Casey Adams

**Casey Lucas Adams** is a Fighter in the Valdez Pack and though he is one of the youngest of their ranks he is undeniably one of the fiercest if only because of his wild and unpredictable temper, especially so far as humans are concerned.

## Appearance.

Standing 5’11 and weighing in around 154lbs. Casey isn’t the largest specimen when it comes to werewolves, certainly when it comes to fighters, but despite his lean build there’s an undeniable athleticism and absolutely no denying the fact that he knows how to put what muscle mass he does have to good use. Casey’s hair is very dark brown and easily taken for black, and what some might describe as average length for a male, neither long nor short, but somewhere messily in between. It hangs on his brow at the front, roughly overhangs his ears at the sides, and tickles his collar at the back of his neck. It is various lengths all over, just as it always has been and likely always will be, the shortest being around his ears and his modest sideburns and the very base of his neck, while it is obviously at its longest across the top, measuring a few inches at least throughout. Dishevelled would be one way of describing it and it would be a *good* way, most certainly accurate. His hair falls how it pleases and beyond raking his hands -- or sometimes a brush, if he’s feeling especially motivated -- through it in the morning, or whenever he happens to have rolled out of bed, he doesn’t do a great deal to it. It’s naturally curly and has a rough tousled look to it that he likely couldn’t tame even if he tried, and quite frankly, he has no intention of doing such a thing. Sometimes Casey shaves and sometimes he doesn’t, so one day he might have a few millimetres of stubble whereas on others he might have none at all. When he doesn’t shave he has a visible shadow of stubble around his jaw, chin, and mouth, which overall makes him look older than he otherwise would. He would never dream of growing anything out though. Casey knows it wouldn’t suit him, even if he isn’t at all vain and doesn’t really care about how he’s perceived. His eyes are hazel but predominantly brown and it is only under bright lights that the green can really be picked up on. As a werewolf, Casey can shift the colour of his eyes between wolf and man at will, whether it be to tease, taunt, or intimidate, or reveal to another individual that he is anything but normal. Sometimes, however, he cannot control this shift, such as when he is under some kind of physical or emotional duress; when he is in pain, experiencing strong emotions such as anger or shock, or when his temper is flaring, his eyes will change to the colour of his wolf, a disconcerting effect to say the least given how they look when he is in his animal form. Even at his age, Casey does not have perfect control over if and when his eyes will shift, and it’s entirely possible he will never be able to rein it in completely, and that on some level he might not *want* to. At Casey’s age and with his standing in the pack, it’s no big surprise that he has a few scars, varying in shape and size from different clashes over the years as one of the fighters. Honestly he doesn’t remember the stories to go with these scars, and they trouble him very little. There are others he sports, however, that he most definitely *does* remember the story behind, scattered over his chest and back, and he even has a few on his shoulders, upper arms, and legs. They aren’t overly large, nor are they particularly shocking to look upon, some of them so small that they can only really be *felt* rather than seen, but they are the result of a very unpleasant point in Casey’s past, and as such, particularly distasteful, to him, even a little upsetting.

To look at Casey you wouldn’t think he was born more than two whole centuries ago in a whole other part of the world. He dresses very much like a young American in the twenty-first century, casually and comfortably, always taking care to wear items that allow him freedom of movement. There’s no one particular style to his wardrobe overall, there are t-shirts and shirts and sweaters, some have logos and elaborate designs where some are just plain, but for the most part the colours are sensible, never striking or bold, and certainly not eye-catchingly bright. He’s a fan of the layered style when it comes to shirts, with a t-shirt underneath, or even a sweatshirt over the top. When it comes to pants Casey prefers jeans or slacks, preferring to wear things that can take a little wear and tear given that he’s a fighter and no matter how careful he is he *will* have to throw his weight around. He doesn’t want to have to replace his clothes after every single scuffle. Casey has no problem wearing sneakers if he’s just wandering around or heading out of the hotel with a few of the others -- on the rare occasion he indulges in such social excursions -- but if he’s going out and anticipating trouble the sneakers are always exchanged for hardy toe-capped boots without fail. When it comes to jackets Casey’s are always black and he only has one, really, a hooded one that reaches his waist; the interior of the jacket has been tailored so he can conceal weapons in the lining and small inside pockets that were not part of its original design.

