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LYKOS: Inner Instinct

Chapter 1

(The Moon Calls)

* * * *

The sounds from the bustling streets of the city roared all around Vincent Gomez as he walked through downtown Houston. The bright multicolored lights filtering through the windows of nearby skyscrapers and shining down from street lamps almost transformed dusk into day. Vincent looked up into the darkening sky, watching as the moon became visible in the evening twilight. But that was all, one moon and no stars.

For Vincent, the stars and moon back home had been his grounding force, showing him that there was always more to the universe than what he had experienced. But the time had come for him to leave home, and he had moved to Houston to attend college, a stark change from the small town where he grew up in south Texas. The loss of stars in the night sky felt like an ominous shadow of doubt cast over his future.

He passed by a store and glanced over at his reflection in the glass. Vincent was five foot nine and slim with a smooth, round face. His short dark brown hair was combed in a messy side part, and his brown eyes hid behind his thin, black rectangular framed glasses. His skin was the color of rich caramel, the result of his Mexican heritage. Stuck his hands into his grey hoodie that he wore over a white and blue striped t-shirt, dark blue jeans, and his black Converse. His appearance was average enough to keep him in the shadows, unnoticeable to the wandering eye. Vincent sighed and continued his stroll down the street.

The eighteen-year-old had just graduated from high school at the top of his class, which had been a challenge, but not impossible at his small high school. He had never been a part of the popular crowd, but still had his share of friends, most of whom he had said parting farewells to mere hours ago. All except for one, his best friend Spencer Atwood.

Vincent and Spencer had grown up living next door to each other; their parents had been friends long before either had been born. Since then, the two had been inseparable, doing practically everything together. Even during high school, when Spencer had started participating in sports and hung out with the jocks, the two had stayed just as close. It was no surprise to their parents when they decided to go off to college together. They had both been accepted to Cypress Ridge University, which was located just outside the city limits of Houston.

The day before, he had been scared to leave his small hometown for a big city. The lack of experience of living on his own and feeling unsure about what college would be like were two big reasons for that fear... but there was also a third. Over the past few months, the world felt like it had been upended in a series of frightening incidents, and he didn't know what life would be like in the aftermath.

The terrorist attack had come first. It had been all over the news. A terrorist group called Rising Sun had targeted airports in a global effort to destabilize faith in air travel, killing hundreds of people in the process. The two international airports in Houston had both reported numerous casualties in the attack. Then came the werewolves. The beasts that everyone thought were a myth had revealed themselves during a blood moon eclipse last April. Photos and videos taken in every major city showed the werewolves transforming, tearing out of their skin, and terrorizing the streets. The werewolves had killed thousands in the short time the eclipse had been in the sky, but once the eclipse had ended and the werewolves turned back, the world was ready for them. The police and military had killed many during the attack, but the ones that had survived had been arrested and taken into custody.

Even now in August, four months after the eclipse, people were still talking about that day. It was in newspapers, on the radio, on every major news network on television. There had been protests around the world on both sides of the argument calling for the eradication of the monsters and for the forgiveness and inclusion of those members of the population in society. Over two million people lived in the Houston area, and Vincent knew there had to be members of Rising Sun and other werewolves living amongst the population. But it was useless worrying about that, now. This was the reality he lived in, and there was no escaping it.

He had hoped immersing himself in the heart of the city, mingling within the larger population would put him slightly more at ease. It was his first time out in the city, and his only reason for taking that stroll was to give him time to think. He had left Spencer in their dorm unpacking his belongings, and had taken their shared car for a long drive downtown, trying to get rid of all of his anxiety and fear.

"You're gonna be alright," he thought, continuing down the sidewalk. "You have Spencer to help you through this. You are not alone."

Deep in thought, Vincent hadn't seen the person running in his direction until it was too late. The man ran into him, sending them both sprawling forcefully onto the ground. Vincent was thrown backwards by the momentum, falling onto his back and scraping the palms of his hands on the concrete.

"Watch it!" Vincent shouted, looking down at his hands. The skin had been rubbed raw from the force of his fall onto the concrete, and blood was starting to seep out of some of the deeper cuts. He turned his attention over to his assailant. The man was not dressed for running, wearing a suit and tie and his black hair neatly combed, as if he had just gotten out of work. Without even apologizing, the man looked behind him, got up quickly, and started running away once again.

Just then, another man ran past Vincent, clearly more skilled at dodging through the people on the crowded sidewalk than the other had been. Unlike the businessman before him, this man was dressed for action; he wore combat boots, black cargo pants, and a black hoodie.

The whole thing was a strange sight, but nobody but Vincent had paid it any mind. Curious as to what might be going on, Vincent got up, wincing from the pain in his palms, and began following the men, trying to keep up. He turned the corner onto a road with far fewer people and watched the duo continue down the street, until the businessman ran into an alley and the other man followed him in. Vincent walked quickly towards the alley the two had entered. As he got closer, he could hear the two men talking, one in a more hurried voice than the other. He peeked his head around the corner to see exactly what was going on.

