Bloodshed

Algebra With a Hint of Hell.

Damon slouched against the wall in an aggressively casual posture, doing his best to send off those all important 'I'm too cool for you' vibes into the assembled group of maths students.

It wasn't working all that well. The collection of students in the queue basically took it in turns to covertly glance at him over their shoulder. One or two of them just stood there staring as if he had some kind of weird back problem.

He sighed, pulling himself up into a more sensible position. They were right to stare.

To hide his discomfort, Damon fiddled with his black and white wristbands, the friction making his wrists were sore and pink against his ghostly white skin. He glared at his arms. A whole year in the bulimic frame of mind had reduced them to skin on bone - thin, weak and pretty much useless against any kind of weights.

Thanks to his friends, he had realized what he had been doing to himself narrowly before it was too late.

A throaty cough came from the front of the line, instantly alerting anyone unfortunate enough to be in its prescence . Damon groaned. Meyers.

He cast his eyes upwards to where the teacher was stood. One look confirmed his suspicions.

Mr Meyers was the head of maths, and probably the only teacher capable of ensuing terror in a child by making eye contact alone.

As the class filed in, those lucky enough to be in other classes gave looks of sympathy.

Meyers threw Damon a harsh glare as he hurried to claim his usual seat - alone in the back left corner of the classroom - before anyone else could get there first. After successfully gaining the position, he arranged his books and stationary on his desk, preparing for some brutal maths.

He adjusted his beanie and rocked back on his seat, barely listening to Meyers' inexplicit description of various algebraic equations and instead focusing on the empty 7 empty seats to his left.

That was...odd. Normally the class would be full, and it was unlikely that so many people would be ill at once. He wrote it off as some weird outbreak and began answering the unreasonably difficult questions which had been written on the board.

A few minutes later, just as Damon had gotten used to the work, someone knocked on the door to the classroom.

Hard.

Well, to be honest, they might as well have hit it with a battering ram.

Meyers'  head snapped up, his expression seething. Damon watched in eager anticipation of the situation that was about to unfold. It was always fun to see the Wrath of Mr Meyers.

The foul old teacher swung open the door, ready to unleash his fury on whatever unsuspecting child was behind it, but surprisingly, his face changed. He looked almost...scared.

Murmurs of confusion filled the room as people wondered who the hell could possibly have stopped Meyers when he was in full swing. Damon himself was perplexed by the situation at hand. He had never, ever seen Meyers act like that. He had figured that it wasn't even possible.

Stepping aside, Mr Meyers allowed the students in the classroom. Seven pupils filed in, shaking hands with the nervous teacher and making their way to the spare seats. Something was strange about their posture. They walked slightly hunched over with minutely too long arms dangling in front of them.

Damon, meanwhile, was almost choking on his tounge. He knew those seven pupils. He had never met them, but he knew who they were. His senses were going insane. Like alarm bells were ringing in his mind, desperately warning him of the imminent danger sat next to him.

And the smell. He almost couldnt bear it. They reeked of wolves.

As Meyers turned back to his equations,  the nearest one to him flashed Damon a menacing grin, his animalistic canine teeth yellowing and sharp. Dirty mutt. It knew.

They couldn't  be here. There was no way they could have found them so quickly.

Damon shivered. He had to get out of there, had to let the others know. His instincts were going wild, and he had to physically hold himself together to keep from morphing there and then. Instead, he pinched his arm as hard as possible, drawing blood. Focusing on the pain, he carried on with the maths, suppressing the creature within him.

The second lesson ended, Damon effectively sprinted out the door, putting as much distance between him and the wolves as was physically possible.

He tore down the corridors, breathing heavily. He had to tell them.

(A/N: I read The Fault In Our Stars today. Read it. You will cry, but it's good.)