Awesome!
I noticed that when the beast is in control, you stopped referring to Alex as 'the beast', but as Alex. Is there a specific reason for this or did you change this?

No problem
I think his beast side is already pretty clear, since he'd already explained some of it to Steven.

At the moment where he could feel sharp talons lightly grazing his fur, he leapt aside before the werewolf could fix his jaws on him. Shubert landed smoothly on the ground, feline like, agile, but he would not gather his bearings before Alex would attack.

The beast clicked its teeth together, lurching towards Shubert, who was recovering from his landing.
Its shoulder collided with Shubert’s flank and the loud whoosh of air sounded as he smacked the marble-hard floors.
The beast had the upper hand now, as he stooped over his enemy, lips pulled tautly over massive glimmering teeth.

Shubert yowled, flaunting his own teeth, but failing to produce the same effect. But as the beast reached out to end the battle, Shubert sprang. With his scarlet tongue lolling from his salivating jaws, he plunged his teeth into Alex’s side. His teeth penetrated the grizzly mane and he tore at the fur, trying to depart it from the ribs.

A flash of white hot pain seared through Alex’s flank and it felt as though his whole body was engulfed in it. The beast’s colossal paw slashed the air, raking across Shubert’s damaged face, splitting the face and surely breaking some bones.

With the force of the strike, Shubert’s head snapped back and he staggered to the ground, his eyes dazed and disoriented.

Shubert was on his back now, blood seeping into his eyes and accumulating on the bridge of his muzzle. His eyes were only half lit with their determined ferocity. He snorted the blood from his nostrils and attempted to flee, but the beast’s hand shot out in a flash of speed, snagging the werewolf’s shaggy throat and pressing its razor-like talon against his trachea, probing the cartilaginous rings surrounding it.

Shubert darned not move, for if he did, the beast’s paw would crush his throat, much as he had during their last conflict. However, this time, the beast – or Alex – would not leave him alive.

The beast’s hands trembled with unconstrained fury, its fur bristled and its eyes nearly scarlet with rage. He could see no indication of reasoning behind them – only overwhelming anger and repulsion.

But in a flicker of a second, the werewolf’s demeanour changed. Its eyes, less intense, appeared conflicted, more civilized. But its hand remained wrapped firmly around Shubert’s throat, as though in contemplation.

Alex peered into the Shubert’s eyes, uncertain about the decision he was about to make. The beast would have killed Shubert by now if he hadn’t intervened. He could not take another man’s life so brutally. Could he? The question rang hollowly through his empty mind.

His intense eyes furrowed with indecision. He could feel Shubert’s pulse jumping beneath his paws, ready to stain the floors in their horrid crimson hue, to mingle and pool with the rest of the dead. But as his eyes briefly met the chaos ahead, he saw no alternative. Surely Shubert would recommence his vendetta.

And so he gazed one last time into the eyes of the man who had derailed his plans. Shubert’s eyes were expectant, but still smouldering with anger. There was no resolve left in his eyes. The only way to end the feud was murder. With all that had occurred, Alex thought it would have been easier taking another man’s life. Hell, he thought he’d enjoy this very moment. But there was nothing that pained him more than making the decision.

He could not gaze into the eyes as his talons slid across Shubert’s throat. He refused to smell the salty, coppery blood that spewed from his throat, or the last gurgle of breath he would ever issue. And so, with a wrench of his fist and the snap of bone, he felt Shubert’s werewolf body ease and a final shiver ripple through his body.

Alex released the corpse immediately, not wanting to feel the rigid body beneath his palms, or the last pulse of blood pushing through his arteries. It was difficult enough as he fought back a howl. He wanted to draw as little attention to himself as he could. He needed to blend into the crowd in means of escape. It wasn’t his battle to fight.

But he stopped mid-stride, his thoughts frozen, and his body in a stupor. Realization settled in as his lupine eyes swept across the carnage. Though the fighting had ensued for almost half an hour, it seemed as if the swell of the crowd was getting larger, not smaller. Hundreds were prepared to lose their lives, some too afraid to turn their back and flee, while others caught up in the moment. So many lives would be lost – too much blood shed before dawn would break across the sky. And yet he doubted even the sun’s presence could extinguish this heated brawl. Not until the last human or werewolf remained.

There were more werewolves than humans now. He had never seen such vast congregations of them, all snarling, howling, and flitting across the room.

