Under the White Moon (closed for BlondeAmbition4RP)

Esrabul Estate (courtyard)
Tizi Ouzou, Algeria
August 3rd, 2004 01:00 CET

Morgan Schrow crouched behind a set of bushes under the starlit North African night sky. He was on the edge of courtyard in the center of a multi-building estate, with six other operatives spread around the property. The seven of them were all dressed in black tactical suits and comprised Team Four of the Dawnguard, a NATO-sanctioned covert operations agency charged with hunting down supernatural threats across the globe, whether it be demons, vampires, or rogue Magi.

Of course, the very existence of magic and demons was hidden from the general public, and the Dawnguard's “official” operating title was the Special Threat Response Unit (S.T.R.U.). All operatives were outwardly human, but inside, some were very different. Morgan himself was actually a Lycan, and was one of the very last White Wolves – ancient werewolf bloodlines that hold more power than the more common lineages. Most other Lycans had red or yellow eyes and brown or black fur, but when Morgan transformed, both his eyes and his fur became a radiant silver-white. For this reason his call sign on military operations became “White Moon.”

Morgan sniffed the air and could instantly tell where the rest of his team was throughout the estate. Two of them were Warlocks, a few reformed Necromancers, a former Dragon Slayer, and his second-in-command Celeste, a vampire blood priestess who betrayed her Coven ages back when they plotted to sacrifice a village full of children. She and Morgan had been dear friends and partners for over a century and had helped found an earlier version of the Dawnguard in the late 1800s.

On this night, Team Four was in Algeria to investigate and if possible capture Ahmed al-Hatim Esrabul, a city councilman and suspected alchemist practicing human transmutation, a forbidden act that was banned by the Manchester Accords. It was alleged by several sources that he was luring people to his home and transforming them into chimeras. They had already done a light sweep of the estate, but couldn't look too deep without risking tripping a magical alarm. Now they were waiting for Esrabul to return home with his latest victim.

A few minutes later, they heard two voices approaching, speaking excitedly in Arabic. In through the gate walked a tall man wearing a dark robe, a white cloth around his forehead, and a long white beard and spectacles. His companion was a young Irish woman with red hair and deep green eyes. She spoke Arabic perfectly, but so did Morgan and he could tell she had a slight Irish accent. She had the look of a tourist and was likely there on vacation.

Once he identified that the man was indeed Esrabul, Morgan whispered into his com, “Target confirmed. Tranq him.” A moment later, a tiny needle shot from a sniper rifle on the roof of the main house. It whizzed directly at Esrabul, but before it could hit a bright blue energy shield erupted around him, deflecting the tranquilizer dart. His eyes narrowed and he scanned the courtyard with his eyes. Meanwhile, the Irish woman began backing up in terror.

Esrabul held up a red ring on his index finger and suddenly pointed it towards the roof, firing out a huge lightning bolt that hit where the sniper had been a moment earlier, leaving a scorch mark and cracked stone. The Irish woman then began screaming. He turned the ring to her to silence her but a moment later Morgan came running out of the bushes.

“No!” he screamed in Arabic as he charged. “Leave her alone!”

Esrabul turned to face his attacker and his eyes grew wide at the sight before him. Morgan's face contorted in rage as he zoomed across the courtyard, his own eyes transforming from a dark brown to a glowing bright silver-white. His teeth grew into fangs, his ears became pointed, his muscle mass increased slightly, and his brown hair and beard spiked up like a wild beast and became as white as his eyes. This entire transformation happened within a second, and to Esrabul, it was incredibly terrifying to see this monster transforming as it ran at him.

The alchemist screamed out as the White Moon rammed into him, sending his body flying into the wall surrounding the property. Morgan held Esrabul's hand against the wall as he tried to aim the ring at the beast's head, all with the Irish woman still screaming as she backed herself against one of the buildings. The other members of Team Four were trying to calm her, but it was only making it worse.

“Say hello to my friends!” the alchemist howled with a laugh as a rumbling shook the ground. “My shield activated them!” A moment later, the doors from a large detached garage burst open as three stone golems stomped out, towering above them all. One carried a greatsword, the other two had battleaxes. With everyone distracted, Esrabul used the opportunity to aim his ring at the Irish woman and finally managed to kill her.

“You piece of shit!” Morgan growled, his voice sounding more carnal than usual. “You're going to regret that!”

“Morgan, no!” Celeste screamed, but it was too late – Esrabul's body dropped to the ground, while his head was still in White Moon's hand. The spine had been ripped just below the neck, and blood dripped and began to pool on the ground around the now-headless body. A look of absolute horror was frozen on the alchemist's face.