"Please don't do this!" the businessman pleaded, backed up against the brick wall of the dead end he had run into. The other man brandished a gun that was equipped with a silencer and pointed it directly at the businessman.

"This is as it must be," the man with the gun replied. Vincent watched on in horror, afraid for the businessman's life. He wanted, no, he needed to do something, and it had to happen fast. In the split second he had to think, there was only one option that came to his mind, and he gathered up all the courage he had before jumping into the alley.

"STOP!" He shouted, trying to get the attention of the man with the gun. The aggressor was startled by the sudden noise and turned to face him, giving the businessman the opportunity he needed. He pounced onto the man clad in black, regaining his attention. Vincent turned back around the corner looking around for anyone to help, but the street was desolate, devoid of any and all life.

The sounds of scuffle had come to a halt, and Vincent decided to take another look. His head turned the corner slowly, and the first thing he saw was the gun laying a few feet away. He got up and walked into the alley, the happenings of the "scuffle" now apparent to him. The man in black was face down on the sidewalk, a pool of blood beneath a wound in his neck. Dead.

The businessman was laying a few feet away, unconscious and not breathing, a blood stain growing ever more prevalent on his shirt, right beneath his heart. The man's fair skin was growing paler by the second, and his blood was slowly pooling onto the ground below him. Vincent ran up to him, knowing that he hadn't lost that much blood, yet. Maybe he could still be saved.

Vincent recalled all of the training he had done in his health science courses back in high school. He had thought they would be useless now that he would be majoring in web design instead of medicine, but maybe now he could put that knowledge to use. He placed his right hand on top of what he assumed was a gunshot wound, hoping to slow the bleeding. With his left hand, he placed it on the right side of the man's neck, searching for a pulse and hoping for a miracle. Thankfully, however faint it was, there was still a pulse.

Keeping his right hand on the man's chest, Vincent tried to rouse the man back to consciousness. He needed to get him breathing, again. He moved the man's head slightly and slapped his cheeks softly, hoping it might wake him up. No response. He opened one eyelid then the other. Still nothing. He knew only one other way to get the man breathing, and he wasn't going to like it. He tilted the man's head back and placed his fingers on the man's lips and chin, pushing them apart. As soon as his mouth was open, the man's eyelids sprang open wide, revealing glowing yellow eyes, and he bit down on Vincent's hand. Vincent winced and quickly moved his left hand away from the man's mouth and over to his chest wound, which was still spilling blood over Vincent's other hand. The man let out a wet cough, particles of blood flying out of his mouth.

"Thank, god! You're awake!" Vincent said. The man's yellow eyes were still wide with fright.

"What are you doing?!" the man asked hoarsely.

"I'm trying to help you." Vincent answered. The man shook his head.

"No! Get out of here while you still can." He pointed in the direction of the man in black. "There are more like him coming for me. If they find you here with me, they'll kill you, too."

"But I can't just leave you here! You're going to die if I don't get you help." The man pushed Vincent away.

"Go! NOW! Only one of us has to die, tonight." Vincent looked into the man's eyes, pleading for him to leave as soon as possible. The look of fear and utter distress in the strangely glowing eyes told Vincent the man wasn't lying.

"I'm sorry," Vincent said quietly. He removed his hands from the man's chest and ran out of the alley. As he turned the corner, he pulled his hood up over his head and placed his bloody hands into the pockets of his hoodie, walking back toward the place he had parked his car.

Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, a large, black van turned the corner in front of Vincent. It barreled down the street, paying no attention to him. Vincent looked over his shoulder, and watched the van stop at the opening to the alley. The large door on the van slid open, and two men and a woman jumped out and ran into the alley. Vincent watched as the two men carried their dead partner into the van and the woman dragged the businessman out of the alley, a new gunshot wound in his head.

Vincent let out a silent gasp, but continued hurriedly down the street. What had he just seen? Who were those people dressed in black? Why did they want that businessman dead? He looked up at the moon hoping for the calmness to wash over him as it had in the past, but the crescent moon above him did nothing, maybe even causing him more fear and anguish. Vincent removed his fixated glance and continued walking, thoughts and questions completely filling his mind.

* * *

Vincent took the back entrance into Ryder Hall and quickly made his way up to the third floor. He ran down the hall and tapped his ID card to the reader on the door of his dorm room. The light flashed from red to green, and he pushed opened the door and entered the room just as fast. Vincent prayed a silent thank you that Spencer wasn't there at the moment. What would Spencer have thought if he had seen him covered in blood?

He was grateful that on his way back to his dorm nobody had seen, or at least questioned, the blood stains on his hoodie and jeans. He looked down at his hands, the dried blood caked over them, the scrapes on his palms, and the bite mark on his hand. He hadn't noticed any pain before, but now that the adrenaline from the moment was diminishing, the bite began to sting.

