Blood of Gato

As the sun sank toward the horizon and the sky above the treetops bled into a bruised pink and blue, William stood at the edge of the forest, clutching the crumpled scrap of paper where Leticia had scribbled an address in her thin, dancing hand. He checked the numbers for the third time, squinting at the fading light, still unable to believe anyone could actually live out here—in the woods.

"Looks right. Taxi driver swore this was the place," he muttered, glancing at the narrow track threading between the oaks. It wasn't a road—more like a scar in the soil, half hidden by roots, while silver spiderwebs dangled in the air like strings waiting to catch him. "Perfect. I've seen this movie before. Guy follows a beautiful woman into the woods at night, and then—bam—her family jumps out of the shadows with pitchforks. Or worse."

If he had any sense, he'd have turned back already. But William had never been on speaking terms with sense.

Right on cue, a ragged flock of crows cut across the sky, their caws hoarse and mocking, like laughter in a foreign tongue. He rubbed his temples. "Yeah, I really do need a doctor. Who in their right mind walks into the woods alone at night? Didn't tell anyone where I was going. Knowing my luck, there's bound to be trouble waiting."

Still grumbling, he stepped onto the path.

The forest was beautiful, almost painfully so. The oaks rose like ancient wardens, their bark cracked and pale as old bone. Leaves the color of ochre and wine fluttered down in golden showers whenever the wind breathed through the branches. The chill of evening slid beneath his collar, but William barely noticed; the restless hum under his skin made him immune to such ordinary discomforts.

The air was thick with scents: damp bark, stubborn weeds, rotting leaves, and somewhere faintly, a tart sweetness—berries, perhaps, crushed underfoot by animals. His ears caught the soft hiss of bushes stirred by tiny creatures, the heavy thump of a rabbit's leap, and the occasional trill of a bird reluctant to surrender to dusk.

"Great. Just great. She could be anyone. A witch, maybe? What do they even have out here? If she turns me into a toad, I swear…" He smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand.

But beneath the sarcasm, the unease gnawed at him. He was almost certain Leticia was tied to the strange exhaustion spreading through the campus, students drifting around like drained husks. No one had died—yet—but that "yet" itched like a splinter at the back of his mind. Was she experimenting? Testing how long her prey could endure?

Too many questions. No answers. And he wasn't even sure what he'd do if his suspicions proved true. His hands already bore enough blood to leave his sleep fractured into restless scraps. This time, he swore, he'd try to avoid drastic measures. Maybe he could reason with her. Maybe she wasn't involved at all, and this was just another of his spirals.

He exhaled sharply, the paper crumpling tighter in his fist.

One way or another, he was about to find out.

"If she's really something like me, it might be worth asking a few questions. Maybe I'll finally piece a few things together. And if it goes sideways… well, I'm not exactly defenseless," William mused, his tone lazy, as if he were debating dinner plans rather than walking deeper into the woods toward someone who might be a predator.

The path eventually led him to a weathered wooden post that once held a sign. On its rough-hewn board, black paint declared: "Leticia's House to the Left. 500 m." Beneath the words, someone had carved a star pierced by a thin crescent moon, the grooves filled with resin to keep the mark from washing away. From a nearby branch hung a bundle of dried herbs, their warm, bitter fragrance drifting through the cool air. William gave a sharp snort, shrugged, and turned down the indicated direction.

Almost immediately, the atmosphere shifted. The forest seemed to find a different voice. Ahead, faint singing floated between the trees—a woman's voice, soft and unhurried, its melody wordless, more like smoke curling from a fire than a song. It wove in and out, receding, then swelling closer, wrapping around him, urging him onward. Step after step, he followed until the trees finally peeled back to reveal a clearing.

