Burnt Blood: The Werewolf Within

Sixteen

The voice of safety rattles from behind the green door at 73 Leyland Avenue, St Albans. It's 10 pm, and I'm gearing up to knock on the door of someone from my past. The Boy felt heavier, like a sack of spuds earlier, burning up; I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched—the vivid image of 'red eyes' haunts my every move in the rear-view mirror. I'm a bundle of nerves, anticipating the reaction I'm about to get. I expected help, knowing Hannah had every right to slam the door in my face; she was the only person no one else knew.

"Andrew? What in god's name? Why are you dressed like a flipping doctor? Change of career again? I mean, what the hell, after all this time? You suddenly decide to darken my door,"

Hannah looks the same. I was twenty, and she was eighteen. My blooming life needed direction, and I feared I would amount to knout. I saw some of this world. The lure of visiting different countries at Her Majesty's expense was too good to miss. I signed up for the Marines; Hannah thought it was too dangerous and didn't want to follow me around like a little lost sheep, only to one day see me in a body bag, and we broke up.

My current wife, Angela, and I met on one of my stints of leave, and the rest, as they say, is history. Dressed for bed, Hannah hurriedly threw on a white gown to cover her silky sky-blue pyjamas. Five years later, and there she stood—five-foot-four inches of agitation. Flame red hair dangled below the shoulders of a small frame. Her bright green eyes beamed through the brown-framed glasses she hastily adjusted on her pale, tired face. Hard to tell what was pissing her off the most. The time of night I'd turned up or came at all. The doctor dress-up part would take some explaining.

"I need your help, Hannah."

"With what?" Hannah edged forward, curious about what I was holding.

"Well, it's not to play doctors and nurses... It's with this... With him. Just a child," I was going to elaborate more, but it wasn't a doorstep conversation.

"What the hell! Yours? What have you done?" Hannah expressed the typical look of worry. As if I'd snatched the child from the mother or something. No, that happened to the sprog long ago.

"It's not like that. The Boy's in danger, and there's knout else safer than the only person I trust right now. As you're not on the scumbag's radar, I hope not." Her face softened, becoming more sympathetic toward the child. Her eyes widened as her hallway light gleamed off the whites.

"Why? What's going on? Why is the Boy shaking and sweating so much?"

"Can we come in? We needed to get inside as soon as possible. We're too exposed. And it's not a conversation I want to have in case of prying eyes."

I took a quick, panicked look over my shoulder into the dark purple night sky. Knout but silence. Peace in a well-to-do street illuminated by street lamps. So calm, I heard the wind whistling past with my heartbeat as my eyes saw the full moon. My temple was pulsing, and it took everything I had to stop the claws from sliding forward as the loud bone cracking started.

"Hannah, who's there?" a man's voice booms out from inside the house. That was a surprise I hadn't expected. Not that I thought Hannah would remain single. In my flipping haste, I hadn't factored in other complications.

"I... Erm... One-minute dear,"

"That's my bloody fiancé. And you'll be introduced as an old-school friend needing the help you mentioned. Okay? Nothing else needs to be said," Hannah whispers, leaning forward and glaring to ensure I understood.

"Fiancé? I'm so sorry for disturbing you. There's nowhere I'm sure I can trust now. I will do and say whatever you want; unfortunately, there's no time to waste,"