He realized at that moment that it was very much his fight. He had been plunged into this ravenous war long before any of them were involved. Nearly nine years he had been a part of this...monstrosity, and despite his denial, the truth sagged in his gut like a heavy stone. He needed to save his pack.

He swallowed hard, on the outer perimeter of the massive brawl. He inhaled sharply, feeling his heart pick up its sporadic pace and adrenaline slither through his muscles. And so, making his decision – the one he may later regret – he coiled his now-trembling muscles and lurched into the seething crowd.

Very intense scene, Punx!

  I thoroughly enjoyed the moral dilemmas that you vividly described, as well as the visual depiction from Schubert's point of view as Alex once again gained control over the beast within. I also found the hesitation in Alex's decision to be an interesting contrast to the motivation that has been pulling him along since he lost his job - namely, lethal revenge upon Crowell. You've described his desire to destroy Crowell very vividly in the past, savouring the thought of having Crowell's throat in his claws, watching the life drain from his eyes, and so forth, and now he's faced with the actual action that such desire would require.

  Granted, Schubert isn't Crowell, and regardless of the side he chose, Schubert is one of Alex's kind; but it is still the action of taking a life that made Alex hesitate. It's becoming an executioner that Alex is having a difficulty facing. As a result, it's going to be very interesting how he deals with taking Crowell's life - if he is faced with that option in the near future, that is; I don't dare assume I know how this is going to turn out.

  Even so, I'm in eager anticipation to see how it will turn out, so Bring on some more, Punx!

Wow oh wow!

  I found it tragically ironic that the soldier died even though Alex inadvertently spared his life in preference of chasing Crowell. This battle has been bloody and extended by reinforcements; it reads more like an epic last stand than a skirmish, which only fits with its position in the story.

  The descriptions you used in detailing the focusing of ideas in Alex's mind were incredibly tantalizing, increasing the tension but also sharpening it to a lethal, focused point. Like you said, this is it. This is what Alex has been waiting for, and it's all that matters. Very well told, Punx.

  I simply can't sit still! I really want to read the next segment, but I have to wait until you're ready. So, get ready already!

  Superb job, Punx!

Thanks everyone, your input, it's been so helpful and you don't know what it means to me. My story would be nothing without your helpful advice, Grayle, Midnight, SilentStrider etc..
I will be going away for 4 days come Friday, so I'm going to get the last chapter and a half out, which will lead to the epilogue on my return. I hope it won't be too much, but I'll post a few pages tonight and some tomorrow for the conclusion.
THANKS!

Ah, the wolf gets to hunt and stalk his prey, and then comes the face off - and I don't mean literally; at least not yet, that is.
  It was so very easy to visualize this scene. I know you didn't actually mention it, but I could see Alex peering around the doorway at Crowell, using only one eye, like wolves have been known to do when scoping out prey. This is a fantastic segment, Punx.

  I was a little confused with Crowell allowing the breakage of some of the vials of his precious Codoxin. I mean, if he's willing to take the time and try to retrieve as much as he can, I doubt he'd be so careless, even with Alex staring him down. It may be your intention to convey that Crowell was feeling defeated or that the Codoxin didn't matter anymore, but that seems a little out of character for him. It may be just as well to have him set the case down while still staring and smiling at Alex, but again, it depends on your intentions.

  When it comes to the leap and the gunshot, I think you did a wonderful job! I love the black hole reference as well as the billowing jacket. I could see it clearly in my mind as the two titans clashed. I also loved Crowell's reference to killing Steven, and the vicious effect it had on Alex. Ooooh, that was great!

  I guess the climax all comes down to the next segment, which I'm eagerly awaiting.
  Please keep it coming!

Chapter 33
Screams reverberated around Olivia’s skull as she twisted a soldier’s neck. She was caught amidst the warring crowd, feeling numerous bodies shove her towards the exit, where numerous soldiers were escaping and werewolves pursuing. The congregational masses were slowly ebbing through the front doors of the building and into the bitter winter night.

Gregory wasn’t far off. He was amongst the largest body amongst the snarling throng. His silver fur flashed in and out of focus as he plunged deeper into the crowd, human bodies flailing futilely in the air as they fell to their deaths. His fierce roars muffled out his victims’ screams as he struck with precision. His muzzle was oozing a river of blood where a bullet had smacked it, but he paid little heed to his injuries, intent on protecting himself and his kin.