"I better get this cleaned before it becomes infected," he thought out loud. Vincent removed his clothes; his shirt, thankfully, was untouched by blood. He left the shirt on and put on a pair of gym shorts before grabbing a towel, a change of clothes, and his toiletries. He made his way down the stairs to the first floor and walked into the communal bathroom. Luck was on his side that night, as he currently had the whole bathroom to himself.

He pulled open the cheap plastic curtain for one of the showers and hung his blue towel on the rack before stripping his clothes off and dropping them onto the beige tiled floor. He closed the curtain behind him and turned the knob for the water all the way into the red. The warm water fell onto his hands, bringing life to the dried blood. The bloodied water made deep red streaks in the tile beneath his feet as it ran down his fingers into the drain. Once more, the memories of that night came back to him. The feel of the stranger's hot blood on his skin, the fear of the man's life draining away, the sounds he made pleading Vincent to leave.

Vincent's breathing became more labored as he watched the blood pool around his feet. The image of the man in the business suit dead on the ground with a bullet hole in his head sent chills through him. He suddenly felt weak and tired, and his muscles gave out beneath him. Vincent didn't feel his knees impacting the hard floor as he fell onto them, shaking uncontrollably, his breaths coming in and out like high-pitched wheezes. His heart was racing rapidly, feeling as if it was going to burst from his chest.

What was happening to him? Was he having a heart attack? A stroke? A seizure? Even though the warm water fell upon his body, he was freezing, shivering from the cold, feeling as if the water would freeze on his skin. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he sat shivering on the floor. His water soaked hair plastered to his scalp, thick droplets running down his nose and cheek. That's when he understood what this was: a panic attack. The events of the night had finally caught up to him.

"Why didn't I stay with him?!" he thought. "Why did I leave him all alone when he was dying?" The dread sank into his chest, wondering what it would have felt like to die alone. It was crippling; it was a deep ache of regret sinking into Vincent's soul. And then he thought about that group of people in the black van. The people who didn't think twice about murdering someone in cold blood. Vincent's grief turned into anger. Who did those people think they were, taking someone's life, attacking him en masse?

The anger welled up inside of him more and more. Vincent could feel the anger pumping through his veins like lava. The tingling reached his fingertips and made his ears hot. Even his mouth throbbed. Vincent had gotten angry before, but he'd never felt the heat of it so strongly, as if he could take them all on by himself. He started to growl, a deep rumble building in his throat, and he slammed a fist into the shower wall, causing it to shudder from the impact. Then, as soon as the heat had appeared, it suddenly began to die away, his muscles feeling exhausted and fatigued. Vincent wondered if it was shock starting to set in or if he was just worn out from the long day.

His breathing returned to normal, and he heaved himself back onto his feet as the warmth returned to his body. He numbly grabbed his shampoo and began to wash his hair, trying to get the grime out so he could start fresh, trying to put the memory of the dying man and the van of murderers out of his mind.

* * *

The Houston city streets were eerily quiet at three o'clock in the morning. Only a couple of cars were still on the roads as the night ticked on closer to dawn. A lone figure made her way down the deserted sidewalk, hiding in the shadows as she walked towards her destination. She was dressed in dark jeans and an oversized black hoodie, hoping to be glanced over or mistaken for one of the many homeless people that called the streets of Houston their home. She glanced up at the street name on the top of the stop sign at the end of the sidewalk and turned the corner. She walked a few feet down the next street before coming up to an alley and ducking inside.

A second figure stood further back in the alley, a book in one hand and a flashlight in the other helping him see in the shadowy blackness of the alley. The twenty-six year old's sun-kissed olive skin was a compliment to his short, dishwater blond hair. He was wearing a denim jacket over a red t-shirt and black jeans, and one gold earring on his right ear glinted in the soft light that the flashlight gave off as he inspected the alley. His blue skate shoes crunched softly across the ground strewn in gravel and small stones. He didn't notice the woman enter the alley, too focused on his task at hand.

"I see you are not wasting any time, Xander," she said, a slight Japanese accent apparent on her voice. The young man was surprised by the sudden voice and shined the flashlight in the woman's direction.

"Oh, Kaho!" Xander said, lowering the flashlight. The young man's Greek accent was strongest when he was nervous or upset. "You really made me jump. Thanks for coming to helping me out."

"You said you sensed another death?" Kaho asked, lowering her hood. The young woman was twenty-eight, but she could have passed for much younger. Short, midnight black hair framed her thin face, and her naturally rosy cheeks gave a splash of color to her fair skin, which otherwise betrayed the serious expression on her face.

"Yes," Xander answered, sweeping the small flashlight across the ground. "I still haven't been able to track an attack while it's in progress, but I was able to pinpoint the last location of a werewolf to this spot. The hunters are good at cleaning up their mess, though, which is why-"

"Which is why you called me." Kaho interrupted. Xander nodded.

