CHAMBERLAIN, tyson xavier

[tyson chamberlain]

IT'S A BRAVE NEW WORLD

Sixteenth birthdays were mighty big causes for celebration in the Chamberlain family. They served as rights of passage not only from childhood to the beginning stages of adulthood, but also passage into the pack. Once a Chamberlain reached sixteen years, the claws literally came out. In honor of their son, in the case of Robert and Freida, and brother, in the cases of Judith and Marco, the family donned their Sunday best and gathered around the kitchen table at their home in Ni'ith. Judith, the oldest of the Chamberlain brood at nineteen years, bore the responsibility of preparing the birthday boy and presenting the cake that she and her mother had slaved over all afternoon.

Judith was perhaps the most up-tight, pretentious older sister for which a wolf could ask. She had taken it upon herself to thrust her pearls of wisdom on Tyson regarding the handling of his nightly transformations. "Keep a bottle of whiskey close at hand for when you change back," she said as she straightened the bow tie clipped at Tyson's throat. "Unless you're willing to suffer serious joint pain for the first few nights. That goes away with time, but in the beginning, it's hell." She spun him around to dust off his shoulder blades. Then she began winding his long brown hair into a bun. Judith never made her hatred of Tyson's hairstyle a secret and she flaunted every opportunity to alter it in some small way. She couldn't cut it off for tonight, though. Tyson would be capable of tearing her throat out for the first time.

"You can change with us in the barn if you like," she continued. "Us" translated roughly to Judith and Freida. Little Marco was only ten years yet and hadn't even begun his transformations. "Or you can take the shed, if you prefer privacy. Or, if you're anything like Dad, you could change outside. But you better not change in the city like he did that one time." She shook her head. "I will strangle you in your sleep if you do that." Don't let her femininity fool you -- Judith meant those words.

Quirking an eyebrow, Tyson hastily cut in. "I'd rather not strip down in front of you and Mom. That's just not right." He'd stumbled across Judith bathing in the washtub once. That image burned itself into his memory and left a painful scar that reared its ugly head any time Tyson saw her in some mildly revealing article of clothing. If he could avoid it, he'd never share a room with her nude self at night. And his mom in the same room. Dear gods. That might carry enough weight to scare him off sex forever. He shook the thought.

Tucking a lock of Tyson's hair behind his ear, Judith spun him around to face front once more. She wrinkled her nose. Apparently, the thought of her younger brother seeing her au-naturale didn't hold much appeal in her book either. "Whatever. If you don't want to end up streaking through the tundra tomorrow morning, you could do what I do and carry and extra outfit around in your jaw. When you find a hunting ground, drop it somewhere safe, like near a snow bank, and hunt in close proximity to it. Then try to head back there before or as you revert back to human form, and voila. Nice fresh pair of clothes for you."

Younger Chamberlain's eyebrows shot up in approval. At least one good idea came from his sister's tutelage. "I like that," he muttered. "Think I'll try it."

"Whatever," Judith said briskly. "Just take your seat while I grab the cake." She propelled him out of his bedroom and disappeared around one corner, into the kitchen. Tyson rounded the other leading into the dining room.

Unlike most other lycan families, the Chamberlain house encompassed multiple rooms. Multi-room houses, especially ones as far away from Glaciath as the Chamberlain residence, came in short supply. Most of the dwellings were crude, one-room igloos. Which was what the family of five might have ended up with, if Robert hadn't as brazen a personality. He'd dragged the family to this house first upon their arrival the previous evening. Another man - a richer, unmarried lycan - had his eye on it, but Robert challenged him. Robert defeated the rich man with no other drive beside his own need for luxury easily. After all, Robert had a relatively sizable family to support, as well as a volatile nature. The house included a kitchen, a dining room, one master bedroom where Robert and Freida slept, and two guest rooms. Judith occupied one (during daylight hours, she studied there), while Milo and Tyson shared the other.

By the time Tyson reached the table, the rest of his family, save Judith, had already found their seats. Robert bore the same scowl as always, Freida beamed proudly up at her son, and Marco regarded Tyson with pure, unadulterated awe.

Being the youngest in a family of lycans, Marco grew up believing his parents to be superheroes. Three years ago, when he was seven, he started believing Judith was one as well. And now that Tyson's sixteenth birthday had rolled around, Marco no doubt viewed him in the same light. Marco had always worshiped the ground Tyson walked on, however. He was, after all, the older brother. Chuckling, Tyson ruffled Marco's hair on the way to his seat at the head of the table. Ordinarily, the seat was Robert's, but as we've already established, sixteenth birthdays are special.

"So nice of you to finally join us, Ty," Robert greeted coolly. It wasn't that he didn't love his son with the burning passion of a thousand suns -- he just wasn't the type to show it. He treated everyone like garbage. Everyone, that is, except Freida. He treated her as though she were fragile. Like the slightest touch would crack her bones. And he smiled around her. Genuine, warm, small smiles.

"Yeah well, you know how Judy is," Tyson countered.

A "heh" sound escaped Robert. That was the closest sound to a laugh anyone ever got out of the battle-hardened lycan.

