A/N: Chapter five will be up sometime next week. My apologies for the delay in updating.

This chapter is dedicated to Armith-Greenleaf, writer of the wonderful Heavenbound ficlet (have a look at it ASAP) for being such a good friend and an extremely nice penpal.

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Chapter 4 : Soul Seeker.

"Useful talent indeed, screaming for help. What a pathetic little wretch," Claret heard someone growl from one of the thrones – she needn't look twice to see who it was.

The throng roared angrily as the man – correction, Feral – sought refuge behind her back like a cowardly pup, shouting into her ear all the while.

"They're gonna kill me! Help!"

She sighed heavily as the cacophony around them rose by an octave. Animals and creatures of all sorts gathered around them like a tight, constricting circle, growling and hissing menacingly but never breaking rank. At the front of the hall, Darius Malarkey – appointed faction leader of the Were-Reptiles – rose from his seat, trying desperately to restore calm amongst the more chaotic leaders of the Dominion.

"Enough."

That one single word fractured the escalating noise, shattering through the chaos that had plundered the vast vestibule. Bodies stilled and terrified eyes flitted to Orion's brilliant emerald ones, everyone and everything lying in a frozen stupor of respect and submission.

Claret's heart pounded in her chest, and she vaguely heard a gleeful yip from behind her.

Well, at least someone's happy, she noted dryly.

"What the hell is going on?" Matthias demanded in her ear once again, his breathing ragged. "Where in God's holy name am-?"

"Shut up," she hissed under her breath, before stepping on his foot.

"Jesus friggin' Christ, woman! That bloody hurt!" he yelped, his lone voice booming throughout the hall.

He continued to hobble around like an idiot – screeching at her and how she was about to get hauled to court for unprovoked bodily harm – and Claret was compelled to just snap his neck to ease her the pain of finding some Tylenol later to squelch her upcoming migraine. She noticed, with greater disdain, that all the Dominion leaders were watching the floundering Feral's movements with meticulous precision, almost as if the were judging him.

Which she realized with growing alarm, they were.

Oh, shit.

"Matthias! Stop moving," she mumbled, the corners of her lips barely twitching.

"Easy for you to say!" he snarled, still not meeting her gaze. "All I wanted was one bloody aspirin, and then some freak in the alley decides it'll be fun to take a chomp on my neck! Do you know how much it costs to laser off scars these days? I'm a model, for god sake's. I didn't sign up for some cultist Halloween costume party and I sure as hell didn't sign up for – holy cripes! Panther!"

Claret was startled out of her gaze – which she had been holding steadily with Kessler, who looked eerily amused for some strange reason – and pivoted around, just to spot a large black cat circle around the Feral, its muzzle wrinkled back in a ferocious snarl.

Wondering which fool had chosen such a delicate moment to shift into his or her native animal form, she moved to intercept the beast, when a sudden mental tone rang across her thoughts.

Stand down, de Runet, Orion's voice blared firmly in her skull. I must assess him for myself.

A few crumpled faces and defeated looks from the crowd assured her that that command was not only meant for her, but for any other stragglers that might have some bright idea to decapitate the Feral when no one was looking. Claret twitched. Thank goodness she hadn't said anything out loud. Or even tried to smack the cat away. Orion would have undoubtedly ripped her to shreds for that.

She watched as Matthias took a step back nervously, his eyes wary and his mouth surprisingly shut for once. The panther stalked forward, its gait lithe and prudent.

It's hopeless, she realized. If he doesn't pass Orion's test…

She shivered with the outcome of such a horrible fate. There was a reason why every creature with the potential to become a Hunter or Slayer was carefully judged before being inducted into the Council. Once one stepped into their world, there was no way of backing out, lest it be death.

And if she thought things couldn't possibly get any worse as Matthias sneezed, she was wrong. Dead wrong.

"Geez, you smell funny. Kinda like peppermint and orange with a touch of Cognac," he blurted at the lumbering cat, before sneezing again. "Dammit."

The panther's eyes widened incredulously and Claret stiffened, suppressing a smile. The cat then spared her a look, almost as if it knew what she was thinking. Her stomach twisted guiltily for being caught and she dipped her head in a short bow of apology.