"Right," Xander said, "I needed a Tracer to help, and I heard you were in the city working on similar cases. It's only been an hour since the attack, so I was hoping you could get a really clear picture of what happened here."

"Alright," Kaho said, walking deeper into the alley, her boots crunching on the gravel with each step. "Let's see what I can find." She knelt down and placed her hands on the ground in front of her, taking a deep breath as she focused on the alley around her. Her eyes changed color from brown to bright orange as she visualized the narrow alley in her mind, reconstructing the lingering essences of the people who had been there before them.

She looked around and saw the vision of a businessman run into view, passing through her and Xander as he made his way into the back of the alley. He turned, a fearful look on his face. Kaho turned and saw the hunter with a gun in his hand staring back at the wolf, though it felt as if he were staring right at her. Then, unexpectedly, a third figure emerged from around the corner, a teenager. She watched as the young man shouted and caused the Hunter to turn around. In a split second, the businessman was on top of his attacker, long, sharp black claws tearing into the hunter's throat. The gun went off, and Kaho flinched, feeling the pain of the gunshot and falling backwards.

"Kaho! Are you okay?" Xander asked, leaning down to help her back up. Kaho waved his hands away as her vision continued for a few more moments before the orange glow in her eyes faded back to brown.

"I saw the wolf," she said before Xander could ask. She pushed herself off of the ground and stood up. "He was cornered by a hunter and was about to be killed, but... there was another."

"Another?" Xander asked, "You mean another hunter? Another werewolf?"

"No, it was just a passerby, just a teenager. He tried to help but was too late." She pointed towards a spot on the ground about a foot away. "He stood over the wolf, kept him from bleeding out too quickly." She turned back to Xander. "We have to find that teenager."

"What? Why?" Xander asked, watching Kaho walk back towards the mouth of the alley. "There have been numerous hunter sightings by regular people since the eclipse. What makes this person so special?"

"Because unlike all the other times... this boy was bitten." Kaho said, looking back. Xander's eyes went wide. "It's as the saying goes, 'One of us, one of them, or not at all.' We have to get to the boy before any of those outcomes. If we don't, who's telling what might happen." She pulled her hood back over her head and walked away, leaving Xander alone in the dark alley.

* * *

The cramped dorm room was stuffy; the central air in the building had turned off and only the quiet hum of the small oscillating desk fan could be heard as it helped circulate the stagnant air in the room. Slivers of blue light from the crescent moon mixed with the light from the orange street lamps as they slipped through the flimsy venetian blinds into the room, shining across the two sleeping teenage boys and the half unpacked cardboard boxes on the floor near their beds. Vincent had expected to be unable to fall asleep after what he had seen that night, but it seemed the fatigue had caught up with him. He had fallen asleep before Spencer even got back to the room.

As the night wore on, however, Vincent began to have intense dreams. He was back in the alley, watching the man in the business suit and the man clad in black facing off against each other. Just like earlier, the man in black pulled his gun out and pointed it at the businessman. Vincent tried to scream out, but no sounds came from his mouth. The man in black pulled the trigger, his mark on target, and he fired at the businessman. Three bullet holes appeared in the businessman's chest, all aimed towards his heart. Vincent was frantic, and that translated over to the real world.

Vincent was jerking around in his bed, tossing and turning as he was mentally tormented by his nightmare. He was deep in his dream, drool leaking down his cheek onto his pillow, unaware of his movements in bed. His duvet had been thrown to the floor, and he had kicked his legs out from under his top sheet in an unconscious attempt to cool down his feverishly hot body. His brown skin was covered in a sheen of warm sweat, making his sheets moist and making his shirt and shorts stick to his body.

Back in the dream, Vincent had run into the alley to tend to the fallen businessman while the man in black stood over them. He placed his hands on the man's chest which was pooling with his warm, crimson blood, his eyes open wide in shock. This time, Vincent knew there was no saving the man. His heart had been torn and mangled by the bullets that had blown a hole in his chest. Vincent turned back to look at the other man who was staring intently at his kill, a wide toothy smile on his face.

"This is as it must be," the man growled. Vincent grit his teeth, his body responding similarly in both the dream and the real world. He stood up and faced the man in black, his muscles tensing as the anger built inside of him. In his bed, his muscles twitched, and his hands curled into fists, digging his fingernails into his scraped palms. He felt like his body was burning in the dream, but the only thought in his mind was to avenge the death of the man beside him. His legs started kicking again in bed as he ran towards the man in black in his dream. He threw himself onto the man, tackling him to the ground with surprising ease. He started clawing at the man's face and throat, raking his bloody fingernails into the man's skin. His hands dragged across his bedding, the fingernails finding purchase in his sheets as they started to dig into them.

His dream was getting intense, chaotic and frightening. The metallic smell of iron was heavy in the air as he brought his hands down over and over again across the man's face in a fit of violence and rage, blood flying from his fingers and soaking into his clothes. The anger started to fade a bit, and he looked down into the man's bloody face, his eyes bloodshot and full of fear. Vincent heard a clattering beside him as the man moved his arm, and he suddenly felt the cold metal of the gun on the side of his head. The man's face became a toothy, evil smile once again, and he muttered the same words from before as he pulled the trigger.

