Rory Laurence

[Rory]

NAME: Rory John Laurence.
NICKNAMES: His surrogate brother Keegan tends to shorten his first name to things like ‘Ror’ and ‘Rors’ which he adores to hear coming from him.
RACE: Werewolf – Bitten.
OCCUPATION: Pack Member.
GENDER: Male.
SKIN COLOUR: Caucasian.
NATIONALITY: Scottish.
AGE: 120, although physically he looks to be in his mid to late twenties.
CLOTHING: Rory likes pretty much all manner of clothes, and his wardrobe reflects the styles and times he has lived through, the young werewolf hording them, even if he has lost interest in a particular item or it has been damaged beyond repair, he refuses to get rid of it in case he can turn it into some other type of clothing later on. Because of this, a good number of his clothes and specifically his jeans have been stitched back together over time, with scraps of other clothing incorporated into them to create a very individual style. Rory goes through phases of the all time favoured outfits, and at the moment he loves his grey pin striped suit, and wears it as often as he can, or at least the jacket part. He normally twins the suit with some kind of shirt, occasionally with yet another t-shirt under it. There is always something casual about his clothing, shirts not buttoned all the way up or hanging loose around his waist instead of being tucked in, which can look strange when he adds a waistcoat to the mix. Rory doesn’t like to look stuffy and this shows in his clothes. Aside from his current phase, Rory is often seen in jeans, and a t-shirt, liking the feel of the denim. He is normally seen wearing scuff covered boots, that are sturdy and comfortable for him to move about in.
HEIGHT: 5’7”.
WEIGHT: 151lbs.
TATTOOS: None.
PIERCINGS: None.
JEWELLERY: Rory owns a watch with a blue face which is fastened around his belt whenever he remembers to wear one or otherwise remains in his room. He also has a black rubber bracelet with steel beads which he likes to wear most of the time.

BODY MODIFICATIONS: He has a nasty looking scar on his right hip, spreading around from the side to his front and which runs about three inches down his thigh.

WOLF FORM

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BUILD: In wolf form, Rory can move on either two or four feet with equal ease, his body suited to both although the majority of the time he remains bipedal. His hind legs are rather muscular, to support his weight and also enabling him to leap great distances when he wishes although he avoids it when he can. His front limbs are slightly more delicate and thinner than his hind, although they too can support his weight and are mobile enough for him to use them as normal ‘arms’ bending them with ease. The paws on his front legs are very similar to human hands, splitting into dextrous finger like limbs at the end that then taper off into sharp claws. In contrast his hind paws are very much part of his actual leg, with hardly any noticeable distinction between the two. His body is lean, with a decent amount of muscle but nothing overly impressive, and as a whole he is more suited to speed and agility as opposed to fighting. The wolf’s head resembles a real wolf’s head in shape, with a long thin muzzle and a pair of small up-pricked ears.
HEIGHT: Quadruped- 4’4” Bipedal-6’9”
WEIGHT: 245lbs.
HAIR: His pelt is two toned, although both shades are on the blue, to blue-grey spectrum. The majority of his hair is of the darker tone, a deep grey that can look more blue than not. All four of his paws, most of his chest, chin and even part of his mane are of the paler shaped, with a very distinct break between the two colours. As a whole his fur is short and fine although it increases in length at a number of points all over his body, most notably the tenderer and weaker spots such as the backs of his legs and where joints meet. There is a very obvious increase around his neck, the hair becoming more a mane, a rougher, freer flowing style.
EYES: Golden-yellow.
DEFINING MARKS: A short and rather bushy tail.

PACK[/u]
PACK: Cole’s pack.
POSITION: Pack member.
TERRITORY: Cole’s side of L.A.

HAIR[/u]
LENGTH: Rory’s hair is longish for a man’s, reaching past his ears and roughly as far as the top of his jawbone. It subtly varies in length around his head, although never so much that it can be really noticed or called upon. He’s grown his fringe out so that it is almost as long as the rest of his hair, the length uneven so that while it mostly stops by his eyebrows, some locks are longer and get in his eyes.
STYLE: Little attempt is made on the part of Rory to really control or style his hair past ensuring it is neat enough. It falls naturally around his head, following the shape of his skull and curling inward at the very tips of his hair so that the whole thing appears to be moulded in place. His fringe hangs straight down over his forehead and while there is no clearly definite parting with it, Rory will typically brush it a little to the side so that a gap is at least visible.
COLOUR: Dark brown.

