Fuckwittery ✯ Asskickery

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✯Geeks on Ink✯

Wolves of Haven Five Teaser **unedited**

This is unedited and could/will/has/should be changed in the final.... But at least it gives you something.

Enjoy!

Six weeks ago….

“Are you sure, Sir?” Bardou Wolverton whispered for the tenth time, his breath coming out in a frozen puff past his chapped lips.
When he was summoned from the Ἀkadēmía of Sophía by the Palatini of the Covenant, he was the envy of the others. Never had the Palatini personally summoned an Ecclesiastic, especially one that hadn’t seen a full century of life as of yet. Typically Ecclesiastics are only pulled for Covenant deployment when they have surpassed the three-century mark: prior to that they spend their days and nights memorizing the past and present. They were the living, breathing records keepers of both worlds. Their role in wolf society was a secretive one. Only those in the higher tiers of power of the Covenant knew of their existence: Ecclesiastics were the watchers and gatherers of knowledge of both worlds.
The Ἀkadēmía of Sophía was relocated from Greece when the world went to war in the early twentieth century. Hidden in the mountains of Tibet, the Ecclesiastics continued their work. A rising in the ranks of wolf society was nothing knew, as they were well aware of since they had wolf and human history committed to memory. After the war, Bardou and others had hoped that the Ἀkadēmía of Sophía would be returned to Greece, but a rising in the ranks by the Lykos and William Winterfeld and his anything but support of the Covenant and their reign made returning to the hidden halls of knowledge impossible.
William Winterfeld was a thorn in the side of the Covenant, one that Bardou couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t been dealt with accordingly yet. Nothing in recorded history hinted as to why a wolf of hidden decent was permitted and able to elevate himself to the level of power and control in which he had in wolf society and beyond. Perhaps now that Bardou was free of the halls he would be able to covertly ask one of those that accompanied them to the bottom of the world. At the very least, it’d help to pass the time.
When there was no response from the Palatini or any of the sledgehammer wielding servants with them, Bardou huffed and pulled the collar of his wool Peabody coat up to fight the below zero temperature. Darkened caverns and having to go down hundreds, maybe thousands, of stairs in the middle of nowhere, apparently leading into the bowels of Hell… His time at the Ἀkadēmía of Sophía had never prepared him for or mentioned this so-far anticlimactic adventure. And it was the very last thing he wanted to do with his new found freedom. The young wolf was bored and hungry; it was a struggle to keep from pulling out the last of his candy bar collection from his inside jacket pocket for a quick snack. He had been warned already about being a distraction.
 Bardou tried to preoccupy himself and push hunger from his mind by looking around the area, but the torches illuminated very little, and apparently their light was being absorbed into the dark stone walls instead of being reflected off of the ice coating them, so it did very little to keep the whimper of hunger threatening to break past his lips contained. It was nearly impossible to see what the black cloaked Paladins with them were doing; their hands moved over the farthest wall, as if looking for something, but Bardou couldn't figure out what. None of his studying or research mentioned anything of importance on Deception Island, Antarctica. Hell, the only thing they had come across were penguins that were less than happy to see werewolves invading their remote home.
The young man’s earliest years were spent memorizing history, ancient history in most cases, and of the many rural places that were of importance in werewolf history. But Antarctica was the only place Bardou thought remained unblemished by wolves.
He looked to the Palatini and the whimper was now a groan of boredom: it was going to be a long day.
Egil hadn’t looked away from the ice covered stone in front of them since they reached the bottom of the obscure staircase cut into the cave wall. It seemed like only yesterday and he and what was left of his pack commissioned a knarr from the Dutch that would carry them to the unseen, frozen, southern most end of the earth where no Viking had ever gone before. A Seer guided their path, one that warned the past and darkness they feared could not be buried forever, and would again grace the light when the end of their reign drew breath. Their ship, Ljósálfr, took them and the Dökkálfr shackled within her cargo hold to Antarctica and back. Egil made sure that only he survived the trip so the truth of their mission was never recorded. The overly proud, yet terrified, wolf promised himself that never again would the name Deception Island leave his lips once the last stone was laid, sealing shut the gates to Hell, and the Dökkálfr imprisoned in her womb would never enter his mind again.
