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Veronica Sawyer considered herself a skeptic. She liked stories about ghosts, monsters, and aliens as much as the next non-boring person, but dismissed most of them as just that: stories. While she knew some things were truly unexplainable, she believed the vast majority of unidentified phenomena had mundane origins.
The recent rumors about alleged werewolves in her little college town were no different. Several sightings had been reported within the last few weeks, along with three confirmed reports of mauled cattle. The werewolf hysteria reached a fever pitch when a mangled body was found on a hiking trail in the forest that bordered the town. While the signs pointed to a bear attack, and the coroner’s office had ruled it as such, many people were absolutely certain that the culprit was a supernatural creature.
Veronica was not one of those people. She was cool-headed, logical, and had enough sense to know that reports of things like monsters or ghosts could be explained away ninety percent of the time.
It was the other ten percent that had had her carrying a silver bread knife - the most dangerous silver item she could find at the antique shop - in her bag whenever possible for the last week.
Logic didn’t preclude caution, after all.
Not that there was much caution in walking back from a party alone at night, but Veronica was just drunk enough not to care. She had the knife in her purse, and the nearest gas station was only a few blocks away, and she was tired and grouchy and really, really sick of that shitty frat party. She loved her roommates, but the parties Heather McNamara liked to drag her to were always awful. Veronica had called it a night two hours in, and Heather had waved her off with a slurred, “Watch out for the werewolf, Ronnie!” before resuming her makeout session with Generic Frat Bro #427.
Veronica pulled out her phone to call for a ride and groaned as the “0% battery” symbol mocked her. Thank god the 7/11 wasn’t too far. She’d just have to use their phone and hope Heather Duke wouldn’t be too pissed off if she was already asleep when she called for a ride.
She shivered as a gust of brisk autumn wind swirled the leaves around her feet, the promise of winter burying itself deep in her bones. The wind chased the clouds away from the bright, waxing moon, only a day away from full.
Not that Veronica had checked.
The stark moonlight carved strange shadows into the sidewalk, twisted shapes that warped and shivered as the trees trembled in the wind. A distant rustle of bushes made the hair on Veronica’s neck prickle. She picked up her pace, eager for the warmth and safety of the gas station, and hoped that the only creatures hiding in the inky blackness of the alleys were raccoons.
Then her shoulder was in a vice grip and something cold and metal was being pressed into the back of her neck and a voice growled, “Don’t fucking move.”
Oh, yeah. Humans are a threat, too.
“Drop the bag.”
Veronica obeyed, hands shaking as she let her purse fall to the ground, knife forgotten.
“Hmm.” A second voice came from her left. “She’s got a nice ass. Why don’t you turn around, sweetheart?”
Anger and fear boiled together in Veronica’s stomach as the man roughly spun her around. One man on either side of her, both tall and muscular, obviously from the same stock as the assholes at the party. Both much larger than her, and one with a silenced handgun. Aren’t suppressors illegal in this state? She weighed her options as they sized her up, resolutely avoiding eye contact by staring directly forward between the two.
Where she spotted something enormous barreling up the street toward them.
“Oh, shit.”
“Hey!” The man grabbed her arm, and she yelped as his fingers dug painfully into her flesh. “Shut the hell up, or--”
Her captor was interrupted by a choked scream as the thing grabbed his companion with enormous clawed hands. With a deep roar, it hurled him at the wall. He smacked into the brick and gurgled pitifully for a split second before he was seized head-first in a pair of massive jaws.
His panicked thrashing and muffled cries halted abruptly as the beast bit down with a sickening crunch. It shook its head vigorously and tossed the body aside like a dog with a chew toy.
Veronica and the remaining assailant stared dumbfounded as the werewolf stood to its full height. Course, amber fur covered its muscular body, save for the blood-soaked muzzle that glistened crimson in the moonlight. A bushy tail whipped back and forth as it stared them down with intense gray eyes.
The mugger shrieked and fired his gun. He missed entirely, and Veronica scrambled for her bag in the confusion. She grabbed the knife with clumsy hands and whirled back around just in time to see the werewolf grab her attacker by the throat. He clawed desperately at the massive hand around his neck, strangled gasps issuing from his mouth, and Veronica swore the creature sneered at him.
The werewolf growled, then dragged both muggers - living and dead - into the alley. There was rustling, a garbled cry, and then the horrific wet crackle of tearing flesh.
Then there was silence.