The Feral sneezed again, and stopped backing away all together. "You need to work on your cologne, bud," he choked out, much to the horror of everyone else.

No one, in all her years of service had ever dared to reprimand Orion.

Until a certain Feral numbskull came along, screwing up her night. And most probably screwing up his only chance of living.

"Try Hugo Boss. It gets rid of any body odor or weird girly smells," Matthias said, digging a deeper hole for himself.

Claret groaned aloud. If this didn't kill him, she didn't know what will.

But much to her surprise, the panther unleashed a hoarse bark – that's right, not a meowlish growl or anything cat-like – its eyes twinkling with amusement. Within a heartbeat, the cat's languid form stretched and shot upwards, before assuming the form of a well-built male with lean features and hard, amber eyes.

Matthias, she'd noticed with much relief, had finally stopped sneezing and had instead began to gawk openly at Orion.

"Holy infant Jesus!"

Orion snorted and shifted his eyes away from the Feral, and towards the entire hoard that was now stuffed in the hall.

"I, Orion Santos, declare Matthias Storm worthy of threading into our halls," he announced, his proclamation eliciting mutters amongst the gatherers.

When the voices increased in volume, Orion continued firmly, stymieing the grumbles all together. "The boy's…extrovert personality has clearly exceeded my expectations. It is clear that this Feral can be of great use to the Council, once fully nurtured." The corner of his mouth twitched as he looked at Claret. "Therefore, as the fourth reigning leader of the Head Council, I grant senior Hunter, Claret de Runet, my permission to educate him in our ways as a Hunter."

A pin-drop silence ensued, only to be pricked by a few startled gasps. Claret's heart twanged at his response, her fingers itching with anticipation.

Orion turned towards the Council members fidgeting nervously in their thrones. "What say you, my fellow members of the Head Council? Does the notion stand? Or shall it be revoked all together?"

Mariella stood up immediately, her lips pressed firmly in a thin line. "You have the vote of the Were-Avians, Orion Santos, leader of the Council."

A ripple undulated through the crowd and Claret felt her spirits soar. If put to a vote, all Matthias needed was more than half the Council's agreement to be trained!

"The Pixies disagree with this notion," Zalik T'hatul, Prince of the Pixies, declared next, flapping his butterfly-like wings furiously. His bug-like jade eyes narrowed on Matthias, who Claret noticed, was too busy mumbling something like, "Stupid hairball" and palming his nose repeatedly to even notice.

She could almost rip his tongue out and strangle him with it for his obliviousness. Didn't he realize his own life was at stake here?

"The Feral does not attain our vote," Galidur proclaimed next, his blue eyes sad as he shook his head.

Claret's hopes plunged. She was really beginning to consider if Mr. Nympho was worth the trouble. Heck, any trouble for that matter.

"The Were-Reptilians agree with the training of Matthias Storm," Darius said quietly, causing a small outbreak of angry hisses from the rest of the Council.

Matthias, Claret now observed through the corner of her eye, had stopped rubbing his nose and looked up blearily when his name was mentioned.

Dear God or whoever is up there, I hope and pray he keeps his mouth shut…she thought desperately.

"The Were-Ursulan do not stand with this ideology," Shekinah Murkowski, a short blonde with freckled skin proclaimed, sinking back into her throne.

Claret forced a smile upon her face as Shekinah shot her an apologetic look. But inside, her insides churned sickly.

Three versus four, she calculated. The odds weren't climbing in their favor, but she hoped beyond hope that the remaining members would be more receptive to her cause. Or rather to Matthias's survival.

A few gasps permeated the hall as Azrael, one of the representatives from the Supreme Council and fifth Archangel of heaven stood up next, unfurling his brilliant white wings.

"As overseers of the Supreme Council, both Saruzel-" the angel indicated towards a grouchy demon seated next to him "-and I shall not take part in this vote."

A murmur followed the angel's announcement, and Claret spared a glance in Orion's direction. The Were-Feline simply nodded in acknowledgement and gestured for Gerard to continue.

The merman stood up next, the fins along his arm bristling against Mariella's blouse and Vaclav's shirtsleeve. Both members threw him a dirty look as they tried to brush off the splatter of slime and scales on their clothing.

