Date: Mon, 16 Aug 2021 00:23:34 -0400
From: Ulf Raynor <ulfr57@gmail.com>
Subject: Devil Dawg Donnelly's Revelations Chapter Four

Standard disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people
or actual events is purely coincidental.

You may contact the author at Ulfr57@gmail.com All comments, suggestions
and/or obsevations are welcome if presented respectfully.

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Devil Dawg Donnelly's: Revelations

Chapter Four:

"Retrieving wounded comrades from the field of fire is a Marine Corps
tradition more sacred than life."

--Robert Pisor.

                        * * * * *


"Well, that was a bust!" Max Donnelly muttered to himself stoically as he
pulled out of his driveway and headed in the direction of the base.

It was already well past noon and he had hoped he would have caught up with
Carl by now since he wasn't at the hospital, where he had first hoped to
find him. Still, he was glad to have found Gavin with his mother and that
she was now awake, though still a bit groggy from all the pain medications
she was on after her attack the night before.

He was also pleased that Atticus had thought to send Barin Young along with
Carl and Gavin after Carl had refused to wait until Hank had talked to him,
letting Max know what had transpired after the messages poured in on
Gavin's phone from his friend Arlis Gundarson right after Gavin and Brock
got the Wifi network back up after having been disabled by the attack on
the compound during Billy's Heritage ceremony.

Max was relieved to find Barin standing guard outside Ms. Hollis's room and
Max had instructed him to stay close until they were certain they had
eliminated any potential residual threats.

He was also proud of how well Gavin was holding up as he stood vigil by his
mother's bedside. Max assured him they would maintain constant surveillance
to make sure that something like that didn't happen again.

Max had half expected to find the seventeen-year-old distraught, finding
instead he was more angry than anything else. Angry at the one who had
attacked her and the ones who had attacked the compound. Max noted the
steely look of determination behind Gavin's eyes as he expressed his
determination in holding whoever was responsible accountable for their
actions. He had left with his assurances that they were already on it with
Gavin's grim insistence he'd help out once he was sure his mother was back
on her feet again.

While speaking to the boy, Max couldn't help but see many of the qualities
that he shared with Carl, realizing Carl's prior assessments of Gavin had
proven insightful. Max found it even more telling that Gavin had seemed to
so readily accept everything he had seen the night before, though he was
certain Gavin would have a lot more questions before all was said and done,
something his youngest son JD now shared in common with him.

As Max now neared the base, his mind continued to wander to the events
following his final confrontation with his ex-wife, his handling of the
betrayal of his and his new Gamma's eldest son's, his securing of his son
Billy and his subsequent attempt at comforting his youngest son JD.

He had wished he hadn't been present to witness the traitorous actions of
his eldest sibling or the gruesome fate of his insane mother and not least
of which the true nature of the Heritage.

Max knew JD was a tough kid but having to deal with any of those things
could be stressful, let alone all three, but that cat was out of the bag so
to speak and there was no putting it back in now and he knew that he and
his youngest were going to have to have a very long and serious
conversation after things had settled down a bit and they were able to
catch their breaths and try to bring some semblance of order back into
their lives before he tackled that.

It seemed, at least for now, Jake was managing to keep a lid on things as
far as JD was concerned, surprisingly so after his emotional meltdown when
Jason had made his reappearance sometime later in the evening.

It hard to have been close to midnight when Jason wandered back into the
cabin. His hands covered in blood as was his mouth and neck. Max had
assumed as a result of his ferocious attacks on the compounds invaders.

He had watched on in silence, as Jason crossed the room, with concern in
his eyes when he caught sight of JD. Max could have almost predicted his
son's actions as he recoiled from Jason's touch when he reached out to him
with his blood-stained hands.

Max had felt sorry for the young alpha, especially knowing that Jason's
reactions had mostly been spurred from his almost primal need as an alpha
to protect the ones he cared the most about and it was painfully obvious,
emphasized by the crestfallen hurtful cringe registering emotively from his
facial expressions and his body language. JD's rejection obviously hitting
him harder than any physical blow.

True, Max could have interceded on Jason's behalf. He knew what the effects
of a first-time shift could have and that Jason had acted on pure instinct,
knowing full well that first-time shifters often struggled with the
dichotomy of their two natures as both man and beast.

