Tom prodded the upper right molar with his tongue and immediately winced in pain. The toothache had been plaguing him for nearly a month now, and it had become progressively worse the last few days.
"Guess you can't put it off any longer," he told his reflection in the bathroom mirror. A trip to the dentist seemed to be in order, and the sooner the better.
With a grimace of distaste, Tom wandered through to his study, and after ten minutes rummaging through his pigsty of a desk, he found the number for the dental surgery. A chirpy receptionist answered the phone on the second ring.
"New Street Dental Practice, how may I help you?"
"I need to make an appointment with Dr Manvers," Tom replied, before testing his tooth again. He hissed at the contact, wondering why he even bothered to check it. Of course the damn thing hurt. He already knew that. What possessed him to keep torturing himself?
"I'm sorry, but Dr Manvers is no longer with us." The receptionist spoke in a hushed tone, as though she imparted some great secret no one else should hear.
"Oh." Tom frowned. He hoped his change of practice wouldn't result in a delay in getting an appointment. "Where's he working now? I'll transfer to his new surgery."
"Um, I'm sorry, but Dr Manvers passed away last year. You should have received a letter notifying you. Your new dentist is Dr Coleman. He's taken over care of all of Dr Manvers' patients."
Tom stumbled to his chair and dropped into it with a thump. "Dead?"
"Yes, I'm afraid so."
"Well, that's damned inconsiderate of him."
"Excuse me?"
Oh bugger. Tom realised what he had blurted a second after the words left his mouth. He caught himself before following his comment up with something like join the club or some other remark that would be equally difficult to explain.
While he struggled to find the right words to remedy his faux pas, the receptionist steered the conversation back on course.
"If I could take your name please?"
"Thomas Jones."
"Address?"
Tom provided her with his details and a few moments later, she confirmed she had found him on their computer system.
"Dr Coleman can see you for an appointment next Tuesday at one. Will that be okay?"
"No, I'm afraid not. I'll need a late night appointment."
"Of course, Mr Jones. We have late night openings on Thursdays. How's six thirty next week?"
"I don't think you understand. I must have a late night appointment."
"Yes, that's what I'm offering you. Our practice hours are eight thirty to five o'clock Monday to Wednesday and the same on Friday. Saturday mornings nine until noon, and eight thirty to eight on Thursdays. Dr Coleman's last appointment on a Thursday is half seven."
"That's too early. Dr Manvers always saw me much later."
"Well, Dr Coleman's last appointment is--"
"Yes, I heard you the first time." Tom cut her off before she started her spiel again. "May I speak with Dr Coleman? I'm sure once I explain my unique needs, he'll be happy to accommodate me."
"Dr Coleman's with a patient right now."
"You have my number," Tom said. "I'll expect to hear from him before the end of the day."
Tom hung up the phone before she could argue with him.
"Damn it." This was the last thing he needed. He wasn't overly fond of visiting the dentist at all, but at least Dr Manvers had become accustomed to Tom and his oddities over the years. He hoped Dr Coleman was a sensible sort of man. He didn't need the hassle of dealing with a hysterical dentist.
One
Eshim
"Don't worry, Lux. You'll do fine. It'll be like a walk in the cake!" I said as I puttered around the house, my phone pressed to my ear as I waited for my friend to speak. He and his mate were going to a work event, and Lux was worried about taking their baby.
He was one of the kindest, sweetest demons I knew, and his human form of baby blue eyes, blond hair, and tiny stature just emphasized that. He was a wonderful demon, and really flourishing as a dad.
"It's a park, Esh," he replied with an amused sigh, and I stopped short, squinting at the wall in confusion.
"The event is at a...park? I thought you said it was in some fancy hotel."
"What? No, it is. The phrase, Eshim. It's 'a walk in the park,' not 'a walk in the cake.' Why would anyone walk in a cake?"
I blinked, then went, "Oooh," even though I felt like walking in a giant cake might be kind of fun. Like delicious quicksand you could eat your way out of.
