Life defies logic; only fools seek sense in every step.
Well, man, I sat in the last stall of the grimy toilet on the second floor, locked in there during the middle of my third class. Why did I prefer this over my PE lesson? The answer was simple: Jo. More specifically, the crimson fluid running through her veins.
Even though I'd taken three pills that morning, by the end of the second class, their effects had worn off completely. There was a brief moment during the break, just a fleeting second when an overwhelming urge to taste her surged within me.
I know I'm an idiot, a soulless monster—no need to say it out loud, I've heard it echoing in my head enough times. That's why I've voluntarily exiled myself to this toilet.
I tried to concentrate and recall Alistair's visit yesterday.
I was pretty sure he already knew everything, but I hadn't seen him since the incident with the gremlin kid. It wasn't that odd, really. Since I'd been living my own life, he'd been spending more time away. But there was something unusual about his visit this time—he came to see me at home, not at work, right after my shift.
Alex opened a door and chaos erupted. The wolf immediately lunged at him. This was unexpected. I always thought of Alex as someone who favored peaceful solutions, and I was sure he knew the fae wasn't an enemy—or at least suspected there was a business arrangement between us.
Alistair dodged his fist effortlessly and stepped into the apartment. I emerged from the kitchen just in time to see him. He apologized to Alex, asking him to follow, and marched into the other room. Alex obeyed, though he was visibly trembling with anger.
Alistair returned alone, just two minutes later.
"What did you do to Alex?" I asked, irritation creeping into my voice.
"I knocked him out," he replied casually, as though it were the most normal thing in the world.
We quietly sat at the kitchen table, and Alistair took out the alcohol that had been hidden until then. He raised an eyebrow at me. I shook my head, but still, he waved his hand toward the kitchen cabinet, and the door creaked open. With a flick of his wrist, two delicate wine glasses floated to the table. I couldn't help but watch in awe; his magic never failed to fascinate me.
"It's urgent. I couldn't postpone it. Tomorrow would be too late," he explained, filling the glasses with a magically enchanted wine.
"What's the issue?" I asked, frowning.
"There's a full moon tomorrow," he said. "A special full moon."
"What's so special about it?" I pressed.
"You'll find out soon enough," he replied cryptically.
"What happens if you tell me now?"
"A disaster." I almost rolled my eyes but stopped myself when I saw the seriousness in his expression.
"But what am I supposed to do if I don't even know what you're warning me about?" I asked, frustrated.
"It's a special planetary alignment for monsters, but especially for wolves," Alistair explained. "Has your friend been acting strange?"
I didn't need to think about it.
"Lately, he's been having mood swings. He's been really irritable. We fought over the cat for ages, and normally we'd reconcile quickly. But sometimes, he's quiet, other times he just flips out for no reason—growling like a mad dog," I said, listing off his behavior. Alistair nodded thoughtfully.
"So?"
"What do you mean, 'so'?"
"You didn't ask without a reason," I said. "Now that I've answered, I thought you'd tell me what's going on with him."
He shook his head.
"I don't know the precise reason; I don't meddle in wolves' affairs," he said flatly. "Just be careful. There are more wolves in the city than usual."
I was just beginning to forget about Geri's warning.
The room fell silent after that. Alistair sat across from me, sipping his ridiculously expensive wine, while I fiddled with the edge of the white tablecloth. For some reason, I felt it was better not to break the silence. We sat there in quiet contemplation for almost half an hour before he spoke again.
"This may be the last time I visit you."
His words caught me off guard, and for a moment, I didn't fully grasp their meaning.
"What? Why?" The questions spilled out of me before I could stop them.
Alistair looked at me with a knowing expression.
"But…"
I could've argued, I could've pushed him for answers, but in the end, I fell silent. My fingers clenched into fists, and my teeth ground together. Alistair was going to die.
Ever since I can remember, he had always been by my side. Maybe that's why I couldn't bring myself to accept that things could ever change. At first, he just watched me, quietly. He never spoke, never moved, never tried to make contact—he simply looked at me. Cloaked in a dark coat, his hood always pulled deep into his face, he was a constant presence, like an unshakable shadow.
As a child, I was terrified of him, unnerved by the feeling of his gaze on the back of my neck all day long. But as the years passed, I grew used to it. There came a point when, if he wasn't around, I actually found myself missing him.
He was like my shadow, a constant in my life. And for reasons I couldn't fully explain, I wanted to see him as my protector, though he never intervened, no matter what happened to me—except for that one time.
I was ten years old when I first saw his face. It was a wet, dreary day—rain had been falling nonstop for a week. The rain knocked mockingly on the window, and the wind howled bitterly as lightning flashed and thunder roared.
In the midst of it, I sat by my brother's bed. He was burning with fever, his body twisted in discomfort. I gently pressed a cold cloth to his forehead, adjusting the sheet that kept slipping off.
