A/N: This is my contribution for resbang! Kudos for Maesnapdragon, MarshofSleep and VictoriaPyrrhi for organizing this and being very patient mods. I hope you like this and for once you're getting all chapters at once. Enjoy! And feedback is always appreciated :)

Chapter One - The Big Bad Wolf

Once upon a time there was a forest called the Lost Woods in popular parlance. The forest was avoided by every man and woman; it was an ominous place, dangerous with its thick overgrowth of tall, imposing trees, keeping all light away─ a place feared by everyone. Eerie tales were spread about it, speaking of monsters with teeth sharp enough to tear your head off, claws big and strong enough to cut a body in half. Nobody dared to venture into the Lost Woods and the townsfolk took the longer path around it rather than chancing the shorter way through the forest.

However, there was a man who had come to call this very forest his home. He had been given the name of Soul by his parents. He used to live a life of careless indulgence, debauchery and sin until one day he was attacked by a beast that bit into his tender neck, leaving him to wait for death to come for him. However, death never sought out the young man, instead his body fell victim to changes that would haunt him for the entirety of his life: skin turned to white fur, his handsome face to a muzzle, his bones reshaping painfully until he took a form similar to the beast that attacked him.

He'd shed his human cloak on nights with a full moon in particular. Sometimes his anger was enough without the assistance of the moon's magic until he could change forms at will. Yet some characteristics of the wolf remained with him even in his human form: his once pale hair, the colour of wheat, turned into a stark white belying his youth; his eyes, the fairest blue anyone had ever beheld, and which had weakened many a virtuous lady's resolve not to fall prey to his charms and into his bed, became a shade of demonic red; and his teeth transformed into murderous canines, sharp enough to easily tear into flesh and bone.

The young man chose to stay in the Lost Woods from then on, believing, perhaps correctly so, that nobody would accept a wolf-man among them as their own. He embraced a life of solitude, the wildlife his only companion and even then, the wild animals shunned him out of fear. He tried to cling to his humanity, something that gave him comfort, even once in a while stealing clothes from clueless wanderers to preserve his modesty whenever a transformation would damage the tatters he called clothing. He would prefer his human body over his animal one for a long time until the superior senses of the wolf helped him to hunt his food, or when its thick fur kept him warm during chilly nights.

He lost time of how many nights and days he had been spending in the woods, watched seasons pass with apathy, and wondered what pushed him to continue to hold on to a sad, cold life as this─ more wolf than man.

It was a day in autumn, after the leaves had already left the branches of the trees to gather on the ground, carpeting it in colours of red and yellow, when the Lady in Red appeared, cutting through his loneliness like a scythe through grass.

He burned and ached in a way it hadn't for a long time, his heart drumming in his chest and pulsing blood warming and exciting his body. She was here again─ the Lady in Red. Soul didn't know her name, only that she was beautiful. How long had it been that he had laid eyes upon a woman? He dubbed her the Lady in Red because her apparel was made up entirely of the colour, and even though it looked lovely on her, it made him snort at her stupidity for wearing a colour that drew the most attention.

Yet whenever she walked through the wretched forest with steady feet and a straight back, fearless and foolish, no wild animal approached her. She made his head spin and his heart clench with a painful familiarity, because he wanted to talk to her at the very least─ bed her at the very most.

It was beyond his grasp what a fine lady like her would want in a dark place like the Lost Woods, though he couldn't claim that her appearance was unwelcome. She was young, her face round and almost heart-shaped, her skin pale and unblemished, and her eyes the most magnificent shade of green he had ever seen. He could not see her hair; it was covered by a hood as red as her dress.

Her presence in the woods had restarted time for his human existence, and on the third day of his new existence he was watching her again. She was examining an oak tree, her small hand grazing the indents of sharp claws. Soul didn't know where the marks had come from, only that they hadn't been from him. Not that he cared─ there was a human girl there with him and the lack of human interaction in his life made his heart clench. Without thinking about his next move, he stepped out of the bushes he had been hiding in to watch her. He smoothed his hand over the filthy fabric of his stolen linen shirt.

