The wolf's ears flatten, emoting as best as a creature can. 

"Johnathan is fine; I think we're past formalities. I'm a damn dog, in case ya haven't realized. So any info ya want to give on this whole predicament would be much appreciated." 

 Verando doesn't extend the same courtesy, looking reluctant to even talk to this man who we hadn't seen but a day ago as a man. 

"So, did you do this? To us?" He seems to have an easy time articulating; where Alpha struggles to speak at times, this wolf looks quite capable. Their shape is different from what I'm used to. They're leaner, slender with long legs and thinner bodies though some are thicker than the others. 

Their coats aren't nearly as plush. Up close, their structures and even the ear shape were built for the hotter climate. 

Verando dawns on his political face, his Alpha persona. "No, not necessarily. I'm not going to pretend to have the answers, but from what I gather, I'd say you all had the dormant gene in your bodies from generations back. Something must have triggered it; if it was my singing then that would be pretty interesting. Lycans are musically inclined; we do sing together to bond and for fun, so it is a possibility. "

"Interestin'?." Johnathan allows, almost in disbelief. "You think it's interesting? Interesting that we are animals? That I'm stuck this way? How did you change back?"

I can see it almost makes his skin crawl to say it. 

"How do I-" He exhales, getting a hold of himself. I'm impressed, he's not in hysterics. He's upset, but he's keeping it together, and he leads these people. He's a natural leader, even in the office where he was in the midst of a change, he managed decently. We could use more people like him, people with political backing. 

I walk up to stand beside Verando and then come to terms with the fact that he's still stark naked. I quickly jogged over to where we had placed their clothes, passing the pack felt like stepping back into history. 

"How do I become human again?"

As my eyes scan over them, the scenery could quickly become my homeland and this could be the start of a rebuild. But, not here; it wasn't safe here. But how could we leave? After promising Legardo and taking on the responsibilities I'd adopted as protector of this region? 

It was time to step up. As I gather the clothes, I hear the drone of conversation in the distance, and my eyes wander to the twinkling lights overhead. Clutching the clothes closer to my chest, I suddenly get an odd feeling and quicken my pace as I return. Catching the tail end of Verando's explanation, I realize he's trying to figure out who was attacking them. 

Handing him the items, I touch his arm to gather his attention. "We are in the open. This is not a safe place to talk." I remind him. 

While I had so easily adapted to the technology, he seemed to struggle to remember every piece of this town was a pair of eyes for anyone who wished to peer into our lives. 

"Best not to linger."

"So you're going to hide us?" Johnathan demands. "If you can't talk about this now then we're still important to you. Lycans are illegal in the city, we can't just wander around until you feel it necessary to pump us for information." 

Verando considers this, handing Marisol her clothes which she hurriedly puts on; I find it odd for the ordinarily outgoing woman to quickly scurry into her clothes. She narrows her eyes at him as he watches her, turning her back to him and he rolls his eyes. 

"Come now, Kitten. You know that's not what I'm looking at."

"You want my assets and the answer is 'No'. That man has his own home he can return to. These other people could easily stay with him if he so chose it. Senator Campbell is very wealthy, I don't give handouts to the wealthy and neither should you, at least you didn't until you became one." She snaps, jerking on her shorts matter-of-factly. 

I expect him to be offended, but if anything, he looks amused by her outburst. Verando pulls on his pants, glancing back towards the Senator for a rebuttal but the man seems taken aback. 

"Go to my own home? There's no management there, I woke up this way; we need help. Guidance. Protection. Not to be sent to a residence to destroy neighborhoods. My wife is in danger, this city is in danger. I'd rather turn myself in than go back to my home with a dozen other creatures that I don't even know. We need your help." 

I decided to go ahead and like Johnathan Campbell. We need him if Marisol likes it or not, and judging by the nonchalant nature of our gray-haired leader, I think he feels the same. We need more people like him. I push between the bickering lycans. 