Olivia continued her attacks, ducking below the crowd and beneath scampering feet where her fangs plunged into the sinewy calves. Bodies fell as they screamed their death cry. Her compelling loathing for humans was fresh in her mind as she crushed skulls and snapped necks. But she left none alive – none to suffer. It would be her last act of kindness towards those humans who worked to destroy her.

Frigid wind ruffled her guard hairs as she exited the massive lobby. The air was so cold that the condensation from her breath froze to her muzzle. It did little to disturb her, however, as she tore into her enemies. The seething crowd that pressed in around her from every angle eased. Guards were dispersing from the confinements of the room and spilling outside.

The building outside was surrounded by tall barbed fence, about one hundred meters away. All of the gates were sealed, preventing any soldiers from escape. Like animals, they were trapped, cornered from every angle by frothing lycanthropes. They gripped to the fence and attempted to climb over, screaming as they were pried from the fence and hurled to the ground.

The snow was deep, even to her werewolf form. It came to her knees, but she trudged through it, propelled by anger and the need to protect. Wind whistled fiercely in her ears, nearly masking the shrieks and tearing of flesh. Flecks of snow whipped her muzzle as the wind hurled mercilessly against the building.

The thrumming of wild heartbeats thundered in her ears as her wary eyes locked on a fleeing soldier. He was waist deep in the snow, whimpering and staggering. His hands were purple with cold and his brown beard was frosted with a light sheen of ice, refracting the minute light of the chalky moonlight above. The sky was black and unforgiving as it issued its relentless force against them.

The man peered behind him and a gasp escaped his trembling lips. It was nearly black outside, but the luminosity of her molten eyes seared through the darkness.

She loped towards him, her head hunched and her legs ploughing through the snow. In one short bound, she reached him, her lithe form engulfing the man. The soldier struggled in the snow – which was now stained crimson – and flashed his silver blade.

The large dagger plunged into the sinews of her shoulder until it struck a solid resistant – bone.
Every muscle in her body stiffened and a shrill yowl erupted from her throat. Blood trickled down her arm as she tore away, leaving the glistening blade in the man’s hand.
She leapt away from him, her face contorted in pain and anger. Olivia brought her left hand to her right shoulder, clasping it firmly over the wound to prevent blood loss. The frigid cold nipped at the wound, immediately congealing the blood as it wove through her fur.

The man grunted as he struggle to get to his feet. Numerous scores riddle his face; scarlet spewing from them and his clothes tattered from razor talons. He wheezed slightly, his left hand gripping his ribs while in his right hand he brandished his dagger threateningly towards Olivia. His stone cold eyes were dancing with fear and indecision as they flickered around the vicinity for an escape.

When Olivia took a step forward, he shouted, flashing his blade and recoiling defensively.
A deep rumble issued from her clenched teeth, as she assessed the best attack method.

However, in a flash of speed, the knife was hurling through the air, disappearing on the other side of the fence. Bones crunched from the force of the impact as a massive grey blur collided with him. His heart ceased to beat before he hit the ground as the colossal form stooped above him.

Olivia grunted her gratitude to Gregory as he got back to his feet. Her wound was still bleeding, but not as severely. She would survive, but every movement pained her and so she could no longer fight a fair fight. As Gregory disappeared in flash of speed towards the fearful soldiers, Olivia caught a glimpse of an object in the sky. It hovered hundreds of meters overhead, bright lights flashing onto the carnage.

Her shoulders stiffened as she realized the illumination was not coming from the moon, but from these lights. A helicopter hovered overhead, the wind from the beating propellers pounding the crowd below. Cameras were visible from the dark, looming figure and her stomach roiled uneasily. The helicopters did not belong to Crowell. People, average humans, were watching from above, capturing the gnarly footage with news cameras and gasping with horror.

The thunderous roar of the propellers was drowned out by snarls, screams, gunfire, and shredding flesh. But the unmistakable images of awed and horrified faces peered down at the scene. She snarled and swept her eyes amongst the crowd for Alex. If she was unable to fight, she’d search for him and aid him if need be. And now that she knew her kin were alive, she wanted to make sure that he had survived the initial brawl.

