Hybrid

PART ONE

⫷ DOMINIC ⫸

Wisps of air, like smoke, hangs low against the wet soil and tarnished blades of grass. The crickets have yet to spread their tranquil noise and, instead, a menacing hum echoes from near and far.

A shadow from creaking trees consumes a man dressed in black. He leans back against the rough bark as he inhales an air of smoke from the cigarette. Of guileless he lacks, though not even the pungent darkness could hide the amusement curled on his thin lips. Another man, both old and feckless, currently sips tea inside of an isolated cabin. Lem is his name; an elderly hermit who thinks hiding deep within the forests can save him.

Nothing can save him. Not from the man in black. He digs the tip of his shiny black shoe against the soil, over his cigarette butt. Smirking, the man emerges from darkness and allows the moon's glow to shine against his tanned skin. The black clothing rubs against his skin; a discomfort that disgusts him, though dressing in a well-pressed suit was necessary for the meeting he had just come from.

Using a wide shoulder, the man breaks the lock and barges into the small home. Immediately, the old man, Lem, shoots up from the kitchen table he was sitting at. His wrinkly hands curl around a rifle and he aims it at the man.

"Silver bullets," the old man snarls. "You don't know who you're dealing with, boy."

The man smirks, cracking his knuckles in the process. "Oh, but I do. I need you to tell me where Carlos Tapia is."

"Never," Lem growls. "Now get the hell out of my house!"

Shrugging, the man steps forward. "I have no reason to keep you alive."

Bam.

The bullet seeps into his left shoulder. It would have drilled into his heart, had he not moved quickly to the side. "You shouldn't have done that." Canines bared, the man readies himself for an attack. "One last chance. Where is Carlos Tapia?"

"Who are you?" Lem asks. He holds his rifle higher after hearing silence instead of an answer

Bam. Bam.

Both miss. Chuckling, the man takes another step forward. By now, his eyes glow a menacing gold, sparkling humourlessly against the moon's light that spills through the window. Lem shoots again and again. The man is far too quick on his feet. The blood from his shoulders begins to make the material itchy against his skin. Irritably, he bares his daunting teeth and pounces forward. Extended claws cut through the flesh of the old man.

In seconds, the rifle clatters against the wooden floors. Another few seconds and the sound of the man's body thumps against the ground. Blood coats the werewolf's arms and lips. He glares down at the mangled body on the floor.

Wiping his mouth, he gives the old man one last nudge with his foot. "My name is Dominic," he answers emotionlessly.

Without a hesitation, he fishes his cell out of his pant pocket and dials a number. After two rings, there's an answer. "Son, do you have good news for me?"

"Not exactly. He wouldn't speak." Dominic starts walking for the exit, neglecting to speak of the fact that he hadn't tried all that hard. The hum of the television creates a peaceful background noise, despite the truth. "Do you want me to keep looking?"

"No. I will send another for Carlos Tapia."

Dominic scans the area in precaution. Everything is somber, as much as it was when he arrived. His feet crunch the fallen leaves and, with a few more long strides, he is cascaded by shadow once again.

"Okay," Dominic mutters after hearing no other orders. "What do you want me to do?"

Another pause. Dominic's lip curls back, but his father answers. "I want you to look for another. Her name is Aria Parker."

His shoulders tense from the name. He doesn't feel much emotion; he never does. There is, however, a certain uneasiness brewing in his stomach from the sounds of her name. He's heard it before, many times.

"Okay," he replies, gripping the phone tightly. "I will check in later."

Without a goodbye, the other end of the call ends. Dominic pushes his phone back into his pocket. The car is parked about a thousand or so feet from where he walks. Instead of shifting and relishing in the moon's gift, he remains in human form.

It's always easier in human form. Easier to control. Easier to sustain the monster buried deep inside of him. As a human, he can think clearly.

Now, he thinks about Aria.

The bullet wound seeps blood from his torn skin. Dominic curses when he starts to feel the numbing effect from the silver. His fingers dig deep into the wound, biting through pain, and he yanks out the bullet. His fingertips sizzle from the exposure to the silver. Dismissively, he tosses it to the forest's bed and continues deeper beyond the trees.

I hope you're ready, Aria. Dominic thinks with his eyes cast on the stars that peek through the roof of tree branches.