But with the birth of JD's son mere days away, Max knew that what his son
needed now, more than anything else, was stability, and though it was clear
that the two boys were in the early stages of falling in love and that they
were truly drawn to each other, Max had accepted the reality of his son's
situation and was forced to come to the conclusion, that right now, with
all that both Jason and JD would be facing in the coming weeks and months,
that what was best for both of them at this time, was for Max to follow his
original plan, that being, for the foreseeable future, JD would be best
served with someone more stable, someone JD already trusted and could count
on.

Still, it pained Max to watch JD push Jason away, nearly shouting at him,
accusing Jason of abandoning him: "You left me!" his son had shouted,
backing away from Jason's outstretched hand, JD's accusatory vehemence
permeating every line in his face, his body quivering in both anger and an
almost overwhelming sense of abandonment.

Max and all the others around them, just watched on as Jason seemed to
cringe and shrink into himself, at first wide-eyed, and stammering
incoherently and then nearly collapsing into himself as JD turned from him,
his eyes red and watery, on the verge of tears once again, backing up and
into Jake's arms, wrapping his own around his waist, the side of his face
scrunched against his bare chest: "I needed you..." JD had groaned, his
words sounding forlorn, his voice cracking: "We all did..." he continued,
turning his head slightly to shoot him a baleful glance full of accusation
and disappointment: "If it wasn't for Jake and my Dad, we would all be dead
and where were you?!"

In the end, words failed Jason, the pain on his face written in every
soulful expression, his eyes staring at the floor, unable to meet JD's,
self-recrimination emanating from him in every motion he took until it
finally elicited his mother to cautiously and quietly guide him from the
cabin.

Max knew that JD had only been speaking from the heat of the moment, but
that still didn't negate the effect his words had on Jason. Max knew his
son well enough, that those feelings would fade, there was a real bond
between the two, both he and Carl had sensed it, and what JD was feeling
now would dissipate and be supplanted and smoothed by his true affections.

It dawned on Max how so alike their narrative reflected his own with Carl
throughout the years, drawing Max back to the present as he passed the base
entrance, knowing he was just moments away from his destination and his
hope of catching up with Carl as he made the turn down the road to the home
he had bought for him during one of the most troubling times in their
relationship.

As Max pulled into the driveway of the ranch-style home, that sat back a
ways into the woods, it still amazed him that in the ten years that Carl
had occupied the place, it had barely changed in any way.

Sure, Carl maintained the property, that was just in his nature, but in all
that time, he had done nothing to personalize it. It was almost as if he
had determined to keep it exactly how it was that first time Max had
brought him there.

Max, of course, knew why that was. Personalizing the space would have meant
he accepted it as his home, not the place Max had stuck him, tucked away
from his troubled relationship and marriage with Monaca. His refusal to
personalize, either inside or out, was his passive-aggressive way of
reminding Max how displaced and dejected he felt.

It had become a nonverbal accusation and protest by Carl and a bone of
contention and confirmation of Carl's stubborn pigheadedness. Max knew he
was jealous, and he knew he had every reason to be upset, it wasn't like
things had gone the way Max had wanted them to. Carl was fully aware that
he had never counted on being forced into a leadership role and there was
absolutely no one more cognizant than Carl how much he hated being
corralled and coerced into that mold, but family, duty, and most of all,
his service and placement within the Heritage had all but guaranteed and
dictated his future actions for him.

As Max unlocked the front door to Carl's house and entered into the small
foyer that opened into the great room, just like he had done a thousand
times before over the years, somehow, this time felt different. There was a
hint of trepidation in the air, a sense of finality he had never felt
before.

The whole place reeked of Carl's scent, but he couldn't determine how
recent that scent was. There was still a trace of both Jake and his new
Gamma (Hank) proliferating the overall atmosphere of the house, though they
had packed up all the stuff they had brought with them and taken it with
them to the compound, having no intention of returning here after the
ceremony.

Making his way through the house, checking for any sign of recent activity
and finding nothing out of place, something that wasn't difficult since
Carl maintained the place as spartan as he had received it. Max made his
way to the master bedroom, the one area of the house, except the master
bathroom, he knew would contain a proliferation of Carl's personal items.

Immediately, he noted that the picture of him and the boys, that Carl kept
on the dresser on the wall facing the foot of the queen-size bed, was
missing and that a drawer left slightly ajar seemed to be empty.