However, evil had a way of haunting those that tried and failed to harness its darkness.
Egil had no idea if the Dökkálfr still lived. Though, the haunting nightmares he was plagued with for centuries was proof enough that the evil was toying with him, reminding him that he failed in containing it, breaking it, and of owning the darkness housed in a broken vessel. Breaking the barriers and wards to check wasn’t something any creature of Heaven or Hell was willing to risk, but Egil hadn't a choice now.
 War was on the horizon, one that Egil had a hand in, and the only way to protect his interests and self was to make a deal with the Dökkálfr he once crossed and pray that it didn’t backfire. If what his nephew had informed him of, which Egil knew about already since he had a hand in it, was so blatantly obvious that his nephew that kept his nose out of all werewolf matters was mentioning it, then the end approached much faster than Egil could afford for it to.
The Seers had been correct on all accounts since the Palatini started using them, and the consensus of each was that their reign would end when she draws breath. Which she they would never say, most likely that was because their deaths they had already foreseen thus they would take the secret to the grave, and for centuries Egil tried to figure out what or who she was, but he knew less now than he did then. The Mother of Wolves was dead, had been for centuries due to treachery at the hands of her own blood, thus it wasn't the annoying bitch that demanded all wolf-kind to bow before her. It was something else, something much darker and sinister, something that would destroy the one thing that kept their world in order. The Covenant had to survive no matter what, and the single wolf that allowed for it to happen would take the seat of power that had been vacant since the Covenant’s conception, and it would go from a democracy to a dictatorship with one wolf to control them all.
Egil risked everything in order to make sure that sole wolf was him.
“Sir?” Bardou asked again when the others looked to the Palatini for guidance as his fingers absently traced over the ice covered stone on the wall next to him. When he realized that he was tracing a pattern, it stole his completed attention. Dökkálfr, he mumbled to himself. What in the hell do dark elves… Oh this is bad. “Sir?” he stammered, fear flooding him.
With much reluctance, Egil forced the words past his lips, startling the young wolf. “Break it,” he said…



Now…

Damian ducked, narrowly avoiding a fist to the face, and in the same movement his fist connected to Maccon’s kidney once, twice, three times for good measure, before the opening was corrected and he went on the defensive. Like a perfectly choreographed dance, the two moved around the padded sparring room, their feet working in time with the others, arms extending and retracting as they punched and blocked, trying to find an opening in the others defenses, but they were impressively sound. The wraps around their hands were starting to drip blood from the vicious assault they were delivering to the other. Sweat fully saturated their tank tops and cotton pants, dark hair clung to their skin, and each bead of sweat-laced blood rolling down their skin stung the cuts and abrasions littering their faces.
Maccon locked up with Damian then turned his hips slightly, pulling him down to meet his raising knee and it slammed into his stomach, knocking the wind from him. Not allowing the scored point to go unaddressed, Damian reached back and wrapped his arm around Maccon’s neck, pulling him down before flipping himself up and over Maccon then bent backwards once his feet were back on the floor and pulled the hulking man off of his feet. They landed on the mat, Damian taking the brunt of the impact, but he wouldn’t give Maccon a chance to take advantage of it: he wrapped his legs around Maccon’s thick waist and arched as much as he could, putting pressure on Maccon’s throat from the chokehold Damian had him in.
“Tap out,” Damian hissed in his ear.
Maccon smirked. “Never,” he snarled, repeatedly slamming his elbow into Damian’s side. “A child will never best me.”
He chuckled. “Defiance you will forever be inflicted with.”
Instantly Maccon stopped fighting and his eyes widened.
“Amusing,” He continued, “considering how much you loath She you got that admirable, yet amusing, trait from. Oh how she has molded you into Her image without the intent of doing such.”
Maccon sniffed wildly in disbelief: he could smell sweat, blood, the amusement from the officers watching them go at it, and something else, something that shouldn’t have been possible, and it made his heart tighten in his chest.
