Crimson and Furs
Created and Written by:
Ifecowriter
Powered by:
Pegasus Concepts
Book One
Chapter Sixteen: The Weight
#caf1_16
Daniel stood motionless before the mirror, his eyes tracing every new contour of his body. The muscles were impressive, sure. The energy surging through his veins was intoxicating. But none of that mattered. Not when the image of that man—that hunter—kept flashing behind his eyelids.
He had to get out of this room.
With shaky hands, he grabbed a pair of jeans from his wardrobe and pulled them on. The fabric stretched tight against his newly developed thighs. He found a loose shirt that still fit and slipped it over his head, wincing slightly as the fabric brushed against his right chest. He looked down and froze.
The scratch marks were gone. Completely. Not even a scar remained.
Daniel pressed his fingers against the spot where the Lycanthrope had clawed him all those weeks ago. Smooth skin. Nothing more. The evidence of his curse had vanished as if it had never existed.
"Just like the footprints," he whispered, remembering what he'd seen outside his window. No tracks. Nothing to prove he'd ever left this house last night except the broken glass and the blood-soaked sheets.
He walked to the broken window and stared at the morning light filtering through the trees. A cool breeze carried the scent of dew and earth, but underneath it, Daniel could smell something else. Something metallic. Blood. Faint, but unmistakable. His new senses were already awakening.
I need to get out of here, he thought. I need to think.
He climbed through the broken window, landing softly on the grass below. The impact barely registered. His body felt light, powerful—like he could leap over the fence in a single bound. He resisted the urge and began walking toward the woods.
Not Crimson Woods. He couldn't go there. Not yet. Not ever.
He headed toward the smaller forest on the outskirts of town, a place where few people ventured. It was risky, but he needed solitude. He needed to process what he had become.
~
The forest was peaceful in a deceptive way. Birds chirped overhead, squirrels scampered across branches, and sunlight filtered through the canopy in golden patches. Nature didn't care about Daniel's turmoil. It continued its cycle, indifferent to the monster that now walked among it.
Daniel found a fallen log and sat down heavily, burying his face in his hands. The tears came again, hot and unstoppable. He sobbed until his chest ached, until there were no tears left to cry.
"I'm a murderer," he said to the empty forest. "I killed someone. An innocent person."
He remembered the feeling of teeth sinking into flesh. The taste of blood flooding his mouth. The desperate, primal hunger that had consumed him entirely. It hadn't been like the stories. It hadn't been a glorious transformation or a thrilling experience. It had been pure, unadulterated horror.
What if I hurt someone else? What if I hurt Mum?
The thought sent a cold spike of terror through his heart. His mother. She was still at home, probably worried sick about him. What would she think when she saw the broken window? The blood? Would she know what he'd become?
Daniel stood abruptly, his fists clenching. "I can't let that happen. I won't hurt her. I'll control this."
He punched a nearby tree with all his might, expecting pain. Instead, the bark splintered, and a deep gash appeared in the wood. Daniel stared at his fist in disbelief. There wasn't even a scratch on his knuckles.
This is real. This is who I am now.
~
The walk back home took longer than it should have. Daniel kept stopping, hesitating at every turn. What would he say to his mother? How could he explain the broken window? The blood?
When he finally reached the house, he climbed through the back entrance—a small door that led to the kitchen. His mother was in the living room, her voice muffled through the walls.
"Daniel? Is that you?" she called out.
"Y-yeah, Mum," he replied, trying to steady his voice. "I'm back."
Her footsteps approached, and Daniel's heart began to race. He quickly grabbed a rag and began wiping the blood from the kitchen counter, hoping she wouldn't notice the state of his room.
But it was too late. His mother rounded the corner and gasped.
"Daniel! What happened to your room? The window—the blood—" She rushed toward him, her hands flying to his face. "Are you hurt? Oh my God, you're bleeding!"
Daniel looked down at himself and realized there were still traces of dried blood on his arms. He must have missed them in his haste.
"I'm fine, Mum," he said, gently removing her hands. "It's not my blood."
His mother's face went pale. "Then whose blood is it? Daniel, what happened last night?"
He wanted to lie. He wanted to tell her everything was fine, that he'd just had a nightmare and broken the window in his sleep. But the words wouldn't come. His mother's eyes—so full of love and fear—stared into his, and he knew she could see the truth in them.
"I don't know how to explain it," Daniel said softly. "I don't even fully understand it myself. But something happened to me, Mum. Something that I can't undo."
His mother's hands trembled as she clasped his. "Daniel, whatever it is, we can face it together. Just tell me what happened."
Daniel took a deep breath. He looked into his mother's eyes—eyes that had seen so much pain, so much loss—and made a decision.
"I've changed, Mum," he whispered. "I'm not the same person I was before. I—" His voice broke. "I killed someone. A man in the woods. I don't remember it clearly, but I know I did it."
His mother's grip tightened, her knuckles turning white. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, slowly, she pulled him into an embrace.
"We'll figure this out," she said, her voice steady despite the tears streaming down her cheeks. "We'll find a way to fix this. Together."
