Speaking of serious, it was strange how the usually lazy, laid-back Tyrone could be so intense. His face was frozen and set, but his eyes were blazing with just as much ferocity as Emma’s ever had.
It suddenly struck Emma that he wasn’t stampeding like a manic rhinoceros just for fun. He was rapidly making his way straight toward her. She tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible, but only the right side of her body could move at all. Bellatrix’s curse had evidently done more than just smash her up against the wall. She couldn’t eve feel her left side.
She couldn’t be seen like this, weak and defeated and utterly terrified and, most importantly, bald. She couldn’t stand the idea of Tyrone looking at her with pity and revulsion, trying to be polite but unable to hide his disgust. It would be awkward and embarrassing, and it would make everything she was feeling ten times worse.
Because she knew Tyrone, and she knew that he was a flatterer and a hopeless romantic, two traits that were hard enough to stomach even when nothing was wrong. He would try to fool her”and probably himself”into thinking that he still liked her, even in her state.
“EMMA!” he yelled, and swore incredibly loudly. “GET OUT OF MY WAY!” he yelled, shoving Harry Potter into a wall in his quest to reach Emma. Emma almost smiled. He was always so loud and dramatic. “What happened to you?” Tyrone said softly, kneeling down on the ground and touching Emma’s face. “Your hair…”
“Leave me alone.”
Tyrone’s expression didn’t change. “If you think I’m really going to leave you alone like this, you’re crazy,” he said. He stared at her without taking his eyes away. Like someone looking at a train wreck, thought Emma.
“What, do you think I can’t take care of myself?” snapped Emma.
“Er, honestly, yeah I do,” said Tyrone. There were tears in his eyes, and it was creepy. “You can’t walk, Emma.”
Emma couldn’t look back at him. It was like looking into the sun. Except looking into the sun made Emma sneeze, and that was one of the few unpleasant sensations she didn’t feel at the moment. “Yeah, I noticed that part, actually,” she said weakly.
But Tyrone sat behind her, encircling her with his arms and supporting her. It was hard not to notice how comfortable it was, even if he smelled revolting and he clearly had no idea where to put his hands.
This was all wrong. There was something horrible about being touched by Tyrone Thomas when she looked so disgusting and pathetic. Emma wanted to escape, but she couldn’t manage it with only one side of her stupid body working.
“Tyrone,” she said, her voice sounding as strange as she felt. “Don’t worry about me, okay? I… it’s not that I’m mad at you. I’m not. It’s just, I can deal with this myself. Stop looking at me. Please.” She tried to get up again, but nothing happened. She gritted her teeth, hating her body’s stubborn wish to embarrass her. “Soon as we get back to the right time, I’ll go to St. Mungo’s and they’ll reverse the spell, no problem. This isn’t a big deal.”
“Too bad,” Tyrone told her matter-of-factly. “I’m sticking around, Em. I’ll help you walk, and if you get too tired, I can carry you.”
Emma snorted. “Oh, please. Did you see Ted do that, trying to be all chivalrous? Guys love to feel like girls need them. Ted looked like an idiot, and Ivy’s way smaller than me.”
Tyrone looked affronted. “Yeah, but that’s Ted. Come on, you know I’m a lot stronger than him. I’d never drop you.” He flexed his biceps in that trying-to-look-subtle way that he was so famous for failing at. But the expression in his eyes was disconcertingly serious, and he was still holding onto Emma’s shoulders. His hands were strong and broad, the undersides a surprising light pink. They reminded her of starfish clinging to a rock.
“Look, why are you even bothering?” blurted Emma. “You don’t need to pretend like I’m the same old Emma. I know as well as you do how I look. I’m just trying to make this easier for you.”
“It’s kind of vain to think people would like you just ‘cos of how you look, isn’t it?” said Tyrone. Emma didn’t say anything, mainly because she was so shocked that Tyrone of all people was talking about vanity. He spent as much time watching himself in the mirror as some people did watching television.
