Keegan MacIntyre

[Keegan]

NAME: Keegan Conall MacIntyre.
NICKNAMES: Keegs is the most common nickname, and one that many of the pack make use of. Other than this, he has a variety of potential ones, some of which have been used fleetingly in the past: K’, Keeg’, Mac’, ‘Tyre’, Brawler (because of his rough fighting style) or Drummer, given his hobby. A select few of the pack also refer to him as ‘Big Brother’ or ‘Big Bro’, for their own reasons.
RACE: Werewolf; bitten.
OCCUPATION: Pack Fighter.
GENDER: Male.
SKIN COLOUR: Caucasian, with a noticeable tan.
NATIONALITY: English.
AGE: 429 years old, though he appears to be in his late twenties/early thirties, physically.
CLOTHING: Keegan is a casual kind of guy, but dresses very much as a fighter should, especially when things are tense; always ready, and practical, even if only in subtle ways. He wears a lot of black, but is also fond of deep, rich browns, dark reds and even deep blues. That isn’t to say he is averse to lighter colours, and he is actually rather fond of such shades; beiges and tans, for example, and paler colours if it is especially warm and darker clothing just isn’t comfortable. He’ll wear white on occasion, especially at night, since he sleeps in a t-shirt and a pair of pyjama pants or even shorts. He wears slacks, army-style pants or jeans, sometimes baggy pairs with a lot of pocket space; when it comes to shirts, he is quite a fan of the shirt-over-t-shirt style that has become something of a lazy fashion trend in the last decade or so, and he wears a lot of t-shirts, some long-sleeved and some not. He is particularly fond of a white wife-beater that he owns when he’s training, preferring it because it allows for a lot of movement; he will not really wear the wife-beater otherwise, seeing it as a little too unnecessarily ‘butch’. He’s rarely seen out of his combat boots and black fingerless gloves that strap/tighten at his wrist; the latter seem to be a constant whenever he is out of the privacy of his bedroom. In fact, other members of the pack can often tell if Keegan is distracted or troubled simply because of the gloves, and based entirely on whether or not he is wearing them. He owns two jackets for ‘missions’ or occasions when he needs one when leaving the hotel; one is leather and a rich tan-brown colour and reaches his waist, with a high collar; the other is black, cloth and reaches just above his knees. More often than not, Keegan wears a belt if he is wearing pants that can accommodate one, regardless of whether or not he needs one; he has several different ones, some leather and some corduroy, and in different colours and styles.
HEIGHT: 6’3.
WEIGHT: 224lbs.
TATTOOS: He has a large Celtic-style cross over most of his back and shoulders, in black; it starts below his neck, reaches down just above his waist and spans over his shoulders blades to either side.

PIERCINGS: He actually had his ears pierced when he was human, and the evidence of those old piercings can be faintly seen, but it requires close inspection. He stopped wearing the studs a long time ago while he was human, and they effectively healed over, leaving only the minimal marks behind, even with his lycanthropic healing.
JEWELLERY: He is always seen wearing a simple white gold chain around his neck with no pendant; usually, it is tucked under whatever shirt he happens to be wearing at the time.

BODY MODIFICATIONS: Keegan’s back, chest and abdomen are crisscrossed and effectively riddled with scars of different shapes and sizes, some more bold than others. His arms, legs, hands, feet, neck and face are devoid of any scarring, by contrast. The tattoo on his back covers some of the scars there, but not all, and while the ink does effectively hide a majority, they would still be obvious to the touch, or under close inspection.

His most vivid scars are the clear bite/tearing marks around his right shoulder which reach a little down his back and chest respectively; these scars are from his turning. Because of the extent of his scars, it is extremely rare that Keegan is without a shirt, even in his own room by himself; needless to say, he is far from proud of them, and doesn’t even like to see them for himself.

WOLF FORM.

BUILD: Muscular, and quite simply put, built for the take-down and kill. He’s still agile, and even graceful in his movements, but he’s not a small wolf by any standards, with thick arms and legs, and actually, an almost human torso, in the way he’s put together. He has paws with a fifth, thumb-like digit rather than hands, and his hind ‘feet’ are much more like the paws of a wolf, though the latter are obviously larger and more for balance and power. Most of his strength is packed into his upper body, perfect for colliding with prey and taking them down to the ground. He has an extremely wolfen head; it could easily be mistaken for a large, common wolf’s, actually, though the ears are perhaps a little taller than they should be. To finish it all off, he has a thick, lengthy tail that increases his sense of balance and helps him perch on dangerous ledges and railings. Because of an extra joint in his legs, he is able to travel as both a biped and quadruped.
HEIGHT: 9’3 when bipedal, and 5’5 on all fours.
WEIGHT: 406lbs.
HAIR: Steely-grey, with white detail around his muzzle, under his neck, down his chest, and along the insides of his limbs and tail. It covers his entire body in a full, protective pelt, and is thickest around the back of his neck in a kind of muted mane.
EYES: A bright, feral yellow, with black pupils.
DEFINING MARKS: His long, sweeping tail, his overly-lupine head, and his ‘human’ torso.

PACK.
PACK: Cole’s Pack.
POSITION: Pack Fighter.
TERRITORY: Cole’s side of Los Angeles.

HAIR.[/i]
LENGTH: Several inches, all over, but slightly shorter around his ears and at the base of his skull above his neck. It is longest over the top, actually falling around his brow and eyes if not managed or swept back, or if weighed down by water.
STYLE: Casually or intentionally messy might be the easiest way to describe it. Keegan isn’t one for styling his hair beyond the minimum, so it mostly resembles loose ‘bed hair’, or slightly feral, natural lengths, without the need for gel, at least when he cannot be bothered with it at all, or if he hasn’t had time to do anything. If he does make the effort or have the time, the top is brushed back somewhat and over to his left to sweep slightly. His hair carries a natural albeit very slight, barely noticeable curl.
COLOUR: Rich, medium brown.

FACIAL HAIR.[/i]
LENGTH: About an inch at its longest, shorter along his upper lip and where it leads up to join his sideburns.
STYLE: A ‘stylish’, and not overdone beard, goatee and moustache, trimmed to keep it neat.