## Wolf Information.

**APPEARANCE:** 7’8 on two legs, but down on all fours he measures at around 4’10. 259lbs. In wolf form, Casey’s hair is wiry and dark, predominantly a steely brown in colour, with some grey streaked throughout. It is thinner around his limbs, so as not to impede his movement, and it is also shorter around his face. Along the outside of his limbs the fur is thicker, especially on his forelimbs, and it is at is thickest along his back, down the full length of his spine and all the way up onto the top of his head. It protects his neck and throat, and sweeps around to thin again at his chest. At its longest, the pelt is naturally curly, and hangs in just as unruly a fashion as his hair does when he is in human form. Yellow and without pupils, though they are so pale that they are more off-white than anything. Casey’s wolf form is stocky and muscular without being ungainly or out of proportion; what muscle he has is well balanced through his limbs and torso, giving him a good deal of strength and power, which obviously serves him well in combat; his chest is thickset and broad, like his back and shoulders, and his forelimbs are definitely more suited to a fight than his rear, though his hind limbs can serve him well in leaping and giving chase. He has a decent amount of weight to throw around despite not being the largest fighter the pack has on hand; what he does know how to do is *move*, and his long hind legs and narrow waist certainly allow him a great deal of manoeuvrability. His neck is thick and relatively short, and well protected, and his skull is just as squat and compact, with a short muzzle well packed with sharp teeth. His ears are one of his most striking features; they are longer than a wolf’s should be, they taper back from his skull and settle against his thick neck and are slender at the tips rather than rounded. Casey’s paws are more like hands, even possessing a thumb-like digit that allows him a respectable amount of dexterity, and the rear are a little more like feet as well. When standing on his hind legs, which the extra joint in these limbs allows him to do, Casey actually bears more of a resemblance to the classic Hollywood werewolf than a good deal of his packmates, a fact he is neither proud of nor troubled by; if anything, he is indifferent to it. Where some wolves have a tail, Casey is one of those who lacks this feature, though his balance certainly doesn’t suffer as a result. All in all, Casey is a formidable and distinctly feral animal in his wolf form, not only in looks but in temperament, as anyone who knows him would tell you.

**POSITION:** Pack Fighter.

**TERRITORY:** Bella’s half of Los Angeles.

## Personality.

Anyone who takes one look at Casey probably sees a young man who doesn’t have a care in the world, someone who likes to lounge around and spend his time playing computer games or hanging out with friends. They wouldn’t expect him to be a werewolf, first and foremost, and they certainly wouldn’t expect the aggression and ferocity that he is more than capable of at the drop of a hat. While he does love spending time playing computer games or hanging out with his friends, there is a lot more going on with Casey than you would expect at first glance. There’s nothing easy-going about him, nothing carefree or laid back, and he has his fair share of issues, perhaps *more* than his fair share. He might look relatively harmless on the surface, not an ounce of fat on him and lean and lanky, not your average wolf in terms of build, but there’s a lot of power there, not only physically but mentally; Casey has had to build himself mentally in order to survive, and though he hasn’t done so in the healthiest of ways, he did what he had to do in order to get by, in order to endure something truly terrible that could easily have killed him, or just plain destroyed him.

In a way it *did* destroy him, or at least the person he used to be. There was a time when Casey was exactly what people expect him to be on first glance, carefree and outgoing, comfortable in the company of others, even complete strangers. Back then, Casey not only accepted humans, but *liked* them. What he now views as his own blind naiveté and ignorance was part of what led to that shift in his personality, what some might categorise as a psychological break brought about by extreme trauma, not only physical, but mental *and* emotional. The Casey Adams that existed before that shift has long since died, and the one that came out on the other end of all that shock and pain is a different man altogether. There are still fragments of the man he used to be left behind, and when he is at his most relaxed or comfortable they come creeping to the surface, in the sound of his laugh or the brightness of his true smile, when the shadow in his eyes lifts completely and he truly doesn’t have a care in the world, but these moments are so rare that most people in his life now haven’t seen them. He is much more likely to slip into this state when in the company of his closest friends, Regina, Lee, and Krystiana, and these three have seen the relaxed and comfortable Casey more than anyone else in the pack, hands down.

