Chapter Sixteen: Brand New Colony

"I'll be the grapes fermented, bottled and
served with the table set in my finest suit
like a perfect gentleman.
I'll be the fire escape that's bolted to the
ancient brick where you will sit
and contemplate your day.

"I'll be the waterwings that save you if you
start drowning in an open tab when your
judgment's on the brink.
I'll be the phonograph that plays your favorite
albums back as you're lying there, drifting off
to sleep... drifting off to sleep...

"I'll be the platform shoes; undo what heredity's done to you:
you won't have to strain to look into my eyes.
I'll be your winter coat buttoned and zipped
straight to the throat with the collar up so
you won't catch a cold.

"I want to take you far from the cynics in this town
and kiss you on the mouth.
We'll cut our bodies free from the tethers of
this scene, start a brand new colony.
Where everything will change, we'll give
ourselves new names. Identities erased.
The sun will heat the grounds, under our bare
feet in this brand new colony."

--The Postal Service

"I want to have the boy turned," the Andraste suddenly said, interrupting the steady flow of their conversation on how to deal with ornery wolves in the El Campo pack.

"Uh - what?" Hunter said, desperately trying to catch up with her thread of the conversation. It was early in the morning, and tea didn't do it for him quite like coffee. He missed drinking coffee by himself, early in the mornings in the human realm.

"Connor," the Andraste clarified, sending a strange thrill up Hunter's spine. "I want him turned into a werewolf, so we can be sure of his loyalty. I don't think he'll decide to stay with us otherwise."

The same worry had plagued Hunter's mind a bit, because he hadn't seen Connor since their now-uncomfortable conversation and because today marked a week since he'd come to the camp. Still, though...

"Turning him? Don't you think that's a bit - extreme? Not to mention immoral and against our usual standards? We don't turn humans who know of us unless they ask for it." It felt strange stating such a well-known rule in front of the leader of all the werewolves in America.

"He could quite possibly become the most powerful supernatural human in the whole world," she reminded Hunter, as if he'd forgotten. Which he might've, after coming face-to-face with Connor's vulnerable puppy dog eyes. "Given the circumstances, I don't think anyone will blame me if I break one simple rule to insure he's tied to us forever." Dumbstruck, Hunter just nodded his head. "Would you like some more tea?"

In answer, Hunter pushed his cup forward with his index finger and the Andraste refilled it. He took a sip of it and scalded his mouth before realizing how hot it was, and he almost spit the tea back into his cup. It went down his throat with difficulty, searing its path with heat.

He had to do something - he had no idea yet what, exactly, just that he had to do something. No matter what, he knew he couldn't let them turn Connor. And the thought was laughable - them, like he wasn't a werewolf, except that many times in his exile he hadn't felt like one.

"Alright, well this meeting is over," the Andraste said, rising from a kneel on her cushions. Hunter quickly followed her; standing, he was several inches taller than the female werewolf, but he didn't feel it.

"Something wrong?" There was a knowing glint in her eyes, as Hunter stood awkwardly before her.

"Nothing," he said a little too quickly. "If that's all?"

"You're dismissed."

Leaving the tent as quickly as he could, Hunter felt the Andraste's eyes on his back and wondered if she knew he was planning to do - well, something. He wouldn't put it past her to be manipulating him somehow, but he didn't care, because when he woke up that morning and realized today was quite possibly Connor's last full day in the supernatural realm, his first thought was: I want to see him again. And for the life of him he couldn't figure out why.

.ooO.oOo.Ooo.

An eerie feeling of deja vu washed over Connor when he saw the newly-turned human who was, in fact, the same Alejandro he'd lived with for a few weeks. Alejandro's back was to him, but he recognized the shoulder length black hair and stance. It took him a few moments to admit he recognized the nice ass as well. Something about him was different, but Connor couldn't quite put his finger on it.

He'd heard about Alejandro joining the camp that morning. Carla had told him the story over morning tea - something of a cultural tradition among the werewolves - with Jess in front of her tent. He'd been surprised when the name "Alejandro" came up, but he hadn't expected it to be 'his' Alejandro.

"He came out of a gate at the edge of camp," Carla had explained. "A few werewolves - some of the stupider ones among us, in my opinion - thought he was attacking, so they went after him even though the boy was weaponless. They thought he was a shape-walker," she'd said with a snort.

"Shape-walker?" Jess had inquired.

