Show Me Your Teeth (3/?) tawabidsJuly 3 2011, 02:21:35 UTC
Erik waded to shore and turned into the wolf. He shook himself to lose the worst of the water and padded off into the streets. The pavement wore at the pads of his feet but he didn’t even bother avoiding the streetlamps. Shaw wouldn’t stay in Miami, so Erik wouldn’t either, and as long as no one saw his human face then he’d be fine.
He followed a fresh scent from the Miami pack, hoping it would give him some clue as to why they had attacked humans tonight. If he knew what Shaw was doing so far from the national parks or other safe hunting grounds, he might figure out where he was going next.
The scent led into a dark ally in the empty industrial district. Erik padded carefully inside, overwhelmed by smells - old scents of transients and drifters, fresher, cloying smells of garbage and urine laced with alcohol. Newer than all of that was blood. And then his ears picked up the faint gasps of pained breath, and the smell of adrenalin-charged sweat, very fresh. The human that Shaw and his gang had attacked was still alive.
Erik loped deeper into the alley as his pupils dilated until even the tiny pricks of stars and the ambient glow of the city’s light-pollution seemed as bright as the noon sky. He found the body quickly and nuzzled the man’s face. The man’s eyes were closed, but there was no head wound. He found injuries on his chest and arm, but they were bandaged roughly. The man had managed to partly stem his bleeding with pieces of a torn shirt before he’d fainted from blood loss.
Erik would have called him lucky, but he doubted that was an accurate description, considering what happened to the survivors of werewolf bites.
He licked the salty layer of sweat from the man’s face, but he didn’t wake up. Erik growled in frustration. He couldn’t fetch help in his wolf form, but if he turned human than he would have to draw attention to himself. After a moment of indecision he gripped the back of the man’s jacket between his teeth and began to drag him out of the ally.
He could smell the man’s scent on the sidewalk, now he was looking for it. He followed it about a block and a half between factories and unlit mechanic shops. The scent led back to a cheap loft apartment above a panel beater’s, and the door was ajar. Erik nosed it open and dragged the man inside, kicking the door closed behind them. He dragged the man upstairs into a Spartan set of rooms. By the smell, the man had lived here alone for only a couple of days. There were several bags in the shadows but little sign of permanent habitation.
Erik transformed back into his human form. He heaved the injured man onto a sagging sofa and found a blanket to put over him. He took off the makeshift bandages, switched forms and licked the wounds clean - they smelled of Shaw’s saliva and a strange, stinging taste that was familiar but unnameable. He went to the bathroom. There were proper, sterile gauze rolls in the cabinet. Erik thought that was odd, but didn’t spend time wondered about it. He returned to his patient and bandaged him properly. As he was finishing, his weak human ears picked up a moan and the man stirred.
Erik stepped back and squatted on his haunches, still in human form. He should have stolen some clothes, but it was too late for that now. The man opened his eyes and blinked at him.
“Where’m’I?” he murmured. He raised the injured arm a little, hissed and laid it back on top of the blanket.
“In your flat. I found you and brought you here. I’m going to call an ambulance,” Erik rumbled. “Do you have a phone?”
“No phone,” the man rubbed his eyes with his good hand. His accent was not local, but a posh British lilt. A tourist, then. On his worst holiday ever. “No ambulance, I’ll be alright,” he raised his head to look at the bandages. “You did these?”
“Yes. They’re werewolf bites, I’m sorry,” Erik said softly. “You’re one of us now. In a few days you’ll feel the urge to transform. Do you know anything about the process?”
Erik waded to shore and turned into the wolf. He shook himself to lose the worst of the water and padded off into the streets. The pavement wore at the pads of his feet but he didn’t even bother avoiding the streetlamps. Shaw wouldn’t stay in Miami, so Erik wouldn’t either, and as long as no one saw his human face then he’d be fine.
He followed a fresh scent from the Miami pack, hoping it would give him some clue as to why they had attacked humans tonight. If he knew what Shaw was doing so far from the national parks or other safe hunting grounds, he might figure out where he was going next.
The scent led into a dark ally in the empty industrial district. Erik padded carefully inside, overwhelmed by smells - old scents of transients and drifters, fresher, cloying smells of garbage and urine laced with alcohol. Newer than all of that was blood. And then his ears picked up the faint gasps of pained breath, and the smell of adrenalin-charged sweat, very fresh. The human that Shaw and his gang had attacked was still alive.
Erik loped deeper into the alley as his pupils dilated until even the tiny pricks of stars and the ambient glow of the city’s light-pollution seemed as bright as the noon sky. He found the body quickly and nuzzled the man’s face. The man’s eyes were closed, but there was no head wound. He found injuries on his chest and arm, but they were bandaged roughly. The man had managed to partly stem his bleeding with pieces of a torn shirt before he’d fainted from blood loss.
Erik would have called him lucky, but he doubted that was an accurate description, considering what happened to the survivors of werewolf bites.
He licked the salty layer of sweat from the man’s face, but he didn’t wake up. Erik growled in frustration. He couldn’t fetch help in his wolf form, but if he turned human than he would have to draw attention to himself. After a moment of indecision he gripped the back of the man’s jacket between his teeth and began to drag him out of the ally.
He could smell the man’s scent on the sidewalk, now he was looking for it. He followed it about a block and a half between factories and unlit mechanic shops. The scent led back to a cheap loft apartment above a panel beater’s, and the door was ajar. Erik nosed it open and dragged the man inside, kicking the door closed behind them. He dragged the man upstairs into a Spartan set of rooms. By the smell, the man had lived here alone for only a couple of days. There were several bags in the shadows but little sign of permanent habitation.
Erik transformed back into his human form. He heaved the injured man onto a sagging sofa and found a blanket to put over him. He took off the makeshift bandages, switched forms and licked the wounds clean - they smelled of Shaw’s saliva and a strange, stinging taste that was familiar but unnameable. He went to the bathroom. There were proper, sterile gauze rolls in the cabinet. Erik thought that was odd, but didn’t spend time wondered about it. He returned to his patient and bandaged him properly. As he was finishing, his weak human ears picked up a moan and the man stirred.
Erik stepped back and squatted on his haunches, still in human form. He should have stolen some clothes, but it was too late for that now. The man opened his eyes and blinked at him.
“Where’m’I?” he murmured. He raised the injured arm a little, hissed and laid it back on top of the blanket.
“In your flat. I found you and brought you here. I’m going to call an ambulance,” Erik rumbled. “Do you have a phone?”
“No phone,” the man rubbed his eyes with his good hand. His accent was not local, but a posh British lilt. A tourist, then. On his worst holiday ever. “No ambulance, I’ll be alright,” he raised his head to look at the bandages. “You did these?”
“Yes. They’re werewolf bites, I’m sorry,” Erik said softly. “You’re one of us now. In a few days you’ll feel the urge to transform. Do you know anything about the process?”
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