At its center stood a curious camp. A wooden trailer, its surface polished and etched with carved patterns, rested with green shutters and wheels half-swallowed by earth. Around it stretched a wide canopy of fabric the color of dark wine, draped like a tent. Lanterns glowed warmly at its edges, ribbons dangling from them whispering with the bells tied to their ends. Beside the canopy, a brazier smoldered, sending up a fragrant haze of thyme, sage, and something sharper, bitterer, that prickled at the back of his throat.

The song did not stop. It grew nearer. Then the flap of the tent stirred, and Leticia emerged.

She moved as though her body carried a secret rhythm, every step already half a dance, her voice still spilling into the night air. A smile curved her lips, light and easy, as though she were greeting an old friend rather than a stranger at her threshold. Her clothing walked the line between ritual and performance: a long dark dress that kissed the grass, a shawl threaded with gold draped loosely over her shoulders, and bracelets at her wrists that chimed with each motion. Ribbons tangled through her hair, and at her throat rested a crescent of dark metal, catching the lantern-glow. She was barefoot, her pale feet indifferent to the chill.

"William," she said warmly, her smile deepening. "I'm so glad you came. Don't be shy—come in. I've just made tea."

******

They sat across from one another beneath the warm canopy of the tent. The bronze lamps hissed faintly, their glow catching dust motes that spun like tiny dancers in the air. On the low table lay a deck of tarot cards fanned carelessly beside a saucer of candied ginger, and bundles of dried herbs bound with red thread. The tea, fragrant with sage and honey, carried an aftertaste that clung to the tongue—bitter, metallic, as though touched with wormwood and iron. William cradled his cup, feigning comfort. In truth, he was steadying his hands, keeping them from betraying the trembling urge beneath his skin. Inside, his beast prowled, restless, jaws snapping at unseen bars.

Leticia reclined as if enthroned. A faded carpet patterned with birds sprawled beneath her feet, and a shawl slipped from one shoulder in deliberate carelessness. She smiled with the composure of someone who had already mapped his every response. Beneath the table, her bare foot brushed his knee—light, lingering, feline. Each delicate touch sent echoes of heat to his temples, as if she were pressing on nerves hidden deep inside him.

"So, William," she asked softly, her voice a velvet thread, "will you tell me what's really troubling you?"

"Stress. Insomnia," he replied too fast, draining the cup in one swallow. Not a lie, yet a lie all the same.

"Ah," she murmured, her tone like smoke curling around the words. "A common burden for those who shoulder too much, too soon."

Her eyes shifted, deepening into a shade of emerald not entirely natural. That gaze pressed against him, clinging to his skin, dissecting him like a scalpel.

"Do you often hold private sessions?" he asked, masking his unease with laziness.

"Less often than I'd like," she chuckled, bracelets chiming like tiny bells.

"And what's the plan?" His smile was thin, words deliberately slow. "Herbs? Breathing exercises? Meditate me into enlightenment?" The tea sat heavy in his stomach, cloyingly sweet, laced with valerian—and something else, something soporific.

Leticia only smiled wider. Then, without warning, her hand rose and closed around his throat.

It was not a violent gesture; there was no yank, no fury. Her grip was clean, precise—a mechanic's grip, not a lover's. The air simply refused him.

"What the—" His protest broke into a gasp. Shock hit harder than pain. Her hand was steel, unyielding, calibrated. He knew this strength: it was not human.

"Shh." Her voice dropped into a lullaby as she lifted him effortlessly, as though he weighed no more than a cushion. "Relax. I'm only going to take your worries."

And then she changed.

The warmth drained from her skin as though poured into the air. Her cheeks hollowed, bones jutting sharp; her flesh thinned to parchment, veined with crawling black roots. Her mouth unhinged not with a scream but with a slow, impossible widening, like fabric parting at a seam. From within spilled a radiant mist—bright, alive, and hungry.

The vapor caressed him, but it was no comfort; it pulled. His thoughts dulled, his emotions shriveled to ash. Memories paled, growing brittle and thin. Even the beast inside him grew quiet, curling into itself, snout tucked beneath its paw. The lamp overhead swayed, its light dimming to a jaundiced flicker. Sounds thickened, muffled, as though wrapped in cotton.