EYES.[/i]
COLOUR: Hazel; mostly brown but with subtle green that can be easily seen under brighter lights.
ODDITIES: As with all werewolves, Keegan’s eyes betray his nature by flashing, flooding or flickering to a feral yellow whenever he is experiencing sudden, powerful emotions: if he is angered, territorial or defensive, or if he is in pain. Alternatively, he can provoke the colour shift if he wants to tease, taunt or intimidate.

PERSONALITY: Keegan seems like a constant source of strength and support, and in truth, he does like to project this front, if only because he is a protector by nature, always caring about the states of others and their health and happiness before his own; he is anything but selfish and is perhaps what some might call too compassionate for his own good, if such a thing is possible. He is always willing to listen, or just be a reassuring presence for a friend, and he often seems too ‘soft’ to be a true fighter. Of course, they say to never judge a book by its cover, and Keegan is certainly no exception; if anything, he is a prime example.

Beneath the surface, below all the strength he projects to comfort and help others, he is haunted and scarred, in many ways. Given the manner of his introduction to the world of the supernatural, he went through a traumatic change, physical and mental, and that is something that has stuck with him over the years, regardless of his attempts to shake it. He knows it will never truly leave him, and while it has helped shape him into the fighter he is today, there are aspects of that experience that he wishes he could leave behind. Keegan recalls the events that surround his turning vividly, on an almost nightly basis, and usually not willingly. While he does inadvertently think back on his experiences, it is the nightmares (some might call them night terrors, given the frequency and intensity) that really take their toll. At least during the day Keegan can distract himself with one mundane task or another; while trying to get a full night’s rest, he is not so easily dissuaded from reliving or imagining anything relating to his turning and captivity. Because of these nightmares, Keegan actually sleeps very little, many would say not nearly enough; he manages two or three hours a night on average, at most, and can sometimes be found dozing here or there throughout the hotel, but never for very long. Keegan isn’t fond of sleeping anywhere but in his room, if only because he is ashamed of the nightmares and how much they terrify and shake him, and therefore, he never speaks of them. In fact, Cole and Dia are the only ones who know of exactly what happened to him while he was kept by vampires.

Vampires are something of a trigger for Keegan, and while fighting them, he becomes ruthless and merciless, refusing to show them any leniency or forgiveness; they tend to rattle his control, and at times, he can slip just enough for him to become volatile. He has never reached a point where another fighter cannot get through to him and ‘talk him down’, but he knows he has come close, and this is something he is inwardly worried about. Female vampires in particular tend to rile Keegan, and he can, depending on their attitudes, be extremely vicious or adamant on keeping his distance, if at all possible.

Fighting is like a stress-reliever for Keegan, and because of his physical stature, he is often chosen or asked to head out with a group, whether it be for scouting or actual combat, simply because he is the largest fighter the pack possesses. Not only is he the tallest, but he is muscular and hard to tackle, in the literal sense, and that is something that the fighters as a whole see as a ‘weapon’. Keegan himself is not against this, and is in fact intent on maintaining his usefulness, if only because there is little else that can release the tension and continuously building strain like fighting. This makes him sometimes a little too eager to leap into the fray, but while combat does satisfy his needs for relief, he does have a level-head and isn’t a fool; he won’t jump into anything where the odds are stacked against him and any other fighters, unless of course he is viciously pulled or pushed for whatever reason. He will never, for example, leave a friend alone in combat, and he can be a bit too quick to come to the defence of others, especially if they themselves are not a fighter.

There are five members of the pack, above any others, whom Keegan will defend and fight for blindly, without hesitation or excuse. While he is fiercely protective, loyal and devoted to the pack as a whole, these five wolves seem to stand, for varying reasons, above the others, even though Keegan does not rate any pack wolf as more vital than the others beyond the leaders of course. Over time, Keegan has built a family for himself within the pack, consisting of four ‘siblings’, three surrogate sisters and one brother; Cassidy Blake, Molly Cullen, Sissy Donovan and Rory Lawrence. He is most affectionate and open around these four ‘youngsters’, going to great lengths to be there for them; on the days and nights of the full moon, he will ensure he sees each one of them before and after the moon rises and falls, if only for his own peace of mind, if not theirs. He is more likely to laugh around his ‘siblings’ than around anyone else, and he usually seems more attuned to their emotions than to anyone else’s, genuinely responsive and reactive to their moods.

Nerys Llanfair, the pack’s medium, is the fifth and final, but for entirely different reasons. Though Keegan did tell himself not to fall for her, we can never decide who we fall in love with, and as much as he tries to lock away his feelings for her, he knows he would die for her just as readily as he would for his ‘siblings’. His wolf is more responsive to Nerys than to anyone else, and he is always considerate of her feelings and physical state, as if he would readily jump in to improve anything for her or help if she needs him. While he is reluctant to act on his feelings for her out of respect, given he, like the rest of the pack, is aware of her loss of another mate, he cannot deny how he feels; instead, he keeps such feelings hidden from everyone.

Keegan hates the quiet, and will usually leave any room that succumbs to it. If he is alone in his room, he will usually turn on the stereo or practise his drumming, the hobby being something else that alleviates stress and tension, like fighting does. If Keegan is with another pack member, the quiet doesn’t bother him as much if only because he can concentrate on the other person to distract himself from thinking back on the past, but while alone, silence is not tolerated. He is much more comfortable listening to his ‘siblings’ bicker and giggle or standing to the rear of the kitchen while some of the pack discuss what to have for lunch, as opposed to sitting alone with his thoughts.

WEAKNESSES: Keegan, like all lycanthropes, has the typical ‘allergy’ to silver, which can cause a variety of nauseating or downright fatal effects, from dizziness to burns and even death, depending on the level of contact and infection in his system. While some might believe that familiarity with the effects of silver would heighten his tolerance to it, in fact, it is quite the opposite, and he is perhaps much more sensitive to it, and much more inclined to shy away from it if he senses or feels it in proximity.

He isn’t all that good at backing down from a challenge, especially if it is from someone who could pose a threat to those Keegan considers loved ones in any capacity, and while other fighters usually have no problem talking him down from ‘attack mode’, if really pushed, it would be only an Alpha or Beta who could effectively get through to him and get him to back down. His anger doesn’t often get the best of him, but it entirely depends on the situation. Vampires, for example, as stated above, can more easily tear through his emotional defences than any other race, especially female vampires, making him either violently volatile or irrational. Usually, his undeniable hatred, even downright loathing of vampires can be an asset, but it is possible he could go too far in a fight against a number of them, his desire to destroy them overriding common sense.

