The Sheriff's deputies secured the scene of the clearing. The monstrous wolf lay lifeless, a grotesque testament to the night's events. Ethan, unconscious and pale, was loaded onto a stretcher, his face a mask of pain. Claire clung to his hand, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs.
At the hospital, a flurry of activity surrounded them. Doctors examined Ethan, their faces etched with a mixture of concern and curiosity. Claire, relegated to a sterile waiting room, paced restlessly, the memories of the clearing replaying in a horrifying loop.
The arrival of Sheriff Thompson startled her out of her reverie. His face was grim, a shadow of worry clouding his usual gruff demeanour.
"How is he?" Claire asked, her voice hoarse.
"Alive, but barely," the Sheriff sighed. "Lost a lot of blood. Doctors are running tests, but…" he trailed off, his gaze filled with unspoken questions.
Claire understood. The bite from the wolf, the strange transformation – it was all too unbelievable. But she knew what she had seen. The truth, however unsettling, couldn't be ignored.
"Sheriff," Claire began, gathering her courage. "There's something you need to know. About the Thompsons, and the cabin…"
She recounted the legend from the old book, her voice trembling slightly. The Sheriff listened intently, his expression growing thoughtful.
"So, you're saying Ethan… he might be…?"
"A werewolf," Claire finished for him, the word catching in her throat.
The Sheriff rubbed his temples, the weight of the revelation clearly settling onto his shoulders. "This changes everything. We can't exactly announce there's a werewolf in town, can we?"
Claire shook her head. The image of the townspeople, armed with pitchforks and torches, flashed in her mind. Ethan needed understanding, not fear.
"Then we need to figure out how to help him," Claire declared, her voice gaining strength. "There has to be a way to control the curse…"
The Sheriff sighed, a flicker of admiration in his eyes. "You're a brave one, Claire. But this ain't something you can tackle alone. We need more information. Maybe that old book of yours has some answers."
As they spoke, a doctor emerged from Ethan's room. His expression was grave.
"He's stable for now," he explained. "But the bite… it's caused some… unusual changes. His body is healing at an accelerated rate, but…"
"But what?" Claire pressed, her heart sinking.
The doctor hesitated. "There's… an infection unlike anything I've seen before. It's spreading fast. We're running tests, but…"
The unsaid words hung heavy in the air. Claire understood. Ethan was fighting on two fronts – the infection from the wolf and the battle within himself against the curse.
Determined to help, Claire decided to take matters into her own hands. She wouldn't stand by and watch Ethan succumb to either. The old book, with its whispers of forgotten lore, was her only lead.
Leaving the hospital under the cloak of night, Claire slipped into the deserted bookstore. Ignoring the dusty shelves and the comforting scent of old paper, she went straight for the section on folklore. With trembling hands, she scanned the pages, searching for any mention of controlling lycanthropy.
As the clock ticked past midnight, she found it – a faded inscription that spoke of a moonstone flower, a rare bloom said to hold the power to suppress the werewolf transformation. But there was a catch – the flower only bloomed once every few decades, under a specific alignment of the stars.
Despair threatened to engulf Claire. The odds were stacked against them, and the time clock was ticking. But remembering Ethan's hand in hers, warm and vulnerable, she refused to give up.
There had to be another way. This wasn't just about Ethan anymore. It was about a love that defied the darkness, a love that refused to be extinguished by the light of the full moon.