As she scoured the darkness, she saw no indication of Alex. She hadn’t seen him since she lunged into the battle. He appeared hesitant, and so perhaps he fled? Her eyes once again settled on the barbed fence and she knew it was impossible. A cold, hard lump swelled in her throat as her gaze lingered hopefully to the doorway of the building. She clenched her jaws firmly together, hoping that she would not find his body amongst the chaos, slaughtered.

With a speed unfathomable to man, she scurried through the snow, feeling the cold wind flit up her nostrils and dishevel her shimmering hazel fur. With a single lunge, she leaped through the doorway, over terrified soldiers and once again inside the vast lobby. She was greeted by the rush of warm air engulfing her body.

However, she stopped in the doorway, her concerned eyes flashing with horror. Her massive paws splashed in puddles of blood as dozens of bodies riddled the room. The smell of death was overwhelming, making her stomach lurch uneasily. Dark pools of blood wove through motionless bodies, refusing to congeal on the concrete floors. It seeped to the farthest corners of the room like the silent creep of death.

She reluctantly scoured the room for Alex or others she could recognize. Her breath was constricted in her throat as she searched for Alex’s body. Bestial forms were motionless on the floor, their fur rigid and crusted with blood.

None appeared to be Alex. With immense relief, she recognized a couple of them, but none from her pack. Her ears were pressed flat against her skull as she silently mourned over the loss of so many lives – all for Crowell. She snarled at the notion, feeling the raw fury rip at her insides.

Thank you, Grayle so very much. I'll keep my heartfelt speech until after the epilogue when this chapter ends.

She slowly sifted through the accumulations of bodies, avoiding contact with the cold, dead masses and refusing to gaze into their vacant eyes or permanent terror stricken faces. Instead, she gazed ahead of her, looking for any indication of Alex. With a deep swell of disappointment, she saw nothing in the darkness. No flicker of life in the shadows, or heartbeat in the distance.

When she came to the perimeter of the skirmish, she brought her nose to the ground. She ignored the repulsive odour of blood, hoping, praying that she would detect his scent. Though she favoured her right arm, she advanced on four legs, her body stiff in anticipation for what she might find.

The undeniable scent fluttered up her nostrils as she came to a long, wide hallway. It was potent and fresh, indicating he had only been here moments prior to her discovery. Her heart flittered with relief and her body relaxed slightly. However, with great caution, she eased forward. Her paws were silent as the struck the ground and her ears were cocked forwards for indication of noise. She heard nothing, but continued to follow the long trail, taking numerous turns through the near-dark hallway until she spotted a doorway up ahead.

Her body immediately froze as her eyes focused on the doorway up ahead to her left. There were no other turns or twists he could have taken, and so she knew he was somewhere in that room. She inhaled deeply, feeling the sting of blood enter her nostrils. She cringed, her muscles trembling, though she could not identify whom it belonged to.

She glanced behind her, her heavy breathing sounding in the silence. It was so quiet her ears rang and a hollow ball accumulated in the pit of her stomach.
Reluctantly, she urged one foot in front of the other, ascending to her bipedal position as she neared the door. She stopped one stride from the doorway, controlling her breathing and afraid to glance inward.

Gritting her teeth and mentally persuading herself, she took another step forward, her eyes gazing into lighter room.

The room was in disarray. Shelves were smashed, glass broken and concrete scored. Paperwork was strewn across the floor, unmoving. However, what caught her attention was a body lying motionless on the floor. She gasped, her stomach tying into knots.

Icy blue eyes gazed blankly at the ceiling, their sapphire flare diminished beneath the sweep of death. A smooth, handsome face was flecked with blood. Thin, pink lips were slightly ajar, as though frozen in mid conversation.
Her eyes traveled down the lifeless body, stopping at the gnarly wounds torn in his throat. Blood was still seeping from parted flesh and his black, silk shirt was torn and saturated with blood. The flesh on his chest was heavily scored from massive claws, revealing the internal workings of the dead body. The glimmer of a motionless heart could be seen beneath the carnage and a pale hand placed beneath it.

A pool of scarlet crept around Crowell’s motionless frame, consuming the glistening silver pistol gripped in his other hand. His body was situated in perfect serenity, as though frozen in time and still very much alive. But Crowell was dead, the beat of his heart silent and unmoving, shreds of flesh exposing the trachea and severed carotid artery, which still bubbled streams of crimson.

