's are able to grasp the threads of any member of their Pack within a certain distance. Unknown though, was who the searcher would take a hold of, it's a way of enlightenment when an Alpha becomes lost in some situations, to see himself through another's perspective allows them to pull themselves back into their own mind. And as of now, Haden could feel the pain of a large cut ripping at the back of his... her head, and a wave of nausea blanket her head that Angie quickly brushed away as she stepped towards the mess before her. Haden saw himself with a hand wrapped firm around Dr. Vaesting's throat, sweat dripping down the Stag's face as he loitered between conscious and unconsciousness. Unaware of his presence inside of her mind, Angie rushed forward to Haden's side, giving him a full view of himself as she tried to reason with him - Angie knew any type of physical effort would be a pointless exercise, her strength matched against an Alpha's was minuscule, attempting to reach him through speech and the bonds of Pack were her only choices.
"Haden..." Her voice was soft, though no less panicked as Haden forged ahead with his outtake of anger towards the doctor. He looked through the eyes of friendship at the state his true form was in; ragged, sharp features upon a heavily breathing face. A mouth set in a snarl, grimacing as he grunted against the weakening struggles of the man he held within a vice. Realisation hit - he looked like a monster, the quiet, rogue part of every SkinJumpers Animal risen to the surface, feasting on the weakness of a Jumper who's heart had been squashed when his Herd fell apart. Easy prey. A dish served atop a excuse of protection for another monster. An IceHound had caused the darkness within him to stir and harm an adopted member of his family, and never again would he let that happen, he had sworn by it many years ago when a WaterHound had tried to do what had been done to the SonneGelübde Herd - tear it apart through it's very core. And they had come so very close to falling, until the final Trick given to an Alpha had presented itself, one he was now having to use again after binding himself to the belief that he would never fall again into the blindness where he would need it.
Closing his own psychic eye against Angie's mind, Haden strained forward with mental claws as he'd been taught to do and grabbed hold of his actual state of being. He did so by shutting off all though and emotion he felt at that moment. It took leaps and bounds of concentration, and the sound of water rushing through his ears and the foul stench of perspiration stinging amongst his nostrils opened Haden's eyes with a lurch. He was faced with more than he had expected, i.e. the thoughts he'd recovered in sanity thanks to Angie in stark contrast against those already set in his own mind. Ones that told him to squeeze his hand harder, to release his claws and slash at the Stag's frame; tear him apart piece by painful piece until he screamed and writhed for mercy from his superior.
Giving himself a mental slap, Haden let loose a small, final piece of his intolerable angr by slamming Claude by the collar of his white lab coat against the hard wall. His head gave a satisfying crack just as a villainous snarl crawled in pleasure out from Haden's lips. Claude's eyes glazed over in pain, rolling around in their sockets with a stroll of insanity. He shoved him aside, turning to place a reassuring hand on Angie's shoulder. To her credit, she didn't flinch, and Haden had expected - trusted - that she wouldn't, but a flash of concern worried her brow, for two quick little lines indented above her nose and Haden moved his hand from her shoulder to her cheek, rubbing the soft mound gently with his thumb.
"Go fetch my father, Angie. Give yourself some time to clean up, too." His voice was coarse, his Beast still very much present beneath the surface.
"What about Mickie?" The girl gave a startled whimper at the mention of her name, and fear was radiating off the apprentice as Haden and Angie stepped towards her. Her eyes flicked between the two Jumper's, unknowing towards the cause of her Alpha's anger and afraid it may soon be directed at her, and confusion at the obvious calm coming from Angie even after Haden had thrown her aside with the ease of a rag doll.
Haden pursed his lips in thought, before saying, "Have Tike practice his new Trick," the words were full of implication, his intention that the soldier should try and entrance Mickie into forgetting what she had seen here. It was a cold and calculating decision. "But for now, I'm gonna need you to help me for a bit, Mickie," he dropped the usual roughness of his voice to a low, soothing hum, "is that OK?"
Her deep eyes still churned in confusion, melting to a shade of midnight forests. They continued their flickering, but now included both her rude, obnoxious boss rolling in a pathetic lump on the floor, and the finally quiet killer with smooth, porcelain skin and hair the colour of the night sedated on top of the examination table. Settling, after a long, tense silence on Haden, they filled with a fierce kind of resolve that sent pride shooting up his spine. Perhaps we won't use Tike after all.
"OK," she said, head nodding vigorously and voice without the faintest of tremors.
"Thanks honey, you're doing us a real favour," Angie said, arms outstretched as she went for a sisterly hug. Mickie fell straight into her embrace, relaxed in a way Haden envied. I can't have that, he thought, I hate that I can't have that.
