Chương 3: Lycanthropy

After school, deep in the woods, Crimson backtracks through the trees, Churro trailing close behind. He's retracing last night's path, hunting for the exact spot where something, something unseen, sank its teeth into him.

"It was like time slowed down," he says, voice tight.

"I could've caught that ball with my eyes closed. And now? I'm hearing whispers from across the field. Smelling things… way too clearly."

"Smelling what?" Churro asks, skeptical.

"The mint mojito gum in your pocket." Crimson sniffs the air, dead serious.

"I don't even have..." Churro starts, then pulls a crumpled, lint-streaked wrapper from his jeans. His eyes widen.

"Wait… this all started after the bite?" Crimson freezes. A cold wave hits him.

"What if it's an infection? Like my body's pumping adrenaline just before everything shuts down? I should've gone to the ER. I knew it."

"Actually… I've heard of this." Churro's tone shifts.

"Specific symptoms. Rare, but documented." Crimson halts mid-step, heart hammering. Infected? With what?

"You're kidding, right?" he demands, searching Churro's face for a smirk.

"Nope. It's called… Lycanthropy." Crimson laughs, nervous, disbelieving. He's seen the movies. Werewolves aren't real. Right?

"But… is it bad?" he asks, the joke suddenly not so funny.

"Oh, absolutely," Churro says.

"But only once a month." Crimson blinks.

"Once a month?"

"Full moon," Churro says flatly. A beat. Then Crimson glares.

"You're such an ass." They'd almost forgotten they were walking between the trees, the same woods where, just days ago, they found a torn-apart body.

"Hey," Crimson snaps back, "you're the one who heard the howl."

"And you're the one sniffing my gum like a bloodhound," Churro fires back.

"Face it, something's happening to you."

"I could be dying!"

"Or…" Churro grins, lowering his voice, "you're turning into a werewolf. Obviously, I'm messing with you. But if you catch me melting every scrap of silver in shop class this Friday? Well… full moon's coming." They finally reach the spot where Crimson swore he'd seen the body, only to find nothing. No corpse. No blood. No trace of the beast that nearly tore him apart the night before.

"I'm telling you, it was right here! The deer came charging, I panicked, dropped my inhaler…" Crimson stammers, scanning the ground like the truth might be buried in the dirt.

"Maybe the killer came back and cleaned up."

"If he did, I hope he kept my inhaler safe. That thing costs more than dinner for two." Churro nudges him sharply. A figure stands just yards away. Autzee Tale. Nineteen, rugged, with a look that cuts deeper than the clean-cut Laturn City crowd. No smile. No greeting.

"This is private land. What are you doing here?" Crimson and Churro freeze, words tangled in their throats.

"Uh, sorry. Didn't know. We were just… looking for something. Never mind. We're out." Autzee doesn't respond, until they turn to leave. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he tosses something through the air. Crimson catches it instinctively. His inhaler. He looks up, Autzee's already walking away. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

"Come on," Crimson mutters, shoving the inhaler into his pocket.

"Gotta get to work."

"Dude. That was Autzee Tale. You seriously don't remember?"

"Remember what?"

"His whole family. Burned alive in a fire, like, ten years ago. Cops pulled him out of school that day. I'll never forget it." Churro's voice wavers, haunted by the memory. Crimson stares at the inhaler clenched in his fist. So why is Autzee back now? Thunder booms overhead as Crimson slams the "Closed" sign onto the clinic door, fresh from arriving for his shift. Clutching a few spare bandages, he strides to a mirror and yanks up his shirt, fingers hovering at the edge of the dressing. He braces.

Then tears it off. A sharp inhale. Eyes squeezed shut. When he opens them, he's staring at smooth, unbroken skin. The bite, gone. No scar, no trace. Like it never happened. He pulls his shirt down slowly, turning to face his reflection. His own wide-eyed shock stares back. Down the hall, he hauls a massive sack of kitty litter, drops it by the wall, and digs out his keys. The next door clicks open, he barely steps inside when a cat shrieks, fur on end. Suddenly, the whole room erupts.

Cages rattle as terrified felines lunge, hissing, claws scraping metal, teeth bared, all locked onto him, backs arched in primal fear. Crimson stumbles back, heart pounding, and slams the door behind him. Back in the waiting room, the chaos still echoes when... Bang! a fist hammers against the glass. Willow. Soaked by rain, face streaked with tears, wild with panic. He unlocks the door in a flash, pulling her in as she sobs out a fractured story.

