Quelques-uns de ses parents étaient déjà dans leur forme de loup, et il craignait le pire absolu. Le petit Rylan l'a un peu calmé, et il s'est retourné pour la regarder comme elle l'a expliqué, rapidement, ce qui s'était passé. "Je vous crois, Kuzucuğum." L'animal puissant s'est redressé, les hackers ont baissé, et il a tourné son regard vers les vampires. Il regarda les morts, lui donna un renifle, ferma les yeux, retourna dans sa forme humaine et se leva. Normalement, il pouvait revenir de sa forme de loup généralement soigneusement, mais avec la vitesse avec laquelle il s'était transformé en premier lieu, son t-shirt blanc bon marché était en tatters, déchiré trop rapidement pour être facilement assimilé à sa forme comme le reste de ses vêtements le faisait habituellement. Dans la scission de la seconde il a fallu changer, son haut du corps a toujours changé en premier. Il s'est un peu bagarré à ce qui aurait pu se passer si le motif avait changé d'avis, en regardant sa chemise de bonne nature. Il a hurlé dans son sac, "Mes excuses d'avoir pensé que n'importe quel sac pourrait être déloyal", et est retourné aux vampires.
"Nathaniel. Je suis heureux de vous voir protéger les nôtres. Je ferai de même." Il tricote ses sourcils ensemble. Est-ce que le coven était si éloigné d'une famille qu'ils tueraient le leur sans une seconde pensée? Est-ce qu'il frapperait quelqu'un que leur mère a appelé ami? Riley n'était cependant pas mère, et ce ne sont pas ses enfants. Ils n'ont pas agi comme s'ils avaient de tels liens, symboliquement ou littéralement. Mehmet avait, bien sûr, biologiquement engendré quelques membres de la meute, et ils étaient quelques-uns de ses membres les plus fidèles. Mais ce n'était pas comme l'alpha, mais plutôt comme le désir d'élever des enfants avec quelqu'un. Son sac s'amenuisait lorsqu'il avait pris le relais en tant que leader, et c'était son devoir de le rendre fort à nouveau. Une femme du cercle des aînés y avait été ouverte, mais Mehmet devait demander qu'elle ne dise jamais à ses enfants qui était leur père, de peur qu'ils ne s'attendent et ne reçoivent probablement pas le favoritisme. Mais c'était il y a des années. Il a croisé les bras à Riley et s'est tourné vers son sac. "Certains d'entre nous vont se battre très bientôt. Je choisirai, et les autres doivent rester en arrière. Horatia, tu vas rester ici pour garder le paquet en sécurité pendant que je prends Rylan, Michael, Andre, Francisca et Kate pour aller avec moi." Il a regardé Rylan dans les yeux. "Tu restes à mes côtés. Vous, les autres, venez avec les quatre vampires pour vous cacher dans la clairière pour une embuscade. Vous entendrez les humains s'approcher, se caresser dans le bol de la roche. Frappe quand tu entends mes hurlements."
Déterminé à garder sa meute à son maximum en toute sécurité, il balaya son regard pour verrouiller Riley, avant que la gâchette heureuse d'avant ne s'agenouille et proclame son aptitude au combat. Mehmet écouta ses paroles et grandit profondément. "Vous êtes un nouveau-né pour moi, et presque plus humain que Immortal. Quelle importance vous devez croire que vous êtes de revendiquer votre place comme digne d'un guerrier." Le tissu ruiné de sa chemise s'est heurté à l'intimidation de la poitrine alors qu'il respirait lentement. "ll va ou près, je n'exige que les plus forts pour combattre. Un grand guerrier peut haïr les loups-garous, mais seulement quand la trêve est terminée. Un grand guerrier n'est pas plus grand qu'un enfant suicidaire quand il frappe contre nous quand il a besoin de notre aide. » Il l'a largué. "Aptal çocuk."
Enfin, il s'est penché sur la question plus pressante de s'entretenir avec Riley. "Rien à ajouter, sauf pour regarder leurs mains, même lorsqu'elles sont capturées. Ils sont délicats et cachent beaucoup d'armes." Il étendit son bras et afficha une longue cicatrice arquée le long de son bicep. La blessure fine là-bas a été massacrée, comme si la coupe avait été faite au cours d'une grande lutte, battante. "Un humain a caché une petite lame d'argent dans un anneau. À peine un pouce était tout ce qu'il fallait pour faire cela."
I'll make changes if needed:
Mehmet Zengin


"The pack is family. I will always look after you pups."
Nickname: For members of his pack, they may call him much of an assortment of names without much backlash, commonly "Metmet", "Zen", and, only in humorous spirit, "Papa Wolf".
