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It all makes sense now.
Ever since the night of June 24th, Laura Kearney hasn’t been feeling like herself.
How could she, when a part of her own soul has been ripped out of her, so cruelly? It had all happened so fast. There’s been no time for the pain and the grief to register. She feels like she’s been chewed up, spitted out, and left alone with jagged pieces of herself to pick up and glue back together.
In the past weeks of being his captive, with only her darkest thoughts to keep her company, she’s slowly turned into a wreck of herself. Unrecognizable, even to her own eyes. The fire that had once inhabited her had died down, the smoldering smoke filling her head, dulling her survival instinct and her determination to find an escape plan.
No, ever since the night Max died, nothing has been the same.
But if it weren’t for him, none of this would have happened.
In the beginning, she gave him the benefit of the doubt. She’s seen the shame and hesitation in his deceivingly dark eyes that very first night he locked her up in her cell, leaving her shivering in dazed terror with her clothes still soaked in Max’s blood. She’s caught the furtive glances he gave her when she spent her first days curled up on the small cot in the corner of her cell, feeling completely numb. She’s noted how, no matter what he had to do for the day, he assiduously gave her three meals a day and regular bathroom breaks. She’s seen the way he averted his eyes whenever she needed to slip on new clothes.
And she’s noticed his poor attempts at communication. At first, he was mostly mumbling to himself. About him being in just as much trouble as her. About his family being down the bottom of a well and that he was unable to pull them back up. She thought he was pretty much as cold and impenetrable as stone, hiding himself behind his black uniform and the burnished sheriff badge pinned on his chest. Until one night, in a moment of what she assumes was utter loneliness, despair and raw vulnerability, he started to open up to her.
Slowly but surely, and in between sips of strong alcohol, he explained to her that Max had been killed by something that he and his family have been trying to hunt down for the past six years. A monster so ruthless and wicked, it should’ve never been allowed to walk this Earth. A beast with sharp claws, fangs and inhumane strength, howling under each full moon for blood.
The description he gave her tallied with the thing she caught a glimpse of in the storm shelter. Despite the poor lighting there, she could make out a tall silhouette, which she thought was human at first. When it started prowling on its two feet towards them, however, she realized that it was much bigger. She recalls how her blood instantly turned to ice upon seeing two large yellow orbs shining in the dark. The sound that came from this ominous shadow was unlike anything she’s ever heard before. A bone-chilling, deep growl neither a human voice nor any animal known to man could have produced. Instinctively, she reached out to Max, urging him to step back. But it was too late. Next thing she knew, the creature lashed out at great speed and her boyfriend was being ripped to shreds before her own eyes. Everything became blurry after that.
According to her captor, he opened fire on the beast as soon as he arrived at the scene, but Max was already dead. The werewolf escaped - wounded, but still very much alive.
His next priority was then to get her to a safe place. He didn’t mean to keep her behind bars, but she knew too much already and he needed to hide her from his family, who wouldn’t hesitate to kill her without a second thought. After his decision was made, it was impossible to turn back, or so he said. Laura strongly doubted that, but she remained silent.
By the time his whisky bottle was empty, he suggested that they could team up for the next full moon, which would come in about a month. With his experience and, in his own words, her ‘scientific knowledge and craftiness’, surely they’ll manage to end this once and for all.
And so he told her everything he knew about the curse.
A werewolf is stronger than a bear and has a similar hunting behavior as a wolf’s. It can sense your vulnerability and any of your weaknesses. It can see in the dark. You can’t outrun it. If it’s chasing you, run to the closest body of water. You should avoid getting bit at all costs, as it will infect you. Don’t attempt to fight it if you’re not adequately equipped. Only silver can overcome this cursed beast. If you’re out of silver shells and nowhere near deep water, you’re most likely to die.
He promised her that he’ll let her pull the trigger if the situation will allow it. Wanting to avenge Max’s death is understandable, given what she’s been through. She assumed it was his way to apologize for his past poor decisions.
One silver bullet, preferably through the head or through the heart, and it will all be over.
Straight away, Laura believed it all. She realizes now that she wanted to believe him. More than that, she wanted to trust him. Something in her gut was telling her that it was all a façade, that he wasn’t just a creepy, evil cop. Something in the haggard and doleful look he always seemed to wear on his face. As though he felt as trapped as she was, behind bars. Something in the way his touch never lingered. As though he was self-conscious about it, as though he didn’t want to scare her off. Something in the way his fingertips unexpectedly grazed her cheek that one time he had to wake her up to let her know he’d be out most of the day. Half asleep, she’d thought she imagined it all. The pleasant and warm sensation tingling the left side of her face told her different. In that moment, both his gentleness and her reaction to it puzzled her.
She wondered if it wasn’t her weeks-long isolation finally getting the best of her - maybe she really was going mad. However, this strange feeling persisted, and it was exacerbated whenever he laid his hands on her after that. In her eyes, he was as enigmatic as he was alluring. She truly, wholeheartedly wanted to trust her captor.