War was something of a foreign concept for the Chamberlain brood. The greatest one had ended back when Tyson turned twelve. Judy would turn fifteen in the same year, which meant she avoided drafting into the army by one year. But Robert had fought for the lycans, and all the children had been rocked to sleep with war stories from Freida. She glorified her husband, when in reality, the war turned him into a cold-blooded killer with no true love other than that which he held for his family. He didn't even care for the other lycans anymore, hence his decision to live as far away from them as possible. The only truth the children knew about the war was it ended with the creation of the tournament, which meant that on the last day of the year, they moved into their newly-assigned territory. If that meant moving to a completely different territory, Tyson would spend his birthday - the first of January - in a new home.

"Happy birthday Ty!" Judith chimed, bumbling out of the kitchen and into the dining room with an unwieldy cake titling precariously in her hands. She sat in on the table and held a match to the sixteen candles, lighting each. Then she slid the cake across the table in its pan. It glided to a stop in front of Tyson. "The big one-six!"

Before he blew out the candles, Freida took his hand and squeezed it violently. "My sweetie," she gushed, tearing up. "My little Ty. All grown up."

Shaking his head, Tyson chuckled. "Not yet, Ma." He faced the cake in front of him, gazing into the flames. "Not yet."

And he blew.

COVER YOUR EYES, THE DEVIL'S INSIDE

Dishes had been cleared, stomachs had been filled to bursting with cake, and the sun had begun its descent. Tyson had survived the round of hugs from his brother, sister, and mother, as well as the clap on the shoulder from his father. He'd survived all the crying and congratulations and speeches about how good a little boy he'd been, and how he was all grown up now, on to bigger and better things. Now he stood alone in the shed (which was really just an empty igloo behind his house slightly smaller than the other empty igloo known as "the barn") with a bundle of clothes in his fist. He'd wrapped the bundle in a blanket of bear hide for good measure, so they wouldn't get soaked sitting out in the tundra while he hunted.

Tossing the bundle aside, Tyson spread his feet and looked up through the peep hole in the top of the shed. The light bled quickly from the sky. Overhead, it had turned a pale shade of purplish-pink, while traces of pink tickled the horizon. And then it happened. The sun slipped beyond the edge of the world.

At first, all Tyson could feel signally his forthcoming transformation was a mild tingle in his fingers. Then it hit him, suddenly and with crippling intensity. His spine bent at the shoulders, throwing his head and neck back as his elbows twisted. Stabs of pain shot through every limb of his body. Red spots dotted his field of vision. A scream brought on by agony and confusion tore from his throat. Somewhere in the midst of the growing fur and the sharpening nails and the ever-constant presence of pain, the scream morphed into a howl. When at last the pain mitigated enough to allow Tyson to close his mouth, his teeth clashed against each other, each one sharpened to a point. His arms - if he could call them "arms" anymore - had grown so long, he could drag his fists on the ground while standing in his hunched, not-exactly-upright position.

For a moment, all he could do was stand there with his head bowed, breathing heavily. His own breath was hot against his furry chest. Then he heard the answering howls of his family and raised his head. He could understand them as plainly as though they were English. "Tyson!" they called. "Come out an play!" He recognized the sarcastic taunt of his father.

An extension of his neck was all it took to snatch the bundle in his teeth. Then Tyson tore out of the shed. A wolf with the same russet hair as his father came over to greet him. Tyson assumed his mother and Judith had already gone off without him.

"Son!" Robert barked. "You made it! Stand there and let me look at you." He circled Tyson as his soon stood, rooted to the spot. Robert inspected everything from his torso to his flanks, then resumed his place in front of the boy and tossed his head. "This wolf look suits," he remarked. "Judith and your mother have taken the north. Don't get in their way -- they haven't seen you yet, and they might not recognize you. Even with your eyes." Tyson had a distinct pair of light green eyes with hazel flecks. "I'm hunting to the east. Don't cross my path if you know what's good for you." That said, he turned tail and flew off.

"Thanks for the advice, Dad!" Tyson called after his father's retreating back end. Sarcasm colored his words like the rainbow. He'd been hoping his father would be the one person to offer him advice. After all, he trusted his opinion on this sort of thing. Despite Robert's attitude, he was Tyson's father, and Tyson couldn't help but respect him. Also, he had a fair amount of life experience at his disposal. Judith had only been a wolf for three years, and Tyson didn't respect his mother as much. She was the weak link of the family. At the very least, Tyson had hoped his changing into a wolf would bring he and his father closer. "Guess not," he whimpered under his breath, digging at the ground with his claws. Then he literally shook it off and ran in the direction he thought to be west.

Miles passed in minutes beneath his powerful feet. Tyson had never been a strong kid. He was one of those awkwardly tall and lanky people. Sure, he had enough muscle to serve him well in a fight, should he ever find himself in one, but this wolf strength was different. More powerful. He felt like he could tear someone's head off with one swipe. And he probably could, especially with the wicked claws that had grown out of his fingernails. For the first time in his life, Tyson felt dangerous. It was an inspiring feeling. Even when he stopped a good four or five miles away from his house at what he deemed to be a good hunting ground, adrenaline continued to course through his veins.

