The werewolf pushed through the door, slowly stalking down the hallway.

  Was this Vincent’s house? He couldn’t tell. It felt like trying to gather hazy details of a dream. Wait. Was this a dream, or something real?

  The beast stopped at another door and stood, towering over it, squinting beady eyes through the opening before moving through.

  . . .

  Vincent jolted up in a cold sweat, hand against thumping heart.

  “It’s close.”

  He threw off his boxers and shirt, pulled on his adaptive outfit, then tossed his school uniform in a bag. He grabbed his backpack and other things and headed out.

  Was this the day?

  He wasn’t sure if that was his house, his hallway, or his bedroom. It felt familiar, but he couldn’t tell, like trying to piece together a dream that felt vivid when it was happening, but too difficult to recall after.

  . . .

  Mr. B had instructed them to face each other on the wet field again, which frustrated Vincent as he wanted to practice the Transformation at Will, not fight Alacard. The air was frigid and parts of the grass that were covered in shade were frozen stiff.

  Both boys wore hoodies and sweatpants over their adaptive outfits, Alacard smirking as if he knew something Vincent didn’t.

  “Why are we freezing our butts out here again?” Alacard asked.

  It was getting into the thick of fall, with winter not long behind, and the mornings were getting chillier.

  “I may have pushed the Transformation at Will on you boys too soon.”

  Alacard’s eyes went wide with madness as he had come ready to give his all.

  Vincent, while not disagreeing with Alacard, wanted very much to talk with Mr. B. To tell him that the beast had found him, and if he didn’t master it today… what would happen? He clenched his fist because he wasn’t sure if it had found him, as he just couldn’t remember. So, maybe he was okay for now.

  “Honestly,” Mr. B continued. “The more training you do when in your human form, the easier it will be to transform back to your human side when in your induced werewolf state. I should have started with this before forcing the harder training on you.”

  “So, what are we going to do?” Vincent asked, glancing over at an angry Alacard that looked like he wanted to say something similar, adding insult as usual.

  Mr. B folded his arms. “I want you to fight each other.”

  “Really?” Vincent said, unsure about that. Was fighting with Alacard necessary to help with the Transformation at Will?

  Alacard look elated as he cracked his knuckles and gave a toothy smile. “All right. That I can do, teach.”

  “Are you sure we can’t just go and practice the Transformation at Will some more?” Vincent asked, feeling fear at the thought of getting pounded by Alacard.

  He remembered his vow to do whatever it took to get strong and how he would master the Transformation at Will before Alacard. He wondered why the thought of fighting Alacard scared him? Even if he lost and took a beating, it was nothing compared to the pain he felt from transforming into a werewolf.

  He gathered himself as he no longer wanted to be the scared newbie. He was going to be part of this, better than this, the best. He was going to do whatever it took to make it happen.

  He clenched his fists and leaned forward. “Let’s do this.”

  “Oh-ho,” Alacard said, leaning back with folded arms and raised eyebrows at Vincent’s change in pace. “Whatever pump-up trick you’re trying won’t work, chump. I’m gonna pound you to a pulp either way.”

  Mr. B walked between them, looking from one to the other. “Now I want a good, clean match. The rules are simple: This is a training session, so keep your Beast Mind in check and blood drawing to a minimum. The first one to knock the other to the ground wins.”

  Alacard nodded, cracking his neck and flexing his muscles.

  “Ready?” Mr. B raised his hand in the air, looking from one to the other. Then, he stepped back and chopped it forward. “Fight!”

  Vincent charged Alacard thinking that a preemptive attack might lend him an advantage as he knew he was less skilled and powerful at this point. But he didn’t care. He was going to get stronger, going to win, going to best Alacard. Going to be the best damn werewolf out there.

  When Vincent got close, he threw a few punches, which Alacard easily dodged and blocked. Alacard advanced, throwing his own barrage of punches. Vincent ducked and dodged as best he could.

  As Vincent stepped back and leaned to the side, he thought he saw an opening and advanced, throwing all his strength into a punch. Alacard simply stepped forward, lifting his arm to parry the punch, then struck Vincent in the chest, sending him stumbling backward. With an agility that Vincent couldn’t match, Alacard moved on him, uppercutting him in the jaw, and knocking him down.

  Alacard stepped on Vincent’s chest and raised his fist triumphantly. “Victory is mine.”

  “Get off me,” Vincent said with a heaving shove.