Casey’s hatred towards humans is borne of fear, as a result of what was done to him so many years ago, a time that has more than left its mark on him in every way possible. While he treats bitten and turned wolves no differently than those who were born, he does believe they are better off now than they were before, and any and all humans are beneath him and not to be trusted; to Casey they are vile, vicious creatures who hurt and destroy simply because they can, and they all pose a very real threat in his mind. Having them in proximity makes him wildly unpredictable, and while there are those within the pack who can keep him reined in and watch for signs of trouble, Casey loses himself much more easily when he is around mortals, and he doesn’t even try to control himself. The trauma he suffered has stripped away his desire to do so, leaving behind a werewolf who is much more likely to lean on his animal side than try to balance between the two. Casey relies heavily on his wolf and doesn’t know where he would be without it, and while he doesn’t always act feral, the animal is always there, close to the surface, just in case he should need it.

Without the pack Casey doesn’t know where he would be, and it was his desire to repay them for taking him in that drove him, at least in part, to learning how to fight. Obviously his own terrible experiences awoke within him the need to defend himself, to learn how to do so effectively, but he wanted to prove to the pack that he could be of use, that he could help them, should the need arise. Casey has been abandoned once in his life, by the very people who should have always been there for him, and on some level he is terrified of that happening again; deep down he *is* ashamed of his inability to keep himself under control, but his own fears and his anger are much louder and more influential than any shame he might feel. He is definitely one of the most unpredictable members of the pack, one that others sometimes go out of their way to avoid or placate, respectively, depending on the day or the person in question, but Casey does care about those around him, and would do anything to keep them safe. He failed to protect himself and someone he cared about in the past, and more than anything he is desperately determined to never let that happen again.

## Abilities.

**STRENGTHS:** Just as Casey shares the traditional weaknesses with the rest of his race, he also shares their abilities: enhanced senses, strength, speed, endurance, agility, balance, grace, healing, and pain threshold; he can leap to, from, and across great distances without penalty; and of course he can transform from man to wolf and back again at will. Casey can, if he so chooses, deny his change during the three night cycle of the full moon, but he usually chooses not to, at least not for the full duration. He is very in tune with his animal side, having come to rely on it strongly, and the instincts are always influencing him in some way; his body language hints at the animal within more often than not, even in gestures as small as a tilt of his head. Casey trusts his wolf side completely, he’s had to rely on it to keep him alive more than once in the past, and as such it’s always close to the surface, even if not visibly so.

Obviously, given his status within the pack, Casey is a more than capable fighter, not only in hand-to-hand combat, but also in the use of knives; he much prefers knives to guns or anything else, they’re smaller and easier to not only wield but conceal, and he has become extremely proficient in their use over the years, to the point where he can cause the maximum amount of damage with a minimum number of wounds, and if he throws a blade, he can hit his target nine times out of ten, and even when he misses the point he was aiming for he still manages to strike his enemy more often than not, even if it’s only to wound instead of kill. He *can* use a gun, or a sword, but he prefers not to; he’s much more confident with knives, and by association daggers, and trusts himself with them more. If nothing else they allow him to get up close and personal in a fight, and Casey actually enjoys close combat, perhaps a little too much sometimes.

Casey is an accomplished gamer, spending many hours a week either in front of a television or a computer screen, playing any number of games, though they are usually violent in their nature. He initially got into them in order to relieve stress when he couldn’t patrol or train, but he came to develop a fondness for them as time went on, to the point where he cannot go more than a day without indulging in a little gaming time. Casey can actually interact with humans through these games, albeit only online and via a headset and a digital world filled with fantastical creatures, but it’s still something. He’s a big fan of movies, especially thrillers, horrors, or anything with a lot of action, and he reads darker novels as well; if he has an interest in it, then he knows a fair amount about it, and you could ask him any number of questions and he’ll probably know the answer. He can cook, if only Italian food, and he’s an accomplished drummer as well, another hobby he picked up some time ago in order to deal with stress. Finally, he is fully fluent in not only English, but his first language of Italian; he can read, write, and speak both languages perfectly.