A polar bear headed lazily toward him. Lowering his head, Tyson deposited the bundle of clothing at the base of a snow bank, just as his sister had suggested, and hunkered down to meet his victim. When it was still a good way away, Tyson leaped up from his hiding place in the snow and launched at the bear. If he extended his front arms, he could graze the bear's face with his claws. But just as he primed to do so, another wolf appeared out of thin air and barreled into the bear, knocking it out of Tyson's reach. Instead, his claws tore through the flesh of the other wolf's side. The wolf ignored the wound and shoved the polar bear over onto its back. Immediately, the light brown wolf sank its teeth into the bear's stomach, ripped out the organs, and spat them onto the ground.

"Hey!" Tyson called (or barked, depending upon your perspective). "That bear was mine!"

If the other wolf heard him, he or she offered him no sign of acknowledgment. Which may or may not have had anything to do with the fact that he or she had a mouth stuffed full of bear meat, but the lack of response still irritated Tyson.

"Hey!" he called again.

Again, light brown wolf failed to acknowledge him.

Unable to think of a better to resolve the situation, Tyson placed the pads of his paws on the other wolf's shoulders and shoved him away from the bear. The wolf tumbled, rolling head over heels and landing once more on his feet. Then he turned on Tyson and shoved him back.

"Oh," Tyson said. "So that's how it's gonna be."

So began the brawl. It was a mess of teeth and claws and fur. Every time Tyson tried to attack his opponent, the other wolf countered, and vise versa. Neither one could get a good jab at the other. They went on that way for a while until Tyson realized they were equally matched and they would carry on like this until they both grew weary. Meanwhile, a perfectly good polar bled to death beside them. "Wait!" he shrilled, raising one paw to catch that which his opponent made to strike him with. The other wolf stilled.

"We don't have to fight over this," Tyson reasoned. "The bear's big enough for both of us. How about we each take sides? I'll take the end you haven't already bitten into. Deal?"

Rather than answer him verbally, the other wolf shook his head. At length, but he complied. So Tyson and the other wolf took their respective sides and dug in. Once he had eaten his fill of polar bear meat, Tyson slumped over. He was full, happy, and tired.

Within a few minutes, he had fallen asleep.

I'M A BEAUTY AND A BEAST

Tyson woke to the pleasant sensation of intense pain simultaneously plaguing every last inch of him. And he stood at six feet, two inches, so that was quite a pit of pain. The realigning of his spine forced him to his feet, resulting in the same head toss and howl of pain as before. Only this time, the how morphed into a scream, instead of the other way around. The differences didn't end there, however. He wasn't alone this time. Another wolf howled beside him, and this howl morphed into a feminine scream. At the time, it barely registered in Tyson's brain. In fact, it didn't hit him until he collapsed against the polar bear carcass and found himself staring into a pair of the bluest eyes he had ever seen. "You're a girl?"

She immediately turned her back on him and clutched at her exposed chest. "What?" she snapped. "You've never met one before?"

"Um... no..." Realizing how that sounded, Tyson hastily corrected himself. "I mean no I have seen girls before. My sister happens to be one." That's when he realized the full hilarity of the situation. He'd just fought over a polar bear with a female lycan, and he hadn't beat her. She hadn't beaten him either, but still. And now, that very same brutal, aggressive lycan stood before him... cowering over the thought that he'd seen her naked. To be honest, he hadn't seen anything. His mind had been preoccupied reeling in shock during the time it took her to turn around. Tyson found himself chuckling. "Haven't you seen guys?"

"Not in the buff," the girl retorted icily.

In the buff? Tyson echoed in his head. Who says that? "Virgin?" he guessed.

"I don't see the point in screwing everything with a heartbeat. You have precisely five seconds to turn around and offer me some privacy while I fetch my stuff before I blind you."

His eyebrows shot up. Raising his hands, palms facing out in the "I surrender" position, he capitulated. "Okay, okay. I'm turning around." He turned and closed his eyes to help resist the temptation to watch the girl. Instead, he listened for her footsteps. She walked off a ways before stopping, then she turned back. Tyson waited until he heard her return to her side of the polar bear carcass before he said, "I'm gonna get my stuff now. You're welcome to watch, but I'd take the opportunity to dress." Without sparing a glance in her direction, he turned and walked over to the snow bank where he'd left his bundle. Unwinding the bear hide, he wriggled into the underwear, skinny jeans, t-shirt, and leather boots he'd brought. Then he wrapped the bear hide around his shoulders to fight off the cold. Assuming the girl had taken advantage of the privacy and speed-dressed, Tyson faced her. Only to find out he'd been mistaken.

A wince creased his brow at the sight of her. Her back stared back at him. She'd already donned a pair of jeans, and was in the process of slipping into a shirt. That wasn't the shocking part. Tyson could tell exactly where his claws had torn into her side the previous evening when she jumped between him and the polar bear. Slanting from her left armpit to the small of her back was a bloody gash bordered by raw flesh. It was a swollen, incarnadine mess that stirred up the faintest feeling of sickness in Tyson's stomach. Genuinely concerned, he called, "Does that hurt?"

Immediately, the girl yanked an over-sized t-shirt over her head and spun on her heel to face him. "Don't you know the definition of privacy?" she snapped.