She’d felt this way until now.
All of her previous thoughts and feelings about him went up in smoke just a few minutes ago, when she found out that he’s been actually lying to her all this time. The fact is, he omitted a number of important details when he told her about the werewolf’s curse.
The literal skeletons in his closet were brought to light when, in the middle of the night, she heard two familiar male voices at the end of the corridor:
‘You fucking killed one of ‘em Chris, what was I supposed to do? It would have been a whole lot messier if I hadn’t shot you.’
‘You shot me?! I’m telling mom.’
‘Thank your lucky stars it wasn’t silver.’
His fucking brother.
Yes, it all makes sense to her now.
All this time, he was protecting him. That’s why he couldn’t let her go. That’s why Chris Hackett’s car was at the lodge on that night of June 24th. That’s why he followed them and that’s why he didn’t kill the werewolf in the storm shelter. Because it was his fucking brother.
Did he lie to her about everything? Has he really been hunting the ‘white wolf’, as he called it, for several years - the supposed original werewolf, whose death would cure every other werewolf it’s ever created? Does it even exist at all? There was this creature that she saw right before Max and her went off the road. Initially, they thought it was an animal, but after having seen an actual werewolf with her own eyes, she recalls now that it looked alike, albeit bigger and paler than Chris’ werewolf form. It couldn’t have been the same person. Chris was locked up in the storm shelter that night.
On the other hand, she can’t exclude the possibility that this may be another lie. What if he isn’t really hunting it? What if he’s protecting it as well? What if the white wolf is just another relative? According to him, he and his family have been trying to kill it at every full moon for the past six years. Make it 12 or 13 full moons each year, that’s like 75 missed opportunities in total. He’s supposed to be a trained cop, for god’s sake. Some hunter he is!
If his brother is a werewolf, what were the odds that he's never inadvertently bit one of them once in all this time? Chris isn’t the only one, she would bet her life on it.
Do they intend to murder anyone getting in their way, in order to protect their dirty little family secret? But why is she still alive? Is he getting some kind of sadistic joy by helding her captive until the very last moment?
Perhaps that was his plan all along. To trick her and to finally get rid of her. To bring her deep into the woods on the pretext of looking for the white wolf. To murder her when her guards are down and where no one would hear her scream. Then, to dump her dead body into the lake, as she heard he and his brother already did with Max.
Max.
Why him? Laura wonders, looking up to the dark ceiling overhead as if for some answer. She blinks rapidly as a hot tear escapes from the corner of her eye. She doesn’t bother wiping it away.
Max didn’t even do anything. He ended up in the wrong place, at the wrong time, only because she insisted that they should go there. How unfair is it that he was the one to pay for the consequences of her own reckless actions? He didn’t deserve any of this.
And this asshole played the hero, pretending to save them... When he was in fact protecting the monster that killed her boyfriend.
All of a sudden, something snaps in her.
He stole almost two months of her life. She will never get them back. Hell, she’ll never get her boyfriend back. Nor will she ever get back the part of her that died that night. He made her turn into a mere shell of herself. She will never be the same, because of him.
This is all his fault.
He manipulated her into believing him and trusting him. In reality, he’s a liar, a murderer’s accomplice, and most likely a murderer himself. He is no better than Max’s killer.
Standing up from her cot, Laura begins pacing up and down her cell. Something is urging her body to move, her brain to come up with an escape plan. It feels like she’s finally woken up from a weeks-long numb slumber. The pain of her grief and her sorrow are constricting her chest, making it hard to breathe, but she knows she has to move on and take action. She has to. Otherwise, she’ll end up dying in here, trapped like a caged animal.
She’ll find a way out. For Max.
***
Crumpled in a fetal position on the floor, Laura is yelling at the top of her lungs.
She screams the pain away - the pain that had accumulated within her for two whole months and that she has unconsciously suppressed. She’s aware that she must sound and look like a madwoman, and her plan is risky, but she’s also very desperate.
A strange mix of relief and apprehension churns in her stomach as she hears the familiar sound of his footsteps echoing down the hallway and the rattling of keys on the lock of her prison cell door.
‘Goddamn it,’ he mutters.
With her back to him, she pretends not to hear him and continues to grunt in pain. His voice gets suddenly close to her ear as he hunkers down behind her. ‘What the hell is going on?’
One of his hand lands on her shoulder, the other on her waist. She twitches in response, groaning even louder. He withdraws his hands instantly and swears again under his breath. He then decides to move to the side to face her. His eyes are examining her from head to toe looking for any injury, while her own fixate on his Glock securely holstered at his right hip.
This is too easy.
Without any warning, she leaps to her feet, swiftly grabbing his gun in the same movement. It trembles slightly in her hands, but her legs are firmly anchored to the ground. She aims directly at his chest as he slowly gets back up, his hands in the air and his face twisted into a scowl.