She would have experienced a swell of joy if not for the searing stab of pain that wrenched in her gut. Her eyes unwillingly lingered two feet to the left of Crowell’s rigid body, settling on another unmoving heap. Chestnut fur engulfed the massive werewolf body as it lay hunched against the destroyed cupboard.

The only sound within the room was the viscous beating of her heart and the sharp exhale of air whooshing through her windpipe.

Alex’s body was curled against the ground, his muzzle and face obscured beneath its massive torso. His left paw was curled at his side, while his other disappeared beneath its body, clutching his chest.

With a dread that threatened to consume her, she took a step forward to assess him further, the glimmer of hope she once had extinguished like his very life. 

Alex’s broad muzzle rested against the wall, blood dripping from his nostrils with small pitter-patters. And where his pawed hand clutched his chest, she saw a glimmer of blood seeping from a coin-sized bullet hole above his left breast. His eyelids sheathed his glassy stare, and his crimson-stained teeth were visible from his muzzle. His pink tongue lolled slightly from his parted jowls as though he, too, was frozen in time.

Olivia looked away, hot tears prickling her eyes and her heart exploding with pain. She could not bear to look at his face, so calm and composed, as though he would rouse from his slumber at any moment.
The searing tears cascaded down her lupine features struck the cold concrete. A heat, as such she had never known, exploded from her body.

A piercing howl ripped from her throat as she bolted away from the room, away from the painful images and to the vast outside plains. The sound, so loud and fierce it made her ears hurt, tore through the hallways, through the lobby and sliced through the screams and snarls outside. Werewolves ceased their attack on the few remaining soldiers, inclining their massive heads to the skies and issuing their own cries of victory and anguish.

Like a practised symphony, the werewolves howled in harmonious tones, all echoing the angst each werewolf had for the loss.

With all of the soldiers dead, the werewolves lunged through the gate, their hefty bodies snapping the wire. Olivia bolted ahead of the loping congregation, ignoring the pain in her shoulder and expelling her agony in thunderous howl. With Gregory and Lottamay at her side, she led her pack to freedom and the dead bodies untouched within the confines of the Codoxin building. She would never gaze back at the building that would forever haunt her.

Thank you so Very much, Grayle. Those suggestions make wonderful sense and I always beat myself up for not having seen such things right in front of me. I hope that will pass with time.
Anyways, since I'm onto the epilogue, I wanted to express my final gratitude to all that have stuck through my story during the thick and thin. Grayle, you have been one of the biggest contributors to my story and I can't tell you what a blessing it is that I've had you around to pick out any of the anomolies in my story. Honestly, if it wasn't for you being here since the first post, I would never, ever had made it past the first five chapters. So you have my deepest appreciation and I hope that if ever I decide to re-write it and get it published later on, I will most definately include your name amonst my 'thank you' list, as well as a few others - MidnightSun... (Sorry if I forgot to metion some - silentstrider, Edo, Loup, and so many others, thank you )
And so here I present you the epilogue. I've contemplated expanding a bit more, but if I need to, knowing where to expand would be nice.
*Hugs everyone* (It's long, sorry )

Epilogue
The sky was illuminated with streaks of crimson, orange, and blue hues as the sunrise finally broke across the sky, blazing through the billowy shrouds of cloud-cover and illuminating the city in a warm golden hue. It resembled the sheen of pure gold as light struck it, refracting in numerous directions.

Olivia sighed wearily from the windowsill of a lavish hotel. Her liquid hazel eyes scoured the city, watching as the sun – which hadn’t revealed itself in days – burned fiercely up ahead, the snow-laden ground shimmering with a crystal glow. Her eyes gazed below at the small masses of scuttling people as they took no notice of the vast change in weather. They clutched their purses and briefcases closely by their side, their eyes wary of sticky, thieving hands.

Olivia pressed her burning forehead against the cool windowpane, her solemn eyes transfixed on the black shadows in the city as light engulfed them. Slowly, the shadows retreated from the advancing light until nothing was cast in the cold, hazy darkness.
Her fingers played with the wooden frame as she pondered on the previous night’s events.

The memories were still fresh and raw in her mind, like a throbbing, festering wound that would twinge each time she closed her eyes. It wasn’t more than a few hours ago that she and the surviving members of Crowell’s torment had congregated. There were one hundred and thirty surviving members from various packs, some of which were located in Europe.

