Bred For Extinction

Bloody Trap

Machon's journey back to the place of what his pack companions called his birthplace was not made in haste. While most of the hours were spent traveling, much time was simply reflection. The seeming endless miles brought back visions of his past. The constant wandering without purpose, without desire...the confusion of trying to escape it all...strange how he was only being driven deeper. Yet this time, his travels were different. This time, instead of seeking escape, he was seeking answers.

It had been several years since his powers were revealed to him. And it had all happened in the town he now progressed towards, hoping on a chance to find the one he seeked. Thoughts buzzed in his head...would it still, after all this time, be there....waiting? Even if it was there, would it know anything of importance? One thing was sure... if it was still there and in the same state of condition as their last meeting, it would be willing to negotiate.

As Machon neared the end of his journey, he let the motorcycle that rumbled beneath him drift to the roadside. The trees that surrounded the highway surely supplied homes for several of nature's creatures. Perhaps even larger animals, perhaps maybe a deer. Yes, a deer...that would be perfect bait.

Silence...that was all that existed at this moment...silence except for the gentle sound of the wind through the leaves as Machon entered the darkened recesses of the trees. Long was his search, slowly making his way deeper and deeper into the forest, knowing that anytime the dawn would break. Then, his ears perked at the sound of a sharp snap in the bushes ahead. His frame stoops low, scanning the shadows for any sign of movement as he watches, nostrils flaring in the air. His body tense as unnoticeable movements lean his torso forward, taking him to all fours. Heart begins to pound as limbs quiver with the possibility of an encounter. Machon's spine wretches with a quick lurch, bending his head back as eyes close and breath quickens. The contortion begins as body and mind pulsate with a wave of energy that starts the transformation. Hips curve into haunches as his jaw begins to jet out, teeth becoming canine, protruding in a sneer as froth builds on the lips. Finally, in what has taken only mere seconds, stands the wolf, eyes and coat as silver as the moon itself. The animal, over and over again, tasting the air with its nose.

The deer in the bush ahead bolts, lightning fast as it streaks thru the underbrush, seeking sanctuary that will not come. The wolf's massive frame crashes after the escapee, gaining ground with each thrust of its powerful legs. Closer, and closer until teeth latch on to a flailing leg as the deer's movements go haywire, spinning out of control....flipping, rolling in a twisting blur of motion... and with just that slowing down of constant speed, the wolf is completely upon it. Teeth sink deep as they slam into the deer's neck, clutching in a death grip as the sound of bone and cartilage shattering shows the end of the struggle. All noises and motions cease except for the heaving chest and labored breath of the wolf as it snarls over the limp prey.

As daylight streaks thru the trees, Mochan is already well on the way to his destination, a canvas bag strapped to the rear of his seat that shows red stains leaking through its surface. This night would he arrive and find out if the one he sought would take the bait. He was sure there was information to be learned, information that would lead him deeper into the mysteries, and perhaps quench his beast's thirst for stronger vampire blood.

It was dusk as Mochan stood at the cemetery's entrance. Dusk...the hushed time when the night slowly begins to overpower the sun's rays once again, grasping hold of the sky, enveloping it....in order to let its horde of shadows free to creep from their daytime hiding places. This was the time when most of his enemies came out to play, and so he must hurry. His boots sank into the damp earth as he dragged the canvas sack past monuments and tombstones, trying to find as close to the center of the graveyard as possible. Halting, Mochan crouched, fingers diving quickly into his boot to retrieve the knife that resided there. With speed, his arm buried the blade hilt deep into the sack and ripped downwards. Again and again, until streams of blood flowed forth from the deceased animal's cuts and soaked the canvas bag. A glistening crimson river flowed, forming a puddle that slowly soaked the soil...and as the night's darkness further progressed, the spectral orb that ruled the sky began to stream down its beams used in halting the shadows from overtaking everything....and Mochan laid quiet, waiting for his trap to spring. His wait would not be long.