“Come on, Em, you know me. And besides, it’s not that bad. I mean, my dad’s bald, so chances are I will be, too”and there’s no way I’m letting that get me down. Don’t you think I’d look just as gorgeous without my hair?”
He was babbling now, but Emma didn’t mind. “Yeah… especially the hair over your lip,” she managed. Why did Tyrone always make her feel so comfortable and so awkward all at once?
“Hey, that’s just cold. I’m trying to be mature here. But anyway, it’s just hair. It’ll grow back soon enough.”
“Not mine,” said Emma gloomily, feeling tears begin to prickle ominously in her eyes. She couldn’t believe she was getting all worked up over something as trivial as hair, especially when that particular problem was eclipsed by the much bigger ones of partial paralysis and homicidal Death Eaters. “It was cursed off. It’s gone for good.”
“Oh.” Tyrone was silent for a moment, then prattled on. “Then… well, at least you’ll never have to worry about, you know, bad hair days or anything. Besides, girls are weird. You’re all so crazy about getting rid of all hair”and in your case, my hair”except for the bits on their heads and their eyelashes. It’s a time saver this way, right?”
Emma peered closely at him. “You are so acting like Ted,” she said. “Don’t tell me he gave you tips on how to get a girl? Look at you, you might as well be Mr. Sunny-Side-Up Optimist himself.”
“But stronger,” Tyrone made certain to add. “And cuter. Well, except for on full moons, I have to admit Ted wins then.” He looked at Emma with such intensity that it made her eyeballs ache. “For the record, I still think you’re the third best-looking girl I’ve ever seen.”
“What, only third?” Emma said sarcastically, feeling the corners of her mouth twitching.
“After my mum and Robin Wright Penn in The Princess Bride,” explained Tyrone. “Anyway, nothing’s gonna change… well, as long as you’ve still got…” he gestured vaguely toward the region of her chest. Emma rolled her eyes, but she didn’t bother smacking Tyrone in the face as she normally would. She knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t serious… well, not entirely serious, anyway.
He ran a hand across Emma’s head, and the feel of his smooth skin against her bare scalp was strange and embarrassing and sent shivers down her spine. “I’m not gonna lie, Emma, this is going to take a lot of getting used to. It’s still kind of creeping me out. But I’ll get used to it. And it could be worse.”
“How?” exploded Emma.
“Well, for starters, you could be dead!” shouted Tyrone. It was such an abrupt shift in mood that Emma almost jumped.
“Easy for you to say.”
“Not really,” Tyrone said roughly. “In case you forgot, Malfoy murdered my mum. It’s not fun when people you care about die, get it? If you died, I’d kill you!”
“Your logic seems slightly flawed there,” Emma told him, trying to ignore the emotion in his voice. “Anyway, I get what you’re saying, my looks aren’t important, blah blah blah. But last year, you said you liked me because I was all strong and unstoppable, right? Well, guess what? I’m weak. And it looks an awful lot like Bellatrix Lestrange stopped me.” She looked down at the ground, playing with a pebble. “And… what if… what if I’m wrong? What if they can’t fix my arm and my leg with magic and I’m stuck like this forever? Personally, I’d rather she did me in than make me spend the rest of my life being a useless, pathetic cripple.”
“What, like Professor Longbottom?” shot back Tyrone.
Emma gaped. “No, of course I didn’t””
“Just ‘cause you can’t stand up doesn’t mean you’re weak,” said Tyrone. “Look at Westley from ‘The Princess Bride.’ He couldn’t walk, but he still stormed the castle, and””
“‘The Princess Bride’ isn’t the Bible,” spat Emma.
Tyrone looked genuinely hurt, his face flushing an odd greenish-lilac. “I never said it was,” he mumbled.
“Yeah, but I don’t think you’re getting the fact that it’s all made up. This is real life. And if they can’t fix me, then I… I can’t do basically anything. I mean, all the stuff you used to like to do with me… I can’t dance with you. I can’t sneak around after curfew. And forget Quidditch”I was supposed to be captain next year, too. Now I can never play again!”