"Sorry," Tyson hastily apologized, flinging his hands up once more. Once again, he found himself on the defensive. Not a place where he'd grown accustomed to being when it came those of the female persuasion. Usually he only had to raise a few eyebrows and smirk a little and they fell at his feet, despite the fact that he wore his hair longer than most of them. Realizing that staring with his mouth agape would not help his case, he shook the thought and continued. "I thought since I was dressed, and you had a head start, you'd be done already." After a moment's pause, he added, "But seriously. Are you okay?"

"Super." Her reply came without a second's hesitation. Tyson searched her eyes for any trace of underlying pain, but he could find none. All he found there was cold. Apparently, this chick wouldn't give him an inch. So he changed tactics, playing on her obvious weakness.

"I take it you're fairly new at this 'wolf' thing, huh?" He inclined his head, indicating her choice of attire. "Those won't be much help out here. You're already covered in goosebumps."

Shrugging, the girl countered, "Guess I'll just have to run home, then."

Perhaps it was his competitive nature, perhaps it was the girl's striking good looks, or perhaps, deep down, there was a part of him that couldn't leave an injured comrade -- especially not when he could help. Whatever it was, Tyson felt compelled to help this girl. Grabbing a fist full of the bear pelt, he extended his arm to her and beckoned, "Come on. I'm not gonna let you freeze."

For a moment, it looked as though the girl would make good on her earlier threat to run home, wherever "home" was. But she hesitated too long. Purple had begun to tinge her lips, goose bumps laced her bare arms, and she shivered visibly. Reluctantly, she inched over to Tyson and stood at his side. Draping his arm across her shoulder, Tyson wrapped her in the pelt. Her body felt cold against his, but not quite as cold as the Ni'ithian air in January. "That's better." He glanced down at the girl. "Where to?"

"Glaciath." She shivered violently.

Instinct lead Tyson to pull her closer and gently rub her outside arm. He worried that she might shove him off and resume her heartless loner chick act, but then she surprised him. She wrapped her arms around him and burrowed her head into his chest. Still shaking, she whispered, "Glaciath, quickly."

Along the way, Tyson continued to stroke the girl, even after she'd warmed up. They exchanged names. Hers was Amelia. She admitted that she'd only turned sixteen a few days ago and wasn't used to turning just yet. Every other transformation since her birthday had taken place in the controlled environment of her basement, with her mother's guidance. Of course, Tyson had to stop her there and inquire as to what exactly was a basement. Don't judge him. His family had never been rich enough to afford a house that came with one. Only higher ranking soldiers in the lycanthrope army had that kind of money. But then, Tyson didn't know that either. His father didn't talk much about his army days.

Eventually, they reached the city. The centurion posted at the gate leading into the city asked for their family names. After confirming that they were, in fact, lycans, they were permitted entrance into the city. Now, Tyson hadn't been there in over a year. When he and Amelia strode onto the strip of ice bridging all the way to the temple at the capital's center, his jaw practically fell off. He was roused from his dumbfounded-ness when there came a tug on his arm. Glancing down, he noticed that Amelia had slipped out from under him and was attempting to disappear into the crowd. Before she could leave him behind, Tyson snatched at her arm. He caught it, but not without brushing his fingers against the gash in her side. An "ah" escaped her as her hands immediately flew to the wound to cradle it. Tyson recoiled, inundated with an odd mix of smugness and concern. On the one hand, he'd successfully broken Amelia's "brave face" mold. On the other, he created the gash in her side, and could be held accountable for the subsequent staining of the shirt she wore. "You have to let me help you," he pressed.

"What, you're some kind of expert at dressing wounds?" she shot back.

"Pretty much." Tyson graciously ignored her bemused expression as he explained. "When you come from a family of wolves too weak to care for themselves in the morning, you learn a thing or two.

Amelia's eyebrows raised in delicate arches. "Enlighten me."

They spent the next half hour procuring a swath of cotton, a strip of cloth, a bar of soap, and a change of shirt for Amelia from various shops about the city. Meanwhile, Tyson explained how to go about washing the wound under hot water with the soap first, then rinsing it, then placing the cotton swath against it while. When he got to that part, Amelia's brow furrowed. She chewed her bottom lip. "That sounds like a two-person job." Her frown deepened. "And the only place I know to get hot water is my house. My parents wouldn't be too thrilled about me returning from my first trip out with a gash like this."

Shrugging, Tyson suggested she sneak in, to which Amelia replied, "It's still a two-person job. I'm not experienced enough to hold a swath and simultaneously wrap myself."

Inside all young men, there are both gentlemen and perverts. This whole situation had drawn out both from Tyson. He drew a breath. "Um... I could... wrap it. For you."

Awkward silence fell. Then, at length, Amelia sighed. "This must be the best day of your life." She took hold of Tyson's forearm and lead him to her house. He barely caught a glimpse of the name plate hanging on the front door before she yanked him around the corner. Feldspar. He committed it to memory before Amelia stopped him alongside the back wall. "We have two options," she announced. "We could use the back door, but we'd have to be insanely quiet because the kitchen stems of the hallway we'd go through, and that's where my mum spends her time. Or we could climb up the back wall and in through my bedroom window."

While he did enjoy a challenge, Tyson wasn't quite up for freezing his fingers off. "Back door," he decided.

