Chapter 44

The funniest thing about memories is how they fade away with time when they're thought to be nothing important.

Two people could have met a long time ago, and only one would remember that fateful meeting because of the importance they associate with that memory.

When a wolf turns eighteen, they reach the age where at any moment they could find the one person they were most compatible with. Wolves believed in the moon goddess, a divine being who would interwind two people's fates leading them to each other, and some believed it was the moon itself.

Few didn't believe in a higher power at all, but they couldn't deny that there was something special about the connection they felt with their mates – that is if they were lucky enough to find them.

Because not everyone found theirs, and some take years before they do. He was only nineteen at the time.

Mates were the last thing on a younger Constantine's mind as he took a punch in the face.

It hurt; he was a little bit clumsier – less refined – but he was also dealing with another stupid werewolf wriggling in his arms.

The punch was thrown with no strength spared, and the taste of blood in his mouth only made him even more furious than he already was. If there was one thing that would ensure he'd kill someone he faced, it was the fact that they made him bleed. There was something about it that endlessly annoyed him, and he couldn't help but feel rage bubble in his chest whenever it happened.

Constantine hated it whenever he bled.

It wasn't because it meant that he made the wrong move, or the fact that he was too slow to react, no, it was none of these things. It simply just annoyed him, and sometimes he finds himself almost slipping out of control and letting his anger take ahold of him because of it.

This would mean that he'd act rash, erratic, and it would increase the probability of him getting injured once he lets his anger control him.

So with a cold irritated glare, he looked at the man who was struggling in his hold and momentarily let him go to quickly retrieve one of the knives he stashed on his person.

"You wait here." He said swiftly plunging the knife in the guy's ear letting him scream in agony before kicking him down on the ground to focus on the other.

But the sudden sound of something snapping momentarily distracted him, and he almost didn't avoid being attacked by the guy who punched him earlier. Whatever anger he felt was replaced by a stunned surprise as he grabbed onto the guy's shirt without much thought, and he gave him a punch of his own as a retaliation.

It has been a while since he got this physical, but the fact that he dislocated the guy's jaw confirmed his suspicion.

"What the fuck are you, you freak?!" The other man cried, looking both horrified and furious as he hovered a trembling hand over the knife in his ear, too afraid to move it. His leg was twisted at an odd angle, broken. Constantine didn't mean to break it. "You're a damn feral."

The one with the broken jaw groaned in pain and Constantine just stood there motionlessly for a moment, thinking.

"I am not a feral." He finally said deciding to end the guy's misery, the one with the broken jaw, wondering what oddity he was turning into.

There's no question that he was an anomaly among other lycans, but he still didn't know to what extent.

Experimentally, he grabbed the guy's head and decided to bash it against the cold hard ground beneath them. The blood splatter didn't bother him as he did it again, and again in a focused repetitive manner before he finally heard the rhythm of the man's heart stutter and grow fainter.

It was easier than the last time he did it, Constantine observed.

The whole time, the other watched helplessly unable to stop him nor flee, trapped by his broken leg as he watched the horrifying scene before him.

"You're sick, man." The guy's voice quivered and there was a sheet of sweat all over his face as a result of fear and pain. He didn't know it would turn out like this.

This crazy bastard was supposed to be just some guy traversing through their area and they thought it'd be a good idea to teach him a lesson.

Clearly it wasn't.

But Constantine didn't care about the aggression he was met with, nor did he even flinch at the words they used to provoke him into getting violent, it was all something he premeditated. He wasn't a clueless idiot who didn't know what he was doing, he deliberately searched for trouble hoping that it would come his way.

To him, it gave him an excuse to kill and an opportunity to hone his craft.

To them, it gave the illusion of a naïve moron they could bully.

Not his problem they decided to confront him, really. They were the ones who decided to attack, and he had no choice but to defend himself in that situation he walked into.

"Heard that one before." He told the guy distractedly as he stared down at the twitching body of the guy who recently had his head crushed. "Is my nose bleeding?"

Taken aback at the question, the guy didn't know what to do other than give him a strange look slightly offended by the question considering his situation.

Constantine regarded him for a minute.

He looked a bit on the young side, probably around Constantine's age, and his face was getting paler by the second. "Is your other ear deaf now, too?"

The guy opened his mouth, swaying a bit, and frowned as he refused to answer the former question with a bit of reckless spite and bravery remaining in him. "I heard you."

Constantine didn't say anything, but he did snort in amusement as he watched his swaying intensify until the guy landed on his back as he wiped his nose with his sleeve. The guy wasn't dead yet, and he was probably going to survive his injures. Wolves were known to heal fast, but he didn't know if the ear was going to be salvageable or not.

His leg would need to be positioned correctly, though, but fixing that is the job of whoever finds him sprawled out there.

There were many things that occupied Constantine's mind for him to bother anymore such as his rapidly increasing senses and strength – it was disorienting – and the fact that he almost lashed out earlier in anger all because something annoyed him happened in addition to the full moon approaching.

Every time he is reminded of the moon and the alleged goddess, he makes sure to lift up his hand and flip it off to show just how much he despises it – or her.

Maybe the fact that he was a lucid feral with rapidly growing senses were his curse, it did align with how humans described the curse of lycanthropy, but he never was one to worship nor was he much of a believer.

The moon can cast its curses all it wants; his defiance towards it wasn't going to waver.

It already gave him this insatiable bloodlust.

Constantine was ready for whatever divine punishment it prepared for him, his father was punishment enough, but when he treaded further into another territory to have an inkling of where he was, he couldn't help but sigh in annoyance when he found out just where he ended up.

The Hawthorne's pack.

Their stupid town taunted him in the distance. It was the one pack he had to be careful with. Their alpha is his father's friend, and there's a chance he would recognize Constantine if he ever saw him. The last time they met was a few months before Constantine went ballistic at the age of ten and was locked up to be contained until his father figured out what to do with him.

But then he announced that Constantine had died, already foreseeing that it was wiser to let the world think he only had one living son so that whatever mayhem Constantine caused wouldn't be linked to their pack.

But mayhem should have been Constantine's middle name because he decided to walk towards the town instead of going around it. Consequences be damned, it was more convenient to take that path through the town. It was nighttime anyway.

Constantine was halfway on his way out of their town when his supposed divine punishment appeared.

Whatever moon deity existed, it certainly had the strangest definition of a punishment because he was perplexed.

Some people devote themselves to the moon content in worshipping it without getting anything in return, and some disrespect it and get rewarded for it instead.

It was definitely the scent of an omega he picked up, and while his sense of smell was acute, the fact that this was the scent of his newfound mate made it more profound. Easier to detect.

But Ari didn't know about it, he was still two years too young to pick it up.

All what he knew was that he had to get back home before it got too late, and he barely spared a glance at the stranger he passed by as he did so. He wasn't aware of the gaze that lingered on him as he disappeared into the distance, unaware of whose attention he had caught.

Constantine was just a passing memory that barely lasted a few seconds to Ari.

A passing memory that returned six years later.