A week later, Avalon woke from what felt like a nightmare. He breathed hard, his eyes searching his surroundings as he realized he wasn't in his own bed or the infirmary wing. He felt the cool stone beneath his hands and legs and he quickly turned around to find a concrete wall behind him. When he turned again, he saw the iron bars that gridlocked him on three sides. He continued to gasp for breath as his senses came back to him, overly heightened, and he had to cup his hands to his eyes until they adjusted. A soft growl escaped with his next exhale.

"You're okay, Avalon," came the sound of a familiar voice on the other side of bars. "Just breathe through it. You've been out for a while."

"Dad?" the younger man asked, his voice weak. He felt like he had been screaming for days and his throat hurt. "What the hell happened?"

"How much do you remember?" Logan asked from the other side of the room.

Avalon looked over in the direction of his father's voice, finding him sitting on a folding chair against the opposite wall. He looked exhausted and sleep-deprived with deep bags beneath his eyes. An empty whiskey glass sat on the floor beside him and Avalon could faintly pick up the trace smells of blood and Scotch. Not a good sign.

"Why am I down here?" he asked, ignoring his father's question. "What happened?"

"You were in your new body for several days. I couldn't get you to calm down enough to change back. I had no choice," Logan said, his voice rough and harsh. "What do you remember?"

"What 'new body?'"

When his father didn't respond, the younger man sighed again, trying to rack his brain for anything beyond his nightmares. He pressed the heels of his palms into his forehead, attempting to put together the flashes he kept seeing. Large canines circling them, his mother yelling something, then pain across his chest and shoulder. He touched the place where his skin felt stretched and he realized it was scabbed heavily, now covered with a nearly-translucent bandage that circled his shoulder and chest in thin layers. He could see the darker tissue beneath the white that betrayed what had once been open wounds, now healing with slow vampiric power.

"Werewolves," he said finally, noticing his father nod shallowly.

Avalon concentrated again when the flashes began to fall into place and he could see short, dim moments that seemed to slowly make sense. He saw Marcus with a gun, his sister screaming at him when he looked at her, and then Elizabeth standing before him, her lavender eyes boring into his in a staring match...

"What else?" Logan asked.

"It's not clear," he replied. "I'm not sure. It's just...a blur. I can't remember."

Logan sighed heavily, running a hand over his own face. He got up to his feet and moved towards his son. "How do you feel right now?"

Avalon looked up at him, still not sure what that meant. "Fine... Tired, hungry, but nothing any different than usual. What happened?"

"Then let's get you upstairs and fed. I may have to bring you back down here before the night is over," Logan said, ignoring the question. He pulled a keyring from his pocket and undid the padlock that held his son captive within the cell. He held the door open. "I'm only letting you out for now so I can redress your bandages and get you some blood. The last thing we need is for your bloodlust to take over and cause more chaos."

"Chaos?" Avalon questioned, suddenly feeling fearful. "What's happening? Did the werewolves attack again?"

"No," Logan answered, his voice clipped. He let Avalon out before he put the keys back in his pocket. He held onto the man's arm as he led him towards the stairs.

"Dad, what's going on? Where's Mum?"

"We'll talk about it upstairs," the older Mezdor replied. He moved ahead of his son and hurried up the steps to the main floor in quick movements.

Avalon rushed to keep up. When they reached the ground floor and rounded into the hallway that led back towards the grand staircase, he had to readjust his senses again. The sounds of undead heartbeats, the smell of bodies and hormones and blood, and the brighter lights all affected him. He grunted, his eyes blinking hard as he tried to concentrate.

"Block it out," Logan said over his shoulder, leaning back to hold onto Avalon's arm again and usher him faster to the main stairs. "Keep moving."

"Lord Mezdor," a man shouted from the other wing opposite of them in the grand foyer. "What do you think you're doing, letting that monster out of his cage? He's to stay there until his judgement arrives!"