Max felt the increase in his heart rate as he now somewhat anxiously
approached the double-wide closets bi-fold door, his hand hesitating on the
cold metal door handle, his thoughts racing with the unresolved issues of
their last conversation, while halfheartedly reminding himself of Carl's
promise, right after he returned the two weeks prior, after a few days with
Danal and the new recruits, sitting on his bed back at the trailer and
promising to be the type of partner he needed him to be.

It was with that thought in mind Max slid the closet door open.

He didn't know what he was supposed to feel at that moment, as he found
himself just shuffling slightly backward until the calves of his legs
brushed against the foot of Carl's bed and his knees absentmindedly folded
lowering him to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, starring blankly
at the now empty closet interior.

Max leaned forward, his hands carding through his hair as the heal of his
hands rubbed his tired eyes and his elbows rested on his knees.

Time seemed to become nonexistent, his thoughts drifting from one moment to
the next. Past and present, reliving in vivid detail the events of the last
few days, his mood growing darker and even more somber with each passing
moment, the weight of his head resting in the palms of his hands until he
caught the slightest of movement from the periphery of his vision.

Looking up, through furrowed brow, a hint of a grin forming at the corners
of his mouth, Max's eyes connected with a glowering Carl, leaning against
the doorjamb his arms folded over his chest.

Max studied him suspiciously, as Carl's right hand dropped, digging into
his right front pocket hauling out a set of keys and tossing them in his
direction.

Having snatched them out of the air Max looked down at them, suspecting
beforehand that they would be his keys to the house and the trailer.

Max starred surreptitiously at worn metallic shapes in his hand, his right
eyebrow lifting quizzically as Carl's voice finally broke the silence
between them: "Guess I won't be needing those anymore!"


                       * * * * *


"Will you quit fidgeting like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking
chairs, so she can finish dressin' yer wounds?" Atticus Walker exclaimed in
a huff, growing impatient with the man he had forged a lifelong bond to,
who, at that current moment, seemed unable to sit still long enough while
Elizabeth Dunne rechecked the bandages that covered the worse of the
scratches across Brock's right shoulder, wounds he had sustained during
their short-lived battle with Michael Donnelly the night before.

Brock hissed back at him mockingly: "Well, not all of us have superduper
werewolf healin' genes like you, and that fuckin' peroxide stings like the
dickens."

Atticus just shook his head, running his fingers through the short hairs on
the top of his head for the umpteenth time that morning alone: "For the
last friggin' time, we ain't werewolves asshole!"

Brock snorted, bristling before sneering back at him: "Werewolf/lycanthrope
wuz the difference? Both have big scary teeth and claws that rip through
flesh like hot knives through warm butter." He emphasized the point by
indicating his shoulder and rolling his eyes.

"While the latter is true..." Elizabeth Dunne interjected: "Werewolves are
mythical creatures that are turned into werewolves by the full moon after
being bitten by other werewolves and can't control the change, nor can they
control their insatiable desire to kill, whereas lycanthropes generally
have complete control of their shifting abilities and still maintain some
level of conscious control over their actions." she paused before adding:
"Most of the time that is."  "And we can't turn you into one of us by
biting you, no matter how tempting that seems at the moment!" Atticus
joked, snapping his teeth suggestively.

Both Brock and Atticus were fully aware that she was speaking about her own
son's actions the night before when he lost all control over himself and
went on a blood-thirsty murderous spree of anyone dressed head to toe in
all black riot gear and speaking German.

And quite the spree it was too by all accounts. Hank had relayed to them
later after they had secured the compound and everyone was accounted for,
that Jason came in second only to Paul Lakatos for the highest kill count;
Hank giving the young Marine his due noting especially how the bulk of it
had been in defense of his own father and Marshal Griffen after his son
Merrick became temporarily overwhelmed and incapacitated.

Truthfully, no one had seen that one coming, and after taking his own
eldest sons actions into account, Max had made it a point to personally and
publicly commend and thank Paul for his valiant efforts, knowing full well,
by the severity of the wounds both Marshal and Merrick had sustained, that
the elder Griffen probably would not have survived if Paul hadn't
interceded on their behalf.

It was also to his credit that he had refused any rest or medical treatment
until everyone was accounted for and he and a number of other alphas had
completed a final perimeter sweep of the entire compound grounds, a task
that had taken them nearly until dawn to complete, and even then he only
stood down because Max had ordered him too.

Brock finally stood up after a tired and slightly disheveled Elizabeth gave
him the thumbs up, informing him he was lucky he had only superficial
scratches and that none of them appeared to be showing any signs of
infection, but indicating to Atticus that perhaps a day of bed rest
wouldn't go remiss.