Des—my brother. As a child, I couldn't say his full name, so I called him "Des" instead of "Dénes." And somehow, the name stuck. We shared the same mother, but our fathers were different. His father was a human, a hunter, but I never learned much about him.
When I was born, Des was already five—and he said he loved me from the first moment on. As children, we spent hours together. He was always smiling, always protecting me. He was the apple of our mother's eye, yet he confronted her when I was in trouble. I loved him—he was my strong, smart older brother, and I always said I wanted to be just like him.
Every Christmas, he would tell me that my father secretly visited and left presents. If he could scrape together enough money, he bought gifts; if not, he made something by hand. I knew the truth—that my father had never visited me—but it never mattered. I was always happiest when I opened those carefully wrapped presents, no matter what was inside. And I loved the way Des would grin, so satisfied, as we played together and eventually fell asleep.
Des was the reason I didn't break when Geri began training me at the age of ten. He was the reason I didn't run away or turn against the hunters. Even though we spent less time together and he was often away hunting for weeks, when he came back, he always brought me something. He never forgot to play with me, even when exhaustion weighed him down.
It was only once, in the first week of my training, that I cried and begged him to do something to keep Geri from coming to us again. He didn't answer, but just held me while I sobbed, letting me cling to his shirt until I could breathe again. In that moment, I realized there was nothing he could do. Des was a hunter, one of the youngest talents in the Crosspherat, bound by an oath he couldn't break. And I knew, even then, that it was an oath sealed with magic once they reached a certain age.
I never asked him again, no matter how badly I longed for him to save me. I was content with him being there. But then, one day, a few weeks after my birthday, Des returned home half-dead. He was covered in wounds, and his left arm was gone, severed at the shoulder. Our mother ordered me to stay by his side and care for him while she rushed to the Crosspherat to find the best healers. I knew she wouldn't make it back in time. I felt it deep in my bones as I cried bitterly.
Then someone touched my shoulder gently, making me jump. I looked up to see the hooded figure who always watched me. His form was blurry at first, but I blinked away my tears, and then he pulled his hood back. It was Alistair. In my memories, he looked the same as the fae sitting in front of me—nothing had changed over the long years I had grown up.
All I could manage was a quiet, trembling plea: "Help."
Alistair didn't speak. He just nodded and gently pushed me out of the room. I didn't know what he was going to do, but I instinctively trusted him. I knew he would save Des. A reddish glow escaped from beneath the door, but it was only for a moment.
When the door opened on its own, I rushed back in. Des was sitting up in bed, looking better, though still pale. His face held a weary, resigned look, as though he had just come to terms with the loss of his arm. The fabric of his left sleeve hung loose by his side.
I ran to him, crying, burying my face in his chest. He stroked my back, but he didn't speak. When I turned around again, the mysterious figure had vanished.
The next time I saw him, standing off in the distance, I approached him. I thanked him, but I didn't ask how or why he had saved my brother's life—I knew he wouldn't answer. Just as he never explained who he was.
In time, he did reveal his name. And when no one else was around, he began to teach me. He taught me about monsters—their weaknesses, their strengths, their habits, their traditions. He taught me everything I needed to know.
I wouldn't call our relationship close or familial, but he became important to me. And now, he was telling me that it was all over.
"I know everything is confusing right now," he said, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "But trust me, you'll understand everything soon. Maybe you'll even uncover a secret or two about me."
Alistair left shortly after, and I remained there at the table, unmoving, for hours. The silence felt heavy around me. Then, without thinking, I reached for the glass, twirling it between my fingers. The clear liquid inside rippled gently. I never was fond of wine, yet I lifted the glass to my lips and took a slow sip. It carried the aroma of life—heartbreakingly sour.
Now I'm hiding in the stinky bathroom, forcing the second handful of blood replacement pills down my throat, yet the thirst still gnaws at me.
As the full moon neared, I always felt this kind of thirst—jokingly calling it "moon sickness." Though, I should note, I'd never experienced symptoms this intense before.
My throat burned like fire, and my stomach twitched with pain, as if I were losing my mind from the pulsing ache in my temples. Somehow, I could hear everything—the soft breaths of the humans in the English teachers' room next door, the rustle of papers, the squeak of a ballpoint pen on the page, and even the rhythmic pounding of their hearts.
One moment, I was overcome by this invincible urge to attack, to drain their blood. Then, just as quickly, the thirst lessened to a tolerable level. I couldn't explain it. But I kept my cool and made my way to the next class.
As expected, Alex questioned me the moment he had the chance.
"Where did you go?" His voice had an edge to it, a hint of annoyance.
It must've been something to do with the damn moon. On top of the monster inside me acting out, Alex was now being especially insufferable today.
"I had to take my pills," I shrugged.
He didn't seem pleased with that response but eventually let it go.