  He rolled to his knees and slowly stood, rubbing his chest where Alacard had stomped him, doing his best to hide the pain.

  He gritted his teeth, feeling his animal instincts and his anger rise. “Let’s go again.”

  Mr. B nodded his agreement.

  Alacard shrugged. “Fine with me.” He leaned forward, showing a toothy grin. “Here I come, chump. Now watch close and see if you can keep up.”

  Alacard charged.

  Vincent thought back on his lessons and leaned his weight back on one foot, keeping his eyes on Alacard’s upper torso as Chikaze had instructed. He brought his hands up and readied himself for the oncoming barrage

  Alacard snarled forward and threw a punch. One, two, three came his punches, and Vincent stepped back, dodging two and parrying the last. He then shifted his weight, just like Mr. B had taught them. He twisted his torso as he snapped his arm forward and punched.

  Alacard caught it with an open palm, stopping it in its forward momentum, holding it in place, and even pushing it back with his might, playfully smirking.

  “Is that it, chump?” Alacard chuckled, pushing his weight and strength into Vincent.

  “No, it isn’t,” Vincent said with a smile before making a quick move where he wrapped his trapped fist around Alacard’s forearm, gripping it tightly. He ducked and leaned into Alacard as he transitioned his weight into a throwing position, using his other hand as leverage to pull Alacard over his shoulder and into a throw. He slammed Alacard into the ground with a hard thud.

  Alacard’s eyes went wide as he hit the ground. With a growl, he spun and kicked himself back up, his eyes maddened with rage as he stared down Vincent.

  “That was a cheap trick,” he snarled.

  “Just a little payback,” Vincent said, smirking.

  “All right,” Alacard said, his voice low. “Time to get serious.”

  “Oh, you weren’t serious before?” Vincent said, poking playfully at Alacard, which part of him was enjoying while another part told him to stop.

  “You’re dead, chump,” Alacard said as he burst forward. “Dead!”

  Alacard was on him, punching forward. It was much too fast for Vincent to react to, and he was struck in the face. It dazed him and he stumbled back from the hit, trying to shake it off. Alacard stepped forward again, smashing another fist into Vincent’s nose. A crunching noise emitted from the strike, and then Vincent was down, dazed and dizzy.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He lay there for a moment, Alacard’s voice like a distant echo as he stood over Vincent. All Vincent could see was a blur of movement as Alacard raised his arm and pointed at him.

  “That’s the difference between me and you, chump,” Alacard said, standing triumphant. “Now stay down and admit your defeat.”

  Vincent shook his head, grunting as he pushed himself to a shaky knee. His vision moving from blurry to clear as he lifted his eyes to meet Alacard’s, speaking in a low, intense voice. “Again.”

  And again, they fought. Alacard pounded Vincent into the ground, not caring that he was out of energy, dazed, or dealing with a broken nose. Alacard was unrelenting in his strikes, punches, and even a scratch here and there.

  Mr. B watched with arms folded.

  Every time Alacard knocked Vincent down, Vincent slammed his fist into the ground, one time clawing a piece of dirt and tossing it to the side as he growled, “again!”

  Whatever angle he attacked at, maneuver he tried, he couldn’t get one over on Alacard, and ended up getting smacked down every time. It was infuriating.

  Still, through it all, Vincent pushed with all he had to get back up, smiling and staggering to his feet. Beaten and battered with a bloodied and bruised eye, and swollen cheek, and even a missing tooth, until finally Mr. B raised his arm and declared them to stop.

  Alacard slid to a stop as he was in mid-charge to demolish Vincent.

  Vincent, at his wit’s end, teetering on edge, was fine with this outcome. While he had been beaten utterly, he had gotten one over on Alacard, and so that was good enough for him. Plus, he assumed he would heal, minus the tooth, which he hoped his werewolf abilities would help regrow back. He was also going to best Alacard even if he was outmatched, outpowered, out everything-ed. At least for now. He had shown him up once, so he could certainly do it again.

  As Vincent stood there doing his best to hold off from falling over and passing out, one thought kept him grounded: the idea, the desire the drive, and knowing that he was going to show Alacard up by mastering the Transformation at Will before him. He was gonna be the best, strongest, most unmatched werewolf around. And with that, he gave a weak thumbs-up, smiled stupidly, then fell forward and blacked out as he could hold on no longer.

  . . .

  Vincent opened his eyes, propping himself up on an elbow as he groaned something incoherent.

  “I think that’s it for today, boys,” Mr. B said, kneeling over Vincent to check on his state.