“No...” he said, his voice back to normal. He dropped the head and backed away. “That wasn't supposed to happen.”

“Hey, Morgan!” Celeste screamed again. “Hey! What the fuck was that? How are we supposed to stop these golems now that he's dead?! They're out of control!!!”

Morgan looked over to see one golem was smashing up the main house while the other two were charging off toward the city. “I... I was just so angry that he killed this innocent girl... I'm sorry...”

Twelve Years Later...

“Yep, looks like there's a winter storm moving in, Howler,” Morgan said to the Siberian Husky sitting next to him on his front porch. Behind him was a large wooden and stone house nestled up in the mountains of northwestern Montana. After the Algeria Catastrophe, as it was called, Morgan had retired from the Dawnguard and made a home away from everyone. Those golems ended up killing dozens of innocent bystanders and caused billions of dollars' worth of property damage before they were finally stopped. It was a field day trying to clean up the mess and keep the media away.

Now it was December of 2016, and Morgan hadn't heard from anyone in years, which was how he liked it. The quiet serenity of the mountains helped calm his inner demons and lay to rest the pain that had plagued him for so long. He hoped it would stay that way. So, of course, that's when he saw a plane flying over head experience engine failure and go rocketing towards the ground.

“Shit...” he cursed to himself as he stood to his feet. He reached over and grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels he had been nursing, took a few gulps, puffed his cigar, and then started walking at a brisk pace down into the nearby valley to check for survivors. “Damn it. Now I'm gonna miss my fucking soaps.”

Claire Lockwood stared out the window of the small sightseeing airplane in absolute awe of the view below her, snow covered mountain ranges and dense evergreen forests stretching out as far as her eyes could see. They sure didn’t have views like this back home. She saw now why the concierge at the lodge had so highly recommended the excursion.

“So what brings you to Montana?” the pilot, whom had introduced himself as Rick earlier before they’d taken off, asked her over the headset. He looked to be in his late forties, and had a friendly smile and a bit of a pot belly.

“I’m staying at the Whiterun Lodge & Ski Resort,” Claire replied.

“Don’t tell me a pretty girl like you is traveling all by yourself, or is your boyfriend just afraid of planes and didn’t want to tag along today?” Rick teased in a good-natured tone.

Claire laughed. “No my best friend Bethany came with me, we’re roommates back at The Art Institute of Dallas. We’d planned this ski weekend over a month ago, but she got really sick with some kind of flu bug our first day here and decided to fly back home early. Everything was already paid for though, so I thought I’d go ahead and stick around and try to make the best of it.”

“Well good for you! I hope you’re enjoying your…” Rick began before suddenly stopping and grabbing his head with one of his hands and swearing under his breath. The plane made a little dip in the air before he leveled it out again, causing Claire’s stomach to do a nervous flip.

“Sorry about that. Just all of a sudden got the worst damn headache I’ve ever had in my life! If it doesn’t pass soon we might have to cut it short and… and we’ll… we’ll…”

“Rick?... Rick!” Claire shouted at the man in fear as she watched him sway in his seat before sloping over completely as he passed out and fell forward onto the controls, causing the plane to plummet straight down towards the trees below.

The entire crash probably only lasted a matter of seconds, but for Claire it was as if everything was happening in slow motion. She could see the tops of the trees growing larger as the plane fell towards them faster and faster. Suddenly the plane was crashing through the tree tops, branches and limbs hitting up against the windows before it hit the ground with an unmerciful thud and continued to slide along the forest floor for a bit before colliding with a large tree. She felt the shock of the final impact shoot from the ground upwards through her entire body as she was thrown forward, hitting her head against the side panel of the plane and knocking her unconscious.

Picture of Claire

Morgan emerged from the pass into the forested valley where the plane had crashed, scanning the trees for the wreckage. A moment later, he heard a whoosh of flames and spotted the banged up aircraft, which had sprung a fuel leak in the landing and had caught fire. He ran over and ripped open the door, calling once more on his Lycan strength. He found two unconscious people inside -- a man and a young woman.

Throwing the bodies over each shoulder, Morgan ran with them a few feet away before the flames reached the fuel tank and the plane exploded in a massive fireball, sending plumes of black smoke into the sky. He sighed and then checked the bodies -- the man was definitely dead, but the girl still had a pulse. Her body was a bit bruised and she had a large swollen bulge on her forehead, but he wasn't sure of the full extent of her injuries until he had a chance to get her inside.