"This is as it must be."

"NO!" Vincent shouted, sitting up in bed with a start. His eyes snapped open, gleaming bright yellow for a moment in the darkness of the room before returning to their normal color. He panted hard, placing his hand on the side of his head as he realized it had just been a dream. "What in the world?" Vincent muttered, rubbing his eyes. He suddenly realized how soaked his shirt was with his warm sweat and quickly tugged it off to help cool down after the intensity of his nightmare.

"Vince, what's wrong?" he heard from the other side of the room. He looked over and saw Spencer sitting up in bed, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

"I-it's nothing," Vincent answered, wiping the drool from his mouth as he turned his gaze away from Spencer. "Sorry to wake you up. I know the first day of class is tomorrow. You can just go back to bed."

"Hey, if something's going on, I want to help," Spencer said, the concern apparent in his voice. He pulled back his covers and kicked his legs over the edge of the extra-large twin bed, turning to face Vincent across the narrow passage between their beds. Vincent sighed and turned back toward Spencer.

Spencer's black hair was sticking up all over the place in the form of messy bed head. He was shirtless, clothed in only his boxer briefs, and showing off his muscular body. The years that the six foot tall teenager had spent on the football, swimming, and track and field teams in high school had helped him develop into a handsome young man. His skin was well-tanned from the years spent outside practicing in the hot sun, and the constant training had helped him develop firm pecs, thick arms, six-pack abs, and toned leg muscles. But Vincent knew Spencer, and his apparent attractiveness still did not change the fact that he was his best friend and a caring person, through and through.

"Is there something up? What happened during that walk of yours? What was up with the blood on-" Spencer asked until he noticed Vincent begin to hyperventilate, his breaths becoming shallower as his heart rate increased.

"Just... just give me a minute," Vincent wheezed. Spencer watched his friend intently as Vincent slowly regained his composure. Never in their many years of knowing each other had Vincent ever become so anxious over anything.

"Okay," Vincent started, moving to the edge of his bed to face Spencer, "Let me start from the beginning." Spencer's face showed the increasing levels of incredulity and disbelief at what Vincent was telling him as he recounted the experience he had been through earlier that night. As far-fetched as the story sounded, Spencer believed him. Only something this harrowing as had been described would cause Vincent to become so anxious and paranoid.

"So, who do you think the people were?" Spencer asked, his head spinning with as many questions as Vincent's was.

"That's the scary part of all this," Vincent answered. "Those people knew HOW to kill. The weapons they used were professional, decked out with silencers. They meant business. What they wanted with the businessman, though, escapes my mind. They could have been contracted to kill him, but they also could have murdered him a whole lot quicker and more silently than they did."

"And the guy knew there were more coming for him?"

"Yeah, like he knew he was being targeted." Vincent said softly.

"This is all so crazy," Spencer murmured, "It's like something out of a... a spy movie."

"Yeah, only this is real and someone was actually murdered."

"Well, have you called the police? That guy's family is probably worried about him."

"I can't call the cops," Vincent answered quickly. "What if the killers trace the call back to us, or what if they're in the police force? Either way, calling the cops is out of the question." Vincent paused, letting the words sink in, processing them again after speaking them aloud. "Sorry for dumping all that on you. I just needed to get that off my chest. Thanks for listening."

"Hey, no problem." Spencer said. He jumped out of bed and sat down next to Vincent, placing his arm around his friend's shoulders. "Whenever you have something like this to talk about, I'm here for you. Anywhere, anytime. Got it?"

"Yeah. I got it."

"Good! Now, let's get back to bed. Our first class starts bright and early at nine a.m., and we don't want to miss that."

"Okay," Vincent said, yawning as he lifted his duvet back up from the floor and slipped under it. "Night, Spencer."

"Night, Vince," Spencer replied, jumping back into his bed as Vincent drifted back off to sleep.

* * *

"Up and at 'em, Vince!" Spencer shouted, smacking Vincent in the head with a pillow. The rude awakening was harsh, slamming Vincent back into consciousness. "Don't want to be late on your first day, do you?"

"Is it time to get up already?" Vincent moaned under his duvet.

"I let you sleep in way longer than I should have," Spencer replied. "We only have thirty minutes 'till class starts! I'll run out to the dining hall, real fast, and grab you a muffin while you get dressed."

"Thanks," Vincent mumbled as he sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. "Give me twenty minutes, and I'll be ready to go."

"Great! I'll be back." Spencer said, quickly making his way out of the room. Vincent yawned, flopping down onto is back.