She remembered how she’d laughed at Jordan’s dramatic I-can-never-play-Quidditch again speech. Now she knew how he felt, and there was nothing funny about it.
“It’s like I said before,” Tyrone told her calmly. “You’d just have to get used to it. Quidditch is all sitting. Once you work out balancing right, you’ll be okay. And I already know you can fly one-handed, remember?”
Emma certainly remembered. How could she forget that first time they’d ridden brooms at midnight, held hands as a ‘teamwork test.’ It had been extremely fun, and even more amusingly, Jordan had gone bonkers the next day when he’d heard about it. Anything that annoyed Jordan was automatically twice as funny.
Tyrone shook his head. “St. Mungo’s is good. They’ll get you back to normal. My aunt deals with this kind of thing all the time. But… if something goes wrong… you know I’m still sticking with you, right?”
She looked up at Tyrone, so ridiculously good-looking and well-built. There was no way she was going to be the fragile, helpless damsel in distress who needed to be rescued by the strong, handsome knight in shining armour.
Tyrone believed in life according to ‘The Princess Bride,’ where the dashing hero saved the lovely but helpless princess and they lived happily ever after. But that wasn’t how the world worked. True love had brought Westley back from the dead. Hadn’t Tyrone realized after his mother died that no amount of love could bring her back, that ‘The Princess Bride,’ was just a story? Didn’t he realize romance was a fairy-tale concept?
“Thanks for trying to make me feel better,” Emma said quietly. “I think you helped, really. But… I think you should go now. I have enough to deal with as it is.”
Tyrone’s face crumpled. “Yeah, great,” he said, and his voice sounded bitter. “I get it. I thought I’d make you feel better, but all I do is annoy you, huh?”
“That’s not what I””
“You’d think I’d have caught on by now, that you only ever hang out with me because you feel sorry for the poor little boy who’s lost his mummy. That’s why you started talking to me in the first place.” He folded his arms and glared, and once again, he looked very intimidating. Emma’s shoulders were cold where he’d released them. “Typical for big, dumb, conceited Tyrone Thomas, huh? Too stupid and selfish to realize you were just trying to be nice?”
Emma stared at him. He was calling himself stupid and self-centred? Only she was allowed to call him that! “Tyrone, since when have I ever done anything to be nice? Ever?” she exclaimed.
“Of course, you could’ve told me these last three years that you don’t give a Knut about me, but that would wreck your fun, wouldn’t it? You just like to play around with me, right? Because it’s funny to flirt around with someone and get his hopes up and then laugh about it.”
He was getting worked up, and it was making Emma uncomfortable to hear Tyrone talking about getting his hopes up.
“I’ve never flirted with anyone in my life!” she shouted.
“Oh yeah? What do you call holding hands, flying together at midnight, watching movies, hiding out after dark, slow dancing, saying ‘not yet’ when I ask you out? And don’t say you call that pity!”
“That’s… that’s different! And besides, it’s you who’s pitying me because I’m messed-up and useless and everything and you want to be the big hero.”
Tyrone glared at her, and his look was harder than than any that Emma had ever received in her life, which was saying something, seeing as she’d grown up with Jordan. “I’m not here out of pity,” he said. “I’m here because I saw you get hurt and I was scared… I’m still scared. See, at least I’m man enough to admit it. And unlike some people, I’m brave enough to come right out and admit that I…like you. A lot.”
Emma was speechless, but it didn’t matter because Tyrone still had plenty to say. “And you can really be a git, and you’re always making me feel horrible, but I can’t get it into my thick head to stop liking you, even if you can’t stand the sight of me.”
Emma couldn’t stand it anymore. Before she knew what she was doing, she exploded. “What are you, stupid? I’m bloody crazy about you!”