"I didn't see it... I looked away, just for two seconds, switching a song, and this dog... it came out of nowhere..."

"Hey, it's okay," Crimson says, voice steady, trying to ground her.

"Do you remember where? I'll get Animal Control out there." But she won't stop shaking, words tumbling faster than he can catch.

"No, yes, I know where. But the dog…"

"Where is it?"

"In my car."

Rain pattering against the umbrella, Willow leads the way to her car, only to freeze when Crimson lifts the hatch and exposes a wounded stray curled inside. The lab mix, trembling and snarling, flinches at every movement, pain flashing in its wide eyes. Willow reaches in instinctively, but the dog lunges, teeth bared. She jerks back, straight into strong arms catching her.

"Easy. He's scared, that's all." She nods, breath catching as she feels Crimson's hands steady her, his fingers grazing her skin like a whisper.

"Join the club," she murmurs. Without a word, he takes the umbrella, hands it back, and steps toward the open hatch, calm, deliberate, unshakable.

"Be careful," she warns. Then, silence. Not total, but the world fades. Traffic, rain, voices, all vanish except the dog's ragged breathing. Crimson locks eyes with the animal, and something primal sparks between them. For a heartbeat, his gaze ignites with an eerie, golden glow, wild, ancient, unmistakably feral. The dog stills. Ears flatten. It sinks down, belly to the floor, surrendering to a force it can't fight.

Willow watches, stunned, as Crimson lifts the injured animal gently into his arms and strides toward the vet's door, quietly powerful, impossibly in control. Inside, he carefully places the injured dog onto the exam table, hands steady, voice soft as he soothes the trembling animal. Willow hangs back, eyes locked on him, watching every move, mesmerized by how effortlessly he balances care and confidence.

"I'm pretty sure it's a broken leg," he says, fingers gently probing.

"I've watched the vet do splints a dozen times. I can try one myself, and give him something for the pain in the meantime." She sneaks glances, heart quietly skipping at his focus, his calm. But Crimson doesn't notice, he's too busy fighting the urge to look at her, terrified one glance might unravel him. When he finally does lift his eyes, he freezes: she's hugging herself, drenched, shivering under wet clothes.

"There's a t-shirt in my bag, can you grab it?" he asks.

"Oh, I couldn't..." But he's already pulling it out. Willow takes it with a grateful smile and slips into the hallway for privacy. As she peels off the soaked shirt, Crimson catches a fleeting glimpse of her bare back, snaps his eyes away fast, only to find the dog staring at him, unimpressed.

"What? I didn't see a thing," he mutters defensively. The dog blinks, clearly unconvinced. Willow returns wrapped in his oversized tee, colour returning to her face, shivers gone.

"Thanks. I feel kind of ridiculous now."

"Why?"

"I don't know… losing it like that. So… girly."

"You are a girl."

"I mean extra girly. And I'm not supposed to be that kind of girl." She mimics her earlier panic with dramatic hand waves.

"So what kind of girl are you, then?"

"The tough kind. Or… I thought I was."

"I'd have lost it too," Crimson admits.

"Honestly? I'd be sobbing. Not manly tears, full-on, ugly-cry, mascara-running-down-my-face sobs. Total meltdown." She laughs.

"Yeah, right." Then stops, realizing he's just finished the splint.

"Wait… so he's going to be okay?"

"Looks like it. And hey, he might even let you touch him. If you're brave."

"I don't know…"

"Come on. You don't want to get sued. This breed? Super litigious." Laughing, she steps forward, reaches out slowly. The dog lifts its head, licks her fingers.

"See? He's into you." She smiles, but then catches him staring.

"What?"

"Uh… sorry. You've got an eyelash on your cheek."

"Oh. From all the crying, I guess." She wipes her face. Misses it. Tries again. Still there. Crimson shakes his head, then gently brushes it away with his thumb, lingering just a second too long.

"Thanks." He pulls back, unsure what to do with his hand now. They stand there, charged silence humming between them. Later, walking her to the car, he watches her open the door. Takes a breath. Dives in.

"Um… so… about Friday. Family Night, huh? Or… maybe you'd rather skip it and go to that party with me instead?" She turns, eyes sharp with surprise. How did he know?

"Family Night was fake news."

"So… is that a yes?"

"Definitely yes."