"Ah - I guess you don't know about them. They're rare, shape walkers. They're Native American shape changers. Most of 'em were killed when the tribes were slaughtered by the Americans. Used to be, you could find shape-walkers who could turn into ravens, snakes, vultures, rats, and coyotes. Now mostly there are just the coyote type, and they're weaker since the blood has been dulled by human blood. They're still dangerous, though, and they're impervious to werewolf magic. A lot of them hunt werewolves."

Connor exchanged a worried glance with Jess. "Wait, you mean there are people who hunt werewolves?" Connor asked.

Carla nodded her head. "Not all werewolf packs are under the Andraste's protection. We have laws and punishments for breaking them, but some packs go rogue or individual werewolves break off. They're the type that the horror stories are made of - killing men and turning them, all those things we don't let our wolves do. But a lot of hunters don't differentiate between us and them, and they'll kill any werewolf they see, which is why they attacked the boy when they thought he was a shape-walker. Turns out he was just a regular human boy. He's probably gonna have to stay with the pack for a year now, so we can train 'im, and then he'll get to choose some other pack to join back in the human realm. You'll see him wandering around camp, looking all lost. Pretty boy - name's Alejandro."

"Alejandro?" Connor had asked, startled.

"Yeah. You know him?"

Connor shook his head, sure he didn't. "No. No, I doubt it."

But now here he was, staring at what was definitely Alejandro's backside. A werewolf. Alejandro was a werewolf now, Carla had said, because he'd survived the attack and the enzyme had gotten in his bloodstream and changed his DNA. Unable to wrap his head around that concept, Connor shook his head and started towards Alejandro, not sure what he was going to say but knowing he had to say something.

Before he could get to Alejandro, though, someone else did. He was tall, an inch or so over six feet, with straight black hair and olive skin. Jason, Connor realized, Alejandro's on-again-off-again ex - or at least that's how Denny had described him. There was a desperate look on his face; until, that is, he saw Alejandro. Some invisible tension eased out of his shoulders, and he called out to the hispanic boy. Turning, Alejandro went from a stiff posture, staring out at something Connor couldn't see, to reeling with shock and something else. Taking the last steps to him, Jason reached out and held Alejandro to him. They were like that for some time, only parting to exchange a passionate kiss.

And Connor felt nothing but relief.

They hadn't seen him yet, so he turned around and went back to his tent - or at least, Hunter's tent. Opium was inside, taking a dognap on the bed that still smelled foreign to Connor. It took a while for Connor to realize that the smell was the same one he'd gotten a brief whiff of after his confusing conversation with Hunter; it was a smell that, when he slept on the cot every night, would simultaneously make his heart beat irregularly and give him a sense of peace, comfort and security.

Life, Connor was once again noticing, tended to go where it willed.

.ooO.oOo.Ooo.

The next day, the day that Connor planned on telling the Andraste he, along with his sister, would be leaving, he saw Hunter across a few rows of tents. Frozen for a few moments, he watched unobserved as Hunter talked to one of the other werewolves. He had to shake himself to go forward to the Andraste's tent; he didn't want Hunter to see him and have to say goodbye.

For some reason, the guard in front of the largest tents in the camp didn't heckle him or even blink when he came forward; in fact, he stepped aside and opened the tent flap with a nod of his head. Glancing at him curiously, unable to remember if this was the same guard that had been so rude his first day in the camp, Connor walked inside the warmly lit space to see the powerful woman who waited inside.

In a tent a few rows over, Opium raised his head from sleep and sniffed the air with a growl. Not far, standing outside barefoot on the smooth ground, Hunter was interrupted from talking to a lone werewolf who wanted to join the pack by a heavy hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Lincoln standing behind him, panting from running.

"The Andraste's got the boy. I think she's gonna turn him or something. I don't know-" the rest of his words were cut off as Hunter suddenly broke away, leaving Lincoln's hand floating in air. He shifted into his wolf form and ran straight towards the monolith rising about the peaks of other tents; never before had he been so glad the Andraste's tent was so noticeable.

He barely even noticed when Lincoln joined him, running beside him as a black werewolf. People got out of their way, often with shouted curses, but took no other notice; werewolves running through camp was common enough not to be commented in. So by the time they reached the Andraste's tent, Hunter had gathered enough momentum that he barreled down the guard in front without stopping for enquiries. The guard quickly changed forms and lunged for him, but Lincoln interrupted his path, a black, snarling streak in the air. Hunter left them behind with barely a thought.