And without thinking, without realizing what she was doing, without even worrying about the consequences, she grabbed Tyrone by the face with her good hand and kissed him. It wasn’t like the perfect kiss at the end of ‘The Princess Bride.’ It was clumsy and awkward and desperate and absolutely amazing.
And Emma didn’t care for a long, suspended moment that she was bald, that she couldn’t move her left side, that not far off, people were still shooting curses back and forth, that she’d let herself give in at last . She should have felt awful in every possible way, but she couldn’t remember ever feeling happier.
When they broke apart, they stared at one another. They weren’t gazing deeply and passionately into each other’s eyes like in the stories… it was more like suddenly realizing, “What the heck did we just do?”
After what seemed like a ludicrously long amount of time, Emma breathed, “Your mustache tickles.”
Tyrone blinked, for the first time in quite awhile. “Emma…” he said softly. “I thought you said you denied the existence of my mustache…”
“I think I denied the existence of lots of stuff,” Emma replied, and suddenly burst into tears.
Tyrone looked very taken aback, clearly astonished by Emma doing several incredibly un-Emmalike things in a very short span of time. “Are, uh, your eyes really, really sweaty?” he asked gently.
“No, I’m crying, you idiot!” Emma exclaimed gleefully, now laughing and crying at the same time. She’d thought that being strong meant never showing signs of weakness, but maybe that wasn’t always the case. Maybe she’d been unbelievably stupid for the last several years. Maybe being a strong person meant being brave enough to admit she’d been wrong. And… maybe Tyrone really did have a mustache.
Tyrone cupped her chin in his hands. “You really scare me sometimes,” he whispered softly.
“And you really annoy me sometimes,” Emma replied tenderly. “Want to snog some more?”
“You have to ask?”
Ted looked up into the face”if you could call it that”of a massive Death Eater wearing a terrible grin. From where he was sitting, the man looked impossibly huge. His robes were torn and stained, his graying black hair and beard matted, his fingernails were curved talons, and his teeth were yellow and pointed and, in the case of several of them, missing altogether.
But it was his face that was the most terrifying. It was slashed and shredded and hopelessly mutilated, such a cruel parody of a face that it made Bill Weasley look as perfect as Tyrone Thomas by comparison. One eye was missing and sealed shut with crusted blood, a spider web of scars criss-crossing over it. His nose was smashed over to one side of his face, his ears tattered, and huge chunks of his lips and cheeks were entirely missing, exposing swollen red gums beneath. He moved in a strange way, half bent over and with tentative steps as though unused to walking on two legs. His one eye was yellowed and bloodshot, the blue iris cloudy and scummed over, but distinctly wild-looking nonetheless.
He sniffed the air, his distorted nostrils inflating, and stopped uncomfortably close to Ted, looking him up and down with his single eye. Ted could smell the blood on the man, and he could feel his heart pounding somewhere in the region of his Adam’s apple. He grabbed Ivy’s hand tightly. He knew exactly what this man was.
“This is the last place I expected to find you,” the man said. “I’ve been following your scent across the battlefield, and I find you enjoying private time with a female companion. How quaint.”
His voice was a strange surprise, rather high-pitched and fussy-sounding. Ted had been expecting more of a growl, and words of greeting more along he lines of “Oi’m gonna eatcha!” This man reminded Ted of Anatoly Capshaw gone bad.
“So you’re the young werewolf. Nearly seventeen, if I’m not mistaken.”
“You’re not,” said Ted very cautiously, exchanging frightened, confused glances with Ivy”though his were rather less frightened and confused. At least he understood why his age mattered.
“Please don’t hurt him,” said Ivy quietly.
The man stared at her for a moment, then suddenly burst out laughing. “You are clearly very confused. I would certainly never hurt this boy. I merely find it intriguing to converse with my own kind.”
“You’re a werewolf, too?” asked Ivy.
Ted was quite surprised that she couldn’t tell from the start. The man was the most wolfish person Ted had ever met, and he had a certain smell about him beneath the stench of blood that Ted recognized all too well. He’d smelled it on his father, and he was beginning to smell it on himself, and this man’s smell was hundreds of times stronger. Ted’s nose was getting keener the closer he got to his birthday.