The eldest of the packs stepped forward, including Olivia. She had never considered herself old or wise enough to receive such a position, but she and Gregory were the only oldest survivors of their pack, and so they contributed to the decision-making.
In total, there were thirty elders, all of which came to a hasty conclusion.

Those who had money left from Crowell’s ravages provided it to those who needed it, including her near-decimated pack. Her eyes wandered vacantly across the lavish hotel room, the three large beds situated in the hub of the room and two bathrooms on either side of the wall. It had been years, she recalled, since she had resided in such luxury. She had been accustom to the raunchy odour that the tunnels possessed, the cold that ebbed through the walls, and the pungent, rancid water that accumulated on the floors.

Those who had been captured before finding a pack would make their own decisions, having the liberty to choose any pack that met their fancy. Nearly half of the surviving population were no older than their teens, all suffering emotionally from the traumatizing experience of being locked in a cell – some of which had been kept for years, as though Crowell took pleasure in their prolonged suffering. However, the afflicted were offered a new home, new lives, and though the hunters would continue in search of their werewolf prey, the victory of their battle would be a lucid warning to all those that dared to fight.

Olivia, Gregory, Lottamay and the few young additions and remainders to her pack received a small fortune to rebuild their shattered lives. Though she and Gregory had discussed moving to a more ambiguous location, the decision was not definitive. Gregory wished to part from the bustling remnants of human lives and move to Europe where their reign would be unhindered.
Olivia was reluctant. Something drew her to remain in this town, where her life had forever been changed and how she found love when she thought it unattainable.

A slight tremor rippled down Olivia’s spine at the consideration of seeing Alex’s motionless body, like a picture frozen in time. She mused internally, angst writhing in her gut how Alex would have fared if not for his untimely demise. ‘Would the loss of Steven forever haunt him? Would he have been the same? Would he have forgiven himself?’ She remembered the hollow gaze of Alex’s eyes as she found him bound in his cell, shackles biting into his flesh. The pain in his eyes appeared greater than the physical pain he experienced, as though a part of him was dead inside.

And yet he had so much to learn of the underground – centuries of life in a welcoming pack. He would have been here, right at her side, at this very moment. A viscous anguish wrenched in her chest, as though a blunt object had forced its way through, burying deeper in her chest with each painful breath. How would Martina have reacted to their courage? Would she be mourning alongside her for the loss of her kin? Or would her face remain tight and composed, strong for all of them?

Olivia gripped the windowsill firmly in her grasp, hearing the wood shriek and splinter under the force. Her head dipped below her shoulder blades as a tears ebbed from the corner of her eye. She blinked it away, cursing herself for such weakness, but yet another tear escaped until her cheeks were wet.

From behind, a large, consoling hand rested on her shoulder. Olivia extended her hand from the destroyed windowsill and placed it gently on top of Gregory’s. His massive hand caressed hers and she turned to face him, her eyes shimmering with tears. She choked them down as she gazed into Gregory’s face. He wore a half smile, his face reassuring and composed. She could distinguish an oval, insignificant puckered scar near the bridge of his nose where the bullet had struck him. It was still pink, as it was inflicted more than a day ago.

His eyes were attentive and warming as his massive arms curled around her and the two embraced in a tender hug. Though Gregory’s face was calm as untouched water, his own anguish was beginning to seep through his hard exterior.

The embrace was brief, though the relief was immediate. She smiled her silent gratitude at Gregory as she faced the rest of her pack. There were five remaining. Lottamay stood as motionless as a statue in the corner of the room, not needing a bed to rest her undead body. However, the younger members congregated on the bed nearest the television, their faces swollen with lethargy and eyes encircled with purple hues. Some eyes were hard and fearful, while others were shameful and relieved.

Little conversation had been exchanged between either of them and so she perforated the silence with a short speech of appreciation, a smile sneaking its way on her smooth features. “You have all done so well. I thank you for your boundless courage in the face of death. Without it, none of us would have survived. With everyone’s interests at heart, I think it would be wisest to leave this city. We are uncertain of the existing dangers and so I feel it is best to find residence elsewhere.� She refused to allow her pack to once again be endangered because of an easily preventable judgment error. Perhaps the best way to move on would be leaving it all behind, her scarring memories and loathsome thoughts.

