CHAPTER 3

"When in doubt, trust your instincts; you have the blood of a Lycan flowing through your veins. Your instincts will never lead you astray," Dean's mother always said. For the past decade, he had followed his instincts everywhere they led him and still, he had no answer to the question that summed up his entire existence. Dean knew deep down that his mother wouldn't have wanted this life for him, but a werewolf's emotions, as well as their senses, are heightened. Her blood called out to him for justice, and he made it his mission to appease her cries and allow her soul to rest in peace.

"Just a while longer, Mother," Dean thought as he sat in his favorite café waiting for Sam.

"Gloomy as usual," Matt, the owner, spoke as he gave Dean a cup of coffee. Dean sighed, then smiled as he looked at the cup. He reached into his pocket to pay, but Matt waved his hand to deter him.

"Come on, Matt, at some point you have to let me pay for this great coffee. I feel bad that you always give it to me for free."

“Nah, you've done more for me than I could ever repay you for. I feel bad that this is all I can give you for free,” Matt replied with a light smile.

“It has been a month since that day. Your wife still hasn't woken up?" Dean asked.

"Not yet, but I was referred to a new doctor who gave me hope that she would wake up soon. I really don't know the details, but she's apparently the best werewolf doctor in town and she has helped with the most impossible of cases. I am reassured."

"That's good news," Dean nodded.

"It's all thanks to you. You risked your life to save her and my daughter when they were kidnapped. All the council members refused to help me because I recently joined the pack, but you didn't hesitate and defied their orders to save my family. Thank you, Dean. I really appreciate it." Tears flowed down Matt's cheeks.

"No need to cry, old man. I did what anyone would do." Dean, feeling awkward, tried to calm Matt down.

"That's the thing, not anyone would do what you did for a stranger..."

"BIG BROTHER DEAN!" A loud shout of excitement interrupted them as Matt's daughter, Sarah, a young girl not more than six, rushed to hug Dean. She had her left hand in a cast and limped a bit as she ran towards him.

"How are you doing, Sarah?" Dean lifted her up by the waist into the air before putting her down and patting her on the forehead. He had a gentle smile on his face while she had the cutest laughter ever.

"I am fine, thank you. I'll be getting my cast removed today." She beamed excitedly.

"Oh really? You healed quite fast."

"It's all thanks to a new beautiful doctor lady we met. She helped me recover quickly and even made me overcome my fear of needles."

"Is that so? Then I guess you'll be alright and soon be able to play with all your friends again."

"Yes, I will. I told the doctor lady that I have a big brother. I would like her to meet him."

Dean, shocked by this statement, asked, "And why would you do that?"

"So that she can help cure his sad face. Big brother is always nice and kind but keeps a sad face even though his smile is extremely beautiful."

Matt chuckled while Dean felt slightly embarrassed, but nonetheless smiled as he rubbed Sarah's hair. The bell on the door soon rang. Dean looked up and saw that Sam had arrived. He stood to leave, but not before dropping some money with Matt, instructing him to use it to get Sarah ice cream. Sarah excitedly waved at him as he took his leave with Sam.

Dean drove in his truck to the place of meeting with the elders. He hadn't been back home in a while and was still getting used to how much New York had changed over the years. He had been on the hunt for his mother's killer in Warrenton, a small coastal town in Oregon, when Sam had called him, asking him to return to the pack and take his place as the Blue Moon Pack Alpha upon his father's inexplicable disappearance. Dean wasn't worried; he knew his father was as tough as they come. No one could hold a candle to his father in battle, not even him. The man was in a league of his own. Besides, if anything had happened to him, Dean would have felt it. Werewolves sired by birth have a supernatural bond with their parents; they can sense their emotions and feel their lives and essence across oceans. Dean considered this one of the beautiful things about being a werewolf.

"Come on, we gotta go inside. Can't keep the elders waiting," said Sam as he got out of the vehicle.

"Since when did you care about the elders?" Dean asked sarcastically, with a grin on his face.

"I don't. I just want out of your stinking truck," Sam teased.

"Oh, screw you, Samuel Decker. You're just jealous of old Betty here."