While Keegan is not at all claustrophobic, he does have a certain dislike of confined spaces, more specifically the sensation of being trapped. He hates the feeling of being locked away, which is one reason why he never locks his bedroom door or balcony window, and actually never locks the bathroom even when he’s in the shower. This ties in with his hatred of being alone, solidarity and quiet combined reminding him all too much of when he was confined in a cell. As an offshoot of this ‘nostalgic dislike’, Keegan becomes nervous or even downright irritable if he feels he is being restrained, especially about the wrists; while he does wear gloves that fasten at the wrist, he is in control of just how tight they are, and if he is at all under the impression that he is being restrained, he will not hesitate to pull away.

The nightmares are an obvious weakness because not only do they rattle him mentally, they also affect his sleep cycle consistently. Because of the fact that he doesn’t get nearly enough sleep, Keegan often seems weary or even downright exhausted, something that can specifically be seen if one studies his eyes. While it never affects his efficiency or reliability in a fight, it can make him understandably lethargic or unresponsive at times.

His surrogate family, not to mention Nerys, could obviously be used to manipulate him or to ensure his cooperation, and if they were, god forbid, pulled into a dangerous situation and threatened, Keegan would not hesitate to comply with demands or even lay down his life for any of them, without any doubt or hesitation.

ABILITIES: Keegan has all the regular perks of being a werewolf: heightened senses; increased endurance, agility, grace, pain threshold, awareness and balance; a powerful healing factor; amplified strength and speed; the ability to jump to, from and across large distances without penalty; and of course, the wolf form at his disposal and control. Because of his age, he can easily fight off the lure of the full moon and keep his wolf at bay, therefore maintaining his human form when younger wolves are forced to change and succumb to their bestial urges and desires.

A highly skilled fighter in several — brutal — forms of combat, Keegan is also a crack marksman, and can, in addition, fight with blades even though he prefers long range weapons, if only because he relies more on hand-to-hand when in close quarters. He is also rather deadly in wolf form when in close combat. Keegan prides himself on being a fighter, and as such, trained vehemently to be the best at what he does; he can not only wield two handguns at one time, meaning he is obviously ambidextrous, but he can wield a pump-action shotgun one-handed, if need be. He has a variety of gunfighter skills at his disposal, from quick-draw to rapid reload and so on. When it comes to his style of hand-to-hand combat, he has combined several of the more brutal ones to create his own, which is what earned him the nickname of Brawler.

Keegan is a very skilled drummer, having picked up the hobby decades ago. He has become highly talented at it, and can often be found practising, improving on one beat or another or playing along to something he has set up on the music room’s stereo system. He is in fact the only drummer in the pack, though he has the knowledge needed to teach it to anyone willing; to date, only Rosaline Mundy has asked him for lessons, but he wouldn’t be against the idea of teaching others.

Keegan can also speak and write fluently in French, a language that he picked up for no extraordinary reason whatsoever; he doesn’t even know, personally, why he chose French as opposed to anything else, and will probably never even need to use it.

WEAPONS: He carries four handguns (a pair of Sig Sauer 229 handguns which are holstered, when needed, above his waist in ‘torso’ holsters, at different angles; and two Desert Eagle 50. calibre handguns holstered just below his waist and hips) and an M31 pump-action shotgun (which he slings across his back if he needs to take it out of the hotel). In close-combat, Keegan relies heavily on his hand-to-hand techniques, much preferring them to any type of blade.

PRIZED POSSESSIONS: Keegan is clearly fond of the chain he wears around his neck, which he is very rarely seen without; presumably, it has been with him since his time as a human, but he has never told anyone its origins one way or another. He also seems rather ‘attached’ to the gloves that he seems to wear everyday without fail; it’s very unusual to see him without them. Other than that, he has a favourite pair of drumsticks, which some people find amusing.

HOME(S): The Hyperion, with the rest of the pack.


Continued below…

[Keegan]

HISTORY: Born in 1577 in Lowestoft, Suffolk, the most easterly point in the United Kingdom, Keegan was the only child born to Conall and Eirinn MacIntyre, a farmer and his wife who had moved to the south-east from the borders of Scotland in search of a more prosperous life, but even with years of effort, sweat and blood and sacrifice, their move was ill-timed and their choice of location far from ideal. Lowestoft was primarily a fishing port, known for its trade in the markets and its ongoing rivalry with Great Yarmouth. There just wasn’t much business and success for the MacIntyres, even as time went on, and as trade went, they were far from lucky. Conall and his wife were past their prime even before Keegan had hit his teens, and their status as lower, working class citizens meant they were far from wealthy enough to send their only son to school or give him any sort of education other than what they could share from their own lives. It was enough for their son, who, from an early age, showed that it took more than a lack of money and knowledge to get him down; he helped his mother and father in all aspects of life on the farm, gradually taking on more and more of the responsibilities and of course, the heavy-lifting and more gruelling physical labour. Even though they could only afford the bare minimum in terms of supplies, obviously including food, Keegan soon became a physically strong and capable young man, well on his way to being a more than capable farmer for himself, and though it was never said aloud, it was clear he would take on the family business for himself after his parents had passed away.

Keegan didn’t care in the slightest that he grew up without any friends his own age, content in his life, as difficulty and trying as it was. They got by on what they had, traded and sold what they could, and generally just lived life, the youngest MacIntyre continuing in his aim to help his ageing, tiring parents wherever he could. He would go to the markets for them, try to strike new trading deals, and even single-handedly broke in their only horse after it was acquired. By the age of twenty-one, he had failed to settle down as many people his age would have, simply too engrossed in the family farm and keeping it on its feet. So it was that, when the demand for the crop and meat they could provide took an all too predictable dip and it became necessary to travel further than usual to try and trade or sell, Keegan said he would be the one to make the trip. Understandably, perhaps just out of fear for their only child, his parents were reluctant to approve of the idea, but when it became clear that Conall’s already failing health was continuing to degrade, they begrudgingly granted Keegan permission, his father giving him an old knife he had had for some years in order to defend himself, if he had to.