He carried them both back to his house, but left the dead man laying on the porch outside. He wasn't sure if this man was important to the girl and in the event she survived the night, he wanted to let her decide the fate of the man's corpse. Once in the house, he slid one of his sofas closer to the fireplace and laid her on it, then began lifting or pulling back pieces of clothing to check for any other injuries.

Morgan treated the girl as best he could, using his first aid kit to bandage any wounds and apply ointments. After that he laid a thick blanket over her and sat back in a chair nearby, keeping an eye on her. Eventually, however, he nodded off.

It wasn't until some time later when Claire finally began to stir from her unconsciousness. At first everything seemed hazy and muted, like walking through a dense fog. Eventually though the fog around her mind began to lift and things slowly became sharper. Her eyes still closed, she was vaguely aware of the feel of a warm and heavy blanket on top of her, and off to her side she recognized the crackling sound of a fire.

"Where am I?," she murmured.

Unfortunately as her mind started to become clearer though so did the pain. She let out a low groan as it hit her, almost wishing now that she had just remained in the peaceful nothingness of sleep. Her whole body seemed to ache in some way, but especially her head. She lifted her hand to her forehead, feeling some kind of bandage that had been placed there and what felt to be a very large bump underneath it. She let out another soft groan as the motion of lifting her arm caused a pain in her side. A broken rib maybe?

"What happened?"

"Oh!" Morgan started awake when he heard her voice. He got up from his chair and walked over to her. "Your plane went down. Be careful -- you're banged up pretty bad. I was able to carry you here to my home from the crash site, but you're too hurt to travel back to where ever you came from right now."

He walked into his kitchen and brought her back a glass of ice cold water and set it on the end table near her along with a bottle. "Those are pain pills -- they should help. I've bandaged you up as best I could, but you're going to take time to heal. There is a winter storm coming in the next couple days, but I don't think you'll be fit to go anywhere before it arrives. As for your companion... I'm sorry, he didn't make it."

Morgan pointed towards the front door. "His... body is on the porch. I'm not sure how close you were, and I did not know if he had any last wishes, so I haven't done anything with him yet. Again, I'm sorry..."

He sat there quietly to give her a few moments to grasp everything he said and then urged her to take a few of the pills. "Please, it will help with the pain. Are you hungry?"

Claire didn't respond right a way as she tried to wrap her head around everything the man had just told her. It was a lot to take in. Finally she spoke.

"Rick... his name was Rick," she told the man, "I'm afraid that's all I know about him. He was my pilot for aerial sightseeing tour of the mountains...I think he might have had a stroke or something."

Her eyes began to water up as she spoke. She hadn't known the man well, but he'd seemed like a decent person and it was sad to think that he was now laying outside the door dead on some stranger's porch.

She looked at the pain pills and glass of water that he'd gotten for her and moved to sit up to take them, but winced and laid back down as pain shot through her side again.

"A storm? The next couple days?" she asked in confusion, "But don't you have a phone? Can't you just call 911 or something and have an ambulance come and get me now?"

Morgan walked over as he saw Claire struggling to reach the pills, handing them to her along with the glass of water to make it easier for her to take them. He smirked lightly as she mentioned calling 911 and an ambulance.

"I'm afraid the only vehicle that could get out here and safely retrieve you would be a helicopter," he explained. "Though, to be honest, I don't have an active phone line out here. I haven't been much of a people person in recent years. Usually keep to myself."

He saw what he thought might have been a look of despair on her face, and continued with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Miss -- I didn't catch your name? I'm Morgan. I do maintain satellite television and solar-powered generators, but any electronic communications I need are done from Hallenwood. It's a small town on the other side of the mountain, about two days away by foot. During the warmer months I drive my truck down there every few weeks for supplies and to manage online banking and business needs at the local library, but it's impossible to make that drive in the winter."

He continued talking as he walked into the kitchen to put a kettle on to boil. "During the winter months I do occasionally hike down to the town, but only if the weather is good. It's two days there and two days back. Even if I left right now emergency services would not be able to get out here before the storm hits. It's possible someone might see the smoke from the plane crash and come to investigate, but other than that the safest place is for you to remain here. Once the storm passes, I will set out for Hallenwood to get a chopper out here for you."

Claire took the pills and glass of water from the man with a small nod of thanks as he handed them to her, placing the pills into her mouth and then carefully raising the glass to her lips to swallow them down with the water as she listened to his reply.

