Prompt: 001 Beginnings

Warnings: Homosexual character, horror.

Beta: Rae

Word count: 5, 837

Rating: M

Summary: When a werewolf bites Alexander Finch he must choose: adapt and therefore survive; or despair and perish. Where is a knight in shining armour when you need one?

(This story was inspired by a series of 100 prompts from the 100originalfics community on livejournal, though The Werewolf Chronicles only uses some of the prompts and will not be 100 chapters in length.)

A/N:

I am aware that the Yukon Territory is sparsely populated with most of the population living in or near the only city in the territory – Whitehorse. Otherwise the rest of the Yukon Territory is composed of towns etc.

However, for the sake of my fiction (so I do not make massive blundering errors) I have created a fictional town north of Whitehorse with a small amount of residents. If I have made any errors otherwise do please point them out. I am not a native of Canada and have never visited so I am relying on what information I can discover on the internet.

Also, this is not a typical werewolf story. If you are looking for ‘full moon’ and silver I advise reading/watching the wealth of literature and films that there are available in bookshops and stores.

#Morpheus is the Greek God of dreams.

Chapter One: A Close Encounter of an Animal Kind

This is a story about a beginning. Life is full of beginnings: disquieting ones, important ones, deplorable ones and beginnings of many other descriptions. However, there comes a time when an event occurs in our life which has the potential to not only turn our world upside down but to obliterate it.

How one responds to such an event rules whether it is a beginning or an end. Even the wickedest incident can bring peace and joy, but it all depends on the character of the person involved.

This tale is about a young man and such an affair. It remains to be seen whether he forges a beginning or an end out of the most terrifying experience in his life.

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The shrill, insistent buzzing of an alarm clock shattered the tranquillity of the new day. It also sliced through the pleasant dreams of the comatose figure lying underneath a bulky layer of duvet.

Groaning the young man twisted around, burying his head into the welcoming silence of his comfortable white pillow, futilely trying to escape from reality. However, reality would not let him be and the ringing of the alarm clock continued, endeavouring to rouse him from his deep slumber with a persistence that boarded on the obscene.

Resistance effectively crushed, he surrendered to the inevitable, and extended one pale long arm to seek out the unrelenting defiler of sleep. Target achieved, he sighed and flipped over onto his back so he could watch the interplay of light and shadow on the white ceiling, snatching his last few minutes of peace before the tumult of the day commenced.

When the call could no longer be ignored he stirred himself, untangling his legs from the warm covering and staggering to the adjoining bathroom like a zombie. Alexander Finch was not a morning person.

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The woman stumbled wearily up the slope battling hunger, pain and exhaustion. But most of all she fought the gale that plucked at her worn garments causing them to flutter in the howling draft like sweet wrappers caught in a breeze.

Yet she showed no sign of yielding to the cruel weather, instead her back was straight, posture defiant.

There was something wrong about this picture when dissected by the mind’s eye. Here was a woman clothed in apparel better suited for a hot summer and obviously lacking a few good meals but the roaring winds did not crush her, as some human would squash an insignificant bug. Malnourished and exposed to the freezing bite of the screaming tempest this young woman did not submit to cold or hunger, nor the simple fact that the powerful winds should have bowled her over, pinning her thin form to the ground and possibly killing her.

It was very peculiar to say the least and disturbing at the most.

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Water boiled vigorously in the kettle signalling that it was ready. Alexander poured the steaming liquid into the pot of tea then started preparing the cats’ and the rest of his breakfast as he waited for the flavour to infiltrate the water.

First came chocolate flavoured cereal followed by toast smeared liberally with butter and pate – comfort food. For five minutes there was no sound or movement while Alexander chewed his cereal and the cats their chicken.

Bowl of guilty pleasure finished, Alexander allowed the spoon to clatter against the side of the dish as he carried it to the sink where he let it soak. Leaning on the counter, red hair falling into his face, Alexander checked on the progress of the seeping herbs.

Clink! A smile blossomed. The tea was ready.

Now where was his cup? Saucer? Milk jug? Spoon? Kit assembled; the proper procedure for making tea could now be undertaken. First; just the right amount of milk in the cup; second, the brew. Next a good stir and voila!