Before he could say anything, she turned around sharply, green eyes flashing. Her voice cut through the silence of the night like a knife, cold and acrid, "Who's there?"

She barely flinched when she saw him, and the fact that she didn't run away and scream encouraged him more than it should have. Years and years of solitude had made him desperate, and he had forgotten what it was like to interact with a human.

He took a step forward, his hand reaching out. "Y-you..." The words of his language felt like syllables and sounds of a speech long forgotten, his mouth moving awkwardly, his lips trying to wrap around the patterns and pauses that used to come to him so naturally.

The woman took a cautious step back. "Who are you?" She was not afraid. She was not afraid of him.

He smiled, a smile full of sharp deadly canines. "You...you are v-very pretty."

Her eyes widened, but her stance remained defiant and untrusting. Her shoulders were squared, her fists clenched tightly, but in spite of this she looked calm and in control. "Thank you?" she said, unsure. "Who are you, mister? And I won't ask again. Answer me."

Soul took a deep breath, tried to recall the manners his mother had taught him. He made an awkward bow, placed his palm atop his heart and smiled mildly. "My name is...Soul," he said, the words coming to him more easily.

"I see," she said, sounding unimpressed. Her hood cast a shadow over her eyes and he couldn't tell what she was thinking, if she wanted to talk to him more. But she wasn't pushing him away! Maybe...maybe...she'd be his; maybe she'd want him too. The idea filled his heart with warmth and made his stomach flutter, his limbs jittery and eager for her skin. "If you don't mind, Sir, I would like to...keep working. I bid you a good day."

Oh no, he was going to lose her! He gulped heavily, panic clutching his reason. "B-but, wait!"

He didn't remember when he gave his feet the command to get so close to her - knew it was stupid of him - but her eyes were wide and green and beautiful, and she was warm and human and female and he missed it so so much.

"Please, be good," he growled, his clawed hand reaching out for her, sliding the hood down her head. He shuddered as his blood pulsed loudly, warmly in his veins. "I...I want─I will be good." He touched her shoulder, but didn't get any further before her hand was on his wrist. Foreign words came forth her mouth, her voice a sweet melodic sound, but then his body was hot, his bones scorching and his muscles snapping and churning, and suddenly he was looking up at her.

He opened his mouth to ask her what she had done, but he had no mouth; a muzzle that should be familiar, but was much much smaller than his fearsome wolf's snout, had replaced his lips. He looked down, small snowy paws with blunt claws greeting him. What had she done to him?

He barked pitifully, sounding like a newborn puppy instead of a fully grown wolf. What was this woman? What had she done to him?!

"Don't touch a lady without her permission," she said, eyes cold like steel.

Since having been bitten by the beast, Soul sought out the town. Wes would scold him so much if he found out, but Soul was a boy in a wolf's body; he was lonely and wanted his family, his brother. He returned to his family's estate, uncaring if he scared people away. His first visit had been a frightening experience, completely beyond what Soul had imagined the outcome to be.

It was a late evening in autumn and the streets were not as abandoned as he had hoped they'd be. They smelled of wet horses, of manure, of the guts thrown out on the streets from the butcher's stalls. His own breath stank of rotten flesh─ it was a struggle to inhale. He had never been to this part of London before, had never seen so much dirt and misery and filth. His nose was raw, the putrid smells violently assaulting his senses. He was shaky on his paws as passed a jumble of narrow and unlit passageways.

Though he was glad for the darkness of the sky, it wasn't enough to camouflage his vibrant white fur. People shrieked and yelled, and even the hounds avoided him as Soul passed the reek of decaying carcasses of dogs and cats and rats on the uneven, damp streets. He had never been to this part of London before, had never seen so much dirt and misery and filth.

