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LYKOS

Third Age

Chapter 2

(Steel to Rust)

[Naica, Mexico]

Pale white light filtered out through the ancient cave, bouncing off of the reddish ochre ceiling before being caught in the almost alien wonders that dominated the space. Massive translucent white crystal pillars zigged and zagged across the cavern a thousand feet below the surface. Most were at least four feet across and almost fifty feet long, some of the largest natural crystals ever formed across the planet. It was a sight beyond imagination for most, and with an ambient temperature of a hundred and thirty degrees and ninety nine percent humidity, few more were likely to see it.

The amber glow of a headlamp swung out across the crystals as one of the workers advanced, boots carefully gripping the uneven terrain. His fluorescent orange suit protected him from the environment, circulating chilled water to keep his temperature down and providing an oxygen supply. Without it, he would have been dead in ten minutes. If he had been a werewolf like his employer, it would have been even less. A second headlamp snapped on, the foreman double checking everything after his descent.

"Carlos, are you sure it wasn't just a trick of the light? The operations here are pretty sensitive, if we have any sort of disruption-" The foreman was cut off. Even with a mask and protective goggles, the glare from the miner was clear.

"I know what I saw, and I'm not overreacting. I have worked for Mister Yashin for twelve years, I've pulled more moonstone out of this mine than anyone. I was even there when he negotiated with Industrias Peñoles to tell the world that they were going to turn the pumps off and re-flood the caves... You need to believe me when I say this is serious." the miner said. The foreman shifted a bit before nodding.

"Right, of course you're right Carlos... If something's wrong, we need to be on the up and up." he agreed. Carlos gave a nod at that and turned, leading the way. He stepped off the relatively stable bedrock and onto one of the massive pillars, using it as a bridge, navigating his way down. It was as if the ancient gods had been playing a cosmic game of pickup sticks. The pillars crossed and crossed, interweaving, filling the fault that had been filled with water and heated by a nearby magma chamber for millennia.

The two descended as many miners had for decades, step by step, mindful of the unsteady terrain. The natural wonders were an antithesis to how humans normally operated. Every wall was marred by sharp edges, each pillar was a different angle, and one wrong move could easily be one's last. The cave had been made world famous, pictures of the gigantic crystals circulating the internet. The mine had been used for a century, providing the world with lead, zinc and silver. For that fact alone, it had been inhospitable to the werewolf population, but the discovery of the selenite and its rare Moonstone cousin had proven an irresistible opportunity.

Carlos led his foreman down, feeling a growing sense of dread. He'd learned long ago not to take anything for granted - not his safety, not his job, not anything... But he had never expected the earth itself to change, for the ancient and primordial elements to shift and warp. Each step deeper into the cave came with more caution and care. The light was having a harder time passing through the translucent crystals. Carlos approached an outcropping before he abruptly stopped, the foreman bumping into him.

"Carlos, you have to watch..." The foreman trailed off, looking around in stunned silence. The crystals he'd been working with, the crystals they had all been working with, were... wrong. It looked as if whatever happened had started gradually, the milky white crystal slowly shifting down the length of the beam, taking on a reddish tinge until a few feet later the entire crystal was a reddish-brown hue like carnelian.

"¡Qué susto! What does it mean, Tomás? Have you ever seen anything like this?" Carlos asked. As the foreman watched, he saw a bit more of the crystal changing color, the rose color becoming a deeper, darker red. Despite being in a super heated cave, Tomás had chills run down his spine.

"It means we have to tell Mister Yashin immediately..." he whispered, watching the crystal continue to change before his eyes.

****

Steam blasted up suddenly into a plume, accompanied with the sound of escaping gasses cutting through liquid and the foamy froth of the super heated milk as it built up on top of the tawny brown liquid beneath. The cappuccino was handled with a practiced grace by the barista who filled the cup up, gave it a careful flick and placed the lid on top. He moved behind the counter like a dancer, navigating past obstacles to get the beverage to its destination.

