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A Change of Vantage By Raska Kannagami

"How did he die?" was Tom's first question regarding Boss Miles' death.

"We don't know," replied one of the two Native-American-looking fellows to either side of Adrian, "But there are only so many things that can kill a werebeast."

Tom sighed and counted them off on his fingers, "Silver, fire, strangulation - and by extension, drowning and suffocating - beheading, and the fangs and claws of our own."

"Well, what was he doing before he died...and where is Lucy?" Adrian asked, "We can rule out the last one, I'm pretty sure Lucy would never betray Miles."

"Miles' mate has not been found," Indian-boy-number-one said. Marcus was having a difficult time telling them apart.

Adrian cringed, "That doesn't exactly put her in a good light, I suppose. But if she did do something, why? She loved Miles."

Indian-number-two shrugged, "We don't have enough evidence at this point to say if she did or didn't do anything. All we know is that Miles is dead and that we've lost contact with his mate. Until she is found, we might never have any information regarding what happened. Either way, a new Boss must be selected for Umbra County. Since you were Miles' second-in-command, you are currently the acting Boss, unless we find a better candidate."

"Great. I'm really not thrilled. Miles only made me in charge because...I don't actually know. I suspect he drew my name from a hat, there are surely better wolves for the job in the county," Adrian replied, sighing.

Number-one clapped him on the shoulder, "Don't discredit yourself, Adrian, maybe Miles saw something in you. Anyways, we gotta get going. We'll give your regards to the Governor."

When they left, Adrian sighed again, "This is just fantastic."

"Is there going to be a funeral?" Marcus asked.

Tom shook his head, "No. Wolves don't hold funerals unless we have a body. It's easy enough for our kind to...yanno, disappear for a couple decades. So we never hold funerals unless we're sure the person in question is really, truly dead."

"Oh. I guess that makes sense. Speaking of which - well, you know what I mean - how old are you guys? How old do werewolves -- I mean, were_beasts_ -- live?"

"We can live forever if we're not killed, is the short answer to your second question. And like I said before, there are only five things that can kill us...seven if you count drowning and suffocating as different "things". That being said, there are few werebeasts alive today who go back any earlier than the seventeen-hundreds and I'm talking worldwide, mind you," Tom replied. He held up a single finger, "There is one werebeast - a tanuki friend of mine I met in Japan, actually - who is old enough to remember the Warring States period, which was in the fourteen-hundreds. I've never met a werebeast older than him."

"You didn't answer my first question," Marcus noted.

"I'm only ninety-five, and Adrian's...what are you, thousand-fifty?"

Adrian grunted, "Two-twenty-four, wiseass. To put those numbers into perspective for you, Marcus, Tom was born literally a week after the first World War ended, and I was born just after the end of the Revolutionary War, in 1789."

Marcus' eyes widened, "You look barely older than twenty! And Tom looks older than you! Besides you guys don't seem so...old. You don't talk like old people."

Adrian laughed, "What, you want us to be all 'old fashioned'? Pfft. How would we be able to blend in human society if we didn't keep with the times? Anyways, the reason Tom looks older is because he's a werewolf born, whereas I'm a werewolf made."

"Huh?"

"Werebeasts born to werebeast parents age at a fraction of the rate that humans do. I think it's like...three years for every one year of aging. Which is why Tom looks like he's in his early thirties. As for made werebeasts, we stop aging. I was made a werewolf on September thirtieth, 1813. I was twenty-four, and I haven't aged a day since."

"So how do you become a werebeast, if not by birth?" Marcus asked

Adrian grinned, "Sex." * * * * *

"Samir! Good to see you! Well, not really, since I find you repulsive, but it's the sentiment that counts, no?" Morana greeted him as he walked through the doors to her chambers, "That outfit suits you, though I don't recall giving permission for your clothes to be returned to you."

"They're not my clothes, Morana," Samir replied, casually taking a seat in the armchair across from hers, "I killed one of your servant vampires...I think you call them "thralls"...and took his clothes."

Her eyes narrowed, "And you think I'll let you get away with this...why?"

"Well, first of all, you never told me I couldn't kill your vampire underlings. I expect you'll do that shortly - tell me not to, that is - to cover your error. Secondly, I should like to point out that we are alone. Even if you have me over a barrel, figuratively speaking, that does not mean I am suddenly no longer stronger and faster than you in my Change form. I killed your servant to remind you of that fact."

Her eyes twinkled dangerously, "Where did you acquire a spine, rat?"

Samir smiled at her, "Probably when I ripped out that of your thrall. See, I realized that you need me."

"How do you figure?"

He snorted, "If I died, then your precious Lord Cain would turn back into dust. It is my magic that brought him back, and without it he's nothing but a pile of bones."

"You played me false!" She growled, leaning forward, "I thought you werebeasts cared about your silly little 'honor', I guess I was mistaken."

"You are mistaken, Morana. I told you I could bring him back, and I did. I did not see fit to educate you on the restrictions of such a spell. However, I was in no way untruthful to you," Samir replied, resisting the urge to smirk.

She looked livid, "How dare you! I should have killed you when I had the chance!"

"You hit the nail on the head there, Morana," Samir replied smugly, "You said 'when I had the chance', thus implying that the aforesaid 'chance' has passed, which is correct. Now, if you want your Lord Cain to do anything other than fill a cremation urn, you'll have to keep me alive."

