Andy’s heart hammered in his chest.

Martin looked haggard, clothes stained, dark circles under his eyes, one arm sizzling and bloody. The boy’s senses picked up on every detail, from the slight tremor in Martin’s hand to the rapid pulse visible in his neck.

“Dad?” Andy croaked, his voice hoarse. “What are you doing here? How did you…? Are you okay?”

Martin took a step forward, pushing Vick ahead, the barrel of his pistol lodged in the Vampire’s back. Vick’s eyes were wide with fear, darting between Andy and Martin.

“It’s time to go home, son.” Martin said. “We’re gonna fix this.”

Andy hesitated, his teeth briefly grinding together. He shook his head. “I…I’m past that. I’m way past that. What you’re sayin’ we should do—”

“It don’t matter what we do,” Martin cut him off. “What matters is we can make you Human again. No more monster inside of you—no more fear.”

The words struck Andy like a physical blow. Human. The promise of being Human again was, as always, a tempting one—but that cure came at much too high of a cost. The boy shook his head, trying to clear the fog of pain, confusion and sorrow.

“…Please. This ain’t right. You gotta let Vick go, we…we can talk about this!”

Martin’s grip on the gun tightened, his hand trembling. Those tired eyes of his sunk toward the captive Vampire, but something behind them steeled. His brows contorted with pent-up fury.

“There ain’t nothin’ to talk about.” Martin growled. “This has gone on long enough. You’re comin’ with me. Now.”

The boy shifted in his bed. For a moment, the gulf dividing him from his father seemed impossibly wide. Andy’s face welled with fear, then hurt, then rage. His fists clenched, claws cutting into his palms, blood trickling down the bedside.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere with you.” Andy said.

The words hung in the air for a long time. Martin’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of hurt crossing his weathered features before they hardened once more.

“…Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, boy. I’m trying to help you.”

“Help me? By threatening my friends? By workin’ for the folk who want me dead?!”

“They don’t want to kill you, they want to cure you! Talia was right, these…monsters have poisoned your mind. Can’t you see everything I’m doing is for your own good?”

“My own good?!” Andy’s shout reverberated throughout the small room. “You’re doin’ this for yourself! You’re doin’ this because you can’t accept me for what I am!”

Martin grimaced and shook his head. “That ain’t true.”

“Then why are you doing this?” The boy got to his feet now, taking one angry pace toward his father. “Why can’t…why can’t you just accept the fact that I’m better off here? That I’m safer here?!”

“You’re not safe, you’re sick.” Martin took a hesitant step back, pulling Vick with him. Andy took another step forward, this time accompanied by the further lengthening of his claws. Blood trickled onto the floor below him. His eyes glowed with intense light.

“Let. Him. Go.” Andy demanded.

“Boy…” Martin took another step back. Andy continued on, flexing his fingers, one eye twitching. His lips curved into a snarl. The old man’s eyes nervously darted between his son and the door.

“Andy, please,” Martin said, voice wavering. “I don’t want to hurt you. Just come with me and we can fix this.”

“There’s nothing to fix!” Andy roared. His tendons tensed and bulged beneath his skin as another wave of pain wracked the boy’s body. He doubled over for a second, falling to his hands and knees, panting heavily.

“Andy!” Martin’s eyes went wide as he went to help his son—but the boy lashed out, claws flying right toward the old man’s face.

“Don’t touch me!”

Just as Martin stumbled backward, a certain Vampire’s leg knocked his feet out from under him. His revolver slid across the ground and underneath the bed. Vick, wide-eyed still, sprinted full speed right out the open door. Andy’s vision blurred as he watched the teen disappear down the hallway. The pain was overwhelming now—Andy could feel his bones shifting, stretching, ligaments reforming. A guttural growl escaped his throat as his vocal cords began to shred.

Martin crawled backward, hands fumbling for his firearm, eyes darting between the dark space beneath the cot and his monstrous, convulsing son.

The boy’s face elongated into a snout, teeth sharpening to deadly points. Blood pooled in his gums and trickled down onto the floor in tandem with flowing saliva. Thick fur pricked and poked through his skin and enveloped his form. Andy’s body began to bulk, crackling, swelling, the seams of his sweater straining and tearing open. His final agonized wails morphed into a deathly howl.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

The old man’s hand had finally closed around the grip of his revolver under the cot. He yanked it out and scrambled to his feet, backing away slowly.

In mere moments, where was once a meek boy stood now a massive, trembling beast, a low whine slipping from its muzzle. Looking up, its fierce golden eyes opened, now locked on the old man, locked on the barrel that was pointed straight at him.

Martin’s chest heaved. He struggled to pull the hammer back on the revolver, his hands clammy and covered in sweat. He didn’t want to do this. God, he didn’t want to do this.

“Andy…son…you still in there?”

The beast responded with little more than a menacing growl, stalking toward Martin. Its massive form silently plodded across the cold floor, muscles rippling beneath its thick coat with each measured step. Saliva dripped from the beast’s fangs, falling in thick globs to the ground.