“I am, in fact,” said the man, “although I personally would find it a bit obvious. My name, incidentally, is Cassius Balthazar, and I’m sure the others in my pack will find a good place for a nice young lad like yourself.”
“Thanks, but I think normal, er, wizard society’s good enough for me,” Ted said uneasily.
Balthazar laughed, but not particularly unpleasantly. “That is adorably optimistic,” he said. “But trying to live like a human only causes unnecessary pain. We don’t have anything as petty and trifling as laws. Killing is not frowned upon. We don’t have to wear clothes. And we go hunting everyday, even when it’s not a full moon. I bet you’ve never been hunting in your life, you poor puppy.”
Ted had never been addressed as a puppy before, and he sincerely hoped he never would be again. “That just doesn’t sound like my kind of place,” he said politely. “I mean, I’m like the biggest goody-goody in the school. I really don’t think I have the body for running around without anything on. And… I definitely don’t eat people. Honestly, the idea grosses me out.”
“That, my friend, is your human side talking,” sighed the other werewolf. “In a few weeks, your wolf side will be in control, and then you’ll see things quite differently. In fact, I can tell, your wolf side is so strong already. I’m surprised you haven’t snapped, as they say. I’ll save a place for you should your mind change… literally…”
Ivy looked unflinchingly into Balthazar’s ruined face. Ted wondered how she could gaze so steadily at such a mess when she could barely even bring herself to glimpse his mangled forehead. “Ted has never felt like anything but a human before,” she said stiffly. “No matter what he looks like. Even when he’s a wolf. Isn’t that right, Ted?”
Ted remained silent, looking down at his hands with embarrassment.
“Ted?” Ivy repeated quietly.
“Werewolves turn violent when we come of age,” Ted blurted. “We start changing the year before we turn seventeen. He’s right, sometimes I forget I’m a person”I jumped at Charybdis Nott that one time. I have some weird moments sometimes. But dad says I can learn to control myself, just like my first transformation, and he’s fine. He says I’ll get used to it.”
He expected Ivy to nod in silent understanding, or for her to hug him and say that it didn’t matter, that he would always just be Ted to her. But she didn’t, and her eyes were hard. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she said, and her voice was as close to confrontational as Ivy could get. “I thought something was wrong, but I trusted you to tell me.”
“I didn’t want you to worry!” exclaimed Ted. “You worry so much anyway. I wanted to get this under control, before I went and told you about it.”
“But you worry about me,” said Ivy. “I’m always honest with you about what’s bothering me. I can handle things, Ted, and you know it. You were scared I wouldn’t like you anymore if I knew.”
“That’s not true!”
Balthazar smiled his disgusting smile, watching this little scene play out. Ivy was using her dangerously small, hard voice, and Ted’s light blue eyes were wide with bewilderment.
“People you tell will be frightened of you. People you don’t tell will feel betrayed,” he sighed in a mock-tragic sort of way. “It’s a terrible predicament. I personally don’t understand it. After all, we’re lucky. I myself am much happier living as I do. Only werewolves have the freedom to live like wolves, with wolfish senses and intuition but retain the intelligence of human beings. Humans are only frightened of us because they’re intimidated. They’re so used to being the top of the food chain that they get dreadfully peevish when you eat just one or two of them.”
He giggled, a weirdly shrill sound. “I can think like a wolf and express it and understand it like a man. It’s not being a werewolf that’s taken everything away from you. It’s being a werewolf in a human world.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Ted.
Balthazar giggled again. “Did you know that I’m only thirty-one? I was bitten just a few weeks after I graduated from Hogwarts. I enjoyed a stint as Prefect, and naturally, always got top marks. I was on the Quidditch team. I was also incredibly good-looking. Me.” He gestured toward his devastated face. “You were bitten on the forehead. You can cover it up. It’s not quite as simple when it’s one’s entire face that’s been turned into a pound of mincemeat.” He looked at Ted thoughtfully. “You probably weren’t such an unfortunate-looking young chap when you were bitten, were you? Even without the scars, no one can go through transformation every month and still look good. People care about looks. Werewolves don’t.”