Her face fell in response to his news that he had no phone. It was kind of hard to believe. It was pretty hard to find someone who didn't at least own a cellphone these days. Surely he could have had one if he wanted if he had a good enough signal for satellite television. Was that really a wise idea for a person who lived so far from the nearest town? He really wasn't joking when he'd said he wasn't a people person.

"What about the radio in the plane I was in? Couldn't we use that?"

Still, he must be a kind enough person to have found her and brought her back here to care for her and bandage her up as he had. It suddenly dawned on her that she likely owed her life to this man. Even though she had survived the crash she doubted she would have lasted very long injured and left out in the cold.

"My name is Claire, Claire Lockwood. I'm a guest at The Whiterun Lodge & Ski Resort," she replied in response to his inquiry about her name, "And...thank you for all of your help. I'm sorry to be causing you so much trouble."

"It's fine, really," Morgan replied when she mentioning causing him too much trouble. "I'm just glad I was able to help. And in response to your earlier question, we could indeed use the radio from the plane had it not blown up. You were unconscious, so you did not see it, but the crash pierced the fuel line and I barely got you and the pilot out before the entire craft exploded."

He saw her face fall again and tried to cheer her up. "Hey, Claire? Don't worry, it will be okay. It's going to be dark soon, but first thing in the morning I'll go check out the wreckage of the plane and see if I can salvage the radio. If it's at least partially intact I'll see if I can repair it. But that's a worry for tomorrow. Try and relax for the rest of the evening. Would you like to watch TV?"

He could tell by the look on her face that she was internally questioning why he would have satellite television but not a phone. "You're probably wondering why I don't have a phone," he said with a chuckle. "I used to, years ago. I worked for the government, once upon a time. I've since retired, and I guess I decided not to have a phone out here because I didn't want any of my old associates to disturb me. I know, it sounds rather anti-social. I guess I've turned into a mountain hermit, haha." he laughed and smiled at Claire.

"Though it's not everyday a beautiful woman falls out of the sky into your valley," he added with a wink. "What would you like for dinner tonight?"

Claire's eyes went wide when Morgan mentioned the plane exploding. There was no doubt in her mind now, she definitely owed this man her life. As for the radio, he was right, even if it was salvageable there was nothing that could be done about it tonight. She set the now empty drinking glass down on the floor next to where she lay on the couch since she still couldn't quite reach the coffee table and rested back against the cushion again as she listened to his explanation of why he didn't keep a phone, smiling slightly at his self-depreciating joke about being a mountain hermit and playful wink.

"Oh please don't go out of your way for me, you've already doing so much for me already! Just whatever you would like to make will be fine, really," she answered in reply to his question about what she wanted for dinner, "And yes, thank you, TV would be nice." Maybe there would be something on about the wreck or her missing that would give her a clue to if people were looking for her or not.

"Here you go," Morgan replied with a smile, handing her the remote. "There's a guide button that will give you a list of channels and what they are showing right now. How do you like your steak?"

A few minutes later, he was in the kitchen, the house filling with the smell of cooking food. Within an hour Morgan had a tray and stand set up next to Claire, one that could slide up close to her for ease of access. He placed a large plate with steaming hot food on the tray; a large elk steak cooked to her desired redness, a few scoops of red-skinned mashed potatoes and white gravy, and a pile of steamed vegetables. He offered her red wine, beer, iced tea, or water to drink with her dinner and then sat in his chair with his own plate.

"I hunted this meat myself, and in the warmer months I usually grow enough potatoes and vegetables to keep my pantry and freezer stocked through the winter," he explained as he sipped a can of beer. "It's covered in snow now, but have a garden down in the valley."

Morgan and Claire sat and ate their dinner, discussing various topics and watching the news as the sky darkened outside. Meanwhile, a small black cat with red eyes came trotting out of the forest and onto the porch. It jumped up on a window ledge and peered in at the two eating, his feline mouth curving into a mischievous smile. It then ran back off into the forest, vanishing in a puff of black smoke.

Claire had to admit, she was impressed. She didn't know many guys that could cook this well, let alone hunt and grow their own food on top of it. She wondered just how many years he'd been living all on his own out here. He certainly seemed to know what he was doing. She glanced curiously around the cabin, he seemed to have managed to create a very comfortable living for himself out here.

"That was excellent, thank you Morgan," she told him as she set down her knife and fork and picked up her glass to sip at the last little bit of her wine as the local news report finished up on the TV.