Both he and Brock were about to object when Hank over road them both,
basically ordering them to go get some breakfast and hit the hay for a few
z's, at least for the next few hours.

They had been waiting to hear back from Gavin and Carl but were satisfied
Gavin had made it alright when Barin had phoned Atticus personally to say
that it looked like Gavin's Mom was going to be okay and that Max had even
stopped by to check in on him before taking off to go locate Carl.

Both he and Brock still didn't know what to think about Timmy, who lay
there on one of the cots they had set up as part of a makeshift treatment
area inside the Lodge for those wounded in the battle.

Elizabeth said that though he had a slightly elevated temperature, there
didn't appear to be any internal damage or injuries that she could tell of,
though none of them had been able to pry the silver medallion from his
fingers, not without breaking them in the process, something she strongly
recommended against though Danal had seemed to debate the idea, not
relishing the thought that their most sacred relic was trapped in the
steely clutches of a comatose human.

After briefly checking Timmy's unchanged condition, both Brock and Atticus
finally made it over to the bivouac and scrounged up a couple of plates
full of the prior evenings leftovers consisting of heaping piles of ham and
freshly made scrambled eggs and had no sooner sat down in front of the
campfire to eat with a few of the other stragglers who had yet to make it
to bed, when the notice Hank leave the Lodge and headed in the direction of
the Donnelly cabin.

He and Brock knew he was heading to check on both Billy and JD, the latter
refusing to leave his brothers bedside, despite his Dad's assurances that
he would be alright and that he had just passed out from exhaustion;
something not that unusual after a first time shift and probably even more
so considering the elevated levels of his lycanthropic abilities.

They had overheard both Max and Hank discussing it, stating that neither
had ever seen or heard of anyone exhibiting such strength and speed so new
to their first time shift, both wondering just what else he might be
capable of in the future.

The thought still kind of sent shivers down Atticus's spine just thinking
about what he had seen Billy do the night before.

His train of thought shifted, like his mood, when he felt Brock lean
against him and rested his head on his shoulder, while he halfheartedly
chewed a mouthful of food. The simple action and the intimate warmth of his
body pressing against him, stirred memories from the night before when
Brock had selflessly hurled himself at Michael Donnelly in an attempt to
free Atticus from a chokehold. That action, more than any other, left a
lasting and conflicting impression on Atticus; one was fear, for what he
thought was sheer stupidity of his mate and the other was the realization
that he could have lost Brock because of it.

A sudden and sobering thought had just occurred to Atticus, that he had
just thought of Brock as his mate, not a partner, not someone with who he
just shared a similar goal, but an actual mate, someone he now knew was
already putting his needs above his own, who gave no thought or concern for
his own well being and safety when he thought Atticus in mortal danger.

Atticus found himself becoming suddenly cognoscente of his own feelings and
actions when he thought of Brock's life being in peril and how he had done
the exact same thing in an attempt to protect and defend him and realizing
his own actions were of fear for Brock, or more precisely.... his mate.

Atticus abruptly sat his plate down and turned to Brock, the heated emotion
of the moment, compelling him to act as he took Brock's plate from his
hands and set it aside before standing and pulling Brock up with him,
taking his hand and dragging him toward their tent.

He ignored Brock's glowering quizzical look, his slightly perturbed,
questioning annoyance by Attiucs's sudden change of priorities until he had
dragged him into the tent, thrown his arms around him, pulling Brock tight
against his body and smothering any protestations before he could vocalize
them by crushing his lips against Brock's.

As kisses go, he knew it probably wasn't the most romantic or sexiest Brock
had ever received, but what he lacked in finesse he made up for in pure raw
passion, knowing he had accomplished that, by the way, Brock's initially
awkward and surprised protestations melted away as his body succumbed to
Atticus's fervent impulses.

Feeling Brock melt into his arms, Atticus pulled back slightly to study
Brock's face, hoping to meet his gaze to better gauge his response, he was
surprised to see that Brock's eyes remained closed and his lips slightly
quivered as he unmistakenly swooned in Atticus's arms.

Atticus beamed, knowing, without doubt, the effect his kiss had, seeing it
written in every subtle expression that played across Brock's face until
his eyelids slowly parted and his lips trembled as he stammered his first
response: "W-w--Wow..." was all Brock managed to say before he dove back in
for more, practically grinding his lips against Atticus's and trying to
suck the very breath from him.