Inside the tent, incense permeated the air with so much smoke that Hunter's eyes stung and he had to close them, sneezing; he couldn't make out one smell from the other in the chaos. Desperately, he opened his sore eyes and faintly made out shapes in the grayness. There were multiple werewolves in the tent, most in human form, and Hunter dodged through them looking for Connor. He worried that he was too late; he knew what the incense meant.

In a sudden break through the smoke Hunter found Connor, the Andraste looming over him. They'd stuck him in a straight-backed chair and put basic restraints on him, not that they were necessary; the incense was like a drug to humans, making them weak and highly susceptible to suggestion. It also dulled pain and increased the effect of the werewolf enzyme.

None of this went through Hunter's head; all he saw was Connor, neck smooth, pale and as weak as an infant's, his head lolled against the back of the chair. In front of him, the mottled grey shape of the Andraste in her wolf form, crouching on the ground, sprung into action. Hunter was half a second behind her.

He leapt on her, interrupting her lunge; that was all he managed to do, though, before she rolled him over on his back and snarled in his face. Instinctively, Hunter submitted to her, whining and exposing his throat; the dominance of the Andraste was impossible to ignore.

In exchange for his submission, the Andraste licked his muzzle sweetly and got off him. Hunter suddenly struggled to get up, panicked, afraid she would go after Connor again. But instead, the Andraste changed to her human form and stood in front of Connor's chair, waving incense away from his frail form. She glanced at Hunter, who took the hint and changed into his human form so they could talk. Lincoln joined them a few moments later, sharing Hunter's puzzled glance in the slowly dispersing smoke; both of them had thought this ceremony would go through no matter what they did, but something had made Hunter want to try anyway, and he knew Lincoln had helped him only because of a debt he still owed.

As the incense smoke settled to the ground, the forms of the other werewolves in the room became visible; they were all standing, as humans, in two rows of seven, and the space between them formed an aisle from the tent entrance to the chair with Connor in it. Hunter recognized them as fourteen pack leaders, and became angry; in order for this ceremony to formally began, each of the pack leaders was supposed to insure that the human to be turned had come of his own volition, something Hunter knew they hadn't done.

"What's going on here?" one of them asked. His face was indistinguishable in the fold of his ceremonial robe, but Hunter was almost certain who he was.

"This turning had been interrupted," the Andraste calmly replied. "We must now hear Hunter's petition."

All eyes swung towards Hunter and Lincoln, who shifted uncomfortably. Hunter understood now what the Andraste was doing, but only vaguely; petitions during turning ceremonies almost never happened, as the consent of the human was always ensured. On the rare occasions a petitioner interrupted the ceremony, it was usually a friend or relative of the human, who was afraid they would die. That wasn't what Hunter was afraid of; he was afraid Connor would live, and the Andraste would have control of what would be the most powerful werewolf ever. Though he admired the Andraste, Hunter knew her ambitions sometimes got in the way of her judgement. Not to mention that turning Connor without his consent was illegal according to werewolf law.

But Hunter had no personal ties to the case, and knowing this he also knew he wouldn't be allowed to petition the turning. What was said next by one of the leaders confirmed this, "what personal tie does he have to the human?"

Hunter shifted uncomfortably under scrutinizing gazes. "None," he admitted. "Simply personal concern-"

"If he has no personal ties to the human, his petition may not be heard." It irked Hunter that they looked at and spoke to only the Andraste, but he tried not to let their rude behavior bother him.

"This is true," the Andraste conceded, and something in Hunter fell. "Hunter has no personal ties to Connor; he has not even been acquainted with him for longer than five years, so he can't claim personal knowledge of his will." In the chair Connor coughed, then went back into a stuporous half-sleep; Hunter willed him to wake up, but knew the drug would take at least an hour before it even started to wear off. It was potent stuff for a very powerful ceremony.

"It's true that I don't have any personal ties to him," Hunter admitted, grasping for straws, "but someone in this camp does. His sister, Jess."

"A human," Alex, the only one of the leaders who had pushed back the hood of his cloak; the others hid in darkness. "Only a werewolf can petition during a turning ceremony." He glanced at Hunter almost apologetically, and Hunter ground his teeth together.