  “Seriously?” Alacard said, incredulous. “I haven’t even broken a sweat on this chump. I need a real challenge, like working on the Transformation at Will.”

  Mr. B patted Vincent on his shoulder, giving him a little nod, then pushed himself to his feet. “You’ll get another chance, son. And if you’re lucky, and you listen to what I tell you, maybe you’ll get another chance at the end of the day. Now off to your classes, you two.”

  Alacard snarled and waved his hand dismissively, scoffing. “This is such a waste of time.” He sauntered off, mumbling angrily to himself.

  Even though Vincent had gotten his butt handed to him, even though his body and head throbbed, he just lay back in the grass, taking in the rising sunrays. He felt a determination build in his heart as he smiled because he knew where he was headed.

  . . .

  Vincent walked down the hallway, rubbing his throbbing jaw where he’d been hit and lost a tooth. He hoped it would heal somehow. He was a supernatural being part of a supernatural world after all. While the throbbing pain was much more intense after getting repeatedly pounded by Alacard, it had already subsided some. These werewolf abilities were something else.

  He noticed Alexander flirting with a girl with long silvery-white hair and stunning green eyes that for some reason looked familiar.

  Why was that? He wondered.

  As he got closer, he also noticed a distinguishing feature on her face. They were like tiny lightning marks, or twisted branches of red trees. Scars, like soft, pale-red veins, moved up her neck and across her cheek all the way to her right eye. He wondered how she had gotten them but didn’t want to ask as perhaps she was self-conscious, even though she didn’t seem to be the self-conscious type.

  “You’re on,” Alexander said, pointing at the girl in only a way he could pull off. “I’ll see you then.” He saw Vincent approaching and nodded.

  “Hello, Vincent,” the girl said, which gave Vincent a start.

  Her voice was soft but piercing in its own way, her observant eyes watching him as if penetrating his soul.

  Vincent blinked, perplexed at the way she looked and spoke to him as if he knew her.

  He smiled and shifted nervously. “H-hello.” The marks, though, were a stark contrast against her pale skin that reminded him of the moonlight, and he had a hard time not staring at them.

  She didn’t seem to mind and beamed at him, as if this revealed something he had no clue about.

  “Gentlemen,” she said in that same soft voice that made Vincent think of the texture of a rose, looking from one of the boys to the other in a deliberate motion. “I shall take my leave.” She gave a little wave and glided away.

  She smelled like daffodils, sweet and soothing, setting off a tinge that made him want to reminisce.

  Vincent blinked again, wondering who she was. Why did it feel like he had seen her somewhere before? “Who was that?”

  Alexander wrapped a friendly arm around Vincent, chuckling. “That was my dream girl, Yuki Dormanhein. I plan on seeing her later.”

  “Oh really?” Vincent said with a scrutinizing look. “What about the girl you were flirting with the other day? Or that teacher you were chatting up? Or the junior during lunch the other day?”

  “Life is full of bountiful opportunities, Vince,” Alexander said, without skipping a beat, waving his arm in a big arching motion in front of them. “You’ve got to grasp it when the time is ripe.”

  “Grasp what?” Vincent said.

  “Love,” Alexander said, clenching his hand into a fist as if grabbing something out of the air and pulling it to his chest. “Because if don’t you embrace the love in your life, brother, it’ll fade quicker than a vampire downing a blood bottle.”

  “Right,” Vincent said, raising an eyebrow and frowning.

  “One of these days we got to go hit up Main Street and check out the sights and sounds,” Alexander said as they moved down the hallway toward class.

  Vincent had an idea of what Alexander meant by sights and sounds. “Perhaps.” While hanging with Alexander did sound fun, his focus was on how he was going to master the Transformation at Will.

  As they arrived at classroom 412, they were chuckling and smiling, which made Alacard frown at the sight.

  Vincent took a seat next to Isabella and beamed at her.

  “W-what?” she said, touching a hand to flushed cheek. “Do I have something on my face?”

  “No, I was just…,” Vincent said, trailing off as he felt as if he was smiling awkwardly. He tried to salvage the situation. “I was just saying hello.”

  “Well, then say it,” she said, not sure how to react to him.

  “Hello, Isabella. How are you today?” He felt weird saying it that way, wondering why it felt weird.

  Hmm, he wasn’t sure.

  “Why are you being so weird?”

  And there it was. He was being weird. But before he could say anything more, Mr. B entered.

