Chapter Text
Caw, caw, caw!
“Hmm.”
Caw!
“Hnnnph.”
CAW!
“Mmmmnh. What can I do for you?”
Reluctantly, I crack open an eye, my vision blurry for a second as I wake. A great black bird, larger than other crows, stares his intelligent dark eyes down at me. He has to duck his head slightly; I’m nestled snug as a bug in my place against the trunk of the tree.
“Caw,” he says; almost speaking instead of the shrill alarm it had just made. He points with his beak towards the hard ground 50 meters below. Nothing… yet. Something is coming, something I’ve been expecting.
“Thank you, friend,” I reply, lifting my head from my folded arms on the branch. I’m up now; my arms propped on a slightly higher branch, like a student waking from sleeping at their desk. It’s safer this way, in the trees, and I’ve grown used to it. These forests, though, have trees the size of buildings, bizarre and different in a prehistoric way. Old. I quite enjoy it, and I find myself hoping that the somethings are friendly. That it won’t come to a fight.
The crow spreads his great oil slick wings before taking off in flight, dusky legs folding up neatly like a plane’s wheels. I watch as he starts to disappear into the fog. My eyesight is good, but the fog is thick. I frown slightly. It’s perfect. Not just for me, though, and that’s the largest problem. These creatures that disguise themselves as vampires and werewolves, they present a threat that I’ve never encountered. I have to put aside my nervousness, just in case. I have to be aware in case-
snap
crack
huff
I whip my head to the left, turning to see the direction my back was turned to. In the distance, just visible among the fog and massive trees, I spot them. Two instead of five, but they’re back. Two massive wolves, the smaller gray easily the size of a draft horse. Its companion, a sandy colored hulk of fur and flesh, is somehow even larger; the size of a trailer someone would pull horses in. Their fur is definitely well suited for this weather, and I imagine they could so as far to the north or south that they wanted. They’re heading cattycorner to the tree I sit in, and I see that they’ll pass by at a minimum of 20 yards. Fascinating. This is closest I’ve ever allowed them to be.
I hear the thuds of their paws on the forest earth, louder when leaping over dead trees. Too close to be anything but hidden. My arms retract, condensing and hollowing out at the same time, my body shifting, feathers sprouting from my body, changing, changing into something like my friend the crow. I’m at least twice as big as he, huge the way these wolves are, but being a bird will allow me to disappear in the trees. I grip the branch I was sitting on with my new talons. Not yet. Not time to show myself. I don’t yet know of their disposition, whether their countenance will show good favor, despite watching them for weeks.
They pad through the trees, and I see them more clearly than I ever have. The smaller is beautiful; a light gray, a heart-shaped marking on its face the color of new steel. It seems to lead the larger wolf, and I can see his sandy fur rippling as he trots at the gray wolf’s flank. It does this, even when their lead is present. My focus is intense as I watch the gray wolf lean to inhale a scent, searching to no avail. I see it wrinkle its nose before snarling and stamping, dirt flying from around its paws. It shakes its head, seemingly throwing a tantrum. The sandy wolf looks at her for a few seconds before leaning back on its haunches and howling; a loud, bone-rattling call that makes me jump a little on my branch. I have to stifle my startled squawk. The sound of this howl is different. It’s a desperate sound, asking for help.
Their pack has been searching for me for weeks. I hide in different ways, and they can never quite catch me. It frustrates them, and I can tell by the increasingly long hours they spend tracing my scent. This time is different. The gray wolf has gotten closer than they ever have, and the sandy wolf’s howl confirms my worst fears.
They’ve picked up my scent.
The sandy wolf looks around, waiting. Its pack mate paces in circles, huffing. I can almost taste the flavor of their thoughts. So close. Where is it? It’s been weeks and the scent is right here and so fresh. We’re so close.
I haven’t seen the others yet- the blood-drinkers- but the sandy wolf summoned them. I know it has, I’ve sensed and smelled them before, but I’ve hidden before laying my eyes upon their being myself. Unfortunately, I’ve heard a total of five. They sound human, they speak the language of the locals, and yet they live off the lifeblood of other creatures. I hear that they do not sleep, that they lay in wait at all hours. It’s a little intimidating, despite my record.
