Alone Chapter 17 - 2

"You seem to be getting into the habit of backing my plays?" Cesare said, eyeing the werewolf.

Silence fell as they slowed down. "I lost everything to you. I'd known my pack my whole life, you shattered that, stole my best friends from me like it was nothing. I knew their families, their girls, when they got their first piece of ass and the first time they got high. We were like brothers." The werewolf shrugged, mouth twisting in bitterness. "At least that's what I thought. But when the chips were down, they cut their losses and ran. You know what a two bag girl is? It's a girl you'd fuck if you could bag not just her head but yours, now I'm a tow bag guy." He gave a low biting laugh.

"I was once the guy others wanted to be, now I'm the fuck up that lost it all. After the Brain Trust thing … it was decided I'd repeat Second Year, just one more failure to lay at my father's feet." Shaking his head, a long sigh gusted from the werewolf.

"You took everything from me, but the thing I hate you for, is stealing my parents." Blaez looked at Cesare with sad, broken eyes. "After the meeting with the Mistress, my dad looked me in the eye, and told me he hoped my son wouldn't be as disappointing. Not because I'd lost to you, he said he could understand that, even told me he wouldn't want to tangle with a man like you. No, he was disgusted that his son had become the kind of man he didn't want to defend. I've never seen contempt in my father's eye before." Looking away, Blaez took a deep breath, letting it out slow and careful.

"But the one thing that never left me, was you," Blaez said, in a ghost of a whisper. "Friends come and go, but enemies stay true. When days are dark, friends are few, but enemies are a crop that never needs watering." Meeting Cesare's eyes, the werewolf's voice evened out. "You're the only one that still sees me as a person, everyone else sees a cripple or a joke. You're all I have."

Blaez's eyes shone with a special kind of desperation. It was hard being in the world, even harder to be alone. People were shallow, cruel things, they saw the deformity, scars, missing limbs, burns, disfigurements, or the sin of weakness. They didn't see the heart behind the tortured flesh, you weren't a person if you were crippled, neither a man or woman, just a cripple.

Cesare didn't like the werewolf, hated him on a lot of levels, and would be more than glad to do a jig over the boy's grave. They'd never be friends, there was too much blood under the bridge for that. But that wasn't what the wolf was asking for. The wolf just wanted to be accepted as something more than scars and failure.

He didn't want the werewolf thinking this training meant they were friends. But if the wolf was looking for a place to hold up for a while, well, Cesare could always use a killing machine.

It didn't matter if the wolf was behind Cesare or only biding his time, not in the eyes of the school. All that mattered was that the school would see Blaez submitting to the Furies. That was the reality they'd take away. Cesare's lips thinned in a smile of satisfaction as the possibilities of this new dynamic opened closed doors.

Walking onto the grass of his territory, Cesare swept his students with a close look. They were more than they'd been, not only in time, but in blood, hard days, and savage truths. Running in the morning, sparring after school and on weekends, had burnt away their softness, leaving them lean and rangy. The biggest change was the eyes; they were sliding away from the civilized rules that had ruined their lives and into the instincts twisted around ancient bone and elder flesh. Now they met his eyes with respect instead of avoiding them in fear. It was nothing more than a start, but that didn't mean it wasn't a good start.

Walking past them, he hung his bag on the fence before slipping between the roots. Even after all the fights he'd had in this ring, the grass was still as lush as the first day. Vibrantly green, it was unashamedly alive, infused with eldritch energy that made it impervious to the depredations of careless feet, falls, or the tearing power of a werewolf's claws.

Taking his spot in the middle of the ring, he set himself for the first one. Cesare never went into the fights with an idea on what he wanted to teach, he let the fight pull it out of him. There was no lesson plan, no overreaching idea of what they should become, only a drive to make them stronger.

Flowing around them, his strikes cut into their bodies. Flinching and wincing, they recoiled from his blades of flesh. He taught with pain what couldn't be taught any other way. Each bruise a signpost to weakness. They came and he hurt them because things learned in the crucible of pain were never forgotten. The thing that separated a survivor from a victim was as thin as a willingness to hurt others. All things being equal, a sadist would always come out on top.

They'd been savaged by life, betrayed by parents that valued getting along over standing up. Wrapped in the smothering arms of depression, choking on their own rage, hating themselves for never being strong enough to stand for themselves. They'd learned to throw themselves away, so others had something to step on.

Cesare taught them the one thing you should always fight for was yourself, to carve a home for herself in the flesh of the world. No one would protect you better than the man behind your eyes. Those that said they loved you would always put their needs first because that's what it meant to be alive.

He'd hurt them, drag them through the gauntlet of pain, hammer, and beat them into the ground, until the lesson was seared into bone. He couldn't give them strength, you had to take it for yourself with blood and sweat. By the end, they'd know what it felt like to hurt someone, to see them bleed because of you, and the pleasure would call to them like it did him. They'd have the fucking balls to take what they wanted from the world instead of begging on their knees for scraps.