As Atticus pulled his suctioning lips away and stared into eyes that
mirrored his own heated desires, he pushed Brock away, his gaze ravishing
Brock's body: "Get those fucking clothes off!" he commanded, his voice
thick and full of need as he began tearing at his own clothes, tossing them
aside until they both collapsed nakedly on the double-sized mat they called
their bed, their arms, and legs entangling in a sea of writhing limbs as
their mouths once again attempted to devour each others burning passions.

From Brock's perspective, he didn't know what had fueled this sudden change
in Atticus, but he had no intention of spoiling the mood by questioning it,
deciding instead to let his actions speak louder than words by letting
Atticus's wet thick tongue part his lips as he pulled it into his mouth
hungrily sucking the spit from it as his fingers carded through the stubble
of hair on his head, pulling his mouth in tighter and his tongue deeper
into his mouth.

Atticus could feel the heat build between them as his own cock expanded and
engorged with the mounting desires that flooded like a tsunami over him,
driving him inexorably between Brock's legs as he positioned himself
between them, drawing up his thighs until they almost instinctively wrapped
around his waist, wantonly inviting him in.

Brock groaned in pure hedonistic delight as he felt the massive blunt end
of his lover's cock poke against his quiver as lips. He could feel the
warmth of his pre-cum as it belched stickily from his piss slit, slicking
the way for the inevitable plunge he both knew and hungered for.

For Atticus, it seemed as if the entire world had disappeared leaving only
his mate, his lover, his heart and soul yearning beneath him, as ravenous
as he was for the joining of their two bodies.

As he pushed forward, drawing Brock tighter in his embrace, his teeth
nibbling at Brock's full, pouting lips, as the bloated head of his
fourteen-inch monster split his rectal walls and began to sink within his
palpitating depths, he could feel Brock's clutching fingers dig into his
ass cheeks, trying to pull him in deeper as his heels kicked against his
back, moans of intense fiery ardor consuming both their consciousness.

With the deepest of guttural grunts, pulled somewhere from deep within his
chest, a fugue-like fervor overcame Atticus, his primal, animalistic
desires subsuming all cognitive reason, his cock became a battering ram,
bursting through any defense that Brock's hungry hole could have mustered
against the sudden intrusion.

Brock gasped in both pain and pleasure, driven by pure lust for the hairy
giant pile-driving into him: "Fffuck me like you mean it you bastard!" he
cried out between pushing thrust, forcing each word out in staccato-like
fashion with the intensity of his jack-hammering hips and thighs.

Sweat began to pour off the duo, mingling together slicking their bodies
further, causing them to slip and slide in near-frictionless unison.

Brock was the first to cum, his mouth a large silent "O" his eyes squeezed
shut as his cock sprayed thick ropes of sperm between their already soaking
bodies.

The squeezing pulse of Brock's gulping hole triggered Atticus's own
orgasm. Like Brock, his manhood erupted, practically pissing jizz deep
within the undulating confines of Brock's guts, flooding him with his
potent manly juices until he collapsed with exhaustion on top of him,
panting for breath as his still swollen dong continued to seep fluids into
him.

"Don't you dare try to pull that thing out mister!" Brock gasped between
gulps of air.

"I wouldn't dream of it mate." Atticus sighed, his lips once again seeking
Brock's, tenderly cementing their union: "There's no other place I would
rather be!"


                         * * * * *


"That one looks just like a fluffy poofy bunny on a jet ski wearing a
sombrero" Timmy mused to himself, while simultaneously wondering why he was
lying there, on his back in the middle of the day, when mere moments ago he
was just walking along the path leading from the cabin with JD and that
beautiful mountain of testosterone and muscle Jake Bauers, roughly right
around midnight.

He seemed vaguely aware of spotting a shiny, pretty thing on the ground and
had just bent over to pick it up, and claim it for his own when the next
thing he knew, a tingly shock-wave, almost like an electrical current, had
shot up his left arm and the palm of his hand felt like it was on fire.

Even now, as he lay there admiring the dizzying array of fluffy white
bilious clouds that careened across the azure sky, the was still vibrant
heat emanating in the palm of his hand.

Timmy raised his left hand up to exam it against the panoramic backdrop,
finding only his own pale, nearly translucent skin, glaring near creamy
flawlessness back at him.

As if on cue, as Timmy studied the pulsating, slightly itchy throb of his
palm, a pretty, gilded-edged butterfly with iridescent wings descended from
nowhere and fluttered to rest in the center of his hand.

