Pack Mates -- Chapter Two The hunt went poorly. Why they had to give him, of all of them, a passel of young ones to fend for, Seamus would never know. Lord knew the elders would never tell him straight. They spoke in fucking riddles. One way or the other, he had a lot of mouths to feed, and he had to do it soon, before they started disturbing the fucking neighbors, so Seamus locked the little furry monsters in and headed out, and he was having no damned luck at all. This one was too skinny, and that one would be missed. He was far enough from home that getting a good meal back might get him noticed, and his fucking feet hurt. Always put him in a foul mood, and this was no exception. So maybe it was some kind of fate that he heard the sounds coming from the alley he had just passed. Normally he would have ignored the sounds of flesh striking flesh, the noises that came with a pack of drunken men, but there was another sound underneath, a desperate whining growl, layered over a scent he would know anywhere, at any time, and Seamus couldn't pass by. He hit the alley at a run, taking in the situation at a glance. Five men, backing one like him into a corner, broken beer bottles and pocketknives in hands. The young one, for he was very young indeed, was halfway to the change, but fear and pain had him confused, if nothing else, and he didn't know how to fight back. Seamus had no such difficulties. Like a duck shedding water he slipped out of the human guise he wore, unearthly snarls coming from deep in his chest as he attacked, ripping two of the men away in his first pass, tasting the gush of hot blood in his mouth. The young one started panicking at the scent of blood, fear and hunger flooding the air. A short sharp growl ...