**WEAKNESSES:** As a werewolf, Casey shares his race’s severe aversion to silver, which in close proximity can nauseate him, or upon contact, can burn him horribly and cause immeasurable pain. Should the silver somehow infect his body it would poison him, and if it were to ever make its way into his bloodstream it could very possibly kill him, especially if the infection were to reach his lungs, heart, or brain. Despite his age, Casey doesn’t have the most concrete control over his wolf form. When the full moon rises he becomes more volatile and aggressive, even towards those in the pack at times, and at least one night of the cycle he transforms; it isn’t unheard of for him to go down to the basement with the younger wolves and *allow* his animal side to take control completely. In a combat situation, Casey is usually one of the first to transform and rely on his wolf’s natural ferocity instead of manmade weapons such as his blades. He has enough control to be trusted as a fighter, and he directs that ferocity well in a combat situation, but on some level Casey has never really tried to cage his inner animal completely, and he doesn’t really see why he should. Some people might say that Casey has a problem with his temper, or even go so far as to say he has rage issues, and those people wouldn’t be wrong, not really. There are times when Casey doesn’t seem to be all *there*, when you can look into his eyes and not really see him, because he’s somewhere else, and it is in these times that it is most important to bring him back to himself as quickly as possible.

Casey has a rather strong fear of needles, or similar items, sometimes even extending to thin blades; they cannot do him any lasting damage, but as a direct result of severe pain inflicted by them in the past he has developed what you might even call a phobia. The closer you get to him with one, the less control he is likely to have when it comes to his own reaction, and he’s the sort of werewolf who will lash out against anything he sees as a threat rather than try to stay calm and avoid it. This same traumatic period in his past has also led to Casey developing a severe dislike of humans, bordering on loathing. He cannot stand to be in proximity to them, they disgust and unnerve him, and he absolutely *cannot* be left alone with any human at any time. Casey’s fear has become anger over the years, vicious, all-consuming anger, and if he were to be left alone with a human, even in a crowded space where he should really know to control himself so as not to expose the pack or his race in general, Casey would not hesitate to lash out. There have been close calls in the past, times when he would have killed humans if others from the pack hadn’t managed to stop him in time. This makes him somewhat unreliable as a fighter, there is a definite risk involved with sending him out on patrols or into fights, but he is generally under someone’s supervision at all times, and he *is* good at what he does when it comes to combat.

Despite the fact that he was born a rogue, Casey has become a pack wolf through and through, and he needs that stability and support in order to get by nowadays. There are days when the companionship of others keeps him from tipping over the edge, and his fellow wolves are all that keep him from losing control, from losing *himself*. He might growl and grumble at others in the pack sometimes, but he does care about them all in his own way. There are a few, however, who mean more to him than the others, and he wouldn’t even try to deny it. Spencer Robertson was like a mentor to him, and he was frequently paired with the older fighter on patrols and during outings where violence is expected; Spence could bring Casey back to himself even in a combat situation, and the older fighter knew how to make him back down should things get tense. There are three others in the pack with whom Casey has bonded beyond all others, and it is this group he would defend to his last breath, without hesitation. Lee Stafford has become more like a brother to Casey than a mere friend, and the two males spend a good deal of times together, playing video games or watching movies; Krystiana Sokal is someone Casey sees himself as being responsible for, and he is deeply protective of her, sometimes unnecessarily so; and finally there is Regina Vienneau, who has come to mean the world to Casey. He loves spending time with the French female, and he would do anything to keep her safe; he knows she can fend for herself, as one of those Regina has trusted with her secret passion for fencing, but that doesn’t mean a thing in Casey’s mind, not really. He would lay down his life for her in a heartbeat, and deep down beneath that fierce desire to protect is another powerful emotion that he has yet to acknowledge or even realise.

## Other Information.

**WEAPONS:** Casey is much more skilled with bladed weapons than he is with any sort of firearm and as such he avoids the latter and only ever carries the former. He has a fondness for shorter blades, even though at a push he could handle something longer and more substantial. His personal collection is made up of a pair of combat knives, one bowie knife, and a couple of sets of throwing knives.

**PRIZED POSSESSIONS:** Casey’s bowie knife belonged to his father, all he could find of his parents after he was separated from them, and as such it has a great deal of sentimental value. Outside of the knife, there are no material possessions Casey believes to be irreplaceable; he would miss some of the things he has come to own, but he could go on without them. The pack mean more to him than possessions, and specifically his group of friends, Regina, Lee, and Krystiana. Regina has come to mean more to him, or at least on more *levels*, than the others, and though he cares for them all deeply, and fiercely, it is Regina that he would go to the greatest lengths to protect and save.