"Usually I leave the little ones alive," she murmured dreamily, eyes glinting as the mist deepened. "It's easier. Less noise. But you…" Her gaze sharpened, and a shiver of hunger rippled across her cracked smile. "You shine. There's gold in your aura—gold fused with something older. Rare. Too rare. Forgive me, William, but I won't hold back. I promise—it will be quick. Painless."

Her words rang inside him like hollow bells, resonating with absence. William felt his weight shift, his body growing slack, his fingers loosening. The porcelain cup slipped from his grasp, struck the carpet with a dull thud, and rolled, spilling a dark, sticky trail into the weave.

He coiled into himself, a knot of pain and fury. His claws slipped free on instinct, snapping into place with the sound of shears closing, and he lashed upward—not a strike, just a reflex, a cut to free the air. The tips grazed her cheek, leaving a single, clean line. Iron's sharp tang bloomed instantly.

Leticia cried out—not a gasp, but a piercing cry that made the hanging glass pendants shiver and chime. For one suspended moment, everything in his chest froze. Her grip slackened. He crumpled into the chair, clutching his bruised throat, and drew his first unbroken breath, hot enough to scorch on the way in.

Color seeped back into him in layers, as though someone wiped clear a fogged windowpane. Strength returned before his emotions did. His hands steadied. The waxy pallor of his skin gave way to something more alive, though the beast within him lifted its head, snorting, restless.

"Damn," William rasped, rubbing at his neck. "What is it with people grabbing my throat lately? Becoming a trend."

"What are you?!" she hissed.

He raised his eyes. No wound marred her face, only a faint silver line that melted away before his gaze. Her emerald eyes, deep as ever, now simmered like an animal smarting from its own misstep.

"Funny," William said, pushing himself upright, weariness in his tone. "I was about to ask you the same." The lamp behind him flickered; in its glow, his pupils stretched, narrowing into amber slits. He didn't bother to retract his claws. The tips gleamed like drawn blades. "But since you struck first… let's be honest."

"Of all people—Bastet's spawn?!" Leticia's eyes widened. The sight of his gaze, his claws catching the light, seemed to rattle her. She pressed a hand to her forehead, muttering bitterly, "Perfect. Just perfect. 'Go there,' he said. 'It's quiet, you'll feed, no one will stir.' Quiet, he said. Feed, he said…"

Her curses fell like stones, half at herself, half at the unseen "recommender." Then she straightened sharply, rising onto her toes, shoulders set. Like a gymnast bracing for the leap, she took two quick, cleansing breaths.

"Alright. I'll just snap his neck, then have a nice bath," she told herself, bouncing lightly, shaking out her trembling hands. "Everything will be fine."

William tilted his head, watching her with cautious curiosity. "Uh… weren't we supposed to be tearing into each other already? Are you… okay?"

"Can you not interrupt?!" she snapped, glaring. "I'm trying to figure out how to kill you!"

"Right, right." He raised his hands in mock surrender, even stepping back to give her space. Inside, his beast rumbled in smug approval.

Her eyes flicked to his, caught the faint embarrassment there, and she flushed despite herself. With a grimace, she exhaled. "Sorry. I'm just… shaken. The claws, the eyes… those aren't contacts, are they?"

She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, as if tidying her appearance could somehow restore order to this chaos.

"Unfortunately, no. And the claws aren't some novelty-shop trinket." William flexed one for demonstration—gleaming, sharp, undeniable.

"I should've seen it the moment I looked at your aura," she muttered, frustration edging her voice. "But hunger clouds everything. Still… maybe this is for the best. If I drain you dry, I'll be whole again. Fully myself."

Her tone brightened unnervingly—the glee of a child promised stolen jam.