Avalon focused his eyes to see Marcus Augustus standing there, fighting against Kearran as she restrained him by the back of his shirt. His arm was heavily wrapped in bandages and gauze, supported by a sling. Another bandage covered a patch of his temple and forehead.

"He's lucid. I'm taking him to his room to change and eat before he's put back downstairs," Logan answered, his voice calm but cold.

"No, he's still a monster! You've seen what he's done!"

"Marcus," Kearran threatened, sounding like a mother scolding her child with the simple recitation of his name.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Avalon snapped at the American second-in-command, seeing Marc's glare in his direction.

"Don't play stupid, you freak of nature! You attacked her on purpose, didn't you?"

Avalon frowned, still not understanding.

"Marcus, enough. You're going to rip your stitches," Kearran snapped at him, now using two hands to keep the younger man from advancing on Logan and Avalon. "None of this is going to help Elizabeth! Enough!"

"No, that monster came at me and then her! He doesn't deserve to be allowed out of his cage!" Marcus continued. "I saw him maul her like a wild animal! He deserves to be put on trial and punished!"

Avalon's cheeks flared red with anger. "I would never harm her of my own free will! I care more for her than I would for you, asshole." He took a few threatening steps forward but Logan had him by the arm again in seconds, yanking him back.

"Shut up, Avalon," he growled at his son.

"And when you figured she doesn't like you back, you'd take her out?" Marc hollered. The room had been quiet as people got out of the way so they wouldn't be victims to a new round of fighting. "She'd never lower herself to your standard, Mezdor!"

Avalon started to laugh, his head shaking as he tried to keep a hold of his composure. "Funny you say that, because I already rose to hers. She's not your girlfriend anymore."

"Enough!" Nathaniel's voice boomed, and the two fell silent.

The two younger men turned to see the British elder standing there, his scrubs bunched and wrinkled as though he had been in them for multiple nights. Blood stained the material across his torso. Beside him, Seren also waited, a collection of small medical bottles in the fold of one forearm. Both looked angry, their expressions steeled.

Marcus shook free of Kearran's grip, looking at the elder. "Nathan, surely you're not okay with this monster running free! He should be detained for nearly killing Elizabeth! She's the coven commander, for gods' sake. He has to be held accountable!"

The elder shot him a look, making the American second-in-command quiet immediately. "Elizabeth's asked that nothing be cited against Avalon Mezdor. She won't press formal charges."

"What?" Marcus snapped, shocked. "No! I don't care if you won't give him a trial, I will kill him myself if anything else happens to her. He's a monster!"

Nathaniel shook his head, his gaze turning to Avalon and remaining hard. It was the first time Avalon ever remembered receiving a disapproving look from his old mentor.

Then Grand Elder Seren Winslow's voice responded, sounding harsh: "It doesn't matter if he's a man or a monster. It's her territory, her ruling. No charges will be pressed for the crimes performed upon her, nor her Second, Marcus Aurelius Augustus. This is her decree."

Avalon felt his face pale, not understanding. What could he have done that she had nearly died? He couldn't remember if the wolves had managed to attack her in the backyard. He stared at the group of people as it slowly began to trickle back into place, flashes of memory of the woman's body beneath him, her kicking him off before he bit down. He could taste flesh and bone on his tongue suddenly and he quickly wiped his mouth, as if that would rid him of the flavor. He could smell her perfume, adrenaline, blood, and something else... Fear.

The memory clicked into place, showing him glaring at his sister, barking and slobbering in her direction; then, Elizabeth shouted for her not to move as she tried to capture his attention. He remembered her falling to the ground.

"Logan, get him out of here before I lose my own control," Nathaniel said, his tone still cold.

The Blood Warrior nodded quickly and began to pull at Avalon's arm again. He shoved him up the stairs to the second floor.

Avalon hurried to stay a few steps ahead of his father, feeling the man's fingers consistently pushing him forward. He got to his room and Logan shook his head, instead opening the door to the room he and Ranelle had shared. Avalon gave him a hesitant look and then went in, finding the suite almost completely bare of any of his parents' belongings. He could see one suitcase left at the foot of the bed.

