Elena tilted her head back as they walked, looking up at the sky. The moon hung full and bright overhead, its light washing the buildings in silver and casting sharp shadows across the cobblestones.
"Moon’s so bright tonight," she said, her voice was quiet but casual.
"It’s the Crimson Tide," the hooded figure replied without looking at her. "When the moon reaches its peak, vampire and wolf beastkin bloodlines become more active. Their essence flows stronger, and instincts sharpen."
Elena glanced at the figure, a small smile tugging at her lips. "That’s why you chose tonight for this, isn’t it?"
The figure didn’t answer, but their silence was confirmation enough.
They walked through three more streets, taking turns that seemed random but it was a route designed to lose any potential followers.
Left down a narrow alley between a closed butcher shop and a textile merchant. Right onto a wider street where merchant stalls sat empty. Left again into an even narrower passage where the buildings leaned close enough that their upper floors nearly touched overhead.
At the end of this passage stood a nondescript door, with no markings or signs.
The hooded figure stopped in front of it and knocked three times. Pause.
Then twice more.
A signal.
For several seconds, nothing happened. Then the sound of a bolt sliding back echoed from the other side. The door swung inward.
The figure stepped through without hesitation. Elena followed.
The darkness inside gave way to dim torchlight as they moved deeper into the building.
The entry hall was narrow, with walls of old stone that smelled of damp. Their footsteps echoed as they descended a staircase.
The air grew colder with each step, and the smell changed, damp earth mixed with something metallic and organic that made Elena’s nose wrinkle slightly.
At the bottom, a corridor stretched ahead. More torches lined the walls at irregular intervals, their flames casting wavering shadows that made the passage seem to breathe.
The hooded figure led the way without hesitation, their boots clicking against the stone floor in a steady rhythm.
They passed three doors which were all closed. At the fourth door, the figure stopped and pushed it open. Elena followed them inside.
The room was larger. Stone walls, low ceiling, and in the center, five chairs were tied to the floor in a rough semicircle.
Five figures sat bound to those chairs.
Wolf beastkin. All of them.
Their ears poked through matted hair, the elongated canines visible when one of them snarled weakly at their entrance. Their clothes were torn and filthy, hanging off muscular frames that had clearly gone without proper food for days.
Thick ropes bound their wrists and ankles to the chair arms and legs, the fibers cutting deep enough into fur-covered skin that dark stains had spread beneath the restraints.
Blood matted their fur in patches, still wet and glistening on others. One had a gash across his shoulder. Another’s face was bruised so badly one eye had swollen completely shut.
Their heads lifted as Elena and the hooded figure entered. Eyes tracked their movement, predatory, even dimmed by captivity and pain.
The one in the center chair, a woman with gray-streaked brown fur and scars across her muzzle, bared her teeth. A low growl rumbled from her chest.
"What you want now?" she rasped. Her voice was rough, like it hurt to speak.
Elena walked closer, her boots clicking softly against the stone.
She stopped just outside the range where their legs could reach if they somehow broke free, hands clasped loosely behind her back. Then a bright and cheerful smile spread across her face, completely at odds with the scene before her.
"It’s dinner time, furries," she said, her tone light and almost sing-song.
The beastkin woman’s growl deepened. "Go to hell."
"Already been. Didn’t like the weather." Elena’s smile didn’t waver. She turned to look at the hooded figure. "Did you bring what I asked for?"
The figure reached into their cloak and pulled out a small glass vial. Dark liquid sloshed inside, thick and viscous. They tossed it to Elena, who caught it one-handed.
She held it up to the torchlight, examining the contents. "Perfect."
The beastkin in the rightmost chair, younger than the others, with sandy-colored fur and wide frightened eyes, pulled against his restraints. "What is that? What are you going to do?"
Elena uncorked the vial. The smell that wafted out was sweet and cloying, like rotting fruit mixed with something foul.
"Oh, you’ll see," she said cheerfully. "Don’t worry. This part’s actually the fun part."
She moved toward the first beastkin on the left.
Her hand shot out and grabbed his muzzle, fingers digging. His mouth opened involuntarily with a yelp of pain.
She tipped the vial against his lips and poured.
The thick liquid sloshed into his mouth, and he gagged immediately, trying to spit it out. But Elena kept his head tilted back.
He swallowed.
She released him and stepped back, watching with an amused expression as he coughed and sputtered. His eyes watered and his whole body shuddered.
"There we go," Elena said brightly. She tossed the empty vial over her shoulder. "Now we just wait and see."
The woman in the center chair strained against her bonds, teeth bared.
"What did you give him? What was that?"
"A gift," Elena said. She turned to look at the hooded figure, her expression genuinely delighted.
Then back to the young beastkin. His breathing had quickened, pupils dilating and contracting rapidly.
"How long?" she asked.
"Five minutes. Maybe less."
Elena smiled and settled in to watch.
"Only if I had some vampires here too. Then this would really be entertaining."
"Trust me, you don’t want those bloodsuckers here. Not even as captives."
*********
In his dormitory room, Alaric was sleeping peacefully.
But then suddenly...
His eyes snapped open.
His chest heaved, pulling in air like he’d been drowning.
Sweat dampened his hair, stuck his shirt to his skin.
He sat up fast, the room spinning slightly around him. His hands clutched at his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. The pressure there felt wrong. Like something was pressing down from the inside.
Oliver’s bed across the room was empty.
Alaric swung his legs off the bed and stood. His vision wavered, the edges of the room blurring and refocusing. For a moment he saw—
"Something else. Somewhere else. Stone walls. Torchlight. Figures in chairs. Some in armor. And—"
He blinked hard and the image vanished.
His legs carried him to the window. He grabbed the frame and shoved it open. Cold air rushed in, hitting his face and chest. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the sill, and sucked in deep breaths.
His vision swam again. Not the same hallucination, just normal dizziness from standing too fast, breathing too hard. He closed his eyes, focused on the feeling of cold air filling his lungs.
What the hell is happening to me?