So they went. Like Tyson's house, the walls were sheets of ice decorated with photographs and bookcases. The staircase they climbed up after sprinting on tip-toe past a humming Mrs. Feldspar had also been fashioned from ice. Also like Tyson's house, other furniture had been brought in from previous homes. All of it was lightweight or collapse-able for ease of movement. Unlike Tyson's house, the house was luxurious. It was cavernous, had rooms for just about everything, - Amelia's room came equipped with its own bathroom -, and was decorated with the most beautiful paintings, sculptures, and tapestries upon which Tyson had ever laid eyes. That's when it hit him. The Feldspars must be rich. Rich people automatically meant soldiers. Shaking the thought, he followed Amelia up the stairs, stopping awkwardly in the frame of her bedroom door.

"You can come in," she said. "I'll be in the bathroom washing up. I'll call you in when I'm ready for the wrap." She snatched a towel up off the back of a chair seated before a writing desk and turned toward the bathroom. Then she seemed to remember something and turned back, aiming an accusatory finger at Tyson. "If I find anything missing or out of place, I'll track you down and neuter you."

She disappeared into the bathroom.

With his hands in his pockets to mitigate the temptation to touch things, Tyson glanced about the room. In comparison with the rest of the house, it seemed meager. No, meager wasn't a good word. Quaint. Quaint worked better. For one thing, it was much smaller than the other rooms they'd passed through to get there. Amelia had only a bed, a writing desk, and a love seat by the window. A stocked bookshelf stood next to the bed. The walls were barren but for one painting suspended over the desk. The painting was of a rich forest, sunlight slanting between the branches of the trees. Terrinth. At the foot of the bed was a trunk, and since Tyson couldn't spot any closet or bureau, he assumed this was where Amelia kept her clothes. He'd just ventured over to the writing desk, his gaze falling on the leather-bound diary that lay open, when Amelia called to him. Sparing it a parting glance, he joined her.

On the floor next to the porcelain bathtub she sat, her legs curled underneath her. She was still fully dressed, though a wet spot marked her t-shirt where she'd washed. Tyson chuckled. "Not to sound like a perv, but the wrap's supposed to go under your shirt."

"I know." Without missing a beat, she lifted her shirt as far as the top of her waist and gestured with her head for Tyson to sit behind her. So he did, and pressed the cotton swath along the wound. Amelia held it under her arm with the same hand she used to hold that particular corner of her shirt, Tyson pinned the bottom in the small of her back along with one end of the cloth. That's when things got weird.

Warmth radiated off Amelia in waves. Her skin was soft to the touch. The more Tyson sat there, dressing her wound, the more liquefied his insides became. The last time he'd been with a girl, he hadn't felt anything like this. There had been pleasure, certainly, but this... This was terrifying. Part of him wanted to touch her, to taste her skin, while the other part of him feared that if he did, she might shatter into a million pieces. Like he'd lose her forever, and for some reason, just the thought wrenched at his heart. Then he tucked the other end of the cloth into the layer beneath it, and the wrap was complete. He sat back on his heels, wave of cool relief washing over him.

Letting her shirt fall around her, Amelia glanced over her shoulder at Tyson. "You okay? You got kind of quiet."

Before he could answer, a loud shuffling came from downstairs. Amelia's eyes flew open wide. "My dad," she breathed. "He's here.' She scrambled to her feet, dragging Tyson with her and hastening him toward her bedroom window. Sliding the glass pane up, she gestured for him to jump.

Tyson raised an eyebrow. "I can't take the stairs?"

"He'll see you. Now go!" she pushed him forward.

Sitting on the sill, Tyson swung his legs around and slid off. For a moment, he plummeted through the air, momentum whisking his hair back. Then his feet hit the ground, causing him to bend at the knee. He hesitated a moment while his body absorbed the shock, then his gaze flickered up to the window. Amelia waved her hand, mouthing the word, "go." So he went.

Around noon, he returned to his house for lunch. His parents asked him about his first day as a wolf and his mother asked him where he'd been all morning. She'd worried over him, apparently. He assured her he was fine and told her that he'd met someone. His father, suddenly curious, inquired as to whom. When Tyson answered, "Amelia Feldspar," Robert turned livid. "Feldspar?" he echoed.

Warily, Tyson replied, "Yes?"

Robert promptly turned around and smashed his plate against the wall. It shattered, scattering bits of broken porcelain across the floor. Then he turned, skirted to the table, and placed one hand firmly on either of Tyson's shoulders, looking him in the eye. "You are never to speak to that girl again, understand?"

Tyson frowned. "No. What's so bad about her?"

"YOU WILL LISTEN TO ME WHEN I TELL YOU SOMETHING!" Robert spat. "YOU ARE NEVER TO SPEAK TO HER. EVER."

... Needless to say, Tyson didn't listen.

YOU'RE IN THE WRONG PLACE, MY FRIEND

Amelia and Tyson did just about everything together (not like that, you perv) for the next nine months. They hunted together, splitting in the mornings to change back. They shopped together. Amelia wasn't fond of shopping for clothes, which pleased Tyson more than he cared to let on. Instead, they went grocery shopping. Their favorite shop was the butcher's, where they could watch a burly man chop up delicious slabs of raw meat. They explored the tundra together, playing countless games of chicken underneath Frigubicallis. Amelia won a surprising amount of those games, but of course, Tyson owned her in the end. They hung out on the beach on occasion, daring each other to see who could stand in the freezing water the longest. They even tried whaling once, which ended with the disastrous tipping of the boat. They were both shivering for days.