So it was that Keegan loaded everything that would fit into their carriage, packed enough supplies — albeit the minimum, as he was used to — for the trip, and went on his way, promising to be back as soon as possible. At most, the journey would take a few days, travelling by day and resting by night, giving the horse a chance to recuperate from the work with the load it was pulling. It was the unpleasant weather that slowed his journey, delaying him and making progress slow; he had intended to be much further along the way on the second day when he found a secluded place to stop for the night, unhitching the horse from the carriage and securing it nearby so it could rest, just as he planned to do. Keegan fully expected his tiredness, along with the weather, was starting to get to him; several times while the light had been failing, during the first night and towards dusk on the second, he had suspected his mind was playing tricks on him, the young man hearing ‘noises’ in the bushes or somewhere just out of his line of sight, but every time he had looked, he had seen nothing, and as such, put it down to exhaustion. He couldn’t let it get to him.

Of course, not long after he had sat himself down with the intention of starting a fire, it was all but impossible to ignore the very real growling from somewhere in the swelling shadows, seeming to grow louder and joining with other similar noises. Keegan didn’t even have time to reach for his father’s knife in his belt before something attacked him. With one blow to the head, he went down, and everything went black.

When consciousness finally started to return, Keegan didn’t recognise anything; the room was dark, damp and cold, blocked from all natural light with only a single weak lamp, and even the young man could detect the stench of death that lingered. His skull felt ready to split in two, and heavy chains — too heavy, even — kept him locked back to the wall by the wrists. The restraints were long enough for him to move, but his head was pounding too much for him to try. Even with the wound and the effects it was having on him, he knew he wasn’t alone in the room. There were figures lurking in the shadows, men, and at first, Keegan told himself it was the blow to the head, that their eyes weren’t really glowing. But as more time crept past, and his focus started to clear and return, he couldn’t ignore the red glints that showed in the shadows frequently, only serving to frighten him more. The figures would not speak to him, only watched him from the darkness, and with each minute that passed, Keegan only grew more anxious, more worried about what they wanted, what they were going to do to him. By the time the heavy door to the room opened, he had almost convinced himself it was all a mistake, even with the chains and the blood from the wound on the side of his head.

When a woman entered the room, dressed in an elegant and no doubt expensive dress, Keegan almost relaxed, naïve enough to believe that no real harm could come from a woman, even one as tall and powerful in presence as this one, with her immaculate blonde hair, flawless skin and piercing blue eyes. Walking right up to him calmly, as if there was nothing at all wrong about the situation, she crouched gracefully before him, spoke to him almost as one would a child, and any relief that Keegan had managed to muster before then faded once again. She touched his face, stroked his hair, called him ‘pet’. Trying to draw back from her was useless, his back flush against the hard wall, and his fear only seemed to encourage her. And when she smiled, Keegan saw his first hint at what the future held. Her teeth were pointed. Fangs. As his obvious panic started to settle in, she coolly introduced herself as Lavinia, and then signalled for her men — for it was clear she was an authority figure, wherever they were — to bring a creature into the room.

Keegan had never seen anything like it in his life, once again trying to pull back as the animal was led in, held by chains attached to a collar at either side, its appearance ferocious and beyond belief; too large to be a dog or even a wolf, and the sight of the claws and fangs was enough to reduce the human, even for his size and strength, to a terrified huddle against the wall. When he shakily asked what the animal was, Lavinia made him guess, dropping her sly hints, until, with a tightening of her grip about his jaw and a hint of threat in her voice, he finally gave her the answer she wanted. ‘Werewolf’. After kissing his cheek and petting his hair in a manner that was almost affectionate, she stepped back, nodding gently to the beast’s handlers. Keegan panicked again, pleading with her, reminding her he had given her his answer, the answer she had wanted. Lavinia only laughed, as if amused that he had thought she owed him anything, and then introduced the beast as his ‘sire’.

And then it happened, with cruel, powerful rapidity, the animal slamming him back against the wall as it sunk those large, wickedly sharp fangs in around his right shoulder, piercing flesh all the way down to his chest, drawing a rush of thick blood. Crying out in agony, Keegan futilely tried to beat the monster away, but the damage was already done, and before he could realise what was happening, it had dropped him, leaving him buckled on the floor in a pool of his own blood, struggling to breathe and unable to think. He was suddenly numb to everything, blind and deaf to everything around him even though he was awake — barely — and it was as the blood continued to spread that he wondered why he wasn’t already dead; waited for death to come.

But as Lavinia knelt in the blood before him, she stroked his face almost tenderly, and the sickening realisation that he wasn’t going to die sank in before the darkness took him once more.

When he woke again, he was not only surprised and perhaps even alarmed to find he really wasn’t dead, but that the agony was no longer present; the pain was duller, muted almost, and though he knew it to be cold in the cell, he was no longer shivering, even without the bloodstained shirt, which he could only presume had been removed sometime while he was unconscious. It was the state of the wounds that he knew should have been ugly, even infected, that troubled him the most; not only were they no longer bleeding or gaping, but the flesh was repairing itself, knitting together again, and though the skin was still badly damaged, he knew he was healing. Panic settled in again, and he pulled himself to his feet to try and find some way out, but the chains kept him from moving too far beyond the centre of the room, where they were bolted down securely; he could reach the back corners of the room, but not the front, where the thick door seemed to taunt him, out of reach. The chains were too thick, too strong, even though he had noticed, with dread sinking in and sitting in the pit of his stomach, he felt stronger than he could remember being before. He tried not to notice, told himself it was a trick, some delayed, feverish reaction to the wounds.

But when he turned to face the door to watch Lavinia enter before the door even opened to show her form, he knew something terrible had happened to him. Drawing back from the woman, whose scent was so thickly laced through with death now, he almost tripped over the chains in his haste, and she smiled at him, almost fondly, watching him and looking him up and down before nodding to herself. As she all but prowled before him, Keegan staying back near the wall, she calmly explained to him that she was not human, that he no doubt ‘knew’ this by now, but when he didn’t respond, she simply, coolly, went on to reveal that she was a vampire. When he refused to react obviously, she approached him, allowing her eyes to bleed a vivid scarlet, and Keegan reacted then, drawing back until he collided with the wall, shrinking down in something of a cower, even as she laughed, showing those very real fangs once again, reaching out to stroke his hair once again. When an unfamiliar sensation reached up his throat, Lavinia paused, looking down at him as it continued; Keegan realised too late that it was a sound, and not one the vampire was willing to tolerate. When she backhanded him, it was enough to temporarily daze him, and as she crouched, pinning him back just with her invasive proximity, she warned him to learn quickly, told him to make it easy for himself. That was the first time Lavinia called him ‘lover’.