FACIAL HAIR[/u]
LENGTH: As short as possible, never more than a day’s worth of growth.
STYLE: Normally he has a very faint spread of stubble on his face, simply as it grows, giving him a mildly dishevelled

EYES[/u]
COLOUR: Blue.
ODDITIES: Like all werewolves, whenever Rory is feeling any particularly intense emotion, such as fear, surprise, excitement, etc. they will change to the colour of his wolf’s eyes, as they will when he feels pain. Rory can also will them to change colour whenever he wants, to playfully tease or if he is feeling mischievous.

PERSONALITY: Rory is a werewolf full of curiosity, always wanting to explore more, to understand more and to see everything he can. Curiosity has always been the driving force behind all the major changes in his life and although he was taught the maxim about it killing the cat, he’s never been able to curb it. If there is the opportunity to explore and express his curiosity then he is helpless to resist it. Because of this, Rory can often be mistaken for nosey but there is never any malice in his explorations and even he makes the effort not to ask questions if he feels they are potentially hurtful, though he might be burning to understand a situation.

There are times when he appears almost shockingly naive about the way the world works at large, as though he doesn’t really know how things work. He is trusting, even if there is no real reason for him to do so, and makes the effort to be among the first to welcome new people to the pack. Rory likes to believe in the best of people and things. He honestly feels that as a whole people are good and worth the effort, quietly and relentlessly ploughing on to forge links and willingly forgives people over and over again if he has to.

The month in which he finally achieves control over his other nature during all three nights is one Rory looks forward to with barely concealed impatience. He’s seen other members of the pack gain precious control, and while he is honestly happy for them, part of him is also jealous that they have learnt something he can’t seem to get a handle on. It doesn’t matter that he knows he’s not yet old enough realistically or that the control will come soon enough; Rory feels as it is it somehow a failure on his part, that he can’t grasp an understanding others have.

A conversation with Rory will almost always include him going off into some kind of random tangent about things he has seen, read or imagined. It can make talking with him a little tiring at times, as it is impossible to really predict where it will go. He’s a very social person and is happiest when he’s around other people, not really caring if he is at the centre of attention or at the edge, so long as he is actually involved one way or another. He’s intelligent and knows it, believing that brains are just as important as pure strength, especially since he’s always had to reply on the former so much more than the latter.

It is easy for him to be a friend and he considers himself a friend to everyone in the pack, loving them all for the simple fact that they are his family. When it comes to the Alphas and Beta’s he looks up to them, respecting them as something to strive to become but his closest friends within the pack are ‘the brood’ with whom he has formed an extremely close, sibling like relationship and of course Keegan MacIntyre whom he unflinching adores. He looks upon the fighter as more than a friend or even a big brother, with his feelings running as deep as hero worship. If anything, he is almost too dependant on Keegan, to the point where he knows he can reply on the fighter to protect him which may partly tie into him not learning how to fight himself.

The young werewolf loves to learn new things and when he isn’t surrounded by his friends he can often be found curled up either in the library or in his room with some kind of book. A single one however fails to keep his interest and he is often seen with two or even three on the go at once, swapping between books randomly. Somehow, Rory still manages to remember the majority of what he reads, and it only ever encourages him to read more. In particular, he has a love for all sorts of supernatural and fantasy things, from books to films although he prefers the written word. It amuses him to read ‘real life’ books about the paranormal and the unexplained from a human perspective and although he often gently mocks things he knows is wrong, Rory is undeniably fascinated by the things that cannot be explained.

WEAKNESSES: The main shared weakness of all werewolves is silver, and Rory is no exception to this, being allergic to it and will suffer if touched by it. Symptoms can range from dizziness, nausea, burning of the flesh and failure of internal organs depending on the type of contact and the length. Because of his relatively young age for a werewolf, he cannot control the wolf during any of the three nights of the moon. He is no fighter and would have little to no idea how to defend himself should he be placed in a battle situation and while he is no coward, the flight instinct is certainly stronger than his fight, which could lead to him losing his head in such a situation with almost certainly dangerous consequences.

The love he has for the pack as a whole could very easily be used against him, as could his loyalty and it wouldn’t be hard for Keegan or the rest of the brood to be twisted to his disadvantage. His curiosity is his weakest point in his personality and could lead him to danger. He isn’t afraid of heights but confusingly he is completely terrified of falling and the eventual landing and suffered from recurring nightmares of simply falling through the air. Because of this he refuses to jump high or leap down from a distance higher than a couple of feet even though logically Rory knows as a werewolf he won’t be harmed.

