Alone

The moon was full and it sang in Wolfe’s veins. It was a night he would have preferred to spend on the open road, the throttle of his motorcycle open wide, or perhaps underneath the moon in the woods, running and hunting. Johnny Tempest had shown a younger Alan how giving free reign to some of the beast’s impulses could keep it from taking control when it was not welcome. Tonight was a great night to play with the beast.

But Johnny sent an owl and Wolfe found himself with a task to do. A little chiminage for his mentor, the proper favors done for those who guide and teach you. In his old, cluttered and musty cave Johnny sent Alan after Brightwind. He was to bring him back alive of course, an irritation that Wolfe as well used to.

Tracking him through the woods led Alan across the path of two university students, one of who had the look of pure blood about her. Wolfe would have loved to speak to her more, to see if she knew her heritage, but Brightwind was still out there and Johnny Tempest needed him.

It wasn’t an opinion that Wolfe shared, but he was obligated. And so he ran on, and when he saw that his trail was heading for Kenning, he rode. It was a chance to let the beast out a little.

The ranger kicked the door of the cheap house inward and saw Brightwind at his occasional slaughter. It was a good thing he had had the chance to let the beast out on its leash first. The mad Gangrel shaman always brought out the worst in Alan.

Brightwind-ikthya hadn’t gotten to the woman yet, though the man was strewn around the room, so Alan shot him in the back. It wasn’t honorable, but the woman needed to be protected. Besides, with the full moon high, Alan was spoiling for a fight, and if they fought too hard and the shaman died, Alan would cry no bloody tears.

But Christian didn’t go down, even with his back shredded by two barrels of buckshot. He turned and caught Wolfe unready, gouging deep runnels in his side. They twisted and threw each other, clawing and snarling. Both were on the edge of frenzy. Wolfe got a lucky swipe across Brightwind’s face that sent him reeling to the floor, one ear dangling. It was enough to keep him down for a while. A piece of broken chair through his chest would keep him until Black Johnny wanted him up again.

Alan left quickly, without a word to the trembling mortal. There was nothing he could do to lessen the horror or her loss. He was no great liar; the only things he might say would only deepen the horror.

The bloody scene just put Wolfe in a mood to kill, but it also led Brightwind to the attention of the Ventrue. His carnage had dominated the front pages, and once Wolfe’s involvement was known, the whole tale of the hunt and fight blew around the city like a scrap of newspaper on the wind. None of the mortals were talking about the strangeness of the attack, only the bloodiness of it, but the Prince was not going to be happy to hear of it.

Alan prayed to God and Gaia that Brightwind would be condemned. If he wasn’t attacking people, Wolfe wouldn’t have to protect so many of them. And all of those people that he hadn’t gotten there in time for would still be alive…

But that was up to the Prince. Wolfe had other things to worry about that he felt were his responsibility. The university student, Sasha Black, for instance.

It cost $300 and Wolfe had to patiently answer some questions for Alexandria Dorian, but he found her, and found out enough about her to gain her trust.

The girl was kinfolk, although what tribe she descended from was anyone’s guess. Her mix of ethnic features might’ve come from anywhere as far away as the distant Stargazers to the Nordic Fenrir, or maybe the Shadowlords. Or perhaps the mixed bag of genes that might mark a Silent Strider. But just as importantly, Sasha was a shaman like Brightwind.

Tormented by visions she could not explain, she was on a heavy regimen of anti-psychotics and medication to treat paranoia and hallucinations. None of which worked of course, everything she saw was real. Wolfe did his best to explain, but how could he tell her what to make of visions he could not see himself?

What mattered was that she believed him, and that meant she might let him protect her. And she was in more danger than she knew.

Wolfe contacted David Grace, his kinain, for help. Things might swiftly grow out of Wolfe’s very limited control. He was Gangrel, and all he knew, all he controlled was himself. He had no need for power over mortals and such. But that meant that protecting Sasha was going to be difficult. David was young and inexperienced, but he would help. Properly motivated and free of harano, the young Gangrel could do well.

Alan saw four main dangers to the kinfolk girl, and he felt uneasy facing any of them.

The first was Sage, the younger of the town’s Nosferatu, whom Alan himself had asked to help track Sasha down. She knew he had an interest in her, knew he’d been looking for her, and she knew much of what he knew about her. She wouldn’t give the information away, but she might sell it.

Alexandria Dorian was the second threat. She’d given Alan information on the medications that Sasha was taking, and though Wolfe had traded news of his own to her and cancelled the debt, it still left her with the knowledge that Sasha Black was important, or at least of note. She already as much as owned Wolfe’s life and she’d carried that debt for over ten years. What she’d do with this information he couldn’t begin to guess.

The other two dangers were closer to home. Black Johnny embraced Christian Brightwind because of his ability to see the spirits and had tolerated his rampages for more than a hundred years because he needed him. Sasha, who had the same powers but lacked his madness would be an attractive victim for him. Wolfe had no way to prove it, but he felt that given the chance, Johnny would replace Brightwind with the young kinfolk. As much as Wolfe would love to see Brightwind dead, he felt it was his duty to protect Sasha first. Let the Ventrue and the other urrah sell out mortals for that kind of victory

The last threat was Brightwind himself. If only because he would fear being replaced just like Wolfe saw, he would want her dead, regardless of whether or not Johnny would truly discard him. Beyond even that, Wolfe knew that the sadistic shaman would happily gut her after a long violation, if only for sport. Wolfe couldn’t begin to factor in what the banes that flocked around the mad Gangrel might urge him to do, but he feared it would be no more pretty.

Alan felt deeply isolated and alone. There was no one he could trust, not even the unreliable youth David. He looked up at the moon alone and wished for his sister, young Anastasia. No one else had been closer, nor more trustworthy, not even Lisa. These were big problems for one Gangrel to face. But he didn’t have a choice. He knew who he was, the garou blood was too strong in his veins, even if he hadn’t bred true. The garou were Gaia’s protectors, and so was he.