Andrei was a mild mannered man. Normally. However, the wolf side of his mind had flooded his brain, making it foggy and violent. Uncontrolled. All he knew was he was facing down three other males, their sticks making such pretty lights as he dodged them.
It was such fun. Silver-tail (His wolf side) rarely got out anymore. Now he was allowed full control of his body!
He threw himself at the throat of one of his opponents. The man screamed but Silver-tail continued. He had been denied the sweet taste of human flesh for so long…
"Let me through! I know how to kill the little mongrel!" Screamed a new human. A woman. He turned and growled, his hackles up. She advanced on him. Silver-tail smirked to himself. Too easy.
Her hand jabbed forward, her fist full of silver.
His chest burned so. Indescribable pain flooded every cell of his being. He felt his skin begin to blister on his chest. He could feel his fur burning off, froth and blood and bile creeping up his throat…
The wolf fell down as Andrei Emmingtine, a silver dagger sticking from his chest.
Then everything went silver and red to him.
Jean saw him fall. He ran forward, slung his friend over his shoulders, running to the castle.
Another silver dagger sliced dangerously through the cold air. It missed Jean by inches, and he ran faster.
Two more flew past his waist.
Then the final one found it's mark.
It dug deep into his left thigh.
Jean let an inhuman bellow escape from his lips.
But he carried on running.
He was strong.
He could make it to the castle
After all, he was a soldier, first and foremost.
Jean burst through the door of the hospital, bleeding, his legs shaking beneath him.
"Help him first please." He groaned as he laid Andrei on the nearest bed.
"Of corthe thir." Lisped a little man with stitches around his head. He limped over to Andrei while Jean collapsed onto a bed. The man tutted and tried his best to make the dying werewolf comfortable.
"I'm afraid thir that thith wolf will not live. A thilver dagger to the chetht ith non reverthable wound. There ith no chance of thurival."
"Can you at least keep him alive until his wife can say goodbye? Make him conscious?" Enquired Jean, his skin blistering painfully around the dagger in his thigh.
"Yeth thir." The man turned to Jean and gently felt the blistered skin around the dagger. Jean bellowed in pain. "Thith lookth bad, but if I remove the leg then everything thould be fine."
"Remove my leg?" Barked Jean. The man looked up.
"If I don't thir, then the poithon may thpread throughout your body. Doeth my Lord with to die?"
Jean shook his head. The man nodded and smiled.
"Juth lay back thir, everything'th in my handth thir. They're very good handth thir, they belonged to my gret uncle."
Jean nodded. He lay back on the crisp bed, ignoring the shooting pains in his leg.
"I'll be with you in a minute thir, I juth have to thee to thith young lady firtht." The man limped over to the next bed. Jean gave a start when he saw who was lying in the bed nest to him.
It was Maladicta, very white, a thin trickle of blood dribbling from her mouth. She was holding very tightly onto the arm of a woman he didn't recognise.
"Horrible, isn't it?" Croaked a woman in the far corner of the room.
Rosie, still in her dressing gown and looked almost white, stepped forwards.