He smelled the blood before he even reached the front door of the crumbling tenement building. It was a familiar smell, along with the broken glass, alcohol, piss and other bodily fluids. To his hypersensitive nose, it was a little overwhelming, but not so much that he couldn't smell any of the underlying scents.
He picked up the vampire smell right away, lingering under the blood. Fresh blood. Saliva started building up in his mouth, a natural reaction that he had to fight every single day.
Panic started building in his chest, and he took the stairs, avoiding the death trap of an elevator. He was hardly winded by the time he reached the seventh floor, and his footsteps were silent as he stalked down the hall towards his room.
As he crept, he took out his gun from his holster, trying hard not to shake with panic as the vampire scent grew stronger, mixing with fur and the smell of other werewolves. Pausing at the door, he felt a wave of anger at the smell of piss. It was a couple hours old, but someone had left their mark on his door.
Unsure of what he'd find inside, he closed his eyes, praying. Please. Not her. Not her. His fingers shook as he opened the door with a rush, stepping back in case something lurked inside.
There was nothing alive in there, that he knew. Nothing undead, either.
The Spartan living room was a mess. Someone had ripped the stuffing out of the battered, fourth-hand couch and sent it flying. Claw marks ran down the walls of the room and there were blood splatters everywhere.
Forgetting all his caution, he sprinted towards the bedroom, dreading what he'd find.
The bed was a mass of blood and rumpled sheets, and he tossed them aside, shoved the mattress over and rummaged through the closet. His breath rasped in his throat and he felt tears stream down his face as he read the blood painted words on the wall.
"No," he moaned, and it turned into a howl of agony.
Shi sank to his knees, letting the howl wail on until it was no longer human.
He felt the Change ripple through his body, harsh and painful, and he broke through his clothing. Uncaring, he howled again and again, knowing that the most anyone would do was put their hands over their ears and ignore it. In this neighborhood, no one would call the cops.
When the howls were all drained out, he curled up in a ball on the floor and shook with rage.
They had somehow known that he was after them, he thought, quivering. Someone had told. Someone had talked. And the vampires had taken the only thing he cared about in the entire universe.
Chandre.