Grinning tiredly Alexander sank into a chair at the kitchen table and readied himself for his daily wake up drug. He closed his eyes and inhaled the heavenly aroma – for each vintage had its own unique scent. Usually he drank only herbal teas but some days were worse than others and required a more ‘wake up’ stimulant, especially when he had Class 10B, which contained a certain abrasive youth, whose father Alexander was convinced knew about his sexuality – and disapproved.

Shaking such worrying thoughts off to be dealt with later, Alexander wrapped delicate fingers tightly around the flimsy china, determined to hold the outside world at bay for that little bit longer. He revelled in the heat transmitted via convection and conduction, soaking it up as sunbather would soak up the sun’s rays.

Content he slipped down the chair a little and took his first sip for the day, sampling the restorative powers of the brew. After that life was definitely looking brighter.

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The young woman lay curled up, serene in her sleep. Slowly her breast rose and fell as the exhaustion washed from her limbs and features until only peace remained. The soil of the den, aided by the small dimensions of her shelter, kept her warm and snug. Sore hands were protected and soothed by the folds of makeshift bandages torn from her clothing.

Her foetal pose belied the vigour of this extraordinary woman, made all the more extraordinary by her ability to leave no tracks. Oh, there were tracks littering the ground outside and inside the earth … but … they were not human.

They were lupine. Wolf paw prints covered the terrain for many yards outside, all of them leading straight to the earth. They were fresh … and they were unaccompanied by human tracks which could not have been obliterated since that would have also destroyed the wolf ones.

So, where were the human female’s ‘paw’ prints?

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Carrying his books Dr. Alexander Finch, history teacher at Cougar School, darted into the teachers lounge eager to seize an hour’s respite from the little darlings (read: vandals) he had to teach (that is, attempt to instil knowledge and understanding into rotting brains suffused with immoral television programmes and depraved music sang by talentless ‘artists’) with audible relief.

The afternoon sunlight shone brightly through the windows falling on faded furniture occupied by chatting educators. Upon his entrance the buzz of conversation stilled with more than one set of twinkling eyes drinking in his hassled appearance.

“Class 10B?” inquired the jovial tones of Mr. Carter resident sports trainer.

Placing his tomes with reverence on the nearest available space, Alexander’s head jerked up in astonishment.

“How did you guess?”

A rather unappealing snort issued from the sprawled form.

“Because you look like shit.”

“How charming.” Alexander poured hot water into a mug, pushing the tea bag around.

“Do you woo the ladies with such stellar examples of the English language?”

“Nah, no need to. One glimpse at my body and they’re mine hook line and sinker.”

Depositing the tea bag in the bin, Alexander strolled to an empty armchair and sank wearily into it eyeing the smug sports teacher with disfavour.

“Naturally. Your modesty is another draw I should imagine.”

Stifled sniggers circulated the medium sized room. Deciding to prevent a full-scale war between Finch and Carter, Figaro leant forward.

“Class 10b are the worst possible miscreants to be thrown together, especially when their ‘chief’ is Benjamin Fenway. I pity anyone who has to endure them for any long period of time.”

“Then pity me,” groaned Alexander, “for I am cursed. Sandy is absent, so since I owe him, he begged me to cover his lesson, which happens to contain Class 10B. Who did I upset to deserve this?”

Condolences rose up in a clamour of voices with one strident tone cutting through the din, “Someone fetch this man the vice of his choice! He’s gonna to need it!”

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The Bald Eagle hovered in the cerulean sky, piercing eyes encapsulating the entire view below. Into the majestic bird’s vision loped a lone wolf. Even from the great height the wise bird could make out the individual characteristics of the wolf.

Filthy yellow fur lay plastered to a wiry body marred by scarring and dried blood. Swooping a little lower the interested bird fixed its beady gaze on the lupine wondering at the unusual colouring of the coat. It had never espied a wolf with yellow fur.

Suddenly the wolf stopped, head low, breath whistling between razor teeth and lolling tongue. What happened next caused the eagle to release a high pitched shriek common to its kind and wing off with stunning speed.

Dwindling to a mere speck in its wake was the object of its fright – but it wasn’t a wolf anymore.

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Alexander sang along to the tune blaring over the radio, fingers tapping the rhythm on the steering wheel of the car. He was in an extremely good mood. The day was finished, the weekend was ahead and he did not have to take Class 10B and Mr. ‘Arrogant’ Ben Fenway until Tuesday. Life couldn’t get better.

