Life With A Werewolf

Suicidal Power Play Part 3 - Declarations and Swearings

          Crash's groans bordered on screams. I could tell the bullet was burning him alive form the inside out. It was like his body was trying to reject the very vile thing like poison, but just couldn't do it fast enough. For a werewolf, any standard bullet hurt like hell, yes. But it takes a lot more than a 9mm clip to put a werewolf down. One silver bullet though, and he was on the ground, his lips turning blue, his skin turning silver, writhing in pain.
          I was reminded of my first encounter with The Nobility, when I'd shot the werewolf on top of me. The bullet carved upwards, slicing through his skin and into his forearm. He had to bite his forearm off as some sort of precaution or something. Crash, couldn't exactly bite his shoulder off. The burning seemed to be getting worse, his groaning was changing into gasped whimpers and whines.
          I applaud Sean. He struggled to a crawling position, favoring an arm that looked broken and his ribs. With a staggered crawl that was half supported by Kris, they laid against Crash, unable to do much more than that.
          The sirens were growing louder, but I wasn't sure if they'd even get to us in time to save him. And what could they do for a werewolf, anyway? Would they even believe a werewolf existed? I had no idea, but I wasn't about to find out.
          Kris had earlier mentioned a knife. I didn't waste time looking for it. Reaching into my pocket next to my wallet, I pulled out my father's pocket knife. For this, I was going to have to disregard anything I'd been taught about combat life saving. Gritting my teeth and saying a short prayer to anyone who might be listening, I knelt down and got to work.
          The wound in Crash's shoulder had already started to close. His body seemed to be going haywire. He was gasping, his heart rate struggling. I knelt down, and told Crash "This is going to hurt." Then I started cutting.
          He didn't care if I cut into the wound around the bullet hole. But if I cut the bullet hole itself, he cried out, as if I was carving into infected flesh. The sirens were getting closer. The wound kept trying to close around the bullet. I cut deeper, hoping I wasn't doing permanent damage. Crash's breathing was getting shallow. His pale skin was glistening with sweat. He started shivering as if he was losing blood.
          Gritting my teeth in determination, I snarled "I can't be delicate. I'm sorry." The wound tried to close again. The sirens were blaring. I didn't look up. His breathing got ragged, more shallow, as if he had just seconds left. Like a man preparing to take his last gasp.
          I slashed with my knife, one way, then the other. Blood splattered in both directions, spraying over Kris and Sean, over the ground, over myself. I reached into the wound, and dug, slashing deeper, not being careful anymore. He cried out, begging in rushed syllables that failed to form words. The sirens had stopped.
          Reaching in, I felt around. The bullet slipped out of my fingers once. Twice. The hole closed a little more. But it gave me just enough leverage to snatch it out. I pulled the bullet up, gasping, a smile on my face.
          I looked up and saw three EMTs staring at me, in horrified shock. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" one of them snarled as he shoved me out of the way. I didn't see their faces as much as their uniforms and gurney. I collided with a grunt on the ground again. My leg, and hip was now completely numb. I sat there a moment, trying not to show pain.
          Crash's breath was shallow. The wound wasn't closing nearly as fast now, it looked more natural. I couldn't tell about his skin color. He whimpered, then whined like a dog. Coughing, he told the nearest EMT "Code silver...code silver..."
          They all looked at each other. One of them snatched the bullet from my grasp. "Silver." She said. They made a call on the radio after that, using a code word that I agreed to keep out of the blog. They looked at me, and the lead EMT, a tall man with thinning hair, said, "We can't take him in the ambulance. But someone will be along."
          I watched as they loaded Kris and Sean. The doors was about to swing closed, and they left. I sat there with Crash alone, talking inane banality while we waited for someone to arrive to help him.
          The wait felt like eternity. But in reality, it was probably less than ten minutes before Crash's boss stepped out of the shadows. As a werebear, whatever they're called, he was massive with brown and black fur, and eyes that looked as if they were ready to kill. "You got names," he snarled at me. He didn't look at Crash. It was like he couldn't. His round ears was folded in anger, a snarl on his face.
          "I do."
          He gave me a chuff, and wrinkled his muzzle. "Trust me human, it will be better if I do this. Let me be your justice."
          I pointed down at Crash. "He's what's left of my pack." I didn't know when I'd formed the tear of anger, when my hands were clenched into fists. Or even when I'd pulled my pistol. But I had done all three. "I'm doing this."
          His snarl grew. He threw Crash over his shoulder, and gently laid him in the back seat. "This discussion to be continued at your home." He turned and disappeared into the shadows from whence he came.

***

          The trip home was a long silent one. Every bump made Crash whimper and wince. I tried driving as carefully as possible, a growing rage simmering within me at each whimper and moan Crash made. At the thought of Kris, Sean, and Zack, all attacked for no other reason than existing. Existing near me and Crash.
          Crash's boss met us at the house. His brown and black fur barely visible under the thin lights of the street lamp. He gingerly picked up Crash, and carried him inside. He was careful to not bump Crash into any of the doorways or furniture, ducking through the small hallway before he gently laid Crash on his bed. "Vic is on his way," the boss said. "You were about to give me names so I didn't tear your head off the slow way."
          "As much fun as that sounds, I'm not." I crossed my arms, and glared up at him, feeling every bit like a six year old challenging 1980's Mike Tyson to a fist fight. Still, I couldn't back down now. "You can't do that to me. I'm not part of your jurisdiction."
          He growled, his hand like paws clenching into fists. The muscles beneath his dark fur rippled. "How about I have you hauled away for obstruction of justice, instead?!"
          "Wouldn't be my first time in jail," I replied. I pulled out my phone. "You want me to dial?"
          His eyes went wide. But there appeared to be some begrudging respect behind them. We stood there for a heartbeat, staring at each other. Him breathing so hard his entire body was moving, me holding the cell phone out to him, like a child giving a monster a peace offering. "What do you want," he snarled, finally.
          "I'm going to war," I told him. "I want the authority to do it legally."
          Again, we stared at each other for several more heartbeats. "You want Crash's job."
          "They die one way or another."
          After another long pause, he said, "you know, I've read your file. You were into some heavy shit a few years back."
          "Then, you know what I'm capable of," I replied.
          He stepped forward. Put his right paw over my heart. "You're the first human to get this in over a hundred fifty years." He closed his eyes as if trying to remember something, his round ears tilted forward, his face almost looked calm. "Do you swear to move alone by night? To be the sole protector of the innocent who walk in light? To guide our kind and guard your own?"
          "I do," I said, looking at his face.
          "This is a promise you've sworn over your very heart. It is now etched upon your soul." He tore away my shirt from my chest with his claws, then scratched my chest where my heart was, drawing blood. "If you betray your promise and betray human or us, if you fail to provide necessary service in course of your duties, your very life will be forfeit. Do you accept?"
          "I do."
          He looked down at me, his face getting close to mine. "This is serious human. This promise cannot be revoked. Do you promise to uphold and honor all our laws, as you know them. To protect the innocent and the weak. Do you promise as my deputy, to fulfill your duties or die trying?"
          "I do."
          "You start tomorrow night," he told me. "You have one night. Crash should be back and around then. You fail and I really will tear your head off the slow way."
          I gave him a single nod. "I fail, you'll be notifying my next of kin," I promised him. Then he melted into the shadows of the trees again.
          I had twenty four hours. Crash was moaning on his bed. Milton was out there somewhere, that meth-headed freak of a vampire was celebrating. I gritted my teeth harder. In situations like this, you have a singular moment to make a decision. To either mourn, or prepare. I'd chosen to mourn later. I was about to give those bastards something they haven't seen yet. I was going to war.