Martin stumbled backwards until he hit the wall, the revolver shaking in his white-knuckle grip. Sweat bead down his brow and trickled down his face. His heart pounded so loudly he was certain even the beast heard it. The beast’s lips curled back into a vicious snarl, hot breath wafting into Martin’s face. The old man’s finger twitched on the trigger, the barrel pressing up now against the beast’s chest.

Suddenly, another long, pained howl pierced the night air, nearby—a series of howls, all throughout the city. The beast’s ears folded back, its bright eyes went wide. Before Martin could react, the Werewolf doubled back and ran toward the door.

“Andy—!”

Gone. The beast bounded down the hallway on all fours, claws scrabbling against the tiled floor. Its nose picked up the scent of freedom—fresh air and rain wafting from the outside. It crashed through the double doors to the city hall, then, totally ignoring the entrance, jumped right out the window. In a shower of glass, it landed heavily on the wet grass outside.

Slosh!

The beast shook its shaggy coat, sending water and shards of glass flying in every direction. Its eyes scanned its surroundings, nostrils flaring as it took in the scent of the city.

Another wave of howls echoed through the night—the Werewolf’s ears pricked up, head swiveling toward the sound. There was something among them, someone…someone familiar.

From within, the beast’s mind was plagued with nightmares, haunting memories it could not recognize. It was entombed in emotion it did not know how to process. The beast growled loudly, pawing at its ears and shakings its head around, but the nightmares only grew along with the chorus of singing wolves.

It only had one option to put these nightmares to rest.

Martin stumbled out of the building, his legs shaky beneath him. He braced himself against the doorframe, struggling to catch his breath. His mind raced, trying to process everything that just happened. His eyes darted around wildly, searching for any sign of Andy…or for the beast he had become. Just off in the distance, he saw what he believed to be the boy’s large ambling frame.

His hand went to his coat, as the old man pulled out a small rune-inscribed vial filled with a wispy, black substance. As he shook the thing around, six green eyes came to the surface, all of them fixed on Martin with an irritated glare.

“Well now, isn’t this just a pickle and a half?” Snoozie’s disembodied voice echoed from within the glass.

Martin grimaced, glancing between the vial and the retreating form of his son in the distance. “I…I need your help. Andy—he’s changed, I don’t know what to do.”

Snoozie’s eyes narrowed, looking shockingly unimpressed despite her lack of a face. “Ohhh, the Werewolf transformed on the full moon? Well who woulda guessed?”

“Can you help me, or not?”

Snoozie’s eyes swirled within the vial, considering the old man’s plea. His desperation was palpable, face edged with crow’s feet and worried lines. She kind of felt bad for the guy—kind of—but this was the same man who just entrapped her. After a long moment, Snoozie’s voice echoed from the vial, tinged with a mix of exasperation and pity.

“Oh, alright. I s’pose I can lend a hand, but I’ve got conditions, mister.”

Martin’s eyes lit up. “Anything. Name it.”

The eyes narrowed. “First, you’re gonna let me outta this dang bottle.”

“And?”

“And, then, you’re gonna get those Natural Order goons out of our valley before they make a mess of things.”

Martin hesitated, his grip on the vial tightening.

“I can’t just abandon the Order. They’re here to help.”

Snoozie’s laughter echoed off the confines of her tiny prison. “Help? Is that what you call it? Burning down our gates, attacking our people? Some help that is.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just supposed to let y’all wrangle my son?” Martin asked.

Snoozie’s eyes swirled faster in the vial, glowing brighter with irritation. “Andy came to us for help—we’re trying to help him.”

“He’s my boy, that’s my job. I don’t need a bunch of mutants doin’ my job for me.”

“And you think chasing him down, shooting at him is doing him any good? Face it, mister, you’re doin’ way more harm than good at this point. If you really want to help Andy, you need to start by trusting him to make his own choices.”

“Oh yeah? Was comin’ here a choice?” Martin gestured toward the city hall. “Gettin’ locked up, was that his choice?”

“Your people are the reason we’re in this valley to begin with.”

“Well maybe there’s a reason for that.”

Snoozie stirred in the vial with impatience. “You really don’t sound like you want my help.”

“I don’t.” Martin said, reluctantly twisting the top off of the vial. Snoozie burst forth from the vial in a swirl of dark vapor. She hovered before Martin, many legs stretching out, her form taking time to get into shape. The old man took a step back, hand instinctively going to his revolver.

“Now, now, none of that.” Snoozie said. “We’re on the same side here, remember?”

“For now,” Martin slowly lowered his hand, looking toward Andy’s last known location. “So how do we find him?”

“Leave that to me,” Snoozie turned in the air, floating upward into the night sky. She cast a shadowy limb over her eyes, squinting, scanning the area before her. After a moment, she pointed, gesturing with her other limbs.

“Come on, this way! Hurry!” Snoozie began to glide swiftly down the street, the old man jogging to keep up.

“Not good—the Order’s out that way!”

“Just why we need to hurry! In his current state, Andy’s lost all his memories—he’s purely driven by instinct. Right now, his instincts are telling him to hunt.”

“Hunt what?” Martin panted.

Snoozie looked back with a bit of dread.

“Same game you're hunting. Andy's looking for the Butcher.”