He marveled at the complexity of colors that seemed to dance across the
surface of its wings, changing in hues that shifted incandescently in
sparkling speckles as he lifted it closer to his face for a more detailed
inspection.

Timmy's mouth gaped open in wondrous aw as his scrutiny revealed what
appeared to be a tiny butterfly winged man with two small glowing antennae
running juxtaposed on either side of his forehead, kneeling on all fours
practically wiggling its perfectly sculpted buttocks while staring
amorously up at him with two perfectly golden eyes that batted both
playfully and suggestively, causing Timmy to giggle with delight, noting
how the mere whisper of his breath caught against its delicate
gossamer-like wings causing them to flutter wistfully.

Standing slowly as he cupped his left hand in his other, Timmy watched as
the two-inch figure rose to its feet and blew him a kiss, blushing shyly,
its lips pouting mischievously, causing Timmy to coo in rapturous delight,
before pursing his lips and gently blowing on it's fluttering wings.

He nearly burst in joyous exuberance as the minuscule entity exploded into
dozens of replicas, each a different color in a near-infinite display of
rainbow hues.

Timmy giggled enthusiastically as they all swarmed around him, their
delicate little hands pulling and pushing him to move forward, down a path
hidden by a dense, fluffy cloud-like fog, that to Timmy felt like
traversing the surface of a trampoline, but with slightly less bounce. In
fact, everywhere, except up seemed completely obscured by the white, thick
bilious mist, leaving Timmy to wonder if he had indeed died somehow and was
now in heaven.

As they moved along, the mist began to part before him, spreading like
wings to slowly reveal the peaks of distant mountains whose bases were
subsumed in majestic clouds lit in rays of golden sun-dappled light,
leaving him the impression of islands floating clouds.

The more they moved forward, he was sure he could hear the soft strumming
and plucking of harp-like music reminding him vaguely of a more sedate and
lilting symphonic version of his favorite childhood songs, "Twinkle Twinkle
Little Star."

As they drew closer to the soft music, the gentle rustle of water lapping
against a sandy shore gave a rhythmic counterbalance to the melody.

In short order, Timmy found himself at the edge of a large calm lake mostly
concealed by the thick cotton-like mist.

As he stood there at the bank of the gentle waters, he could feel the
slightly cool waters ripple over his bare feet, caressing the skin of his
feet and tickling between his toes.

The swarm of butterfly men all moved to swirl away from him, moving
inexorably forward to dance in the air above the surface of the water,
before each spiraled and twisted until they formed the outline of a large
valentine like heart, hovering there for a moment before flying off in all
directions just as several dolphin-like creatures pushed a gigantic
seashell into view, less than twelve feet in front of him.

As the shell slowly skidded to a stop, the lower surface catching the sands
below the surface, impeding its forward momentum.

Timmy just stood there frozen in fascination, while gawking at it for a
moment, before it began to split slowly open, revealing its contents.

There, lying on a mound of soft rolling folds of pink shiny satin,
surrounded by the pearlized interior, shifting in rainbow hues, lay prone
one of the most beautiful persons he had ever seen.

Other than the entirety of his experience since he picked up that shiny
metal disc, the most unusual thing he observed about the reclining figure
was the similarities between them, though petite in height, and slight in
girth and width, he wouldn't have dubbed it "twinkish".

There was some definite muscular development and definition. Thin around
the waist but broad enough through the chest and shoulders to still be
considered masculine in origin.

The face was rather oval with high cheekbones and what could only be
described as a rather dainty nose poised over small, but full pouting lips.

The eyes mirrored his own, twinkling a brilliant blue, with long blond
lashes, the entity's hair hung in long flowing ringlets cascading down its
front and back, almost waist-length, shining like spun coiled gold, that
bounced diaphanously with the slightest of movements.

As strangely odd Timmy found the whole thing, it was the chubby little
winged babies that fluttered all around the resting figure, playing small
stringed harps or daintily lifting coils of the figures golden tresses and
combing and constantly adjusting them with their small pudgy fingers.

One, in particular, caught his attention more than the others, as it sat on
the entities knee, its tiny golden-haired head resting in obvious boredom
in the palm of his hand that was supported by resting its tiny elbow on its
equally tiny knee, causally whipping and flipping a golden coil of hair
much to the ever-increasing annoyance of the prone figure, culminating in
it raising one hand in a sultry upward movement before flicking the winged
infant off its knee sending it careening in a spiraling arc over the shell
and into the water.

