A simple one roomed apartment, in the centre of the city. From the outside everything looked dour, the jaundiced lace curtains that hung on the solitary window showed that little care went into the upkeep from the owner. No one on the outside would realise that the inside was a purpose built refuge for the Lycanthropes of Ireland.

The inside was clean, immaculately so, as both as human and animal they had a need for cleanliness. The one room was halved. The window area was a high tech communications centre, the hidden half, a cage. The cage would be guarded by their loved ones, on nights were killing would only draw too much attention to their kind. The bars were reinforced steel, bars within bars, the design that were used to great effect in the prison island of Alcatraz. Outside the bars, the best communications equipment that they could afford was there, broadband internet connections, constantly receiving updates via Email about the migration pattern of their kin, and more importantly the movements of The Hunters.

Today one important email was received and taken to heart. A hunter has come to Dublin, a hunter more dedicated than most. The protégé of Professor Iliad, and now the sole member of the great family. The long flight had made James Harmen tired, he loathed flying, the safety of having something solid under his feet was taken from him and stopped him from relaxing. So the need for rest was running through his veins like the need for addicts to inject poison. The injection was only bed rest, the day was still young, and the night would make sure that all his strength was needed. Another email had come through about two weeks ago, when Milo Harmen arrived. Though this arrival had not brought fear to them. Milo was a specialist Vampire Hunter, the Werewolves were now on full alert. James brought fear into their pack, he had managed to kill each Werewolf in each country, and this was no small feat. Rough estimates that were gathered gave James’ total kill rate at over fifteen hundred.

Both halves of the room were empty, it was daytime, normal lives were able to be had. The myth of only a full moon bringing their animal qualities were rubbished by Professor Iliad, not that anyone listened to him, he was constantly dismissed by his peers. At sixty-seven years old he had given up trying to convince others about the existence of the creatures of the night. He had proved that Lycanthrope’s had the ability to change themselves from human to their animal form at will, though it was only at full moons that they had no choice in their transformation. A further detail that was proven was that at the full moon, the wolves’ strength would be one hundred times from that when they chose to change of free will.

A key in the door rattled and then Eric Byrne entered the room, this twenty something ferret like man, had nothing strange about him, except that he was thin and ugly. Unlike the Familiars who do the dirty work for the Vampire in the hope that one-day they would be turned. But Eric Byrne was a Point Man, no intention to be changed, he fell in with a girl, and the rest is something that we all know about. As soon as he was in and caring about her, she let him in on her secret, he was too far-gone in his feelings about her for it to matter. Sinead had this power over him, it was nothing that had anything to do with black arts or the occult, she was hot, he was horny, and everything else was a matter of time.

Four weeks ago, the Vampire Council started their purification programme in the city, four weeks ago, Sinead died.

A brief moment taken while sitting down in front of the large towered computer unit, the monitor on standby, the red LED light blinking on and off. Eric didn’t have time to drift into memories of Sinead, but he took them none the less. It was his right to grieve, the others felt that life must go on, but they were animals, not caring about Sinead, her passing. The others, the Wolves, they were only concerned about their own hides. The Vampire Council of Ireland wanted complete control of Ireland, and the lycanthropes were the last resistance standing against their goal.

Both breeds are territorial, the question for those in the know is who will have the balls to go the extra mile and finish what is started. The resistance, the Wolves’ name for themselves, have been gathering information about Vampire activity for ten years. Before that there was no mention of interaction between Vampire and Lycanthrope, why would their be. But an attack on the then leader of the Wolves was ambushed in human form, Vampire Warlords had killed him. The pack leader, William Fielding, was walking with his wife, a human, after dinner. The full moon was two nights away, William didn’t have a chance of changing or survival. The Warlords had managed to immobilise him before he could will himself to change. Sharon Fielding, William’s wife, managed to scramble her way to safety. The couple had gone through in length the procedure should such an eventuality occur. The Vampire’s rarely attacked a Wolf, and a Wolf would rarely attack one of the Vampire’s number. The odd violent encounter would happen, but mostly that was due to the two species going after the one piece of food.

When Sharon had made it back to their house, she knew to get into the panic room, and stay there until morning. This didn’t stop the Warlords from trying to get into her, to keep her from spreading the word that the Vampire’s had purposely attacked them. But William knew the Bloodsuckers, and knew that they couldn’t get into his personally designed entrenchment. He had gone the extra mile, and had a local Priest spray holy water on the walls. This didn’t stop Sharon from being scared.