In the middle of the storm of deliberate violence, they walked up to the fence. Anastasia and Alexandra had come. He'd thought they'd meet up at the entrance to the Ludus Noctis before the meeting with the Mistress. Instead, they'd taken the open invitation and used it as an excuse to check up on him.

Alexandra wore a shy smile, a vulnerability in the smile he didn't often see. This wasn't about killing, weapons or war, it was just a girl playing a trick on her friend. She might be a psychopath that killed for kicks, but she was used to that reality. Those claret tainted shadows didn't scare her; no, it was the normal world that left her feeling unsteady.

Anastasia gave him a wicked grin with a low wolf whistle. Sweeping his body with a delighted, wanton look, her eyes shone black on black. Leaning forward on the fence, her breasts pressed together, creating a canyon of creamy flesh. Her smile turned knowing as she watched his eyes lock on the tempting sight.

Desire tightened his body, heat and need twisting into a rush of violent want. She'd accept him, it was the acid tipped point on the jagged knife that slipped through his heart. Black as sin and as tempting as fresh snow, she pulled at him on a primeval level. She called to him, not just in body but in soul, to join with her, to lay his claim to her body, mark her as his. He wanted to consume her flesh, devour her in an orgy of pain and ecstasy, to feel her wet warmth, luxuriate in her pain filled cries.

Pulling away from the need, he focused on his student, letting the wants of his body, heart, and soul drift away. The moment cared nothing for the past or future, it was only the now that held sway. Everything loves to fuck and fight, if you can't get one, you can always take the other. He wouldn't take the akathartonto bed, but he could soak himself in the barbarity of his tainted soul.

His last student twirled the trident in desperate sweeps to keep Cesare at bay. As the trident passed, Cesare darted in, slapping his hand against the poll. Leaning back, his foot snapped forward, slamming into the boy's chest it launched him air born, trident falling from surprised hands. Hitting the ground hard, his breath exploded into the air, leaving him little more than a gasping fish.

Crouching next to him, Cesare waited for the boy to get his breath back before talking. "If I teach you nothing else, you'll learn to fall." Taking his hand, Cesare boosted the boy up. "In a fight, if you fall wrong, you're dead." Sweeping the listening kids with a look, he pulled them into the lesson. "You need to tense your muscles and roll with the impact, create a rounded surface with your body instead of a flat board. Once you hit the ground, you're on a timer, the man coming for you won't wait for you to get your shit together. Roll as far away as you can to open distance, get your weapon in place, reform your guard. Only the dead stay still."

Cesare watched the lesson take hold in the boy's eyes. "Your turn, hit me as hard as you can."

The kid didn't hesitate, taking up his trident he spun around, taking power from his feet, doubling it with his core. The staff hit Cesare's chest with a crack of power. Rocketing backward, Cesare's body tensed, his back curving in preparation. The ground hit him along the shoulder's, rolling him head over ass. He flowed to his feet already in his ready stance.

"Did you see that?" Cesare asked, taking in not just the boy in front of him but the others watching. "After we finish, I want you to work on it. Go back and forth until you can fall and come back up in a defensive stance." Stopping, his words came quiet and slow, drawing the students in. "You don't come up onto your feet and into your stance. You come up in your stance."

Everyone's eyes turned to Blaez as the Cherries left the ring. The girls had taken a place across from the werewolf, and no one thought it was by chance. Cesare was jealous and possessive. He didn't own them, even the thought was ludicrous, you couldn't own a tiger. But they were his friends and that said it all, they were his. He didn't want to share, least of all an arrogant werewolf that had history with one of them. The girls were his wild patch of beauty, purpose perverted with obsession, if he shared them, he'd lose them. There was nothing special about him or what he did, if the girls looked around, they'd find someone better.

That was the personal reason and he knew they'd weighed it in their choice. But that wasn't their only reason. With them behind him, they were in the perfect spot to intervene if his game with the werewolf went wrong. Image mattered as much as anything, they not only wanted to be behind him, but to be seen backing him.

Blaez never even looked at the vampire or his ex, focusing on Cesare. A spreading stain of yellow told the story of surrender to a torture birthed in flesh. His weight doubled, skin bursting like overripe fruit as muscles tore through the fragile human illusion. Bones snapped, meat and tendon reforming before Cesare's eyes as the wolf shed his mendaciumto become his authentic self.

Scraps of skin hit the ground, rotting in seconds, turning to black sludge absorbed into the grass. Gaining height along with mass, the low, pained cries went from human to animal as the change engulfed the boy. Only seconds had passed before the werewolf was fully changed into the Kveldulf, nine feet of killing temper and psychotic need.