They all gazed with disbelief, having realized her previous decision to remain and nodded in agreement. They were as eager as Gregory to leave their old, troubled lives behind.

Gregory concurred, his thick, dark brows furrowing as his gaze lingered to the television opposite of the small gathering werewolves. His jaw muscles leapt and concern was evident on his chiselled features. 

Perplexed, Olivia revolved to face the humming television, her own brows knitted in concentration. Images danced across the screen and she immediately recognized them. A slight gasp escaped her lips, though the images came as no surprise. It was only a matter of time, she thought glumly.

Stretched across the expansive flat-screen television, she saw the unmistakable images of werewolves flickering across the screen. It was taken of the previous night, when the massive battle ensued between man and werewolf. The scene was taken from above, allowing the audience a more lucid view of the carnage.

She cringed at the very reflection of that night as it mirrored her nightmares. Hundreds of bodies spewed from the Codoxin building, the werewolves easily distinguishable from overhead. Their massive bodies flitted across the screen, lunging on screaming soldiers, tearing flesh, and howling their own death cries. Though the footage was brief, the memory brought forth a wave of emotions she had never wished to face.

Her throat tightened and her stomach twisted uncomfortably as the video feed flickered back on a middle-aged female reporter. The woman broadcasting the horrific news was shifting uncomfortably in her chair, trying to compose herself from the initial shock. She smiled hesitantly before recommencing her report.
“The Codoxin building, belonging to founder and CEO of Codoxin, Tom Crowell, was discovered ravaged last night by authorities. Hundreds of dead bodies were acquired at the scene and names of the deceased have yet to be released. It is said to be the biggest catastrophe of human lives since September 11th. There has yet to be an affirmation on the body count, but authorities guess it to reach three hundred, if not more.
“This terrible waste of human lives is said to be caused from an initial brawl within the building. Tom Crowell was discovered shortly after and announced dead on arrival. His company, Codoxin, is shutting down the production of its long anticipated steroid derivative.
“As seen in the footage, animal-like creatures were responsible for the slaughter. Bodies of these unknown creatures were discovered on the scene and autopsies reveal that these creatures are that of an unknown species. Several unsolved murders have now been liked to the discovery of these new species.
“Scientists explain these creatures as “werewolves�, half man, and half wolf. Numerous professionals have agreed with the term and confirm that werewolves do, in fact, live amongst us...�

Olivia glanced away from the screen as the reporter continued with other news, thoughts milling through her mind before she could comprehend them. She stood in a stupor, her fists clenched at her side, sweat accruing on her forehead.
They were no longer ambiguous creatures of myth – no longer derived from the nightmares of man. Amongst the human population, they were now recognized as a new species and a possible threat to mankind. 

Gregory was also stiff at her side, his eyes hard and undecipherable. Thick bunches of muscles leapt from his forearm as he, too, gripped his fists at his side. In unison, their glance met and they exchanged worried expressions.

“How will humanity take to our discovery?� She mused aloud, her voice hollow, emotionless.

Gregory shook his head, in obvious disbelief. “They’ll have no choice but to accept the fact.� He replied in an equally monotone voice.

“But humans fear what they do not understand,� Olivia protested, her eye brows knitting.

Gregory relaxed slightly as though the tension in the room eased. He shook his head, uncertain. “We’ll make sure our voice is heard, and for those who seek anonymity can live so as they please. The humans will have nothing to fear once they realize how long we’ve been living alongside them.� He assured her, though not fully confident of his answer.

“But the hunters?� She enquired, her voice returning to her.

Gregory shook his head. “I don’t know how the future will turn out. We can only hope to influence the present.�

Olivia sighed, once again glancing out of the window at the milling sheepfold of people below. Were they ready to know such a big secret? She was uncertain of the answer, but was somewhat relieved of the revelation. Perhaps, through the human system, they could avoid the hunters that sought them. Or would the humans shun them? As she felt the golden shafts of sunlight caress her skin, she was certain that humanity had no other choice but to accept the grim reality that werewolves existed amongst them.



The End

Awe, than you, Grayle *Hugs* Your words mean so much to me I think I should end it with that, too.

And Fuzzball1, thank you, too It took me just over a year to write and my editing will take another month or two - that's if I have the time.
Thanks everyone!

Now, to find a publisher...

Oh I used a lot of scrap shots from other movies...sorry it was kinda last minute!