Laura nods her head towards the bunch of keys attached to his left hip. ‘Give me the keys,’ she orders, her voice unwavering.
‘You don’t have to do this.’
He looks at her carefully then, scrutinizing her, as though pondering whether she’d be capable to pull the trigger on him or not. Most likely thinking she’d chicken out.
This only heightens her anger. It rages like a fire someplace deep in her chest, lapping at her throat and making her blood boil in her veins.
‘Shut up!’ she hisses through clenched teeth. ‘Keys.’
He doesn’t move, only keeping his hands raised above his head. Unruffled, he arches a quizzical eyebrow at her.
Shoot him.
She almost loses her balance, startled. These two words came to her like an eerie breeze, a whisper in her ear, echoing in her head. She steps back and shots a worried glance over her shoulder for a split second, cautious not to give her captor a chance to retaliate.
But of course, there’s no one else in the prison cell.
‘What?’ he asks.
She ignores him and pulls herself together, after a fashion. Tightening her hold on the grip of the gun, she takes a deep, shaky breath. The barrel is pointed at his chest. If she shifts it a little to the right, the bullet could probably pierce right through his heart.
No. Has she gone mad? She’s not a cold-blooded murderer.
Actually, if she has to shoot someone, it should be Max’s killer. Even more so, considering that it’s his brother. An eye for an eye.
Although that would still make her a murderer, even if he’s in his werewolf form... Wouldn’t it?
She bites her tongue. ‘Just. Please,’ she begs, blinking rapidly. ‘I really don’t want to shoot you.’
She doesn’t lower her weapon and instead, with quivering hands, she raises it even higher.
‘Okay,’ he exhales. ‘Okay.’ He shakes his head a little. ‘Fuck.’
Finally, he reaches down for his keys, moving deliberately slow. He draws his dark eyes back up to meet hers again. After a simple nod, he tosses the key ring to her. She catches it with one hand, the other still clutching the handgun.
They both stand still for a few moments. As they stare at each other, she finds a strange satisfaction in watching him stand there, defenseless and vulnerable. Oddly enough, it doesn’t seem to concern him that much. She swears she can see a sparkle in his eyes that she’s never seen before - something that looked like respect and appreciation. Or maybe that’s just the adrenaline and the euphoria of her imminent freedom that are making her see things that aren’t actually there.
She starts scuttling backwards. Shifting her gaze to the prison cell door at the very last minute, she swiftly locks it behind her. In that moment, the loud clatter of the iron bars closing on her jailer is like music to her ears.
How quickly the tables have turned, she thinks.
‘Laura.’
Her head snaps up in surprise. He’s never called her by her name before.
‘Please think about what you’re doing,’ he says, his voice grave. ‘Tonight is a full moon.’
She’s well-aware of it. In fact, she’s waited for this exact day to put her plan into action. It all started on a full moon. It seems right for her to end it all tonight, under another full moon. The difference is, she is now prepared.
Undecided whether she should call him names or apologize, she stays silent for a few seconds. She gives a small shrug and finally replies:
‘Whatever happens tonight...’
Whoever dies tonight - whether it be me or your brother, she thinks.
‘It doesn’t matter. I’m not the same as I was two months ago, and I’ve got nothing left to lose anymore,’ she declares. She feels her eyes begin to water, but she brushes it off, focusing on her anger. ‘You and your family will have to pay for what you did, eventually.’
Predictably and to her great satisfcation, her last sentence leaves him stunned. His mouth slowly opens, but no sound comes out.
‘Goodbye, Travis.’
Laura doesn’t wait for him to reply and runs down the prison hallway, still holding securely his gun and keys.
She arrives quickly at the main hall of the abandoned police station, which is fortunately deserted. Faint light is coming through the dusty windows in the entryway, making her notice that the sun is already beginning to get low on the horizon. She has to act fast.
His previous words echoes in her head: Thank your lucky stars it wasn’t silver.
Where should she start?
She rummages through everything, pulls out every drawer and opens every cabinet in the room. She knows he has to hide some kind of silver ammunition somewhere - but where?
Her search is abruptly interrupted when she hears the voice again.
They did this to us!
She raises her gun, her eyes sweeping the room. But again, there is no one else with her.
A chill runs up and down her spine. She’s certain that it was the same voice that prompted her to shoot Travis just some moments ago. A female voice, both haunting and shrill. This time though, she noticed that the voice sounded muffled. Where did it come from?
Kill them all.
There. It was coming from behind that door, on her right. Laura musters all of her courage and warily approaches it. Slipping the key ring around her wrist, she pushes the door handle.
Locked.
She tries the smallest key of the bunch and successfully unlocks the door. Her heart is pounding in her chest and she’s ready to shoot at any intruder, but once again, there’s no one in the room. There’s a table lining the wall in front of her, and on which lie a duffle bag, a shotgun, and a stack of shells. After further inspection, she gets the confirmation she needed; they are loaded with silver.
Not wanting to lose any more time, she stuffs everything in the bag, and grabs the loaded shotgun in her free hand.