"There is another option—a compound. But, if we do this for you- you must do something for us.  You must promise that you will hear us out when we speak next. There is more trouble at hand than we can share, and we will need numbers. What that means, I can't exactly say, but I want a chance to inform you to the best of my abilities." 

My group falls silent, save for the rustle of clothes and footsteps as Helen stands beside me. When I look at her, I expect reluctance, yet I'm met with an expression that mirrors my own, and she seems to be on the same page about where these people should go. There's only one place safe enough to house these people, and no one will like it.

As he takes me in, examining us all, he slowly nods. "Yes. I will hear you out. If anything can be done to prevent this from happening to anyone else, I want to hear about it." 

A decent man in politics was hard to find. There would be time for analyzing later; we'd already said too much. Turning my attention to Tyler and Helen, I gesture to half of the wolves. 

"Take this half to your parents." I keep my voice low. "A massive group will be too easy to track. We will bring the remainder by tomorrow and do a briefing. Can I trust you two to handle that? Go as wolves, it'll be easier to travel, and you'll get there much quicker." 

The exhausted solomonari looks as if he might deflate.

Helen seems excited while Tyler looks like he'd be okay with never seeing another Lycan again. But, I'm impressed as he rallies just as I did when the nights seemed endless and the day's drug on; when my magic was the only thing keeping us alive. 

"Of course! Our first mission!" She says cheerfully before stopping herself and clearing her throat. "I mean. Yes. Consider it done." 

I catch my warlord smirking, and I can't help but find her endearing, too. Helen was finding a way to grow on me; perhaps I was just finally allowing myself to like her. 

"Senator Campbell, you and this half of the pack are coming with us."

"The rest of you will come with us," I tell them, watching their reluctant faces, and yet, they don't seem averse to the idea of being off the streets in their current state. We all feel the same: exhausted and ready for this night to be over.

Unfortunately for us, it's not over. We walk for an eternity, taking multiple back roads through the neighborhood to throw off our scent and finally coming in the back gate to Marisol's home. The recreation of an extinct species would be a hell of a news story if they managed to get out; all we could do was hope there were no eyes on us in the abandoned neighborhood so late in the evening. 

But, with the hurricane effectively clearing civilians out, there would have been few eyes to witness. It wouldn't be this way for much longer; people were beginning to return to their homes. We were to once more be under the public eye. I had to keep pushing forward and look for a cure for the world's ailment, and he had to entertain the masses and keep them distracted. 

Where was there time for a group of lycans?

As we deposit the lycans in Marisol's home, I feel he has the same thought. "You're staying with us tonight." He tells Marisol firmly, and she doesn't argue, yawning as she leans her temple on his bicep. There was a time when it would have bothered me, and yet now, I've grown used to their relationship. 

I've seen how one can love more than one person because I had with Fillipa and even Steffan to some extent. "Anyone want to guess as to who's behind all this?"

"I'll take evil government for $500, Alex," Marisol grumbles. We both stare at her, making her giggle like a madwoman at our apparent ignorance. "It's a future-past thing. I enjoy old television. You know, people used to play games in big rooms full of lights and screens, colors and flashing lights, and people would watch them every evening. But on TV. Sometimes they would win money or do ridiculous things. It can be quite entertaining."

"Seems ridiculous." Verando pulls his eyebrows down judgementally. "I don't quite understand the purpose of it, save for the news, I suppose. The stories aren't even true; why devote time to things that are made up?"

I snort. "Says the Nordic.."

I'm met with silence. "The gods are very real, Nic." Marisol's voice is low, and I swallow the tension and step inside with relief to be back indoors. 

"Well. Do you know what I like about the future? Air conditioning." I stretch in relief, sniffing myself and wrinkling my nose. The heavy scent of fish and salt greets me most offensively. "I also smell like the ocean. That damned body of water is quickly losing its appeal."

Where I expect him to follow me dutifully, I'm dismissed with a quick kiss. "I'll be with you in a moment, darling." Glancing back and forth between them both, I decide to be on my way and head towards the bedroom, toning out the drones of conversation behind me. 