There hadn't been anything about a crash, or about her or the pilot being missing. She guessed she shouldn't be surprised, it had only just happened after all. She wasn't even due to check out of the lodge for a couple more days. She didn't know about the pilot, but it would probably be a while yet before anyone actually noticed she was missing. She tried not to think about it for now and focused on the conversation with Morgan, which she had actually been enjoying quite a bit despite the current situation.

"I don't think the food at the lodge was even as good as that," she said offering him a smile of gratitude, "Have you really been out here for years all by yourself? It' hard to believe. And here I thought I was being brave just going on a short vacation by myself."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Morgan said with a smile as she thanked him for the meal. "I have lived out here for about twelve years since I retired from the... from government work." He immediately realized he had said something rather suspicious -- Claire certainly did not know that he was a Lycan and that he aged very slowly. He might look like a man in his late-thirties, but he was actually closer to two hundred years old. Of course, he couldn't tell her that, and she was probably wondering how someone so young could have worked for the government and already been retired for over a decade.

"I'm rather young for my age," he added with a chuckle, making something up on the spot. "I started working for the government right out of high school and got early retirement due to an injury when I was thirty-five. I'm fully recovered now, but it took about eighteen months of physical therapy to get there. That's why I moved out here -- the hiking assisted in the recovery and regaining my strength. I know I don't look it, but I will be fifty in a couple years."

Morgan began to realize that he was going into too much detail with his elaborate lie, and tried to change the subject, afraid she would be even more suspicious. "But anyway, enough about me. Here's let me clean these." He picked up the dirty dishes and took them into the kitchen to start washing them.

Elsewhere in the world, the black cat with red eyes appeared in a puff of smoke behind a dumpster in an alley, strolling out onto the sidewalk and hopping up through an open window to a private nightclub. He trotted along the floor and jumped up on a table facing a sharp-dressed man sitting on a couch and smoking a cigarette.

"You were right," the cat said quietly. "It was White Moon. He's still alive. He must have exposed himself to our sensors when he rescued a girl from a plane crash. He seems unaware that his concealment charms failed to keep him hidden."

"So my assumptions were accurate," the man replied in a Russian accent with a scowl. "It angers me greatly to know White Moon has been alive and well all this time. Every breath he takes is an insult to my family's name. I want him to die by MY hand, as slowly and as painfully as possible. But I must be patient. I must allow any commotion caused by this plane crash to subside, and then I will attack... Swiftly and without mercy..."

Claire definitely took notice when Morgan announced that he'd been retired and living out in the mountains alone for twelve years. He didn't look nearly old enough to have been retired for as long as he claimed to have been. His following explanation seemed to make sense enough though, even if it was a bit rambley. Was she making him nervous? She guessed that was possible since it sounded like he must not be around other people very often.

Still, it was hard to believe that he was as old as he claimed to be. She eyed him carefully as he took their dirty dishes into the kitchen and began to wash them. He certainly didn't look like he was a couple years shy of turning fifty. She thought of her father who had recently turned fifty-two, with his graying hair and growing potbelly. He didn't look a thing like Morgan. Morgan looked...well he looked good. Damn good.

She was curious about what kind of government job he could have gotten right out of high school without any sort of college degree, curious too about what kind of injury he'd gotten while working there that had caused him to go into early retirement. She decided not to press the issue however.
It was obvious by his sudden drop of the subject that he didn't want to talk about it further and she didn't want to overstep her boundaries by sticking her nose where it didn't belong. She was just a guest in his home after all, a stranger really.

"I'll be turning twenty-four in a couple of months," she offered, figuring she should share something about herself in return, "I'm finishing up the last year of my bachelor's degree in Graphic Design at The Art Institute of Dallas... I'd originally wanted to get a degree in fine arts and major in Studio Art. Drawing, painting, sculpture, stuff like that. But...I don't know. Gotta pick something that's going to actually pay the bills, right?"

"Well, I'm sure whatever you pick, you'll be awesome at it," Morgan added with a smile as he stood in the kitchen loading the plates and silverware into the dishwasher. "Sometimes I wish I'd followed a different path... Things would have been so different..."

He stared off into space for a moment, then flashed back to reality and smiled. "But then I wouldn't have been here to meet you, now would I?"

After cleaning up the kitchen, Morgan sat with Claire in the living room to watch a movie. "You're my guest, so you get to choose the movie."

Meanwhile, the sharp-dressed Russian man continued to rant angrily about White Moon. The cat then noticed two men in black suits come down a hallway towards the area where they were sitting. "Hey, Kalovic -- I think they're ready."