ABILITIES: Rory had all of the benefits that comes with being a werewolf, shared with all his kind; all five of his senses are enhanced, along with increased speed, strength, agility, endurance, stamina, balance and reflexes. He has a higher pain threshold than humans, and on the flip side, he heals at an advanced rate, along with the obvious skill to change from human to wolf and back again at will. He grew up speaking both Scottish Gaelic and English, and as such is fluent in both languages although he is rustier in the former. Rory can also read and write Latin, and has a rather extensive knowledge of old Latin names for things, especially medical terms and plant names. He’s rather keen on nature as a whole and knows a surprisingly large amount about growing things.

He’s fond of singing, and will randomly burst into tune whenever he feels the situation calls for it; he has a strong baritone voice and so it’s never an unpleasant experience to actually hear him. Rory also knows how to play the French horn reasonably well, although he never gets to practise as often as he would like, simply forgetting or being distracted. Because he believes in being well rounded, he has also made the effort to learn how to dance, and knows enough not to embarrass himself on the dance floor as a result.

WEAPONS: Rory owns an ornate dagger which he keeps sharp enough, however it was bought more as a decoration than anything else and he would have trouble actually using it.

PRIZED POSSESSIONS: His French horn is precious enough to him, although he can easily replace it if something happened to damage it. While he wouldn’t call the pack and especially the brood and Keegan possessions they are certainly very prized and special to him, the most important people and things in his life.

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

history continued below…

[Rory]

HISTORY: John Laurence Senior was a prominent member of the Scottish town he hailed from, having spent several years in Edinburgh studying to become a doctor before returning to his home town and settling into the life of being the town’s doctor. He felt as though he deserved all the respect that came with being a doctor, and made an effort to live up to the image that he did his best to cultivate. He married the daughter of the local governor a few years after returning to the town, his marriage only serving to increase his authority. For all that John married the woman, Mary, as a political union, he honestly cared for her, and if he didn’t love her then he at least respected her.

Mary in her turn respected and honoured her husband, her family very proud of the old traditions and the young woman having been raised from birth to do her duty when the time came; to provide a male heir. It didn’t take long for her to become pregnant, a mere six months after their marriage. There was no doubt in John’s mind that his child would be his son and that the boy would do everything he dreamed for. It was a painful pregnancy, but after the nine months she gave birth to a young son, named John Junior.

The delight they felt at the successful birth was short lived however; John Junior was a weak, sickly child, and despite the best efforts of his father, the baby died a few weeks after he was born. It was a devastating blow to the couple, each feeling the pain of loosing a child but it wasn’t long before they started to actively try for a baby again, John feeling as though his life would be incomplete without one and Mary just wanting to replace the dead son.

It would be four years before she fell pregnant again in the year 1886, Mary becoming more and more depressed as every month passed, feeling as if she was failing John and longing for a child anyway, something to lavish affection on, her husband always having been a little cool and distant. When she realised she was pregnant, the joy was clear for all to see, joy mixed with terror that once again something would go wrong. It was even worse this time around and more than once they feared that the baby had been miscarried. As the months wore on, John became more and more tense, convinced that if his wife lost the child it would be his fault and would reflect badly on his skill as a doctor. He became obsessed with the upcoming birth, driving his wife to near distraction. Somehow, despite the stress and worry placed upon her, Mary carried the child to full term and went into labour. After nearly two days of prolonged agony, the birth was finally completed, and Mary gave birth to another son, this one stronger and healthier right from the start. He was named Rory after his grandfather.

John was delighted that he had a son, while Mary was delighted that she had any child, spoiling the baby and becoming devoted to him, a dotting parent that let Rory get away with everything and anything. At the slightest hint that something was wrong, she would be there to try and make it all better, wrapping him up warm and keeping him safe. On the opposite scale, John was never affectionate or loving to his son, keeping a careful distance at all times. He was never deliberately cruel – never once considering that by holding his son at arm’s length he was hurting – but he was always a cold man, more concerned about power and position than the actual details of his family. The family name was important and often John would spend his evenings locked away in his study with the tales of his illustrious ancestors than the living now.

With such contrasting parents it was no surprise therefore growing up that Rory became something of a mother’s boy, although he constantly yearned for his father’s open approval. Indeed, as a child it was his dearest wish to get that from John Senior although he still adored his mother. His dead brother was never really mentioned beyond the annul visit to the gravesite and while Rory intellectually knew he had one, emotionally he was very much an only child. He would have loved a larger family, more siblings but although his parents were still in love and remained close and together for the rest of their lives, there were no more children, not even any more pregnancies.