Thackary Bowen was well known and well liked in the town of Echo Creek, especially those that needed their morning fix. He was tall and skinny, his cedar brown hair bleached to a much lighter shade. He'd been growing it out for winter, though all he could manage was to pull it back into a very short ponytail. The barista flashed a smile to his early morning patron at the end of the counter before hearing the jingle of the bell attached to the front door. He gave a spin fast enough that the rings hanging from his ears wobbled as he moved back, leaning onto the counter, smiling almost like a cat that had gotten the cream as he watched Fletcher and Udo enter.

"Good morning my friends, what can I get for 'ya?" he asked cheerily. Fletcher moved up to the counter, bundled up in a russet red sweatshirt, the harvest gold beanie Yom had gifted to him and a particularly warm pair of green cargo pants. He crossed his arms and leaned on the counter for support, his steel rings making a slight clack against the wood. Udo followed after with a rather bright smile despite how early it was in the morning, dressed in a black hoodie and jeans that contrasted his light hair.

"I need the lifeblood of my people... Something strong enough to stir the embers that stir within my soul..." Fletcher pleaded, his caramel colored eyes slipping shut. Udo scrunched up his face in empathy, reaching to rub Fletcher's shoulder affectionately.

"The usual, please." Udo amended. Thackary grinned.

"That would be... Mango Maui tea, Caramel Macchiato, a Nitro Cold Brew and-" Thackary paused, suddenly looking very concerned as he looked back at Udo, "Not an iced coffee still, right? You saw the snow outside?" he asked. Udo shrugged.

"I like what I like. But we'll be adding a Café Mocha into the mix too. Extra milk." Udo said. Thackary's smile became more mischievous.

"So, Duncan's moving in, is he?" The barista asked. Fletcher opened his eyes, giving an odd dreamlike smile.

"He's moved-in in more ways than one." Fletcher said. Thackary chuckled at that, shaking his head, setting down a drink holder before he popped down the first two drinks, each tightly embraced by a cardstock cozy emblazoned with the emblem of a moose drinking from a winding stream.

"I swear, if we lived anywhere else that would be the gossip of the town, but no... A fivesome seems perfectly normal..." Thackary smirked.

"I guess after so many years of..." Udo trailed off, looking around, surveying his surroundings. There were only three other guests, all of them students from the university. Thackeray set the next drink down into the carrier, looking at Udo.

"Of harboring werewolves that have a tendency to get close to one another?" he asked softly. Udo looked nervous at having Thackary say it out loud. Thackary gave a sad smile before he moved back to making the last of the drinks. "The mayor, university president and museum director posted a broadcast on the internet advising the entire world that this place was a sanctuary for whatever supernatural creatures are out there... Not even just werewolves. We live in different times." he said, turning the blender on for just a moment to crush some ice before serving up Udo's iced coffee.

"Are you worried?" Fletcher asked, fetching his macchiato from the holder to sip from, letting the cup warm his hands as he savored the flavor. Thackary nodded, moving to clean his machines.

"I guess it is history repeating itself... I mean, the pattern is always there. The werewolves were a secret, hidden, repressed. They were outed to the world, the world fought back against something it saw as scary and different and new, and then they found their first advocates... at least publicly. The keepers have always been there to keep the werewolves safe. The only thing that has changed is we don't have to be subtle about it anymore." Thackary said. Udo tilted his head a bit.

"It sounds like you've given this a lot of thought." Udo said. The barista gave another cheeky smile before he ducked down beneath the counter and rummaged around before popping back up with a napkin, setting it on the counter. It was emblazoned with the same emblem the coffee shop had always had with one modification - the moose had been replaced with a wolf drinking from the stream. Udo couldn't help but grin.

"I love it, I think it's wonderful." he said happily. Fletcher looked up at Thackary.

"You didn't want to go with a cat?" he asked.

****

The early morning sunlight seemed to be having difficulty breaching the barrier of clouds hanging over the city, coming in steep angles in silver tones, reflecting off of the snow that clung to the branches and sparkling through the icicles that had formed along the ornamentation outside the old building. Somehow the idea of just how frigid it was outside made it easier to be inside the classroom. For Marco, it was a welcome return to what felt like normalcy.

Many of the other students seemed antsy, eager even to escape the early morning class and to get on with their day. Some hadn't even eaten breakfast yet, many were in pajamas, but none were asleep. Their attention was locked, to varying degrees, on the man who maneuvered around the classroom like a predator, hunting the spark of inspiration in his students as they delved deep and critically examined the written word.