Lux snickered, but I knew from experience he wasn't laughing at me. Sometimes, I could be a bit much to handle, and some of my demon friends were better at it than others. Lux and another demon named Ryk were my closest friends, and they always found my little mistakes funny. They never got annoyed at me for them either. Star and Kor did, but they were grumpy old assholes so they got a pass. I loved them anyway.
Lux started to speak, but a loud, booming laugh came from the background of his call, and grabbed my complete attention. I stumbled, then grabbed the kitchen counter before I could fall.
No way. No fucking way.
"Who was that?"
"Who was who?" Lux asked, puzzled, and I sighed, then started pacing across my tiny kitchen.
"The man laughing in the background. Who is he?"
"Uh...you mean Jerry?"
Jerry.
"If Jerry is the guy with the loud, beautiful laugh, then yes. Who is he?" I pressed, and Lux must've realized something was up because his voice turned serious.
"Jerry is Archer's best friend. And business partner. What's going on, Eshim? Wait. Wait. Please tell me he's..." He trailed off, his voice full of hope and just a touch questioning.
There was no one way for a demon to recognize their mate. Some did it with sight, others with touch, and I, apparently, recognized mine by his voice.
"He's my mate," I confessed, excitement fizzing through me as I all but skipped around the kitchen. This was so unexpected but so, so good!
Lux shrieked. He actually shrieked. A smaller, cuter voice copied him, and I grinned. Gunner was going to grow up to be such a poop-stirrer. I just knew it.
"What's wrong?" a voice, probably Lux's mate, Archer, called, and Lux said something to assure him everything was okay before speaking to me again.
"Are you sure?"
"Bitch, this is not the kind of thing to joke about," I assured him, and he made another excited sound, though this one was a bit toned down.
"This is awesome! I was so sad I couldn't tell Jerry everything, especially since Archer's other best friend—and Jerry's ex-wife—is mated to Fressia."
"What? Fressia is my ex-wife-in-law?" I demanded, and he snickered.
"I don't think there's such a thing, but yeah, Fressia and Kat are mates. Actually, Kat just moved out, so I was worried about Jerry being lonely. This is perfect timing. What are you going to do now?"
I'd been thinking about that as we talked, so I already had an answer ready. "First, I'll talk to King Damien and explain the situation. Hopefully, he'll allow me to move closer to you. If not, I can just go back and forth. Though, judging by the dark souls' trajectory, it doesn't look like they'll be heading this way anyway."
Lux, I, and twenty other demons were stationed in the human realm after a bunch of dark souls escaped with the help of a gone-bad demon named Mammon. So far, the group had slaughtered a coven of vampires and some other supes, but they were still in the water. It seemed like they were headed west, and if they kept going the way they'd been so far, they wouldn't be crossing through the town—or even the state—I was in.
"Sounds good. I still have the contact details of my old landlord, and I think my old place is still empty, so if you want you could stay there," Lux offered, and I grinned.
"Can I? That's awesome!"
Lux hummed. "Go talk to King Damien, and then call me with an update. I'm excited for Jerry to know everything!"
"Don't tell him."
"Of course not. That's your job. I wonder how he'd react..."
Telling Jerry would come later, though. First, I had to meet him. Since humans couldn't sense a mate bond, I'd have to woo him the human way, which I knew nothing about. So much to learn!
After Lux and I ended our conversation, I jumped up on the kitchen counter, swinging my legs as I tried to gather my thoughts.
By now, quite a few of the demons had found their human mates, and they'd all done it differently. Azazel had been summoned by his, Ryk, Star, and Nico found their mate in their human roommate, and Lux's mate was the dad of the baby he was hired to take care of.
Except Azazel, they'd all had time to get to know their human before sharing the truth with them. That seemed to be the easiest way to go about it, since the emotional bond would keep the human from freaking out when they found out their new partner was a demon. Now, I had a plan of action:
Step one: talk to King Damien.
Step two: (hopefully) move into Lux's old place.