With enough space between them, it was easy for Tyson to forget what he'd felt that day in the bathroom. Besides, he and Amelia were just friends. They laughed like friends. They joked like friends. And Amelia punched him every time he bordered on too raunchy for her tastes. Then September the fifth rolled around, and Mr. Feldspar threw a little party.

By "little party," I mean "half of Ni'ith and most of Glaciath were in attendance" party. Amelia complained about it a day in advance, saying she didn't like to entertain her father's army friends and how they were all pigs and the other teenagers didn't get along well with her. Somewhere in the middle of her rant, Tyson suggested he come with her. Amelia immediately sobered. "Like... as my date?"

Feeling a knot tie itself in his stomach, Tyson cleared his throat. He'd do what he always did and play off the awkward situation like a joke. "Or a human shield. Whatever." Amelia rolled her eyes, but she accepted the offer, telling him to meet her at three o'clock sharp in the square outside Gwendolyn's temple.

The next afternoon, Tyson made sure his father was good and drunk before he followed Amelia's instructions. He didn't own a suit, so he went in a t-shirt and jeans, figuring there would be enough city folk there to cover his entrance. He realized the error of his mistake the second he arrived in the square.

What lay before him was a scene straight out of a fairy tale. Everyone had dressed up in their finest suits and ball gowns. Shaking it off, Tyson held his head high as he worked his way into the throng. He was here for Amelia. What he looked like didn't matter in the slightest. Or, at least, that's what he thought. Until she showed up in front of him.

Every other woman on the face of the island ceased to exist. Hell, every other person on the face of the island ceased to exist. All Tyson could see, all he ever wanted to see, was her. But at the same time, every fiber of his being told him to run. Dread crashed over him, intensifying with every step Amelia took to close the gap between them. Maybe it was because Tyson was afraid to say or do something that would screw up everything. Maybe it was foreshadowing (in the words of Robin, =O! Scandalous). Or maybe what he dreaded the most was the friendly smile gracing Amelia's lips. Just friendly. Not an ounce less warmth.... but not an ounce more. It dawned on him then that Amelia would grow up some day. She'd reach adulthood and marry off. He would be forced to watch as she left the altar with some other tool. He would face a future without her. And that terrified him. Then she took his hand, and he assumed a cheery facade.

"I should have warned you to wear a suit, shouldn't I?" Amelia joked.

"Wouldn't have done you any good," Tyson replied, shaking his head. "I don't own one."

"Good." She smirked. "Not that you wouldn't rock a tux. It just might kill me to see you in one. It's so... not you, if that makes sense. I can't even believe I'm wearing this dress." She gestured toward the lilac number she currently sported. "I probably look ridiculous."

After waiting a beat, Tyson countered, "You're beautiful."

Tilting her head to the side, Amelia regarded him for a moment. Then she took his hands. "Dance with me." Without awaiting a response, she dragged Tyson into the square.

The first couple songs were lively, fast-paced dances that took them all about the dance floor. Some even required passing off partners for a few measures. Then a larger dude approached Tyson and asked to cut in. He bowed his head in consent and left to dance with some ginger broad who batted her eyelashes flirtatiously at him. He felt dirty after that, considering she was, like, thirty. Next thing he knew, Amelia found her way back to his arms and the music changed.

A ballad played next. Everyone paired off, pressing very close to their partners and gazing lovingly into their eyes. For the sake of blending in, Tyson held Amelia closer. And immediately regretted it. That same bathroom feeling enveloped him, only this time, he felt his reserve weakening. If she so much as looked him in the eye, Tyson knew his heart would break. Fortunately, Amelia kept her head on his shoulder throughout the entirety of the dance. Near the end of the song, he relaxed considerably. He even felt hopeful that he could survive the night without feeling the dread again. Then he could wake up the next morning and everything would return to normal. Of course he had to jinx it by thinking such thoughts.

When the music stopped, Amelia loosened her hold on Tyson's arms, stepped back, and raised her head. She locked her brilliant blue eyes on his. They stood there for a moment, unmoving, gazing at each other, until Tyson knew he couldn't fight anymore. He leaned in to kiss her.

And was wrenched backward by a strong pair of arms.

"Who are you?" a demanding masculine voice bellowed. Tyson didn't have to look to know he'd stumbled across the infamous Mr. Feldspar. Amelia's father shoved Tyson in the shoulder. "I'll not ask you again, boy. Who are you?"

"Tyson," he answered, turning to face the man. "Chamberlain."

The effect the name "Chamberlain" had on Feldspar was instantaneous. His face turned red, his chest swelled, and he seemed to grow ten feet. He aimed a finger at Tyson, jabbing the youth in the chest. "No one touches my daughter. Especially not a Chamberlain." Stepping back, he gestured to his guards. They clamped on to either of Tyson's arms.

"Escort this young man out of here," Feldspar barked. Then he narrowed his eyes at Tyson. "If I ever catch you with Amelia again, I'll have your head on a platter."

From there, the party was an explosion of cliches. The guards dragged Tyson backwards, so he could see Amelia when she tried to run after him and her father caught her in his arms. She screamed for Tyson, screamed at her father... screamed for everyone to hear, but it didn't make a difference. She kept getting father and father away until the portcullis slid shut in front of Tyson, with him on the wrong side.