The tiny plop sound it made barely caused a ripple, brought a giggle from
Timmy that changed to a gasp as the now angry baby shot out of the water
straight into the air and magically produced a little golden bow and arrow
right out of thin air and started firing a series of repetitive shots at
the figure, that bounced of its pale skin harmlessly, but obviously
annoying the entity, causing it to suddenly sit up and snatch the figure
around the waist with one hand and shouting in its face: "Stop it you
little fucker or I'll rip your wings off and shove 'em up your ass!"

It was at that moment the mysterious figure seemed to take notice of
Timmy's presence, its eyes going wide as it quickly shoved the winged baby
behind its back and offered him a beaming, eye batting innocent look that
only made Timmy want to giggle harder.

"Oh hi, you've finally made it" it said in a lilting, soft musical voice
that poured over him with the warmest of feelings against his skin.

Timmy finally found his voice asking the only question that was foremost on
his mind: "Did I die and go to heaven?"

The entity regarded him for a moment as if contemplating the meaning of his
words before responding: "Is this really your idea of heaven?"

Timmy watched as the figure turned it's head sideways to glower at the
little winged scamp it had just shoved behind it noting it had now perched
itself on the rim of the half shell and now stood there pissing over the
side into the lake: "I guess not" Timmy responded, before adding
quizzically: "Then where am I and who are you?"

To Timmy's startled amazement, the entity vanished in a puff of
jasmine-scented smoke only to abruptly re-materialize two feet in front of
him.

Timmy stared into its glowing eyes as it studiously scanned him up and
down, with a somewhat vacuous and clinical expression painted across its
beautiful face.

It was in those few silent moments, that Timmy examined the entity back,
trying to assess its true nature, having already noted its hardy yet
delicate features, he now found himself speculating as to its gender.

When it first appeared, he had been certain it was female, but now, a mere
two feet in front of him, it appeared that original assessment to be false,
as it now exhibited more than a few masculine traits as well, not least of
which was the penis between its legs.

What still confused him however was how it seemed to melt and mesh between
both sexes depending on how it moved or how the light caught it. Even now,
as it lifted its delicate right hand up to its face and clasped its chin
between thumb and forefinger before slowly moving to circle him, and making
humming noises and clicks that could at times sound both approving and
critical, he still couldn't confirm whether the being was male or female.

As the entity finished its circular stroll around him, it stopped where it
began, looking him up and down once again, only to vanish once again in the
same cloud of jasmine-scented pink smoke, only to reappear once again
reposed on the floating half-shell, as if nothing ever happened.

Timmy blushed as it smiled at him seductively, its glowing blue eyes
batting impishly, its head cocked alluringly before it spoke again, in
words that almost physically caressed him, filling him with warmth and
comfort: "You are where you have always been..." it's voice trailed off as
if looking right through him but adding casually as if in response to his
quizzical expression: "You are there within yourself, where you have always
been and will continue to be until you are no more."

The near sardonic look in its eyes, assuring Timmy that that answer would
have to suffice, as the being saw this to be self-evident and unworthy of a
greater explanation.

Timidly Timmy regarded the creature, asking: "Who are you and why do we
look so much alike?"

The entity laughed, its face exploding into a beaming expression of
rapturous joy, it's laughter echoing like delicate crystal shards bouncing
together in a summer breeze: "We have many names given us over the ages."
It mused before citing a few: "Parvati, Frigga, Hathor, Eros, and Cupid are
but a few..." it smiled, revealing its perfect, white pearl-like teeth
framed by full succulent ruby red lips: "But in this instance, I would say
Aphrodite suits best."

Timmy of course recognized the name as belonging to one of the ancient
Greek deities; the goddess of love if he wasn't mistaken, one that was also
very much female if memory served him correctly, causing Timmy to query:
"Wasn't Aphrodite female in Greek mythology?"

The entity laughed again, its smile almost infectious as its lilting
laughter: "You mortals and your primitive tribal concepts, I would have
hoped that one of my own children would have evolved beyond such
limitations."

Timmy chuckled: "Last time I checked I have a mother and she doesn't look
or act anything like you...unfortunately" he added.

The entity sat up brusquely, waving its hand dismissively, a sneer on its
lips: "No daughter/son of mine is descendant from a mortal's womb, she was
merely a vessel to my true offspring!" Aphrodite sat up, leveling its gaze
upon Timmy, brusquely adding: "Her tainted blood does not flow through your
veins daughter/son, I assure you!"

