Chapter 25 : HUNGER MANAGEMENT
The communal kitchen was a disaster.
Someone—probably one of the younger werewolves—had left raw meat on the counter overnight. The ghouls had found it at dawn and assumed it was theirs. Cole had found the ghouls eating it and nearly started a species war in the breakfast nook.
I stood in the doorway surveying the chaos: two werewolves bristling at three ghouls who were defensively clutching what remained of a deer haunch, Ruth trying to mediate, and Edgar Renfield pinching the bridge of his nose with the exhausted patience of someone who'd seen this exact stupidity before.
"Everyone out," I said.
My voice carried the authority that two months of leadership had honed. The squabbling stopped. Bodies shuffled toward the exits. Within thirty seconds, only Ruth, Edgar, and Jenny remained.
"We have a feeding problem," I said.
"We have a communication problem," Edgar corrected. His dead eyes tracked the meat scraps scattered across the floor. "My family assumed unclaimed food was available. The wolves assumed leaving food unattended meant temporary storage. Neither assumption was unreasonable."
"Both assumptions nearly caused a fight."
"Yes."
[COALITION STABILITY WARNING] [INTER-SPECIES TENSION: ELEVATED] [RECOMMENDATION: FORMALIZE FEEDING PROTOCOLS] [FEEDING GROUND MANAGER TIER II: AVAILABLE FOR UNLOCK]
I'd been putting this off. Building infrastructure, establishing defenses, managing the vampire alliance—those felt like leadership tasks. Creating feeding schedules felt like babysitting.
But babysitting was apparently what twenty monsters required.
"Council meeting," I said. "One hour. Main chamber. Leadership only."
Jenny's bond-presence pulsed with agreement. She'd been waiting for this—I could feel her relief that I was finally addressing something she'd flagged weeks ago.
The main chamber had improved since the early days. Edgar's ghouls had installed proper lighting—salvaged fixtures that gave the space an almost professional atmosphere. The conference table was solid, the chairs functional, the maps on the walls current.
Four leaders gathered around the table: me, Jenny, Edgar, Ruth. The coalition's decision-making core.
"The problem is scale," I began. "When we were eight people, everyone knew what everyone else needed. Now we're twenty, and that's not possible anymore."
"Twenty-two," Edgar corrected. "Margaret's niece arrived yesterday with her family."
I hadn't known that. Should have known that. The oversight irritated me more than the feeding dispute.
"Twenty-two, then. And if the Djinn negotiations work out, potentially thirty or more." I spread the territorial map across the table. "We need systems. Formal protocols for who feeds where, when, and how often."
"My pack knows how to hunt," Jenny said. Not defensive—stating fact.
"Your pack is excellent. But your pack also crossed ghoul feeding territory three times last week without realizing it." I pulled out the incident log Ruth had been keeping. "The ghouls didn't report it because they were trying to be good neighbors. But if that continues, eventually someone's going to cross paths at the wrong moment."
Edgar nodded slowly. "My family has similar concerns. The cemetery access points are working, but we've had near-misses with werewolf patrols. Different schedules might help."
[FEEDING GROUND MANAGER TIER II: UNLOCKING...] [FRAMEWORK AVAILABLE: ROTATION SCHEDULING, TERRITORY DIVISION, ALTERNATIVE SOURCE IDENTIFICATION]
The System provided templates—organizational frameworks I could adapt to our specific needs. I'd stopped questioning where this knowledge came from. It worked. That was enough.
"Here's what I'm proposing." I started sketching zones on the map. "Exclusive feeding territories for each species. No overlap. Clear boundaries that everyone knows."
I divided the region into colored sections. "Ghouls get zones five through eight—the cemetery network, the morgue contacts, everything underground. That's Edgar's domain exclusively."
"Acceptable," Edgar said.
"Werewolves get zones one through four—the wilderness hunting grounds. Deer, elk, smaller game. Fifty-mile radius from the Haven."
Jenny studied the boundaries. "That's more than we need."
"It's room to grow. And buffer space so no one accidentally crosses into ghoul territory while tracking prey."
"And Skinwalkers?" Ruth asked.
"Zones nine through twelve—urban feeding. When we need human-world resources, that's our responsibility. Glamour operations, supply runs, anything that requires blending in."
The division made sense. Each species fed differently, and separating their territories prevented the kind of accidental conflicts we'd been experiencing.