CHECK YES, JULIET

One year ended, another began. The lycans relocated to Terrinth. Tyson helped his family settle in. He spent lots of time playing with Marco. Adventure games about soldiers, pirates, explorers, and what have you. He taught himself to handle throwing knives and bows and arrows. he attempted to develop some sort of relationship with his father, but it never worked. He didn't see Amelia for a long time. Until June of that year, to be exact. On the days Marco refused to occupy him, he went to his room and slept until evening. Then he transformed, collapsed, and slept some more. He scarcely ate, he scarcely spoke. Until that day.

Freida, fed up with his behavior, ordered Tyson to the market to fetch her some bread. So he headed into Flammar to buy some, and there she was. With a boy Tyson didn't recognize. They were holding hands. Laughing. Strolling casually through the market place. And then Amelia happened to glance over in Tyson's direction. She stopped dead in her tracks.

"What are you looking at?" Her boyfrie-- the gross dude next to her followed her gaze, so she hastily covered for herself.

"That's such a nice bag!" She turned to him and squeezed his hand. Do you mind letting me go for a bit? This is accessory shopping. You don't want to wait around for that."

He smiled at her and released her. "Sure thing, Amy."

She skipped over and started browsing through bags right next to Tyson. Tyson waited until her boyfriend had wandered off before clearing his throat. Amelia didn't look at him. Instead, she dug into her pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper and a stick of charcoal. She hastily scribbled a note and slid it along the kiosk counter to him. Tyson unfolded it.

I miss you, it read. Tyson shook his head.

Taking the charcoal, he scribbled back, What about him? and passed the note along.

He's a friend, she replied.

Thinking a moment, Tyson penned his reply. Then he handed off the charcoal and note on his way past. As he left, Amelia unfolded it and read.

Have to buy bread. Meet me in the woods near my house tomorrow. Three o'clock. We can hunt for old time's sake.

IF EVEN ETERNITY FADES, STOP THIS MOMENT

The next afternoon, Tyson waited. He'd brought a supply of knives and arrows, as well as some pelts to wrap their pickings in once they'd been dressed. Assuming they caught anything. ... Assuming Amelia showed.

With every second that passed, Tyson could feel her slipping further and further away from him. Every time he glanced at the trees around him, all he saw was the painting hanging over her writing desk from that first day. He didn't even notice the tears pooling in his eyes until his vision blurred. Half an hour had passed since three o'clock. It looked like Amelia didn't miss him as much as he'd hoped.

Off in the woods, a stick cracked. Tyson's heart leaped in his chest, then gave a violent squeeze when all that followed was silence. He hung his head, wiping the tears from his eyes. You knew this would happen, he thought. She's gone.

"Ty?"

... Or not.

Looking up, he saw her. Just like that, all was right with the world. None of the words in the English language, neither serendipity, happiness, bliss, or euphoria, could accurately describe what he felt in that instant.

And then she ran toward him. She threw her arms around his neck. She hooked her legs around his waist, crushed up against his chest, and... her lips smashed into his.

All of eternity faded away. There was only her. Only her intoxicating scent. Only the steady pressure of her lips against his. Only the gentle blanket of warmth that enveloped him every time she touched him, every time she smiled, every time she laughed. All the dread left him.

Breaking the kiss, he leaned his forehead against hers and met her gaze. "Amy."

She smiled. "What?"

"I love you."

Her smile broadened. "I love you." And she kissed him again.

TEARING LOVE APART

Evening fell upon the forests of Terrinth. The forest came alive, filled with gusts of wind, chatter of animals, and the silent swishing of falling leaves. Amelia and Tyson lay in the middle of it all, holding each other underneath a pelt of bearskin. A strand of hair fell in front of Amelia's face. Tyson brushed it away with his thumb.

"What now?" Amelia asked. She didn't ask how they would carry on with this relationship that had been condemned by both their parents, but she didn't need to. Tyson wondered the same thing.

He thought for a moment, stroking Amelia's shoulders, and reached a conclusion. "We run away. Or, better yet, I'll get a bag of my stuff, flip my dad off, and walk out the front door."

Amelia laughed. God, how he loved that sound.

"I like that idea," she agreed. "I might steal it."

Chuckling, Tyson retorted, "What's mine is yours." He kissed her neck.

"Mmm." She closed her eyes, then opened them again when she remembered. "We're gonna change soon."

"Oh." Tyson scooted away from her. "Wouldn't it be awesome if we could just stay like this? 'Cause no offense, but I don't want to cuddle your dog self."

Laying her head on the ground, Amelia looked up at him. "I might have cuddled yours if he hadn't permanently scarred me."

"Aw come one!" Tyson teased, "That'll be a great story to tell our kids one day."

"Yeah, right." Amelia sat up, then changed her voice to mimic a small child. "'Mommy, how did you and Daddy meet?'-" she changed to an adult version of herself, "-'Your daddy and I nearly mauled each other trying to get to the same polar bear, and Daddy tore a big gash in my side! Wanna see?'"

"Darn right!" Tyson agreed, also sitting up to put his arms around her. "We're going to teach our children that domestic violence builds relationships."

