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Kristen felt… funny.
Not bad funny, even though the Black Pit was loud and crowded and smelled like alcohol and sweat. It should have been too much. It was too much when she was at church, pressed in by bodies and the sticky wooden pews and crammed into a dress that was much too small in the shoulders ever since she started taking barbarian classes. As if the fabric could make her smaller, squeeze her into an acceptable size for a girl. Here, though, she was barely aware of the noise, or the heat, or the press of her clothes on her body.
Well.
Except for the spot on her thigh where Tracker was resting her hand.
That part Kristen was very aware of, for some reason.
“I mean, I hated my rages at first too,” Tracker was saying. It sounded like she had been talking for a while now. Oh Helio, had Kristen been ignoring her by accident? She pulled her eyes away from Tracker’s mouth and made herself look at the space between her eyes instead. “What helped the most wasn’t trying to force myself to love them. It was just realizing… this was me now. Not like I could change it.”
“Well, through Helio everything can be fixed,” Kristen recited instinctually. “Not that being a barbarian is a bad thing! I mean, I’m supposed to pray for my rages to go away, but I usually just pray for my friends instead, and I feel a lot more in control than when I was—“
Tracker’s hand moved from her thigh to her cheek. Kristen barely had time to process the rough feeling of her palm on her peach fuzz, and then Tracker was leaning in and pressing their mouths together. Was this a kiss? She didn’t know. She’d never kissed anyone before, and even when her parents kissed they told her to look away. She never imagined that it felt like this, warm, slightly rough skin moving against hers, Tracker’s face pressing into hers, making her tilt her head—
Kristen pulled back, nearly falling off her seat. “Oh, uh— sorry, I don’t kiss, really—“
Tracker cringed. “Shit, sorry— I don’t know what came over me—“
“No, I’m sorry,” Kristen said hastily, her hands waving around wildly. Was she placating her, or shaking out the butterflies in her stomach?
“No, for real, I shouldn’t have done that without asking—“
The bass dropped, sound waves shuddering in Kristen’s bones. Tracker must have felt it too, because she suddenly clutched her chest, golden eyes going wide. “No,” she muttered. “No, it’s not time—“ she broke off in a growl, pupils dilating.
“Tracker?” Kristen said. The music was getting louder, blended with howls and shrieks and the sound of breaking glass. People trampled past their booth, drinks discarded and stools overturned in their haste to get out. “What’s going on?”
“You need to run,” she said, but her words were unclear, coming out garbled through suddenly much sharper teeth. Kristen stared at them, sharp and white like arrowheads bursting through gums. Her shoulders hunched, broadening, one black tank top strap snapping as she expanded to stretch the formerly loose garment. “Run!” Tracker shouted again, her eyes filled with terror, and then they weren’t human eyes any longer— black and yellow beast’s eyes, fixed on Kristen with nothing behind them but hunger.
Around them, the people who hadn’t also transformed heeded her warning.
Okay. Okay! Kristen’s heart was thundering in her chest, discordant and out of time with the arcane song in the air. Her body trembled and twitched with excess energy, her mind already starting to blank from stress. Thankfully, Tracker was still tangled up in the remains of her tank top, snarling and gnashing at the ruined fabric, buying her half a second to survey the scene. As usual, she had no clue what was going on, no idea where her friends were, no way to tangibly help. But if she let herself snap, she might be strong enough to keep Tracker from mauling anyone.
Kristen raged.
The tension in her body didn’t feel so bad, now. In fact, it felt great. Kristen couldn’t help but grin, her body dropping low, her hands flexing just to let out some of the massive, volcanic energy brewing inside her. In front of her, her buddy Tracker finished ripping off her shirt, turning her eyes on Kristen. She crouched low, ready to pounce, saliva dripping from her jaws as she growled. Kristen growled back— or tried to. Her voice wasn’t as low or deep, so it just came out like a prolonged arrrrrrrr. She giggled. She sounded so silly compared to Tracker! Not scary at all!
The room was empty now, everyone either fleeing towards the exit or pushing to the dance floor to snack on the people who were further from the door. Empty except her and Tracker, of course. Oo la la! The werewolf sprung at Kristen, but she was ready, of course— sidestepping her pounce at the last second, laughing with delight when her snout rammed into the bar. She staggered back, dazed. “Gonna have to try harder than that to catch me!” Kristen teased.
With her playmate stunned, Kristen took the opportunity to jump on Tracker’s back and take her to the ground. It was a weak grapple— she’d taken her down with momentum, not pure strength— but it bought her time to get a better hold. Tracker growled and snapped her teeth as Kristen rolled her over, straddling her neck and forcing her head back until the top of her snout pressed into the dusty club floor, one hand wrapped firmly around her jaws. Tracker’s eyes rolled, her mouth frothing furiously, her wolfish body thrashing under her.
“Aww, someone’s not having a good time,” Kristen cooed.
With her playmate defeated, though, Kristen was starting to get bored. The sound of the music and her friends fighting in the next room over started to trickle into her awareness. It didn’t add to her mania— instead, each clash and gunshot and bass note battered at the wall of her rage, threatening to break it down. Kristen dug her fingers into the soft, pale grey fur of Tracker’s throat, trying to distract herself from the painful noise. She felt the growl vibrate under her hands as Tracker’s forelegs thrashed up to catch her cheek and shoulder, hind legs kicking so hard she almost bucked Kristen right off. Hot but rapidly cooling blood dribbled down from her cheek, filling her mouth with copper and sticking her shirt to her skin.