"What about rotation?" Jenny asked. "Hunting the same grounds constantly depletes prey."
"Quarterly rotation between designated zones. System tracks game populations and alerts when an area needs rest." I pulled out the schedule I'd drafted. "First rotation happens in August. By then, everyone should know the current boundaries well enough that switching won't cause confusion."
Edgar examined the schedule with the careful attention of someone who'd survived decades by anticipating problems. "What about emergencies? Situations where normal protocols don't apply?"
"Emergency feeding requires coalition approval. Any species can request temporary access to another's territory, but it goes through leadership first." I met his dead eyes. "That prevents the kind of assumption that caused this morning's dispute."
"This is a lot of bureaucracy," Jenny observed.
"It's a lot of survival." I stood, moving to the larger map on the wall—the one that showed our territory in context with the surrounding region. "Right now, we're invisible because we're small and careful. When we grow—and we will grow—that invisibility depends on discipline. Hunters notice patterns. Bodies appearing in predictable locations. Game populations crashing. Feeding protocols aren't bureaucracy. They're camouflage."
The room fell silent. I could feel Jenny processing through the bond—her initial resistance giving way to understanding.
"There's going to be pushback," she said finally. "The younger wolves especially. They don't like being told where to hunt."
"Then handle it. You're their Alpha."
"I know that." A hint of steel in her voice. "I'm warning you so you're not surprised when it happens."
"Appreciated."
The pushback came faster than either of us expected.
Three hours later, a young werewolf named Marcus cornered me near the eastern tunnel entrance. Nineteen, maybe twenty. Turned recently enough that his control was still shaky. Angry enough that his eyes kept flickering gold.
"We don't need schedules," he said. His voice carried the specific arrogance of youth combined with supernatural strength. "We're hunters, not cattle."
I didn't respond immediately. Let the silence stretch.
"How many hunters have you fought?" I asked.
"What?"
"Hunters. The humans who track our kind and kill us. How many have you faced?"
His jaw tightened. "I've avoided them."
"Smart. Avoiding them is the right call for a young wolf without pack support." I stepped closer—not threatening, but establishing presence. "But avoiding them requires knowing where they are. What they're looking for. What patterns they follow."
"That's not—"
"Hunters notice when deer populations crash. They notice when homeless people vanish. They notice when cemeteries get disturbed." I held his gaze. "Every feeding pattern creates evidence. Evidence creates investigation. Investigation creates hunters with crossbows and silver bullets."
"So we should be scared of humans?"
"You should be smart about humans." I turned away, presenting my back—a calculated insult that his wolf nature would register. "Talk to Jenny about your concerns. She's your Alpha. Challenge the coalition structure through proper channels."
I made it four steps before I heard the growl.
Jenny hit him from the side before he could reach me.
The impact sent Marcus sprawling across the tunnel floor. Jenny stood over him in hybrid form—teeth bared, claws extended, every line of her body screaming dominance.
"Challenge the Alpha again when you've survived your first hunter fight," she snarled. "Until then, you follow protocols. You follow schedules. You follow orders. Understand?"
Marcus whimpered something that might have been agreement.
Jenny held the position for another ten seconds—long enough to establish absolute dominance—then shifted back to human form. Her bond-presence carried cold satisfaction.
"He'll learn," she said as we walked away. "They always do."
"You handled that well."
"I've been waiting for him to try something. Better to establish limits now than let it fester." She glanced at me. "You knew that would happen."
"I suspected."
"Presented your back on purpose."
"He needed a target. You needed a justification for dominance display." I shrugged. "Efficient."
She was quiet for a moment. "That's... very calculated."
"Leadership is calculated."
The Haven hummed with activity as we returned to the main chamber. Ghouls digging new tunnel sections. Werewolves running perimeter patrols. Ruth coordinating supply logistics with the efficiency I'd come to rely on.
Not chaos anymore. Civilization.
Someone had installed a proper coffee maker in the communal kitchen during the cleanup. I poured myself a cup—the first decent coffee I'd had since transmigration—and let myself enjoy a small moment of satisfaction.
Then I checked the calendar.
Seventy-one days since the System activated. Twenty-two coalition members. Formal alliances with Catherine's nest. Feeding protocols established.
And somewhere out there, Azazel was still gathering his special children.
So much work left.
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