"The Merefolk grant the Feral our support in his guidance and training," Gerard said happily, before sitting back down and brushing his fins against the irritable Weres once again.

Claret immediately calculated the odds. So far, so good.

Julianna got up next, her face somber. A lump formed in Claret's throat, and she dreaded what was coming next.

"As representative of all factions of the Were-Canines, I…"

Everyone stiffened and waited, their heads instinctively leaning closer to listen to the eldest member's next words.

"…agree with Matthias's training."

Another round of angry hisses broke out, but Claret's heart swelled with gratitude. Julianna winked at her, before looking away at the last member of the hall left to give his verdict.

Kessler stood up at last, and all of Claret's hopes were crushed. The Were-Mystic had looked condescending not a moment before, and now he was downright frowning. As it stood, the number of votes in her favor outset the number against by one, but if they were to come down to a tie…she shivered with what would happen next.

Tiebreakers just never existed in her world. It was always either a yes or no. Should a tie be reached nonetheless, the motion in question would automatically be rejected. An unfair policy, yes. But it was how things worked in their world – the world of the dark and unnatural. Normalcy simply didn't hold any ground here.

"I, Kessler son of Jurian, core representative of all mystical beast alike, declare this Feral-" he turned towards Matthias, only to stop and gape. "Wait. Where is he?"

A fissure gripped all the occupants of the hall and everyone swiveled around, trying to locate the Feral. Even Orion was frowning heavily as he scoured the hall. Claret cursed and immediately sent out a telepathic message to few of her trusted compatriots, pleading with them silently to catch the moron before he could get himself killed.

As soon as I get my hands around his pretty little neck, I'm gonna wring it like there's no tomorrow! She vowed, starting towards the entrance of the Dominion without waiting for a mental response from either comrade.

But just as she was about to cross over the threshold – yes, she had a vague idea about where that sneaky little bugger had run off to and hoped vainly that he was secured in the Infirmary right now – a lone voice called out through the din, halting her steps.

"You are not dismissed yet, de Runet," Orion commented mildly. "We have yet to hear the Were-Mystics view."

She could almost roll her eyes at his chastising tone. Oh, yeah. Like Kessler had a sudden bout of renewed confidence after Matthias's Houdini Act. Any fool would know what the outcome of this situation would be. It'd take a bloody miracle to find favor in anyone right now.

But she sighed hopelessly and turned around nonetheless, grinding her teeth against each other.

Matthias Storm, you are so dead.

-

Matt winced as Alya dug her fingers deeper into his arm. Uh-huh. Like this wasn't a sign of revenge after he broke her wrist. Which looked completely bruise-free and well attached to her hand at the moment. He shivered with revulsion.

This whole day had been a complete and bloody nightmare. He had just been kidnapped, held against his will, broken free only to be chased by a bloodthirsty mob of freaks, and stuffed into a hall full of weirdos garbed in black. Granted, the surrounding architecture had been nice to gawp at for awhile, but that was completely besides the point.

Then a whole lot of gibberish rubbish ensued, followed by a panther changing into a man. That's right. A panther changing into a man. He was terrified for a moment there, but the effing hairball reactivated his sinuses…which he had been secretly keeping under control with measured amounts of Benadryl and Ventolin.

Matt could almost curse the whole lot of them…everything from panther-man who must have definitely used the whatcha call it – ahh, CGI effects or something – to the redhead lady who he hadn't got a chance to look at properly. And she had stepped on his foot. Which was a major violation of his personal bubble, and an added weight of personal body harm in his intended lawsuit against all of them.

God.

And just when he had managed to sneak out unnoticed (it wasn't hard when everyone was paying attention to the blokes who were standing up at the front of the hall, giving a crappy speech over some issue he could care less about – although he could have sworn he heard his name being mentioned once or twice), that pretty-but-scary lady – Alya whatever-her-name-was – had managed to conk him over the head and drag him back to the blasted dissecting lab. In effect, back to square numbre uno.

Damn his stupid migraine. Damn that stupid Russian, Maxim, for causing the aforesaid migraine. None of this would have happened if that man had a perfect libido and slept with Jenny the cute photographer from Us Weekly last Thursday.

