Six –
Natasia urged the driver to keep the change, thanked him, and hopped off the cab. She shielded her eyes from the blinding rays of the sunlight as she stood slack-jawed and mind-boggled at the staggering stature of the Harland Mansion. The structure was four stories tall, and had a rosewood colored, gabled roof. The antiquated, sandy color of the bath stone was captivating against the daylight. There was a large door between tall, ivory white Corinthian pillars. Massive steel gates engraved with classic celtic designs surrounding the stunning property.
“Admiring the property, eh?”
“It's absolutely breathtaking.”
Vicente appeared from around the corner, sauntering towards her. Instead of his usual suit, he had on a shabby tan coat and a black baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. His jaded eyes were bloodshot, and his thin, whitened lips looked dry and scaly. He led her to a secluded forested area behind his property, seeking refuge in the cool shade of two maple oaks.
Vicente handed Natasia a foam paper cup. He lifted the cover off his cup, the intoxicating twang of alcohol drifting into her nostrils. He produced a silver flask from his coat and proceeded to pour a dark liquid into his cup. She looked at him quizzically.
“Don't worry. I got you coffee.”
“Thanks,” said Natasia, taking a sip.
“Listen, Natasia, what happened the other night –”
“No, I'm not here to talk about that right now.”
“I'm sorry.”
Natasia tried again, “You don't look too good. How are you holding up?”
“Not good. The alcohol keeps me from changing,” said Vicente throatily, “But it's also causing extreme inebriation.”
“I'm so sorry, Principal Harland. I can't even imagine what you're going through.”
“Vicente – please, stop referring to me as Principal Harland,” snapped Vicente.
“Sorry – Vicente, how did this all start?” asked Natasia, taking note of the sudden animosity in his voice.
“I can't even remember. Something attacked me when I was on vacation with my family one night in Barcelona. It's all a blur. I don't even know what's happening to me,” said Vicente, as he lifted the pant of his leg, revealing a curved, pink slash on his skin, trailing from his knee to his ankle, weathered and caked in old, brown blood. Natasia gasped.
“My world's come crashing down on me,” continued Vicente, “I can't stop – changing – my wife and I no longer share the same bed. Aurora despises me with every fiber in her body. They don't understand. I can't stop drinking. I'm losing it, I really am.”
“I think I can explain. You're a lycanthrope – in simpler terms, you were attacked by a werewolf.”
“A what, now?”
“A werewolf – you change – or rather, shift – into a wolf creature of some sort,” said Natasia matter-of-factly.
“You are aware that I'm the principal of one of the most prestigious academies in the state.”
“The scar on your leg. I think you were attacked by one, and you were infected –”
“Infected?” Vicente's eyes lit up, “You mean there's a cure?”
Natasia's voice trembled, “There's no cure.”
“You're telling me, I'm going to stay this fucking way forever? A fucking monster?” Vicente roared, hurling his flask on the ground.
A low, rumbling gnarl rumbled out of his mouth. Natasia backed away, her eyes wide in dreadful panic. His body began to convulse violently, his muscles and limbs grotesquely contorting, jerking around in awkward angles. His clothing was now a shredded heap of fabric. She watched the excruciating transformation, unable to tear her eyes away. He had a dense coat of eggshell white fur, pink felt, pointed ears, and his beady eyes glowed like sapphires. His mouth twisted into a menacing snarl, white froths of foam gathering in his mouth.
Without warning, Vicente pounced on Natasia, their weight rocking the earth beneath them as they landed on the grass. Her body shook uncontrollably, tears trilling down her cheeks as she desperately turned away. She yelped, feeling the hot, putrid stench of his breath beating down her face, the sticky substance of his thick saliva, dripping down the edges of his teeth, hitting her face like bullets. He lingered above her, the breath from his flared nostrils coming out in heavy huffs. He leaped off, shifting back to his human form.
“I'm – I'm so sorry,” he choked, as he crouched over her.
Natasia sat up, smearing her sleeve across her face. Vicente leaned forward, his eyes pleading, the contrite desperation blatant on his face.
“I'm hurting everyone around me – I'm so sorry –”
He burst into tears, screaming out in desperation. She wiped his tears from his face and hushed him. Their lips met in a nimble kiss. She pulled away after a few moments, caressing his firm cheekbones. Natasia breathed in his musky scent as he nestled her against him. Neither wanted to break free from their embrace.
“Please, take me home.”
Natasia stumbled into her apartment, slamming the door shut behind her. She dropped her bag on the floor and bounded for her bedroom. She collapsed in a heap on her mattress, deep fatigue washing over her. Within moments of her head striking the pillow, she was fast asleep.