"Am I? Am I really jealous of a rust bucket that can't go above forty miles per hour and looks like she's on her last legs?"

"You had your first kiss in this car. You should be singing songs of her praise."

"Hey, don't you play that card," Sam said, raising an accusing finger at a shoulder-shrugging Dean.

"I'm just saying, buddy. Nothing to be ashamed of," Dean said, with a devious grin on his face.

"Petty bastard. You're lucky you're the Alpha now, or I'd kick your butt like the good old days."

"It seems your memory is a little fuzzy, brother. Our record is three hundred and fifty to three hundred and forty-nine in my favor."

"No. You have it backward. I'm the one at three hundred and fifty."

Dean was grateful for Sam. He was the only thing remotely close to a family he had left, since his father had all but disowned him following the loss of his mother. Sam had always been there, from drunken bar fights to all-out werewolf brawls in every corner of New York. He was the one person Dean could count on to watch his back. Sam had fought off every single pack member who slandered him in his absence the first time he went out in search of his mother's killer. He returned a week later to a different atmosphere in the pack; he didn't get the usual side eyes whenever he walked by, and the disdain in their voices when they spoke to him had disappeared. When he asked Sam what had happened, Sam brushed it off, saying Dean was overthinking things and that nothing had happened. But upon further pressing of one of the latest additions to the pack, he learned that Sam had challenged anyone who spoke ill of him to a duel and beaten them to a pulp.

Leading a pack of werewolves was no small feat. Dean had been struggling of late with trying to balance his duties as the pack's Alpha and finding his mother's killer. It was much easier when his father was the pack's Alpha and had everything under control. But now he barely had enough time to follow a lead for a day before some pressing issue that demanded his attention came calling. He had left Sam in charge of most of the tasks, and although the elders and other pack members initially pushed back against the idea of anyone but the Alpha issuing commands to them, no one was brave or stupid enough to challenge him to a duel for the Alpha position, so they had no choice but to comply.

"Guess it's time to go in," Sam said as he held open the large brown doors that led to the Blue Moon Pack hideout.

The Mackenzie Valley Bar had been the Blue Moon Pack's base of operations for five generations. According to Dean's father, his great-grandfather had built it with nothing but his hands from the ground up. This story was passed on to every member of the pack as an example of strength and courage, the virtues the Blue Moon Pack prided themselves on.

The entire bar was silent and on their feet as Dean and Sam walked in. Most of them had picked up on his scent before he walked in and had composed themselves in the presence of the Alpha. Werewolves were big on tradition, and while Dean disliked the excesses and extravagances of being the Alpha, he had no choice but to comply with tradition.

"As you were, gents," Dean said, acknowledging their show of respect before making a beeline for the little red door behind the bar that led to the chamber.

"Smooth," Sam teased as they walked into the chamber.

The room was not as majestic as Dean thought it would be growing up. Only the Alpha of the pack and the elders had the right to enter the chamber. Growing up, he had fantasized about how the interior would look, drawing pictures and showing them to his mom, who assured him it was even grander and more beautiful, and that one day when he was leader and Alpha of the pack, he could make it even more majestic. Unfortunately, this was not the case. The first time he stepped into the chamber, his face could not hide his disappointment. The room itself was unnecessarily dark. Sure, werewolves had enhanced sight, but that didn't mean they should sit in the dark and discuss matters like some cult trying to hide from the world and sunlight. In the center of the room was a table made from oak with their pack sigil carved into it, probably as old as his grandfather, surrounded by a group of elders. They were called elders, but they were not necessarily old. Many of them were still in their forties; only Elder Edward, who had been on the council for as long as Dean could remember, was in his seventies.

"You're late, Alpha," one of the elders spoke with a hint of displeasure in his voice.

"There was a slight detour," Dean responded sharply, without offering an apology. Of the few things he had learned from his father, one of them was the way an Alpha should act and carry himself. The Alpha was the head of the pack, and according to his father, the head does not apologize to the hand or leg. He leads. An Alpha cannot be seen apologizing to another member of the pack. You are the pack, and the pack is you.

"Yes, I heard all about your slight detour," another elder said. "Got a call a few minutes ago from the new hippy bar uptown, Neon Nights. The owner called asking for a cleanup crew."