The latter statement was made with such finality, Timmy knew it was meant
to be an end to that line of questioning, but he bravely persisted, trying
to understand: "Are you saying that everything that I am comes from my
father's side only?"

Aphrodite regarded him, staring distantly right through him as if tracing
his origins back in time to when it all began: "You, daughter/son are the
progeny of myself and your sire, the mortal known as Anchises..."

There was a haunting smile that crept across the entity's face, as memories
both good and bad, flooded and washed across its expressions, playing out
in a myriad of conflicting emotions until Aphrodite bowed her head and
softly proclaimed: "No man was ever more proud or pleased when I presented
him our beloved child Aeneas."

Timmy noted the subtle mood shift from pleasant to sad as Aphrodite
contemplated that memory: "It pleases me he never knew of my deception,
that despite the cause and need for our child's birth, I truly held him
with kindness in my thoughts."

Somehow Timmy knew that this was all somehow important and he was doing his
best to commit it all to memory, not that he truly believed any of what was
happening, still certain he would wake up any moment and this would have
been nothing more than a dream.

As if sensing his doubts, Aphrodite's reverie came to an abrupt halt as her
eyes flared a brilliant blue followed rapidly by a thunderous clap of
lightning in the distance: "Tread you carefully daughter/son, though I have
no presence within the Earthly realm anymore, save through my curse upon
the silver you yet clasp in your hand, in this realm I still wield
formidable power!"

Timmy brought his hands up defensively, concern written on his face: "I
meant no disrespect, I just don't understand how any of this relates to me
and the current predicament we're facing?"

The anger faded from Aphrodite's eyes as the entity once again stretched
out in casual repose and smiled earnestly back at Timmy: "Our time grows
short daughter/son, suffice it to say the elder beast in your realm may
best regale you with the origins of their tale and your own and how my
brother, the one who sleeps, used Gemini to split my divine line aided by
the cruel intentions of he whose heart desires only battle and glory."

Timmy wasn't absolutely certain who the entity was speaking about, but he
was sure the elder beast was that flirty old man back in the compound
everyone called Danal.

Aphrodite rose to her feet as dolphins appeared around the shell and began
gently nudging it away from the shallow sandy shoreline: "Heed my words
daughter/son, he who sleeps divided my line by using Gemini and only
through Gemini can it be made hold once again."

Timmy moved closer to the water's edge, his toes sinking in the cool sands:
"What does that all mean and how does it involve me, I'm not one of
them...am I? he added carefully, knowing full well what the events of the
evening had revealed about the Donnelly's and those around them.

Aphrodite reached out to him and gently took his hand in her own until the
shells backward motions shifted their fingers apart: "Stay close to the
white wolf, his cause is yours and he will protect your progeny and all my
daughter/son's..." the light in the entities eyes grew brighter, it's
golden tresses shifting in the light breeze like a mermaids hair in the
water, it appearing to take on and having a life and motion of its own:
"When you awaken, reborn anew and the White Wolf takes council from its own
kind, it is then you must find your true name and claim it and your place,
it is then the White Wolf will be given challenge, but be aware, it must be
you who accepts it, for it is that path and that path only that will give
you a voice as their equal and allow you to claim the first half of Gemini
as your own."

As almost an afterthought Aphrodite mused: "Tell the White Wolf, to build a
meeting hall for his brethren and my daughter/sons who have passed the same
test as your own, that such an act will restore the true balance and in the
fullness of time undo the original curse against man levied by my
slumbering brother, who, in his jealousy feared that man might one day
rival him and all those who dare call themselves gods!"

As Aphrodite became subsumed by the closing mist, the clouds above shifted
and on the distant mountaintops, a beautiful and timeless city appeared on
their peaks, reminding Timmy of ancient Grecian temples.

Timmy watched it all begin to fade into cottony whiteness and his eyelids
grew heavy as he felt himself drift away, he heard Aphrodite's soothing
voice: "I bequeath this void to all my daughter/son's so that they may
regain their former glory and take their kin beyond the heavens and the
stars."

As Timmy felt his consciousness pull him away from the warmth and sanctity
of the place he had just christened the Fluffy Bunny Patch, he was certain
he heard the entity's final words call out to him, bringing an ear to ear
smile across his face: "You better work bitch!"