Keegan was barely touched for the first week of his captivity — for he could only assume they had no intention of releasing him, the constant presence of the chains and containment in the cell hardly encouraging — only checked on frequently and visited at least once a day by Lavinia herself, who persisted with her names for him: ‘pet’ and ‘lover’, the latter used with troubling regularity. Every time he asked what they wanted, she would merely smile at him, sometimes strike him if he was too forward, or if he growled at her; it hadn’t taken him long, worryingly, to realise that was what he had been doing. And with each passing day, as the vampiress hinted at it and prompted his consideration into the fact, he could feel a growing ‘presence’ within him, something beneath the surface that wouldn’t go away, couldn’t be ignored. It coloured his opinions, fuelled his responses, and made him react before any human ought to react; he heard things too clearly, smelt things too strongly, saw things too sharply. His wounds continued to heal too quickly. Something was happening to him, and Keegan, despite all the evidence, refused to believe it, couldn’t believe it.

Finally, after only days of imprisonment, the full moon arrived, the first night drawing in steadily.

In his cell, Keegan suddenly buckled, doubling over as if he had been kicked in the stomach, unable to breathe or think or move, except to fall, hitting the wall and then collapsing to his knees, hands catching himself against the floor as he trembled uncontrollably, pain crashing through him in relentless waves, and the howling in his head was so deafening that he thought it would drive him mad. Or kill him.

Lavinia prowled around him, smiling knowingly, running a whisper of a touch over the back of his neck, which seemed to start it all. A shudder rippled down his spine, and then, with cruel forcefulness and speed, he started to change. Bone cracked and popped, organs shifted, hair swept and covered his body as it began growing and intensifying in stature and mass, taking him from a buckled young man to a huge beast covered in silver-grey fur, with bright amber-yellow eyes. The vampire who had run in to remove the manacles that surely would have bit too deeply into his wrists was soon cut down, caught in the creature’s claws and ripped clean into two pieces as he let loose with a horrific bellow of rage and ferocity, dropping to all fours to prowl towards Lavinia, the only vampire brave enough to stand her ground. Her smile was maddening to the male wolf, his fangs bearing as he stalked towards her, hackles a spectacular display down his back as his ears flattened and his full tail swept, maddened, side to side. Moon-crazed, the wolf snarled maniacally, saliva dripping from large canines as he came up close to the vampire. He rose to be level with her, jowls peeled back, and then roared, moving to strike.

She was ready for him, many centuries his senior with a wealth of power and experience, and the blows she landed on him were crippling, but the full moon kept him going, bringing him back for more even after she drew blood, her strikes landing with brutal force, and more than one crack sounded during the rather one-sided fight as the wolf kept rising from the floor, continuously knocked down, again and again, until finally, Lavinia tired of him, and landed a devastating blow to his head that robbed him of consciousness, the wolf out cold before he even hit the ground, his body starting to revert soon after.

When awareness returned again, the pain was undeniable, Keegan unable to move for fear of making it worse, his stomach turning at the taste of blood, his blood, in his mouth, down his face, in his hair and on his neck. He could remember nothing, only falling to the floor in agony the night before, and when, predictably, Lavinia visited him again, she took in his state, and sighed, before moving close and studying him from her crouch. Unable to move away from her as she checked his wounds, albeit without real concern, she filled in the blanks, told him he had been foolish enough to try and fight her, and when she looked into his cloudy eyes, she must have seen his scepticism, her smile cruel and derisive. She told him it would happen again, and again, and that eventually, he would stop trying to deny the truth to himself.

She was right.

After the next two nights, after two more ‘episodes’ of losing control completely and trying to hold his own against a powerful vampire, Keegan started to realise what had really happened to him. He wasn’t human anymore. No human could take the beatings he obviously had during the night and not succumb completely. No human felt an animal stalking within, snarling to be released. And once the three nights of the full moon passed, Lavinia stopped, in her own words, ‘playing nice’.

Days and nights bled together as Keegan was subjected to all manner of cruel and unusual punishments, intermingled with traditional and brutal tortures, from beatings to the meticulous breaking of bones, to burnings and whippings. Lavinia was present for many of these ‘sessions’, sometimes a spectator and at others a contributor to the process, showing Keegan just how cruel she could be. It was not only her vampires that she allowed to join in on the beating and torture, but others like Keegan himself; other werewolves, pets she had successfully broken. He gave up on denying that identity after his first full month in captivity, knowing that he would have died long ago if he hadn’t had the enhanced healing of a werewolf, the ability to take the punishment and lift his head again, showing defiance he hadn’t known he’d possessed. It only seemed to encourage Lavinia and her followers, the female allowing more violent forms of torment. It wasn’t long after the first month of cruelty that Keegan had his first encounter with silver, and came to understand the threat and danger of it. When it burned into his flesh, leaving him in shock and agony, the realisation that they could do whatever they wanted to him increased and seemed to overcome him, instincts taking over. But instinct warred with pride, the former telling him to stay down when he was knocked down, the latter bringing him back up and forcing him to show they hadn’t defeated him yet.

But even pride couldn’t keep him from feeling pain, even stubbornness and defiance couldn’t numb him to the agony of the punishments and tortures, and every day after they were finished with him, he would drag himself into the corner of his cell, chains rattling pitifully behind him, and do his best to recover, to draw into himself and overcome and keep fighting. Each new day brought new attacks and torments, and every attempt Keegan made to appeal to the werewolves who were brought in to ‘teach’ him were met with violence. Only one wolf ever refused to participate, a female simply called Elyssa, and Keegan had no doubt that the vampires punished her for her refusal. She was the face he saw the least, the others frequent attendants in his daily ‘lessons’, creatures that Lavinia treated with a perverse sort of tenderness, touching their faces or hair, actions she continued to extend towards Keegan himself.