"Perfect, you are so right, Adam..." The instructor said, a flash of his teeth as he grinned before a more serious look crossed his face. Every time he started and stopped; his shoulder length black dreads whipped into motion before coming to an abrupt stop. His mahogany colored skin contrasted the fawn colored suit he wore. He smiled again, "F. Scott Fitzgerald was capturing a human strength and a human weakness in 'Winter Dreams.' It's the human experience... Dig deep! Simon, what did you think?"

One of the younger students blinked a little, brushing the blond hair out of his face. Marco watched with fascination, trying to piece together what the story had been about by proxy. The freshman took a breath, trying to get his thoughts to coalesce before he finally sat up straighter. He'd never been big on public speaking, but since coming to Echo Creek and finding his place as a Keeper, he'd been growing his confidence.

"Sometimes the temptation of a dream can blind you to the consequences of it, even the damage it is causing." Simon began, licking his chapped lips, "With Dexter being so focused on Judy, she stops being a person and starts to become an ideal. He doesn't even care when she isn't faithful because she's still this beautiful, perfect thing to him... Even when she's unobtainable, he's content with the idea of her until, finally, she no longer looks like this ideal he imagined her to be and the dream fades... The weight of it all finally catches up with him."

"Exactly, exactly..." The professor said, shaking his head with sad acceptance to human nature as he turned, onyx colored eyes surveying the classroom, pausing briefly on Marco before continuing to the other students, "It is a strength to override one's senses and beliefs, one's own nature to invest in a dream. It is a weakness to be blind to the repercussions of it. If you can find a better path than Dexter did, well, let's just say I hope you can each make your winter dreams a reality." he smiled, "And with that, class is dismissed."

The classroom erupted into a flurry of movement. Notebooks were closed, tablets slipped back into sleeves, backpacks zipped back up and feet scurrying for the door. Outside the classroom there was a rumble as dozens of pairs of feet started trudging down the steps from classes that had let out in the floors above. A shock of fresh air made it into the classroom as the door opened and the first students made their way out.

"Mister Iona, do you have a moment?" The instructor asked. Marco looked up, paling a bit, watching as Simon and Adam hesitated before moving out of the classroom.

"Yes, Professor Sims?" Marco asked, standing up, sliding one strap of his backpack over his shoulder. Marco looked like an enigma on campus, sporting the beard of an alumni while carrying the spirit of a nineteen-year-old. He was constantly mistaken for older and younger by his classmates all at the same time. The professor waited for the last students to depart until Marco and he were alone.

"I wanted to thank you for coming back. I know it couldn't have been easy, missing the time and trying to jump back in." he said. Marco nodded weakly.

"Not easy, but the alternative was to write off the whole semester. I think this was the best path for me, short term and long term." he replied. The professor nodded.

"The faculty have been trying to figure out how to help those that were... taken... reintegrate, to get back in the swing of things. Julio, the president of the school, has been spearheading the project. But I think one thing that could be really helpful, and I don't mean to pry, but if the stories are true... Anyone would need someone to talk to after what you went through." Professor Sims said gently. Marco looked away. He wasn't even sure why, at first, except that if his eyes were a window to his soul, he didn't want anyone looking in at that moment.

"I really appreciate it, and that's just what I'd hope for everyone going through this... I'm one of the lucky ones. I've got my-" Marco paused, editing a word before he spoke, "Friends... my family knows what happened. I've got a great network." he said. The professor gave a sad smile and a gentle nod.

"Of course. I just thought I'd let you know that we're here for you, the whole faculty. If you do change your mind, Grand Mesa has an excellent counselor, Trevor Halyard. He's got a sage wisdom that I've relied on in some hard times of my own and he's aware of the unique history this school has had. His door, and mine, are always open." The professor said. Marco risked looking back up, giving another meek smile.

"I'll think about it, thank you professor. It means a lot." Marco said, pulling the other strap of his backpack on before he turned and left the classroom. The smell of faintly wet carpeting and very stale chalk fell behind him as he ventured out into air too cold to have a scent. It was only in that moment that he appreciated the smell of the classroom, being able to smell anything as a human, being back among... his own kind. Marco closed his eyes and pushed out of the doors, moving down the slick brick walkway, letting out a sigh that crystallized into a fine vapor in the air, swirling around his face as he pressed on.

