Devil Dawg Donnelly

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

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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!"