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“Do we have any anti-itch salve?” I asked him.

He frowned and lifted a gem from the cauldron. Steam wafted off it as he set it aside on a cloth. “I’m not sure we do,” he said.

“What the hells is the point of an entire alchemy workshop if there’s no fucking anti-itch salve?” I asked.

“Well …” He frowned. “I— It’s been a while since we’ve had to work on medical aide products. The university hasn’t requested⁠—”

I waved my hand dismissively and marched over to the dried herbs, perusing chamomile flowers and cutting a prickly leaf off an aloe plant.

Grabbing a mortar and pestle, I ground the chamomile down to a fine powder, cut out the slimy aloe from within the leaf, and tossed it all into a glass jar. I didn’t care about finesse as I mixed it all together with a few drops of lavender tincture and channeled my powers into it haphazardly. Without another word to Shan, I headed to my office with the jar. I locked my office door, stripped off the top part of my dress, and scooped a handful of the cool paste, slathering it over my arms then legs. The relief was instantaneous. I collapsed into the chair Sylvan had sat in so many times and let out a breath that deflated my lungs.

I just sat there until the cooling sensation died down then rubbed the salve in more before slipping back into my dress. I injected myself with the draft, and the moment I sat down and unlocked my drawer to attend to my notes, the itch returned.

Eventually, I returned to the workshop to work on the antivenom.

My paws beat on the ground as I raced through the city into the woodland. The wind blew through my fur, my senses sharper than ever. I didn’t know where I was running to. Maybe I was running from something.

I awoke on the floor of my bedroom, my clothing shredded, blood dripping down my neck and between my breasts. Nausea pulsed in my gut as I propelled myself off the floor through the pain and the dizziness. I scrubbed the blood from my skin, not caring if I reopened my wounds. I could still feel the vivid sensation of wind blowing through my fur, and the loamy scent of earth still mingled with the scent of blood in my nose.

Had it only been a dream? And if so, how did I end up with blood all over me?

Again, my clothing was tossed into the fireplace, the blaze consuming any evidence. My heart was racing, but the feverish aches and exhaustion dragged me back to bed. I was thirsty, but I had no energy to go in search of blood.

The next few nights were much of the same. Strange dreams, waking up soaked in sweat, clothes tattered and blood-stained. I dragged myself to the university each day, somehow making it through lectures while tending to the potions and anti-venom. By the fifth day, the new draft and hopeful cure was completed but still needed to be tested.

Shan was nowhere to be found, but as I started to leave that afternoon, students congregated in the hallways, discussing more recent attacks. They were happening with increasing frequency, and the attacker was still at large. A variety of theories and rumors were flying around. That it was a lone wolf. That it wasn’t a lycan at all. That it was a new Occult no one had discovered yet.

They were laughable theories, but the scariest of all was: perhaps it’s a hybrid.

It was swiftly followed up with: There aren’t any existing hybrids. That’s just myth.

If only they knew.

I returned home with the brand-new draft, took a shower, drank a few goblets of blood, and hoped that injecting myself with a completely different formula wouldn’t be too harsh. But just hours after I did, the symptoms came on with disorienting force.

Needing to get out of the house, I ran toward the front door, but Irving was at the bookshelf looking for a new read. He sat up, “Are you alright?”

“I have to go,” I told him.

“Aura, wait.”

He caught up to me at the door, but I grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall. He choked out my name, panic flaring in his red eyes as his pupils dilated. My nails had lengthened to points, Irving’s pulse hammering as fiercely as the throbbing in my temples. His blood rushed through his veins, and my mouth watered, eyes focused on his jugular as I lowered my hand to press against his chest.

“Aura, what are you doing?” he cried. “You’re hurting— Ahh.”

My fangs lengthened, and I felt myself drawing closer to him, dying to lick the drop of blood my claws had drawn from his neck.

“Aura!” Irving thrashed in my arms, eyes wide, hands struggling to pull mine free. “Stop, please. Please, Aura. Please!”

That last plea was like a splash of cold water against my face. I released him, stepping back. I pressed my hand over my mouth, my body shaking with the effort. Gods, the smell of his blood, the vein pulsating in his neck. “I’m sorry,” I ground out. “Go. Stay out of my sight.”

He didn’t argue with me. He vanished at max speed, and I collapsed against the door. What the hells was wrong with me? I left the house, desperate for air, hoping it would clear my mind. But my bones hurt too much, the itch intensifying with each step until I wanted to peel my skin from my muscles.

When I returned to my bedroom, I pulled out my quill and inkwell. My handwriting devolved rather quickly as I described a plan of action should my condition keep unraveling.

If my condition gets out of control before I have answers, here’s how to keep my body alive while you use it to harvest samples for Lobofebris testing:

IMMEDIATELY: 1-2 doses of “Sedate” injected anywhere (amber liquid). Stab me in the face with the needle for all I care.