**HOME(S):** Casey lived in The Four Seasons, a renovated hotel, along with the rest of the pack, until recently when their home was attacked and subsequently destroyed by a rival band of wolves. Now Casey lives with the rest of the pack in \*\*\*\*, their new home, another renovated hotel. Casey’s room holds very little in the way of personal touches, he’s not big on material possessions and he doesn’t see much of a point in making the place more personal than it already is, especially after the destruction of their last home.

## History.

Casey was born to Lucas and Mary Adams, a pair of rogue wolves, in Italy in 1763. Lucas and Mary, who had never much cared for the constraints of pack life, had wandered Europe for years before settling in Italy, though their rogue ways still got the better of them and they were known to wander, shifting from place to place every few years. As a result of this nomadic lifestyle, Casey had seen a good deal of Italy before he was even old enough to transform for the first time. Lucas and Mary were quick to teach him all the things a rogue needed to know, the importance of secrecy and discretion, the dangers of trying too hard to interact with humans; they taught him how to hunt and fend for himself, all the things they had long since learned for themselves. Casey grew up speaking Italian as his first language, though his parents had also taken the time to teach him English, their own native tongue. Despite the fact that he hardly looked Italian and that his name was wildly different from those of the humans in the towns and villages they passed through and lived near to as he was growing up, Casey never thought of himself as anything but; it was where he had been born, where he had been raised and educated, and it would always be his home.

Life was comfortable in these early years, as Casey went from childhood to what would now be called his teenage years, into early-adulthood; of course, in the world of wolves, he was still very much a child by the time he was considered a man in the eyes of humans. The fact that he didn’t age was never a problem thanks to the family’s nomadic lifestyle, they moved around every five to ten years, and as such Casey had no trouble fitting in with the mortal population wherever they happened to settle. Lucas and Mary worried about their son getting too close to humans, and they were right to; they had warned their only child against spending too much time around mortals, how difficult it would be for him to conceal his true nature over time, especially with the full moons presenting such a danger, but Casey was wilful and curious, bound and determined to do as he pleased despite his parents’ concerns. He knew not to go around the towns and villages when the moon was nearly full, and he understood how dangerous it could be if they learned what he really was. Humans feared what they did not understand, after all, and Casey never intended to hurt anyone.

All those concerns and cautions went out the window, however, when he began to fall for a young girl named Rosa; she was pretty and friendly and she had a nice laugh, she was kind to Casey and went out of her way to make him feel like he belonged. As time went on, they were together more and more, and Lucas and Mary began to grow troubled; they told Casey to break it off, that no good could come of any sort of relationship with a human, but their son would not listen. With increasing urgency he was drawn to Rosa, his feelings growing, until he felt he couldn’t live without her; the very thought of losing her filled him with a dread the likes of which he had never felt before. These feelings were only intensified by the approach of the full moon, and poor Rosa had no idea what she was getting herself into as Casey’s animal side crept closer to the surface and instinct began to war with common sense, slowly taking over.

It was this instinct and the pull of the moon that caused Casey to make what he has long since come to recognise as the single greatest mistake he has ever made in his lifetime. The two were spending time together in the forest, admiring the stars and enjoying one another’s company, when Casey acted rashly, without thinking what the consequences might be. He bit her. In human form the wound was barely anything at all, just the smallest draw of blood, hardly life-threatening, but it was enough to start in motion a catastrophic chain of events. Rosa was shocked and wary, but gave Casey a chance to explain; of course, when he went on to tell her that he was not human, but in fact a werewolf, and now that he had bitten her she too would become one, Rosa panicked. Terrified, she ran from Casey, and though he called after her and followed her to the edge of the forest, he halted at the threshold when he saw that others had heard her cries. People on the edge of the town’s borders were coming to her aid, and it was too late.

Casey sought refuge in the forest he had come to know so well, too frightened to go back to his parents and tell them what he had done. He couldn’t follow Rosa to the village, and he couldn’t go to his mother and father. Casey was stuck in the middle, all alone, and ultimately defenceless against what happened next. The townspeople were in an uproar, caught between disbelief and terror in the wake of Rosa’s story, and they poured into the forest to find her attacker. Overcome with the fear of what might happen now and regret in the face of what he had done, Casey didn’t hear them coming until it was too late.