“Hey,” she said. “That was a good shirt—“ and then she started giggling to herself, because her voice sounded so funny! Sort of whistle-y and hollow sounding, air bubbling through the holes in her face. A gob of bloody saliva dripped down her chin, adding to the mess on her shirt. Wet t-shirt contest, Kristen thought suddenly. She had to cover her mouth to stifle the laugh, but that just made it come out through the claw marks in her cheek, which made her laugh even louder, until she was tilting her head back and howling with mirth, tears and blood and spit streaming down her face and neck. Tracker howled too, as best as she could through her closed jaws, the flailing of her limbs slowing to the occasional twitch as she joined in. She must have a really good sense of humor, to laugh along to a joke she didn’t even hear!
Then, there was a gunshot, and the music abruptly stopped. Kristen hiccoughed a few more laughs before she noticed that Tracker wasn’t struggling against her hands anymore. The fur was disappearing, her thick, muscular neck slimming between her legs. Kristen’s ribs hurt pretty bad. So did her face and shoulder, actually, a hot throbbing building up in both. Even though the music was gone there was a pounding in her ears, compounding the pounding of her blood in her chest. The club seemed pretty empty, now.
The now humanoid Tracker gasped, staring up at Kristen with wide, tear-shiny eyes. “What happened,” she rasped, her breathing picking up, ribs pressing up against Kristen’s thighs. “What’s happening, did I bite anyone, what’s going on—“
It’s okay , Kristen tried to say, but all that came out was another gush of blood, falling out of her mouth and splattering onto Tracker’s face. She yelped, twisting her head but unable to get out of the way completely. It matted her hair. Kristen’s stomach lurched at the smell and the sudden blaze of pain in her cheek. It felt like someone was ripping the wounds all over again, salaciously digging their fingers into raw red flesh and peeling them open. She snapped her mouth shut even as it filled with blood again, fresh tears welling and washing down her face and oh Helio it hurt—
“Whoa, what the fuck?” Fabian skidded through the doorway, rapier poised to strike. He sheathed it when he saw Tracker sobbing on the floor, though. Kristen could only muster a pained whimper in response, her friend’s form blurry through the tears and dim light.
“Hey, out of the way, dumbass!” Fabian squawked indignantly as Fig muscled past him, followed by the rest of their party. “Oh Auria, Kristen, here—“ In a second, she was kneeling next to her, cupping her face in her ring-bedecked hands. Kristen flinched away as familiar heat built in her wounds, burning hotter and hotter until it was almost unbearable, and then fading, taking the pain of the original injury with it. Fig took her now bloodied hands away, watching Kristen run her hands over the scarred-over indents in her cheek for confirmation that they were healed, before turning to Tracker. “Okay, are you hurt?”
“Oh fuck, Tracker?” Kristen started as another werewolf barges in— massive and furry and clawed— but clearly in his right mind. And clothed. That was also important. “Tracker! Are you okay, kiddo? What happened?”
“I don’ know,” Tracker sobbed. “I don’t— did I bite anyone?” She directed the question to Fig, for some reason, her head lolling to the side. “My head hurts.”
“You didn’t bite anyone,” Kristen said, and she could feel Tracker’s whole body relax as she said it. “I held you down until everyone was gone.”
“Is that why you’re sitting on my niece?” the other werewolf asks, and Kristen quickly slid off Tracker’s torso. Tracker immediately sat up, trying to curl in on herself before moaning and grabbing her head. Oh, right. She’d torn her clothes off when she transformed. Kristen jerked her head away, staggering to her feet and looking pointedly Not At Tracker. Her gaze fell on Gorgug, and he must have thought she meant something by it, because he silently pulled off his hoodie and handed it to Tracker. She couldn’t do much with it, but the bigger werewolf draped it around her shoulders. “Here, it looks like your shorts survived, kiddo. Can you put those on for me too?”
While the still-beastly werewolf (her uncle?) coaxed Tracker back into her clothes, Kristen sat down beside her. “Hey,” she said softly. “I’m, uh, sorry I had to fight you there. I can’t really control what I do when I’m in a rage, but—“
“Don’t be,” Tracker said. Her voice was quiet and rough. Kristen wondered if howling hurt. “Believe me, I’d prefer for you to hold me down than for me to— you know.” She wiped the blood off her face with Gorgug’s sleeve. “So. Thank you.”
Kristen didn’t know how to respond to that, so she didn’t try. Instead, she just grabbed Tracker’s hand, giving it a squeeze. On her other side, Fig placed a hand over her forehead and stared into her eyes. “Probably not concussed,” she diagnosed. “Now we gotta get out of here before the cops come.”
Tracker jolted at that. “Shit, right. Uh, Kristen. Give me your phone!” She did, and Tracker typed something in with quick little taps. “Thank you so much. I’ll see you later.”
“But I don’t—“ Kristen broke off as Tracker bolted off with her uncle, vanishing into the smoky dark club. “Huh.”
“Kristen? Hel-loooo!” She jumped as Fabian waved a hand in front of her face. “We need to leave. Like, now. And let me Prestidigitate your shirt, you look like a serial killer.”
Kristen held up her phone, open to a new contract titled Tracker. There’s a little heart emoji after it. “Do you think she was, like, hitting on me?” she asked him.
Fabian sighed, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her towards the exit. “You’re a disaster.”