"Man, why am I so tired?" he thought. "I guess everything that happened last night really took a toll on me." He slowly got out of bed, brushed his teeth, and then walked over to his closet, pushing open the pressboard wood door. He pulled out a pair of jeans and a red t-shirt with a the university's name on the front, and put the two on. His clothes felt tighter today for some reason, but he quickly dismissed it as he finished getting ready.

While he looked around the room for a stray shoe in his boxes, Vincent realized he wasn't wearing his glasses, yet he could see everything as if his eyesight was better than perfect. He raised a hand to his face to make sure and blinked a few times, but as he had guessed there were no metal frames adorning his face.

"Okay... strange." Vincent thought, finding his misplaced shoe and picking it up. "I might as well take this as it is and just say my eyes are playing tricks on me today."

He slid on his shoes and moved over to the the full length mirror hung behind their door to comb his bed-head down to a reasonable level. Looking over himself in the mirror, Vincent noticed that his shirt looked as if it had shrunk. His arms filled the sleeves and the shirt was hugging his body tightly, but it didn't look bad. He smiled a bit, slight wonder creeping into his mind, but the thought was wiped away as the door opened and Spencer stepped back into the room.

"Hey! Breakfast is served," Spencer said, handing Vincent the Banana Nut Muffin in his left hand. "Where are your glasses?"

"Uh, they were hurting my head, so I decided not to wear them. I can see pretty well without them anyways." Vincent answered, grabbing his backpack and wallet.

"Alright, then let's go," Spencer said, holding the door open for Vincent. The two young men walked down the crowded hall from their dorm room. Their residence hall was busy; the hallway was bustling with students as they made their way to and from their first day of class.

Once again, Vincent's mind wandered back to the images and thoughts of the night before. It's as if his subconscious was trying to tell him something, trying to get him to remember a tiny detail that he couldn't recall. The students moving around him became a blur of activity, a rippling surface of light and shadow his memories were projected onto.

A student suddenly came barreling towards Vincent, knocking the two to the floor. Vincent's mind filled with the memories as the teen in front of him got back up and started running again, probably running late. He turned behind him and the hallway had become the streets of Houston, the teenager becoming the businessman. Vincent began to sweat, a fire burning across his body. A sharp pain came from his hand, and he quickly looked down. The bite mark was completely healed. Only yesterday it had been a deep wound, and now it was gone.

"How is that possible?" Vincent thought. The strangeness had only added to his surmounting panic attack. He crawled towards the wall on his left, the sounds of walking and talking becoming the sounds of the city growing louder and louder in his ears. He had begun to shake, his body convulsing out of control while everyone just moved past him.

This time, however, the panic attack was taking a turn that Vincent hadn't felt the first time. A searing heat spread throughout his body, his shirt sticking to his torso from the sweat. The warmth spread towards his hands, a sharp pain throbbing in his fingertips. The pain brought him back to reality for a second. He looked down at his hands, watching in disbelief as the fingernails thickened and began to grow, the thin human fingernails becoming darker as they honed into sharp razor-like claws. His eyes widened in horror, his heart pumping blood through his body at an incredible rate. He continued to stare at his hands as patches of dark hair began to sprout on his knuckles and the the backs of them. Spencer looked behind him, noticing that Vincent wasn't there.

"What's happening to me? Why is this happening?" Vincent thought as the changes continued to progress. The hair on Vince's arms darkened and lengthened, going from invisible to a deep dark brown in a matter of seconds. The heat travelled to his face, and the throbbing continued there. He pulled himself up enough to look into the fire extinguisher case hanging on the wall beside him. He watched as his canine teeth began to lengthen out into fangs, pushing his lips out a bit. A deep itching began to occur on his cheeks, and he bore his glistening fangs as he watched a dark stubble sprout from his smooth face. The hair grew in quickly, bristly and thick, forming bushy mutton chops that ran down his jaw. Spencer spotted Vincent on the floor, staring into the glass in front of him.

"Vince, is something wrong?" he asked, not seeing anything different, at first. As he kneeled down to comfort his friend, he noticed Vince's ears begin to grow and shift, taking on points. Vincent turned towards Spencer, showing his friend the other changes that had occurred. Tears in his eyes, Vincent pushed himself away from Spencer.

"Don't come near me. Something's happening to me, and I don't want to hurt you." Vincent said, but Spencer didn't listen. He grabbed Vince, standing him up and handing him a hoodie to cover his changes.

"Just hurry up and get back inside our room," Spencer said, pushing Vincent back through the busy hall. Vincent pulled out his ID from his pocket and entered the room first, collapsing on the floor as Spencer closed and locked the door behind them.

Vince's body continued to change. The searing pain from his hands had travelled to his toes. He kicked off his shoes before witnessing thickened toenails beginning to push out of his socks. He slashed the mangled socks off with his claws, revealing hair similar to that on the back of his hands sprouting from the tops of his feet and further up his ankles. He glanced up at Spencer who was staring down at his friend, watching as the changes overtook Vincent.