“Hey, I am not unfortunate-looking,” said Ted, who almost felt like laughing. He knew he wasn’t gorgeous by anyone’s standards, but he wasn’t exactly a gargoyle, either.
Balthazar shook his hideous head. “You really think you’ll go on living like a normal teenager after you turn seventeen. As much as I have to admire your attitude, and as much as I hate raining on your Werewolf Pride parade, you’ll be much happier as a wolf. I tried to deny it as well, and all I got was a divorce, internal conflict, a pink slip, and the screams of frightened children. I don’t want to see another wolf go through what I did.”
“You’re in league with Voldemort,” pointed out Ivy.
“Of course I am! Of course we all are! He’s the only one who will give us jobs. Quite ironic, isn’t it, how the ‘good side,’ the side that supposedly is not obsessed with blood purity, won’t look at us twice, when the Dark Lord employs us? He understands we can’t survive without eating people and uses it to his advantage.”
Ivy and Ted exchanged glances. Balthazar seemed so convinced that he was talking sense, and the tone of his voice made him sound like an intelligent, well-informed gentleman. But he talked about killing and eating people as though it couldn’t be avoided. Ted knew it was possible to be a werewolf without eating anyone, and he wasn’t at all impressed.
“You’ve never killed anyone, have you?” Balthazar asked in his matter-of-fact voice. “Come close, undoubtedly, but you’ve never actually killed?”
He didn’t wait for Ted to answer. Ted almost felt offended until he came to his senses and realized that this was a good thing.
“You will,” said Balthazar reassuringly. It was laughable and maddening at the same time that he would be reassuring about something like that. “If you’re living with your equals, it’ll be a stranger. There won’t be any consequences, except perhaps the satisfaction of a good square meal. At Hogwarts? At home? There’s a very good chance it’ll be someone you care about. And no one else will be quite as understanding as me.”
“My dad’s a werewolf. He can control himself”he’s never killed anyone, ever,” Ted said staunchly, feeling like a broken record. He couldn’t believe that practically all he was doing in this battle was talking about being a werewolf. He hadn’t expected it here, of all places.
Balthazar snorted disbelievingly, but it was a polite snort. “Your father taught you to hold it in. It’s rather like plugging up a hose with one finger. When you let your guard down and explode, I’ll assure you it’s much worse than it would be otherwise.”
It was then that Ted realized how many dead bodies on the battlefield hadn’t been destroyed by a painless killing curse. All too many were gnawed and bloodied, their flesh ripped away. Ted was sure that Balthazar had calmly eaten at them as one would a slice of pizza. And there wasn’t any anger or aggression involved” this was standard behaviour for Balthazar.
Ted shuddered. He couldn’t begin to imagine himself doing anything like that. He had parents and older siblings and teachers and friends and Ivy, who all knew him so well, had known him since before he’d become a werewolf. The worst part of the concept of joining Balthazar was imagining the horrified and grief-stricken expressions on their faces when they learned what their little Teddy had done. It would never happen, not in a million years.
“You are a monster,” said Balthazar, jolting Ted from his reverie. He didn’t say this like it was a bad thing.
“Covering it up doesn’t make you any less of one. The sooner you learn that, the happier you’ll be. I’ve met puppies like yourself before, and their endings are never pretty. Better to accept that you’re not human anymore and you’ll never be human again, and there’s no reason why you should try to dress up and play pretend like you’re one. One day, it will all catch up with you. Everyone has a breaking point.”
Suddenly, he grabbed Ivy by the waist and dragged her toward him. She screamed, but Balthazar looked unfazed. He was used to ignoring screams of terror. “How would you like it, girl, if your boyfriend attacked you?”