"And?" inquired Dean.

"And, we cannot have our Alpha running amok around town, beating up werewolves, and leaving a trail of blood and gore everywhere he goes," another elder known by many as Whitehall, spoke up impatiently.

"I'll keep that under advisement. I thank you for your insight, elders," Dean smirked as he made for his seat at the head of the table.

"Tchh..." Whitehall scoffed silently

The elders all rose to their feet and waited for him to take his before they all sat.

"Let's begin," Dean announced.

"There's word of a new pack stirring up trouble in our territory as of late," Elder Edwards spoke, looking directly at Dean.

Dean had always admired the elder's personality and qualities. Despite being in his seventies, no one except Dean could probably best him in a duel. He suspected that at some point in his life, Elder Edwards was the Alpha of another pack. The elder's way of speaking and mannerism always commanded respect, even more so than his father. Dean had seen him embrace the full moon once, and his wolf form was absolutely terrifying. He remembered being glad that they had the elder on their side during that battle; the cries and screams that came from his victims were indications that he was not to be messed with.

"We have scouts tracking their scents, but unfortunately, we have made no progress as of now," Elder Edward added, before looking towards Whitehall to continue speaking.

"NYPD reported a group of hikers were mauled on the morning of the twenty-second and another group on the evening of the twenty-fifth. They have deployed the animal control unit in hopes of capturing the wild animal that is terrorizing these parts of the woods," Whitehall dumped a file containing pictures of the victims on the table.

Before a reaction could come from Dean, another Elder quickly chipped in,"We can't have a rogue pack out there terrorizing and killing people indiscriminately. That could cascade and cause a lot of problems for us in the long run. We need to take care of this problem yesterday,"

Dean signaled for the file to be passed to Sam, who was at the other end of the table. "The bite and claw marks, you notice anything?" Dean asked.

Sam scanned through the images and remarked, "They missed the vital spots."

Dean looked around for someone to make the connection. After a brief moment of silence, he sighed then voiced out, "They are newbies at hunting, my best guess: new sires. We're not dealing with a rogue pack here. We are dealing with a pack of new sires."

The elders murmured amongst themselves.

"Interesting observation" Elder Edward spoke out softly as he placed his index finger below his chin

"You barely looked at the pictures. How can you tell all that?" Whitehall inquired, visibly stricken at his own inability to make such a connection aptly, despite being more experienced.

Dean scoffed. He had spent over a decade chasing a killer, honing an eye for such details. The bites and claw marks were all over the victims' bodies, resembling the mess made by a child unwrapping chocolate or biscuits, indicating excitement akin to a first kill. Additionally, his keen eyes detected faint differences in incision marks, suggesting four or five culprits. Despite many more signs, Dean wasn't about to explain himself to the elders. If they couldn't reach that conclusion on their own, what use were they to him?

"Are you questioning your Alpha's deduction? Especially since you couldn't make the connection?" Sam's fangs protruded slightly.

Whitehall, visibly irritated by Sam's statement, tried to calm himself and replied "I'm not questioning his deduction, nor did I mean to imply that. I merely meant for the Alpha to enlighten us as to how he arrived at the conclusion that we were dealing with a pack of new sires. His father always took the chance to teach us the errors of our ways and led us to victory in every battle we waged. However, we have our territories being overrun by new packs and have lost more members in the first few months since his return than we ever did under his father. Perhaps if the Alpha actually behaved like one and took the time to enlighten us, we could work well and achieve better results."

There was a cold silence that covered the room. Unable to restrain himself any longer, Sam bared his fangs and spat out "I would see your neck relieved of the head, Whitehall."

"A mere pup bares his fangs at me? What Insolence!" Whitehall stood enraged as his claws protruded.

"Perhaps playing dog to the Alpha has given you the wrong idea pup. I have slayed formidable warriors while you were still sucking your mother's tits. Know your Place," Whitehall barked his warning at Sam with an intense glow in his eyes.

"I hope you picked your words carefully, Whitehall." Sam rose to his feet to stare Whitehall in the eyes

"Cause they will be your last"