"Focus, Enid. . ." (Wenclair)

Enid's POV

(Last part.)

. . . 

  Enid was burning up, hot pain pulsing through every muscle. It was hard to think, to breathe, it still smells of silver and the suspect's stench.

Her mouth tastes like iron, her tongue curls in distaste. It's still wet and sticky against the skin of her chin, Enid watches as it drips down and soaks into the white of Wednesday's button up. Her wolf is trying to claw its way out, her insides were too hot, bloody wounds inflicted from the inside, she was in pain, a burning sensation she couldn't soothe. It was somewhere she could never reach.

The only way to do so would be to let the beast take the reins but Enid couldn't do that. She just couldn't. I wish I could.

Something tugs at the tie around her neck, Enid growls, her claws digging into the shower's wall tiles, leaving bloody streaks against the white.

"Will you stop that?" It was hard enough to keep her head above the haze, Wednesday was distracting, like a silent howling call to the wolf embedded deep into her soul. At the thought, Enid feels the bones in her ankles snap and rearrange, she grits her teeth, and swallows the blood in her mouth. It does nothing to satisfy the urges.

"What a strange moment to transform Sinclair."

Enid shakes her head, I'm broken. "I can't. . ." She whispers.

A snap again and it hurts. It hurts like it always does every full moon, but this wasn't a full moon. No, this was broad daylight, something that only happened once and never again. At least not until now.

And Enid's eyes find the pale skin of Wednesday's neck, and is reminded of why she's here, in this tub, covered in blood with pain coursing through her body. The flesh there is turning a color, big angry handprints forming in hues of purple and blue and yellow, Enid clenches her jaw, grinds her teeth together at the sight. She wishes she ripped his throat out. Wishes she gutted him when she had the chance.

Enid's eyes trails up to her partner's lips, seeing them move but not really hearing a word. She glances back down and wonders what it'll feel like to sink her teeth in.

Enid startles at the thought, then it's swept away in an angry haze when Wednesday tugs at her tie again and the wolf peeks through with its hackles raised.

"Stop, Addams." She hisses, Enid tries to reign herself back in, meeting the blackness of Wednesday's eyes.

Her prey –Stop— Her partner doesn't falter at the sight of Enid's wolf, instead she simply raises her hand, brushes against the fur on Enid's jaw and the lycan feels a different kind of warmth inside her body at the light touch. It doesn't burn, it doesn't hurt. It feels safe.

She looks down again, sees the forming bruises and a different kind of thought runs about in her head, circling over and over. Enid wants to run her tongue against the skin and up until she can taste the sharp jawline of Wednesday's face.

"—pect got away."

Snap out of it. Enid blinks, slowly, each blink bringing her head out of its fog. What was Wednesday talking about? The suspect? Enid's throat is dry, she answers anyways, "He. . . won't. . . get far." It was hard to focus, her senses were muddled and all the lycan could smell with every inhale of breath was blood, her partner's blood, and pinewood and old books.

"For someone who despises blood, you've made such a mess. We're covered in it."

The pain is back suddenly, it's sharp and dull all at once, the tip of her fingers are bleeding, her teeth ache, her body is screaming to be free from the pain and Enid wishes she could just do it.