Blood of Gato

The Next Morning

William sat in class, but the lecture barely reached him. The professor's voice faded into a dull hum — a background drone, like an old fan struggling to stay alive. His thoughts kept circling back to the night before: the blood, the scream, the way his claws had slid through flesh and bone with terrifying ease.

He rubbed his palms slowly, as if he could wipe away invisible stains.

God, I need to remember I'm not exactly human anymore… he muttered under his breath, a hollow half-smile tugging at his lips. If I don't watch my strength, I'll end up breaking someone's arm just shaking hands. "Hi there" — snap — lifelong injury. Great.

Leaning back, he stared at the ribbed shadows cast by the blinds, then quietly recited a mental note: Control. Discipline. No outbursts.

Leticia had said yesterday that they could track the hunters and the witch if they examined what was left of the Bonacon. Milagros was furious — and William understood her. To be turned from predator to prey was a special kind of torment. For someone like her, anger wasn't just emotion — it was an ache in the blood, a burning that turned helplessness into pain.

Let Leticia handle the trail, he decided. Me? I'll try to be a normal student for a change. At least for a while.

That would've been easier, of course, if Leticia hadn't forbidden him from approaching the new professor from Arkham. The name alone was enough to make him curious. Arkham. Mythic, notorious — a place wrapped in the whispers of old legends. Passing up a chance to speak with someone from there? It went against every restless instinct in him.

She looked so serious when she warned me… just like a teacher catching you cheating, he murmured, running a hand over his face. Then again, this Southern belle already sold me out once — to a damn wendigo, no less. Maybe a little distrust is healthy.

The lecture wound down. As students began streaming toward the exit, William caught a familiar rhythm of footsteps. He looked up — and froze.

Sophie was walking toward him.

No mask this time. No black glasses. Just a hint of tension in her stride and a flicker of uncertainty in her brown eyes.

"Will…" she said softly, coming closer. "This is for you."

She held out a white envelope — crumpled edges, smudged fingerprints, as if she'd been squeezing it the whole way here.

"Uh… Sophie? What's this?" William asked, taking it. "It's not cyanide, right?"

He meant it as a joke, but the small laugh that escaped him carried more awkwardness than humor.

"Money," she said shortly, folding her arms.

"Money? For what?"

He opened the envelope. Inside were a few dozen worn bills, faintly scented with cheap tobacco and her perfume.

Sophie clicked her tongue. "Do you have to question everything? Just take it, okay?"

He glanced up at her, studying her face. The same proud, aloof Sophie — and yet… something had shifted. The bruises Tyrone left were nearly gone, but now there was something else in her expression. Guilt, maybe. Or the quiet weight of realization.

"Thanks… but what for?" he asked quietly.

"For Tyrone." She looked away, her fingers curling. "For what you did to him. You know… taught him a lesson."

She tried to sound cold, detached — but her voice trembled just enough to betray her. Gratitude and embarrassment tangled in the space between words.

"Ah," William breathed, a pang of guilt flickering through his chest. After all, everything that happened started because of him.

"And Will," Sophie said with a crooked, almost lazy smile. "Be careful, okay? Tyrone's daddy probably not thrilled about the guy who sent his son to the hospital. For a month."

William swallowed hard. The memory surfaced in a flash — the party, the pounding bass, Tyrone's face twisting with rage, that blow to the liver that folded the big man in half. Then came the flight — sneakers on asphalt, his heart hammering like it was trying to break free.

A family vendetta — just what he needed.

"So, the whole university knows?" he asked quietly, fingers tightening around the envelope as if it could shield him from gossip.

Sophie snorted and leaned on the desk beside him.

"Not quite. You haven't hit Hercules status yet," she said lazily. "Just a couple of my friends were there. Saw everything — accidentally, of course — and, well… word got around. They weren't exactly eager to tell it, though."

"But they still did," William murmured.

She shrugged. "Yeah. But relax, I'm not telling anyone. I've got my reputation to think about — can't have people thinking I needed rescue from a nerd like you."

Her tone had that familiar edge of arrogance again, like she was slipping back into her old armor. But William recognized the lie — not about the secret, but about her supposed indifference.

"Thanks," he said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

"Don't mention it." Sophie tilted her head, studying him through narrowed eyes. "So tell me, Will — what are you, a karate kid now? How the hell did you manage to put Tyrone down? Guy's built like a fridge."

William chuckled lightly, careful to keep his voice steady.

"Yeah, something like that."