It had to be lack of oxygen and the seemingly endless rivers of blood Maccon had been leaving every time a wolf with an objective crossed his path; a waking nightmare perhaps, or his own personal purgatory. His soul was darkened from his actions, something he came to terms with centuries ago, and those aphotic deeds no longer haunt him, but guilt-laced nightmares of his sole failure in his very long life tormented him to no end.
Sluggishly his eyes blinked, fighting the unconsciousness clouding his mind from lack of oxygen, and suddenly overly hot, dry air washed over his body. All around him gold and white sand stretched into the horizon and beyond; towering dunes formed sandy waves that froze in mid-roll, their crests threatening to fall at any time. The ends of the earth he was to spread the King seemed so much farther than it had before, but he knew it was all in his mind. He didn’t go as far as the Queen ordered him to go, or as the Advisor had for that matter, but it was more than far enough in the Guard’s opinion.
He failed him.
That was it. The young prince wanted to argue, to deny the command, but He wouldn’t allow him to. It was as if the King had lost his faculties and was trying to force the Queen to order the unthinkable, was trying to make a point but it was one that was never clearly made. Never would he forgive himself for what he had done, and he was ready to fight back, to join the King, but he wouldn’t permit it.
“Why, Father?” he whispered aloud.
The sun reflected off of the delicate polished coffer in his hand and it pulled his attention, causing the guilt flooding him to drop him to his knees.
“Tap out, smart ass,” Damian growled, causing Maccon’s mind to snap back to the present.
“Never,” he snarled and slammed head back into Damian’s face, getting oohs and aahs from the officers watching; each had wanted to break the Captain’s nose more than once in their time on the force.
“Hit the showers,” Akia said, glaring at the officers and they hurried from the room; the only thing worse than Captain Nikas’ wrath was that of Lieutenant de Wolfe. “And you idiots are done,” she said, heading over to the fighting men; she was biting her tongue to keep from going off on her partner for breaking her husband’s nose and bruising his handsome face.
Maccon and Damian had been at odds for the past week. Maccon was apparently having issues with his brother and taking his frustrations out on the closest wolf with an agenda within reaching distance. And Damian was much the same when it came to his perpetual darkened mood.
When the body of Arno Manikas was discovered, it caused the FBI to get involved since he was a retired police captain and the crime appeared mob related: Chann had to call in a few favors to get the assignment since he was already in Boston. Arno’s death got Damian much unwanted attention and condolences. Keeping the front of the cynical, short and brusque son of the victim was easy since he hated Arno with a passion, but keeping his hate-filled words to himself was proving to be difficult. His ‘brothers’ were adamant that he had something to do with their father’s untimely demise, though Damian knew that they would have done it themselves given the chance. And as if having to sit down with the FBI and department psychiatrist, deal with reporters lingering outside his ‘home’ and precinct, Damian had been pulled into pack meetings and business that he wanted no part of. Pack bylaw stated that the heir of a wolf of position in the pack, if their death was untimely, would stand in until the appointment of a new wolf for the vacant position was named; his brothers were fighting for the right, and Damian was stuck filling in for Manning with Seff at William’s request since Manning had no heir. Even if that wasn’t the case, he wouldn’t leave William to fend for himself. Akia demanded that Maccon go with him to keep an eye on her husband and heart. While the men were tied up with pack business, Akia was stuck babysitting Ophelia to keep her out of trouble since her babysitter was babysitting her husband, that, and the media was trying to get a glimpse of Arno’s widow. Ophelia wanted to paint the town red, and Maccon had warned more than once that the red might be blood and to keep an eye on her or he would, thus leaving Damian unprotected.
 Ophelia slapped him in the face and warned that it’d be his blood she started with if he threatened her son again, and then she punched him in the face before kneeing him in the groin for good measure.