When the morning showed it’s face, the Warlords had been gone for two hours. Sharon left the room, and contacted the rest of the pack. It didn’t take long for the remains of William to be gathered and brought home. The burial took place the next day, another day and the pack would be at full strength.

The full moon came and blood was spilt, from both breeds, no side gathered the upper hand. Through the time that had past since then there had been minor battles, mostly away from the eyes of the public. Sometimes a few mortals would get in the way, and one or the other side would change them, or kill them. The authorities could not know anything about this struggle for power, for if they did they would hire every hunter, both Vampire and Lycanthrope, to come to the city, and that would be of no benefit to anyone.

Eric now had information to process and get out to the troops. James Harmen, a proven hunter of their kind, now in Ireland, his motives, for them, easy to understand. The message is then encrypted and forwarded to the others in the pack. Before he could click on the send icon, the receiving message appeared. A message box appeared on his screen and a line of information inside that box showed a simple message ‘RECEIVING 1 OF 1703 MESSAGES’. With that the computer crashed.

“Damn operating system, revolutionary my arse!” Although no one was with him, Eric ranted as though there was a crowd around him, all eager to listen to his views. The days in the room were lonely for Eric, he had taken to talking to himself. He was sometimes honest to himself and admitted that even when there was another in the room, he still had to talk to himself for conversation.

It took about five minutes for the computer to boot back up. The operating system was called Leprechaun, from a local Irish company. The Company of the same name had been created in the early years of the new millennium, but had suffered greatly when the promise of broadband internet connections had came up short. The pack had managed to get one of the few broadband lines put into the apartment. The operating system was their only lifeline, and played on the Irish strong belief of supporting Irish owned businesses. The truth would never come out about the two Spanish men that started the company from Barcelona.

When the computer slowly crept back to life, and Eric connected to the internet again, using his 56.6k modem. The 1703 messages, one from each member of the pack, started to download. Basic fact was that only one needed to be downloaded, they all contained the same information.

Username, Bertelbox, real name Lester Jones, was the only message that Eric would read through, the others he would just glance at. The message spelt out interesting news. That a Vampire Hunter called Milo Harmen had taken out Tobius, the leading member of the Vampire Council. Now a member of the Vampire Council being killed was something that gave the pack cause to celebrate. But Tobius was the only member of the Council that wanted peace between the two breeds. The Email continued to tell that in the process the hunter Milo Harmen was also killed.

He had to sit back, one Harmen was dead, another arrives, things were going to be interesting in Dublin, not the in awe kind of interesting, more like the duck and run for cover interesting. Now the original email that Eric was going to send out to the pack needed to be rewritten. While the rest of 1703 emails were being downloaded, Eric was going to have to word the new Email carefully.

The Wolves were humans for 98 percent of their time on the planet. They were reasonable, most were changed against their will, and coping with what they called their disease the best that they can. But with the introduction of James Harmen, Hunter, brother to the deceased Milo, and with their only alloy on the Vampire Council dead, there was little to be rational about.

What could Eric say in the Email to reassure them. That a hunter had come to Ireland, and this one was 100 percent lethal, he wasn’t your typical garden-variety hunter who had just seen one too many horror films or read too many comics. James Harmen was known, his no holds barred and quick kill style were feared. This man would destroy the Irish Pack within a month, then move on to another country. There was no brave face that Eric could put on this, even the scared face was hiding under the bed. He didn’t want to write the Email, but it was his duty to do so, and he would. The first instinct of the pack would be to go underground, and rely more and more on the day shift, Eric’s kind.

Going underground was an option that Eric didn’t want to happen, not just because it would mean more work, though that did have an increase in his stress level. No, Eric wanted to try keep the pack out, sure they would be targets, but maybe there could be a deal brokered with Harmen. Eric still didn’t know what to say in the Email, he would have to tell the truth, but maybe he could phrase it in a way where it would be just another flash in the pan hunter coming around. The amount of Emails that were being downloaded would make that turn of phrase need to be a miracle.

With anger the door to the apartment busted open, as though working with a mind of its own. But someone had caused it to, and even without the heightened sense of smell that his employers had, Eric knew that it was the packs new leader, Frank Tiller. Frank was 101 years old, though to the outside world he was a man in his late forties. The animal inside him had slowed his biological clock down, to a snails pace. In the ending days of the fight for independence in Ireland from the British, Frank was securing food for his men, and a Wolf bit him. Frank never returned to his men, he knew that something had changed inside of him, and he could not control it. The loyalty that his men had shown, their courage, he could not unleash the beast within to them. The Vampires were a different issue. The stench of death that bounded from the battles in the streets of Ireland, had brought them out. At night the Vampires would prey on patrols of troops, from both sides of the conflict that man had made. It never once bothered Frank, when the British troops were killed by the Vamps, but when his own people, the army of Ireland, when they were slain, the beast came forward.