Step three: Figure out a way to get close to Jerry and woo him.
Shouldn't be too hard, right?
Jerry
I sighed as I stepped into the dark house, then closed and locked the door behind me.
Flicking on the lights, I threw my bag on a cabinet, then shrugged out of my jacket, throwing it on the coat stand. I sighed again when it fell limply to the floor, and headed deeper into the house, leaving the coat where it was.
Living alone after living with the same person for more than a decade and a half was...strange.
The house was too quiet, too empty, and I didn't like it.
I didn't want a stranger moving in either, but a part of me wished Kat hadn't moved out. We'd gotten married straight out of high school, too young to realize that while we loved each other, we weren't in love.
It took until our mid-twenties for us to figure ourselves out, for Kat to realize she was very much into women and exclusively so. Our divorce was amicable. Actually, it was so amicable that we continued living together even after everything was said and done, something that ended up being a problem for all our subsequent partners.
Until Fressia.
Fressia was a stunning, smart woman with light brown eyes, dark skin, and the most vibrant red hair I'd ever seen, and she was head over heels in love with Kat. Their romance was pretty whirlwind since they'd only met a month ago, but I could tell she was it for Kat, so when she said she wanted to move in with her new girlfriend, all I could do was call on Archer and Calux to help us move her stuff.
I was happy for her, and for Archer. They were the people I was closest to in this world, and I was delighted they'd both found people who made them feel loved.
Still, I couldn't quite push away the sliver of envy that dug deeper and deeper into my heart when I watched them being all happy and soft with their partners.
It'd been a long time since I'd been in a relationship, and I missed the cozy comfort that came with having someone in your corner, someone you could depend on. I'd never really found it again after Kat, and I was afraid I never would again.
As if that wasn't enough, my longtime assistant had just put in her notice because she was moving to the other side of the country to be closer to her family.
Carol had been with us since Kat, Archer, and I started our advertising firm. She was our first employee, beginning as a receptionist and PA for all three of us, and then moving on to becoming just my PA as our company grew. After Kat and Archer, she was the person who knew me best, and I was not looking forward to her departure.
All of next week would be about finding a replacement for her, and I was glad I'd have her help in picking the right fit. I didn't think our company would've survived without her support, and there was no one better than her to help pick out her successor.
I fell onto my couch with a groan, rubbing my face against the couch cushion as I removed the band from my ponytail. After rubbing at my scalp to relieve the ache that formed after having my hair tied up all day, I let my arm hang over the side and just lay there for a moment.
Food. I needed food, but I didn't have the will to cook. Cooking for one wasn't fun at all.
Delivery it is. Again, I thought morosely, and still, I didn't move.
God, if Archer or Kat saw me now, they'd kick my ass for being a mopey idiot.
It wasn't their fault. I didn't blame them for finding happiness, and I was glad they'd found their people.
My issues were my own, and I knew intellectually that they hadn't abandoned me. That I could show up at either of their houses right now and they'd feed me and hang out with me and they'd enjoy it.
I knew that, but it didn't matter.
It'd been a long time since I'd felt lonely, and I'd forgotten how bad it could be.
Being a foster kid meant you knew not to get attached, and I hadn't. Not until I met Archer and Kat in middle school.
We'd been thick as thieves from the moment we met, and there had been no secrets between us. Hell, we didn't have many boundaries.
Even when I had to change schools because of changing homes, we'd kept in touch, and once I was in high school, Kat and Archer had saved up so I could stay with them after I left the foster care system.
They'd saved me, and they were my world.
And now they had worlds of their own, of which I was a smaller part than they were of mine. It made sense. Archer had a son and a boyfriend, Kat had a girlfriend, and of course they'd care more about them than their old friend. It was the way it should be.
Maybe what I really, truly wanted was someone to call mine. Someone sweet and dependable, someone who wouldn't leave.
"Stop daydreaming, Jerry," I muttered into the cushions, then heaved myself up. "And now I'm talking to myself. Just great."