***
Laura is lost.
She has absolutely no idea where she is. In the darkness, with only the flashlight attached to her shotgun to guide her through the forest, pretty much every path looks alike. It seems like she’s been running around in circles for hours now. And despite her lack of stealth, there is still no werewolf in sight. She drops her duffle bag to the ground in defeat.
Is it really worth it? Would Max approve any of this?
But she can’t just leave Hackett’s Quarry now, when she knows actual monsters are roaming freely around the area every full moon. This is a summer camp, for god’s sake. How many people have died before Max, and how many people will die tonight and on every full moon after that - if she doesn’t do anything about it? Moreover, she has enough silver at hand to shoot at least 20 werewolves, and she’s confident that she’s an excellent shot. This is not her acting heroically, this is just having basic moral standards and having everything at her disposition to solve the problem.
Well, and having enough courage to hunt a few 8-foot tall ravenous werewolves. And being a little reckless.
It’s not like I can call the cops about it anyway, she thinks gloomily.
She sighs, wiping sweat off her forehead.
Laura.
Her heart jumps in her throat. This was the same voice again, making the hair on her arms stand on end.
Laura.
Earlier, the voice helped her find the silver ammunition. Could it help her again now, as she’s hunting werewolves?
It repeats her name again, insistently. She finds herself following its call without giving it a second thought. After all, with her shotgun loaded with silver shells, the Glock loaded with regular bullets tucked in the waist of her pants and even more ammunition in her bag, she is armed to the teeth. She blindly follows the voice calling out her name again and again, until it brings her to a path she’s certain she’s never taken before. Bushy undergrowth is plucking at her legs as the woods get thicker and thicker.
After a few minutes, she’s led into a meadow of ferns and grass, where a crooked wooden shack stands right in front of her. Albeit bigger than a tool shed, it isn’t near large enough to be considered as a house.
Laura.
The voice is louder now, and she understands without a shadow of a doubt that it’s urging her to enter the shack. In other circumstances, she would think that this sounds like a terrible idea. Everything about this reeks of a bad horror movie - as if being lost in a forest at night where actual werewolves could spring up from behind any bush at any moment wasn’t already bad enough.
How could it possibly get worse anyway? Whatever awaits her in there, it’s nothing she can’t face with her shotgun in hand.
Or so she thinks.
The wooden front door creaks open as she slowly turns the handle.
A strong and heady whiff of incense fills her nostrils as she enters the hack. There’s only one room there, and it is cluttered. Old books, lit candles, skulls of various small animals and vials of all shapes and sizes are clogging up the flimsy-looking shelves lining the walls. Drawn to this odd assortement of knickknacks, Laura takes a few steps forward, until she notices something.
At the center of the room, barely visible in the shadows, an old woman is seated at a table. Despite her wariness, Laura doesn’t raise the shotgun. Yet, her grip instinctively tightens arounds it. A sense of foreboding hangs over her.
‘Who are you?’ she demands.
‘Come, come, my child. Sit.’ The old woman indicates the chair across from her. As her guest remains motionless, the unknown woman raises her eyebrows expectantly, eyeing her with interest. ‘My name is Eliza Vorez. Rest assured, Laura Kearney. I’m here to help you.’
She flinches. Earing her name spoken again in this familiar voice is the confirmation she needed. This is the same woman who was somehow communicating with her back in her prison cell and in the police station. She looks at her more carefully then.
Eliza is wearing an off-the-shoulder light gray dress and her brittle hair is tied in a bun. Around her neck hangs a large pentagram pendant. Taking note of her distinctive features, her piercing blue eyes and her downturned, uneven lips, she feels a strange sense of déjà vu. Have they met before? Her face is familiar yet unfamiliar to her, and she can’t quite put her finger on why that is.
‘How do you know my name?’ Laura finally asks.
‘Oh, I know a lot of things,’ she replies without missing a beat. ‘Oh yes... I know that you came here for something. And I know we want the same thing... Perhaps we can help each other.’
The old woman lifts a spidery hand to the crystal ball that has been set down at the center of the table. It starts glowing under her touch, making the pale skin of her fingers look almost translucent. Laura stares into the crystal ball, hypnotized as small figures suddenly appears at its center - as if trapped within it.
She immediately recognizes Max. Or, rather, what’s left of her boyfriend's body after his death. His ginger hair is dishevelled, his face disfigured by deep scratches. There’s a gaping hole in his chest, the open wound exposing his bloody ribcage - which has been cracked open by the force of the attack.
The body of her dead boyfriend is being carried by Chris Hackett on one side, and Travis Hackett on the other. In the background, in the direction where the brothers are headed, she can make out the lake Septimus.
Laura squeezes her eyes shut, bile rising in her throat.
‘Do you see what they do to anyone who might jeopardize their family’s secret? Do you see how cruel and relentless they are?’ Eliza snarls. ‘Look!’