The changes began to spread deep into the musculature of his body. The heat was becoming unbearable at this point, and he couldn't help but let out a roar of pain. Thick saliva dripped from his mouth, and a flat, lengthening tongue took the old one's place. The muscles beneath Vince's skin began to squirm, causing his body to shake uncontrollably. He looked down at his legs and watched as his calves and quads began to bulge in his jeans, the muscles becoming thicker and more resilient. Then his arm muscles began to grow, his biceps and triceps bulging in his sleeves while the muscles in his forearms thickened.

His shoulders pulled back growing wider, and his rib cage pushed out, his chest becoming thicker as his pecs grew plump with new muscle. Just then, Vince's breath was knocked out of him, feeling as if someone was hitting him in the stomach over and over. He lifted his shirt, exposing his torso, and watched as any fat he had began to melt away as he started showing signs of a six pack, the new muscles pushing and bubbling up beneath his skin. Thick hair was pushing its way out from his chest and around his navel, coating his torso in a fine layer of dark fuzz.

Spencer stood over Vince, wondrous at the transformation his friend was going through. A slight bulge began to form in his jeans as he felt his dick begin to harden at the sight before him. Vincent was foregoing his slim physique for a leaner build, like that of a swimmer or an amateur bodybuilder, but Spencer had no time to gawk over his friend. Amid his thoughts, he could hear Vincent's cries for help.

"Spencer...help me...stop this." Vincent cried, his eyes glimmering, the brown giving way to a bright gold. Spencer kneeled down next to him.

"Okay, buddy, I'm here." He grabbed one of Vince's hands, wary of the sharp black claws adorning each fingertip. "How did this start? If we can stop whatever made you start to change maybe you'll go back to normal."

"I- I was... having another panic attack. That's why this started."

"Alright," Spencer said, "All we have to do is calm you down. Just take some deep breaths and think of something happy."

Vincent did as he was told. He thought about home, his family, his friends. As Spencer held his hand he thought about all the fun times they had had together. He recalled a distant memory of a time when he had fallen off of his bike and skinned his knee, bawling his eyes out until Spencer had come and comforted him. He took a deep breath and let it back out, the shaking he'd been experiencing slowing. He recalled another time when Spencer had accompanied him on his first roller coaster and the subsequent roller coasters they had ridden since then. Hundreds of memories with Spencer began to flood his head as his body stopped shaking and his breathing returned to normal.

Spencer watched as the sharp claws on the hand he was holding began to retreat, once again becoming flat, harmless fingernails. The same happened to Vince's other hand and his feet, the nails becoming human once again. Vince's ears rounded back out to their normal shape, and his eyes turned back from a glowing gold to a dark brown. Though, not every change went back to the way they had been before.

The fangs in Vincent's mouth shortened, but still seemed longer than the human canines they had once been. The new growth of hair across his body began to withdraw back into his brown skin, but didn't completely disappear. Dark hair covered his arms, and the mutton chops retreated but left his cheeks covered in a dark stubble he had not had before. In a similar way, the new muscles that adorned Vincent's body pulled back a bit, but not completely retreating. Vincent began to sit up, shaking off the pain and fear he had been feeling for the past couple of minutes.

"Thanks, Spencer," Vincent mumbled, steadily panting as he looked at his hand, which was back to normal.

"Uh...Vince," Spencer began, "You've changed back, but... you're not quite back to normal." He pointed to the mirror for Vincent to see. Vincent stumbled a bit as he stood up, getting his bearings as he realized he was an inch or two taller than he had been when he woke up. He walked over to the mirror and looked at his reflection. He didn't look like himself anymore. Gone was the thin, nerdy teenager, and in his place stood a burly, hairy young man.

His hair was longer and thicker, brushing the back of his neck, and the clothes he had put on that morning were bulging tightly across his larger body, his pecs and abdomen pushing out of the fabric. He tugged the shirt off past his wider shoulders, revealing a toned chest and abdomen and bushy patches of dark hair that poked out from his pits. Soft, dark brown hair had sprouted out all over his chest and down his torso in a thick trail to his bush where his larger package bulged lewdly in his pants.

He tugged off his jeans, revealing muscular legs covered in a growth of new hair. His jaw dropped in surprise, and he could see the long, pointed canines poking over his lips. His facial features had become more pronounced, the remaining baby fat on his face having melted away, revealing a more pronounced jawline. He brought a hand up to touch his face, and, as he rubbed at the thick stubble that now adorned his cheeks and chin, he realized the back of his hands were unusually hairy. He turned around to look at Spencer, his mouth still open as he motioned at his body.

"Okay, this is not normal," Vincent said, walking past Spencer to sit on the edge of his bed. He buried his head in his hands as Spencer continued to look him over, not moving.

"Vince, what was that? How did that happen? What... are you?"

"I don't know," Vincent answered, tears forming in his eyes.

"Are you... oh god..." Spencer started, his eyes going wide, "Are you a werewolf?" Vincent looked up at him, fear on his face.