I should get a pet. A pet was like a roommate, right? And I could talk to a pet, cuddle with them. It wasn't anywhere close to finding a romantic partner, but with Carol leaving and Archer working less to focus on his family, I needed to make work a priority.
I could get a dog. I could even bring them into work. I could take the dog on walks on my lunch break, or have my PA do it if I was busy. Dogs were good judges of character, weren't they? I might even let them sit in on the interviews to pick the new PA.
Tomorrow. I'd go to the animal shelter tomorrow.
Placing a delivery order, I grabbed a quick shower and changed into sleepwear just as the doorbell rang.
Paying for the food, I brought it back to the kitchen, then ate out of the boxes as I looked up the closest animal shelters. Some even had pages or websites on social media with short bios of the animals they had available for adoption, and I spent almost an hour scrolling through dog pics and falling in love with all of them.
Choosing a dog might be a tougher decision than I'd expected.
He took a deep breath and peeked out from behind the tree. If he was caught, his mother would skin him alive for disobeying her. Luckily, she had her back to him as she knocked on the wooden door of the dilapidated cottage. Dressed in one of her everyday floral dresses, with her long hair tied back in a ponytail, and the heavy basket weighing her down, she appeared vulnerable. He hated the thought of her going into the crappy old house that looked like it was going to tumble down at any minute. The roof sagged in the middle, shingles were missing, and the gutter gaped forward as if it was going to drop to the ground. The paint—hardly visible between overgrown creeping vines—was discolored and peeling. She really shouldn’t be here.
The door opened and an older man looked out. The sight of him in the doorway caused Zander to duck back behind the tree in case the man could see him. Damn, that was close. His heart raced, but he carefully poked his head around again, not wanting to lose sight of his mother. She passed the heavy basket to the man. Just that small gesture brought Zander some relief, but his relief was short-lived. Basket in hand, the man took a step or two back into the house, motioning for his mom to follow. No! She nodded, but as if hearing Zander’s unspoken plea, paused in the doorway to look back over her shoulder. Zander held his breath, but she didn’t look in his direction. Her face was pale, her mouth drawn into a tight line. She closed her eyes briefly, her hand rising to rest on the rounded curve of her belly. At that small gesture, he knew he’d been right to come. He could see in her posture and the way she was trying to bolster the courage, there was no way she wanted to enter that house. But before he could make his presence known, she opened her eyes, took a deep breath, then turned and entered.
Zander stared at the closed door. He waited and waited as minutes passed. He couldn’t just stay behind the trees, he had to get closer, he had to make sure his mom was all right.
The tall trees of the forest surrounding the small house cast long shadows that would hopefully give Zander cover to avoid the bright spots of sunlight and allow him to cross the yard unseen. He darted and weaved through trees and shadows, until he stopped with his back against the weathered siding of the house, panting. Safe. He listened for a sound, any sound that would indicate his stealthy progress across the yard had been noticed, but all he heard was the gentle rustling of leaves and the call of birds.
Once sure the coast was clear, he sidled along the wall to a window.
Zander peered inside, his view partly obscured by the dirty glass. The room, a living room judging from the furniture, was gloomy. It looked a lot nicer than the neglected outside of the house, but there were no lights on to brighten the dim room, no afternoon tea on the coffee table. He quickly determined that his mother wasn’t being entertained in the room.
Zander jumped as a girl about his age passed into his line of vision. She hurried through the room, a pitcher in her hands, and disappeared through a door to the left. He strained to see where she’d come from, but even with his face pressed hard against the glass, he couldn’t. He watched the empty room and waited as he contemplated his next move.
Maybe his mom was in the kitchen having coffee he tried to tell himself, but his gut told him otherwise. This wasn’t a social call. Who made a social call with a basket full of…? He couldn’t put a name to the strange things he’d witnessed go into that basket. He swallowed heavily as bile rose.