It was after his fourth month, after several brutal full moon cycles, that the extent of Lavinia’s cruelty was brought into play. Buckled back against the wall of his cell one evening after the male vampires had finished kicking him about the room, the female arrived, her touches and words all the more chilling, the implications behind them freezing Keegan to the core, building to a climax when she suggested she add true meaning to the title of ‘lover’. Even with the agony he felt after the newest beating, he rebelled, trying to recoil from her, but she was too strong, too fast, too experienced, and it was with triumphant smiles and laughter that she pursued him after he managed to retreat to the opposite side of the room, effectively cornering himself. Even after he grabbed her wrist, Lavinia overpowered him, throwing him to the ground and pinning him, the twisted chain that restrained him keeping one of his hands trapped down to the ground, allowing her to straddle him. Keegan cried out, trying to buck her off and fight her vicious grip, but she only laughed, almost enjoying his struggles, and Keegan realised that he couldn’t stop her, that she had him trapped and overpowered, completely and easily. Even though he suspected, knew even, that he had not been the first subjected to such horrible cruelty, it was almost enough to shatter his resolve; after Lavinia raped him, part of him seemed to die. He felt it, an aching deep inside that nauseated and disgusted him, and even after she left him alone, he knew, as agonising as the realisation was, that she wasn’t finished with him.

Keegan had never hated being right so much before.

More times than he would ever be able to recall or willingly recount, Lavinia came to him with the same intention, forcing herself on him and reminding him of just how dominant she was over him, how much more powerful she was and what she could do to him as a result. Every time, Keegan’s will to live seemed to wane that little bit more, her ‘visits’ coming at unpredictable points between abuse and torture, and as months passed without him even really noticing, only knowing so many days had passed when he lost control and became the raging wolf, he started to lose hope. The stubborn animal within him continued to try and fight, but it was as if the human in him had admitted defeat; his eyes were almost dull, the months without proper care taking their toll, leaving him pale and weak, and he became almost dangerously underweight at more than one point before Lavinia noticed, and allowed him enough to eat in order to keep him from slipping into truly bad health. Whenever he refused to eat, she would punish him until he finally did as he was told.


Continued below…

[Keegan]

History continued…


Though Keegan himself hadn’t realised it, he had become something of a ‘favourite’ with the female vampire, one of the wolves she spent more time with and seemed to enjoy over others, for her own reasons and in her own ways, but that didn’t stop her from being vicious or spiteful with him, inflicting all manner of punishments on him whenever the whim or urge struck her. Some of her punishments were simply violent, others derisive, and some a combination of the two. Her attentions were relentless, and even though the wolf in him kept him fighting, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out forever. Even as the months kept passing, more of his life slipping away in captivity, he never once managed to free himself from the chains that were only unlocked when he lost control during the full moon, and each cycle saw him trying to fight against one of his captors and ultimately losing, making the animal within feel frustrated and insulted. The battle within certainly didn’t help his condition, and more than once, he thought he would go mad before the end, whatever ‘the end’ turned out to be.

As it turned out, he would never have to face that possibility. All but curled into the corner one night, waiting for exhaustion to claim him, he tensed reflexively when his cell door was unlocked, dreading the possibility that Lavinia would walk into the room, but instead, a werewolf came in, quietly shutting the barricade behind her before she moved quickly but almost silently to the corner where Keegan was slumped. Through the grogginess and pain that the day had brought, he recognised her, a face he had seen only a few times during his captivity, but one that had managed to leave an impression.

Elyssa took one of his wrists carefully in her hands, and though she was shaking with nervousness, glancing over her shoulder frequently, she proceeded to shock her fellow werewolf even further by unlocking his restraints, one after the other. For the first time in two years — though, at the time, he didn’t know how long it had been — he was released from the chains that had held him, and it was such an absurdly strange sensation that at first, it felt wrong, to have that freedom. But he didn’t have time to savour it, Elyssa helping him from the ground, telling him in a hushed but urgent tone that she was getting him out. At first, he didn’t believe her simply because it seemed so impossible, and yet he found himself trusting her, remembering the times when she had earned herself a beating of her own simply for refusing to beat him, and it was that compassion that led him to follow her, limping and in pain though he was, confused and bewildered; it was the first time he had left his cell during his captivity, and the rush of scents and sounds and sights nearly overwhelmed him, but it was Elyssa’s determined assurances that they had to hurry which kept him moving, blocking out everything else, and as soon as the two werewolves cleared the building, they did the only thing they could. They ran. As fast and as hard as they could, they just ran. Out of shape and overwhelmed simply by the outside world though he was, Keegan’s terror helped him, kept him running, and with Elyssa running behind or alongside him, hissing and shouting at him to move faster, it wasn’t difficult for him to persevere.

When the keening howls sounded behind them, dread took hold, and panic ignited, and Keegan and Elyssa ran faster and harder, clambering over fallen logs and rocks and anything and everything else in their way, driven by the fear of being caught, but they weren’t fast enough. Shouting for Keegan to keep going, to just run, Elyssa was separated from the male she had released, and even in her better physical condition, she ultimately fell behind. Keegan only realised they had been separated when he heard screams in the pitch-black woods behind him, the sounds carrying with a sickening clarity through the night.

Keegan didn’t turn back. An action he would come to hate himself for in later life, Keegan simply froze on the spot for a few horrified, crippled moments, and then turned and ran on. He ran until his legs could no longer carry him, until his lycanthropic strength and endurance finally failed him, and he collapsed in a heap, unable to breathe or think or move, on the verge of tears and yet lacking the energy to do even that. He felt sick to his stomach, unable to drive Elyssa’s screams out of his head, and it was only when he felt himself waking up in an unknown place that he realised he had passed out from the exhaustion and the adrenaline leaving his body. Weak and frightened though he was, he managed to get himself up and on the move, picking his way through unrecognisable countryside, doing his best to keep out of sight, if he could; though a young man walking alone would hardly be any sort of shock, the ‘simple’ fact that he was bare-chested, barefoot and now littered with evidence of wounds both old and new, he knew he was bound to raise suspicion, even alarm, and honestly, the notion of being seen in such a beaten, pathetic state not only sickened him, it flat-out disgusted him.

