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Verliebt in Einen Jungen Wolf	By : Scribe Category: S through Z > Sentinel Views: 1884 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Sentinel, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Reflections
Baron Frederick von Glower stood at the window of his room in the hunting lodge, gazing out at the surrounding forest. There were few visible gaps in the trees. One was where the land fell away to a steep ravine, another held a small bed and breakfast. A little farther off there was open space, but the forest ran right to the edge of the village about a mile away. It had always before been secluded enough for his purposes. But now that security was threatened. Threatened by forces both within and without his life.

Baron Frederick von Glower was a werewolf. No, not quite the angst ridden hairy faced sort portrayed by Universal, cursed by the piercing of an errant fang. He was pure, a born werewolf. His father had acquired the family curse when he molested a young gypsy girl, and the ignorant slut killed herself. Stubborn people, the Rom. They held a grudge. His father, who had gone by the sobriquet The Black Wolf, was cursed to take the form of the beast his actions resembled. He had become a werewolf.

But, being a baron, he had acted with impunity for several years. He escaped retribution for his crimes long enough to sire Frederick and see him grow to the age of reason. Long enough to tell his son what they were, and prepare him for the change that might otherwise have killed him, or driven him mad. But it couldn't go on forever. It had ended in 1758 with his father howling away his life in cleansing flames, placed there by a schattenjaeger.

"Schattenjaeger." Friedrich was unaware that he had whispered the word. Schattenjaegers were born to seek out and destroy evil in all it's many forms. A schattenjaeger was, by definition, the enemy of his kind. Frederick shook his head, dark curls ruffling. It was just all so unfair.

He didn't feel evil. What he was... what he did. The stalk, the hunt, the kill... He was a wolf, and the humans were his for the taking. It was only right, it was only natural. But it was a lonely existence.

Wolves were not meant to live alone. They thrived in a pack. And Frederick was alone, had been alone for most of his long life. Human companions aged and died, and there was always the danger that the wolf in him would see them as prey. He'd tried to make others of his own kind. His luck had been spectacularly bad.

Every one he chose either did not survive the transformation, or went mad soon after. And when they went mad, he had to find a way to destroy them. It was difficult. He couldn't kill his children himself. The curse would have wreaked the same damage upon Frederick that he visited on one of his bloodline. He was forced to employ human agents to dispose of his sad, suffering offspring, and it broke his heart, every time.

He had begun the hunt club in a desperate effort to find the sort of men who would be most likely to survive the transformation intact. He'd developed the club's philosophy of living fully in the moment, disregarding the outdated concepts of good and evil, and extending one's physical being in order to expand one's spiritual being in an effort to prepare their minds. If their minds were already more wolflike when the gift was bestowed, would they not be more likely to retain a grip on reality?

Garr Von Zell had been his fondest hope. Garr. Frederick closed his eyes, remembering. He'd first met the young man on the club circuit. It was his physical presence that attracted Frederick first. His blonde hair was worn long, in a fashion that had flourished in Frederick's youth, and had now returned to popularity. And his eyes were dark, hot pools that missed nothing. They most especially did not miss the baron's interest.

He was impressive. Near Frederick's own height, broader. His shoulders filled the well tailored jackets, the custom made pants showed off long, strong legs. When they were closer, later, Frederick reveled in the smooth sweep of his chest, the ridged abdomen, the tight, hard butt. From the first time they came together physically, a sweaty rutting in a secluded steam room, Frederick had known that there was already more than a little of the animal in Von Zell's nature. It had made him hope...

Von Zell absorbed the philosophy, espousing it without reserve. When von Glower felt he was ready, he revealed his true nature. And he prayed that he would not have to slay the young man who had become his friend, and lover. He was relived when Von Zell expressed nothing but joy and excitement, and begged for the blessing of Frederick's mark.

It had been good for a time, so good. The baron closed his eyes, sighing in sweet pain as the memories flooded back. Racing through moonlit forest with the large brown wolf keeping pace at his side. Playing with some pitiful tramp, herding the prey between them till it fell in gibbering terror beneath their fangs. Rutting, in animal or human form, on forest bed or silken sheets. It had been glorious, and he'd been happy, for a time. Then it had soured.