When she opens her eyes again, the vision in the crystal ball changes. This time, it dives into the lake. A bloated corpse is floating underwater, chained to its feet. A ray of sun shines down on it, revealing the face of an unknown dark-haired woman. Unlike Max, there are no apparent wounds nor scars on her body, except for a bullet-size hole in the middle of her forehead. Obviously, this woman wasn’t killed by a werewolf - she was murdered.
As the corpse drifts to the side, carried by the water, Laura’s eyes fall on another dead body behind it. And another. And another.
In the distance, she can see one with red hair.
Her stomach churns violently.
‘Don’t you think they need to be stopped?’ the old woman asks.
Lightheaded, Laura nods weakly, keeping her mouth shut.
‘And don’t you wish you could bring back Max?’
Her eyes start to water at the mention of his name, and she has to take a deep breath and push her tongue up against the roof of her mouth to avoid breaking down in tears. She nods again.
‘So we want the same thing, Laura Kearney.’
Her head snaps up in surprise.
‘What do you mean? Can you bring Max back to life?’ she inquires in a hurried voice.
Eliza smiles enigmatically. She lifts her pale hand and starts fiddling with her pendant.
‘I can, but playing with Death comes with a price. Bringing back a soul means that you'll have to take another. Or even better, a few others...’
Laura stares back at her, her mouth agape. It only takes her a few seconds to comprehend what her words implied.
‘You want me to murder the Hacketts,’ she concludes.
‘Yes.’
‘All of them?’
‘All of them.’
She pauses, mulling over the old woman’s request. ‘How many are there, exactly?’
‘Seven.’ Eliza’s jaw clenches, her lips stretching into a thin line. ‘The grandparents. The three brothers. And the grandchildren - Chris Hackett’s daughter and son.’
‘Are they all werewolves...?’ she ventures, then corrects herself: ‘... Besides Travis?’
‘Only Chris Hackett and his children are cursed. Although ‘cursed’ is not the right word, because they inflicted it upon themselves,’ she snickers. ‘But they are all in the secret, and they are all responsible for these murders - whether directly or indirectly. They protect each other, fiercely so. As you saw earlier, they will come for anyone standing in their way.’
Eliza gives her a serene smile. After a short pause, she continues, ‘I want you to wipe out that wretched family.’
‘Just by myself? Against three werewolves and four people who’ll want to murder me?’ she asks skeptically.
‘Three. Travis Hackett won’t hurt you, no matter what you do.’
Laura frowns. ‘But...’
‘I’ll give you my protection,’ the old woman interrupts. ‘This will also allow me to ensure that you’ll carry out my request. Once you accept our deal, of course.’
‘Your protection?’ she repeats.
Bringing her hands behind her neck, Eliza removes her pentagram necklace and carefully places it on the table between them, next to the crystal ball.
‘With a little help from my magic, you’ll have enough power to defeat them all,’ Eliza assures, stroking the pendant.
The witch looks at her straight into the eyes then, unblinking. ‘If you agree, I can turn you temporarily into something stronger than a werewolf. They won’t stand a chance against you, Laura Kearney. Kill them all and come back to me. The spell will be broken, and you’ll find yourself back in your human body. And I’ll bring back your other half to life.’
‘How do I know that you’re not lying to me?’
She smiles. ‘I’m glad you asked.’
Once again, Eliza’s hand lands on the crystal ball. Laura sees herself in it, wearing the same clothes as she is right now - a khaki jacket draped over dark tank top and jeans - except they’re soaked in blood. Someone else’s blood, she assumes. Next to her stands Max, grinning at her and looking very much alive.
And in her eyes, it’s the only thing that matters.
‘Then, yes. I accept your offer,’ Laura says, resolute.
‘Wonderful!’ the witch exclaims. ‘Give me your hand.’
Laura complies. The old woman sets down her hand on the necklace, palm up.
‘I need to draw out some of your blood. This might hurt a little, but it won’t last, I promise.’
She withdraws a small knife from the nearest shelf, making Laura wince in anticipation. Moving slowly and carefully, she gently points the tip of the blade down to the center of her palm, applying just enough pressure to make a small incision. As soon as blood emerges out of the open wound, the witch flips her hand over, her bloody palm now touching the pentagram.
Eliza closes her eyes, and Laura watches her as she begins murmuring some kind of mystical incantation.
Nothing happens, and for a moment she wonders if all of this isn’t just a bad joke. Eliza Vorez could be one of these fortune tellers one could find at a local funfair. She’s sure that nowadays they’re able to benefit from the power of technology.
Maybe the visions were some kind of new artificial intelligence broadcasting directly in her crystal ball? she thinks, amused.
Her train of thought is abruptly interrupted when everything around her starts to spin.
She feels herself passing out.
***
Laura’s throat is on fire. She’s suffocating.
She’s never felt a thirst so strong before. The intensity of it is overwhelming her, consuming her whole body, consuming her every thought. She needs to quench it, somehow, and she needs to quench it now. Otherwise she’s quite sure she might burst into flames.