It was accepted without question right from his birth that Rory, the Doctors son, would in turn grow up and become a doctor himself. The belief was not limited to his father but quickly spread to most of the town, Rory’s teachers praising him whenever he did well in a class by pointing out that if he carried on as well as he did then he would have no trouble in fulfilling his dreams. Nobody thought to ask if it was actually his own dreams, something his father was oblivious too.

To that end his father began to instruct his son in medicine from the age of seven onwards. Rory would spend at least an hour a day with the imposing man learning all manner of things to do with medicine, the body, the history behind it all. It was the only time that John showed any real degree of enthusiasm and love towards Rory whenever he got caught up in the moment. Consequently Rory grew up to treasure the time and look forward to his daily lessons, although he harboured no real love or interest for medicine beyond the actual love for learning as a whole. Rory’s didn’t want to be a doctor, didn’t think he could handle all the death and pain that came with it, but on the few times he had tentatively tried to raise the subject with his father he had been shot down without a seconds thought. It was inconceivable to John that his son could be anything other than he had imagined, and would want to live any other kind of life than the one that had been already carefully plotted out for him.

His mother was more perceptive when it came to Rory’s true interests than his father, Mary noting that he was happiest when in other worlds, either by reading any novels he could get his hands on, or learning about all the superstitions and the strange tales that filled the sceptred Isle. Quietly, she encouraged her son as best she could, simply wanting him happy and not truly caring what he did with his life so long as it was what he wanted instead of what might bring him the most money.

Everything came to a head when Rory was nearing nineteen. His education had gone as far as it could without serious specialised training, and one day he came home to discover that his father had taken it upon himself to arrange a meeting between his son and the head of the prestigious medical school that he himself had gone to, along with inviting all the important people of the town for a dinner party. Without any warning or time to prepare himself, Rory was unable to work up the courage to admit that the last thing he wanted to do with his life was become a doctor but at the same time he couldn’t fake his usual interest and the stranger picked up on the fact, tactful remarking to his father that perhaps the young man was better suited to another profession.

Believing that Rory had somehow come off as stupid, or not good enough somehow, John rounded on his son right there and them, accusing him of failing in his dream, of bringing shame to the whole family. Hearing that was too much for him and finally Rory admitted what everyone else could now see but his father; that he didn’t and had never wanted to become a doctor. If anything, it only served to anger him further, John furiously dismissing everything his son tried to tell him. As far as the doctor was concerned, Rory was a disappointment, a disgrace and a waste of space for having his head up in the clouds and wanting to study nature, history and similar things. It was a humiliating experience for the young man, one that seemed to last for an eternity before John finally stormed out of the room, leaving Rory blinking back tears. Things were never the same in the family afterwards, as John retreated to his usual cold and distant state with his son, this time without even the lessons.

Rory tried to tell himself that he didn’t care, that he was glad it was all over and that he could now focus fully on what he wanted to do with his life. More and more he began to retreat into himself and all the stories of strange and unexpected things. He was happiest wandering the hills outside the small town, spending hours searching for myths and never really caring that he didn’t find them. The time allowed him to study the flora of his county, the young man entertaining vague thoughts of writing a treaty on them. The next few years passed quietly enough for Rory, working on his writing and trying his best to stay out his father’s way.

At around twenty-five he was still living at home, his work almost completed although he was forever editing and rewriting parts, procrastinating from actually admitting it was done. The pervious winter had been a particularly hard one, wind and rain lashing down for sometimes nearly weeks at a time, causing a rash of pneumonia, some of the elderly or already weak dying from it. The illness didn’t really concern Rory at first, at least not beyond the worry that the constant contact of those ill could prove to be dangerous to his father. He had more important things to focus on, such as the stories which had been slowly filtering down to the people, stories of strange beasts roaming the wildness’s. Beasts that were apparently both wolf and man although as the educated pointed out that was of course, impossible.

The stories captured Rory’s imagination, the idea of wolf men, werewolves being one that was irresistible to the young Scot. At the earliest chance he slipped away into the night with the aim of trying to find one, not to hurt or hunt it or even to show the world what he had found but simply to satisfy his curiosity. Night had seemed the best time to see one roaming about but as he left the lights of his home behind him, he quickly came to regret his choice, dark and foreboding clouds covering a moon that he only belatedly realised was full. With the clouds came the winter rain, heavy droplets soaking him to the bone in a matter of minutes, the poor visibility and weather turning him around so that a landscape that had previously been as well known to him as anything was now a strange world, as he stumbled around lost.