Outnumbered and reluctant to do more damage than he already had, Casey was soon overpowered and all but dragged back to the town. All the while he asked after Rosa, tried to find out what had happened to her, if she was all right, if he could see her so he could apologise, but his words fell on deaf ears. When Casey saw the cage in the town’s centre he tried to fight, tried to get away, but there were too many of them and they had no reservations about causing him harm in order to subdue him. Before long he was locked in the cage, chained at the ankles and wrists, and for a time the townspeople hung back, unsure what to do with him now that he was restrained and confined. Afraid and surrounded by people who might very well do him harm, Casey involuntarily began to show signs of his true nature; his eyes paled closer to their wolfen near-white, his hair streaked through at the roots with steely brown. When one man came too close without warning, he growled.

It wasn’t long before they were crying out for the monster to be destroyed, for this evil that had found its way into their midst to be driven out, but even with the visible signs there were those among the crowd who still did not believe. It was this uncertainty that drove the bravest amongst the people to try and bring the animal to the surface, the demon as some of the more extreme onlookers called it. It was nothing at first, just a lot of shoving and prodding through the bars of the cage, but it quickly escalated, turning violent and *vicious*. Casey tried in vain to make them stop, tried to assure them he meant no harm, but they refused to listen, and if anything his pleas spurred them on. What had started with blunt instruments escalated to the use of actual weapons, things intended to cause him pain. When they first drew blood Casey was shocked enough to reel back, once again inadvertently doing himself more harm than good when the retreat gave the crowd enough time to see, through the torn fabric of his shirt, the edges of the wound drawing together as he healed.

Before Casey could understand what was happening the cage was being opened and men were pressing inside, crowding his space and essentially cornering him. Among them was one of the town’s religious leaders, who was instrumental in what went on to happen: they tortured Casey, forcing him down to the ground so they could hurt him with the crowd looking on. The wounds were not meant to kill Casey, or cause him lasting, life-threatening harm, instead to cause pain, to make him confess to a crime he had never committed. He confessed to biting Rosa, he had done that even before they started hurting him, and the girl herself had told them that he had said he was a werewolf, something he told them himself repeatedly, some part of him hoping that they might stop if he admitted it. They didn’t.

When word spread that Rosa had died as a result of her injuries, things took a turn, and the pain the men caused became close to unbearable. Casey knew, even with what the men were doing to him and the hateful cries against him, that he had not killed Rosa, that his bite could never have ended her life. These people who were hurting him now had killed Rosa, he was sure of it, and the longer he endured the pain they inflicted upon him the more he believed it. They had done to her what they would eventually do to him, and it was only the thought of the approaching full moon that gave him any kind of hope. Surely he would have enough strength to break free when the moon came.

Casey was wrong again. When the moon rose and he began to transform, the men were undeterred; under the watchful eye of their leader they brought in more chains and used them to trap the beast completely, making it all but impossible for the wolf to move. All through the night they worked on the creature, inflicting such horrible pain that the wolf’s agonised howls could be heard throughout the entire town, even as far as the trees in which he had tried to hide. At some point during the night Casey lost consciousness, and it wasn’t until he awoke late into the next day that he realised how much damage had been done: they had broken bones and bled him, and the blinding pain he felt when he tried to move, the *burning*, told him they had used silver. Casey was so weak he could barely move, but it was far from over.

The men returned and revisited every torture upon him; the wounds that had healed during his unconsciousness were inflicted anew, bones that had knit were broken again, and Casey felt the searing bite of silver when they drove hot needles into his skin. To cleanse the evil from him, the priest told him as he looked on, to drive the demon from his body. Casey tried to tell him there was nothing to cleanse, nothing to purge, but the words were too difficult to form in between assaults.

Once again the moon rose and fell, the night passing with the wolf chained down and set upon by the townspeople. Casey barely regained consciousness during the day that followed, drifting in and out of awareness long enough to see people looking in at him or watching from afar, too scared to approach, whispering amongst themselves. It was only as the third and final night was setting in that he came around long enough to hear the men coming for him again. Casey has come to believe that it was at that point, on that third day as dusk was drawing in, that some part of him gave up, that something in him simply *broke*. They had caused him so much pain, so much suffering, that he simply could not take any more.

It wasn’t until the night had come and gone that this break became evident. The full moon had passed and when day dawned and the rain started to fall, Casey started to regain consciousness. Something felt different, more distant somehow, and he was dimly aware of onlookers as he came back to himself, tried and failed to pull himself up from the ground. When he heard the squelching of boots in mud as men approached the cage, he managed to lift his head to see his tormentors returning. At the sight of the priest in their midst Casey felt a surge of anger, a fierce and feral refusal to endure any more pain, but he was quiet and still as the cage was unlocked and the men stepped inside.