Akia fell off the couch she was laughing so hard as the hulking man glared, trying to keep from doubling over. Amusingly enough, Akia didn’t mind spending time with Ophelia: the narcissistic woman loved talking about her son, her greatest achievement in her opinion, and it allowed Akia to learn of Damian's past without appearing nosy. Akia wanted to go home to check in with her family, but she was needed in Boston. Seff and Chann were staying with Akia and Damian since it was secure and off the grid to wolves with agendas while they help deal with the potential fallout from the unsanctioned Rite ceremony that turned into a bloodbath. Akia wouldn’t leave two members of her pack and family unprotected—strength in numbers was her excuse—so she called daily to check in with those in Haven. Rafe and Varg assured her that she was needed in Boston in case the impending war of wolves spilled over onto the streets of man. She couldn’t argue their logic, but she had a suspicion that they were keeping something from her.
“I said that’s enough,” Akia warned when the two continued to beat on each other, standing next to them. She pulled her sidearm and pointed it at them. “The warning shot won’t be a flesh wound,” she warned, pulling their attention. “Go ahead, make my day,” she said in the worst Dirty Harry impression they’ve ever heard.
Damian chuckled, pushing Maccon off of him.
Maccon simply gave her a look and flipped from his back to his feet.
“We got a call,” Akia said, giving him a look in return as she holstered her sidearm. “We head out in fifteen.”
He nodded and headed towards the locker room, looking over his shoulder at Damian and Akia more than once as he went.
Once they were alone, she squatted down next to Damian, her ocean-blue eyes moving over his battered and bloody face appraisingly.
“You shouldn’t have given him the openings that you did,” she scolded before setting his broken nose for him.
Damian hissed, swatting her hands away. “A little warning next time,” he complained.
“Your mother would have killed me if I allowed her little prince to get marred by my babysitter. Besides, I am the only one allowed to damage your handsome face,” she whispered with a small smirk, her eyes swirling molten gold and ocean-blue.
Damian couldn’t stay mad at her, especially when she smirked and batted her lashes like that. It was getting progressively harder to keep up appearances when it pertained to his irritation and indifference towards the headstrong Lieutenant. Yes, the list of things that irritated him were great at the moment, but when they were in the same room the urge to be close to her, to touch she who he belonged to, to inhale each breath she exhaled, was overwhelming. His possessiveness and seldom seen jealous side was flooding his rational mindedness, and more than once he had tried to strong-arm his wife into taking a second honeymoon to the island his parents gave them as a wedding present.
Akia liked the idea, but she would never abandon her post in the department, especially with Maccon warning that war was on the horizon.
“Thank you for thinking of my mother’s vanity,” he dryly said, trying to keep from capturing her mouth with his.
“I would never hear the end of it,” she said with a chuckle then pulled him to his feet, her eyes returning to ocean-blue. “There’s a 10-65 between jurisdictions that State Patrol is logging it as a 10-51, but patrol that responded to the call isn’t in agreement and hinted that those of authority should visit the site since State Patrol is. Besides, I'm bored and there's only so many reports I can fuck up just to get a scolding behind closed doors and a spanking at home, I figured Marassi and I would check it out and pretend to take the lead on it."
Damian growled under his breath, getting backhanded in the chest in return.
“It’s nothing to growl over, just a territory dispute between badge carrying members of law enforcement,” she assured him as they walked towards the locker room so he could get cleaned up; that wasn’t what he was growling about and she knew it. “Besides, it's always entertaining getting into a pissing contest with your brother," she teasingly sang.
Again, Damian growled under his breath, but for an entirely different reason: he didn't want Akia anywhere near his asshole brother who was the Division Commander of the State Patrol.
"They still have their short hairs in twist over Chann pulling the FBI bad ass card on them over the bodies that turned up alongside 93. Federal trumps State every time,” she said, knocking into him.
Damian gave her a look. “I am well aware of that, as are they."
"Do you think Liekos is still pissed off that you didn't back him, or any of Arno's bastards, in their bid for his suddenly open chair of power in the Lykos?" she asked conversationally, admiring the way the overhead lights reflected off of her ring set and smiled when he growled. "Perhaps I should take them off in case your brother recognizes them."
Damian's nostrils flared. "Give me fifteen to shower and get dressed and I’ll join you.”
Now it was Akia’s turn to growl under her breath, and she glared at him.
