Let's get this started.

The bitch is bent over the couch, perspiring and panting heavily. You lick your chops, preparing to bear down on her and rut like Urfarah had it made it to be. You take not but two steps before you are swatted aside. You crash into the wall, angry and shocked, snarling at the one who did the striking.

Your pack leader, Clive, snarls straight back at you. He is an Uratha who typically acts like he has something to prove, always seeking some way to underline his dominance as the alpha, constantly imposing rules and unfair regulations on his pack. You'll be damned if he isn't good at what he does, though. And what he does is make deals.

"Clive, this bitch was MINE!" You snarl, climbing to your feet. You start in on him when he turns to face you fully. His black hair, tied in a ponytail, disappears behind his broad, muscular shoulders. His eyes, a disturbing golden color, penetrate deep from within his handsomely chiseled face. He doesn't intimidate you, but he does make you more wary that a fight might be coming on. And he has much more seniority than you.

"John, you know as well as I that all females are property of the alpha. I have stated this before, and I will continue to do so until it becomes apparent that you can follow and remember the rules well enough to simply turn away when I assert my authority." He says this all in his even, condescending tone that means he is making shit up again, but you are not in much of a position to argue. You are a strong guy, but comparatively to Clive, very weak.

You grunt, turn, and begin to exit. You hear the bitch's moans when he starts his business, and he has the audacity to address you as you leave. "Don't feel so bad, John, you can always have my seconds!"

With a very destructive punch to the wall, which causes the plaster in a ten foot radius to crumble, you open and slam the door to the shit-hole apartment you called home. You descend the stairs to this site of urban decay, the sounds of Clive's obvious dominance still ringing in your ears. The rest of your pack is waiting for you in the lobby, all fearful of your temper, wondering if you had attempted to wrest control from Clive.

You look at them, then snarl and try to stalk past angrily. Once outside, in the cold, refreshing rain, you let out a sigh, lean your back against the wall, and close your eyes. Picking up that bitch had been too easy for someone with a beer and large muscles. The fact that you were in the prime of your life, and supposedly rich, was the social lubricant that had won you that woman's compliance.

You're not normally so avid in looking for a mate, but this particular female had something about her screaming for your attention. She seemed so... Right.

But then again, there was definitely something wrong.

A howling cry to action, following Clive's bellow of rage and pain from the room you just abandoned, proved some of your theories correct. You throw off your leather trench coat, revealing your monstrous physical conditioning, and bound back into the apartment complex, leaping up, stair by stair, to the room where Clive and your "prey" had been left to their devices. Perhaps Clive should be thanked for his wanton **** of his position, as his fate seems to be sealed.