Aware of Angie rushing out and down the hallway, Haden began directing Mickie in a tone of pure Alpha. The instructions seemed to calm her even more, "Mickie, I need you to wipe away the blood from her body, pull back and tie her hair and call me as soon as that's done. I'll give more orders after."
"'Her'?" She queried.
"The Hound, Mickie."
"Yes, Haden..." She scrambled, "Sorry." About to turn away, she paused, "What'll you be doing?" Curiosity had sparked, and Haden felt his lips twitch despite the situation, humour letting him tease the young Jumper, "I'll be finding a dumpster for Dr. Vaesting." He growled with the fun part of his Animal, his dry humour coming into play.
Taken the complete wrong way, the familiar to his close friends humour didn't meet halfway with Mickie. Her general persona had visibly heightened since Haden had relaxed, after seeing through Angie the monster he was portraying himself as, but after his latest comment, her face had once again become a deathly white shade, blanching with her mouth dropped wide open and her fingers twitching by her side, as though she was just aching for a way to run from the room.
Haden sighed, long and heavy, "Let's just get to work."
CHAPTER NINE:
2065 - 10 YEARS AGO
“Excuse me, um, I’m here for the-”
“Tamra Markosa. Yes, we know why you’re here,” the receptionist said, utter defiance tinged knowledge withering inside his thin eyes, “Please, take a seat and I’ll call in for you.”
Nodding, Tamra walked to the settle herself in a row of soft, plump red waiting chairs. She felt nervous shake of her fingers begin to double, and chose to clench her fists tight along the bent table of her thighs. Physically and mentally calming herself, Tamra began counting down the minutes in her head, and allowed her eyes to flicker around the building, absently clocking the nearest exits. The time, she noted whilst checking her watch, was one o’clock in the afternoon. She was five minutes early.
There was a plain white door across the room, and she found it’s simplicity laughable compared to the ornate grandness of what surrounded her. First walking into the building, Tamra had had to control the admiring rush she’d felt at seeing such riches in any one place. The floor appeared to have been one single block of marble, hinting at specks of gold that fluttered delightfully over it’s reflective surface. Every wall was covered in decoration, from pictures that held bold stories she didn’t have the time or patience to decipher, to individually placed rows of ornaments that shone in the many shades of ancient pasts. Many of the paintings were envisioned clearly under the same genre. They focused on a faceless man standing atop mounds of Earth. From where he stood, mauled veins of dead grass spread out from beneath his feet. He appeared, in all portrayals, to be physically connected to the ground he stood upon, his bare feet tucked between wilting petals and browning leaves of the undergrowth. The faceless man radiated a sense of power and authority, and Tamra had barely recognised his symbolism before the violating scene of the painting next to it stole her breath away. The faceless man was once depicted as a copy as seen on all other images, and was as emotionally alone and superior in this piece as he was in all others, too. But in stark contrast, though the leading man stayed anonymous, only the complete opposite could be said for the hundreds of tortured people crowded before him. Their faces had been drawn with magnificent accuracy, as though the artist had spent his entire life’s work catching each separate essence of terror and fear onto his canvas. Every brush stroke emphasised the cold cute along the people’s arms, or the battered bodies of pale, sickly skinned victims sprawled in inhuman positions on the hard, sharp-stoned cobble floor. Inspiration tells it’s own story, she thought in defiance.
If there had been a face to their murderer, Tamra knew it would have been smiling.
“Miss. Markosa?” The desk clerk sneered, his nub face indifferent to the obvious fact that Tamra was the only person waiting for an appointment. A small meeting in plain contradiction to the discussion of her very future.
Tamra stood abruptly, discreetly swelling, as she had spent her entire life practicing to do, the choke of pity lodged in her throat for the images of a sad artists imagination.
The sound of her shoes clapped against the marble floor, resonating with a bodacious echo that made Tamra feel suddenly self-conscious, as though all eyes had turned upon her.
She smiled in quiet acknowledgement of herself at the receptionist as his round, beady eyes ran over her appearance with obvious disdain. Tamra was wearing the same clothes her father had finally kicked her out of the house in. A pair of dirty cotton huggers were slung low on her hips, and crusted tennis shoes were tight on her feet. They had left haggard marks atop the surface of the pristinely clean floor, and only then did Tamra begin to contemplate how far out of her league she was. Finishing the clothing ensemble, was a second-hand jumper Tamra had once found in her old houses’ attic. It hadn’t belonged to Charlotte, her step-mum, or Tamra’s younger sister, Melody. The only explanation had to have been an old remnant of her real mothers memory.
