Revolutionary
It was mid-May and an unusually cool night for this time of year in the south.  A breeze picked up closer to the open water, which was one of the many reasons Jackson had chosen to settle the pack closer to where the Mississippi River poured into the Gulf of Mexico.  The estuary of brackish water provided a variety of both fresh and saltwater fish and various seafood, all of which had made New Orleans famous for Cajun cuisine.  There wasn’t much the resourceful environment couldn’t provide, including a natural layer of defense of forest critters and swamp beasts.  The rules of the pack afforded the members to come and go as they pleased, but visitors had to be approved by either Aiden, Oliver or himself.  It was, after all, his job to keep them safe and the perimeter secure.   

The pack mentality was built on loyalty, respect, honor, integrity and of course, love.  Jackson had his own moral code and way of doing things.  While he honored tradition, he was also progressive, realizing that in order to move forward and be successful, a certain amount of change and sacrifice had to be allotted.  He was a revolutionary of sorts.  Without this vision, his pack would still be suppressed under the thumb of the vampires and witches.  Currently, he had an accord with all of the factions.  For the most part, he’d made allies of the Mikaelsons.  There were, however, times that Klaus in particular would grate on his nerves.  Over the years they had developed a love/hate relationship and often showed up at the last minute to save each other’s asses.  Fatherhood had evolved Klaus, giving him an understanding that his daughter’s ancestral history belonged in all of their lives, tying them together.   

All that aside, Jackson’s mood orbited the phases of the moon.  During the full moon, he was a brooding pain in the ass.  He was able to control shifting, but the full moon posed an uneasiness within all of them, a time when they craved a sustenance that often resulted in death and destruction... blood.  For him, this was compounded by the fact that he had a gnawing craving for the sanguine fluid at any given time due to his hybrid nature.  A full moon with no casualties was a miraculous feat.  He was bred to be a cold-blooded killer and was often trying to fight back a beast that dwelled within to keep it contained.  Having endured his own death and resurrection, there was both a light and darkness embedded in his cells that were at a constant civil war.  While he was extremely disciplined with impeccable self-control, not all of them were.  They were animals, after all.   

While the pack congregated on the banks of the bayou surrounding a fire and enjoying one another’s company with a round of beer, Jackson was pacing the woods, his mind burdened with an exchange of words in a heated debate.  The moon was in its waning phase, which should have eased the tension, but given some recent events, he was on the edge and perhaps hunting something… anything.  A need to kill.  For the most part, he was very level headed, but there was no doubt he had a stubborn streak and when he lost his sh*t, it was bad.  He had a hard time finding a way out of the proverbial hole he’d dug.  The words to Breaking Benjamin’s Far Away played through his mind as he stopped and stood at the water’s edge deep in thought, the stars overhead casting a reflection reminiscent of an endless galaxy.        

These woods were home to him.  As a majestic gray wolf, he could run through them blinded and know his way around every part.  As a human, his eyes weren’t as sharp in the dark, but his hearing and smell were faultless.  The wind kissed his rugged tanned features, bringing with it a new yet somewhat familiar scent interrupting his train of thought.  It didn’t smell like danger, but it was an intruder, signaling him into high alert...  A stranger to their pack.  Following the scent on foot, he recognized the tracks in the silt as belonging to a wolf, female, unknown to him.  But how was that possible considering he was the alpha and knew every wolf in the region for hundreds of miles?  The answer to that question brought more questions as he stumbled upon the petite black wolf. Her obsidian gaze bore into him like a deer in headlights, seeming both curious and cautious.  Her presence in his bayou distracted him from his angst. Was it a trap? Was she friend or foe? Extending his hand, Jackson drew closer to her, taking a knee so his height didn’t appear as intimidating.  “I’m not going to hurt you… And you don’t seem lost.  But you’re sort of trespassing and I have questions.”  She didn’t really owe him anything, but it was his job to protect his people and he didn’t know who she was, why she was there or who may have sent her.  An interrogation was inevitable.   

“I promise, no one here will hurt you.  If you’re hurt, or you need help, you’ve come to the right place, but something tells me you weren’t looking for us and you’re just as surprised to see me as I am to see you.” Careful not to frighten her, he slowly extended a hand to gain her trust. When she didn’t budge, he gently brushed his fingers through her fur, marveling at her rare color and lack of markings. “Perhaps we could talk?” For that to happen, she’d have to shift, a rather agonizing undertaking.