He smirked, unwrapping the sweaty, bloody wraps from around his hands and not-so-discreetly motioned towards his platinum, colorless and blue diamond, wedding band with his thumb. “A supervisor is required for all territory disputes,” he reminded her, rather smugly. "Especially those regarding my egotistical older brother."
“Clingy asshole,” she grumbled under her breath, continuing to glare at his retreating form.
“Yes, I am,” Damian agreed, heading to the men’s locker room as Maccon headed out of it. “I’ll be assisting in the field today,” he said in passing.
Maccon nodded; he already heard. “Clingy asshole is an understatement.”
Akia sighed; it was a losing battle. “In an ass backwards sort of way it’s kind of romantic.”
“Thank the gods I’ll never lower myself to such undermining and belittling things,” Maccon commented, mocking her by invoking Faelan to be a smart ass.
She shook her head. “Give it time and it’ll happen, Marassi,” she said. “The moment you aren’t looking and don’t expect it, it happens. Sadly, there’s nothing you can do about it, and it doesn’t matter how hard you fight it, try to kill and strangle the life from it, you can’t. It’s all a game you never stood a chance at winning.”
He nodded. “Poetic and deranged, but coming from you the threat of homicide and romance being mutually exclusive only makes sense.”
“I take that as a compliment, Marassi.”
“You would,” he agreed.
The drive wasn't long, but it seemed to take forever in Akia's opinion. She was stuck in the backseat since she was the shortest, and the rule was tallest gets the front seat. Damian drove since Maccon refused to, and the two sat in silence. To distract herself she text messaged Connell since he never kept anything from her, but he was at work and letting Ulf autopsy a natural cause death: it was a medical bromance, as Faelan called it, that she couldn't wait to see first hand. She started to text Faelan next but stopped in midtext and looked to the two in the front seat.
Maccon was looking out the side window and Damian was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in irritation while they waited at the light, their heads keeping time with the song softly playing on the radio.
"I'm what Cain was to Abel
Mister catch me if you can
I'm going down in a blaze of glory
Take me now but know the truth
I'm going down in a blaze of glory…"
Akia fought to keep from laughing because the two were singing along with Bon Jovi under their breaths, neither realizing they were doing it, and for a fraction of a second they appeared to be related as they kept time with their heads.
Where Akia was a Joni Mitchell fan, thanks to Louvel, Damian loved Bon Jovi and other pretty hair bands from the eighties. Three years into their relationship Akia had gotten them tickets to a Bon Jovi concert in Vancouver, Canada, and they made a long weekend of it. He was moved by the gesture, especially considering she complained about his taste in music, but he secretly knew she loved it when he went all power ballad on her when soaking in a bath.
A few seconds after she hit send on the video clip she took of the from the backseat, Faelan texted.
"That is adorable," he messaged. "Do they realize they're having a sing along?"
Akia chuckled. "Not a clue. Stubborn. They are both ridiculously stubborn pains in the ass. Is everything at home okay?"
His only response was a picture of himself pouting his bottom lip out, giving her puppy dog eyes.
"Real mature, Ginger. I'll call you later. We're heading to a crime scene, one that Captain Nikas is attending since Arno's eldest will indubitably be there throwing his cock and badge around."
"Oooh! Send a video of that!"
She snorted. "Trust me, your Russian mobster is a lot hotter and a foot taller. How are you two?"
The picture she got next didn't surprise her: Faelan shaking his fist, cursing the heavens while wearing a top hat and monocle care of Ophelia and William's black Amex card when he was on the road.
"And the Oscar goes to," she messaged.
"I rather get a AVN, but my cock isn't impressive enough… Now, my man on the other hand…. What were we talking about?"
Akia chuckled, shaking her head.
"Are you two done gossiping back there?" Damian asked, turning the car off.
She made a mocking face. "Time to work. Being an adult sucks. I'll call you later."
"Promises, promises, promises. Love you!"
"Love you, too, Bro," she messaged before pocketing her cell phone.
"How's Fae?" Damian asked, getting the door for her.