Kalovic stood to his feet and greeted the two men, who then escorted to a conference room while the cat vanished back out the window. When they entered, there was a large table with at least a dozen other people sitting around it. There looked to be a variety of different nationalities represented in the room, but of course at the head of the table was an older Japanese man.

"Greetings, my boy!" the Japanese man said with a smile and an accent, then turned to the rest of the attendees. "May I present Kalovic Ostagar. He is here today representing his House. Kalovic -- please update the room on your family's situation."

"Thank you, Mr. Ichikage," he replied. "As most of you know, my father supported the Orochi Group fiercely, as did his father before him. When my father died at the hands of the Dawnguard, my uncle took his place on this council. What you do not know, however, is that now my uncle has gone and gotten himself killed as well. I now represent House Ostagar on the Black Council."

The room filled with gasps and grumbles as they learned of Kalovic's uncle's demise. An older British woman then spoke up. "Well, first off son, let me say I am truly sorry for your loss," she began. "I got on quite well with your uncle and your father. As the Matriarch of House Elmwick, I shall do all I can to ensure a smooth transition for you."

"Thank you, Miss?" Kalovic began.

"Agartha Elmwick, my dear," she replied with a smile.

"Thank you for your kind words, Lady Agartha," he said with a short bow. During the rest of their meeting, Kalovic elected to keep his knowledge about White Moon secret, for if the rest of the Council knew he was alive, they would rush in and take away his chance at personal revenge -- White Moon had led the Dawnguard assault that killed Kalovic's father, about a year prior to Morgan's retirement.

For countless years, the Black Council of the Orochi Group -- the largest magically-inclined international organized crime network in the world -- had considered the Dawnguard a constant thorn in their backsides. Thus far they had managed to keep their secret meetings safe by changing the location each time. This occasion, they were at a nightclub in Paris. The one before was a hotel in Milan, Italy.

While Morgan and Claire watched their movie, they had no idea what danger was heading their way -- not just the schemes of vengeance of Kalovic Ostagar, but an even larger nefarious plot unfolding in the Black Council's meeting...

Claire had chosen one of the on-demand movies currently available on Morgan's satellite network and settled in with Morgan to watch the movie, propping up one of the couch pillows behind her to comfortable support her while she watched. Unfortunately, as much as she was enjoying Morgan's company and the movie itself her body was still greatly strained and weary after all that she had endured that day and it wasn't very long until she could feel her eyelids growing heavy. By the time the movie was finished she had completely fallen asleep, her body slouching back against the pillow.

Her dreams were peaceful at first, but then at some point in the dead of the night they turned on her, suddenly making her replay all of the horrible events from earlier that day once again. Once more she was trapped in the plane as it dropped from the sky, the trees growing closer and closer. She felt the thud as the plane collided with the ground and skid across the forest floor, felt the shock of the impact vibrate up through her body as it crashed into the tree.

A startled cry escaped her lips as she suddenly jerked awake.

After the movie had ended, Morgan smiled as he saw Claire sound asleep. He eased her back into a laying position, covered her up, set a pitcher of water on the table for her and added a few logs to the fire. He then turned off the lights and retired to his bedroom, leaving the door open to he could hear if she called out.

At some point in the night, Morgan heard Claire cry out. He jumped to his feet and ran out to check on her. "Is everything okay?" He looked down at her as he stood across the coffee table, his strong, muscular arms and hairy chest illuminated by the light cast from the roaring fire. He then became incredibly aware that he was standing there in only his boxers -- in his attempt to rush to Claire's aid, he had completely forgotten to grab his robe.

"Sorry, I...." his face grew hot and he suddenly felt embarrassed. "I forgot my robe."

In her fear Claire had jerked awake to a sitting position on the couch where she'd been laying, her breathing heavy and her hands gripping tightly at the cushions beneath her. Her mind disoriented from the dream, it had taken her a moment to remember where she was as she looked around her, but she remembered when she saw Morgan rush out of his bedroom and saw his handsome form illuminated in the fire's glow.

"Morgan," she breathed out in relief, remembering his name.

That's right. He'd found her, saved her from the wreckage of the crash and brought her here to his home. She was alright, she wasn't dead. She was safe here with him. She felt a dampness on her cheeks and realized that she must have been crying in her sleep, turning her head from him for a moment in embarrassment as she moved to wipe them away.

"It's alright," she told him in response to his apology about forgetting his robe, "It was just a dream... Sorry for waking you."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked as he slipped in his room real fast and came out wearing a dark blue robe. "Here, let me get you some fresh water." He emptied and refilled the pitcher with cold water, then sat down in the chair next to the sofa.

