He shudders as he enters the blistering air of Auradon. It's always been a cold in the night. He silently curses himself for forgetting to bring a heavier jacket.
He can hear the busying chatter of the citizens below the stairwell. Their faces are stony in concentration as they bark orders into their phones. He rushes down the stairs and finds himself getting swallowed into the crowd. They're all headed in different directions; some go left, others right. One jogs right past him, nearly knocking him over. He crosses the street, past the impatient cars and the buildings that tower over him.
While heading to his destination, he finds himself wondering where the crowds headed. Probably home. He thinks to himself. It's probably warm there, too. Maybe they've got a family back home, waiting anxiously for their arrival.
He secretly envies them. Living with such assurance that things that usually only haunt their nightmares aren't real. Or perhaps they know, but expect someone to deal with its burdens.
That person being a fifteen-almost sixteen, year old boy.
Unfortunately, the second one is usually the case. There have been a few stories on the news for Werewolf warnings, but their scarce, and it's usually mistaken. Besides, there's bounties for them, kill on sight.
Someone bumps his shoulder, and a cup of hot liquid is spilled onto his arm.
It stings a bit, like a bee sting.
"Aw, shit I'm sorry, fuck," A boys grabbing a napkin out of his pocket and handing to him. He's tanned and gaunt and he's been due for a haircut for a while.
Carlos waves him off "No, its alright, honestly, didn't even hurt,"
He snorts unbelievingly, "Dude, I just hot coffee on you, and I know that shit hurts,"
Carlos sighs and grabs the napkin, whipping it off his arm. Once he's finished, he stuffs it in his pocket.
"Thanks," he whispers. He's slightly awestruck by the strangers' sudden act of kindness.
The stranger grins, and Carlos swears that his heart flipped. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't very attractive. Carlos bets he has all the girls swoon over him.
The stranger blends into the crowd, and Carlos feels a bit empty. Perhaps it made him feel as if he'd made a friend? He shakes his hand. No, his line of work is too dangerous for friends. He's learned that at an early age.
He continues onward, until he's found himself near the forest at the end of the city. There's a vibrant yellow type that has the words "CAUTION" printed on to it. It's blocking out the trail to the forest.
Carlos chuckles, as if they thought that would keep him out. He lifts the tape over his head and descends down the trail. Trees that could challenge Auradons buildings surround him.
Believe it or not, he felt safe here, alive to. Perhaps it's how the crickets greet him with their melodies, or how the smell of pine stings his noise, because he shouldn't feel alive or safe at all. It's full of things that go bump in the night; things that parents tell their kids live under their bed if they act up. He kicks a few pebbles and they land in bushes. He can see the stars he couldn't in the big city. If he had a get away area, this would be it. All of a sudden, he hears noises, and he freezes up. He then starts speed walking.
He hears a distant howl and quickens his steps. He hears rustles and scratches in the bushes and he's bolting through the forest. He throws himself the ground, the tree's extended branches protect him for now, he's out of range for the predator.
He quickly unzips his bag and pulls out the bottle of moonshine. He realizes he's a little bit more then petrified when it nearly slips out of his shaky hands. He grabs a knife made out of silver, just for safety.
The snarls are louder and he's quickly zipping his backpack up. He can feel the chills shiver up his spine. He tries breathing heavily as he tries to find the approaching wolf. When he catches a glimpse of near the bushes, he slowly grabs the bottle of wolfs bane. He uncaps it, readying for attack.
It jumps at him, snarls and everything. It brings Carlos to the ground as it pushes against his chest, trying to bite his face. He struggles to keep it at bay as he pushes the bottle of wolves' bane towards its nose.
Just like training, you're ok.. you're ok.
It continues to gnaw at him, drops of saliva dropping onto his face. Carlos squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for it to inhale the poison.
When it doesn't he's panicking.
If it can't inhale the poison… that means he's a lycanthrope.
Shit.
Carlos is now literally panicking. He should've known, been more prepared. All werewolves are not the same. He's learned his. What happens if it kills him? Will his mother notice? Will she care? What will they do with his bones?
He's kicking and screaming, struggling to push it off. He squares his hands on his chest and pushes it off with great effort. He successful, and he bolts out the forest. He can hear its snarls getting closer as it chases him down. He can feel his legs aching for mercy and his lungs banging on his ribcage. His arms are blurred by the lack of oxygen, but it only fuels his speed. He can hear the claws on its feet scrap up dirt behind him.
In a moment of panic, he grabs the knife he's left in his pocket. He turns around on his heels so fast he nearly falls. Right as it tackles him, he thrust the knife. He hears a loud howl and the wolf goes limp, blood dripping from his hands as falls the ground besides it, gasping for oxygen. He can feel his hands shake. He's feeling nauseous, seeing the blood pour out of its stomach like a river. The blood on his hands doesn't deliver any help. He finds himself grabbing for the napkin and whipping the blood off his hands. He throws the blood stained napkin to the ground.
Now here comes the fun part.
He crouches to the ground, knife in hand. He digs his knife into its skin and begins cutting. It has a very common coat, not worth much. Its fur is gray with a few streaks of black. He can see a few scars from its previous battles. And he ends up wondering about the life he had so selfishly taken from it. Did it have a pack? Was it loved? Did it have a home with lots of food? Or was it strict? Was it unforgiving? He finds himself in the claws the guilt as he stops cutting. He looks down, its eyes are wide and unsteady. Was it scared? Did it know he would put up a fight? Carlos sure didn't know he would. He had expected to be 6 feet under a while go. It's only by the grace of a God he didn't believe in that he still was alive.
What's left of the wolf is flesh and bone. He grimaces at the sight, but also frowns. He felt like his mother, leaving it there like that. He grabbed a pile of surrounding leaves and covers it's corpse with it. He finds a little red leaf to put on top. It's a bit half-assed, but it's better then nothing. It folds the wolves fur into his bag and slings it across his shoulder. As he walks out, his neck feels a bit wet, and he notices that a streak of blood is stained onto him. Him grimaces and whips it off his hand. It was probably a scratch.
Not a bite.
Defiantly not a bite.
Hopefully not a bite.