The house creaked and moaned around Raecien and Michael, sharing a look, for the moment. The giant wolf's muscles were still tense as they could physically be, straining against the commands that the skinny vampire had given him. No matter how much he pushed and wished, thought, and searched his memory for a loophole or a way out, it was all futile. He was a prisoner. Michael patted his chest with reassurance, trying, he guessed, to comfort him, then walked away, admiring the decaying house.
"Do you know why I chose this place, Master Raecien?" Michael knew the wolf couldn't answer, but he wanted to be somewhat polite before he delved into the history of the rickety structure that was on it's last legs. "It's where a nest of ferals lived, not too long ago. Well. About a hundred years ago. Despicable lot, those things were." The vampire with the purple eyes walked slowly, studying his surroundings like he was back in the past, witnessing the alabaster paint splattered with red sprays, again.
Raecien listened closely, the members of the House of Tor never told a story without a point, he watched the vampire study and walk slowly, each step measured. "It was one of the few times, in our long history, that our kind agreed on something. The feral vampires that lived here were feasting on little girls, not stopping at draining them, but consuming their flesh, as well. Most of the victims were from the elementary school down the street, just trying to make their way home. If you smell carefully you can actually pick up the traces of blood that are still stained deep in the wood."
The frozen Lycan did just that, inhaling and finding the smell atrocious, and he couldn't wait to forget it. Michael continued, making his way back to his audience, "There were more than we had anticipated, you know. Lost two wolves and five vampires. The battle was quick and nasty, and they suffered. The ferals, that is, not our kind. After all was said and done; we worked together to eliminate a threat to the innocent." Raecien hadn't noticed that he was eye to eye with the vampire, peering deeply into those endless purple eyes.
A bead of cold sweat ran down the wolf's neck, he felt the chill touch his very bones, staring into those violently beautiful eyes. The vampire smiled, "Now we do the same, Master Raecien. We will wage war against the monsters snatching away the lives of the innocent, feasting on their flesh for their own selfish gains. We will destroy them. Rend their flesh from bone. Spill their blood upon the mantles of the privileged. We will walk our path under the burning flag of revenge."
Each word made images flash through the mind of the Lycan, each one more graphically violent than the last, bodies, puddles and pools of blood, gaping mouths, eyes so open they tore at the creases, skin ripped open, exposed muscle. As a Werewolf he was supposed to be numb to these images, but they made something in him cringe, stir, and want to look away. It was the vampire's voice that came through the fog, commanding him, again. "You may move freely. You may not attack me. You must not let harm come to me, either through action or inaction. You may speak your mind to me, but to others you are silent. And you will kill whomever I say."
Raecien felt his whole body relax, his wounds had healed, his mind was much clearer, "You will fail, Michael. This is my own free thought on whatever it is you're planning." The vampire was looking away, watching the sun cast it's last golden rays through the clouds hanging on the horizon, smiling. "I only serve you because you've enslaved me, but I will try my best to find a way to escape this power, you can bet your throat on it." A deep, rumbling growl, made the very air vibrate with it's volume. The wolf was getting very tired of being ignored. Though he could not attack, he could spin his words into venom. As he thought of an insult that might make the blood sucker's temper rise he was interrupted by quiet words.
"Oh, Master Raecien. You weren't enslaved. They sent you to me. To see if the rumors were true. To see if I really was of the House of Tor. You were merely a guinea pig, sir. See for yourself." The Lycan's long stride took him to the door quickly, just in time to watch men, dressed in black gear emblazoned with the patch of the Lycans, holding binoculars, walk away, smiling. Raecien was struck speechless, his bearded jaw hung loose, his brow brunched in confusion. He was so confused he didn't notice the flash of the barrel from a few roofs down, nor did he feel the impact of the bullet.
He looked down, expecting to see a gaping, bleeding wound. Instead, he saw Michael's hand, bleeding, the silver bullet pierced through it, the tip of the slug showing out the back. The two met eyes and Michael spoke again, "And it seems they didn't want you to live through the ordeal, Master Raecien, Keeper of the Word." The Lycan went to a knee, feeling his world crumble around him. After a few minutes it was his turn to speak, "I will help you, Michael of the House of Tor.....Master."
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