"Get out! Go! Go...do whatever it is you do, but get out of my sight!" The vampire queen screeched at him, with gestures to match.

Feigning civility, Samir stood and bowed deeply, "Of course, milady."

"Get out!"

* * * * *

As he was heading out of Morana's chambers, he was accosted by a tall figure in a long flowing robe, "Master Samir, could I have a word with you a moment?"

Samir flinched, "I don't know what's more disturbing, Cain, that you can speak at all, or the fact that you move your mouth when you do. You know, being a skeleton and all."

"Well, one makes do with what they have. May we walk as we talk?" The ancient vampire lord was unfailingly courteous, and despite his lich-like appearance Samir actually found him pleasant company.

"Of course, Cain. Shall we head to your chambers or mine?"

"I am quite aware that your chambers consist of a cell, but you honor me with your hospitality nonetheless. I would suggest, however, that we instead take our conversation toward the grand balcony," the lich replied, falling into step beside him, his great cloak making him look like the grim reaper itself.

Samir nodded and led the way. Though Morana's lair was a confusing maze of hallways and rooms, Samir had quickly gotten used to the layout. After a few turns, and after determining that they were alone, Samir spoke, "Why do you call me 'master', Cain?"

The tall vampire-lich stopped in his tracks, and turned to face Samir, "Because you resurrected me, a task which becomes more and more difficult the longer the deceased has been dead. To resurrect me, that must have taken a great deal of power, power like the great sorcerers of old possessed. I call you 'master', because that is no less than your due. You are a Master of Sorcery, and such a Master should be given proper respect, whether he be a human or a wereling or a vampire."

Samir looked away briefly, and they began walking again, "I do not know that I deserve that honor. What I did was a betrayal of my people, and I am not proud of it."

"Through certain eyes, yes, you are a traitor. But I am grateful that you brought me back, and it is regarding that...hmm...debt...that I wished to speak with you," the lich said, producing a book from within his voluminous robes.

"This is an ancient tome, copied directly from scrolls which were in the Great Library at Alexandria. It is a treatise on magic, specifically sorceries used by my people long ago."

Samir took the proffered book, it was only polite, "Why would I have interest in your ancient dark magics?"

"Because, Master Samir, they might give you insight in new ways to use your magics. Specifically toward ridding yourself of this...plague...which the lady has afflicted you with. See, after the Pact, my people were quite helpless. We had been given monstrous powers, but as you well know, these powers came with limits and fine print and weaknesses. Like sunlight for my people...wolfsbane for yours...and silver for us both, though in differing measure. We strove to use magic to rid ourselves of these weaknesses, and were partially successful. As Morana has told me, my people are now all but immune to the sun's hated rays."

Samir regarded the tome in his hands with a new respect, "They did that with magic?"

"Oh, yes, Master Samir. Magic is much like the 'science' of the humans. If you understand its precepts enough, and have the means to apply them, you can do anything. However, I should give you this word of warning - when my people conquered sunlight, we found that we became weaker to our other great bane, silver. It is why we cannot stand to be within a few inches of it, lest it burn us with the fires of the Dark Gods. Everything one does with magic has an equal and opposite consequence, seldom intended, and usually unwelcome."

Samir nodded, "I understand. Thank you, Lord Cain. This...this is a great gift."

"You have never, excepting when I was first risen, called me 'Lord', Master Samir," the lich remarked as he turned and began departing.

"It is no less than your due."

* * * * *

"What!? What do you mean 'sex'?"

Tom snickered, "Well, in ancient times, therianthropy - what you humans often mistakenly call 'lycanthropy' - could be bestowed on any human by any werebeast though a simple exchange of fluids, whether that be saliva, blood, semen...even urine! Which reminds me of a rather hilarious story my granddad told me. Back in the day --"

"Ahem," Adrian interrupted, "Answer his question first."

"Right. Well, see, the Elders - that was what we called the Regional Lords back then - decided that this was too....messy. It was too easy to accidentally Change a human. Back then, a particularly snot-filled sneeze in a crowded room had a decent chance of turning someone into a werebeast. So, great and powerful sorceries were used. We made it so that only one fluid held the medium for Change, and that would be semen."

"Why...that?" Marcus asked, his mouth agape.

"Well, it seemed appropriate. It is the seed from which new life is made. Plus, it was also convenient. We had - and still have - an unspoken rule that no werebeast would "lay with" a human without first disclosing their true nature, and that if they rejected our nature, we were not permitted to lay them. While we are fairly promiscuous among ourselves, we do not often take a human to mate. Humans are so much shorter-lived than us, such a romance would be tragic at best. So, by making the medium of change be our seed, we made it so that if we took a human to mate, and revealed our nature, and they were fine with that...that when we consummated the relationship, our mate would become one of us. Now, before, there was only a chance that a fluid exchange would result in the human being Changed, but once it was done, our seed became the only medium of change, and so it was guaranteed that anyone we...well...would become a werebeast," Adrian explained.

"So...only guy werebeasts can Change a human?"

"Yep."

"And only by..."laying with" them?"

"Yep" "And you got Changed into a werebeast?"

"Yep."

"You had sex with a guy!?"