  “Alacard, feet down,” Mr. B said, brushing Alacard’s feet off his desk. He took the front of the class, leaning against the desk and folding his arms.

  He began his lecture with werewolves, specifically the Transformation at Will, and Vincent felt the words of his teacher trail off and take him away. After a while, Vincent peered outside, feeling as if his body was floating away, through the pane of glass, and out into the green grass. A foreboding storm gathered as his body floated – or was he standing? He wasn’t sure – over the grass. He looked up into the clouds and felt himself tense as a large face took shape into the form of the werewolf in his dream. It narrowed its beady eyes on him and leaned forward, ready to strike. It snarled and snapped its jaws as it moved to eat him.

  Then, he awoke.

  “Vin-cent,” came the voice of Mr. B that started out muffled then became clearer.

  Mr. B glared down at Vincent, tapping his finger against the top of Vincent’s head as he enunciated his name.

  Vincent had fallen asleep, drool slipping from one side of his mouth in a pool against his desk. He didn’t realize how tired he had been from being beaten so badly. Startled, he picked himself up and mumbled something incoherent, wiping the drool from his face.

  “Sleeping in my class is not acceptable.” Mr. B held his eyes on Vincent, thinking. “I’ll let it slide this time, but please, clean up your drool.”

  Oh boy, Vincent thought, embarrassed. Why’d he have to go and point it out to the others? Then again, Mr. B had let it slide, so Vincent thought better of it. He grabbed some tissues and wiped up the pool of drool that had gathered on his desk.

  . . .

  By the end of the day, Vincent and Alacard were back on the field, adaptive outfits on beneath their hoodies and sweatpants. Vincent felt elated as he had been nervous most of the day, all the way up to falling asleep in Mr. B’s class because he had worn himself out. But now, he was ready to spar, ready to go to that room again, and master the Transformation at Will.

  “Ready for another round, boys?” Mr. B asked, turning from one to the other.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Alacard said, waving a nonchalant hand in the air. “Let’s get this over with.”

  He leaned forward and placed his hand on the grass. Then burst into a run, dashing at Vincent with fury in his eyes.

  . . .

  Vincent fell back against the grass with arms outstretched. His body was covered in sweat, his breaths labored, his face worn.

  Alacard stood victorious, also worn out and sweaty.

  “I win again,” he said triumphantly.

  Vincent smiled wryly. “Stating the obvious, nice.” He moved to his feet with a grunt.

  “That’s it for today, boys,” Mr. B said with a raise of his hand. “Rest up, and tomorrow we’ll get back to the real fun.”

  “Sir?” Vincent asked, shifting his weight to his back foot, curiosity crossing his face. “H-how do we know when it’s too late?” He rubbed his arm, feeling a bit embarrassed, but he had to know.

  Mr. B raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

  “You said if the beast, uh, I mean,” he said, rubbing the side of his neck. “The werewolf catches us in our dream, it’s not good, right?”

  Mr. B nodded.

  Alacard scoffed, revealing a smile at this little display of Vincent’s.

  “How do we know it’s caught us in our dream? Like, does it attack? Does some sort of change happen? Or will we feel somehow… different? What happens exactly?”

  “Oh, you’ll know, son.” Mr. B said with a knowing smile.

  That didn’t help at all.

  “How?” Vincent asked, tilting his head, curious and concerned.

  “When it attacks you, a change will happen,” Mr. B said with finality. “And something will be different, and you’ll… just know.” He leveled his gaze on Vincent, and Vincent seemed to accept that answer as he didn’t say anything more.

  Mr. B left, and while Vincent watched him leave, part of him wanted to ask more, to know more, but he left it at that.

  “He’s a freak, just like you,” Alacard said, moving his arm around and adjusting his shoulder as if in pain. Vinent smirked because he had punched Alacard there. While he hadn’t won any of the rounds, he’d gotten in some nice hits himself.

  Vincent wanted to come back with a remark, to say something funny in return, to play his little game.

  Instead, he just kept it simple. “Nice work today, buddy.”

  Alacard scoffed. “It was nice knocking you down and out over and over and over again.” He leaned back, looking like he wanted to relax a little. “Just remember your place, chump. You’re beneath me. I wasn’t even putting in much effort to best you. You can’t win. You can’t beat me.”

  “As long as you put in any effort,” Vincent joked, “That’s a win for me.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Alacard said, waving him off, obviously tired of arguing. “Run on home, little doggy.”

  . . .