****

Colorado was a region known for a wide diversity of trees, from the robust Douglas fir to the instantly recognizable Lodgepole pine. In spring, the sky often filled with the floating puffballs of cottonwood... but there was one corner of Echo Creek that a completely different collection of trees grew. The snow fell across the graceful branches of Ume plum, the Yoshino cherry and the rich red hued Japanese maple trees. Seeds had been planted decades earlier by Japanese immigrants settling in the area and they had been tended to and cared for as the town itself developed, grew and branched outward. They were a symbol of history and heritage, just like the museum that had been built between them.

While Echo Creek was most famous for Grand Mesa University and the local hospital, the Japanese-American Heritage Museum was a close third. The two-story building housed some of the town's oldest artifacts and documents, all protected by meticulously crafted, rich red wood walls. The museum held on to history, both public... and private. It shared the story of the citizens that were spirited away from their homes and lives, placed into internment camps out of racist fear during the second world war. It was also a museum that preserved another history, the history of the werewolves that had been outed during that internment.

The design of the structure was elegant, the rich red wood walls boasting sharp edges and angles on one side while transitioning to more fluid curves and slopes on the other. Between its unique architecture and the beautiful trees, the museum was postcard ready any day of any season. There was even one resilient cherry tree that always seemed to be mid-blossom, even in the dead of winter. It was a symbol for the community; a symbol of strength, continuity, and justice. In many ways, the museum's curator was seen just the same for the community. In recent days she was not as certain.

Golden brown eyes peeked out of the museum window, checking once more to ensure that the news vans had departed after her assurances that she would provide no new information until the next press conference with the mayor. She already felt over exposed after standing with the mayor and the president of the college to declare Echo Creek a sanctuary city to all supernatural beings... She still couldn't believe she had done it - an entire lifetime of hiding the truth of the werewolves, only to do a heel turn on a webcast and single out the community she had sworn to protect.

Ren Sekikimori had been born in Echo Creek, Colorado. Colloquially, she was a Yonsei; the great grandchild of a Japanese immigrant. She had inherited a sense of duty, of honor, of respect... and the great responsibility of protecting her werewolf cousins and the pack they found themselves in from being discovered, hunted or harmed. To that end she had learned many skills, ranging from guile to networking, medicines and poisons, lore and even some limited degrees of magic... and now she'd shown her face to the world. Ren paused, catching sight of her reflection in the glass of one of the museum pieces.

Ren was in her mid-forties, closer to the end of the decade than the start. Her fawn toned skin had only a few wrinkles from concentration, her black hair tied back in a neat ponytail with a wood ring painted with enamel cherry blossoms on black. For most of her life she'd tried to project a professional decorum, dressing the part of the museum curator, keeping her heritage alive. The truth being told, though, that presentation was wearing a bit thin. The last year had taken its toll, and Ren was starting to question her place as the community's keeper. Maybe that was why she had finally agreed to out herself. Maybe it was some self-destructive impulse to go against all of her training.

Somewhere outside there was the scrape of feet against gravel. Ren was, of course, always vigilant. Her eyes returned to the window, peering out, catching sight of two young men - some of the few that did not attend Grand Mesa University. One was young, no more than nineteen. His shoulder length wavy copper hair was trapped under a rather worn Peruvian chullo hat, keeping his ears warm from the cold. Despite the brisk temperature, his green eyes were as bright as the grin on his face as he walked back, accompanied by another.

The second man was a bit older, approaching his thirties but hanging on to his youthful vigor. His hazel eyes were a bit more serious, though a few snowflakes clung to his dusty brownish tan hair pulled back into a short ponytail. Ren looked out at the boys and couldn't help but feel her hesitation and doubt melt. A smile found its way to her lips, sneaking right past her usual decorum. She took a breath and let out a sigh.