His mother thought she’d been alone when she packed the basket with the contents of the locked box kept at the top of her closet, but he’d seen. First, she’d taken small medicine bottles and syringes from the box. Zander hated needles and just the thought of them made him shiver, but it was what came next that sent cold chills down his spine. She’d pulled big metal cuffs from the box, one cuff strung to the other with heavy metal chain. He could tell they weighed a lot as she strained to move them. It was the sight of those manacles that had set the alarm bells ringing and made his blood run cold. So when she said she was going out to visit a friend, he knew something was off, that something wasn’t right.
The girl came into the room again, this time the pitcher was full. Zander shivered at the sight of her wide-eyed, tear-stained face. Whatever was going on in this house, it wasn’t good. For a moment he wished Jake was here, then pushed the thought aside. He was ten years old, plenty old enough to take care of himself.
He decided to check out where the girl had originally come from. He crept around the corner of the building until he came to another window, this one open at the bottom. His heart sped up at the sound of voices. The window was higher, and he had to grip the sill and stand on tiptoes to see inside. The first thing he saw was his mom and he sighed with relief. She was wringing a cloth over a large basin of water, the girl looking on. His mom spoke to her.
“Thank you for the water, Tabatha, you’ve been a great help, but I think the time has come for you to leave.”
“But I want to stay.” Tabitha’s voice wobbled.
“I know you do, sweetheart, but this is no place for you.” His mom’s voice softened and she placed a hand on Tabatha’s arm. “Your father wouldn’t want you here.”
“She’s right, Tabby. Come with me.” An older woman stepped from the shadows in the corner of the room. She draped an arm across the girl’s shoulders. “It’s for the best. We’ll wait in the kitchen.”
“Until he’s better?” the girl asked.
The old woman met his mother’s eyes over the girl’s head. She looked as if she was about to cry but sucked in a breath at his mom’s gentle nod.
“Sure, darling.” She whispered words of reassurance as the two of them left the room.
Zander tracked his mother as she crossed to a bed, and for the first time he noticed the man there. He sucked in a breath. The man looked ill—thin and wan against the pale sheets. His skin was taut across his skull, cheekbones prominent, and thin hair missing in patches. Maybe it was just the light and shadows cast from the bedside lamp? But Zander knew better. This man was sick. Very, very sick. Is this why Mom is here? To nurse him?
The older man who’d opened the front door to his mother, stepped up to the other side of the bed. “What can I do?”
“I’m afraid there’s not a lot that can be done at this point.” She bent over the sick man and wiped his brow with the damp cloth. “I wish there was more we could do to help you, Bruce, but know that we’re here with you.”
“I can’t hold off much longer.” Zander had to strain to hear the man’s words, his voice raspy and ending with a cough.
“Don’t try to talk, son,” the older man said. “Conserve your energy.”
“But… I don’t… want… you shouldn’t have to see this.”
His mom brought the cloth to the man’s forehead and tenderly dabbed at his temples, just the way she’d tended to him and Jake when they’d had the flu. “You let us worry about that.” Her voice was low and reassuring. “Do you want some water?”
The sick man nodded, and the older guy, obviously his father, brought a glass of water to his lips where he struggled to drink. Even the simple act of raising his head appeared too much, and he fell back against the pillow. His mom returned the cloth to the basin then straightened the sheet that covered the man. She lowered herself into the armchair next to the bed, resting one hand on her swollen belly, the other on his frail hand. The old man sat in a straight-backed chair, the two of them keeping vigil from opposite sides of the bed.
Zander dropped his heels to the ground, calf muscles burning from standing on tiptoes. What now? He wasn’t sure what to do. It was clear his mom was taking care of a sick man, so why didn’t she say so when she’d gone out and demanded Zander stay home? What if he had something contagious? Would the baby be safe? His dad would be so upset if something happened to either of them—
A deep groan cut through the silence.
Adrenaline flooded his system, the hair on his arms standing up.
Another frightening sound, a cross between a scream and a moan, had Zander reaching for the sill and hauling himself up, even though every fiber of his being was telling him to run.