"There is one way Hunter may create personal ties to Connor," the Andraste began, and gained the attention of everyone in the room. "If he claims them, he can formally renounce the ceremony even if Connor is unconscious."

Stunned silence permeated the air in the tent instead of incense; Hunter could only stare at the Andraste, anxious and horrified at turns. Is this what she'd planned? Would she give him no choice? Either way, she'd get what she wanted: a personal stake on Connor and his influential powers. Which option would be worse, Hunter didn't know, but from the racket the leaders were starting to raise he wouldn't get a choice.

"A claim? Between a male werewolf and a human boy? You must be insane-"

"That impossible!"

"Actually, there are no rules against it, it's just an informality-"

"I'll never allow something like that to happen-"

The rest of the words were drowned out, and at this point all the hoods were off, angry faces displayed for the world to see. Glancing at Connor, Hunter saw that his brow had furrowed somewhat, as if the noise in the room bothered him, but he roused no further. Unable to decide whether this was good or bad, Hunter conceded that at least this way he wouldn't here what Hunter was sure would happen next.

"Enough!" the Andraste interrupted the feuding, and the arguing died down, though she couldn't stop the glares from spreading. The leaders were no longer in their two neat rows, and instead were bunched together in angry and perturbed factions.

"I am, the last time I checked, the only one who can hear, accept and renounce claims. It is up to me whether or not Hunter can claim Connor. That is, of course, assuming this solution would be plausible at all; Hunter hasn't even tried to make a claim yet. Hunter?" Her eyes were liquid ice, burning into Hunter's retinas. The gold of his irises shown as his pupils shrunk in fear and indecision.

"I-" words caught in his throat; why did it feel like he was being dragged kicking and screaming? Because this wasn't his decision at all, he supposed. Then Hunter glanced at Connor; his color was pale, his face slack and somewhat peaceful now that the arguing had stopped. Hunter remembered reaching out to touch Connor's face after telling a story he hadn't known he could tell, and how it had seemed at that moment that the touch of skin was all that could save him. Hunter hadn't had loving skin-to-skin contact in so long, it felt like he was dying of it, thirsting after something fundamentally basic to his health.

"I, Hunter, once known as Conall Jeremy Evans, make a claim on Connor Hollingsworth." It seemed wrong that Connor was asleep for this, only he wasn't, his head came up a bit and his eyes fluttered just as Hunter started to say, "For I mean to honor and cher-" the rest was cut off by angry voices. One of the werewolf leaders started for Hunter, who knew what for, and Hunter felt Lincoln's surprised and wary look on his face, and one of the leaders had changed forms-

And then the Andraste was there, standing between Hunter and Connor, who was starting to look drowsy but somewhat aware (maybe the incense worked different on summoners, Hunter guessed) and the leader of all the werewolves in North America, once called affectionately Cassy, a mother who loved to sew, reached out and touched their hands. Her skin was cool and soothing against Hunter's hand; he wondered if it felt that way to Connor too. Behind them, the werewolf leaders stopped and milled a bit, confused and still angry, but something about the Andraste - her presence, her natural dominance - kept them from moving forward to stop this ceremony.

"I hear your claim and I accept it," she said, and somehow that was it, that was the beginning of something Hunter had never felt before. Because as the Andraste stepped back, her touched dropping from their hands, Hunter continued to feel that cool, soothing presence; and he knew that he was bonded to Connor now, fated to die the day the human stopped breathing.

"Let's get you out of here," Hunter said to his new mate, who had no idea what had just happened; Connor nodded his head, eyes slipping dreamily closed, and Lincoln - followed closely by the Andraste - helped him get Connor freed and then out of the tent. They walked past the still-stunned werewolf leaders, and Hunter knew the Andraste would have a bitch and a half on her hands getting through this, but he didn't care.

Looped around his shoulders, Connor's bare arm touched the skin on the back of Hunter's neck, and that was all.

.ooO.oOo.Ooo.

Swirling threads of color that weaved between each other, making symbols and designs that were infinitely different in size. The gate was a blinding, colorful slash in the air that disappeared at a certain angle. If Connor focused, he could see past the colors and to the other side - a drab office, which opened up into the Gate Hub, as Hunter had quickly explained it.

"We have to leave now," he was saying in Connor's ear, still half-supporting him. "Are you gonna be okay?"

