Revised A/N: Hello and welcome to Were Changes Come From a Bite. I wrote it more than a few years ago. I started a sequel but didn't get around to finishing it which is something I would like to do. So, I figured I'd start with tidying up this story first.
If you're a returning reader I implore you to read again from the start as I have made quite a few tweaks and introduced a new character. Please enjoy.
And please allow me a month or so for me to tweak the available chapters of the sequel Were Changes Come From Prophecies before continuing on to that story. (Though for the most part it should remain the same)
House grumbled and shifted the weight of his rucksack across his shoulder.
He was walking home.
It had started out like a good idea, a way to clear his head after loosing his latest patient and clean another stinging wound from Cameron's new found attitude.
It's only 2 miles, right?
But after walking for only five minutes the heavens opened and a freak storm poured over him, soaking him to the bone.
He was wet.
A tang of pain shot up his thigh, he reached for his trusty Vicodin. As he popped the cap, the plastic vial slipped from his wet fingers. White drops of chemical bliss swam in a dark river at the side of the road and lost forever down a drain.
He was wet. He was in pain.
The darkness lifted. The storm had passed, clouds emptying and fading until the full moon shone down on the small park he'd taken a short cut through. A swift wind swept across the desolate ground; rustling the trees and causing a lone swing to begin creaking ominously. The wind chilled his sodden body.
He was wet. He was in pain. He was cold.
He trudged onward along the thin winding path. Somewhere in the distance someone screamed. House sighed and continued walking. Rough neighbourhood.
He was wet, in pain and cold walking through a rough neighbourhood.
This night could not get any worse.
Little did he know that the person who screamed was now dead and their attacker's senses were now trained on his slow, awkward progress through the park.
Eyes that were both luminous and dark followed his movements as a predator watches prey.
It was over in seconds.
Bound.
Snarl.
Pounce.
Bite.
Groan.
Leap.
Thwack.
Whimper.
Flee.
"Crap." House groaned cradling his left arm to his chest.
Crimson liquid poured from the wound, seeping through his fingers and dripping on to the path in front of him that was already stained with his blood.
So much of it, trickling along the path through the cracks between the bricks, glistening in the silvery pale light of the moon.
Darkness swept over him.
His wet, pained, cold body fell unconscious and still to the ground.