I Bet on Losing Dogs

𐒡ɘㄷꝈוֹℴր ¹: ℬɘɡוֹրրוֹրɡꕶ 3

Beginnings Pt. 3

Tribal meetings are a huge honor to take part of, especially for an outsider. I'm practically a specialist in deciphering ancient tribal stories and the monsters they depict, and I'm definitely a specialist in fighting those monsters.

Jacob helped me pass out my pot roast, cuddling next to me against one of the tree trunks he and Paul managed to carry in. I tried to focus on the story I knew Billy would begin to tell soon, but I kept thinking about Jacob. I knew he couldn't be like the wolves I'd faced before, because tonight was a full moon and there was no transformation, no chains, no "I can't do anything tonight I have plans" text. There was also no set of extra teeth.

Background: I've faced three types of werewolves before. The first and most common kind are hybrids. They prefer their human form, and their big tell-all that Dean always used was the Silver Pen trick. It's effective, but not always foolproof. Most werewolves have a natural aversion to silver- it burns their skin badly. Sam's favorite tell-all is wolfsbane, which is 100% effective and foolproof, but not always the easiest to administer. To a werewolf, it tastes like battery acid and causes hives to form all along the inside of their esophagus. These hybrid werewolves are called hybrids since they can look 'wolfish' in their human form, aka, you can see their retractable fangs and enlarged irises. Oh, and these guys like to eat hearts. Human hearts.

The second form is new-age shifters. They often travel in small packs, hunting animals for survival and staying far away from society. New-age shifters abide by the moon, and are forced to painfully transform along the calendar of the full moon. Dean's tell-all for them is making them angry. New-aged shifters don't live very long, and they either die in fights or die during a transformation that their body can't handle anymore. Since they're usually so young, they're not very good at controlling themselves. Dean always said "Make 'em angry, watch the eyes". Sam's tell-all was, again, wolfsbane. New-age shifters are called new-age because of how young most of them are. In reality, this is one of the oldest lines of werewolves in history, or at least that can be traced back.

The third kind are old-age shifters. Most of this kind of wolf died off or went into hiding. However, I have reasonable suspicion to believe Jacob and the Black family line are these Old-age shifters. This line has to be the oldest traceable line of werewolves. They don't go after humans, so they're usually not a problem. They're able to transform more fluidly, and don't abide by the lunar calendar. They also don't age as long as they continue to transform frequently. These shifters turn into massive, hulking wolves. The biggest one that Sam could find a record of was the size of a pickup truck.

How does one go about killing a werewolf? Well, you take a gun, load it with a silver bullet, and fire right in between their eyes. 100% foolproof, 100% effective.

Jacob had wrapped his arm around me while I drifted through my thoughts. I felt his hands curl into the base of my neck, sliding up my hair and sending chills down my spine. I was lucky for the distraction, because I really didn't want to think about putting a bullet in anyone's head. I was lucky I was dealing with a vamp case, and an easy one at that, according to Dean. Taking a deep breath, I settled into Jacob's warm torso and waited for Billy to begin talking.

"Welcome, friends" Billy spoke, his voice echoing through the open air and down into the heat of the fire. "Thank you all for joining me tonight as we retell the stories of our tribe". The heat of the fire was pulsing on my face as Billy took a large bite of my pot roast, smiling as he turned to look at me.

"And thank you to our newcomer for making this delicious pot roast with my son tonight" he laughed, winking at Jacob and I. A round of thank you's circled around the cluster of people sitting around the fire, forcing a red blush on my face. I felt awkward, considering the roast didn't taste right and I knew Billy just wanted me to feel welcome. Thankfully, nothing else was said as Billy cleared his throat and began to speak. Once again, his voice cut through the cool air like an arrow, surrounding me as he spoke.

"The Quileute tribe has lived on this land for hundreds of years, protecting and serving it. We watch these woods with vigilance, care for our friends and family, and maintain peace. The story I tell tonight is that of the boy in the woods". Billy's story was beautiful, and I listened to it intently, trying to pick out any information I could that might be about the Black line. Anything at all about werewolves. I knew these stories were sacred to the tribe, but Billy was giving me nothing. When the retelling was over and the light of the wide moon was all that was left of the evening, bubbles in my stomach rose to my chest. I had to get my priorities straight and run back to my motel room to get everything in order for tomorrow. I had to find this vamp nest, but I also had to find out what Jacob was. Nervously, I shifted away from Jacob and stood, shaking out the pins and needles from my legs.

I walked to the table of food and lifted the large pot of roast, ready to carry it back to the Black's house, help clean up, and run back to my room. I was probably being ridiculous, but I couldn't help but be suspicious of Jacob. As I walked along the grass, Sam Uley rose from the ground, towering like a mountain as he moved to Paul. I watched as he tapped him on the back of the neck, causing Paul to launch up and step in line behind him. Quil and Embry followed in suit, finally reaching Jacob. The thing about Sam Uley was how hulking he was compared to how he walked. He moved like he was feeling the ground, moving his arms to the beat of his footsteps, scanning everything to the left, front, and right of him. He didn't just walk, he stalked, and I never wanted to be in front of him. I see why the boys always follow behind him. As he passed me, I felt his eyes pour into my skull, making me grip the sides of the pot I carried. Still, I didn't break his gaze. Sam was a man, and I've taken on much worse.

I listened to his voice as he reached Jacob, speaking to him about 'patrol'. My mind whirred as I realized that Jacob, as the werewolf of the tribe, would of course be tasked with patrolling the woods. I didn't want to believe it, but I felt proud realizing my supernatural sonar hadn't lost it's touch.

Jacob ran to me, placing both arms around me and raising his hands flat on my shoulder blades. He leaned himself at a 90° angle to press his lips to my forehead before joining in line behind Sam.

As I pulled open the screen door of the Black's house to let Billy in, I thought about Jacob. While I scooped out the pot roast into a tupperware container, I thought about Jacob. When I drove back to my motel in the crumbling Dodge Charger I took from "Dean's Garage", I thought about Jacob.

𐌀 ⲛ :

Hi friends, I'm trying to make these chapters a little longer, but I also want to put as much information into one chapter as I can so I can get to the real point of this story. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the story so far and I'll try to update soon :)