"In another situation," William said dryly, "a guy might be flattered to hear a beautiful woman wants to suck something out of him. But tonight? I'll pass."

He turned toward the tent's flap. A decision clicked into place inside him, and his body obeyed, lunging forward.

She darted after him. The fabric walls shuddered, lamps chimed, and together they tore into the night.

The forest swallowed them whole. Cool air pressed close, heavy with moss and damp earth. The moon hung like a broken blade between the treetops, scattering silver shards across the leaves. Underfoot, dry foliage crackled. Somewhere deeper in the thicket, startled birds burst skyward—a flurry of wings fleeing into the darkness.

"Stop! I promise, you'll enjoy it!" Leticia called, her voice almost sing-song, hand slicing the air inches from his collar.

"Damn it!" William barked back, not slowing as he vaulted a fallen log. His stride wasn't human—two short bursts, then a lunging bound, the jagged rhythm of something feral. He ducked under a low branch, brushed aside a sticky web with his shoulder, and blurred himself in the shadows.

She hunted differently. Where he tore through the forest, she skimmed over it—each leap precise, swift, leaving behind a faint trail of frost, as though the night itself shivered after her. Twice she nearly caught him; once her bracelets whispered cold metal against his cheek, close enough to steal a breath.

"Don't resist," she sang, her voice oozing warmth, weaving into his mind like water filling cracks. "It's better than sleepless nights…"

He answered with action. Springing onto a fallen trunk, he sprinted along its length like a tightrope walker. The moment she lunged, he dropped, rolling off the side. Her fingers scraped only fabric, not flesh. He hit the ground hard, caught himself with one hand, boots sinking into damp earth, then vanished back into the cover of shadow.

But he knew the truth: he couldn't keep this up. Neither of them was out of breath. Neither was slowing. And if she touched him—just once—it would be over. That cold white void would swallow him whole. No direct fights. He needed a trick.

"Time to improvise," William muttered, spotting a moss-covered boulder at the path's edge. He sprinted, tore it free with a grunt, spun, and hurled it. "Chew on this!"

The impact rang out—not a cinematic crash, but a dull, wooden crunch, awkward and final. Branches rustled. Then silence.

Leticia lay sprawled in the leaves, face turned to the sky, utterly still. William froze, chest heaving, ears straining for the telltale rush of an attack from behind. Nothing. Only a crow high in the oak gave a cranky caw.

"Did I… kill her?" The thought landed flat, void of emotion. He stepped back, smirk tugging at his lips. "No, no. That's too easy. I've seen enough movies to know better."

He crouched, scooping small stones, and pelted them one by one. Shoulder. Thigh. Bracelet. Cheek. Each hit made her twitch faintly, puppet-like, but no cry escaped. The stones ran out before his suspicion did.

Finally, he crept closer. That's when he saw it: a jagged shard of rock jutting from her forehead, bloodless but devastating. Dirt and leaves tangled in her hair. The sight hit his gut like spoiled wine, and he turned away, bracing himself against a tree.

"Ouch," he whispered, voice breaking with anger at her, at himself, at the whole absurd night. "I just wanted to talk. That's all. Why threaten me?"

She had known things about him—more than he did himself. Now, she'd never say another word.

"Good thing it's the woods," he muttered bitterly. "At least that part's simple."

He hooked his arms under her shoulders. She weighed less than she should have, like carrying smoke wrapped in skin. Dragging her to a softer patch of ground, he dug with his bare hands, shallow but deep enough to hide. He laid her down, covered her in earth, pressed it flat with his heel. Branches and leaves disguised the mound, but its unevenness nagged at him like a thought he couldn't push away.

When he finally straightened, he was filthy, sweat-cold, and breathing as though the forest had stolen something from him. He stared at the grave, jaw tight.

Only then did the memory of the tent and trailer resurface. Maybe there'd be answers waiting there. And if luck felt generous, something worth the trouble—something to make this night of blood and dirt mean more than just another scar.