IT WILL COME BACK - [werewolf oneshot]

[Deleted]

REMOVED from the bar practically by the scruff of his neck, Aaron stalked the late, rain slicked streets with no more clarity than he had when he'd first arrived. Hunting down werewolves was hard, even in a modern and more liberal climate. They were all solitary, private beasts who had nothing to say about Fenrir Greyback, even less to a snotty 17 year old with a bad attitude. All Aaron had wanted to know was where he had come from. But, nobody was willing to tell him. The last man had sneered at him with frighteningly sharp canines, his voice as slow as it was terrifying as he warned Aaron that some graves were not worth revisiting, that he might not like what he found. Aaron had almost insisted when a hand had grabbed him by the back of his jacket, hauling him out of the bar in less than the breath of a second.

Out in the cold, Aaron kicked a loose stone across the cobbled streets when he heard a sound at his back. He peered over his shoulder cautiously, his face pinched. Nothing. Just the wind whistling over a low, old fashioned gas lamp. Aaron crossed the street, hands deep in his pockets. The hairs on the back of his neck rising as a creeping sensation overwhelmed him, telling him to move on, to get back to his little bunk bed in his forgotten, hole-in-the-wall hostel. His head ducked, he didn't see it coming until it had him by the neck. Deep claws penetrating the skin and making him call out, once and high pitched before his voice and his body were consumed by the cover of a cold, foul smelling alley.

Aaron didn't see much else until he turned around, scrambling on the slippery cobbles as he pressed himself against the alley wall. "Please, please no..." He begged, snot and tears clogging his nose and mouth as he gripped the back of his bleeding neck. The beast didn't move, staring at him with odd, intelligent eyes. As if it were... waiting on something, some invisible cue. Aaron skidded along the stone wall, finding his feet as he stared wide-eyed at the animal, waiting to be attacked, but unwilling to sit complacent as it did. With one last look, Aaron turned on his heels and attempted to flee. This, apparently, was the cue the beast was waiting for. Aaron heard the snick of its long, curled claws against the ground, but it didn't matter because he was almost at the mouth of the alley.

Something slow and deliberate wrapped around his ankle, pulling Aaron's feet out from under him. He went down hard and fast, his chin thwacking against the ground so hard he tasted blood and his vision went dark for just a moment. The following attack was so brutal that Aaron told people he didn't remember most of it. But he did. He remembered every tear of his skin, like it was being peeled off of his back again and again. And finally, when a mouth wrapped tight around his shoulder, overlapping all the way to the jut of his collarbone, Aaron mercifully passed out. It bit him again on his bicep, multiple times, like it was marking its territory before it left him alone and bleeding, wavering in and out of consciousness.

When a soft and guiding hand dragged Aaron from the alley, he recalled a face in his pain and fearful haze. They saved the remnants of his life, but one thing was for sure. It would never be the same again.