Today it would end, the priest told him, there was no saving him now. Casey simply stared up at the man, silent, and did something he had never done before: he let the animal take over. Completely.

Before the men and their leader could react, caught off guard and thoroughly unprepared, Casey transformed, with such force and speed that they had no time to restrain him further. It shouldn’t have been possible for him to change so swiftly in his condition, Casey knew that, but he was past caring. These people had hurt him, they had chained him down and tortured him, and he had had *enough*. The manacles meant to restrain his human form were too weak to hold that of the wolf and they broke under the strain, releasing the frenzied wolf upon his tormentors. Screams tore through the town square, blood splashed across the ground and the bars of the cage, and Casey ripped and rent and tore his way through his captors without remorse. The priest was the last to go, having made it out of the cage only to be knocked to the ground by the enraged werewolf. Casey dug his claws into the man’s back, driving them deep, listening to the agonised sounds the priest made as his flesh tore and his blood pooled to the ground. Deeper and deeper he drove his claws, letting the human feel his hot breath against the back of his neck, until finally he crushed the priest’s skull between his jaws.

Casey fought his way free of the town, killing anything that got in his path, leaving a slew of bodies in his wake, but when he saw the trees he just *ran*. On and on he ran until the sounds of the screaming from the town were far in the distance, and only then he did he stop, sinking to the ground and shivering, covered in blood, some of it his own and some of it not; he could taste it in his mouth, it was all he could smell. Casey found a place to hide and burrowed himself into it, spending the night there, and most of the next day, too overwhelmed to venture out. Only when the next night crept in did he finally make his way out into the forest again. At some point while he had been sleeping he had reverted to human form but he forced himself to change despite the pain; it was easier to defend himself in his wolf form, should the townspeople come after him again.

Following his feet and his memory, Casey made his way to the house where he had spent the last few years of his life, the place where he expected to find his parents. All he found was silence and stillness, and he felt fear build in him again. Returning to human form so he could call out for his mother and father, Casey ventured into the house. The fire was out, and had not been lit the previous night, or the one before that, the scent of food was old, and what few personal possessions his parents had kept with them over the years were gone. All Casey could find of them was his father’s knife, forgotten or discarded under the table where they had eaten their meals together. Casey didn’t know what to do.

So he did the only thing he could do: he tried to track them. Packing what little he could gather together he took out after them, intending to follow their scent, even managing to track it through several streams and a river, though it diluted with each pass through water. When he reached a second river, he lost the trail completely. For hours on end he sat beside that river, not knowing what to do with himself and feeling as lost as he had ever felt in his life. His wounds were still healing, he was struggling to deal with what had happened to him, and he was just beginning to face the prospect of being alone when a feeling much like the one he had experienced that final day in the cage came over him again.

His parents were gone. They had abandoned him. He was alone now. That was the way it was now. Casey understood now that this was his wolf side summarising a situation and helping him to deal with it as only an animal could. Assess, plan, move on. He couldn’t very well sit by a river for the rest of his life, so he had to get up. He needed to eat, he hadn’t had a decent meal in days, which meant hunting. So he would hunt.

For several years, that was Casey’s life. In a way things were boiled down to their simplest, and the wolf in him came to the surface more and more. Casey had no reason not to let it, his animal side had very literally saved his life, and now it was helping him to survive as a lone rogue. So he hunted and he prowled, slowly working his way through Italy and out, and eventually to the very edges of Europe. There was nothing left for him there now, he knew, and so it made sense to leave. Only when the full moon had passed did he stow away on a boat making passage across to England, keeping to himself, eating what food he could steal from storage, and managing to go undetected, taking to land on the other side.

Casey made short work of getting away from people once he reached England. Being close to them awoke something in him that he didn’t care to face, proximity, the very *smell* of them filled him with fear, which the wolf turned into aggression, and so he kept away. He went back to his roaming ways, moving from here to there, never getting too close to human civilisation and hunting his own meat in forests and woodlands, sometimes even taking it from fields when nothing else could be found.