What? It's not like his fiancée would find out anyways…

And damn the hot chicks that were surrounding him like the tempting little treats they were – Oh lalala!

His thoughts reeled to a halt an extremely beautiful lady stepped into the Infirmary, her almond shaped eyes glazed over.

"Holy dipshit," he gibbered, his own eyes flicking up and down her body in appreciation.

No, not beautiful, he noted, his heart fluttering madly as she sauntered towards him. Completely sizzling hot with luscious curves and delicate French manicured nails and…webs? Wait…Goddammit, was that scales?!

"Ack!"

"Shut up, Feral," Alya hissed, not noticing the new occupant that was creeping behind her. "The only reason I'm doing this is because de Runet now owes me a favor. A big favor. Now sit still."

He shook his head, terrified as the…the fish-thingy lady loomed closer.

"A-Alya…!"

Nails sunk deeper into his flesh and he yelped.

"Fish lady at six o'clock!" he blurted, hopping off the stool and pressing himself into a corner as Alya swiveled around.

"Princess Lykanis. What may I do for you?" the vampires chirped politely, taking a short bow.

Matt's eyes darted from Alya's back to the supposed princess, only to widen as the aforementioned royalty smiled at him, exposing a row of serrated teeth.

"Sorry I'm late," she apologized, before running a scaly finger against her cheekbone. "Claret called in a favor. She said you might need help inducting the new…um…Hunter."

Alya's back stiffened and her tone became contrite.

"Got any frying pans by any chance?"

Both of them blinked at the sudden question – Matt, more in confusion, and the Princess, in defeat.

"Sadly, no." She lurched closer and Matt gulped, hurriedly pushing himself away. "The last one broke after Thomas thwacked that new vampire over the head. I'm guessing this one-" her golden flecked eyes narrowed on Matthias's frightened gray ones "-is going to be a handful as well?"

Alya snorted and shot her a 'you-have-no-idea-sistah' look.

"Guess we better call in the reinforcements then," she muttered, sighing. "How many are we going to need?"

Matt had no clue what both women were on about, but he didn't want to find out either. He slowly moved a step away from his perch.

"Preferably a whole army," Alya answered, crossing her arms over her chest. "This one is quite strong. He broke my wrist earlier."

Wow. They gave him a name. The One. Hey, that sounds nice, he wondered absentmindedly, prudently slipping past the two chatting women. Kinda like a model version of Jet Li. I wonder whether Pedro would revamp that caption under my nude shot for Dolce three weeks ago…Hmmm…'Matt Storm – The One'…Ooh, it just gives me the tingles…

"And where exactly do you think you're going, you filthy parasite?"

Matt squeaked and skidded to a halt right by the doorway. Leaning casually against the doorframe was a tall man with angry green eyes and a badly scarred face.

"Kit!"

There was a soft breeze and the containers in the cupboards along the wall rattled as Alya zipped towards Mr. Scar Face.

Wait. How did she get there so fast?

"Better keep a leash on that mutt, Natalya," Kit muttered, glowering at the Feral. "I caught him trying to sneak out – most probably trying to take a piss by that damned plastic Coconut tree Loran set up outside."

Two indignant answers protested simultaneously after that statement.

"Hey! I'm not a mutt! I'm just half a Cajun, you freak!" Matt growled, the same time Princess Lykanis chirped, "I like that tree! It's conventional for the décor."

The room stilled. Not surprisingly, another lady barged in a moment later, her face flushed and her violet eyes tired.

Cute, Matt noted. He wouldn't mind keeping her under his comforter all weekend. And oi, that body of hers was any sinner's delight. Even better than the fish-lady, when he hadn't realized she was part sushi before he spotted her…scales. Ewk.

"Claret!" three voices crooned – one full of delight, another exhausted, and yet another a plain dead monotone.

The woman's eyes narrowed on Matt's standing frame. And that's when it hit him.

Hey, she looks familiar…he thought absently, before studying her wavy red hair. Could it be…?

Nah! The lady in the hall looked scarier. This one appeared more introverted and far more adorable.

Sisters, maybe, he deduced. That must be the scary older one and this must be the cuter younger one.

Heh. He definitely wouldn't mind having this succulent treat for brunch every morning.

