I thought I might start treating each chapter as a sort of mini-episode of Being Human? Any thoughts? Thank you for the reviews – your opinions mean a lot to me x

"Jesus, you look like death warmed up!"

The entire staffroom turned to look as Freya entered, her eyes bloodshot as they darted across the shocked faces staring at her. She raised her hand to her neck to cover the two circular scars already beginning to heal, conscious of the many pairs of eyes casting judgement on her appearance.

"Up all night?" Clive asked jokingly, leering at her from behind his open newspaper. Her upper-lip curled in disgust and she felt her stomach tighten as anger over-whelmed her. She ran her tongue along her teeth, almost carnivorously, before the rage left as suddenly as it had come and she felt herself relax.

"Something like that," she replied quietly, pulling her wool coat tighter around her shoulders and making her way over to the small kitchenette. She could feel them all watching her, but she didn't dare turn around, terrified of what the next question might be.

The silence ceased after a moment as Julia marched in, complaining about having to cover for yet another class – this time Home Economics of all subjects! Freya gave a sigh of relief as the meaningless chatter began, glad that the topic of conversation had swerved away from her. Today was going to be hard enough without every teacher gossiping about her behind her back.

…

Hal shifted uncomfortably in the plastic chair, trying to remain calm while he avoided looking at the unbelievably cluttered desk in front of him. It had been two weeks since he and Tom had moved in together, and they had finally decided that in order to pay for rent and food, they would both need to find work. And while Hal had ample experience for any job he wanted, references were another matter…

"Been unemployed long?" Mr Oliver asked, slurping at the flask of tea he had perched on the end of his desk. He was the manager of a small and rather inefficient builders firm, but considering his lack of credentials, Hal couldn't be too choosy about who he worked for.

"A while," Hal replied awkwardly, clasping and unclasping his hands as he prayed for this inane man to get to his point.

Mr Oliver gave a grunt, though Hal had no idea what that signified, and continued to re-read the only reference he had been given – Tom.

"Excellent worker. Very neat and tidy. Best 'washer upper' he has ever seen?"

Hal rolled his eyes and made a mental note never to trust Tom with anything again, before smiling innocently at his possible future employer.

"Mr Oliver," he began, his voice shifting down an octave and taking on a smoother, more refined quality, "I do not possess the adequate experience for the work you are offering, but I give you my word that I am the hardest and most efficient worker you are likely to meet. You will get nothing but the best from me - and that is a promise."

Hal looked the middle-aged man directly in the eye, never breaking the gaze for a moment, and gave him his easiest and most confident smile. He saw instinctively that he had successfully won him over, and knew that offering to take the 'lads' out for a drink would clinch the deal. His shoulders relaxed as he offered the man his hand to shake, having been practising his politeness on Tom for the past few days. Once they had shaken hands, Mr Oliver cleared his throat and gave a brisk nod.

"Well, I suppose we can put you on a trial run. We've got a big contract at the High School just down the road, so you can start there tomorrow morning. Frank can show you the ropes."

Hal gave him another smile before wishing him a good day, and stepped out into the bright afternoon sunlight, feeling as though things were finally changing for the better.

…

It was three in the afternoon before Tom had managed to unpack all his boxes. All the photos and scrapbooks which captured every memory he could never forget now cluttered the floor, and he doubted he'd be able to hang them up. Even to see the smiling faces of George and Nina and baby Eve were tearing at his insides, and he turned his back on them for fear of smashing them all to pieces. It had been a long time since he had felt this angry – usually all his aggression was released when he transformed, but this frustration had built and built over months now, and his fists were desperate to make physical contact with something, anything.

He shuffled lazily through to Hal's bedroom, where everything had already been tidied away into his orderly piles. The photos of Leo had mysteriously disappeared, but Tom knew he couldn't judge. They were both attempting to make a fresh start, and having the ghosts of their friends constantly watching them wasn't the best way to begin.

The bed creaked as Tom sat down, pulling the fluffy grey dressing-gown George had given him around his ankles and burying his head in the pillows. He wanted to shut the world out and pretend everyone was still alive – he wanted to imagine a world where he had saved the day like the hero he had always imagined he would become, and that baby Eve was still growing up surrounded by her family.

A sob broke the deathly hush and he fought to keep the tears from his eyes, desperate to stay strong. But in the end, what was the point? Like Hal had said, sooner or later they would go back to being the monsters they truly were, so what was the point in pretending to be human?

Once upon a time, he would have heard McNair's gruff voice reprimanding him for thinking such nonsense, but now all he heard was the beat of his heart and the doubts gnawing at the carefully constructed wall he had built around himself. Perhaps if Hal was here he could distract himself by chatting away meaninglessly, but without even the stability of his friend's presence, Tom felt quite alone, and it was the silence which terrified him the most.

That's when the monster inside him decided to play.

…

This sink needs a good clean, Freya thought as she tilted her head over its ceramic side, the world tilting and swaying beneath her feet. Her skin felt hot and prickly, as though a fever was raging through her, but her shaking hands and pale lips looked more like symptoms of hypothermia. Again she retched up whatever toxin she was desperately trying to expel, and again nothing happened. She closed her eyes, praying to anyone who was listening that they would kill her now. She knew that whatever had attacked her had left more than just their bite marks, but she forced herself not to think about it and finally straightened her back slowly.

Exhaling deeply, she crossed her classroom and sat down at her desk, pulling out the ninety essays she still had to mark. Her head was splitting and she could barely concentrate for the pain, but she ignored it all and pulled a red pen from the Ireland mug by her computer.

Two minutes later, and she doubled over again, gasping for breath as her entire body convulsed. She collapsed to the floor, grabbing the leg of the desk for support and attempting to sit up. Another wave of pain floored her once more, and this time she had neither the energy nor the fight to resist it. Her throat ached, her mouth was unnaturally dry, and a rasping sound came from deep within her before something snapped and whatever had been desperate to escape her was unleashed.

She stood, now finding strength from a place she didn't know existed, and rolled her aching neck backwards. She felt rejuvenated, almost as though the sickness had evaporated, and leant against her chair to calm herself.

And then it hit her. A smell – delicious and fragrant, travelling through the doorway and meeting her like an old friend. She breathed it in, desperate to fill her lungs with its scent, and again felt that ache in her throat. She stumbled forwards on trembling legs, unsure where she was actually going, until she reached the door. The corridor was empty except for Mr Leethes, currently tying his shoe laces only a metre from where she now stood. The smell was stronger, enticing her, tempting her. She had never smelt anything so powerfully intoxicating before in her life, and it was as though nothing mattered but feeling the taste on her tongue.

"Iain," she whispered huskily before she had time to think.

He turned, pushing his glasses further up his nose, and raised his eyebrows at her. "Freya?"

She beckoned him with one slender finger, chewing on her bottom-lip as her heart slammed against her chest. What was she doing?

He came closer, the scent more than she could bear, and pushed his fringe away from his forehead. She could see the nervous twitch at the side of his mouth, the sweating palms, the crease between his eyebrows that signified confusion. Her senses were heightened and every single one was directed at the glorious man before her.

"Is everything all right? You look a bit peaky," he said, but she couldn't hear him anymore. The words didn't matter. His nervousness didn't matter. He didn't matter.

The ache in her throat became a throb, pulsating like it had become its very own life form, and nothing could stop it now. She reached out. Her hands clutched the fabric of his shirt, enjoying the terror in his eyes, and felt the world go still as she opened her mouth and sunk her teeth into his flesh.

TBC