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Jake had always known that his parent’s enemies would come after him eventually. Of course, he wasn’t expecting them to be ruthless, classist killers, but honestly, he wouldn’t put it past his parents to anger everyone under the sun.
Except he could handle their enemies on his own. Them shooting Jeremy in the middle of the street was a big no-no. He hadn’t done anything to hurt them, it was all Jake’s family, and yet he was trying to deal with the smaller boy bleeding out. The blood spreading across his shirt and waistcoat was bright red, and it terrified him.
“Get him to the pack house!” Chloe said through gritted teeth. In that moment, Jake could almost hope that she’d had a change of heart. Maybe she didn’t hate Jeremy. Or maybe she was too busy going head to head with one of the assassins to care. All around him, Jake could hear his friends fighting. He didn’t want to run from the fight, but even Christine was holding her own, with her letter opener against another man.
So Jake did what he was told, scooping up Jeremy, who didn’t seem to be too responsive. He was light, and Jake didn’t want to think about how that may because of the blood he lost. Was blood heavy? That wasn’t the point right now. Right now it was his job to get Jeremy to safety. Or, well, as much as he could be safe with a bullet lodged in his lung.
“J-Jake—“ Jeremy’s voice was shaky, and he ended up coughing, his chest heaving. It pained Jake to hear him talk like this, all shaky words and breathing.
“Shh, it’s gonna be okay.” He said, trying to calm him down, but he didn’t sound like himself. He was panicked, and maybe injured, but he didn’t care. Jeremy was more important, and sure, he was going into a werewolf pack house with a bleeding boy, but he doubted that he could do anything else.
Jeremy seemed to want to talk more, but he relapsed into coughing up blood. Jake found himself stumbling up the steps to the pack’s house, bursting through the door. He didn’t even care about the etiquette of pack houses, Jeremy was dying, all he could smell was blood.
“Please, get Mr. Rabiffano, now.” He said to the claviger near the door, who took one look at Jeremy and nodded, taking off up the stairs. In a few moments, the man came down the stairs, his Beta following behind. For once, he looked ruffled, his cravat unkempt. Jake decided not to think too hard on that, too worried about Jeremy.
“He’s dying, you have to transform him.” Jake immediately said, ignoring the look exchanged between the two men. “Please, he’s been training for this, you have to.”
“He’s not prepared, this could fail. It takes ages to work up to a true transformation, if not done properly—“ The alpha started, trying to placate Jake, clearly. It didn’t work.
”He’s going to die anyways! You have to give him some chance.” Jake hated crying. Men weren’t supposed to cry. He had enough medical knowledge to know that there was no way Jeremy could come back from this.
“Biffy.” The professor said, sidling up to him. “Lord Maccon gave you the chance, you have to try.”
Biffy looked at him, before nodding. “Bring him in. You probably shouldn’t watch, it’s rather gruesome.”
“I’m not leaving him.” Jake said stubbornly, but he carried Jeremy, whose eyes were unfocused, setting him on the carpet. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Biffy wince. It was an expensive looking rug.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but this isn’t a pretty sight.” Biffy said, untying his cravat. “I understand if you don’t wish to watch.”
“I’m not leaving him.” He repeated, kneeling by Jeremy’s head.
The professor came up to him, pulling him gently away from the other boy. “I know you care, but I’d suggest stepping away.”
Before Jake could protest, he was more than a bit distracted by the noise of what sounded like bones grating against each other. He felt sick to his stomach, looking up to see what looked like a man with the head of a wolf, wearing the same waistcoat and shirt as Biffy. He almost wanted to vomit, but figured that was a bad idea.
And then came the savaging of the neck. It was oddly neat, but watching the blood and the flesh and the entire experience was horrifying. Jake couldn’t help but vomit. The older man, the professor, drew him away and explained to him what was going on— the idea of metamorphosis, according to science, was replacing the blood of a human with the saliva, which carried the curse. It eliminated mortality and made it so that the excess soul remained.
That is, if the victim had excess soul. Jake could hear the noises from Jeremy, the writhing, and a number of clavigers and other pack members seemed to be frantic about the noises and the fact that there seemed to be a vomiting nobleman in their back room. Jake’s mind was racing.
What if Jeremy died for real? He didn’t know what he’d do. Even the thought of him not being there made him want to cry again. The alternative was better, but even the least educated person knew that werewolves didn’t float, and neither did vampires. He couldn’t have Jeremy on his ship. But it was better to have the knowledge that Jeremy was alive than have to cope with the knowledge that he died because of Jake.
“It’s difficult, watching someone you care for go through that.” The professor said in his calm voice, his eyes fixed on Jake.
“I— I should be out there— my friends—“ He started, trying to stand, but the man was at his side in a moment, a steadying hand at Jake’s elbow.
“A few of the clavigers went to assist.” He said, lowering Jake back down. “You’re not fit to fight, and we’ll be sure to keep your pack safe.”
“They’re not my pack.” Jake mumbled. But once he was thinking about it, there was some truth to that statement. His friends were essentially his pack, once he thought about it.
The professor gave him an odd look, about to speak before he turned to the doorway, where a weary looking, blood spattered Biffy appeared.
“Is he—“ Jake started, taking his look of worry as a sign of failure, but the man only nodded.
“He’s fine. Sleeping.” Biffy didn’t look as put together as usual, his cravat untied and his hair falling into his eyes. The professor sidled up to him, reaching up to adjust it, with a sort of tenderness that made Jake feel like he was watching them in a moment of intense intimacy. But his brain was fixed on Jeremy.
He ran into the parlor, seeing the small wolf curled on the rug. He fell to his knees next to him— it had worked. Jeremy was still living— well, somewhat. He was still sentient. The wolf woke up slightly, shifting to lay his head in Jake’s lap. Jake paused, before he reached down to run his hands through the reddish fur at the nape of the wolf’s neck.
The door opened, and the rest of Jake’s friends poured in, in various states of disrepair and injury, but no one seemed in immediate danger. Rich was holding what looked like Brooke’s handkerchief to his face, which was a little bloody, and there were other bruises and things. Christine immediately came to Jake’s side, hand clasped to her arm. “Is that—“
Jake nodded, barely even processing that his hands were running through the wolf’s fur still. “You should get your things bandaged.” He murmured.
Christine nodded, heading over to where Chloe was scolding Rich to hold still while she dabbed his wound with lemon tincture. Something about disguising the scent of blood, he heard.
After a few minutes, with the assistance of the clavigers, the pack house’s parlor smelled overwhelmingly of lemon and rose. Other than a minor headache, Jake felt fine. He looked down at Jeremy. The professor had come to tell him that he’d sleep for a while, but Jake didn’t mind. He was oddly beautiful, and for a moment, everything washed away. Jeremy was safe, his friends were mainly uninjured. He could worry about what this meant for the group later, for now, he just felt content. Everything was alright.