"Ren, you think too much sometimes." She whispered to herself before she navigated away from the window, around the corner and into her back office. An entire portion of the museum was secreted away, possessing the true history of Echo Creek and the supernatural world that lurked beneath the surface. It also had a rather amenable kitchenette. Ren bypassed her selection of teas and instead went right for the cocoa. Two mugs were filled with rich dark chocolate cocoa and the third with powdered carob to simulate a chocolate flavor for those that could not indulge. Ren carried the concoctions back to the table sitting off to the side of her desk, bordered by a couch and a tall backed chair.

"We're going to have to turn the heat up, they've upgraded it to a winter storm advisory." An earthy, smooth voice came as the door opened, the dusty haired young man entering first, "They're expecting ten inches, maybe more."

"If it sticks around, maybe I can try to learn to snowboard when we go out for the full moon! I mean, before I turn anyway." The redhead considered, closing the door behind him.

"Perhaps the snow can quiet the curiosity everyone seems to have... Did anyone ask you questions while you were out, Auel?" Ren questioned as she sat down in her chair. The brown-haired man shook his head, settling onto the couch, reaching for the cocoa eagerly.

"I think a few people have put it together that I work here now, but no one's asked me about it yet. Silas, on the other hand, almost seems to be hunting for reporters around every corner." Auel said. The redhead pouted.

"Hey, you got to be on the internet! Well, next to it at least." Silas protested, raising his mug to blow on it, the steam wafting off the carob liquid before he tipped it back. It wasn't quite the same as hot cocoa, but it was the closest he'd gotten since being turned.

"We're not trying to be stars, we're just... trying to do the right thing." Auel said. Silas looked down at the floor and nodded. Ren looked at them both, thinking to how these two young men had come into their lives... Silas had been exposed to the curse by his roommate. Marco and his friends had assumed he had died, only to learn that he had risen as a direwolf, the feral and wild variant of werewolves that all keepers feared. Auel, on the other hand, had once been a werewolf hunter until a change of heart brought him out on the right side of history. By all rights, they should have been Ren's enemies... but after helping Silas reclaim his humanity and training Auel in the ways of the keepers, they both felt like family - like sons.

"We have one advantage." Ren said, breaking the silence, adding a bit of an optimistic smile, "For the first time, we're the ones being proactive."

"And that's good?" Silas asked, looking up at Ren. Ren smiled a bit brighter.

"Oh yes. For one thing, it takes less energy than being on the defensive all the time. The curse was forced on the werewolves, the crusades hunted them, internment trapped them, Futurza kidnapped them... Every part of werewolf history has been a reaction, but now? Now the world has to play catch up." Ren said. Silas seemed reassured, but Auel did not.

"I don't have a lot of faith in how well people will react." Auel said. Ren leaned back in her chair.

"Normally I would agree. It feels as if everything we know is deteriorating, turning steel to rust... But I look at you two, at our friends, at Marco and his pack and I think that some of this change is good. The old ways weren't working anymore... and I failed... this community. I wasn't able to stop the Blood Moon Eclipse from happening or protect the campus pack from being taken by Futurza." Ren said. Silas' green eyes were wide.

"Ren, it wasn't your fault!" he whispered. Ren shook her head.

"That isn't the point," She said, brushing away her own insecurities, "The point is that hiding away, keeping secrets, it was never going to last forever. The secret is out, werewolves exist. I have no doubt that the hunters that kidnapped werewolves from the box canyon told someone who told someone... It's time for us to build a new foundation, to find new ways to protect our friends. I'm going to need to rely on you both quite a bit." she admitted. Silas smiled a smile warm enough to melt ice.

"You've got us, always." he said earnestly.

"I'll do everything I can. I'm sure I know enough techniques to help the keepers defend against most hunter tactics. I may even be able to come up with some new ideas." Auel said, considering, "Are you going to talk more with the mayor?"

"Yes, although... I'm going to need to network with more people. The governor is undoubtedly going to have an opinion on Echo Creek taking such bold moves, and I need to talk to the monks... There's a difference between telling the truth when pushed and volunteering information. I need to see where they feel the line is." Ren said softly. Auel looked at her with a bit of curiosity at that.

"What is behind the line?" he asked. Ren looked at Auel with a strange, almost mischievous glint in her eyes.