"If you like, I'll stay out here with you until you fall back asleep." He felt bad for her, wishing there was something more he could do to give her comfort. As he sat there, he suddenly noticed her flannel shirt had come slightly unbuttoned in her sleep, leaving a bit of cleavage on display. The fire illuminated the curve of her chest and his eyes trailed along her skin up to where it continued on under the fabric of her shirt.

"I, uh.... Um..." he suddenly stuttered as he noticed Claire saw him staring. Then he regained his composure. "Well, I guess we're even now, as far as seeing skin goes. Though you saw a lot more of me than I saw of you, haha." He winked at her and then walked to the fridge to grab a beer.

"Are you good with the water or would you like a beer? I know I definitely need a drink." He tried to hide the massive bulge that her cleavage had given him, but he was pretty sure she had seen it.

"No, that's ok. It was just...well...it was about the crash," Claire explained to Morgan as she watched him slip out of the room and quickly return wearing the robe that he'd spoken of earlier.
She thanked him as he refilled the water pitcher for her and sat in the chair nearby.

"I feel bad for making you stay up with me, but...yeah, that would be really nice of you," she told him with a bit of a smile as she shifted to sit up further and pour herself a drink of water, the blanket that had been upon her falling down and revealing that with all of her tossing and turning from the nightmare the top few buttons of her shirt had come unbuttoned.

She didn't notice at first, but when there was no reply from Morgan she looked over at him and caught sight of his eyes trailing along the line of her chest. She followed his gaze and realized with a blush what had happened. He quickly composed himself though, making a little joke about how they were even now. She smiled, supposing that was true. Though he was also right in the fact that she'd gotten to see a lot more of him than he had of her. She blushed again, remembering the way his muscled body had looked in the firelight. Once again she couldn't help but think that he was remarkably good looking, especially considering his age. Heck, he even put the guys back home at her university to shame...as did his bulge underneath his robe that he was trying to conceal, but she had spotted none the less.

"Actually, I think I will go ahead and have a beer," she said in reply to his offer as he quickly adverted her eyes and set down the glass of water she'd been sipping. Maybe it would help calm her nerves back down so they could both get back to sleep.

"Okay, sure thing," Morgan said with a smile, bringing Claire a cold bottle of beer. He saw her looking at the title on the label and suddenly remembered this was not a brew you found in a normal liquor store. The name of the beer was in a strange language, with a script that looked like its runes were carved into stone. Underneath it had the name in English as well -- Oghren's Best Dwarven Ale.

"It's imported," he added quickly. "Not sure why they call it Dwarven Ale, but it's the best brew I have ever tasted, so I don't really care, haha." Unbeknownst to Claire, it was actually brewed by real dwarves in their hidden underground cities. Under the Rocky Mountains was a long, sprawling network of tunnels commonly referred to as the Deep Roads, which connected all the North American dwarf communities. Morgan would occasionally travel to a Deep Roads entrance a few miles away to keep his fridge stocked with the Ale. Luckily, they kept his presence there a secret.

Morgan sat back down and took a gulp of his beer, the condensation dripping onto his scruffy chin and running down his well-toned neck. "It's a good, hearty brew with a smooth, malted taste. One of the simple pleasures in life. Good beer, great whiskey, and rare steak, haha." Being a Lycan also came with a strong lust for bloody red meat, which for Morgan, was quenched with a freezer full of baby back ribs, black angus briskets and elk steaks.

The two looked up as a large Siberian Husky came strolling into the room. "I'm not sure if you met Howler yet. He likes to hide in the basement a lot. He's a very smart boy -- taught him to open the hatch out of the basement all by himself so he can get outside to take a piss or hunt rabbits if I'm gone or sleeping.

Claire took another look at the strange markings on the beer bottle with curiosity as she listened to Morgan talking about the drink. She brought the bottle to her lips and took a tentative drink.

"Oh wow! You weren't kidding, that is good," she commented with a smile before taking another, longer drink of the brew as she listened to Morgan talk of 'the simple pleasures in life' with amusement. Being a Texas gal she was used to guys going on about such things. She wondered if Morgan was originally from around these parts, or if he'd been raised somewhere else. She'd been about to ask him as such when she suddenly heard the noise of something approaching the two of them, the sound making her jump slightly with surprise. But when she looked up it was a large husky coming into the room to join them.

"I'm not sure if you met Howler yet. He likes to hide in the basement a lot. He's a very smart boy -- taught him to open the hatch out of the basement all by himself so he can get outside to take a piss or hunt rabbits if I'm gone or sleeping."