"Dad, what happened? Why did I do that?" he asked finally, his voice weak again.

"You lost control," Logan answered, also quiet. He shut the door and then walked over to the desk where a set of blood decanters and glasses waited. He poured a cupful from a blood bag and then added another type from one of the decanters. He turned and handed it to his son. "Sit down."

Avalon took it, sitting on the edge of an armchair's cushion. He gripped the glass in both hands, feeling the warmth from the blood fill his palms. He looked down at the red liquid, realizing how hungry he was. But there was dread that filled his stomach, taking over the need to down the glass faster than he could swallow.

"Our family's history has had Wolves running throughout it for generations before me. It seems an old grudge is still alive and well all these centuries later. You were bitten by a wolf last week and the lycan virus overtook the other half of your genes. It's the same dormant gene I carried from my father. But when you were bitten... Yours was woken."

Avalon frowned, not understanding. The virus would only cause discomfort and an allergic reaction. One couldn't be turned into a werewolf if they were already a supernatural species. Not unless there was a wolf-gene in someone's DNA. His mouth opened as he realized what his father meant.

"You're a hybrid now," Logan said, the words hurting him to speak. "It's not something I ever thought possible happening again in my lifetime."

"So, I'm a werewolf?" Avalon asked.

"No," Logan answered, shaking his head as he poured himself another glass of blood. "When you were bitten, you then turned into something that is called a 'lycan.' I've only seen a few in my lifetime. Unfortunately, your body was in shock and didn't know how to control itself."

"What happened to Elizabeth and Marcus?" he asked, his voice quieter.

"They got in your way... Elizabeth decided to be the one to keep you distracted so your sister wouldn't get hurt."

Avalon looked up from the cup again. "Is she okay?"

Logan exhaled hard, sounding like a sad sigh. It was enough to make Avalon's throat clench with fear. "Eris was unscathed. Elizabeth... She's still in the I-C-U room, but she's conscious. They gave her a few transfusions and she seems to be combating the lycan virus finally. It's dangerous to anyone your age."

Tears sprang to the son's eyes as he tried to grasp what his father was saying. He swallowed another breath. "Will she live?"

"I hope so," Logan answered truthfully. "Drink up. I don't want your thirst to get out of control."

Avalon nodded and took a slow sip, but instead he wanted to vomit. The images played through his mind one more time, now accompanied by the Death tarot card flashing before his eyes. He saw her lying beneath him, screaming in pain. The smell of blood filled him, and he was certain it wasn't from the cup in his grip. "I didn't mean to," he whispered finally, his voice rough.

"I know."

"Is Eris okay?" he asked, looking up to see Logan take a seat on the divan at the edge of the bed. "I need to apologize."

"She and your mother left last week. I couldn't stop them. I said some things I shouldn't have."

Avalon frowned, not understanding. His mother would never just pick up and go without them, especially not in her current condition. And Eris wouldn't have gone along with it unless there was just cause. But his parents had never fought beyond simple disagreements.

"Where are they?" he questioned.

Logan sighed and ran a hand over his face again before he took a long drink from his glass. "London, I think. Lord Maldeas went with them."

Avalon blinked, unable to grasp that they were gone. "Now what do we do?"

"Help you learn how to adapt, and hope that Elizabeth doesn't change her mind in trying you for attempted murder of a coven commander or official. Here."

The younger man looked up from his glass again, seeing his father's outstretched hand. A leather cord dangled in his grasp, the dark pewter ankh swinging lightly with the movement.

"I didn't think you'd want to lose this."

Avalon took it, placing his glass on the small end table beside him. He began to undo the knot immediately.

"The chain broke in your transformation. But at least this isn't silver, so you shouldn't have to worry about a reaction."

He nodded, looping it back around his neck quickly before tying it again. His thumb and forefinger stroked over the cold metal, giving him some comfort. "Thank you."

"Finish your blood and I'll get you fresh clothes. I need to take you back downstairs before the moon sets."