Much to my dismay, it's almost an hour later before he joins me in the bedroom, and he isn't much for conversation. I sit on the counter, freshly showered and enjoying the steam as he showers for the evening. Hopeful to gain some of his attention, I attempt to coax him into some form of deviant behavior, but he's withdrawn, and I find it hard to blame him as much as I'd like for him to voice his concerns. 

As I press my back to his chest, giving up on the ploy of wiggling hips to tempt him, I find sleep rather quickly as his arms fold around me, and I'm warm for the first time this evening. 

Verando slips out of bed as the sun tips over the horizon and peers the first glimmer of light through the covered window. There would be no sleeping in today, not with the added stress of twelve more bodies to keep up with. Slipping into a pair of jeans and a simple t-shirt, he begins the morning routine of straightening up the bedroom to return it to its precise order that it had been before I crashed through it like a teenaged tornado. 

While one would think I would learn my lesson and take better care to straighten up after myself, the over-the-top manner in which he picked up after me was offensive in its most minimalistic attempts, and I ended up being irritated more than motivated to change my habits. 

The only part of the bedroom that was allowed to be disordered was the bed that I currently occupied. Where he used to attempt to tuck in the covers and smooth them out, my thrashing and search for him always ended in travesty for the bedsheets, so he opted to slide his pillow beside me instead to give me something to cling to as he carried out the ritual for his sanity. 

Scrubbing his teeth as he sent an awkward text to Marcello to check if Helen got to the compound alright, he rinsed and cleaned again, then departed for the kitchen to continue the assault on dirt that occurred every morning since he'd moved here. When you grew up in what could have been considered squaller, you get used to things lacking sanitation. 

Even so, his Mama had done her best to keep their home spotless, and when you lacked a mother, you found ways to earn the love of your adopted one. Cleaning brought order, something he could control, something readily available if one was willing to put in the work. 

Deciding on French Toast for breakfast, he began work on the mixture of cinnamon, nutmeg, egg, and milk in a bowl. Turning the skillet on to start to heat, he chewed thoughtfully on a fresh slice of French bread before pausing at a knock on the door. Two beats, not hurried but not timid. Counting to ten, the person knocked again, and he set the piece of bread down and pressed start on the coffee maker before going to the door. 

Opening it, before him stood David Malcom.

"Good morning." Verando greeted, eyebrow raised. 

"Is Nicolas here? I haven't heard from him since the hurricane. I figured this would be a good place to check; his friends haven't heard from him either." David tells him, glancing past him into the house, though he comes to pause when he realizes the person that possesses the home.

 "Ohhh. Hey, you're the male lycan. Verando sounded familiar; It's funny how ya can forget a name like that. How's the shoulder, big guy?"

When a hunter stalks his prey, one must not relay that they are hunting said prey. Lest they wish to scare it off, one must be patient, and lucky for this dumb individual; patience was in full practice this morning. "Delightful. Please. Do come in." He steps aside, to which David happily obliges, glancing around the home. 

"Not bad for yourself here, guy." He says with an appreciative nod. "The American dream, right? Illegal lycan becomes a big-time musician. yeah, don't know why I didn't put that one together. I was just thinkin', ya know, it's a good thing I stopped by cause ya'd want to help me out? What with the shoulder 'n all."

Patience is a virtue; acting too quickly spoils the hunt. Walking over to the stove, he pours in the mixture and places the slice of bread down to simmer. "And what, do tell, may I help you with, Mr.Malcom?" He asks curiously, "Finding Nicolas? And what for?"

"Er. I really can't say-"

"Oh, surely it can't be all that bad." He smoothened his voice, trying to sound more curious than deadly.

"Just a rumor that there were more lycans spotted here last night?" 

Verando sets another piece of bread into the mixture before putting a lid on it, turning the heat down. 

"I didn't know if he'd spoken to 'em. We want to help 'em." The man shrugs with a slight chuckle. "Just like you and that lady, what was her name? Uh, Kitty?"

"Marisol." He responds tightly. 