Daniel clung to her, burying his face in her shoulder. He didn't deserve her forgiveness. He didn't deserve her love. But in that moment, he needed it more than anything in the world.
~
Later that afternoon, Daniel sat in his room staring at the broken window. The glass had been swept away, but the jagged edges still gleamed in the light. He would need to get it repaired, but that felt insignificant now.
His thoughts drifted to the man he had killed. Had he been a father? A brother? Had anyone been waiting for him to come home last night?
The guilt was suffocating.
Suddenly, his ears perked up. Footsteps. Multiple pairs. Coming toward the house. Daniel's eyes narrowed as he listened intently. Through the open window, he caught snippets of conversation.
"...Daniel Stark lives here..."
"...the Lycanthrope attack..."
"...question him..."
Cops. They were here.
Daniel's heart plummeted. They'd come to investigate. They must have found the body in the woods and connected it to him somehow.
He moved swiftly to the window and peered outside. A black sedan was parked at the gate, and two officers were approaching the front door. One was tall and gray-haired—the same Mac he'd spoken to after the Crimson Woods incident. The other was a bald man Daniel recognized as Officer James.
Think, Daniel. Think. What do you do?
He considered running. His new body was faster, stronger. He could escape through the back and disappear into the woods before they even reached the door.
But then what? He'd be a fugitive. His mother would be left alone to face the consequences.
No. Running wasn't the answer.
Taking a shaky breath, Daniel walked to the front door and opened it before Mac could knock.
"Officers," he said, keeping his voice as calm as possible. "Can I help you?"
Mac studied him with those piercing gray eyes. There was something calculating in his gaze, something that made Daniel's skin crawl. This man knew more than he was letting on.
"We'd like to ask you a few questions, Daniel," Mac said smoothly. "About a recent incident in the woods. I believe you're familiar with those woods, aren't you?"
Daniel swallowed hard but held his ground. "I've been there before, yes. The day I was attacked by that—"
"Lycanthrope," James interrupted, his voice low. "Yes, we remember. The scratch marks that conveniently disappeared."
Daniel felt his blood run cold. They knew. Or at least, they suspected.
"I don't understand what you're asking," Daniel said carefully. "I told you everything I know about that day."
Mac stepped closer, his eyes never leaving Daniel's face. "Then perhaps you can explain why a man was found dead in the woods last night, mauled beyond recognition. And why your house has a broken window and blood inside."
Daniel's mind raced. He wanted to deny it. He wanted to lie. But his new instincts, the predatory part of him that was awakening, screamed at him to be silent. To not show weakness.
"I don't know anything about that," Daniel said, but his voice wavered. The lie tasted bitter on his tongue.
Mac smiled—a cold, knowing smile. "We'll see about that."
~
After the officers left, Daniel slumped against the door. He knew Mac didn't believe him. The man was too observant, too perceptive. He would be back. And next time, he might not be alone.
His mother appeared in the hallway, her face pale. "Daniel, what did they want?"
"They're investigating the death in the woods," he said quietly. "They suspect me."
His mother pressed a hand to her mouth. "Oh God."
"Don't worry," Daniel said, though the words felt hollow. "I'll handle it."
But how could he handle anything? He was a monster. A murderer. And the world was starting to close in around him.
~
That night, Daniel dreamed of the hunter.
In the dream, the man was sitting by the campfire, roasting a boar over the flames. He looked up as Daniel approached—or rather, as the wolf approached. His eyes widened in terror as the beast lunged.
Daniel woke with a gasp, drenched in sweat. The taste of blood was still fresh in his mouth.
He stumbled to the bathroom and vomited into the toilet, his body shaking uncontrollably. When he finally straightened, he stared at his reflection in the mirror.
The face that looked back was his. But the eyes—they were different. Something lurked behind them now. Something ancient and hungry.
"I'm losing myself," he whispered. "I'm becoming the monster."
A soft knock came at the door.
"Daniel?" His mother's voice was gentle, worried. "Are you okay?"
He took a deep breath and composed himself. "I'm fine, Mum. Just a nightmare."
"Can I come in?"
Daniel hesitated, then opened the door. His mother's eyes were red-rimmed from crying, but she smiled softly.
"I made some tea," she said. "Come sit with me."
They sat in the living room, sipping chamomile tea in silence. The clock ticked steadily on the wall, marking the passage of time. Daniel's hands still trembled slightly, but the warmth of the cup helped steady them.
"Your father used to have nightmares," his mother said suddenly. "After he came back from the war. He'd wake up screaming sometimes."
Daniel looked up, surprised. His mother rarely talked about his father.
"What did you do?" he asked softly.
"I held him," she said. "And I told him he was safe. That the past couldn't hurt him anymore."
Daniel felt tears prick at his eyes. "But the past is real, Mum. What I did was real."
His mother reached over and squeezed his hand. "I know, sweetheart. And we'll find a way to make it right. Whatever happens, I'll be here. I'll always be here."
Daniel wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe there was still a way out of this nightmare.
But deep down, he knew the truth.
There was no going back.
And the moon would rise again.