He made a sharp turn left and reached the main street; this was familiar. He tried to remain in the shadows of the buildings. The main street smelled slightly less of decay than the narrow sidestreets with their long rows of houses with no windows and their dank latrines. The business of fat-boilers, glue-renderers, fell-mongers, tripe scrapers and dog-skinners together with residences and tenements and shops belched out thick clouds of black soot into the air.

His heart jumped into his throat when the familiar red brick house with its white doors and white window frames came into view, and his casual stride turned into an eager run. He let out a happy bark as he jumped over the fence and came to stand under the window that belonged to his brother's room. Soul's thick tongue might not have fit into his mouth anymore, but his bigger ears took in the slightest of sounds─ like the comforting tune of the violin, even his brother's breathing.

Wes would help him as he always did, but Soul was sure that, in return, he'd be scolded for causing his family so much trouble. But he was happy, happy to return. He barked and howled loudly, jumping in place and wanting to call out Wes' name.

Soul saw his brother's silhouette at the window, his heart pounding with glee. Wes pulled the window open and when he glanced down, Soul tried for his best smile. It's me, Wes. Soul, your little brother.

Wes' face was pale, reminding Soul of the time when his older brother had been very sick five years ago, or the face he had made when their father had been injured during a hunting accident. His maroon eyes were wide and afraid as he let out a shocked yelp, closed the window, and shouted for his father. His brother's voice was shaky with fear and, even though Wes had every reason to fear him, his words still pierced through Soul's heart like a newly sharpened knife.

Soul's long ears flattened against his head as he whimpered sadly. Yes, a beast he was, but he was still Soul Evans, son of Lord Jonathan and Lady Cecelia Evans, younger brother of Wes Evans.

The front door opened with a bang, and his father stormed out with menacing strides as he readied his gun. No recognition was in Lord Jonathan's eyes, seeing nothing but a dangerous beast in front of him. Soul's mouth opened in a helpless bark, his claws digging into the grass below. Maybe he could manage to convince his father to stop and maybe he could make it clear that he was no threat, but his lost son.

His father shouted at him, fired a shot in the air and Soul flinched, yelping. But then he aimed his gun straight at him, his long bony finger twitching in readiness. Soul looked into his father's eyes again, the last time it should be, and the lord's surety faltered, his flaxen eyebrows furrowing as he calmly regarded the wolf, but then his face hardened, his lips curving into a cold scowl as his grasp on the gun became firm again.

Disheartened and scared for his life, Soul took off quickly, easily making the jump over the stone fence again. The panicky shouts of his family still rang in his ears and echoed in his soul. His eyes watered as he nearly ran into a carriage, the horses whinnying anxiously.

Everything rushed by him in a blur until he found himself in the Lost Woods. The night was cold and silent, but nobody was attacking him here.

From that day on, Soul had come back to his family every day. He would be careful nobody saw him as he perched behind the stony fence and watched his family moving on with their lives. Each day he would come back, he would see his father pass away from tuberculosis, he would see his brother marrying a fine lady, he would see his nieces and nephews years later, and he would see his mother die from old age. Soul came back every day until everyone was gone, dead from sickness or old age. Everyone but Wes.

Soul had never felt this cold. His fur was too thin, his body too small, too weak, his senses not as sharp as he was used to. The harsh wind blew roughly as he huddled between bushes and trees, trying to ward of the bitter cold. That woman was a witch! Soul did not know what sorcery she had used on him, but he'd make her pay.

He growled to himself, dull red eyes focusing on nothing in particular. But then his small ears picked up the sound of footsteps. They were heavy and fast, loudly stomping on pines and fallen leaves. It couldn't be the Lady in Red. Before he could do so much as investigate who or what it was, the source of all the noise revealed himself...itself.

Soul's eyes widened with fear as he yelped, his short legs shaking not because of the cold. Maybe the thing used to be a man once like Soul himself, but right now he didn't know what to compare it to. It vaguely resembled a beast: his teeth were long and likely sharper than Soul's own, his back was hunched, his arms too long for his body. His mouth opened wide in a grin that stretched unnaturally long and should have split his cheeks.

