---Taryn---
Anybody who thinks werewolves are sexy has clearly never met one. For starters, they're always shedding fur all over the place, even when they aren't wolfing out. Then there's the fact that their breath smells like blood and raw meat the morning after they return from a hunt. And they're always—how should I put this?—marking their territory. And you wonder why I'm not a werewolf fangirl.
"Are you about done?" I ask, retreating into my windbreaker like a snail into its shell. This place really has no business being cold; there hasn't been so much as a breeze since we ripped through to wherever this is. Just miles and miles of forest, if you can even call it that.
Aiden audibly zips up and then emerges from behind one of the, uh... "trees" would be the closest approximation. I lean against the jet black substance that's too spongey to be tree bark. It radiates enough warmth to offset the cold, at least for now.
"Mission accomplished." Aiden gives me his trademark lopsided smirk.
"You're disgusting," I say, accidentally pricking myself on one of the low hanging stalactite-like formations that sprout from the branches instead of leaves.
"Oh, please." Aiden's shoes squeak against the ruby-coloured shellac that paves the forest ground. Pair that with the crimson-coloured stalactites, and my entire field of vision is tainted red. Which is an appropriate metaphor for having to be around Aiden 24-7. "I don't give you a hard time about the whole blood-sucking thing."
"I. Don't. Suck. Blood." How many times do I have to tell him before he gets it through that thick, hollow skull of his?
Aiden shrugs it off, running a hand through his auburn hair. "Then you're a pretty crappy vampire."
"Dhampir."
"Same difference."
To be fair, I am somewhat to blame for Aiden's misconceptions about dhampir-kind. We dhampir do have some blood-related business to take care of every now and then, but it's not exactly the kind of thing I'm eager to open up about.
"You better watch yourself, Matthews. Else I've got a healthy heaping of silver with your name on it." I stuff my hands into my pockets for warmth, my arm accidentally brushing against one of the tree's fruits. The fruit dangles from a spider web–like substance that the stalactites secrete. I pluck it off of the stringy goop. A perfect sphere, the size of a tennis ball. Black as coal and hard as an 8-ball. "Catch."
Aiden catches the fruit and examines it up close. "Is this even edible?"
"Reply hazy. Try again."
"Ha ha." Aiden tosses the fruit. His breath materializes in front of him. He gets that constipated look all bad boys get when they put their brains to the strange and unusual task of thinking.
"What's the matter? Did you forget your name again? I'll give you a hint: it starts with a Jack and ends with a—"
"It's the Q-blip." Aiden pulls the touch-screen device out of his pocket.
"Detecting a rip?" I ask, reaching for the clockwork compass that hangs from a chain around my neck. The Q-blip can be used for trans-dimensional mapping, but the diagrams it generates are meaningless unless you use the two devices in tandem.
Aiden shakes his head. "Interference. Within a two mile radius."
I hold my breath. Our eyes meet; we're both thinking the exact same thing.
"Comma," we both say at once.
Aiden takes off and I hurry along after him. Typical wolf-brain behaviour: he isn't thinking about how the all the noise he's making is going to attract the attention of the locals. Case in point: we haven't been running for two minutes when a four-legged creature the size of a wrangler wolf leaps down from the canopy.
"Stay back," says Aiden.
"Don't you get all macho on me," I mutter. The mutt—more like a naked, grey-skinned hyena, actually—whimpers softly. The sight of it tugs at my heartstrings; its body is covered in round, fist-sized depressions with little pinprick holes in their centres. Kind of like a Swiss cheese motif.
Aiden growls, his hairs standing on end. "Moonstone," he demands.
"Are you sure that's a good—?"
"Now!" He looks back at me over his shoulder, his eyes glowing red.
I nod and grab the moonstone shard from my pouch. But I hesitate. The second his eyes detect the moonstone's shimmer, he's going to turn. And I'm not sure that's such a good idea. Last time, it took him a week to turn back.
"What are you waiting..." Aiden's voice trails off when the mutt lets out a tea kettle squeal. The depressions in its skin start to ripple. The trees around us start to rustle—a very unpleasant sound when the things doing the rustling are calcium needles. It's nails-on-a-chalkboard unpleasant.
The fruits dangling from the gooey strings start to come loose. Caught in some sort of magnetic pull, the fruits hurtle towards the mutt and settle into the depressions in its body—a perfect fit.
"I could really use that moonstone right about now."
I ignore Aiden—I've got this horrible feeling that I know exactly what's about to happen. I lunge forward, tackling Aiden to the ground just as the mutt launches one of the fruits at us like a cannonball. The fruit zooms past us and punctures a hole through three trees in a row before finally stopping.
The mutt gives us a smug look as if to say, "Yeah, you're so effed right now."
I scramble to my feet, dragging Aiden up with me, and we high-tail it out of there just as the mutt unleashes a barrage of cannonball fruits. I may or may not have grabbed Aiden's hand in the heat of the moment. We don't stop until we can no longer hear the mutt firing off its projectiles.
That sprint really took the wind out of me. I can't stop panting.
Aiden glowers at me. "You could have gotten us killed."
"Yeah?" I clutch my stomach, sucking in breath after painful breath. "Well... I didn't." I move away from him and duck behind a tree in case I need to vomit.
"Don't you think this is something we should talk about?"
I dry heave.
"If you have a problem with what I am, you need to make that clear," he says, rounding the tree. I vomit right onto his shoes.
Grinning, I wipe my mouth. "Clear enough for you?"
He's about to say something when he freezes, his ears twitching. He sniffs at the air. After removing his shoes, he heads down a path to our right, where the ground starts to slope down. He motions for me to follow.
We stumble upon a cliff, where the land has been eroded away by who knows what, making room for a muddy valley below. The plummet's high enough to kill a human but not high enough to kill a werewolf. Or a dhampir. We crouch down behind a bush consisting of prickly, purple thorns.
Aiden growls.
"I know that growl," I say. "You sense another werewolf, don't you?"
Aiden shakes his head. "Something else. Similar, but... different."
"Your command of the English language never ceases to amaze."
"Quiet."
We fall silent. After roughly five minutes of waiting, my legs have fallen asleep. Two more minutes, and three blurry figures come into view, making their way across the valley. I crawl over to the edge of the cliff to get a better look.
"The signal's definitely coming from down there," Aiden whispers, staring at the Q-blip. He joins me over by the edge of the cliff.
The first figure comes into focus. A male, late teens. Dark shaggy hair. Unkempt look. Then the second figure: another male, this one in his early fifties, if I had to hazard a guess. Oilskin vest. Slight tan. And then the third: a blonde. Late teens or early twenties. Medieval tunic. Even from this far up, I catch the glimmer of her green eyes. She glances up in our direction. I feel a twinge as something dark, something powerful pierces my heart.
Aiden and I scramble back behind the bush. I hold my breath, staying still as a petrified boulder. Seconds pass. Then minutes. I risk another glance over the side of the cliff. The trio are off in the distance now, fading into the crimson haze of the forest. I deflate, falling back against the ground.
"What was that?"
Aiden barely looks up at me; his disappointment is palpable. "I don't know. But it wasn't Comma."
Author's Note:
It's a new arc, and that means new characters! But don't worry; we'll be catching up with Em and the rest of the gang very soon. So, age-old question: werewolves or vampires?
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