Blood Of The Pack

The Symptoms

Max didn't sleep after the dream.

He sat on the edge of the motel bed, staring at his hands. The claws were gone. Just normal nails now. But the grooves in the wall were still there – three deep lines, like a wild animal had raked the plaster.

He touched his face in the bathroom mirror. Pale. Eyes bloodshot. The bite mark on his arm had darkened further. The black veins now reached his elbow.

He needed answers.

The sun rose gray through the thin curtains. Max put on the sweatpants Ella gave him and his torn shirt. He looked homeless. He felt worse.

He walked to a diner two blocks from the motel. Ordered coffee and eggs. Didn't taste any of it.

His phone had a few bars of signal. He searched: werewolf bite symptoms. Dozens of results. Folklore. Mythology. Horror stories. But one link stood out – a forum thread titled: "So you've been bitten. Now what?”

The post was old. Five years. But the comments kept coming.

"Heightened senses. Hearing, smell, strength." Max had that.

"Dreams of the alpha who turned you." He had that too.

"Partial transformation during stress or anger." The claws in the wall.

"Full transformation on the full moon. You won't remember anything." The field. Waking n***d. No memory.

Max put down his phone. His hand was shaking.

He wasn't going crazy. He was turning into a monster.

He went back to The Drowned Fox that evening.

The bar was quiet. A few old men at the corner table. The bartender wiping glasses. Ella was there, sitting at the counter, reading a book.

She looked up when Max walked in. "You found pants."

"Yeah. Thanks again."

She closed her book. "You look like you haven't slept."

"I haven't."

He sat two stools away from her. The bartender came over. "Whiskey?"

"Water," Max said.

The bartender raised an eyebrow but poured it.

Ella watched him. "Not a drinker?"

"I need to keep my head clear."

She nodded like she understood something he hadn't said. "My father used to say that. 'Keep your head clear, or you'll lose it.'"

"Smart man."

"He thought so." She went back to her book.

Max wanted to ask her about the forum post. About the old man. But he didn't know how to say it without sounding crazy.

Instead, he said, "Do you ever feel like something's watching you?"

Ella looked up. Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"In this city. OSLARD. There's something in the air."

She was quiet for a long moment. Then she closed her book again. "My father told me stories when I was young. About things that live in the shadows. Things that hunt." She paused. "I thought he made them up. To scare me into staying inside at night."

"And now?"

"Now I don't go out after dark." She stood. Put money on the counter. "Be careful, Max. Whatever you're looking for... it might find you first."

She left.

Max stared at the door. She knew something. He was sure of it.

Back at the motel, the symptoms got worse.

His skin felt too tight. His bones ached. He stripped off his shirt and looked in the mirror. The black veins had spread across his chest – thin lines like cracks in dry earth.

He pressed his palm against the mirror. The glass fogged. When he pulled away, he saw claw marks. His own. He hadn't even realized he'd done it.

He sat on the floor, back against the bed, and pulled his knees to his chest.

Pain makes you human, he told himself. But he wasn't sure he was human anymore.

He researched all night.

The forum had more information. Usernames he didn't recognize, talking about packs, alphas, territories. Someone named SilverHunter wrote:

"If you've been bitten, you have two choices. Find the alpha who turned you and kill him. Or submit and join his pack. There is no third option."

Another user, LoneWolf99, disagreed:

"You can survive alone. But it's harder. The moon owns you until you learn to control it. And control takes years."

Max didn't have years. The full moon was in four days. He could feel it a pull in his chest, like a string tied to the sky.

He closed the laptop. Lay down on the bed. Stared at the ceiling.

The claws came out again. He let them. Watched the light glint off the dark nails.

He was changing. And he didn't know how to stop it.

Before dawn, he dreamed again.

This time, the red eyes were closer. The creature stood in a clearing. Moonlight behind it.

"You're stronger than I was," it said. The voice was familiar. Haunting. Like someone he should know. But he couldn't place it.

"Come find me. Before the moon does."

Max woke gasping. His pillow was shredded. Claw marks in the mattress.

He couldn't stay here. He needed help. But who could he trust?

He thought about Ella's words. "My father used to tell stories."

Maybe her father wasn't just telling stories. Maybe he knew something.

But Max didn't know how to find him. Or if he'd even want to help.

He pulled the blanket over himself and stared at the ceiling until the sun came up.

The moon was getting closer.

He could feel it.