Blaez glared out of the yellow eyes for a second, years of breaking the wolf had honed his will into a weapon he wielded with brutal authority. If you don't know you're going to win, then you're already halfway to losing. The saying that every dog pushed too far will bite was only half true. They bite to escape, to get away, vengeance is something only man knows.

It was still a wonder to see that wolf like face with its serrated teeth lacerating lips, dribbles of blood tainted saliva flowing down its hairless, scarred skin, desperate human eyes shining back at Cesare. Because Blaez had to give up control, to force himself to let the wolf take over their body. Had to do it, knowing the wolf had every reason to keep its supremacy and no reason to give it back.

As the human faded from the eyes, wild instincts and the fey nature of a predator rushed into the void. Cesare knew the other side of Blaez's personality. Not as a person with character and reason, but as an animal. The wolf wasn't human, didn't think like a human or rationalize like one. That didn't mean it wasn't smart, it just wasn't going to conform to what a reasoning being would do. It followed the instincts burned into its bones; the truth laid out by nature long ago.

Turning its head, the thing looked behind Cesare to the girls, nostrils flaring as it breathed in their scent. A low, angry whine came from it, muscles bared to the sun by scar tissue bunching and tightening as savagery came eagerly to its call. Shifting its head, it looked sidewise at Cesare with a low whine of confusion and discontent.

Leaning forward, it laid a taloned paw on the ground, stretching itself in his direction, snuffling at Cesare. The low whine of anger went lower, deeper, surface temper giving way to the stronger currents of spite. Lunging forward, its claws flashed through the air. Bending back and to the side, Cesare avoided the impaling spikes as they whistled by him.

Righting himself, Cesare slipped into the things guard even as gasps of fear surrounded him. His hand snapped forward, delivering a stinging smack to the wolf's snout with a growl of mild anger. Flinching back more from the growling rebuke than the slap, the wolf lowered its head with pitiful submission. A man would rub his dominance into the wolf, push it down and break its back. Proving the man didn't care.

Cesare laid his hand along it scarred head, gently caressing the ropy, mangled flesh. Moving closer, he let his sweat laden scent wash over the wolf. This was the wolf's time, even if other members of Cesare's pack were here, it was still the wolfs time. He wouldn't be cutting it short or dividing his attention away from the wolf to spend time with the females. No, he'd be spending it as he always had, with the wolf.

Only because he knew his own twisted needs did he understand its dark jealousy. Didn't Cesare feel a rush of blackest glee that Anastasia refused even her mother's touch? No matter the crippling it did to their relationship, or the isolation it imposed on Anastasia. Nothing changed the perverse pleasure that only he could touch her.

He recognized the diseased desire in the eyes of the wolf. It had nothing and no one, only Cesare. The wolf would do anything to protect its time with Cesare, even if it had to kill the things Cesare loved. It hungered for his time, it had been alone so long that affection had turned into a killing thing, like a mother hugging her baby to death. There was no boundary to its needs, no line it wouldn't cross, life had stripped it of any inhibitions with its boundless cruelty.

Alexandra was a little like that, but she was mad. Her insanity lent her a purity that shone from her, she killed because she liked to kill, butchered for fun. Her conscience existed only with God, a sword created forged for one purpose, to kill. That's what made a sword exquisite, sublime in its elegant simplicity, cold and perfect. That was Alexandra's singular beauty.

The wolf wasn't mad. It was simply an animal that had been abused, tortured, and beaten down until only hate and spite existed. It hungered and wanted, thirsted for what it watched its other half have. No one had ever given it anything. The wolf only knew how to take from others what it had never been given.

Its scars were rough and leathery as Cesare explored the burned wasteland silver threaded thermite had carved, ridges of scar tissue scrapping against calloused fingers. The werewolf luxuriated in Cesare's touch, a low, pleased whine whispering through bloody lips.

The crowd held its breath as the wolf nuzzled into his hands with a pitiful sound. Running his hands over the wolfs scarred muzzle and into the trenches that had run with molten silver, Cesare didn't pity the ravager. You pitied victims, people who'd been fucked by life, cancer, car accidents, or a sudden shooting. The wolf had attacked him and paid for it in scars and torture. While no pity stirred Cesare's heart neither did anger, the wolf had fought because that was what it did. It wasn't personal, in fact it was the complete opposite, everything that had come before Cesare had been something that hurt it.

Pulling back, Cesare slapped the wolf playfully, a low teasing growl rumbling through the air as he darted out of reach. Yipping in pleasure, the wolf ran after him. Flowing around the massive bulk of the wolf, Cesare pushed it to make sharper turns, forcing it to rely on the three-point stance.

They'd tried to train the wolf to be a man. Its instincts didn't work that way, the needs that drove it would never tolerate the concepts of war or battle. It fought for dominance, territory, food, or mates; the violence it was forced into violated the rules of nature. It was up to Cesare to lead the wolf back to its heart.