Her senses being inexplicably heightened, she can smell the damp grass around her and hear the sound of flowing water, somewhere on her left. She swallows with difficulty, feeling like hundreds of needles got stuck in her trachea.
She starts running with great speed, following the sound of water. There, she finds a small brook meandering down a gentle slope. She all but throws herself to the edge, cupping the clear water in her hands and drinking it avidly.
This doesn’t have the outcome that she expected. Gripped with a sudden coughing fit, she gasps for air, and notices that she can still feel the needles in her throat. The water didn’t help at all.
Somehow, she is still fucking thirsty.
She closes her eyes and wishes she could fall sleep, but both her body and mind feel utterly restless. What kind of disease has gotten to her? This doesn’t feel like a seizure, nor a stroke. She doesn’t even remember how she got there, she just recalls waking up in the woods, darkness surrounding her.
When a light breeze blows on her face, however, she smells it.
There’s a sharp, stabbing pain in her mouth. Bringing her fingers to her front teeth, she feels them growing uncontrollably. She screams in pain and horror, but she’s unable to stop the tip of her canines from slicing through her lower lip.
Her own blood fills her open mouth, dribbling down to her chin - but she knows that’s not what she’s craving for.
She smells it in the air.
Someone else’s blood.
***
She’s saved him for last.
She knows he’s hiding somewhere. She can smell him.
Walking past the dead bodies of Jedediah and Constance Hackett, she roams around the dining room. When she catches her reflection in a mirror hung by the opposite wall though, she stops dead in her tracks.
Unsurprisingly, she’s covered in blood. The most of it is concentrated on and around her mouth, painting her lips a lovely shade of crimson red - as though she’s smeared on some lipstick. She licks her lips, still tasting with satisfaction Constance’s blood, the flavor of her death leaving a sweet aftertaste in her mouth. There’s something in her reflection that she didn’t expect though. Her irises have taken on a golden hue.
Laura smiles, and her fangs peek out from between her lips.
I can get used to that, she thinks, high on the euphoric taste of blood and power.
Now though, she’s dying to know what he tastes like. But where is he? She thought she’s been through every room already. She lets out a groan of frustration - very much like a child who hasn’t been allowed to have dessert. She begins kicking down every door, destroying every furniture that might be used as a hidden spot.
Upstairs. He’s hiding in the bathroom upstairs, whispers the familiar voice in her ear.
Her heart jumps in excitement.
Eliza was right. They didn’t stand a chance against her. She’s become unstoppable. The warm blood is like a drug pumping in her cold veins, galvanizing her. She knows she’s already had way enough to survive the night. Yet, she’s craving for more.
She bolts out of the dining room and runs up the stairs two at a time. The wood is creaking under her boots, betraying her presence, but she doesn’t care. There’s no way for him to escape - she’s much more faster.
Immediately after she slams the bathroom door open, she hears a gunshot. She looks down at her chest. There’s a hole in her tank top, on the upper part of her left breast. Pulling her collar down, she inspects the exposed patch of skin. There’s indeed a wound there, but it isn’t bleeding. She calmly stucks her fingers in it, and fishes out a shotgun shell. It seems that even the blast from a shotgun won’t do much on her new skin. Once the shell is removed, she watches in amazement as the hole in her chest closes by itself.
‘Silver won’t do anything to me, dear,’ she purrs.
Laura gazes up, and her eyes meet the dark irises that have been haunting both her nightmares and her dreams for two months now.
Revenge is sweet...
He looked pale, his useless shotgun held tightly in his large hands. She could almost taste the fear radiating from his skin, and it smelled almost as delicious as the warm blood flowing in his veins.
She raises her eyebrows. ‘D’you want to shoot me again, Travis?’
He doesn’t reply, but she can see that his hands are trembling, and she can hear his heart pouding. As predator and prey, they stare at each other, motionless, tension filling the air between them.
Finally, he drops the shotgun, letting it fall to the floor with a loud clatter.
‘Okay,’ he breathes, ‘Laura, you won. You fucking won, okay?’ His voice is quivering with rage. ‘You... you annihilated my entire family. What more do you want?’
As she takes a step closer, he backs up against the bathtub behind him. He’s trapped.
‘Don’t you know it already?’
He bites his lower lip.
‘You do, don’t you?’ she teases.
Another step.
In the confined space of the bathroom, his musky scent is overwhelming. It's driving her mad by the minute.
‘I want your blood.’
To her great surprise - and her even greater pleasure -, he gets down to his knees before her. Under the light of the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling, his skin glistens with sweat.
‘Just fucking kill me already,’ he begs. ‘But please, don’t make me suffer - I’ve suffered enough already.’
If this is his last will, then so be it.
She takes one last step, closing the distance between them, and she lets herself fall to her knees in front of him. There’s an odd sense of intimacy as they now face each other, so close that they can also feel the warmth of each other’s breath and skin.
