† Chapter Two †

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All these faces are fake. 

 

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His lip curled with odium. 

The beast of a wolf that lurked beneath his skin was prowling, still drinking in the exhilaration and adrenaline from their fight in the trials, and his gums itched with fangs ready to devour flesh. He still hadn't calmed over the past few hours. His blood was rushing hot through his veins and he found it harder and harder to keep his wolf at bay. 

One day, he hoped to let his wolf truly free. No matter where he stood as a man, he would let his beast ravage in any desire it pleased. There would be no boundaries, no consequences, just a sea of unending blood from corrupted souls and blackened veins. However, he had learned to calculate his moves, his steps, and he had to wait. His moment of opportunity had not yet shone through and he had to maintain his act until then. 

Though, he found it harder and harder to keep himself composed. His emotions were raging with relentless anger, hate, and disgust. Every time he met someone's eye, his wolf bristled in challenge. Every time someone spoke ill of him, he wanted to batter them. He was supposed to be pretending to be the son that his father wanted but maybe he was slipping. 

Maybe he was slipping into the abyss of his feral desires. Losing himself, ever so gradually with each day that passed. Maybe the true nature of his wolf was strong enough to overpower him and his wolf was only waiting for a clean shot to kill. That wasn't something that was easily done surrounded by a hundred wolves of devilish blood. If he were to kill one, he would go down before he could reach the next one. He was outnumbered and he preferred a tactile approach--of which he was trying to plan to escape.  

His father still didn't trust him, with very good reason, because he was only playing the role of a submissive son. He was faking it and nobody was smart enough to see it. That was another thing he had learned about this pack, they were ridiculously stupid. There was no brain involved with any of their decisions, just straight blood-lust and evil desires. They were lost in their feral instincts, looking to kill any living being, and he was trying to stay afloat long enough to escape. 

Because no matter what, the environment that surrounded him was influencing him. Always, even when he didn't think it was. He had to be careful who he was around because their actions would melt into his own over time. He had stupidly done it when he was just a boy, trying to mimic everyone around him so he could fit in, and he learned the harsh snap-back of reality for that. He had grown to choose his company with caution, remain guarded, and aware of their actions, so that he didn't lose track of his own morals. 

It was so easy to go with the flow of the river, even if it was heading for a thousand foot waterfall a few miles down, rather than fight to swim to the bank. He felt like he was watching everyone else going over the edge while he kept fighting with every breath to cling into the bank. Fingernails digging into soft soil, he was searching for a rock to ground him, somewhere he would be safe for a while, and it would never be in the place he was now. If he stopped fighting for a single second, he would lose so much ground as the current swept him away.

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