Once home he could spend the evening cuddling with his cats (not that he would ever admit to the cuddling to anyone he knew at the school) and reading ‘Magician’ by R. E. Feist. Reflecting on these rather uneventful plans Alexander wished momentarily that his life were actually more exciting. A boyfriend would be nice, or any (human) company would be pleasant. So, okay, maybe life could be better.

The setting sun had set the western horizon ablaze, the blood red fire merging with its orange extremities. The picturesque image was stunning.

Be careful what you wish for – it may just come true.

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Bloody fingers stretched across the fiery sky in grim warning of some nameless dread. In the deepening gloom as the sun died its scorching death, a figure stumbled along the winding road in the almost barren land weary beyond measure.

Apart from the weaving form there was no sign of human inhabitation for miles. In this lonely land in the wild of the Yukon danger lurked practically everywhere. The path began to wind downwards, leading away from the hulking majesty of the mountains and into flatter countryside.

Stopping for a brief moment of respite the shape sank to the ground ignoring the rising crescendo of howling. There was nothing to fear from the wolves. Wolves did not harm humans unless defending young or severely provoked. A wry smile touched the dirty face. But they had been severely provoked hadn’t they? Better get moving then. Struggling the traveller stood and hurried down the silent road the wind whispering in their soiled hair.

About an hour later, when the exchange between twilight and dusk was complete and darkness lay over the land, the traveller had reached the first signs of human habitation. Directly ahead a house reared against the jewelled vaults of heaven. For the first time in what seemed an eternity hope stirred … and so did another feeling. Hunger. The sensation was so intense that the figure collapsed.

Long minutes passed until the trembling subsided and the craving was under quasi-control. /Not yet, too soon. Wait. Not strong enough./

Panting heavily the person rose and limped towards the human abode, plot accreting in their mind. Light from the flickering lamps hung on either side of the door fell upon the grey features.

It was the young woman.

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Alexander paused in his ‘dance’ around the living room, the music flowing around him insensible to his hesitation. Puzzled by the sudden cacophony of sound emitted by his two darling cats that easily drowned out the much pleasanter cords of Johnny Cash’s ‘Ring of Fire’ he dashed to see what was causing their distress.

Gasping as he slid on the tiled kitchen floor he came to rest against the kitchen table. He steadied himself with one hand on the polished wood, and then crouched so he could see under all the furniture. He spotted his two cats huddled in the very left corner of the kitchen, snuggled in their bed amidst the blankets, golden and green eyes fixed on the door to the hallway.

Ever more bewildered he crawled across the smooth surface knowing how important it was to be on eye level with one’s pets – especially when said pets were afraid. Their feline gaze never once wavered from the yawing entrance to the hallway even when he touched their bristling fur. Instead they simply hissed softly. Terribly worried Alexander peered in the same direction dissecting the area with wary eyes. Whatever was making his cats act like this was worth noting and being cautious.

Nothing. There was absolutely nothing in the hallway to take offence at. It was amazingly devoid of fiends from hell bent on destruction. Relaxing slightly but still anxious Alexander tried to stroke his excited animals. Howl, spit and claw. That was definitely a bad manoeuvre. Nursing an injured hand he leapt when the doorbell rang.

Breathing heavily from shock Alexander took a moment to regain his senses before heading to the front door – switching off the CD player on the way. Undoing the locks he opened the door. Light from the hallway coupled with the light of the gently swaying lamps illuminated a gaunt face framed by dirty ash blonde hair. A body banded by pain leaned on the doorframe, nearly skeletal hands gripping it for purchase. Eyes the colour of coca stared out of this grim visage.

Alexander choked. What in the seven circles of hell was this creature? Then, like one of those trick images, the grotesque monster resolved into that of a young woman. Releasing an inaudible sigh of relief Alexander smiled and said, “You poor thing let me help you.”

Supporting the fatigued woman into the house Alexander continued, “What is your name?”

“Charlotte Aubrey.” The voice was raspy with disuse.

“A lovely name, mine is Alexander.”

“Thank you for your kindness Mr. Alexander, not many would show such concern for a stranger at such an hour in a desolate place like this.”