"More than you ever thought possible. Legends and nightmares stretching back centuries... You haven't even scratched the surface." she said, feeling a strange, almost rebellious thrill at the idea of letting loose with a lifetime of stored up secrets. Ren lifted her mug to her lips, taking a sip. Maybe her calling hadn't been as a keeper of secrets after all. Maybe it had been as a keeper of lore all along.

****

There were few places where one could be truly alone on a college campus, especially when sharing a dorm with three other young men. For Udo that had never been a problem. He'd never been compelled to be alone, but when he'd gotten a rare and unexpected call from his father... Well, as they said, there was a first time for everything. The call had started out abruptly, his father questioning things he had heard on television. Udo had tried amiably enough, but the window of opportunity to answer each question was becoming shorter, as was his father's patience.

Udo had been fortunate enough that he'd answered his phone while the others were away, but Fletcher's class would let out first and he could return at any time... So, Udo did what felt natural, he fled. He'd left his dorm room behind, gone down the stairs, out the side door and past the Hawk's Nest, walking between the frats and past the language building before hanging a right, heading into the grassy field behind the Humanities building. With each step, Udo's feet crunched in the snow, a few fresh flakes drifting down to land on his black sweatshirt.

"I wish you wouldn't watch that channel, dad. It blows everything out of proportion..." Udo said, trying to reign in his father's rare demonstration of passion or interest.

"Udo, do you know what those fuckers did to the economy?" his father asked, his voice as harsh and biting over the phone as it was in person.

"Even if there are werewolves here, I doubt they're going to hurt the economy. Honestly... I haven't seen anything out of the ordinary since the announcement." Udo said. Technically that was the truth, but the definition of a normal day in Echo Creek was a long stretch from normal, and the fact that Udo had been bitten a year earlier and turned into a werewolf was a lie of omission.

"I was on the fence about this whole college thing to start with... Especially so far away, and an all boy's school? The warning signs were there all along. I don't know why I let your mother talk me into letting you go there..." his father murmured, "I think three semesters of this nonsense is enough. At least the term is almost over, you won't have to go back to that hell hole again."

The words hung in the air as Udo trudged to a stop. He was silent, motionless, still. A few snowflakes landed on his forehead, melting instantly as they came in contact with his body heat. One might have mistaken Udo for a painting, a moment captured in time, but while he looked still from a distance, he was actually moving. His muscles had tightened to the point that he was nearly shaking, his hand tightening on the phone. The ivory drained from his fingernails, replaced by brownish hues, then black as his nails pushed out into claws. The blue drained away from his eyes, a menacing amber glow emanating from the irises. His lips slowly parted, revealing his sharpening fangs. Even his ears threatened to push into points as bushy blond hair crept down his cheeks.

"Udo? Udo, are you there? Can't even get good recept-" The voice of Udo's father cut off abruptly, punctuated by the sound of splintering glass and cracking plastic as Udo crushed the device. The screen flickered before going dark. Udo was left in the cold, shaking with rage, his heart racing, his blood pumping. The sleeves of his sweatshirt seemed tight, his shoes starting to fray at the tips, worn down by the claws beneath. Udo closed his eyes, trying to reign in his rage... but he couldn't. There was only one alternative.

The shattered phone was discarded, useless, dropping into the snow. Udo pushed off, taking a stride, then another. He picked up pace, breaking into a jog, then a sprint. He ran across the field, past the ancient sprawling oak tree, beneath the six evergreen trees that formed a hexagon, around the back of the art building and toward the edge of campus. The heat of rage had ebbed only a little, tinged with the sting of pain. A hot tear ran down Udo's cheek, almost enough for it to boil off his skin.

He couldn't even start to imagine what it would be like to go back home, to call it quits on college - not to mention his pack. He'd found himself, he'd found family, he'd found a purpose, and now his father was trying to bring it all to an end because of something he'd seen on some conservative television show. The idea of going back in disgrace, losing everything he had to live for? It wasn't just a preposterous idea, it was unthinkable.