It was during one of these hunts that he came across something surprising. He almost didn’t see them at first, they blended with the shadows so well, but as the chase went on they came into view, more and more of them. A pack. Casey watched them, quietly fascinated, thinking he was being so stealthy and subtle until one of the wolves looked right at him. They had brought down their prey, killed it quickly and efficiently, and Casey felt his stomach growl. He hadn’t eaten in a few days, nothing so satisfying and substantial as *meat* anyway, and the scent of it made him realise just how hungry he was. Still, this was a pack kill, and he was intruding on their territory; he had to admit defeat and leave.

He hadn’t made it far before he heard the rustle of dried twigs and leaves behind him. Whirling, hackles raised and teeth bared, Casey was surprised to see the same wolf standing several feet away. In his mouth he had a chunk of meat, obviously torn from the carcass of the stag they had brought down. Not knowing what else to do, Casey simply stood there, even when the other wolf set the meat down and backed off. It wasn’t until the other male backed off even further and then turned and left that Casey snatched up the meat and headed back to the modest home he had made for himself.

When he emerged from the little rundown house the next morning he was once again caught off guard by a man standing there, waiting to greet him. Casey was immediately on the alert, tensed and ready to fight or run, but the other man asked if he’d had enough to eat. That was when Casey realised this man wasn’t a man at all, but another werewolf, the one who had followed him through the trees to give him the meat. One of the pack, one Spencer Robertson, had tracked him to his house, at first he thought to drive him out of territory he had no business being in, but actually to extend an offer to him. Casey was welcome to meet with the pack, join them if he so chose, and for the life of him he couldn’t think of a reason not to go through with it.

So that was exactly what he did, hesitantly and warily at first, though as time went on he realised it was something he had been sorely lacking, something he had needed in the wake of everything that had happened in Italy. For a time he stayed on the fringes, watching rather than participating, but as the weeks turned into months, and the months into years, he integrated himself the best he could. Despite the fact that he never shared his story with anyone, there was no hiding the fact that he was a danger to humans, that he couldn’t be trusted to be around them, but he balanced that out with his desire to protect the pack, to learn how to do so by becoming a fighter. It wasn’t something he could do properly until he had achieved control of his wolf during the full moon, but Casey worked at it, and when the time came he was able to resist the change when the lunar cycle reached its peak. That meant he was ready to become a fully-fledged fighter within the pack, a position Casey was more than ready to take on; it gave him a sense of purpose and it was a way of showing his gratitude to those who had taken a chance in letting him in in the first place.

If there was one thing Casey had been lacking all his life, it was friends, but those were quick to come about in the pack. It was just a matter of waiting for the right ones to come along. Regina Vienneau and Lee Stafford were the first, and the three bonded quickly and fiercely, spending a great deal of time together; they brought a little of the old Casey to the surface from time to time, and it was in their company that he learned he could relax, that it was safe to just be himself sometimes. The final member of their little party came in the form of Krystiana Sokal, a female who found her way into the pack through Casey, Regina, and Lee, when the three came upon her under attack one night and went out of their way to come to her aid. In a way they took her under their wing, adopting her into their group, their little pack within the pack.

Casey is no longer the same person he used to be, the same wolf, but he believes he has found his place now, and it is a place he will fight fiercely to defend, tooth and claw if he has to. He has proven himself to be a capable fighter, and a loyal friend, even if he is a bit of a wildcard when it comes to the big bad world of humans all around them. All that aside, Casey considers himself lucky to be where he is now, surrounded by people who would go out of their way to help and support him. All things considered, it could be a *lot* worse.

## Trivia.

* Casey isn’t at all fond of needles, so it’s highly unlikely he’ll ever get a tattoo. The thought has crossed his mind more than once, but never for more than a few seconds at a time.
* Has borderline homicidal tendencies.
* Plays World of Warcraft, unwittingly, with Jeremy Starke from LA’s other large pack.
* Favourite snack food is potato chips, but he won’t eat from an already-open bag.
* Favourite computer game is Time Splitters 2.
* Practises with his throwing knives when games won’t relieve stress.
* Considers Regina one of his closest friends in the pack.
* Dislikes rude authority figures.
* Isn’t superstitious.
* Would love to go to Rome.
* Is a big fan of Creed.
* Used to get called pup by Spence.
* Frequently conceals his knives in the lining or inner pockets of his jackets.
* Refuses to let the pack's physician tend to his wounds; would much rather one of the pack did it themselves.
* *Die Hard* is one of his favourite movies; he frequently watches it with Lee.