Veronica stared at the black, gaping maw of the alleyway, bile rising in her throat, blood pounding in her ears, trying to process what the hell she had just witnessed. The air was too silent after the brief and terrible cacophony that had somehow gone unnoticed by the rest of the world. The only proof that she hadn’t dreamed the whole thing was the thin trail of blood leading into the darkness.
The crunching of gravel in the alley seized her heart with cold panic, and she pushed herself against the wall, holding the knife in front of her defensively. She fully expected for the beast to come after her next, but she’d be damned if she went down without a fight.
She was not expecting a gorgeous blonde in a red cardigan to saunter out from the alley, carefully wiping blood from her face with a handkerchief.
“Well, that wasn’t how I planned to spend my night,” the stranger said with a flip of her amber curls. “I suppose it’s good that people in this town are so quick to dismiss extremely weird shit as ‘just bears’.” She folded and tucked the cloth into the pocket of her jeans, then looked up at Veronica. “Hey, pillowcase, maybe try to be a little more aware next time? Those guys were following you for, like, four blocks.”
Veronica opened and closed her mouth helplessly for a second. “Uh, thanks? I mean, sorry? I think.”
The blonde smirked. “You can thank me by putting that knife away. I promise I only eat muggers and rapists.”
Veronica swallowed hard and nodded. She gathered up the few items that had spilled from her bag and tried not to think too hard about the many other ways that that situation could have gone. Heart still pounding, she turned back to her rescuer and squinted. “Do I know you? You look familiar.”
The girl shrugged. “I mean, kind of, but we never talk.”
Veronica scrutinized her for a moment. “Oh, yeah, you’re the Silvia Plath bitch from my Lit class.”
“Well, that’s a hell of a way to say ‘Thanks for saving my oblivious ass from muggers!’ Why are you out here anyway? Last time I checked I was the only creature of the night in this neighborhood.”
Veronica tried not to think too hard about the fact that she was casually chatting with a werewolf. Who had just killed two people in front of her. “Ditching a party. My phone died before I could call an Uber. I shouldn’t have even agreed to go, but I owed Heather a solid, so I didn’t have much choice. Even if the guys from Phi Theta are a bunch of douchecanoes.”
The blonde stared at Veronica thoughtfully. “...You’re not Heather McNamara’s roommate, are you?”
“The fuck? Did you sniff out her scent on me or something?”
The taller girl scowled at the not-so-subtle jab. “There’s only so many Heathers on campus; I only know one who actually likes Phi Theta parties, and that’s Mac.”
Veronica smiled despite herself and held out her hand. “Well, shit, we have a mutual friend. I’m Veronica. Sawyer.”
The other girl took her hand and shook it. “Heather Chandler.”
“Heather ‘mythic bitch’ Chandler in the flesh, huh?” Veronica was drawn to this girl in a way that was… strange. Like the temptation to run naked in the rain, “Do Heather and Heather know how literal your nickname is?”
“No, and it’s going to stay that way.”
“I’m guessing that’s why you didn’t room with them?”
Heather shook her head. “Keeping my condition under wraps is a bonus, but that’s not why you’re their roommate instead of me. I’ve learned from years of middle and high school sleepovers that I could never live with Mac.”
“That is entirely fair,” Veronica chuckled.
“And Duke…” Heather rubbed the back of her neck and grimaced. “I’ve been trying to be less… abrasive, since I got bitten. I mean, anyone can die anytime, why waste life being shitty? But old habits die hard, so having a bit of distance is better for both of us.” Then she winked and said, “Plus, having your own apartment means complete privacy if you bring someone home.”
A werewolf was flirting with Veronica. One who had brutally murdered two people to save her. One that drew her like a moth to a flame despite her better judgement.
Fuck it, she’s cute. Let’s roll with this. “So do you make a habit of wooing girls by saving them from creeps?”
Heather grinned, an appropriately wolfish look that made Veronica’s face heat up more than she cared to admit. “Only the ones who catch my eye in class.” She pointed back at the alleyway with her thumb. “In all seriousness, we should go before anyone comes to investigate. And before you say anything, yes, this is me inviting you to crash on my couch.”
Heather motioned with her head to follow as she walked down the street, and Veronica obliged. A wild idea struck her. Everything else that had happened tonight had seemed equally impossible until a few minutes ago. She hummed thoughtfully and said, “Just the couch, huh?”
Heather turned to look back at her, eyes gleaming with a different sort of predatory hunger. “You’ve got guts, Sawyer. I like that.”
I thought vampires were the seduction experts.
Veronica arrived back at the dorm the next day with a number in her phone, a slight limp in her gait, and a mind a just little more open to the idea of the impossible.
Just a little. Veronica was, after all, a skeptic.