Alexander blushed and ducked his head murmuring, “It is nothing I assure you – and it is Alexander.” However, he experienced a twinge of unease as he remembered his father’s warning words.

“Be wary son of those begging for aid in the wilderness, they are not always what they profess to be; especially ‘damsels in distress’. Keep a weapon handy; for those who are armed are less likely to come to harm.”

/Yes, but she is so weak and obviously incapable of injury. How can I possibly be in any peril?/

Mind assured he led his patient to the living room momentarily forgetting his cats’ disturbed behaviour and missing the glint in the dark orbs which spoke of an ancient hunger.

Once in the sitting room Alexander lowered his guest into an armchair reclining it so that Charlotte’s legs rested on the extension in mid-air. This would allow him unimpeded access to her wounds.

Smiling gently at the bedraggled woman he said, “I’m just leaving for a moment to fetch bandages and ointments so that I can tend to your injuries. The road is too dangerous to attempt at this hour. Storm – that is the nearest town – is roughly one, one and a half miles, down a winding road which is rarely transversed.”

“Really?” Undeniable interest filled that one word, brown eyes suddenly bright. “Then you’re alone here?”

“Er, yes,” said Alexander bewildered by the woman’s eager voice.

“That’s good.”

“Oh.”

/What is there to be happy about? Oughtn’t she be more concerned that a certified medical doctor cannot be summoned in time if complications occur?/

The feeling of unease crept back in and he swallowed. Too late now to be second-guessing his actions, he had invited a wounded stranger into his home and he couldn’t in all good gentlemanly politeness ask her to leave now!

Forcing a smile onto wan features Alexander sprang to his feet reiterating his intentions. As he searched his medicine cabinet for the bandages, herbs and other natural remedies he kept Alexander noted absently that Olympias and Hephaistion were cowering in the kitchen, tails flicking back and forth. He wondered why but his anxious mind was too busy processing Charlotte’s odd choice of words and he failed to make the connection between his cat’s behaviour and the arrival of the mysterious young woman. He did not realise that they knew that evil had been invited into their home.

Another random thought bubbled into his boiling brain as he padded back to her, namely how had she reached this far without transport? He could not recollect seeing any car, broken down or otherwise. Of course she may have abandoned her vehicle further up the road, as there had been no vehicle on the length and breath of road he had travelled. After all what other mode of transport was there? She could have hardly walked any great distance over the mountainous terrain that characterised this region!

Vaguely satisfied Alexander cleansed, anointed and bound Charlotte’s legions (a pretty nasty leg wound – gaping and ugly) and applied soothing creams to broken skin. He then bathed as much flesh he could reach so that Charlotte felt a little refreshed (washing her hair would have to wait until she was more fully recovered) and fed her nourishing soup with bread.

As the hour struck midnight he practically manhandled her up the stairs to his spare bedroom (she absolutely refused to sleep downstairs on a makeshift bed) before collapsing onto his own welcoming bed, the young woman eliciting a promise that he would check on her during the night and would be nearby.

Even though his interest had been piped by Charlotte’s ludicrous tale he was too tired to question further tonight and slipped into a fitful sleep punctuated by hourly visits to his patient.

Alexander’s last thought before Morpheus took him was that he would call Doctor Thomas in the morning.

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3:15 am

Yellow eyes snapped open gleaming momentarily in the pale illumination offered by the bedside lamp. Then, as exhaustion stole in, their light was extinguished. It was too soon. The creature was far too weak to complete the transformation. Eyelids flickered as dreams shuttered behind them like images in a motion picture.

The beast slumbered.

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Dawn came, a blend of rosy pinks and honey until at last the pale blue expanse of ocean hung in the sky emblazoned with the rising sun. As the east glowed two cats unwound themselves and crept towards the staircase. Was it safe? The creature slept, only the human side was present in a drug induced haze. Cocking their perfectly pointed ears they listened. Nothing stirred, not even a breath of air brushed their sensitive hairs and eardrums.

Slowly, on paws of cotton, they slinked up the stairs, pausing every now and then to scent the air. The offensive odour lingered; molecules of evil rolling off the female in waves of intoxicating perfume that confounded the senses and bewitched the mind – except an animal’s.

