As Lowell strode through the busy streets, he felt a storm of emotions brewing within him. Rage, bitterness, and a primal urge to roar all vied for supremacy. He could feel the wolf within him stirring, clawing at the edges of his control. He tried to push it down, to keep it contained, but the longer he thought about what had happened, the harder it became.
That man, that strange man who had dared to touch Eden, who had the nerve to stand up to him - how dare he? How dare he invade his territory, threaten his claim? It was too much to bear.
His eyes burned like embers, the flames of rage and pain blazing within them. He stalked through the crowd, ignoring the people around him, too lost in his own thoughts to notice their stares or their whispers. He didn't care. All he cared about was finding a way to release the pressure building inside him.
And so, he headed to the boxing gym, hoping the physical exertion would be enough to quell the beast within. But as he worked out, the rage only grew, until it threatened to consume him.
Nobody was able to challenge him. The toughest contenders were knocked out in one punch, their bodies beaten and bruised. No one dared to test his strength after that. The crowd looked on in awe and fear, knowing they could never match his skill.
Then, out of the shadows, came a new voice. It was cold and calculating, filled with a challenge that sent a chill down his spine. "I'll pay you a hundred dollars," it said, "if you can make me bleed."
"I'll pay you a hundred dollars if you can make me bleed," the voice said again, challenging, taunting. "That's a hundred dollars you can put towards whatever your next meal is. What do you say?"
Lowell's blood boiled. He could hear the smug satisfaction in the man's voice, and could see the arrogance in his stance. And he hated it. But he knew he couldn't turn down the challenge, no matter how much he wanted to. His pride wouldn't allow it.
"You're on," he growled, his fists clenched at his sides.
The challenger stepped into the light, revealing himself to be a young man, not yet out of his twenties. He was slight of build, his shoulders narrow and his frame small. But there was something about him, an aura of confidence and power that made Lowell take notice.
The young man moved with the grace of a dancer, his body fluid and his movements precise. He darted in and out, striking at Lowell with speed and skill, his hands a blur of motion. Lowell tried to block the blows, but he found himself overwhelmed by the ferocity of the young man's attack.
Finally, the young man knocked Lowell to the ground, his body landing hard on the sharp edge of the arena floor. Lowell grunted in pain, blood dripping from his lip. The young man stood over him, his face impassive.
Lowell's throat was a vice, the young man's grip cutting off his air. Lowell struggled, but it was no use. The young man was too strong, his will to win too great.
Defeated, Lowell walked out of the arena, his bag slung over his shoulder. The crowd watched him go, a mixture of disappointment and awe on their faces. Even in defeat, they knew he was something special. But Lowell could not shake the feeling of failure, his pride wounded by the loss.
How could he have lost? He was a werewolf, a creature of great strength and power.
Lowell quickened his pace, trying to outrun the boy and his friends. But the boy was persistent, his footsteps echoing behind him. "Please, just wait!" the boy shouted. "I just want to talk!"
But Lowell kept going, his mind a whirl of confusion and anger. He didn't want to talk to the boy, and didn't want to face the humiliation of his defeat. All he wanted was to be alone,in peace.
"Please!" the boy cried out, his voice growing hoarse. But Lowell wouldn't stop, wouldn't turn back.
The boy and his friends ran and touched lowells shoulder from behind.
In an instant, Lowell had turned, his hand wrapping around the boy's arm. With a snarl, he yanked him forward, his strength inhuman. The boy stumbled, his feet scrambling for purchase. Before he could right himself, Lowell had swung him around and thrown him to the ground.
The boy lay there, winded and dazed, his eyes wide with fear. Slowly, he raised his hands in surrender, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry," he said. "I just want to talk."
Lowell stood over him, his hands clenched into fists, his body trembling with rage.
As he stood there, seething with anger, he became aware of the stares of the people around him. They were watching him, their eyes wide with shock and fear. And then, in a flash of clarity, he realized what he was doing.
He loosened his grip, letting the boy slip from his grasp. He took a step back, his head spinning. What had he been thinking? He couldn't just attack someone like that, no matter how angry he was.
The boy got to his feet, rubbing his arm where Lowell had grabbed him. He looked at him, his expression wary.
The boy's voice was trembling, his face pale with fear. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I only wanted to talk to you, to get to know you. I know what you are, and I want to know more. I... I just want to understand."
He motioned to the group behind him, his friends still huddled together, their eyes wide with fear. "They're like me," he said.
"We're werewolves, like you," Jackson said, his voice soft but resolute. "I'm Jackson, and these are my friends - Jason, Elijah, Bruno, and Tom." He pointed to each of them in turn as he spoke their names.
"And where are your parents?" Lowell asked, his voice hard.
Jackson's eyes filled with tears. "They're dead," he said, his voice breaking. "Carlsen killed them." He shuddered, the memory of that terrible night still fresh in his mind.
"I already killed him," Lowell said, the words tasting like ash on his tongue. He had killed Carlsen, had taken his revenge. But it had not brought him peace, had not made him feel any better. If anything, it had only made him feel worse.
Jackson's eyes widened, and his mouth fell open in shock. "What? How?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"Let's get a cup of coffee, my treat," Jason said, his voice gentle. "We can talk in a more comfortable place, away from all of this."
Lowell hesitated, unsure of what to do. On the one hand, he didn't want to be around these people, didn't want to talk about anything. But on the other hand, he couldn't deny that he was curious about them, about who they were and what they knew.
"My dad was considered a rebel," Jackson said, his eyes downcast. "He didn't believe in the banishment of your father, he believed it was wrong. And so, he spoke out against it. But the other werewolves didn't listen, they didn't want to hear it. So, he was killed. By Carlsen."
Jackson took a deep breath, his hands shaking as he held his cup of coffee. "He came for us in the middle of the night," he said, his voice cracking. "He killed our parents, and he would have killed us too if we hadn't run.
Are you brothers? " Lowell asked
"We're not brothers," Jackson said. "Not by blood, at least. But we are brothers in spirit. We lost our parents to Carlsen's claws, and we came together to survive." He paused, his eyes shining with tears. "We vowed to avenge our parents, to stop Carlsen from hurting anyone else."
Jackson looked at Lowell, his gaze intense. "You're the only other werewolf we've seen since then," he said. "We've been looking for you, we want to help you."
"We're stuck," Jason said, his voice shaking. "We only have access to a fraction of our true power, and we don't know how to change that. We can't shift, we can't heal. We're just... incomplete." He looked at Lowell, his eyes full of desperation. "We need your help, please."
Lowell was torn. Part of him wanted to help, to share his knowledge and experience. But another part of him was afraid, afraid of being betrayed, afraid of being hurt. He had spent so long on his own, he didn't know if he could trust anyone.
Lowell stood, his eyes hard as he looked at the others. "If you want my help, you'll meet me tomorrow night, at sunset. We'll train in the forest, away from prying eyes." He paused, his gaze sweeping across their faces. "You'll need to be prepared, it won't be easy. But if you're willing to put in the work, I'll help you become the werewolves you were meant to be."
With that, he turned and left, the door swinging shut behind him. A hush fell over the coffee shop, the other patrons too shocked to speak.
Lowell's phone rang, the shrill sound cutting through the silence as he darted through the road. He glanced at the screen and saw the name of the caller - Eden. He hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether or not to answer. Finally, he pressed the button and brought the phone to his ear.
"Hello?" he said, his voice wary.