Managing to keep out of sight, he was able to scrape together fresh clothing, a shirt and boots most of all, resorting to stealing it in order to acquire any at all, and it was while he skirted the edges of one town that he found out the year. Feeling the bottom of his stomach drop out, Keegan realised he had been held captive for two entire years, and that comprehension was enough to drive him into hiding for almost two whole days without moving, curled into himself, overcome and confused and just lost. He broke down completely more than once during those two days of withdrawal from the world, realising his parents had likely assumed he was dead, and even though it was agony to come to terms with, he knew he could never go back; he could never trace his way home, too afraid that Lavinia and her ‘hounds’ would track him and that he would endanger his family. And yet, at the same time, he wanted nothing more than to go home, to see his parents again. The knowledge that he never could was crushing, emotionally, and not for the last time, Keegan hated himself, hated his life. Lingering thoughts of unbridled self-loathing and blinding urges connected to that hatred seemed to consume him almost once a day, the nightmares he suffered at night leading him to lose sleep, the insomnia becoming such a predictable but exhausting part of his life, and as the days once again started to bleed together, Keegan once more began to lose his will to live.

Even though he successfully hunted his own food in wolf form, something he began to tap into on his own, knowing that it would ‘help’ him, he couldn’t help but consider dark possibilities for the future, what little of one he saw ahead. The loathing and almost crippling negativity and pessimism coloured everything that crossed his mind; he almost gave up eating, he cut himself off from the world, he let dark, even twisted and downright suicidal thoughts take over, and more than once, he walked himself to a precipice that would carry him down into nothingness, staring over at what would be a lethal drop even for a werewolf, always hesitating on those last few steps that would end everything. Once, he even came close to knowingly crossing paths with a suspected werewolf hunter, just so it could be over quickly and he could lie to himself in those last few seconds; tell himself it had all been a tragic accident. And yet, somehow, even with everything he had been through, he managed to keep going, keep living.

After another whole year, one spent alone without decent contact with the outside world, that waning survival instinct caused him to cross paths, at last, with other werewolves. How he had managed to go so long without it happening before, he never even stopped to think, but he was crossing through woodland in his distinct wolf form when he heard movement, and it didn’t take him long to realise he wasn’t alone; it didn’t take his pursuers long to show themselves. At first, he almost panicked, thinking Lavinia had finally caught up with him, but as several of the oddly quiet wolves transformed, showing him their human sides and unfamiliar faces, he recognised something in them he had long since given up on for himself. There was a freedom about them, a light in their eyes that practically had his wolf pining, and as a male and female approached him, he almost cowered without knowing why. That instinct caused him to change back, returning to his own human form in a crouch, wary of these strangers, but they calmly introduced themselves, careful not to get too close. Cole Stanton and Dia Mantenega called themselves Betas, a term that was, in his youthful ignorance, alien to him. Their offer to help him was met with understandable wariness, but finally, after continued assurances that they meant him no harm, along with the fact that they smelt purely of wolf, not at all of vampire, Keegan agreed to go with them. What did he have to lose?

What followed was Keegan’s first encounter with a pack, a pack that ultimately extended an offer of membership to him, a chance to start over and erase whatever had happened to him. When he was introduced to the Alphas, Gareth and Alswytha Van Tyle, there was something about them that made him uncomfortable, and so he found himself confiding more in the Betas, the first free werewolves he had met face to face. He knew that he didn’t have to tell them anything, that he could keep his secrets and demons to himself, but he also knew that if he didn’t tell someone he was coming to trust, those secrets would end up destroying him. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, that perhaps they would judge or pity him, but instead, they offered to help him any way they could, assured him he had nothing to fear, that the pack would protect him and that he could talk to them whenever he wished. Perhaps it should have confused Keegan that neither Beta assured him he could talk to the Alphas, but his understanding of packs was so minimal that it was, really, laughable. He only knew he trusted Cole and Dia, and that there was constantly something about Gareth and Alswytha that troubled him; the way the male seemed more of a harsh presence, and the female almost judgemental to many or most below her. There was palpable tension, something that unsettled Keegan’s wolf, but he swallowed it down, reminded himself, as time passed, that this life was better than what he had had outside of the pack.

Weeks turned into months, months turned into years, and as more time passed, Keegan started to relax, not completely but enough to know that he had made the right choice, that ending his own life would not have been the answer and that he now had a second chance. While he could never return home, as much as he wished to and missed his parents, whom he thought of daily, he had to face the truth; he was a werewolf now, no longer welcomed in the world of mortality, and at least with the pack he had a chance to live that life, a life that, he was coming to understand, would be extended far beyond the realms of human possibility. So instead of dwelling, he dedicated himself, day after day, to improving, getting better at whatever he could. It was after learning that the pack moved from place to place that he opted to learn a second language, Cole being the one to teach him French, assuring Keegan that it was a moderately useful language if only because it was so widely known; perhaps it was a skill he would never need or use, but he soon discovered that learning helped. It didn’t quell or put an end to the nightmares that plagued him whenever he tried to sleep, but it did work on taking apart the feeling of uselessness and vulnerability. He had lost two years of his life in captivity, beaten and worn down and made to feel small and pathetic, and now that he was free and with others of his own kind, having seen their strength and determination, he had every intention of not only returning to his former condition but bettering it. He had been strong as a human, but as a werewolf he could be and was stronger.

Young though he was, his attention soon fixed on the fighters, the warriors and protectors for the pack, and he would spend hours watching them train, studying them when they left the pack home to defend or patrol territory, asking questions of those few he had come to trust and appreciate as close friends and confidantes of sorts. He knew, even without asking for permission, that he was too young to be one of them, that he could only learn from them and hope, in time, to learn enough to join them. Before that, he had another goal: controlling his wolf. The pack helped him with this target as well, telling him little things and sharing knowledge and experiences, assuring him that he would learn control, eventually. It would take time and a lot of work, but he would get there, and Keegan locked onto this goal eagerly.

Almost sixty years after he joined the pack, he like others had come to realise the division in their pack, the tension that drove the unit into two, those who followed Gareth and those who were loyal to Cole, and Keegan was very much part of the latter crowd, trusting to the Beta male more than the Alpha. Cole and Dia genuinely seemed to care for their family, and that was something that Keegan found himself holding on to. It was partly this dedication to the Betas that led him to the beginning of what would become one of his most pivotal friendships.