Against my better judgment, I stay in place to finally see what they look like. I can fly away, anyhow, and disappear into the water. I can blend in with the fish.
The blood-drinkers emerge from the trees. If I would have blinked, I would have missed their arrival. And there comes another wolf, even larger than the first two, its massive rusty frame racing to the other wolves. The two blood-drinkers look almost human in a slightly uncanny way, and a shudder runs through my body. A fake man, bronze-haired and unnervingly beautiful, stands next to his equally beautiful brown-haired partner. His mate, I assume. I watch as the wolves stare at the bronze-haired fake man, seemingly conversing in some sort of silent language. His eyes look amongst them, attending to each one, an odd sense of respect. It dawns on me how he communicates. Telepathy. I cock my head, confused. I’ve seen the wolves communicate in this way and have accepted it as part of their nature, but I was never told of something like this.
I’ve seen the way the wolves work together. How they work as a unit. I’d gathered that they must have some sort of telepathic communication; from the way they gather and look between each other silently, from the way they spread out to find my scent, from the way they howl to their brethren.
The rust-colored wolf looks around, pacing close to my tree, but not quite landing on it. This one is larger than any of these others, a true monster. I hadn’t seen animals this large in thousands of years. They take my breath away each time.
“Where is she, Edward?” asks the brown-haired woman, looking at the bronze-haired man. Edward.
Their skin is death-pale. It doesn’t give or flex the same way as human skin, their eyes an uncomfortable shade of topaz. How they manage to fit in with humanity is beyond me. They move with a speed like lightning, their voices are never grating. But their scent is too sweet, their appearance a little too perfect. Truly, they move like living stone. Like gods.
The fake man, Edward, turns to look around with the wolves. He waits a moment before he turns his pale face towards the sky, pondering. If I could be sweating in this form, I would be. My wings are slightly spread, ready to take flight at any time. I’m not really sure how I expected a meeting to go, I knew there would be more than one I would meet at the same time, but being surrounded still isn’t ideal. It doesn’t happen often, and when it does, it always turns into a fight that leaves me exhausted and even aching. I was hoping to get one of them alone, but they never are. All of them are just too smart for that. Incredibly frustrating. I stare at the fake man, bristling.
“Edward?” asks the fake woman. She places a pale hand on his shoulder, a look of concern on her face. The fake man lifts his hand, his first finger up and silently telling them “one second.” He closes his marble eyes, breathes deep. The fringe of his bronze hair falls into his eyes from both sides of his face. He wears a button down navy shirt, buttoned down low enough to show his- gross- hairy mutscled chest. His slacks are somehow perfect, with feet somehow without mud, all too disturbingly perfect. His mate, stands with a long, white dress that’s as annoyingly pristine as he is. She shows a shocking amount of concern, something I didn’t think blood-drinkers of any kind were capable of. If she expects his answer immediately, she won’t get one.
The wolves are turned to look at him. The gray wolf’s ears turn like satellites, searching for a sound and huffing again when there’s nothing. This one seems so much more wary of its surroundings than the others, it always has. But it’s jumpy and always ready to snap. Likely a younger creature. But why does it lead the larger one? Why is the largest the leader? It doesn’t make any sense. I realize just a little too late that I’ve let myself become lost in thought.
Before I can register what’s happening, he’s halfway up the tree. The fake man, Edward, is digging his fingers into the wood like it’s butter, ripping small chunks as he makes his way upward. The fact that there are no branches to climb is not a problem. I should have known. I should have known they would be able at least scale their way up a tree.
Even so, this time, I let out a screech of terror, whirling backwards. My talons let go instinctively. Branches and leaves brush against me as I frantically beat my wings, trying to right myself, trying to get away, trying to escape, trying to fly, but a cold hand catches me before I can fall midair and take flight. Another cold, stony hand presses against my front, holding me in place. My wings beat frantically, uselessly. I stare at him. My chest is heaving. He’s balancing with both feet, but I’m secure enough that I wouldn’t have to worry about him crashing while bringing me to the ground. It’s a wonder that he doesn’t crush me between his hands. I’ve escaped them for long enough, taunted them with my scent for long enough. Terrified, I look upon his pale face before meeting his light eyes. I flinch as he opens his mouth.
“Hello, little bird.”