Mounting the landing the two feline bodies halted, vibrating with anxiety. Everything was silent. Instantaneously Olympias and Hephaistion made a mad dash towards their human’s quarters. Careening in they leapt onto the bed cuddling against their prone ‘master’. Panting for breath they waited for the occupant to awaken.

An hour passed and a drizzly rain started while they waited until at last Alexander uncurled and stretched, yawning as he regained consciousness. Sleep deprived he nonetheless hastened out of bed, slipping on his robe in the process, and went to visit their guest.

The cats watched him go with worried eyes.

The sheer sheet of rain rapidly turned into a steady curtain of water that cast a veil over the sun and turned day into night. Neither the rain nor the darkness let up as the day lengthened, instead, as the rainy veil thickened the darkness grew deeper.

Thunderclouds rolled in about five-pee em, the boom echoing long after the instigating sound had died away. By that time Alexander had given up on his plan on calling Doctor Thomas. There was no chance that the portly doctor would brave the seething elements for a patient who was in anything less than a dire condition – it simply wouldn’t be worth the risk otherwise.

He was stuck with her until this storm abated.

Sighing Alexander pinched the bridge of his small nose, leaning his petite frame on a wall and tried to summon patience. By now he almost one hundred percent regretted his Good Samaritan instinct (and he admitted to himself, his desire for human company) to rule his decision in granting shelter for this peculiar woman.

She was strange. Her fathoms deep brown orbs contained an odd hunger that offset her vulnerable smile. Her story in the bright glare of day was no better than last night. In fact it was weaker, as easily dismissed as mist was by wind. But his own hunger for companionship overrode these alarm bells, and so Alexander allowed her into his home, greedy for this poor reflection on friendship.

So, despite his grave misgivings, Alexander returned to Charlotte, seeking her acquaintance.

Tomorrow couldn’t arrive fast enough.

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Night time

The beast stirred. Eyelids opened, the glow in them this time much brighter than before. Sluggishly the creature moved its head, awareness flowing back into its grey world. Slowly scents and colours resolved forming a clear picture of the surrounding territory.

Strength poured through cold limbs reaffirming the link to life and vigour. Healing wounds melted away leaving only scars in places where not even the beast’s power could heal the harm done. A mouth opened and a tongue ran over parched lips and throbbing teeth. Its entire body ached with the need to break free.

Growling softly the creature clambered out of bed padding to the door and out into the brightly lit hallway. It was time. The creature was no longer too weak to transform. Closing its eyes it concentrated, a low rumbling emitting from the swaying form.

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Alexander shot up in bed, jolted to consciousness by something he could not define. Sweat beaded his cotton-clad body as his heart raced, mind cataloguing the sounds of the sleeping house. Nothing. There was nothing but the normal background din so what had woken him from his deep sleep?

Unnerved, Alexander refrained from switching on his bedside lamp, reminding himself that he was not some child whose nightmares needed banishing by the reassuring glare. However, this thought brought little comfort to his jangled nerves and Alexander continued to stretch his hearing.

There - a noise out in the corridor. Frowning Alexander attempted to discern exactly what was making the sound. After a minute he gave up, whatever was happening was muffled by the thickness of his bedroom door. The noise came again delivering a punch of cold fear to the redhead’s stomach. Nothing human had made that noise … he was sure.

The rumbling held a primal tone that spoke to the hindbrain of times of yore when humans were mere bi-peds in a world populated by deadly predators – predators that had innate qualifications to hunt and kill and therefore did not require artificial weaponry. Alexander moaned softly and slipped under the covers shivering with fright.

/Charlotte./

This thought roused the frozen man as effectively as a dash of icy water to the face. /Damn. I may be a coward but I can’t simply abandon her to whatever is prowling my house! And my cats! I hope they’re safe. Though felines usually have the ability to hide and run when danger present itself so…Charlotte!/

Ashamed of his actions so far Alexander crept out of bed and slipped on his dressing gown. Crouching by the bed he allowed the moonlight and starlight to illuminate his path. Their light turned the room into a panorama of shifting blues and greys. By this he could peer under the bed and search.

What felt like an eternity later his questing fingers touched shaped wood. Relief poured off him in waves as he yanked the box to him and gently undid the clasp that secured the box. Lifting up the lid the contents were exposed, showing up in dappled shadows.