He just hoped she wouldn't dig deeper. What was he supposed to say? Oh, you know, Sophie — bit of a monster these days. Have to concentrate real hard not to rip arms off during handshakes.

"You never mentioned that when we were dating," she said, stepping a little closer. There was something studying in her gaze. "Guess you've developed a few secrets."

He retreated a half‑step, acutely aware of the space between them — and of the perfume she wore. Sweet, cold, laced with mint. It dragged a memory behind it: he'd worked hard to forget.

"Men have to keep a few secrets," he said with a faint smile. "I've been doing aikido. A bit of bushido, too."

"Really?" She raised a brow. "Huh. I always thought you were the run‑from‑a‑fight type." There was a spark in her tone — real curiosity. "You've changed, William. A lot."

Now her voice had softened — almost flirtatious. Her gaze lingered on his face longer than necessary.

"Just changed my diet," he replied lightly. "More red meat these days."

"Maybe I should try that," she teased, leaning a fraction closer as though by accident. "Your skin looks different now — smooth. And your hair… it's black, like ink. And your eyes—" she paused, smile fading for a heartbeat. "Amber. I never noticed that before. They're… beautiful."

William smirked faintly, hiding the sharp sting beneath the gesture.

Oh really? Maybe you were just too busy back then — occupied with other things. Like counting my cash or crawling into Tyrone's bed, maybe.

Out loud, he said only, "Funny, I didn't think you noticed much of anything back then." His tone was calm, but his gaze had turned cutting — predatory.

Sophie went pale for an instant, then laughed — a shaky, brittle sound.

"Look at you. A little confidence, and suddenly you've got teeth, huh? I was giving you a compliment."

"Was that what it was?" he asked mildly, tilting his head, the smile not reaching his eyes.

He didn't say the rest — You cheated on me for months. When did you ever notice my eyes? — but the thought burned bright behind his stare.

Sophie drew breath to respond — then froze, as if something invisible had touched her. Her gaze unfocused, lips parting slightly. William realized she was breathing him in — deeply — as though catching a scent she couldn't understand but instinctively wanted.

Sophie smiled suddenly — a dazed, almost drunken kind of smile. Her pupils had dilated, and a strange shimmer passed through her gaze. She drew in a deep breath, as if trying to catch a scent hanging around him.

"Wow… did you change your cologne or something?" she asked, voice husky, and inhaled again through her nose like a cat catching a foreign scent.

William shifted back slightly, feeling the warmth of her breath against his neck.

"Uh… no. And if you don't mind," he managed a polite smile, "a little space would be great."

But Sophie didn't seem to hear. She stepped closer instead — close enough for him to feel the static air between them. Her hand brushed across his chest, light but insistent, leaving behind a trail that sent a cold spark racing along his skin.

"No, seriously…" she whispered, breath trembling. "You've done something to yourself. That scent… God, it's incredible. I don't know what it is, but it's making me—"

She exhaled sharply, eyes half-closed. Her fingers traced down the fabric of his shirt in a motion that was far too deliberate. Her voice slipped even lower, rough with heat.

"Jesus, Will… I can't—"

Before she could finish, William caught her wrist — quick but gentle. For a brief instant, his claws flicked out, just long enough to glint in the light before sliding back beneath human skin.

"Hey. Enough," he said, calmly but firmly. "That's called harassment."

Sophie blinked, but didn't pull away right away. Instead, she tried to twist free, moving closer again, her body trembling. Her eyes gleamed with something wild — hunger, confusion, something primal.

"You don't understand," she breathed. "I just—" She licked her lips. Her voice trembled into a whisper. "You're driving me insane."

He stepped back, heartbeat thudding. His mind raced. This had never happened before. To anyone.

The air around them seemed to thicken, humming faintly — carrying that scent again: iron, pine resin, wild earth. It was his scent, raw and untamed, leaking out of him like a signal.

Then he felt it — a flicker at the edge of his consciousness. Cold and unmistakable. Like a thought that wasn't his own pressing lazily against the inside of his skull.

Milagros.

He almost swore aloud.

"Goddamn it. Not her. Not now," he hissed under his breath.

Sophie stood there trembling, gripping the edge of the desk for balance. Her eyes were unfocused, her expression caught between confusion and shame.

"Will… I—I don't know what's happening," she whispered.

He didn't answer. He just grabbed his things, shoved the envelope into his pocket, and headed for the door with long, fast strides.

The last thing he heard was her uneven breathing behind him — shallow, bewildered, human — as he stepped into the hall and the scent of iron began to fade.