Now Frank was standing behind Eric, and the human knew that the animal behind him was more dangerous as a man, in this state of mind. Reading the Emails that came in only took him a moment, for they all had the same message. The email going out, that Eric was about to delete was more interesting to Frank. “Keep it the way it is, don’t mention the Hunter’s name.” Frank almost growled the words out of his mouth. Slowly and trying to be careful, Eric turned around to face Frank. “They need to know, they need to take precautions.” The level of fear in Eric’s voice was clear, and Eric knew that he had made things worse by his tone and dramatic entrance. Frank took a seat on the edge of the desk. Calmness folded over Eric. “The death of Tobius, this is bad enough, our friend is gone, so is hope for peace.” Frank was using all his will to explain his point of view. “The Hunter Harmen, he is here for us, not the Vampires. The tide that we thought had turned to our favour, it’s now beating our doors open. Send the Email, without names. The Harmen will be dealt with, two Vampire Warlords have been given instructions to take him out. The Vampire’s want revenge for the death of Tobius, and we’ll allow them to do us this turn for the good.” Slowly Eric understood the motion of Frank’s thought, it was not some mass genocide that Frank had planned, but a patient game, one that could spare the loss of one Wolf life.

Eric turned back to the keyboard and sent the Email, adding just one part. That all Wolves were to wait for instructions tomorrow. Once the Email was sent, Eric sat back in his chair, refusing to look at Frank. There was something in the air, a need to unleash the anger held inside the animal, a need to rid himself of the man, and allow primal instincts to rule. Without a word, Frank, calm and collect, walked into the cage, and slammed the door shut behind him. The cage had a tarp covered floor. The door could only be opened from the outside, and only by the fingerprint of full human. Eric heard the door to the cage slammed and stood up. His love for the animal was true, and strong, but he hated to watch the transformation. The howl of pain that was coming was something that needed to be rationed in his mind. He walked to the door. “Be back in an hour, I need to be at the Hunter’s hotel to watch his death.” Without a word Eric left the apartment, but he had heard Franks request, and in one hour, to the second, he would return, no one wanted a pissed off Wolf on their case. With a gentle bang Eric closed the door and left Frank to his time.

In the cage. Frank was walking around, his human form starting to feel the burn of the animal trying to get out. The blood starts, that’s the beginning, flowing more rapidly. Pulse rates have never been recorded to any degree, but those who have gone through the change believe that it’s in the high 300’s. The growth of hair is the next step, though no hair is grown anew, only hair that exists already is made longer.

The mind of humanity shrinks, it lurks in the corner, where the animal can’t find it. At this point the change is complete. The Man-Wolf is something that no horror movie has quite gotten hold of yet, and if Stan Winston himself was standing facing this creature he would surely cringe and never work again. The elongated nose sniffing the air, searching for a smell that existed many years and moments ago. The eyes, the white gone, replaced by crimson red and the bitter yellow pupils. Hair long and flowing. The Wolf, prowling the cage, it’s heart roaring louder than its prey’s scream. Frank was still in there, though for people who knew the man, they would not recognise the beast. It’s long fingers trying to scratch into the floorboards, but they have been treated with a special coating to prevent this. For comfort, to howl, to beat it’s chest, the animal stands erect. A sound of fury, two angst ridden voices combined, the man, the animal, screeching out to the world, I exist. Beating the walls, trying to break free from a self imprisonment that its human host chose. The eyes darting around the room, seeking something to distract it’s urge to kill, but there is nothing. In it’s heart it knows that the tantrum is passing, that soon the ease of humanity will fall back upon it. But still the hope remains that there will be a target, a person, another animal, just to let this will of savagery take a death with it.

Less than an hour has passed, and the mind of the man starts to venture out of his corner, and the beast becomes a hidden weapon, ready to be unleashed at another time.

Frank sits, at peace, human, in the centre of the cell, waiting for Eric to return. His peace greater than it was before the change, the animal satisfied. Only one thing will make him feel more at ease now, the death of the hunter. Once this man is killed, by the Vampires, that will give way for his race to become the top of the ladder. Both the animal and the man in Frank felt comfortable with that thought.