“But Charlotte’s our mama,” Melody had cried when a once bright faced Tamra had told seven-year-old Melody of her discovery. Her sister hadn’t understood the sentimentality of a “stinky wumper,” didn’t grasp how Tamra had dreamed of a comforting mother’s touch her entire life - having a father that takes any and every opportunity to squash her need for a dad or the feeling of belonging to a family wasn’t something innocent Melody had ever been able to relate with. She was loved full-heartedly by their father. Nothing Tamra said made any indent into the pairs relationship. Instead, Tamra had been met with the verbal abuse she received alone, biting her tongue in silent acquiesce until that wasn’t good enough anymore. She’d been told - ordered, really - to fight back. To make some sort of spirit and flame against her father. But Tamra had refused each offer, slowly becoming the cold, hard shell she often played many times in her pathetic excuse for a childhood. Her father had laughed at her frozen ‘inability’ to defend herself, “Pathetic girl,” he would spit, “afraid of your own father?” And eventually: “I’ll give you something to be afraid of.” He began to push her, slap her, violence and pain his only intent and violence and pain Tamra’s only company. And all because she screamed to keep a lilac coloured jumper that belonged to her mother.
Holding back the choke of the memory, Tamra did what is had taken her eighteen slaying years of hell to do - she forgot parts of her life, blanketing them in pockets of empty darkness inside her mind. The steel of her spine soon rose, and with it her confidence grew. Right now, the loss of a family in her past was forgotten. In Tamra’s hardening eyes, she had always been alone, and she needed no-one. She was strong; a cold, fighting spirit no man would ever try to break.
Tamra walked with purpose towards the receptionist desk, staring at him straight in the eye as the pompous worked handed her a blankly written clipboard.
“Sign your name.” He said. Then, proceeding to pause, added slowly, “Please.”
“Uh huh, and what do you want me to sign with? Do you see me holding a pen?”
The man blanched at the coldness in her voice, scrambling blindly to gather his bearings as the ice of Tamra’s eyes finally made legitimate contact with his own.
Reaching far beneath the desk the receptionist sat behind, he pulled back with an elegantly formed black pen in his hands. Tamra took it from the implying grasp with a stiff jerk of her arm. The pen itself, she noted, would most likely cost more than all the jewellery laced across her step-mothers fingers. Reminders from Tamra’s father as to who he favoured in his family. Melody was prized most of all, but against her sister there was no jealousy - only a furious love she held secret for, not her own sake, but Melody’s. His actions were cheap, in more than one way, but effective; Tamra had understood all implications.
“What Element you here for, then?” A voice caught Tamra by surprise, as a boy of similar age came out from the white door behind her. He stood proud in it’s frame, measuring an easy six foot against the eye, before gliding silently towards the reception desk. The white door closed soundlessly after him.
“Something called none of your damn business,” Tamra sliced as she turned back around to pass back the disheartening pen to a suddenly jaw-slacked desk clerk.
The boy laughed, finding obvious pleasure in Tamra’s retort, and it’s sound bled over her. It tasted dark and full of things she’d never dared taste before. She thought it felt as if fur was rubbing thick against her consciously initiated icy shell, and she was forced to resist the fierce shiver of delights that she wanted to let free up her spine. Tamra sensed his smile by the warning prickles on the back of her neck, and she immediately threw up wall upon wall of resistance, testing her limits for an emotionless psyche against a male she’d never before spoken to in her life.
It soon worked - a lifetime of practice and hard experience doing her proud. The strange feelings began slipping off the shield Tamra wore like armour, dripping away from her as the charm of the boy soon failed to reach her. She looked pointedly at the receptionist - Tag, further inspection of his name badge revealed - deliberately ignoring the anonymous boy and wanting the clerk to quickly tell her what happened now, where did she go, who does she talk to and had he spoken to anyone? They were all questions Tamra wanted answered, and they could be seen clearly in her grey gaze as she stared at him.
Smooth hands slid over Tamra’s covered arms, slipping solo until they met her own. The boy greeted hard fists with a light chuckle, gently plying each finger outwards and into his own. Tamra stood frozen, still, she’d had many encounters with someone unknown or hauntingly familiar touching her. She knew the exhausting drill - hold out till the end, and soon it will go away. That’s what mum promises when I dream of her.
But here and now, in the ElementalHound building, her response seemed atomic, as though the logical, self-empowering surge she felt boiling inside of her was as natural as breathing.
The male behind her breathed slowly, exhaling along a tickle of air towards Tamra’s solid state, “IceHound.”
And she pounced.