Real Age: 239
Apparent Age: 38
Gender: M
Sexuality: He doesn't particularly seem the type to be interested in anyone, but is likely pansexual.
Species: Werewolf
Role: Alpha
Appearance: Mehmet is a very, very sturdy man. One could punch him in the gut and break their own wrist, and fights with him usually only ended in his opponent's exhaustion. His brow is heavyset, jaw wide and leading into a thick, muscular neck and shoulders. He stands at about six feet two inches, is utterly incapable of getting rid of all of his stubble and is covered in brownish, thick hair on his arms, torso and legs. His tan skin is peppered with the precise scars of a knife, quartered off by the long lashes of a whip. His deep brown eyes are gentle but firm to his pack and unreadable to strangers, and his face has a long scar starting at his right temple, hugging the curve of his jaw, and then raggedly stopping in the cradle of his adam's apple and jugular. He has no tattoos, and broad, thick-fingered hands that sport a single small ring. His wolf form is just as stout and massive, fur a shade lighter than his normal hair. He will almost always be seen wearing a tight-fitting white T-shirt, a simple pair of lightwash jeans, a belt and a pair of comfortable hiking shoes. He seems to only have two outfits to choose from: his normal outfit with a T-shirt, and his normal outfit with a jacket.
Personality: It would be impossible to describe Mehmet as serene, but it would also be impossible to not describe him as such. Very paternal, he is a constant presence in the lives of the pack, teaching the young ones and leading his family with a rigidly guiding hand. He appears at ease in many settings in which his pack is with him, letting the children play around him and letting them climb on his back or hang from his outstretched arms. With the older members, he can be a little more unforgiving. Any large mistake is at least met with a stern scolding, lecture, and then demonstration on what is to be done to fix the issue. His treatment of the pack could be then described as overbearing, so focused on the improvement and wellbeing of his family that much of his energy points internally. Many know to let him rest should the rare time comes when he actually does, respecting his hard work and obsessive dedication.
He is plagued by the trauma of a past he cannot let go of. If he is not talking of matters with the pack, he is recalling his experiences during his capture at the hands of Cacciatori, how he came to find his pack, how he rose through the ranks, his family bloodline, how he watched the Ottoman Empire fall and a new empire rise up. He gives his experiences freely, but to ask of his feelings on anything is to intrude so harshly that he goes into a dark, dark place for a long while. The trauma at his long-ago capture is triggered most powerfully by the sight of whips, being held down, or binding paraphernalia such as collars, handcuffs, rope or chains. Each reaction can be weaker or stronger dependent upon the situation. During a flashback, he can become very violent and blinded with imagery, sometimes only calmed by the familiar scent or touch of a pack member.
History: Born into the Ottoman empire near its height and during its wars with Russia, Mehmet rose to be a highly esteemed nobleman at a young age under the tutelage of his father. While the revolutions in America and France roared on, he was commanding growing markets and toying with reforms. Modernization brought with it a variety of outsiders, and his family was soon surrounded by foreigners looking for work. His parents were both werewolves whom had involved themselves in human economic affairs, shunned from packhood on all sides due to their human-gained fortune. Mehmet, their only son, grew to follow humanity's laws and customs, growing up with a high, trusting opinion of them. That all changed during the Balkan Wars. Cacciatori from Italy itself invaded his homeland, the land he's lived on for decades, and rooted out the pack nearest his home. His family was lucky, if only because they did not involve with any pack, but the Cacciatori tortured their location out of a pack member and found them anyway.
Mehmet's parents were taken off, never to be seen again, while Mehmet himself was dragged into the new Cacciatori headquarters, where he was kept for nearly ten years. During that time, the Cacciatori tested out new nonlethal torture methods, tormented and humiliated him daily, even putting a tight collar about his neck and calling him a filthy dog. Whenever they needed someone to haul rocks for a mass Immortal grave, he would be forced to throw 100-pound stones from the bottom of a pit to the edge, then haul bodies inside. Eventually, he became stronger than any other prisoner, and to keep him efficient the Cacciatori fed him just a little more. After ten years of hell, he escaped one night by snapping a guard's neck, bursting through a ten-story window and running from cars and search teams for several miles into the forest. Even so long ago, the memories still haunt him. He found a boat to America, there learning English, finding a pack and joining his werewolf kinsmen for the first time. With his strength, experience with Cacciatori methods and acute sense of human processes, he rose through the ranks, fought his way to the top and ultimately took over his own full pack. Even today he still wonders about the fate of his parents, praying emptily they did not at least suffer.
Other: His threshold for pain is incredibly high, but past a certain limit and he will often go into a crippling state of flashback. His scars are old enough that they do not hurt when touched. He also hates uneaten food, eating the leftovers of pack members should they allow him to so that he could avoid wasting precious food.