Sixth Floor: 12:01 AM
Shane had not been sleeping. Perhaps he didn't fall into the category of the decent people meant to be asleep, but he'd been on his computer, working on collecting more information for his theoretical report to the police.
Then something flickered--like movement on the edge of his vision--and he was on the floor before he even realized what had happened. It was so sudden, so abrupt, that he hadn't even fully processed the stupidness of falling out of his chair when he realized something hurt. No, not something. Everything. Everything hurt.
There was a snapping sound, and the pain centralized. Had he broken a bone? More snapping, popping noises, and those were bones re-aligning in new, unfamiliar but familiar shapes.
Shane had experienced a decent amount of physical pain in his life. He'd been shot, he'd been stabbed. This was a singular sort of pain, full-body, all over. From somewhere outside his body he noted that his nail beds were itching under the stabbing sensation, and then he had claws, and he knew why.
He thought that he was glad Boyd wasn't still living in the apartment, so she wouldn't hear the cry of agony he gave into the floor, tapering into a high-pitched whine. Sharp teeth collided with a lengthening tongue, and copper seeped into his mouth. Coherent thought had fled by this point, absorbed into the screeching of every muscle and bone in protest.
He didn't know how long it lasted, nor did he realize immediately when it had stopped. The pain was slow to fade, and he lay on the floor, panting lightly.
Then he pushed himself up, steadying on all four paws, thoughts slowing in their tumble and coming to rest. He sniffed at the air, trying to get his bearings. The apartment was a melange of smells. A man, food cooked earlier that day. But what else, what else?
There was a scent under the others, much more interesting, and familiar as well. A woman. A girl. The scent was weeks cold.
He shook himself, a short growl bitten off quickly. Not just any girl. Boyd. Boyd. He clung to her name until it had become like a word said once too many times and lost all meaning. It was an uphill battle. He was Shane, and she was Boyd, and he loved her very much.
He was very, very hungry.
So what was the best thing to do? Follow the scent, of course. The girl (Boyd) might have food. (But he was no pet no dog, he wasn't just going to take her scraps, and when he found her, the girl in the red cloak, he was going to
Yes. Best to follow that scent.
He found the door to the apartment open, and nosed it further ajar before padding into the hallway.
And then there was a wolf in the middle of the sixth floor corridor, heading for the stairs. Black, impossibly large. Big and very bad, with bright blue eyes.