All thoughts of finding the beast he had been looking for fled as Rory tried to regain some sense of direction, moving blindly through the dark. As he stumbled through the trees, rain and wind masking his approach, he all but fell into a grove, where an overly tall and delicately limbed wolf of impossible proportions was standing.

It was hard to work out who was most surprised.

Stunned by the sight, it took Rory a few moments for his brain to snap into gear, shocked at the ease in which he had found what he was looking for, not least the fact that he had actually found it – even Rory, in his heart of hearts, had not fully believed in the stories. By the time his mind had caught up with the rest of him, the beast on the other side of the clearing was leaping towards him, teeth bared and claws out. It appeared either spooked by the unexpected arrival or a human or considering him a threat, the creature appeared determined to kill him, Rory flinging himself desperately to the side and ground. As he fell, he felt the deadly claws of the beast sting across his leg, gouging deep and making him scream out in terror and pain.

The shock of the wound made him flop onto the ground, hands trying desperately to push himself back into an upright position although his leg was in no state to have any weight upon it. Somehow, he was able to twist his body around so that he could look at the thing attacking him, the sight making his mouth fall open in even greater shock. A second and then a third wolf appeared, flanking the original one, for all the world looking as though they were about to join in the slaughter. Instead, the larger of the newcomers turned on the first one, along with the smaller. To Rory’s surprise they appeared to be trying to stop its rampage, controlling it rather than killing it, although it was impossible for him to know for sure, the weather and rapid loss of blood meaning he was slipping rapidly into shock. He passed out moments before the wolf that had attacked him was knocked out, honestly not expecting to wake again.

Rory was found on the outskirts of his home town, leg still bleeding profusely, unconscious. There was no real trail of blood to indicate where he had come from or what had happened to him, as he was carefully lifted and taken to his home where everyone expected him to die from the combination of his blood loss and the pneumonia that rapidly manifested itself in him.

For nearly a week he remained dangerously ill in bed, feverish and rambling for hours, mind turning over both recent events and times from his childhood, blending them together until he was screaming from imaginary beasts lurking in his room. Even with his father in constant attendance it was feared by all that he would die from either his illness or some infection from the nasty wound in his leg for nothing that could cause such a slash could be clean. On the eve of the seventh day his fever finally broke, Rory sinking into a deep and it seemed healing coma as his temperature slowly dropped down to a more normal level.

Even then however, his father remained cautious, carefully tending to his son and privately preparing himself for the worse. At the worst, the fever had reached a level which normally caused brain damage through the sheer heat and as the coma stretched into a day, John began to worry that he had lost his son mentally. For about forty-eight hours he remained still and unresponsive, before an apparently miracle accorded as bit by bit he began to stir. For a few moments he was even awake, lucid enough to know his own name and that of his father. From then on he continued to recover, John achieving more renown throughout the area as his son’s increasing good health was laid at the door of his treatment. His father accepted it outwardly, although inwardly he was still at a loss to know why Rory had gotten better and indeed why he was healing so fast, the wound on his leg fading away at a remarkable rate.

In his sick bed, Rory had little else to do but think and wonder himself. He knew what he had seen, knew what had happened and even though part of him was having trouble believing that such a thing as a werewolf actually existed, he knew enough of the lore surrounding them to know that come the full moon he would find out once and for all what had happened. As the dreaded day grew nearer, Rory began to worry more and more about his family, what he might do if all the stories were true. By the time the day before the full moon rolled around he was in a state of nerves although his body wasn’t healed enough to be alone.

Knowing that he couldn’t risk anything happening to his mother whom he loved or his father whom he respected, Rory somehow managed to crawl out of bed and slip out of the house, clinging to the walls whenever a dizzy spell came. Bit by bit he worked his way deeper into the countryside and as night fell he was a good distance away. The moon rose as he sat slumped against a tree, too weak to move any further or seek shelter and with the moon came the pain as his body began to react, twisting and breaking, Rory passing out in his weakened state during the transformation. He didn’t wake under the morning, the tattered clothing all the evidence his excited brain needed, proving that he was a werewolf.