"Pouting and not being forthcoming in the least," she said, looking around. "Media, M.E., four departments and three commanders… Aren't we special?"
He gave her a look. "Tone noted. I expect you to be on your best-"
"Brother, I don't remember seeing your name on the invitation to this territorial pissing contest," Liekos said.
Instantly Maccon was growling under his breath.
Damian turned to face his brother and instantly his fabricated smile fell. "The victim?" he asked, sniffing.
"That is none of your concern. These are pack matters-" his brother started to remind him in Greek so Akia and Maccon were none the wiser.
"I am Lykos," he snarled, glaring at his eldest brother.
"Then act like it!" Liekos retorted, standing up straighter, trying to close the six inch height difference between them, but he was no match for the sole heir of William Winterfeld. Liekos was in the image of Arno, though the two despised each other, Liekos bit his tongue and always took whatever his father dished out in order to keep the peace in the family.
Damian didn't have a problem with Liekos, he simply didn't agree with the way he managed his officers or respected him as a cop because he didn't start at the bottom and simply skipped walking the beat and went right to the top thanks to Arno's reputation in law enforcement. Damian refused to even use Arno's last name in order to accomplish what he did because of him: only he was responsible for his failures and successes.
"Your Officers' services are not required," Liekos said, casting Akia a look. "Just as your services will not be required."
Damian stepped into him and Liekos stepped back. "When one of ours, especially a wolf of such reputation that he has sat on the Covenant for over a century and whispered in the ears of those holding position in the Lykos warning and oversight so our pack was never in their crosshairs is killed, murdered even, and dumped in Lykos territory, straddling the line between two jurisdictions that those of the position in the Lykos oversee, is very much my concern. In fact, as acting Beta is my only concern. Do you understand, Brother?" he sneered, purposely speaking in English even though Maccon was fluent in many dialects of Greek, some that were even unfamiliar to Damian, and Akia had learned it over the years because she was irritated that Damian spoken Greek in the bedroom when in the throes of passion.
Liekos shook his head. "You speak of pack matters in front of humans!" he hissed. "In front of an inferior," he sneered, eyeing Akia.
Akia smirked, leaning against the side of the car with Maccon, their arms crossed over their chests, watching the show overly amused.
Damian's head tilted to the side before he smirked, and the words left his lips before he could stop them. "That is my wife, and you will show her the respect that she had earned in and our of the field, unlike you. I am the acting Beta of the Lykos, and that is my mate, the right hand of our pack, and if you think the others will grant a vote of no confidence you have another thing coming: that is the daughter of Beowulf, the niece of the true Beta of the Lykos, and our union was blessed by the true Alpha of the Lykos. Do you understand, Brother?"
Liekos complexion had paled considerably and he looked from Damian's hard, sapphire eyes to those of the woman smiling at his discomfort and she offered a small wave. "You know," he whispered, looking back to Damian, stepping back.
"What?" he asked, following his retreating brother. "That I am the son of William Winterfeld? Yes, I am well aware of that. Now, will you extent a territorial courtesy to the Boston PD? Or would you like to call the true Alpha of the Lykos and have him make an executive decision as to how he would like this very blatant attack on the Lykos will be handled?" he asked, pulling his cell phone out and offered it to him. "By all means, see who he sides with in the matter."
Maccon chuckled, softly knocking into Akia. "It truly is amusing when he invokes his father."
"And sexy as hell," she agreed. "Now, if you two are done measuring cocks I'd like to see the body and start processing the scene, and you really need to take this offline since the media is just dying to capture something to run with the mob hit on Arno."
The two Detectives headed towards the more than apparent crime scene in the distance, purposely walking past the glaring at each other.
"Oh, and Liekos," She added, stopping next to him, "if you whisper Hayati's revelation of our mating or that of his true lineage, I shall rip your fucking heart out with my bare hands and dine on it in front of your wife and heirs before having them for dessert. Do you understand?"
HIs eyes widened and his mouth fell open.

"And that's only if she beats me to it," Maccon added with a smirk. "Captain," he added with a nod in Damian's direction before they walked off, joining the M.E. and those form patrol that called it in.