Fortis

Fortis | Unum

            “To be honest, I didn’t think you’d survive the night.”

A deep, sultry voice snapped me out of my sleeping state. I jumped, but whimpered in pain as my shoulder blazed, as if liquid fire had been injected into my veins. My eyes squeezed tightly shut, my teeth grinding together as I waited impatiently for the pain to die down.

“And,” he dragged out, “I wouldn’t try to move too much. You’re still healing.”

I let out a ragged breath through my nose and blinked the tears out of my burning eyes. When I looked over, I saw a slightly familiar face staring as some magazine that had an almost-naked female on the cover. Skimming over his masculine features, his name popped into my head like a balloon.

Fortis Stone.

He had graduated last year, but yet, he was still the talk of the high school. And seeing him up close, I knew why. With his midnight black hair as dark that it had an almost blue hue, and his icy eyes so bright they looked white, Fortis Stone was extremely good-looking. Due to his tall, six-four stature and lean muscles he was pegged as a bad boy and a loner. Which I couldn’t blame him for not talking to anyone, if my parents had been killed in some freak car crash where their bodies were torn to shreds I wouldn’t have much to say either.

But Fortis wasn’t one of those clichéd boys, his beauty was a unique mixture.

His tight, black shirt showed off his naturally tanned arms and some of his tribal tattoos. He was leaned back in a chair, looking easily relaxed. As if having an underage girl in a nineteen-year-old’s room wasn’t out of the norm.

Without looking up from the magazine, Fortis said, “Haven’t you learned that staring is considered rude?”

Instantly, I tore my eyes away from his eerily calm demeanor and looked around the room we were both currently in. The walls and roof were wood, and everything smelled like earth. For some reason, the scent seemed to sooth my frayed nerves.

But then I realized I had no memory of yesterday. I had no memory of why I was in this house or why my shoulder was hurting to the point of knocking me into unconsciousness. And for that reason, I started to be fearful again.

Trying to sit up from the unusually comfortable bed, my shoulder gave a protest by sending stabs of pain through my limbs, but I didn’t stop moving. Tears burned at my eyes and I could feel myself getting lightheaded.

Fortis slammed the magazine closed, his nose turning up in disgust as if he smelled something putrid. He stood from the chair and made his way over to me, which sent more fear rolling out of my pores. His large hands pushed me back down on the bed, stopping my struggle. He felt so warm…it was almost comforting.

“Look,” he stated lowly, staring deeply into my irises, “putting up a fight and moving around like you just did isn’t gonna to help you, got it? It’s gonna fuck up your shoulder more and cause more pain. And more pain means that this whole transition thing is gonna be more of a pain in the ass than it already is. So just—stop moving and stop being scared ‘cause, honestly, you’re stinkin’ up my whole house.”

I realized that was the most I’ve ever heard Fortis say, more than anyone has heard him say. But then, pain and fear was replaced with confusion. How was I “stinking up his house” by just laying down? When I went to speak my thoughts, my throat gave out a rough squeak.

Fortis carefully took his hands off me, and I was surprised to find myself missing the warm touch. He reached to the nightstand next to the bed, retrieving a glass of water with a straw. As he handed it to me, he said, “Wouldn’t try speaking either, your throat’s probably raw from your incessant screaming.”

I drank the water cautiously, trying to taste if it had any poison mixed in with the liquid. But as it flowed down my throat, it soothed the burning feeling on my vocal cords. As I drained the water, I found my voice. “W-What happened to me?” It was a gruff, throaty question.

Fortis sat back down in the chair, his elbows resting on his kneecaps. He ran a rough hand down his face, and I noticed the dark circles underlining his eyes. “I don’t know how to start this without you freaking out. But, as my mom used to say, ‘Say it like you’re ripping off a Band-Aid.’”

I watched as Fortis’ eyes grew sad, but the emotion was gone within a blink. I stared at him expectantly.

“You were attacked by a wolf,” he said normally, sounding as if he were reading me the weather for the week. His bright eyes flashed to mine, awaiting for my reaction.

As he said “wolf,” an image flashed in my mind. I was at the pond, the water frozen over and a mutated beast—a gray, filthy beast was sneering at me. I remembered the pain in my ankle as it slashed my skin and the way its teeth dug into my shoulder. Ghost pain appeared throughout my wound, the tingling making me shiver.

“A wolf?” My voice trembled. “B-But we don’t have wolves here.”

“You’re right, we don’t have wolves. We have a wolf; singular. Well, we had a wolf until I killed it. You’re welcome, by the way.” Fortis leaned back in his chair and was not freaking out like I was internally.

“You killed it?”

He sighed, rolling his icy eyes. “It was either it killed you, or I kill it.”

“Oh,” I said, tearing my gaze away from him for I could no longer look at him. “Uh, t-thanks.”

I was attacked. I was attacked by a wolf. An overgrown, wolf hybrid that was the size of a horse. And I was still alive, all due to Fortis playing the brave hero. But how did he manage to slay the beast? I couldn’t recall hearing a gunshot.

“How did you, uh…kill it?” I asked, my voice weak. The faint memory of another wolf rippled into my brain, its fur black as coal.

“And that’s the part that you’re going to freak out about.” Fortis sighed, bracing himself for my reaction. “The wolf that attacked was a lycanthrope. A lycan or werewolf is what humans call us. When it bit your shoulder, you received the bite from a werewolf. So in short, you’re a werewolf. Welcome to the club.”

A beat passed and I slowly turned my head to Fortis. He stared at me with caution, preparing himself as his body tensed. When I opened my mouth to speak, he slightly flinched.

“Werewolves aren’t real,” I stated in a matter-of-factly tone. My eyes narrowed at Fortis, my mind concluding that he was slightly crazy.

He snorted, and confirmed my thoughts about his non-existent sanity. “Soon enough you’ll believe me when the full moon hits—which is in about four days—and when you’re sprouting fur and howling. Or when you have cravings for raw meat or when you have flashes of killing people and liking it. Or—”

“I’m not a—a werewolf. I’m human. You’re human. I’m not going to change into the same monster that attacked me,” I spat out.

Fortis glared at me, his pupils seeming to grow and when he blinked they were normal. I played it off as seeing things, I had been attacked after all.  He didn’t reply, but the ticking of his jaw showed me what I had said had gotten to him. His eyes glared at me before he stood from the wooden chair he had been sitting in.

He walked to the back of the room, yanking open a door that held various clothes; a closet. Pulling out a black backpack, he started shoving clothes into the bag. I watched him confusedly. Once my curiosity had grown too big, I asked, “What are you doing?”

He only spared me a glance and continued with his packing. “We have to leave. We can’t stay here.”