They were kissing again when the sun set, and were violently separated by their respective transformations. The whole ordeal seemed less painful that time around, and immediately following it, he galloped off into the sunset with the love of his life. Of course, they were less lovey-dovey in wolf form. Hey, wolves can be violent animals. They frolicked, stopped for a bit to eat a deer, then frolicked some more. Everything was well and good when the sun crept up on the horizon. Tyson turned to Amelia and asked if she would wait outside his house while he packed his bag. She, of course, agreed, and they headed over as the sky lightened.

Neither of them saw Robert until he bowled into Amelia. He knocked her to the ground, rolled her over, and started tearing into her before she could lift a claw to defend herself. He began roaring at her about "stealing Tyson away" and "converting him" and all this bull. His claws were stained with blood.

Once his brain quit derping long enough to process the horrors unfolding in front of him, Tyson sprang into action, shoving his father off Amelia. "Dad!" he screamed. "Get off of her!"

Robert came back with, "I told you to stay away from that bitch! She's trouble, same as her father!" He ducked around Tyson and attempted to take another pass at Amelia. Without thinking, Tyson slapped his father across the face. Which, considering they were still in wolf form, caused a lot more damage than it otherwise would. Blood pooled Robert's eye. He reeled backward, howling in pain.

Sunlight hit the horizon and the three wolves began to change. Even as his bones rearranged themselves and fires flared throughout his limbs, Tyson kept his gaze trained on Amelia. She writhed on the ground, bloodcurdling screams tearing from her throat. All Tyson saw was the raw flesh. And the blood. So. much. blood.

As soon as he regained the use of his legs, Tyson stumbled over to Amelia and fell to his knees at her side. He gathered her in his arms, not even caring that he wasn't wearing pants (or anything else). Blood continued to seep from the gaping hole in her stomach, though her screaming stopped. The color had drained from her face and the sunlight glinted off the tears on her cheeks. Tyson tried to speak to her and choked on tears of his own. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried again. "Amy?"

Her eyelids fluttered.

"Amy. I'm going to fix this. I'm going to sew you up and you're gonna be fine."

She took his hands. Hers were cold. "Ty."

"Yes?"

"It's over." She swallowed. "There's..." and gasped for breath, "... nothing... you can do."

That took a moment to process. Then it sunk in. All those vision he'd had earlier, about facing an eternity alone... they were coming true. Only this time, it hurt more, because he'd had her. The dream had dangled in his face and been yanked out from beneath his feet. He leaned his forehead against hers, noticing for the first time that he was full out crying. "There has to be," he whispered.

Amelia smiled. "Remember to tell your kids one day. Domestic violence. It builds relationships." She cupped his face in one hand. "Don't worry about me, Ty. I'm dying in the only place I'd want to." When Tyson didn't make the connection, she added, "In your arms." Her eyes clouded then and her hand fell away from his face.

Tyson lost it. He screamed and ran at his father, who had doubled over on the ground, cradling his eye. Before Tyson knew it, he had his hands around his father's neck. "You couldn't let me be happy!" he raged. "You couldn't let me be happy once!" He threw Robert against a tree and pinned him there. "You killed her, Dad!" Then he tossed him onto the ground.

"Honey?" His mother spilled, confused, into the clearing, Judith at her heels. Freida cried out, "Robert!" and hastened to his side. Judith spotted Amelia first and headed toward her.

"Don't you touch her!" Tyson hissed. Judith froze. Tyson brushed past her and picked up Amelia's body. For a moment, all he could do was gaze down at her lifeless eyes and weep.

Judith placed a hand on Tyson's shoulder. "Who was she?"

Shaking her off, Tyson snapped, "Don't touch me either." His frame shook. "Please don't follow me. Any of you." He ran deeper into the woods.

I LEARNED TO LIVE HALF ALIVE

The Tyson you know now is a very different Tyson. He used to act like a civilized human being. He used to not have dreads. He used to be a brother. A son. A friend. But, as you can imagine, having your father murder your first love and then having to bury her afterward can gets to a person.

He never saw his family again. Except for Marco, who sneaks away to visit him on occasion. Marco is now ten. Tyson's the big old nineteen. He's also got dreads now, in case you missed that part. He's also a bit of a jerk around anyone but his little brother.

Tyson's just a walking cliché, really.

FACE CLAIM :: Samuel Larsen </Idonothaveaproblem>
ALIAS :: Em.
EXPERIENCE :: intermediate / advanced.
CHARACTERS :: Amarus, Darius, Lucas, Kezia, Tyson
HOW YOU FOUND US :: I tripped and fell on the site.
HOW ARE YOU DOING? CRYING OVER HOW HEART-WRENCHING AND AMAZING THIS APP IS.

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HEAVEN IS WRAPPED IN CHAINS ©

[LADY ELENA ©]

Your skeelz be makin' me cry, Em. I can tell Ty isn't a pack animal at all, so it'll be neat to see how he reacts when he comes across other Lycans. I can't decide which I like more - the part where Ty almost kissed Amelia at her party, or the part where he discovered that he had fought over a polar bear with a girl. I won't even bother telling you to post in the face claims, since I know you have already, but I will remind you to contact those mysterious admin ladies if you ever have a question that needs answering or a suggestion that needs voicing. x3