Bloodlines

Chapter 7: Lycanthropy

If I told all the stories about what happened in the years afterward, it would fill ever so many books, so I'll just stick with the highlights.

Blast kept moving. Tonight was not the night to be walking alone, but she was armed. The full moon flashed off of her sword and revolver, one on each hip. The gun didn't have any silver bullets, but her sword was made of the stuff. She didn't have a cross, or a stake, but vampires were not the beasts to be worried about tonight. Werewolves were. Not only was it a full moon, it was a blue moon, two full moons in one month. That could make it a lot more dangerous. Blast's ears perked and she spun around, pistol drawn. Nothing. She holstered the weapon. A grave mistake. A furry form slammed into her from the side and knocked her down. She rolled hard and ended up on her feet, weapons drawn. The werewolf snarled but kept it's distance from the silver blade. Blast noticed only the coloring of the canine, red and black, before it slammed into her again. Blast stumbled backwards, trying to evade the werewolf's bite. She failed. The jaws clamped shut on her right forearm, but she slammed it aside with her left. The bite was swelling rapidly. She needed to finish the fight before the wound got infected. She drew her sword, but she couldn't make herself use it against the creature. Something was awfully familiar about the coloring... Blast stared. That was her brother. She shiethed her sword and got down on one knee, holding out her hand. Shadow the werewolf sniffed it, then rubbed his head against it. Blast ran her hand along his back and the red line tracing his spine. He stiffened, then poked the bite with his snout. "Yes, that's your work." Blast said. Shadow whined and put his head in her lap. Blast laughed and stroked his head for a while until they both fell asleep.

Blast was sure there was a cure somewhere. She typed in, LYCANTHROPY, into her computer, but only ways to kill such creatures came up, no cures. Blast slumped against her desk, her head buried in her arms. Now what? Should she just wait until the next full moon? She shook her head. That was a stupid thought. Then, as if someone had turned on a lightbulb in her head, she got an idea. Tails. He knows about this sort of thing, he can help. Blast glanced at the wound on her forearm. It was turning green under the gauze wrapping. That wasn't good.

Blast drew her sweater tighter and shivered. Was it always this cold on the waterfront? The lightning bolt on the back of the sweater was comforting, somewhat. She had contacted Tails the day before and asked him about the wound. Tails had said that he would take a look today. She glanced at her watch. It had been five minutes and she was already cold, even though her thick fur usually warded off the temperatures, hot or cold. Tails was supposed to be here by now. The wound was leaking now, and still green. Her vision was foggy. She could only see colors and shapes. Something was seriously wrong. She tried to hold herself together, literally, by hugging her knees tight and folding into crash position. "You have a month before the next full moon," She told herself. "You need to hold on." Her vision was not clearing. She stared out to sea, her blank eyes only seeing an expanse of blue. A blur of darkness on the edge of her vision caught Blast's eye and she turned to see her brother. Well, I say saw. All Blast could see was a jumbled collage of black and red. Neither spoke a word, but Blast set her head on his shoulder and allowed him to put his arm around her and hold her close. Their connection was well known. Blast's eyes slowly closed and she fell asleep. It had been a rough few nights.

Shadow knew what had happened, but he also knew that Blast forgave him. Living without family for a while had taught her that grudges can't help anyone. She had told him so. They may have been twins, but some days, Shadow felt like he was the elder sibling, taking care of his sister, others, he was the younger one, being protected, but he didn't mind at all. He glanced at Blast. She was like a coin, with two sides, completely different. One side was the side that he saw now: a sweet, caring person. The flipside was the person you saw in battle or in a crowded room: a fierce, violent person who isn't afraid to use her weapons instead of her words. The two sides, when put together, created a torn being, almost as bad as the cartoon villain, Two-face, with each struggling for control in the beginning. Now, metaphorically, they have it worked out. As Blast is often fighting and meeting new people, the side that controls her impulses, an adrenaline junkie, takes the wheel. Any other time, this person comes out and everything is calm, not happy, exactly, but calm. Shadow felt something on his sister's arm: the bite. It was getting worse. "C'mon, stay with me." He whispered. Blast shivered and drew closer.

A/N: Lycanthropy is a fancy way of saying "I got bitten by a werewolf" Just saying. Me-out!