Travis is uncharacteristically docile, accepting his fate. He closes his eyes, leaning his head to the side in order to present his neck to her.
She leans in. ‘Good boy,’ she murmurs in his ear.
He shivers. Her lips hover down to his neck, leaving a kiss right where she can see his jugular vein throbbing wildly.
A pathetic whimper leaves his open mouth.
Laura can’t wait anymore. She sinks her fangs into the soft flesh of his neck.
His blood gushes out, instantly coating her tongue, dribbling down her chin, staining her clothes. It feels like an explosion in her mouth, short-circuiting her taste buds. His taste is so strong on her tongue, it hurts a little.
When she swallows, she feels like someone just punched her right on her stomach.
Something burns in her. She’s yearning for him - except she realizes, it’s not thirst anymore.
Laura hurriedly laps at the bite on his neck, coating his skin with her saliva. She’s grateful to hear small sounds of appreciation leaving his mouth, proving that he’s still conscious.
Before she can stop herself, she takes his face in her hands, watching him closely. His eyes are half-lidded, his cheeks flushed a delicious pink.
‘This... didn’t... even h-... -hurt,’ he mumbles, still holding his head high despite his current state of dizziness.
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ she says, amused.
Her gaze drops to his thin, soft-looking lips, lingering there. ‘I wanna kiss you.’
When their eyes meet again, he blinks rapidly in an attempt to fight the haze in his mind - caused entirely by her venom.
‘Why?’ he croaks.
‘Because I want to.’
He gives a weak laugh. ‘You’ve lost your mind.’ His warm brown irises travel down with curiosity to her lips.
‘But so have you.’
A beat.
His lips crash into hers. His touch is as intoxicating as the taste of his blood, and she can’t help but hum into the kiss. She feels his large fingers running through her hair, untying her ponytail. A sigh of pleasure leaves her open mouth at the loss of pressure on her scalp, and as his fingertips begin to massage her. She deepens the kiss, tentatively licking his lower lip. A small sound of surprise escapes him. He quickly allows her to further explore his mouth, his tongue meeting hers in the middle.
As she breaks the kiss and gasps for air, starting to feel a little dizzy, he grabs her by the waist and pulls her onto his lap. Impatient for the other’s touch, they kiss again, getting more and more hurried. Laura wraps her arms around his neck, stroking the short strands of hair at the back of his head, down to his nape.
But when she feels his erection poking at her inner thigh, she can’t think straight anymore. She breaks the kiss again, panting, her nails now scratching the back of his scalp. Possessed by pure, burning desire, she starts grinding against his thigh, desperately seeking some kind of friction. He lets out a low moan, twitching his leg in response.
‘You like that?’ he whispers, his voice hoarse and breathless.
She nods vehemently, whimpering as she rubs herself up on him, feeling his thigh muscles contracting under her crotch, despite the layers separating them. The pressure is exquisite.
‘This is so... This is so fucked up,’ he mumbles between her lips.
Her mind consumed with lust, it takes a few seconds longer for his words to register. She has a hard time understanding what he meant there. Fucked up?
How so?
Interrupting her movements, Laura opens her eyes, confused.
‘What’s wrong?’ he inquires, concerned.
When she looks at him, his worried expression morphs into one of surprise.
‘Laura, y-your eyes...’ he stutters, ‘They’re blue again.’
‘Uh?’
She stands up at once, rushing towards the bathroom mirror hung above the sink. Indeed, her eyes have gotten back to their usual color. She opens her mouth and inspects her teeth - noticing that they too looked normal again.
But she could still smell Travis’ blood under his skin. Strange.
‘What happened to you?’
She spins back to Travis, who is still sitting on the tile floor, looking completely debauched. His short black hair is tousled, his lips red and swollen by the kiss. It takes everything in her not to sit back again on his lap.
‘A witch turned me into a vampire,’ she says slowly. As the words leave her mouth, she starts to recall how she’s gotten herself here in the first place.
‘Who?’
‘Eliza Vorez.’
Then, everything comes crashing down on her again. Eliza. The spell. Her request.
She killed his entire family.
How did this happen? Why is he calmly talking to her right now? He should want her dead! And did she just made out with him - when she should be grieving over her dead boyfriend? Has she lost her mind?
Somewhere deep down though, she knows that the attraction has always been there. She bites her lip.
Oblivious to her internal struggle, Travis speaks again: ‘That’s not possible. She’s dead.’
‘Old, icy blue eyes, grey hair? With a weird, pentagram pendant around her neck?’
‘Yeah. She’s dead.’ he repeats stubbornly.
‘She’s not!’ she exclaims. ‘But now that you mention it, she looked kinda... ghostly? Like, her skin looked translucent.’
‘Hm.’ He pauses, seeming to consider this new information. ‘That means she has an anchor.’
Laura frowns in confusion.
‘Because she’s dead, she needs an anchor to use her magic,’ Travis explains. ‘It has to be a living person.’