"Why isn't he strapped down yet?" she demanded, panting a little.

Alya groaned. "Aw, come on! Please don't tell me that idiot Kessler actually agreed to train him…!"

Claret sighed and Matt quickly cleared his throat. Four pairs of eyes turned to stare at him – one in anger, another in polite interest, and the remaining two in annoyance.

"I wouldn't mind having you strapping me down, chica," Matt cooed, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at the redhead; two groans and one furious hiss followed not shortly after.

"Unbelievable," Claret muttered, shaking her head. "And here I was, thinking that the trip to the Dominion would have at least zapped some of the idiocy out of you."

Matt's chest deflated, along with his hopes of running off to the ski cabin his Uncle Ramsey had in Montanna with the cute redhead. Well, provided that he'd find a way out of this whole K-Con (yes, he had finally figured it out and there was simply no other plausible reason for it – vampires and pixies? Yeah, right…) mess. He thought he'd play along for awhile, preferably seduce some bimbo out there to tell him where the exit is, and get the hell out as soon as possible. Oh, and ring Officer Jack Burnett by the NYPD office downtown to arrest as many of these weirdos as possible.

Well, except for the redhead.

Who was currently mumbling some mumbo jumbo under her breath. And hoarding the rest of the quartet to do something.

Which he can never understand how, in two seconds flat, he was back on an operating table, his lungs deflating like a sick balloon and his mind in overdrive.

"That's it!" he stated, more annoyed than ever. "Consider yourselves under a joint lawsuit! This is kidnapping-!"

"Shut him up, someone!" Alya yelled, slicing across his angry raves. "Before I disembowel him and hang his guts on my Christmas tree!"

Claret threw the vampiress a dirty look just as Kit elbowed the Feral right in the crotch. Matt howled, both with pain and rage. His eyes shimmered and took on a haunting silver glow.

"Kit!" Claret cried, narrowing her eyes at the irate hunter next to her.

"What? It refused to submit. Someone had to teach it how to stay quiet," the man said defensively.

All around him, the voices dissipated into a loud gurgle, the oddly sweet scent of spices and fruits tickling his nose. Matt felt his muscles relax and contract – not painful, but just uncomfortable – as his breathing began to even out and his senses became sharper. He heard someone – ah, yes, the fish-lady – shout something in alarm, something that sounded vaguely like, "Hurry! He's Shifting!" before hands were grabbing at him, voices were screaming at him – shouting ridiculously and roaring angrily in his ears…

His chest lurched upwards suddenly. The contractions stopped, and the niggling sensations of being jerked outwards ebbed away. Pain so profound suddenly gripped him, and Matt unleashed a scream – neither human nor animal. His mind twisted as images zipped in and out of his vision, flashes of his life replaying in front of his eyes at high speed.

And for once in his life, he didn't give a cahoot about his modeling gig, or screwing the pretty redhead in front of him who looked determined about something.

All he wanted was to live. To be free.

Everything had caged him – his life, his money, his shaky childhood, his uncertain future – but now, he almost felt as if he could soar once again, uncaring about the stupid tabloids or pressing paparazzi that hounded him day and night, or even that blasted ski cabin. Anything was possible…

"Just a little more," someone muttered.

A little more what? he wondered absently, noticing something rising from his chest – a small orb of light that glimmered and shook, its murky tendrils still ploughed deeply into his body.

What on earth…?

With one furious wrench, the glowing ball shot upwards and hovered above him, its fibre-like wisps dissipating in a flash. His throat closed up upon the sight, and all the occupants in the room stared at the zipping orb of silver flames in wonder.

His chest heaved with pained ragged gasps, but Matt didn't care. Somehow, he knew that freedom wasn't running out of the door anymore and back into his old life like a coward. Freedom was that ball of light, which was scooting around happily in fast-moving circles, before taking a dive straight at him.

He stared at it with suspicion as it stopped right in front of his face, bouncing up and down jubilantly.

"What in seven levels of hell is it?" he asked to no one in particular.

He wasn't surprised when the redhead – Claret, answered in tired voice, "That is your Soul Seeker, Matthias. Congratulations, you're now a Feral Hunter."

Ah…Well, that explains it.

Not.

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