Whitethorn Grove
Hal noticed the new boy immediately. It wasn't just his scent-earth mixed with fresh night air-it was also in the way he moved, with a smooth loping grace and confidence that only came from being a predator. There was no doubt: his new student was a werewolf.
How perfectly miserable.
From his clothes and accent when he introduced himself, he was also a gypsy. Hal didn't bother introducing him to the class; he could manage that just fine on his own, and probably wouldn't appreciate Hal calling attention to him anyway, if his hunched shoulders and seat in the back were any indication.
Hal did ask him to stay after class, however. The boy hesitantly approached, wary and suspicious like a wild animal.
“Tom,” Hal began, “there is something I noticed about you when you came in today, and I simply want to clarify a few things.” Tom shifted back, taking weight off his legs and straightening his back. He was prepared to run.
“Please don't run off, I promise I'm not a threat.” He waited until Tom's stance relaxed. “I know you're a werewolf, and before you deny it, I only want to say that I can get you a medical excuse once a month for the full moon. Or a few days before, if you prefer.”
Tom's eyes widened and he stared at Hal as if he couldn't understand what he was. Perhaps he didn't; not all werewolves were aware of vampires, after all. But if he was a gypsy the chances of that were low. Finally, he spoke.
“How?” Hal shrugged.
“I have a lot of experience with your, er, people. It won't do to have you draw suspicion from the authorities because you mysteriously miss class every now and then. I'll talk to the nurse tomorrow and sort it out. Have a good day.” Tom was dismissed with a careless wave of Hal's hand. The boy left, his long, loping stride even and elegant.
Being a vampire gave Hal a magnetic pull to humans and other creatures, especially cats, and unparalleled speed and senses, but the ease of movement the werewolves possessed escaped him. Hal could land on his feet from a one hundred foot drop, leap ten feet effortlessly, and keep stride with the fastest bullet train; his body, however, moved with a quick economy of motion that closest resembled a feline or bird of prey.
Gathering up his papers, Hal packed his satchel and left the classroom. His office was much more comfortable to work in. A few hours later, he packed up again and left for the day, saying goodbye to any of his colleagues he passed in the halls.
Once he got home, he put his things and changed his clothes. As soon as night fell, he could feed, and professional outfits were not suitable to stalking prey in the woods. Jeans and a cotton Henley were flexible, durable, and easy to clean.
The sun set. It was time to hunt.
Angus was coming out of the woods when Tom arrived home.
“You weren't followed?” he said, his voice deep and guttural, tinged with a Scottish accent. Tom shook his head. Angus smiled and pulled him into a one-arm hug.
“How was school?” he asked. Tom shrugged.
“The usual, mostly,” he replied. He opened his mouth to begin telling his father about the teacher-Mr. Yorke?--who knew what they were, but he stopped. Tom knew what Mr. Yorke was, too, and if Angus knew, he would not hesitate to track him down and kill him-whether he posed a threat or not. Vampires had killed Tom's birth parents, and Angus' best friends; since then the older werewolf held a grudge against the entire race.
Tom grew up as werewolf and gypsy and vampire hunter.
Until he encountered Mr. Yorke, he never questioned it. Suddenly, though, the idea of Angus tearing the vampire apart simply because of what he was made Tom queasy. Come to think of it, he hadn't smelled like most vampires, dead and full of full blood; his scent was more like petrified wood, with only the blood of animals in his veins. Still cold and lifeless, but not disgusting. That was odd.
Tom went inside their camper, the only home he'd ever known, tossing his books on his bed and curling up to take a nap. They would probably go hunting tonight. Transforming into the wolf on a regular basis lessened the chance of hurting someone on the full moon. They were careful to stay away from concentrated populations, keeping their home, wherever is happened to be that month, isolated. Deep woods were a priority.
This place was perfect. Even though the full moon was a month away, Tom felt safe here, even as something about the place set the hairs of his neck on edge.
With a sigh, Tom closed his eyes and thought about Mr. Yorke's offer this afternoon. His kindness towards Tom had stemmed, in his own words, from a need for them both to stay unnoticed and their natures secret; but Tom sensed that there was more to the vampire teacher than met the eyes. There was his scent, for one thing; could vampires abstain from human blood? Did that make them less of a monster if they still craved it?
Everything Tom knew about vampires he had learned from Angus, and while knowledgeable, he was not an objective source. Angus may not care about innocent versus guilty, making the punishment fit the crime, but Tom did. Angus blamed the whole race of his vampire for the deaths of Tom's parents, and therefore considered them all guilty and worthy of vengeance. Tom, younger and less jaded, was not so blind.
Groaning, Tom buried his face in his pillow; this was too much for one afternoon. He would take more time to evaluate Mr. Yorke and decide whether to tell Angus about him. Assuming that Angus didn't find him first. Jeez, how complicated could this get?