His mom was on her feet, both her and the older man bent over the bed. Suddenly the sick man arched up, head and feet pressed into the bed, as his mid-section lifted from the mattress. His mom reared back in surprise, before gripping his hand again. His father held the other one, as the man strained against whatever force was pulling at his body. The tendons in his neck were pulled taut and the unholy sound that fell from his lips echoed around the room. Zander was glad he couldn’t see the man’s face, fearful of what he’d see there.
Just when Zander thought the man would snap in two, he dropped back to the bed.
“Hot. So hot. It’s burning.” He spoke with surprising strength.
His frail legs kicked at the sheet, pushing the thin fabric away to expose his body. He was skin and bones, long limbs with bony knees and elbows. His feet and head appeared too big for the rest of him. His T-shirt and boxers clung to his torso, damp with sweat as he tossed around on the bed trying to… actually Zander wasn’t sure what he was trying to do, arms swatting at nothing, legs moving aimlessly.
The sheet fell to the floor at the foot of the bed. His mother ignored it, instead focusing on the man. She wet her cloth in the basin again then used the damp cloth to wipe the man’s forehead before running it over his chest and arms. Despite her attempt to cool him down, beads of sweat broke out all over him, droplets joining to run down the sides of his face in rivulets. He tore at his clothing, ripping the shirt from his body.
“Help me. Please help me.”
Zander gasped at the sight of his torso—his chest pushed outwards, making his ribs stand out in stark relief against the concave appearance of his belly and protruding hip bones. He’d never seen anyone so thin; with not an ounce of fat on his body, he was more skeleton than person. He flicked his eyes to the man’s face, shocked to see him looking directly at the window. The gaze that met his was unfocused, but Zander couldn’t help but think the guy was staring right into his soul. Help him. Someone help him.
His mom continued to bathe him with water while the older man watched on helplessly. The man gazed up at his father. “Dad.” The single word held so much sorrow, a plea that caused the older man to break down, his face collapsing as tears ran down his cheeks. He dropped to his knees and grasped his son’s hand, placing his forehead on their joined hands as he sobbed. Zander started to cry as he witnessed the incredible sadness. Tears ran unchecked down his face as he gripped the sill.
“I can’t make it stop. I’m sorry. I don’t…”
The words faded as another of those horrendous groans rose from the man on the bed. His mouth was wide open, the chilling sound turning into a scream. His body arched off the bed again before contorting in a way Zander didn’t think was even possible without breaking bones. Despite his father’s grip on his hand, he flung himself over with a speed that belied his sickness and rose on his haunches on the bed. The bones along his spine popped, his rib cage expanded, and his shoulder blades protruded.
Zander’s gaze darted to his mother. She stood back from the bed, hand to her mouth as they watched the man come apart before them. Because that was the only way to explain it. The man’s joints expanded, his limbs elongated, and hair sprung up on his body. He threw his head back and howled his agony, a sound Zander hoped never to hear again in his life. This wasn’t the quick transition he knew about—this was torture, and he feared for the end result. The thing morphing before his eyes was a monster.
Zander would have given anything to crawl through the window and into his mother’s arms, for her to hold him and tell him that everything was all right, that the man was going to be okay, but he knew in his heart that this man would never be okay.
The man flopped over on the bed, lying on his back, legs flailing. His hands had become claws, the long nails tearing at his flesh. His father tried to hold his arms to the mattress, but the man’s strength had returned, and he fought against his hold. He tore through the muscle of his own thigh, the blood bright red on the sheet. A sob tore from the old man’s throat as he flung himself on his son in an attempt to hold him still. Sharp claws raked down his back tearing through his shirt and leaving stripes of red, but still he held on.
“It’s time,” Zander’s mom said. “You need to say your goodbyes.”
“I’m sorry, son. I’m so sorry you had to go through this. I wish I could take your place, that I could be the one… We’ll look after Tabby for you. We’ll make sure she remembers what you were like before you got sick. Rest in peace, my son.”