While he was not allowed to patrol and fight with the pack’s designated and qualified defenders, he was still allowed — with the Betas’ permission — to wander the territory and hunt with the parties, if he so chose, and it was during one of these outings, casual exercise, that led to him and a handful of others crossing paths with a shocking scene. Rogues had been plaguing their territory for months, and finally, it had all come to a head. By the time Keegan and his friends arrived, the rogues and some of the pack’s fighters were in a vicious battle, all tooth and claw and blood, but a third party had been dragged into the feud. From where the younger pack members watched, Keegan could see the blonde female, wounded and bloodied, on the ground not far from the vicious scuffling, and it didn’t take him long to debate his options; against the hissed advice of a pack mate, Keegan emerged from his place of concealed observation, moving swiftly and cautiously, carefully scooping the wounded female from where she had been dropped, taking her away from the danger and carrying her to safety, and ultimately, to the home of the pack. The fighters triumphed over the rogues, though not without suffering wounds of their own, and as a group they returned to the large manor where they had been living for some time. Keegan only remained with the female while he carried her to an empty room where she could be treated, before he was encouraged to leave, to give the medics space to work.

The female, as it turned out, decided to remain with them, and Keegan soon found himself watching her more than he had any right to. Nerys Llanfair, a Welsh-born female, preferred to keep to herself, and Keegan recognised something in her that almost reminded him of himself; there was a look in her eyes that was undeniable, in the way she carried herself and spoke. Keegan eventually discovered that she chose to remain by herself because of her dual nature; not only a werewolf, but able to communicate with the dead. While their Alphas scoffed at the claim and called her mad behind her back, the Betas, as usual, were much more open. Keegan stayed on the sidelines, not intruding but believing and worrying. Still, it was not his place. Time passed, whispers spread, rumours twisted and shifted, and life went on.

Nearly twenty years later, Keegan witnessed something that had been a long time in the making, the tensions finally reaching breaking point, heated arguments reaching new climaxes, and inevitably, Cole Stanton challenged Gareth Van Tyle for the right to lead; to be Alpha. The makeshift ‘arena’ for the brutal, bloody battle that followed was divided, the pack separating on two sides, one considerably larger than the other; those who had sworn allegiance to Cole far outnumbered those who were fearfully loyal to Gareth. Keegan, like many others, practically itched to join the fray and aid their leader, but ultimately, their assistance was not needed. Cole finally struck Gareth down, and the older, icier male could not rise again. The wolf in Keegan had already acknowledged Cole as its leader, but with that triumph, it seemed to intensify, and as their new Alpha took his place and subsequently retired to heal from his battle wounds, the pack felt no loss as their former ‘leader’ picked himself up and left, his mate following soon after. Those who had sworn loyalty to Gareth either stayed with a change of heart or faded out of existence, leaving the pack to find new pastures. After the shift in power, life became more comfortable, in a way, and good things only seemed to come in a steady flow after that.

Just as had been promised years before, Keegan finally achieved dominance over his wolf, at long last managing to keep it down and contained and controlled during the cycle of the full moon, a triumph that heralded the next step in his life. With Cole and Dia’s blessing, Keegan was finally allowed to start training with the fighters, something he took to with passionate determination. While he knew he didn’t have to have a title and purpose in the pack, that he could just as easily live out his years as a member of the family group without having to worry about combat and protection, he almost needed that validation, that meaning in his life. So he threw himself into his training, spending as much time as he could working over what he had been taught, improving and changing methods to suit his needs, sparring against whoever would give him the time, and when it was permitted, patrolling with the fighters who were training him in order to learn about them in action.

At just over two-hundred years old, he finally reached his target, and he was acknowledged as a new fighter, fully versed in hand-to-hand combat and other techniques, proceeding to ‘learn by doing’, going where he was needed and doing what he had to. Keegan proved his place as a fighter by taking a vicious hit intended for Cole himself, the wound taking him out of action for a few weeks but solidifying his place in the ranks of the pack defenders, and after that moment, he never looked back, knowing he’d made the right choice; becoming a fighter seemed to chase yet more shadows out of his life, and while it didn’t help him sleep at night it did make him feel as though he could serve some purpose and perhaps save others like him from what he had gone through.

As a werewolf, Keegan failed to really notice the years passing him by, more friendships formed and reinforced by any number of incidents; Keegan even formed a family of sorts, starting with Cassidy Blake. He first encountered the redhead whilst patrolling with some of his fellow fighters, coming across the young female while she wandered, lost and quietly distraught, and he was the first one to approach her, to show any sort of compassion or understanding, and when she came into the group, Keegan felt responsible for her, tied to her somehow. Cassidy was the first of four, followed steadily after by Molly Cullen, Cecilia ‘Sissy’ Donovan and finally, Rory Lawrence. In these four, Keegan found ‘siblings’, ‘sisters’ and a ‘brother’ that he would come to defend and fight for and care for above almost all others. But over the years, not only did these bonds form, but he found himself developing powerful, undeniable feelings for the same female he had saved so many years before.

Even when the pack settled in The Hyperion, a large hotel that Cole and Dia had purchased and scheduled for renovation, Keegan found himself drawn to Nerys, no matter how much he tried to stop it. For the last century as the pack claimed an impressive, sizeable territory for itself in the city of Los Angeles, he focused not on his attraction — though he has lied to himself, told himself he isn’t attracted, rather that his actions in the past make him overprotective of her, a self-deception that only works on rare occasions — but on his position as one of the pack’s oldest fighters, and on his devotion and responsibility to the four he has come to feel brotherly affection for. Around the middle of the twentieth century, he even took up a hobby he has kept to this day; drumming seemed to ‘fit’ somehow, something he could lose himself in whenever he needed the diversion and to focus on something almost mundane and moderately creative, and after over fifty years, he still practises often, using it almost as therapy, or as a distraction from what he knows he shouldn’t think about. Deep down, Keegan knows he can only lie to himself for so long; it isn’t his job to ‘save’ everyone, no matter how much he wants to, and constantly, he reminds himself of one thing, regarding the female: it isn’t his place.

It is, however, his place to protect the pack, and he has at least managed to hold true to that role, something he plans to do for a long time to come.