Occasionally, as Alexander searched through the interior, the silvery beams glinted off metallic objects yet he ignored this glittery display. The historian had a very specific object in mind. When he found the item he hugged it close and closed the box. Then he slunk towards the door breath coming in short little gasps as he fought to control his hammering heart and dizzy head.

Rescuing damsels in distress was not his forte. Actually, to be precise, adventures of the perilous kind were not his speciality full stop. He much preferred activities that did not require the protagonists to shed blood or endure great pain or be wet and covered in mud. Those sorts of harebrained thrill seeking pleasure were the hallmarks of his brothers and father. Give him peace and quiet with gentle adventure any day.

So, the least likely knight possible was ‘riding’ to the rescue of one ‘damsel in distress’. Alexander snorted quietly for in that case they were doomed already.

Hand clutching the knob Alexander swallowed once then pulled the door back. What he saw in the stark lighting of the hallway caused him to nearly swallow his tongue.

“Fucking hell.”

Alexander, while not the type given to the use of bad language, could be forgiven for its use now considering the grotesque tableau in front of his eyes.

In the middle of the corridor stood Charlotte – except that wasn’t entirely true – for the young lady (which is rather misleading in of itself) was not exactly as he had last seen her. For one thing she was naked.

A snout was in the process of extending from her face, flesh and bone melding into new contours. Over the rest of her body skin rippled as if the muscles underneath were boiling and twisting while the bones grew or contracted – the creaking was ghastly to hear. It suggested that parts of her bone structure were being completely shattered and remade into the new form it would take.

Arms were bending as hands become dark due to sprouting hair. In fact, the whole of her nude body was budding fine long hairs that rapidly covered the writhing mass of bone, muscle and skin in a beautiful yellow pelt – beautiful in a chilling sense.

Then she – it – bent forwards, its spine adjusting to the requirements of the creature that was being born. And then the birth was complete. Before Alexander, on all four legs, stood the hulking shape of the beast its fur bristling with delight.

A yellow-eyed gaze turned on the petrified man and Alexander gazed deeply into orbs so full of hate, so full of evil that it stole the breath from his lungs. Alexander knew in that moment that this thing would not hesitate to kill him in the most agonising means possible simply because he was weak and it was strong and malicious.

Mercy was unheard of in this monster. Its very bearing spoke of arrogance, greed and the desire to dominate. Black lips peeled back to reveal long razor sharp teeth crowned by vicious looking canines.

Into his panicking mind came the thought, /I wished I had listened to my father’s advice and then actually followed it./

The ridiculousness of such a comment at such a time snapped Alexander out of his stupor and he reacted. Fight or flight response kicking in Alexander chose flight and somersaulted back through the door, slamming it shut with his feet.

There was nowhere else to run and no place to hide.

Crawling backwards Alexander hit the bed and realised that this was it. Running was no longer an option. The creature stood between him and his only means of escape – the door.

Due to his panic stricken mind it did not occur to Alexander to flee through the window, the hulking monster in front of his door was making thinking clearly a very difficult (one might say almost impossible) task.

No, he would have to fight. Gulping Alexander squeezed his eyes shut and whispered fervently, “I wish my daddy were here.” Not a productive remark but it helped him feel marginally better.

Carefully gripping the carved wooden handle in his sweaty right hand Alexander eyed the door from behind which came snuffling sounds. It wouldn’t be long before the beast decided to do away with the measly barrier that stood between it and its prey.

His thumb traced the pictures engraved on the wood: a wolf and an eagle, spiritual animals representing strength, wisdom and sight. Never before had he needed those gifts more. The blade shone with a cold blue light that somehow comforted Alexander.

The wooden barrier suddenly cracked, the sound like a whiplash in the silent blue-grey world that Alexander inhabited. Crack! Another time, and the door reverberated on its very hinges and a roar echoed in the night. Crash!

One last time did the best launch an attack at the sagging barrier and this time it fell beneath the onslaught and with one powerful bound it was inside. Moonbeams and starlight spangled off dribbling fangs and clicking claws.

Golden eyes bore into his soul and Alexander tensed.

The standoff lasted mere seconds and then the wolf-woman sprang. A heavy weight slammed into his slender body robbing him of breath. The hot stink of earth, blood and gore invaded his nostrils causing him to choke on the little air he had left in his lungs. Animal stench.