Zander wished the man would miraculously stop wailing and talk to his father, to give him words of comfort in return, but the screaming intensified.
His mom approached the bed with caution, trying to avoid the flashing claws but the father was losing his battle and those razor-sharp nails sliced through her forearm. She cried out and snatched her hand back, blood dripping onto the sheet to join the blood that was flowing from the damage he was doing to own body.
Mom! I have to get to her.
Zander heaved himself up, feet scrabbling against the siding. The window opening was narrow, but he was slim and lithe, and full of energy, propelled by adrenaline and the intense desire to reach his mother. His T-shirt tore and pain flashed as he grazed his back on the window frame, but he ignored the sting and continued pushing through the small opening. He dropped to the floor with a thud, drawing his mother’s attention.
“Zander!” Eyes wide, she looked at him, her gaze full of fear, not relief. “Stay back. Don’t come any closer!”
He jumped to his feet, fully intending to help her, regardless of what she said. Even as he watched, she sustained another blow from the sick man.
“I said stop!” The fear in her voice was unmistakable.
Zander halted in his tracks, part of him realizing he was distracting her from doing whatever it was she was trying to do. He had to stay back, or she’d be further hurt. The older man wrestled with his son and barely spared Zander a glance.
“Okay, okay, I’ll stay here. Just help him. Please help him. Make it stop.” Zander pushed himself back against the wall, but his eyes didn’t leave the sight in front of him. The scent of blood, rich and coppery, reached his nostrils. He bit back bile but was unable to look away.
She nodded once, then, as if satisfied Zander would do as he was told, focused back on the task at hand. She hurried to the basket and dug into its contents. When she turned back around, she held the manacles.
No! What? Dread settled in the pit of his stomach.
His mother worked efficiently, her face a mask of concentration. She quickly unhooked the chain and passed one cuff to the older man. Securing one wrist first, his mother looped the chain through the bed frame. Metal clanged as they both worked to lock the cuffs around the man’s wrists and stood back. The metal continued to rattle as the man on the bed struggled and thrashed. But now his upper body was held down, head thrown back with tendons in his neck bulging as he howled, legs kicking, but not close enough to make contact with either of them.
The older man spoke with a shaky voice. “Are you absolutely sure this is necessary?”
“I’m so sorry.”
“But the chains.” The older man’s eyes were focused on his son as he spoke.
“You know without them he’d tear himself apart.” She moved around the bed and grasped his hands. “He can’t control it. He couldn’t hold back the change anymore, but this is the last one. The sickness has destroyed his ability to complete the transformation properly and his instinct is to try to put himself out of his misery. It’s time to take away his burden.” Tears flowed down her cheeks and Zander wanted to rush and offer her comfort, but he understood that this man needed comfort more than him.
The man opened his mouth to speak but no words came. He too was crying. He nodded before returning to the bedside where he knelt and put his hands tenderly on his son.
Zander didn’t want to go anywhere near him—this half-man, half… Like the father, his mother didn’t have the same revulsion. She crossed to the sick man and put her hand on his forehead. She leaned down and whispered something to him, but the words were too low for Zander to make them out. Finally, she crossed to the basket and returned with one of the small bottles and a syringe he’d seen her pack.
At the final nod from the father, she worked quickly, gripping the sick man’s arm and plunging the needle in. His screaming continued, the sound even louder now Zander was in the room. Finally, just when Zander thought he couldn’t take it anymore, the screams turned into moans as the contents of the syringe took effect. The man fell back against the sheet, muscles trembling, limbs jolting, but the wild thrashing had stopped.
His mother dropped to her knees and heaved her heavy body to the side of the bed. She took the sick man’s large, distorted claw into her own small hands and rested her forehead on the bed. Her slender shoulders shook as she cried, as the older man whispered to his son.
That’s when Zander realized what he was witnessing. His knees gave way and he slid down the wall and allowed the sorrow in the room to consume him.