We had our good days and bad days. But lately, I could feel our friendship cracking, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I had to abandon my favorite pastime: tormenting Alex. I couldn't risk what my jokes might do to him. I used to be able to mess with him without a second thought, and yeah, he'd grumble, but he'd always end up smiling again.
Now, it felt like the distance between us was growing. In physics class, instead of the usual banter or scribbled notes, we just stared out the window in silence. During lunch, the atmosphere around him was thick with tension, like a 'don't talk to me or I'll bite your head off' vibe that I should've been giving off, not him. People loved him for his 'I'm everyone's hero' attitude, but that day, he snapped at someone who asked him for a simple favor.
A few people came up to me, wondering what was wrong with their beloved "Savior" Alex. They knew I wasn't the type for heart-to-hearts, so they got nothing but a cold stare and a malicious grin in return. Still, I left the conversation without saying a word. There were whispers that I was a bad influence on their little angel, but if anyone paid close attention, they'd notice that things weren't so great between us either.
I acted indifferent, but inside, I wanted to shout. I was worried, even if I buried it deep. What the hell could I do to fix this?
I wasn't the sentimental, mushy monster type. I had no idea what to say, or if I could even do anything. Shaytan would never say something like, "Hey, stop sulking and get your shit together, I miss you, damn it!" No, Shaytan would never say that.
By the time I sat in my last class, I decided that once I got home, I'd talk to Alex—because maybe things would be better there. At home, it felt like the mood swings didn't even exist, though yesterday, he had tried to pick a fight with Alistair without saying a word. Now seriously, why must he be so bubble-brained?
Eventually, I made my way home. But for some reason, unease coiled in my gut. Despite trying to push it down, a feeling of dread clung to me. I glanced up at the sky, as though some unknown observer was watching me from the distance.
My eyes widened, and my gaze darted nervously between the passing people and the eerie red moon. Despite it being daytime, the pale disc of the moon lingered in the sky, glowing with an unnatural crimson hue. Strangely, no one seemed to notice.
Nearby, an old man sat on a bench, absorbed in his radio. The news didn't even mention the oddity of the moon. There was a report about a three-car collision on the highway, another robbery in the city, but nothing about the blood-red moon.
This must be what Alistair was talking about. The damn moon looked like a droplet of blood hanging in the sky. But why couldn't anyone else see it? Was this another monster thing?
Every time my eyes flicked back to that sinful celestial body, it felt as though it was staring right at me, filling me with a creeping sense of anxiety. It's fine. Everything will be fine. Just go home, talk to Alex, forget about the blood moon. It'll all be fine.
Although I wanted to hurry, finding the best time to do so, our landlady, Inez, called out to me.
"Hello!" she greeted, standing with her two sons by her side.
Inez was a woman in her mid-thirties who rented us the attic. Her smile was warm as always, though I couldn't ignore the boy standing beside her.
Ricsi, the troublemaker, was on her left. His pants were torn at the knee, and the sharp scent of fresh blood hit me immediately. My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard.
His body was a patchwork of bruises, even on his face. His dark, shaggy hair was dotted with dry leaves, and he crossed his arms defiantly, turning his face away from his mother. He was probably up to no good again. But despite his rebellious nature, I liked the kid. I'd seen him fight off the seniors who picked on him and his brother more times than I could count. For a moment, I pushed the thoughts of his blood to the back of my mind.
Marcell stood to his mother's right, clutching her hand, his wide brown eyes looking up at me with the innocent vulnerability of a scared deer. He was the kind of kid who looked like a 'potential prey', with his cute freckles only making it worse. Hmm, he must be tasty. Okay, Shaytan, stop it right fucking now.
"Hi!" I greeted, offering them a smile.
"I've been waiting for you," Inez said with a bright smile, holding out a plate covered in aluminum foil. "I hope you'll accept some cookies."
Inez had a habit of offering us sweets, and when it was a holiday, she'd invite us over for lunch too. She was kind in a way that made me wonder how anyone could leave a woman like her. I didn't know much about the situation, but I knew that after Marci was born, her husband had left without a word. Since then, Inez had worked two jobs to provide for her children, and somehow managed to still have time to care for them with love and discipline.
As Inez smiled lovingly at the boys, wiping dirt off Ricsi's face, who resisted like a little wild animal, something in my chest twisted painfully. The affection in her eyes was unmistakable. And at that moment, the monster inside me whispered about what it wanted to do to her and her children.
"Thank you," I said, forcing the smile to stay on my face. Inez nodded, still smiling, and ushered her children inside the house. I let out a quiet sigh.
I stepped onto the concrete stairs, my mind briefly drifting to Alex. I imagined how happy he would be about the cookies—maybe it would make it a little easier to talk to him. But as soon as I entered the apartment, I froze.
The plate slipped from my hands and crashed to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces.