Chapter 1- Wet fur

Season two
Chapter 1: Wet fur

Paris slammed the door to the old church shut after entering, his temper giving no mind to those that slept below. His lungs pumped in anger as he strode past the pews toward the door leading down to his dark cave of a room. He thundered down the steps only to stop at a small, almost invisible, door to his left. He opened that door and went inside, this time shutting it somewhat quieter than the other. His body was sticky with blood and sweat, his clothes, those that were left from the battle, were torn and stiff with gore.

He peeled the tattered uniform free of his chest first and tossed it to the floor, then his pants. He strolled naked across a cold tile floor to a row of shower heads along a wall to the far end of the completely tiled room. It was dark save a single light near the door and a flashing red light on a fire alarm.  Paris bent to turn the water on causing a groan to escape his tightly clenched teeth. The Vampire had been far stronger than he ever imagined and now he had to deal with the fact he wouldn’t have won the fight.

Anger welled up in his gut, it burned with frustration. The shower began to spurt water, it was turned to cold and it drew his flesh taught on impact. He let it run over his chest and shoulders then dipped his head down to strip the dried blood from the strands. He sloshed the water over the hard plain of his stomach and shivered as his body began to cool down. His flesh had been so hot he thought when the cold water touched him it would evaporate. His wounds would take at least the night to heal, if he hadn’t been nearly drain of blood, it would have been a matter of seconds.

His shoulders began to slack as each little drop of water massaged his sore muscles and bones. He was sure he had broken several bones.  His eyes closed briefly allowing his senses to pronounce each stream of cool liquid hitting him. “Paris…? Are you in here?” A soft voice called through the dark room. “Go back to bed, Raygen.” He answered softly. He pressed his head against the slick tile wall in front of him. His muscle flinched at the pressure of a small hand on his back.

“Paris… I was so worried.” A feminine voice whimpered from beside him. The small hand slid to his and grasped it tightly, though it could only hold three fingers without effort. “You will get wet… I promise I will come in and tell you good night, Raygen.” Paris said; his tone still quite soft and calm. “Alright… don’t forget ok?” Raygen said releasing his hand from her tiny grip. A smile curved his lips as he watched the young girl open the door on the far wall and vanish behind it.

Paris washed the rest of the blood from his hair and lathered soap over his cut and bruised body. The wounds stung but they had to be cleaned. When he finished he walked to a locker that was hidden by the darkness and removed a pair of lightweight cotton pants and a short sleeved white shirt from it, he then dressed and headed out of the shower room. He started toward his room but on passing by the other rooms; remember he had promised Raygen he would see her to sleep.

Though he was normally rather hard on his Volven companions, he always had come and said good night to Raygen, it was something they had started when she had first arrived at the church. She was so frightened she couldn’t sleep, so he had taken to coming in and calming her down, which was laughable to those that knew him. He did it every night and soon it became something of a habitual act.  

But there was more to it than a simple habit, it reminded him of the times he had been solely responsible for his Mother and three siblings. Born in England but raised in France, Paris lived through WWII with Nazi guards patrolling the streets and though you were safe pretending to be French you were not kindly looked upon if found to be the enemy English. Paris’ Father had his life ended short for letting his proud heritage known and his temper loose with a German soldier.

At the age of thirteen, Paris was the man of the house and responsible for the welfare of his Family. At the age of sixteen his Mother and Siblings were killed in a cross fire between American and German soldiers, leaving him alone and wounded. In a mad rage the sixteen year old boy retrieved a gun from a fallen soldier and began to fire at the Nazi troop. It was then he felt the fire of battle and the call to avenger his family that had died innocently, trying to live in peace.

He begged the American and British soldiers stationed through out, to allow him to fight. From then on he had not only a new family but nations to fight for and protect. But as the war died down and an end was near, the urge to battle didn’t leave, it grew. At the age of twenty he moved to America and officially enlisted into the army, but still there was no battle, no action aside from small skirmishes here and there. He wanted to quench the beast that roared for blood, the one that was born inside his heart the day he saw his Mother and his siblings fall.

For eight years he fought and battled but nothing filled the hole inside him, it rather dug it deeper, but a strange twilight would change him forever. On a routine exercise deep in a remote area of the Oregon woods, Paris, took a group of recruits out for a special training session. They were to test their nocturnal instincts and try some night tactics. Paris, however, after calling for a break, vanished. A strange noise had been plaguing him the entire night. So, while the men rested, he went in search of this sound, this howling.

He felt the hair at the base of his neck stand on end as he neared the sound, he assumed it was a wounded animal but nothing prepared him for what he saw. At first he thought it was a man but he had never seen such a man, his body covered with hair so thick it looked fur like and his legs and arms terribly deformed and scrawny. Paris slowly approached but as he got closer the more apparent it was that this was not a man at all. Whatever this thing was, it was impaled through the stomach with a large broken tree branch and writhing around trying to pull free.

The head lifted and the eyes of a wolf flashed at him. Paris blinked to clear his vision but his eyes opened to the same scene, a huge wolf… man… looking straight at him. And strangely the eyes were pleading for help.  Compelled, Paris, slowly walked to the side of the struggling beasts, his hands reached out to grab it when a powerful force struck his left shoulder and sent him to the ground. When he could manage to lift his head he found himself lying several feet from the creature impaled on the branch.

Standing stalk still, another being appeared, the one that hit him he gathered. This one looked like a man, no doubt. Paris looked back to the poor thing on the ground; it was now a man too. Heart pounding so hard it threatened to break the bone cage around itself; Paris took a slow breath and raised his gun to his shoulder. He hadn’t even realized he still had it. He aimed and took the shot; blowing the head from the man like being standing so still it made the trees quiver.

That was the last night Paris would be human, for his deed he was offered a strange but wonderful gift, an audience with the wolf-man’s Goddess. No one ever heard from Paris Crowling again, he was rumored to have been killed by the wolves that lived in the woods and in fact he was.

A smile curled Paris’ lips as the memory of his birth flooded his wary mind. He truly had a family that loved him and that would never leave him and he was given the greatest gift of all; to battle in a war that never ends. The door to Raygen’s room creaked slightly as he opened it, he expected the lights to be out and for her to be in bed but it was quite the contrary. Raygen was sitting up in her bed, Mangas and comics strew about with all the lights on she could have.

Raygen was a typical eighteen year old Goth/Punk; her hair changed color by day and her ears were lined with gold rings as well as he fingers and right eye brow. She wore variety of odd clothing, most of which had skulls or pink and black stripes on it, Red, her fellow Volven, often teased her with a list of names such as; Goth Barbie, Beetlejuice, and Ghost girl. But Paris never teased her nor called her names, he simply enjoyed her company, or so it seemed.

“Finally!” She cried jumping from her bed to tackle his waist. Raygen wasn’t at all a short girl, she was of an average to tall height but Paris was a giant so when she wrapped her arms around him, her head came to just below his chest and her arms didn’t quite make it around his waist. “You big jerk!” She yelled into the soft fabric of his shirt. Paris simply chuckled. He ruffled her semi short hair into a wild colorful mess and smiled.

“I hurry from my shower to come in and be called a jerk?” He asked in amusement. Raygen looked up at him pressing her lips into a pout. “Yes! You left without us and… you are hurt… I totally hate you right now…” She said hugging him tighter. “Really I mean it, I am really pissed off.” She continued while Paris smiled slightly and played with her uncontrollable hair.  “I am sorry, Raygen. Is… there anything I can do to make it up to you?” He asked. Raygen’s eyes shot up to his in surprise.

To be continued in Chapter 2: What’s in a name