A pink tongue lapped at his exposed neck. Alexander sobbed, whimpering in mindless terror. Instinct took over, kick starting the desire for self-preservation.

His arm rose without conscious control or thought and stabbed ferociously downwards into hot meat and pulsating arteries and veins.

Red blood gushed from the mortal wound, splattering Alexander’s hair, face and body as he slew the beast with a strength lent to him by the exhilarating rush of fear induced adrenaline … a strength he did not normally possess.

In a last ditch attempt at destroying the human that was the cause of so much agony – and its inevitable death – the beast fastened crimson stained teeth on a shoulder and bit, razor sharp incisors sinking through skin and muscle.

Alexander howled at the excruciating pain that blossomed in his left shoulder, fireworks exploding in his brain in a flare of dazzling white, temporarily blinding him. Yet he preserved, knife biting deeper. Broiling blood continued to pour from the serrated gash perpetrated by the hunting knife.

The pressure on his shoulder abruptly slackened and the steel jaw released its prize. The wolf-woman surged to her paws and in a futile effort to flee her demise bounded towards the window smashing into the plane of glass.

In a diamond studded waterfall she fell to the punishing ground, crawling away to slump in a pitiful heap as she suffered her death throes. Of this Alexander was unaware. To his wildly circling mind he knew only that the werewolf had fled and consequently his life had been spared. The fate of said werewolf was unknown and unsought for as his life’s essence escaped his body.

His left arm and shoulder were numb, shock held the pain at bay. He was soaked in blood from head to foot, suffering from incomprehensible terror and exhaustion. Cold sweat covered his shaking body, the coldness reaching further than his bones. Frozen fingers fixed a bed sheet to his torn flesh, the material becoming steadily heavier as fluid leeched into its folds.

He had to tend to his gaping wound but for the moment Alexander was stunned by the overwhelming realisation that he was ALIVE.

Exhausted by his ordeal Alexander’s head slumped back, his brain slowly filling with a white fog that made cogitation hard. However, one realisation did sneak past the billowing clouds, the realisation that he now stood faced a choice.

At the crossroads one path led to continued existence and therefore perpetual struggle and hardship; the other turning represented an opportunity for him to divest himself of earthly concerns by accepting his mortality.

But which journey to choose? The beginning or the end? God may not yet wish for him to tread the last road. He may still wish for him to walk the harder road for a little while yet. What to choose?

But was he strong enough to want to live? No, that wasn’t the question; the question was whether Alexander’s faith was strong enough to support him - to keep him buoyant on the wavy waters of life?

And even if it was, did he deserve to live? He was a werewolf now, an evil twisted monster like Charlotte. Alexander sobbed, the urge to fight, to do everything possible to survive gone now that the battle with the beast was over.

Into his misery and fading will came a voice of silver.

How do you know that you are destined to be like her? What endows you with the complete and utter certainty that you are now, beyond all reasonable doubt, an evil creature like Charlotte?

Ethereal music played softly in the background, the air shimmering in a golden haze of ringing bells and twinkling voices.

Evil is a choice. It must be chosen it cannot be forced.

“Wha…?” Alexander squinted his vision a blur. Was there really a person clothed in robes of pearly white in front of him? Exquisite features were scrunched up with concern.

I repeat, what makes you so confident that evil WILL be the outcome of this affair? This is true only if you allow it. Charlotte listened to evil’s whisper and fed it and thus she fell. Do you have so little faith in yourself and God that you believe that since she fell you must also fall? This is true only if you feed the darkness – not if you nourish the light.

Alexander shifted, a dull ache beginning to spread from shoulder to arm; his shock was wearing off, the real world rushing back in bringing plenty of torment. He wavered on the brink of life and death, lost in limbo, his soul half gone. But the words of this mystical being penetrated the clouds that surrounded his heart and mind.

Seeing his hesitation, the debate momentarily halted, the blue-eyed dream pressed the advantage.

Seize life, do not embrace death so willingly, there is still so much to do, to discover. An ivory arm was extended, palm up. I am with you.

Alexander coughed feeling awful, breath wheezing in his lungs.

Soon it will be too late. Wake up urged the insistent and loving tones.

Alexander did as he was bid. He chose life. A beginning had been forged – one that held the promise of great toil but also of hope and joy.