"No I haven't... Hey there handsome," she said smiling at the dog and holding the back of her hand out to him to sniff for a moment before reaching up to pet him, her fingers threading themselves through his soft dense fur for a bit before slowly traveling up his neck and scratching him behind his ears.

"I've always loved huskies," she admitted to Morgan as she continued to scratch behind Howler's ears, "I think it's so cool how closely they resemble wolves, don't you? I actually met someone once who had a dog that was half Siberian Husky and half Timber Wolf! Looked a lot like Howler here actually, but with yellow eyes instead of blue...and MUCH bigger of course. Gosh he was beautiful!"

She leaned back against the couch again, taking another long drink of her beer. It had helped calm her some after waking from the nightmare, as had Morgan's company, but as tired as she was and as much as she knew they both needed their sleep she just couldn't bring herself to lay down and shut her eyes. She was afraid that as soon as she did she would just be met with more frightful visions of the crash like before. An idea came to her and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat for a moment, trying to push it aside before finally giving in and speaking up.

"Morgan...um...well, I feel like such a child for even asking, and I hope you don't take this the wrong way; but...could I maybe sleep in your room with you tonight?," she told him, her eyes coming up to meet his pleadingly, "I know it's silly, and I'll definitely understand if you're not ok with it, but...well...I just don't want to be alone tonight."

When Morgan first heard Claire's request, his heart started racing and he could feel his bulge growing back. But he quickly regained control of himself, understanding she did not mean anything sexual by it, she genuinely just wanted to sleep next to someone so she wasn't alone. He smiled and nodded.

"Sure, and I promise to be a complete gentleman," he said with short bow with an extended hand. He helped her walk into the room and climb into the large, comfortable bed. It was a king size plush mattress with a pillow top layer that made you feel like you were sleeping on the clouds. Infused with cooling gel, it helped prevent a build up of body heat and had a foam layer for extra support.

The room was rather large, with a walk-in closet on the far wall and opposite the bed was a long wooden dresser with a flatscreen television mounted on the wall above it, facing the bed. Coins and old receipts were scattered on top of the dresser, and old-looking lamps sat upon each nightstand. His walls were mostly decorated with oil paintings of nature scenes and a few shelves of various artifacts and ancient figurines, but there were also posters of several of his favorite bands, such as Pantera, AC/DC, and Metallica. The sheets and blankets on the bed were various shades of dark blue and brown, and the trashcan next to it was filled with empty beer and whiskey bottles.

Before she settled under the covers, Morgan asked Claire, "Did you want something more comfortable to sleep in? I have a t-shirt and sweatpants you can use if you'd like."

Claire released a breath of relief and smiled at Morgan as he extended his hand to her, taking it and letting him help her up off of the couch and into his bedroom. When they arrived, he helped her up onto the large bed and she was more than a little surprised at how heavenly it felt beneath her. Though she supposed that she shouldn't have been. He seemed to have a very comfortable set up out here, even if he was miles away from any sort of civilization.

She took a quick glance around the room. He sure did appear to have an appreciation for beer and whiskey like he'd mentioned before. She supposed it looked close enough to the typical bachelor pad...though she hadn't been expecting the band posters, at least not for someone as old as he claimed to be...and the ancient looking artifacts and figurines were out of the norm. Were they collectibles of some kind? She was brought out of her thoughts when he offered to provide her with something to change into so that she could be more comfortable.

"That would be great," she told him, turning to look up at him again with an appreciative smile, "Thank you so much."

"No problem," Morgan said with a smile as he grabbed a large white t-shirt and dark gray sweatpants from his dresser and set them on the bed next to her. He grabbed a second set of clothes and headed towards the bedroom door. "I'll give you a moment to change."

A few minutes later, he came back into the room dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants as well. "I figured this would be more appropriate than sleeping in my boxers," he said with a chuckle. He helped her limp to the bathroom one final time and then they both climbed into bed. As they pulled the covers up, Howler jumped onto the foot of the bed, circled a few times, and then curled up.

"Looks like you have two boys watching over you tonight," he said with a laugh. "If you need anything at all, just wake me up. You're safe here, Claire. I'm right here if you need me." He smiled at her as they settled in and leaned back against the fluffy pillows. A moment later, the room suddenly filled with the smell of rotting eggs.

"Damn it, Howler!" Morgan cried humorously. "You know better than to rip ass when we have company!" Howler let out a little whine, then yawned and went to sleep.