His head still felt like he'd been drowning in shots of vodka the night before, but Connor nodded anyway - slowly. Jess was crowded behind him, still worried after they'd pulled her away and quickly tried to explain that they all three had to leave. Connor was still fuzzy on the why - why they had to leave, and why Hunter had to come with. But he figured it would make sense eventually, when someone stopped beating him on the head with a mallet.

"This gate is already wired for the Gate Hub," Hunter was explaining to a still slightly weirded-out Jess, who didn't understand how they'd get to the human realm again, and didn't want to. "All we have to do is dial the access code in here," Hunter motioned to the panel on the metal frame that roughly flanked the gate, "and we're back - back home."

Not missing how he tripped over the word "home," Connor took a few seconds to study the physical part of the gate. The lights kept distracting him - they pulsed like lights on a disco dance floor from ancient times - but he could see the frame if he looked closely. The gate wasn't exactly rectangular; its border wavered and rippled, making it almost impossible to mark it physically for non-divining humans to see. The frame came close, though, and was small enough that the rippling of the gate didn't ever make it shrink inside the frame, which Connor figured would be bad if someone was walking through it when it suddenly got smaller. In the middle of nowhere, the frame would appear innocuous to most people; to a diviner, it was frivolous next to the bright, pulsing light of the gate. Connor was beginning to wonder how he'd never seen a gate before in his life, and how anyone could miss it; it was painfully obvious.

"Are you ready?" Hunter asked.

"Yeah," Connor rasped, straightening to hold his own weight. It was difficult, but his body was less lethargic and unresponsive than it had been even a few minutes ago, when they left the Andraste's tent.

"Okay, let's go." With a step forward, Hunter pushed numbers on the pad in rapid succession. In responsive, the gate frame activated and started to glow; the gate itself suddenly became frantic with activity, and instead of rippling and shimmering like a small stream or brook, it began to move more like white water rapids. Connor had to close his eyes against the light, and could still see it through his eyelids.

The activity lasted a few more seconds, and then all the symbols and threads merged into one flat panel of white light. Opening his eyes, Connor could now clearly see the world on the other side of the gate. Apparently Jess could too, because she gasped. At Connor's heels, the ever-present Opium gave one excited bark; Hunter lifted his head as if scenting the wind, an uncannily wild image on his human face.

"Let's go," someone said, and they stepped through the gate to the other side.

---

A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long. Don't hate me.

Abigail Radle: Dark and mysterious... I like that description! It's probably why I like Hunter better than Alejandro too. Though now that I've developed Alejandro so much, I obviously can't just drop him. As to who will end up with who... well, I think it's beginning to get obvious, don't you? Though of course nothing is set in stone, especially love triangles. Thanks for reviewing!

Drazuki: Ally is just the perfect nickname for Alejandro. So cute. It's good to know you like him; I was wondering if anyone would be annoyed that I've been developing him, because a few times even I got annoyed with Ale. It's nice to know that his role in the future won't be an annoyance to everyone. This chapter took me long enough, didn't it? Heh.

Vampgurl99: As you can see, there is a way for Hunter and Connor to be together, though right now it's still in limbo and awkward. Ah, werewolf ceremonies! They're just crazy. I'm glad you've been asking questions. As to Caroline, she was mentally ill, and perceived her surroundings in a skewed way, so didn't get that anyone liked her. Addressing Hunter running away, he did so because he's never been intimate with anyone. Which is saying something, since he's I think in his fifties technically. I don't consider him that age, though, since he hasn't had mature relationships or chances to grow or have a family in the last couple of decades of his life; maturity and experience wise (talking intimacy, not casual sex and etc.) he's still in his twenties. And afraid of emotions. Thanks for reviewing!

Torri: Ack, run on sentence. Heh. I'm sorry you wanted Alejandro and Connor to get together; maybe it'll help you to know that Alejandro won't be going away? And that he'll be happy, eventually. Sortof-ish. I'm going to still keep up with his story, at least in this book, since he'd been developed so much. Thanks for reviewing!

LetMeSing22 : Thanks for reviewing! Sorry for the delay, though that's just what happens sometimes with real-time writing.

Naomi Shemer: Thanks! The sub-plots may drive me crazy one of these days, but at least they're appreciated. I'm glad you think the characters are developed and the world is interesting; those are the two points that I always try to have in my story. Please continue reviewing!

Hopefully the next chapter won't take as long (cross your fingers, folks! and remember, if you're disappointed about how long it's taking you can always poke me.