Udo picked up the pace, his eyes still glowing a bright gold. There was no way that was going to happen. Being a werewolf was in his blood and being part of Marco's pack was even stronger. One way or another, he wouldn't let his father tear apart everything that he'd built... everything that he had gained. Whatever was going to happen, this was just the start. Udo's pain turned into determination as he hit the tree line, running along the edge of campus. He knew he had options, of course... but the question was, just how far would he take things, and what steps would he take to get there?

****

The treadmill whirred with a rapid pace, punctuated with the rhythmic thumps of footfalls coming in perfect tempo... though to call them feet would have been inaccurate. From the curved, sharp brown claws to the slightly swollen pads of skin on the toes and heel, they were almost paws. The exercise equipment had been top of the line, but the wear and tear it had been put through was showing already. The belt was worn down and the handlebars had been gripped tightly enough on occasion to grow loose, the threads of the screws strained.

A clawed hand wrapped around a water bottle, lifting it up and tipping it back. A long stream of chilled water sprayed out into a waiting, thirsty fang lined mouth framed by an immense, robust, dark brown beard streaked with grey highlights. Anatoli Yashin broke the definition of just what a dad bod could be. His stomach was far from flat, but the roundness that it had was backed up by muscle. His pecs were full, but they were fairly firm. His shoulders were broad, his legs as thick as tree trunks, his arms strong and his ears... well, they were pointed at the moment.

Anatoli had been born a werewolf, just as his father had. He'd sired three strong sons and turned a childhood fascination with geology into an international mineral company. It had never been easy, but the recent world events weighed heavily on him. At least exercise offered some sort of escape. With luck he would have lost another few pounds and Marya wouldn't be quite as strict when it came to mealtime. Anatoli was starting to dream of his wife's Medovik honey cake when his phone rang.

A hand came down on the treadmill control, turning it off. Anitoli rode the belt back before stepping off as his claws pulled back into fingernails, his ears blunted, his brow recessed, and his eyes faded from amber to brown. He exhaled slowly, focusing his mind and emotions to reel himself back in. He grabbed a towel, flinging it over his shoulders to absorb any excess moisture as he grabbed his phone. The caller ID flashed a name, Abel Lane. Anatoli answered it.

"What is it, my friend?" He asked.

"I've received word from Naica. Something has happened to the moonstone." A deep voice sounded from the other side. Anatoli's bushy eyebrows lowered.

"What do you mean, something happened?" he asked. There was a pause. Anatoli was used to the family's keeper being stoic and silent, but not when it came to business.

"The foreman claimed the moonstone was... corrupted." Abel said finally, "I am sending you a picture." he added. Anatoli brought the phone away from his ear as the screen filled with a picture of massive crystal pillars, each of them a deep translucent crimson color. Anatoli's eyes flared a bit, tinting amber for a moment.

"Na Huy?" he muttered, his Russian accent at its thickest, "It can't be... There hasn't been any blood moonstone since medieval times, let alone that much of it."

"It may have been fortunate that we already told the public we had allowed the cave to re-flood, but if the rate of transformation continues, the world's largest supply of moonstone will be completely changed in a matter of days." Abel replied. Anatoli looked at the picture for a long moment, his eyes studying the deep red crystal.

"Moonstone is important to my people, but it is becoming something that hasn't existed for centuries. If that really is blood moonstone, there's no way to calculate its value. It is beyond priceless." Anatoli said softly.

"That may be, but there is also no way to calculate the danger. What are your orders, sir?" Abel asked. This time it was Anatoli who hesitated.

"I want every worker with top clearance down there. Every fully corrupted crystal is to be removed and brought to Evergreen. Cut ahead of the transformation point, try to preserve half of the crystals and a few seeds. At the end of this we very well may have to reflood the cave to let the crystals regrow. We also have to keep this quiet for now, even in our own circles." Anatoli said gently.

"Understood." Abel replied, complying despite his own reservations. The phone clicked as the conversation ended. Anatoli didn't have to explain to Abel the danger of this unexpected turn of events. That mine had given werewolves the way to store the power of the full moon and use it when they were most desperate, but now? Anatoli couldn't even begin what would happen if word got out that they had their hands on something that could do the exact opposite, stripping away a werewolf's abilities... It was terrifying and powerful all at the same time and there was no way to tell what sort of impact it would have on his company. They could soar high or watch it all crumble, and it was all down to fate.