Sometimes, the chase isn't worth the reward. Sometimes, one must act impulsively to truly satisfy the unsavory urges that were oh-so-delicious to indulge in.

"Right. You know, I need to visit her, too. Check on the er, investment-" Verando unsheathes the knife from the chopping block and quickly sweeps the man's knees and catches him on the descent. His hand covers the man's mouth, holding the knife to his throat. 

"You have a lot of balls to come into my home after what you did to us. Selling us to that research company for your benefit, you're lucky I don't cut your throat here and now."

 David shakes his head quickly, yelling against his hand and putting his own hands up. 

"It'd ruin my carpet, don't flatter yourself. You'd bleed all over everything. Ever seen a vein blow? Bloody mess..." He presses the blade more firmly against him, making the man inhale sharply. "Now. Little man. You're going to tell me everything you know about this pack of lycans, or we're going to play a game. Understand?"

He shakes his head, babbling against his hand. 

"Mmm.. you don't know anything?" 

David shakes his head again. 

"Pity. That was the only reason for keeping you alive."

I yawn and stretch, pulling on one of Verando's shirts and slipping into his only pair of sweatpants. Stumbling into the kitchen to smell cinnamon caramelizing, I scrub my hand through my hair. "Babe, my thighs are killing me." I groan. 

"Babe?" He asks, amused, placing the toast slice on a plate before me. "That's new."

I shrug, "I like it. When did you become so domestic?"

He smiles almost too innocently. "Couldn't sleep. I saw it on that food channel and thought you'd like it, and I know how you like sweets." 

Taking a bite, I groan in appreciation and sigh at his ability to master tasks. While he couldn't prepare a five-course meal, small 'missions' like this were often well-executed. "You follow instructions like no one I know." I motion for him to come to me and kiss him across the counter. "I think you'll do." 

Tilting my head back, I take in his ruffled hair and how it looks more feral than usual. 

"What's with your hair? You look like you just had a good romp." 

Pouring himself a mug of coffee, he takes a small sip, "Trying something new; it's just been one of those mornings, I'd say." I'm about to grill him when I hear a low thumping. 

"What's that?"

"Hmm?" The innocence with which he watches me is a dead giveaway that something is amiss. "Washer is actin' up, I suppose."

"The washer?" I tilt my head. "You use the dishwasher?" It is an unlikely story for a man who hardly trusted humans, let alone an appliance. 

"Can't if it's acting up, I suppose. Dreadful things, so noisy." 

The thump continued, and I looked towards the walk-in closet, noting water spilling out onto the floor from under the door. 

"Your dishwasher isn't in your pantry, though it does appear to be leaking a good bit... what the hell are you hiding?" I demand, setting my fork down. 

"Burst a pipe... new build, poor contractors...." Hesitating, he fills his chest with air to brace for the slim chance I'd believe him, only to exhale and place his hands on the counter with the professionalism that a banker might with a business proposal. "I killed someone."

"They sound very much alive!" I snap as I stand. I knew the man was mad, but this was beyond what I'd predicted; what poor soul was he tormenting?

"He's not dead just yet. Give it a few minutes; it'll be a proper murder. Truly, the capacity of the human lung is a frustrating topic. One would think they'd be less... well, feisty."

But as I stare him down, he begins to note that I'm not buying his charade. "Do you actually believe that I, for a single moment, think you're charming? You can be as English and lighthearted as you want, but I'm not buying it. What's in the closet?"

"Oh, alright." He rolls his eyes in typical warlord fashion before stepping away to undo the quick-release knot I somehow had overlooked. With an unceremonious plop, David Malcom falls through the swing door and lands on the floor. His feet were bound from where he'd been hanging upside down from the ceiling, and his head was soaking wet from his submersion in a bucket of water. 

He gasps for air, coughs, and sputters. 

"Hmm." The man allows. "How did that get in there?"

I gape at the lycan, gesturing to Mr.Malcom in disbelief.

Verando shrugs, taking another long draw off his coffee. "Oh. Right. Mr.Malcom arrived for you this morning." He waves his hand dismissively. "I've fetched him for you."