Garr had not escaped the madness. He'd become most difficult, moody and insubordinate. He chaffed at Frederick's rules, unmindful that they were in place for their own protection. The cattle must not be overly frightened. Yes, he and Von Zell were the hunters. But even hunters could not survive the panic of a maddened herd.

When the mutilation killings had started, he'd known deep inside that it was Von Zell. The sham of the escaped zoo wolves was so pathetic. Only the blind public could believe such shit. But Frederick had willed himself to not see it. He had been willfully ignorant. Because if it were Garr responsible for bringing so much unwanted, dangerous attention, then von Zell would have to be dealt with, with finality.

So he had ignored it as the body count mounted, and danger drew closer. But he had been reviewing the other club members, trying to decide if any of them were ready to take von Zell's place at his side. Perhaps Pryce, if he could be persuaded away from his whores...

Then an angel had walked into the hunt club. A vision. He'd heard Xavier arguing with someone in the lobby, and had gone out to investigate, and there he was. Gabriel Knight. Frederick was bemused by the brash American. Gabriel was, quite simply, a beautiful man. He was a half head shorter than von Glower. Just the size, Frederick had thought, to fit comfortably. He was strong, sturdy. There'd be no fear of injuring this one unduly in love, play, or battle. His hair was a russet spill, the lights picking out gold and red strands in the tresses that brushed his shoulders. The face was handsome, and the mouth was delicious: wide, well formed, lips forever curling in an impish smile. The voice was a thick, honeyed drawl that made von Glower long to hear what he would sound like panting and moaning.

With no hesitation, Frederick had invited him back into the sanctum, invited him into the club and into his life. Garr had not been please. He was jealous of course, but he was also suspicious. Normally, von Glower would have put this down to the paranoia that had accompanied his lover's other emotional problems. But to be safe, after his new friend left, he had made some phone calls. What he'd found out had troubled him, but fascinated him even more.

It seemed that the young man from New Orleans was a schattenjaeger. In fact, he was a descendent of the very man who had delivered Frederick's father to the tender mercies of the villagers. Frederick didn't hold that against him. After all, it had been many lifetimes ago. But his status opened up intriguing possibilities.

Gabriel, like himself, had ties to the supernatural through birth, through his very blood. It did not stretch logic to believe that this might allow him to not only withstand transformation, but actually thrive. A schattenjaeger must already possess the nature of a hunter. And Gabriel had a shrewd, sly nature. It was obvious beneath his charm.

Before they had finished sharing their first stein of beer in the club's common room, Frederick had determined that Gabriel Knight would be his next companion, and lover. He had hoped to have time for seduction, but it seemed that von Zell had removed that possibility.

Gabriel had come to him that afternoon, ashen faced. He had been near speechless with horror, able only to stammer about something in the forest. He had led von Glower to the hidden cave, and waited outside as Frederick entered, and saw the festering remains of von Zell's secret victims. Foolish, foolish child, Frederick had raged silently. Greedy, mad, pitiful child. There was no choice now: Garr must die. Wasn't Friedrich lucky to have the perfect agent at hand?

The sun had gone down as he stood by the window, reviewing the past and contemplating the future. Near dusk, a pair of hikers had entered the clearing around the lodge, only to be turned away by Pryce. They had been a handsome pair. One was a tower of lean muscle, dark hair cropped brutally short. His companion was slim, smaller. His dark brown hair tumbled past his shoulders in curls and waves. There was an unspoken physical communication between them that hinted at something more than friendship. Interesting.

Just before it was time to meet Gabriel in the stables and begin the hunt for von Zell, one of the hikers returned. It was the youth. He skirted the edge of the clearing around the lodge, keeping near the trees. He alternated between staring at the ground and gazing up into the full moon. His body language bespoke someone who was feeling very sorry for themselves. Where was his hulking companion? Didn't he know it wasn't safe to allow such a little sweetmeat to wander alone at night? Had there been a lover's quarrel? Frederick watched him disappear into the woods, and frowned. The boy was heading toward Garr's lair.
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Verliebt in Einen Jungen Wolf