The wolf was a quick learner or maybe its true nature called out to it stronger and stronger each day. Whatever the reason, it was often only inches from pinning him. Cesare had caught it hesitating, letting Cesare break free at the crucial moment. He was quick, nimble, and motivated, but wolves were born to chase.

As the time wound down, the wolf got friskier and friskier, anger tightening its eyes as the knowledge it would have to give up the body working its short temper. Wrath surged through its mind, the smooth leaps and bounds turning aggressive and jerky. That was the problem with anger, it made a great servant and a poor master.

Shaking his head, Cesare gave a growl of disapproval at the sudden lunge that sent the wolf hitting the ground with a wet sound of meat. Scrambling onto its feet, the wolf gave a whine, visibly controlling its anger as it smoothed out its movements. Unconscious movements were graceful, replicating that on demand took time and work. A child at play was a thing of liquid grace but as soon as you tried to teach that same child something, it became gawky limbs and spastic movements.

Stopping, Cesare's body shifted in a way that felt alien and as natural as breathing. Recognizing the movement, the wolf stilled in response. Sprays of red tinted spit wet the air, its shoulders rounding with resignation. Yellow, wild eyes dimmed as control fell away, Blaez rushed up from the darkness of its mind, snatching the prize, starting the change into the illusion of man.

Slabs of meat tore along its chest and back, falling to the ground with wet, meaty sounds. Staggering in the mass of weeping blood and decomposing flesh, Blaez hit the ground in exhaustion. Kicking the meat aside, Cesare reached into the mass of blackened flesh and gray sludge. Taking hold of the Blaez's short hair, he pulled the boys head above the rotting flesh. Spewing a deluge of flesh and blood, Blaez struggled to stay above the stew of decomposing meat. While his will was strong, the body had long ago said fuck it.

Gripping him under the shoulder, Cesare dragged the boy to the grass before letting him go. Snatching a water bottle out of the air without looking, Cesare crouched next to Blaez. Brushing off the scraps of quickly decomposing flesh, he washed the worst off the boys face.

Trembling, the boys skin crawled in waves across his body, eyes roiling with pinprick pupils. "Take it easy. You'll get there." Dark as midnight, soft as new sin, the boy quieted under the comfort of the words. A low litany of soothing words fell like poisoned grace from Cesare's lips, creeping into the werewolf's ear, devouring his terror, pulling Blaez into the mindscape Cesare created for him. Slowly, his breathing evened out and the crazed trembling settled.

Cesare tipped a small cap full of water into Blaez's mouth, the boy convulsively swallowing the bit of water. Resting his hand lightly on the boy's chest, Cesare felt the frantic beating of Blaez's heart.

"Always the Beast," Blaez gasped out harshly. Cesare tipped another capful into the boy's mouth.

"You already know how to fight. You've had teachers, parents, and friends, the wolf's only had the shit hole you've pushed it into. You took everything from it, family, place, life, light, and most of all, freedom. You made your choices, and it's too late to change them, but if we want to get you the room to use that training you've had, we need it to accept me as its alpha," Cesare said, hands smoothing the water over the boy's face, cleaning it of the dirt that had settled into ropy scars.

"I'm its alpha," Blaez said, the words already sounding stronger.

"No, you're its tormentor," Cesare said simply, handing the water bottle over. "You don't know what the word means. It's not being in charge and taking what you want, or being the strongest, not even being the meanest, that's human bullshit. An alpha is about caring about those under you like family. When a hunt goes bad, it's the alpha that calls it off rather than see the pack hurt. It's the alpha that makes sure the little ones don't starve. Its responsibility and love, and that's never been you." Getting to his feet, Cesare boosted Blaez up, standing by while the boy got his feet under him.

Together they walked back to the fence under the watchful eyes of the girls. Cesare was impressed that they'd held back when the wolf had gone for him, but it could be they hadn't a decent angle. The hard looks they gave Blaez said that was more in line with the truth than that they'd had faith Cesare could handle it.

Gripping the fence, the wolf kept his eyes off the girls. No one knew how far the girls would go better than Blaez. Dropping his head, the werewolf poured the rest of the water over his face and hair, washing the filth off out of his hair and off his skin. "Sorry about that, it was just … a little intense."

Leaning against the fence, Cesare watched the trembling boy. "It won't get easier. I need time to work with the wolf and it needs to see you give it that time."

Shaking his head, the boy's words were spoken to the ground. "I know. I'm not backing out." Straightening, the boy faced Cesare. "I can feel the difference. It's less … hateful. Before I had to scramble and claw for control, now it seems almost impatient for me to take control so I can hand it over quicker." Wonder threaded with crawling awe, filled his voice.