"I... I don't know." Vincent muttered, looking at his hands.

"Shit! Oh, fuck!" Spencer said, placing his hands on his head as he started to pace around the room. "Are you going to turn into one of those things that came out during the eclipse and killed a bunch of people and-"

"I DON'T KNOW!" Vincent snarled, his eyes flashing gold. Spencer took a step back and held his arms up in a defensive stance. He stared at Vincent as his ears stretched out into points, his fangs and claws lengthened, and the bushy mutton chops sprouted from his cheeks down to his chin. The changes swept over Vincent's body again, but this time much more quickly. Vincent's body looked like it was getting bigger, his muscles growing larger and primed for a fight. Thick hair covered his arms and legs, and the brown chest hair grew out rapidly, covering his pecs and torso in a fine layer of downy fuzz.

Vincent could see the shock on Spencer's face from his abrupt outburst and looked down at his hands again, sharp black claws adorning each of his fingertips. "Spencer... I have no idea what's happening to me. I'm scared," Vincent sobbed, tears running down his cheeks. "I just wanted to have a normal time in college. I don't want to turn into one of those monsters."

"Okay, I think we both need to calm down for a second." Spencer said, sitting down on the edge of his bed, facing Vincent. "This has never happened before, right? You weren't a werewolf before today?"

"Spence, if I had been, I would have told you," Vincent answered, wiping his tears away, "This is the first time this has ever happened to me." He looked down at his hands and remembered the bite from the night before, which had healed completely and was now nowhere to be seen. "I... I think this has to do with the businessman from last night."

"What?" Spencer asked, a confused look on his face. "How could he have caused this?"

"The guy who shot at him had a gash in his neck, like an animal had clawed his throat out. And, then he bit me as I was trying to save him." Spencer looked at him wide-eyed before Vincent continued, "It kind of adds up. The businessman was a werewolf, and those people after him must have been werewolf hunters. When he bit me, and I got his blood and saliva in the wound, the virus or whatever it is must have turned me into a werewolf, too." Spencer sighed, his turn to lay his head in his hands for a while as he processed everything.

"Okay," Spencer said, finally breaking the silence. "I can't believe it, but all the evidence points to that." He placed a hand on his forehead. "Fuck. My best friend's a werewolf."

"Yeah. That's how I feel, and I'm the one with the claws." Vincent said, holding up his hand.

"So, where do we go from here?" Spencer asked, looking across at Vincent. Vincent stared back at Spencer.

"We?" Vincent asked. "So, you're not afraid of me? You're not going to leave?" Spencer looked dumbfounded.

"What? I can't leave you to deal with this on your own. Besides, it's not like you want to eat me or anything. Right?"

"No, I don't." Vincent replied. "But, I didn't even shift all the way. What if I can't control myself and try to hurt you or someone else? How could I live with myself if I did?"

"Then I wouldn't blame you," Spencer said, standing up and placing a hand on Vincent's shoulder. "I know you, and you're inherently good, almost to a fault. If something happens, I'll know it's not under your control. Besides, you're going to need someone to help you through this. If I wasn't here for you now, you might have gone full beast mode and done something you would have regretted."

"Yeah, you really had my back just now."

"And don't forget those guys from last night," Spencer added, "You're going to need someone watching your back in case they find out what you are. Whatever happens, I'll be there to help."

A smile spread across Vincent's face and tears formed in his eyes. He stood and gave Spencer a big hug, his feelings of despair and loneliness washing out of him, replaced with the friendship and brotherly love he had for Spencer. He felt his claws retract, and the other changes slowly pulled back and returned to normal.

"HAHA! Woah! Down boy!" Spencer said, his face blushing and turning red, startled by his friend's sudden affection.

"Sorry, Spencer," Vincent said, releasing his friend and wiping his tears from his eyes. "I'm just glad you still want to be friends." He glanced toward the clock, and his eyes went wide. "Shit! We're late for class. Hopefully the professor doesn't care all that much since it is the first day."

"I hope not," Spencer said, "You gotta get changed into some clothes, though." He moved over to his closet and pulled out a shirt and pair of jeans, tossing them over to Vincent. "Looks like you'll have to borrow some of mine for now. I'll give you a few minutes to get dressed again, and then we'll go."

"Alright!" Vincent replied, quickly slipping on Spencer's shirt and pair of jeans. The borrowed clothes fit him almost perfectly. He was suddenly surrounded in Spencer's scent, an aroma of musk and sweat from his workouts, the scent of citrus and grapefruit from his body wash, and the smell of lavender from the laundry detergent he used. He held the fabric up to his nose and closed his eyes, inhaling the scent and committing it to memory. It was the scent of his best friend, the only person he could trust with his new secret.

He let go of the shirt and grabbed a new pair of socks from his dresser, quickly tugging them on and tying his shoes. Spencer handed him his backpack, they grabbed their IDs, and then the two were quickly out the door to their first college class of the year after a very eventful morning.