The excitement quickly faded however as reality began to creep in, the worry about what he would do now, how he would manage, not to mention the tiny voice still in the back of his mind that sounded like his father’s voice, whispering how silly the whole thing was. Silly or not, Rory knew he couldn’t risk going back home until he learnt more, spending the day seeking in vain for the wolves that had done this too him. His ample knowledge of the local plant life around the area meant that he knew what was safe to eat, although it was hardly filling or delicious. The second night, if anything, was worst than the first, Rory conscious for longer this time and when daylight broke he found himself a good distance away from home, as the third day and night were duplicates of the pervious ones. Again he hunted about for the werewolves in the hope they would help him and again he didn’t find them.

When a night passed without transforming, Rory knew he had no choice but to turn his attention towards his life here and now. It was so tempting to return home, to safety, but he was terrified at the thought of what might happen to his family. The three nights had shown Rory that he wasn’t safe to be around and without someone teaching him how to handle with all this new knowledge he couldn’t risk it. Not allowing himself even a look back towards home in case his resolve failed him, the young man set off in the opposite direction, with no aim in mind.

He roamed across Scotland for nearly four years, doing odd jobs when he could in order to get clothes and food, always leaving populated areas the day before the moon. It was a miserable experience, one made worse by his feelings of loneliness and helplessness. No matter where he went he couldn’t find any other werewolves, no matter how many people he charmed in order to pour over the varied collections of books they owned he couldn’t find any new and definite information on his condition.

There was nothing left for him in his homeland anymore and every day brought a new wave of homesickness, although fear kept him from returning to a life that by now had acquired a very rose tinted lustre. Carefully he scraped together as much money as he could, before travelling down to Liverpool where he planned to board the boat that could take him as far away as his money could afford. The boat turned out to be bound for America, one of the few that were still running during the war which had crept up almost unnoticed in the remote areas he lived. The crossing was calm enough, although longer than he had expected, full moon creeping ever closer, the fear that he might be trapped on board when it rose setting him on edge.

It was a relief when the ship finally docked, Rory taking little notice of the surrounding area as he all but fled for the wilder parts. It was harder here to survive, no longer able to rely on his knowledge of plant life, harder too without any proper papers to prove he was who he claimed to be. Somehow, Rory scraped along, often barely having enough food to keep hunger at bay, his health and weight slowly dropping off. The longed for meeting with another like him was pretty much all that kept him going at this point, constantly on the move and never giving up hope that perhaps tomorrow would finally be the day.

Time began to blur together until Rory had no idea how long it had been since he had arrived in America, or even where he was. One day, not long before the moon, Rory found himself still within a populated area, lost, hungry and tattered as usual. Finding work had been even harder recently because of the state of his clothes and the general semi-starved appearance he gave off, and the less work he could get, the less chance he had to fix those. Stumbling along a street, at first he didn’t really notice the group of people ahead of him, until the one at the back, a tall, strongly built man stopped and turned, staring at Rory. For a couple of seconds, he remained confused, wondering what he had done to attract attention before his brain kicked in, the distinctive, animal scent wafting towards him.

It had been so long since he had seen a werewolf – and the only time he had, he hadn’t been in any state to make notes of things – that for a few moments Rory simply stared at the tall man, his focus narrowing until the shadowy figures behind the stranger were ignored. Now that his dream was finally here, within his grasp, Rory couldn’t help but feel a little afraid, especially considering how weak he was feeling. As the man moved forward, he instinctively took a step back, although he refrained from the flat out run that a small part of him. Sensing perhaps, that Rory was jittery and only a hair’s breath from making a break for it, the man stopped, quietly introducing himself as Keegan MacIntyre, who was indeed another werewolf. Keegan knew exactly what to say to keep Rory calm, and with the approval of the other wolves, he invited Rory to come and meet the Alpha of his pack. The whole thing was going almost too fast for him after all this time, but Rory went along, feeling as though he could truly trust Keegan, despite having only known him for a matter of minutes. It wasn’t long before he was offered a place there, a steady home at last. He didn’t need to even think about the offer before accepting, thrilled at what it offered.

As he settled within the pack, Rory found himself growing particularly closer to the fighter Keegan, as well as three others, Molly, Sissy and Cassidy and it wasn’t long before he considered them to be his family within the family of the pack. With a steady diet and a place to sleep, Rory began to grow healthier, his innate curiosity coming out to play as he started to really explore what he was. He is still waiting for when he will be able to control his wolf side during the full moon but for now Rory seems content enough as he is.