“My name is Ivy.”
Balthazar laughed. “Well, then, Ivy. Suppose you two lovebirds were alone together when Ted got a little… over-excited in the heat of the moment and accidentally tore you limb for limb? No one would hear you scream, would they? It seems a bit foolish to me.”
Ted couldn’t remember ever feeling so small before, despite the fact that face to face, he was actually at least half a head taller than Balthazar. He was shaking. “Let go of her,” he said, but his voice sounded weak. How could Balthazar say something like that? He could never hurt Ivy. He only hoped she realized that.
Ted had always thought that Malfoy had been the evilest person he’d ever met, though Charybdis Nott and Pansy Parkinson were not too far behind. But now he had to reconsider.
Cassius Balthazar, for all of his affected mannerisms, was eviler than Ted could have imagined any human being becoming. And what made him so evil was that he didn’t think of himself as such. He had no morals, no qualms, and no idea that anything he was doing was wrong.
“It will happen,” continued Balthazar. He had moved one of his hands around Ivy’s throat, the other still wrapped around her waist. He was too strong for her to get away, but she didn’t look scared. She looked angry and offended, and most importantly, she looked Ted full in the eye.
“Best not to sugarcoat things. One day very soon, you will snap. You won’t be able to push it back anymore. And without even thinking, without remembering that you were ever human, you will kill someone with your teeth and your claws and anything else you can use.” Balthazar’s voice was rising and falling in an eerie, hypnotizing cadence.
“You never thought to tell Ivy that there was more to being a werewolf than transformations? Not even a fair warning? She wouldn’t know to get away before you could hurt her. Was that your plan all along, to lure her into your trap? or are you really that stupid and idealistic? In either case, it’s best to cure both of you of any delusions. There has been so much bloodshed already today, I can’t say I’ll be very surprised if you kill for the first time today.”
And Balthazar was right. Because just then, he whispered, “Poor, poor, Ivy. Let’s just put her out of her misery already, shall we?” and went straight for her throat.
Ted felt as though his brain had burst like a balloon, splattered uselessly across the inside of his skull. The anger and hatred that had been building in him since Balthazar had begun to speak coursed through his veins like poison.
He screamed… but his scream was more of a roar, and his roar more of a growl. He was blind and he was deaf, and there was nothing but the filthy teeth so close to Ivy’s neck…
Ted threw himself at Balthazar, catching him off guard, and knocked him to the ground. He may not have been strong, but he was angry and afraid, and that more than made up for muscles. He felt his fingernails rip through the man’s robes and into his chest, and everything was distorted by red clouds of hate…
Ted was splayed across Balthazar’s broad torso, the massive werewolf flat on his back on the ground. Ivy was crouched nearby, and Ted could see that she was crying silently. Her neck was red, but the skin wasn’t broken at all”Ted had stopped Balthazar in time. Gradually, Ted’s breathing slowed, his muscles relaxed, and the pulsating redness behind his eyes dissipated.
He couldn’t believe he’d thrown himself at such a big, powerful man”a full-grown werewolf, no less”and lived to tell the tale, much less managed to tackle him to the ground. But he had tried to hurt Ivy… and he had suggested that Ted would do even worse to her… and that Ted didn’t really care about her. Balthazar had located all of Ted’s buttons and pushed them in succession.
“Erm… sorry…” said Ted lamely, getting up. He was horrified, shaking from head to foot. Balthazar would not take kindly to Ted’s little display, and he knew he could expect to be chased and, if caught, eaten on the spot.
But Balthazar didn’t stir.
Ted looked down and immediately felt every hair on his body stand on end and every drop of his blood freeze in his veins. Balthazar’s head had struck a sharp, pointed rock. The ground around him was splattered with blood and brains in a thick pink ooze, like a strawberry milkshake, and it was spilling fast. The sickly-sweet stink of death permeated the air.
Cassius Balthazar was dead…and Ted had killed him.