Soul Bound

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

We can see him before we can smell him. And that's our first clue. The man pacing back and forth on my porch isn't human. Humans reek, they all have their own unique scent, but this man has no scent at all.

Vampires never do.

His silhouette is dark against the solar lights from my front porch. Wolf crouches down in the bushes and tiptoes closer, on the edge of a small clearing where my tiny house sits. The massive canopies from the two giant banyans on either side of my home block out any extra light from the moon. It's only when we're close enough to see the beard that I realize who it is.

We barrel out of the woods towards the house, tongue hanging out the side of our mouth, and tackle him. He expects it and catches us like we weigh little more than a Chihuahua.

Wolf licks at his face, I can't remember the last time they met in person, and Finn receives her greeting with a hearty laugh. We wriggle out of his grasp and he brushes his broad chest clean of the dirt and sand we leave behind.

Finn gives our head a scratch, then pulls his fingers over our ears ending with a flick. Wolf yips at him, a playful type of back and forth between them. He's much more playful with her than me. Then again, I don't lick his face.

A strong breeze blows past and his smile disappears. He looks away as his lips press into a thin line beneath his thick moustache.

"Right, love, go get yourself dressed," he says in his rough Australian accent, opening my front door.

We squeeze past him through the door and Wolf flicks the light switch with her nose. We rush to my bathroom, the only room in my little studio home, and Wolf lets me shift us back. A deep breath in, exhale, then we breathe in together and I release her form. The warmth in our limbs retracts, pulling back into our abdomen, and the locks are set again. My two human feet land on the floor.

This can't be good. Finn doesn't make house calls. He's been to my place once: to move me in. If he's come all the way out here, this close to sunrise, it's got to be something important. I grab the nearest pile of clothes and give them a quick sniff. Clean. Wolf disagrees. I put them on anyways.

I'm in the middle of pulling my shorts up when I walk out of the bathroom. Finn's inside, his back turned; he knows me well enough to know that I'm a bit dismissive of my own nudity.

"What's wrong," I ask, zipping up.

Finn sits down in the only chair I have, managing to make it look like it was made for a toddler. Finn, who has to crouch under most doorways, makes even my 5'9 look small. His large, muscular form makes him as intimidating as a grizzly, with the facial hair to match. His unruly dark hair and beard frame a tan face and gleaming dark brown eyes, which, right now, are squinted with worry.

He shifts in the chair. "Something's wrong. I can feel it in my gut. I know you can feel it too."

I plop down into the hammock that doubles as my bed. Part of me is so glad to have him here, to have him sitting with me, like before I moved out of his mobile home. But the circumstances aren't ideal.

Finn looks at me expectantly, eyebrows raised and creasing his forehead, waiting for me to confirm his suspicions. I look out the window at the banyans, their souls still cowering within the smooth bark.

"Yeah. I do. Wolf feels it too."

He sits back in the chair and strokes his beard, tugging gently on the end. A nervous habit that shows I've underestimated just how worried he is.

"I'm gonna be gone for a few days. I need to check on something a ways North," he explains.

"Check on what?" I ask.