‘So, most likely someone she’s close with?’ she ventures.
‘I guess so. Probably someone she trusts, like a relative, or...’ he trails off, and there’s a moment of realization in his eyes.
‘What?’ she asks, walking impatiently to him.
‘It has to be Silas.’
‘Who?’
‘Silas, her son. The white wolf.’
‘So it exists... ?’
‘Are you kidding me?’ he grouses, sounding exasperated. ‘I told you, it’s the original werewolf I’ve been hunting for years.’
He sighs, and continues: ‘Killing him would kill her magic, and break your spell. That’ll make you turn back into your usual annoying human self.’
She scoffs. ‘Great. Sign me up, then.’
One more murder to add to her list, that won’t make much of a difference, will it?
Hanging her head low, she heads to the door without another word.
‘Wait.’ He calls.
Laura spins around again by the threshold, raising her eyebrows.
‘You bit me,’ he says matter-of-factly.
‘Obviously, I did. And I liked it.’
He blushes, but chooses to ignore her. ‘That means I’ll be also turning into a vampire in a few hours - if you don’t murder me by then.’ He scratches his head. ‘I’ve read somewhere that drinking vampire blood might accelerate the transformation process. If we want to defeat Silas, we should better stack all the odds in our favor, shouldn’t we? And as you’ll be my... Breeder,’ he caughs, ‘I’ll turn back into a human at the same time as you will.’
She stares back at him, stunned by his suggestion. Did Travis Hackett just ask her to give him her blood?
‘Fine with me,’ she shrugs, feigning casualness. In reality, the vampire in her is already screaming victory.
He chose her to turn him. She’ll make him one of her own. They will breed.
Laura closes again the distance between them, and gets back down on her knees. Travis remains motionless as she holds out her wrist to him.
‘Go ahead,’ she encourages him.
He frowns, still unmoving. ‘I... I don’t know how to do it. I don’t want to hurt you,’ he admits.
‘Oh, right. You don’t have the fangs.’
Remembering that her teeth went back to normal, she has the idea of focusing on the regular sound of Travis’ heartbeat, watching again his jugular vein throbbing in his neck. She closes her eyes, and recalls the taste of it. As she does so, she feels again a sharp pain in her gums and teeth. Seizing the opportunity before it disappears again, she bites her own wrist, her fangs sinking into her skin like a knife through butter.
The taste of her own blood is quite bland in her mouth, and the bite stings a little. Hopefully the rest of the process will be more interesting.
She raises her bloody wrist to him, and she doesn’t miss how his pupils dilate at the sight. He lunges, closing his mouth on the wound before her blood drips to the floor.
The feeling is indescribable. For the past hours, she’s been living in an undead body. Yet, right now, she feels very much alive. In this moment, he is bound to her, and she is bound to him. As he sucks out her blood, and small sounds of pleasure escape him, she feels entirely fulfilled.
And nothing could have prepared her for the sight of him looking up at her, his mouth smeared with her blood, his pupils blown wide. When he blinks, as dazed as she is by the turn of events, there’s a golden spark in his eyes.
I made him, she can't help but think.
Her heart fills with pride and possessiveness.
***
Laura is certain that she could've single-handedly hunt down the white wolf. Thanks to her heightened senses, she could smell the stench of it from a mile away. She also believes that she could've guessed on her own that Silas was hiding somewhere near Eliza’s shack.
But having a hunting partner isn’t unpleasant - quite the contrary. Especially if he's a 6-foot, dark-haired, handsome -
‘Well, that was easy,’ Travis brags, standing by the dead body of Silas, who turned back into his human form in his death.
Laura winces at the sight of it, but she’s also well-aware that this was necessary. Regardless of what Eliza said to her about the Hacketts, her precious werewolf boy was the one who bit them all, and he was also fully responsible for numerous deaths. The Hacketts were always the ones to clean the mess afterwards.
She gave Travis the satisfaction of finishing it off, finally killing the creature he’s been hunting for years. And she's glad she did, as right now, he looks like a huge weight has been lifted off his shoulders.
It's a small comfort for his grief, she thinks guiltily.
An ear-splitting scream suddenly echoes in the forest.
You will pay for what you did to my boy. I will h-
Then, silence.
Something lands at Laura’s feet with a soft thud. Glancing down, she finds the pentagram necklace.
‘That’s what she used to cast her spell,’ she murmurs, picking it up.
Eliza had promised her to bring Max back to life. But as she said, playing with Death always comes with a price. Miraculously, she's managed to overcome the werewolves. She'd rather not try her luck again. It's better this way, she convinces herself.
‘I guess we have to destroy it...?’ He sounds unsure of himself.
Around them, all is quiet save for the rustling of leaves and the buzzing of insects. They are all alone.
As she looks back at Travis, she can't help but ogle the two fading scars on his neck, the newly healed skin there catching the moonlight. She licks her lips.
‘But... There’s no hurry, right?’ she asks.
Travis gives her a knowing smile.