Disclaimer: Just playing with the wonderful toys. Will turn the lights out when I go. All rights remain with Toby Whithouse, the writers of the series and the BBC.
I want you to know you wandered off the path. This is where the wild things are, and we have got your scent now.
– Annie Saywer, series 1, episode 5.
Chapter 3. An invitation.
So, 3 steps to the door. As Nick stepped forward, raising his hand in preparation, the air around him thickened and hardened, freezing him into position. It felt like he was encased in a translucent marble. And, at the same time, a klaxon sounded. An evacuation warning... It sent his nerves into high alert like an infantry platoon falling into line, marching hither and thither through bone and muscle. Was he in a factory or a mine? He struggled, trying to channel the nerve impulses, to flail his limbs, push his body out or otherwise break free. But there he stayed, motionless, like a fly entombed in amber. His head thumped with the dammed adrenaline overload, his senses split apart like shale, scattering and screaming, and he wanted to heave more desperately than he'd ever done in his vampire life. Neither fight not flight was an option now.
As the klaxon sounded again, the air in front of him shimmered and the door dissolved away. A man... a soldier... stood in the centre of a golden gateway which looked to be built from lianas and other climbers. He was tall, with plaited black hair and muscles, and flanked by 2 further guards, one on each side of the archway, both of whom faced inwards, across the path. All of them wore the same regalia – yellow satin tops and trousers with red piping and sashes, and shoes the deep crimson more akin to vampire than human blood. They looked human but a whiff of familiar scent spilled out towards Nick, confirming the worst fears in the depths of his psyche.
Werewolves...
As if to confirm, the leader, who brandished a staff a little too similar to a cattle prod, smiled at Nick, allowing his canines and muzzle to lengthen and his claws to protrude at will. Oh, shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! It looked like he'd arrived. This must be Hell.
The leader, now back in human form, pointed his staff at Cutler and the restraints dropped away, as Nick over-balanced and fell sprawling on the floor. It shone like etched and polished glass, reeking of opulence, and Nick lay there, feeling out of his depth in more ways than one. It wasn't a pleasant feeling but it was certainly a familiar one. He wished that it would be of more comfort. He tried so hard not to mind as the werewolf threw back his head and laughed, soon joined by his compatriots.
"Hail, Mr Cutler. We've heard all about you... you may be assured. Such an... honour."
Nick curled himself around on the floor, hugging his head to his knees. He was in for a beating, for sure. How had this happened? He'd brought himself here – to the door and to knock – buoyed up on euphoria and hope. And now... Well, now there was this. Just when you thought that life couldn't be any more unfair.
A rough, claw-tipped hand grabbed his shoulder and armpit and he was hauled to his feet. A feral grin awaited him.
"Don't worry, Mr Cutler. You're invited in."