"A dog?" he rasped, breaths hard and fast, eyes a hazy yellow. "You are no dog, I see your soul." He laughed, making a grab for him, but Soul reacted quickly, running for all his new legs were worth. But the beast-man was faster, taller, his limbs stronger and more efficient. Fallen boughs and pointy stones scraped against Soul, littering him with cuts and bruises even before the beast had the chance to inflict any pain on him. The man made a long swipe with his arms, his deadly nails digging into Soul's tiny back and throwing him against a tree. The breath was harshly knocked out his lungs, making him howl and whimper and pant.

"You'll taste good, dog. Your soul smells good."

Soul closed his eyes, put his paws over his head, and waited for the finishing blow to come. At least he wouldn't be lonely anymore. But the pain never came and he chanced to open one eye, only to see the beast frozen, his hand raised above his head. The stench of foul blood permeated through the wet, musky forest air and it was then that Soul saw the point of a blade protruding from the man's stomach. The beast-man let out a silent scream, his grin wiped away from his ugly, rotten face. He lost his balance as the blade was pulled out, falling to the muddy ground in a heap of filth and stank and bile.

She was there in all her red glory, holding a scythe in her hands that looked too big to be carried around by someone so small, let alone to be swung around so effortlessly. His shock wearing off, Soul missed how the dead body disintegrated to leave behind a red glowing orb, he did not notice the lady approaching him as his pain returned full force, his consciousness wavering until he closed his eyes to welcome pleasant darkness.

When he awoke, the first thing he noticed was how he had hands and legs and a human face. The second thing he noticed was the searing pain in his back and the uncomfortable position he was in, lying on his stomach. But that detail was a minor thing compared to the pleasant fact that he was lying on a bed. How long had it been since he had been in a comfortable bed like this? He closed his eyes again, relishing in the feel of the soft mattress and silken sheets around him.

A cool hand ran through his hair and came to rest on the back of his neck, jolting him out of his drowsiness. He flinched and attempted to stand, but the hand pushed gently against his back, urging him down.

"You shouldn't move so much. You've been injured."

He wrenched his eyes open, his lips pulling back into a guttural snarl. That voice- it belonged to the wretched witch! Ignoring her advice, Soul pulled back from her touch, rolled to his side and fell off the bed with a thud. Pushing the agony in his back to the back of his mind, he growled lowly as he stood up, nude and weak-limbed.

"It was your fault I was injured. What did you do to me, you witch?"

The woman blinked at him dubiously, not leaving her place at the edge of the bed. "I defended myself," she said, sniffing mildly.

"I did not attack you!"

Her eyes narrowed. "Why, aren't you forgetful. I told you I wanted to be left alone but you tell me to wait and push me against a tree and touch me, muttering things I couldn't understand. So, indeed you attacked me."

"I─" words of indignant anger died in his throat, his body deflating with shame when he recalled his actions. Be good. The words rang in his mind, echoing coldly within his heart. "I...did."

She harrumphed, sticking up her nose haughtily. "At least you accept your mistake. And I won't apologize for putting that spell on you, even though I had not meant to turn you into a puppy."

"What?" He let her wordlessly lead him back to the bed and he sat down carefully. She was unperturbed by his nudity, her eyes focused solely on his face, and Soul's cheeks flared with something akin to embarrassment- something he hadn't felt for so long.

"You were just meant to turn into a small boy for a few hours, not into a puppy. I assume the spell reacted differently to you because you are a lycan."

Soul blinked, confused, yet the term had a certain familiarity to it. It reminded him of Wes as he mulled over thick books, his keen eyes taking every piece of information in. Wes, who had been by his side until he died. Wes who had helped throughout all those years to...to...

She let out a sigh, made him lie on his stomach again and covered his lower half with a soft quilt. "A beast, a werewolf, a lycan. Terms that all apply to you and your curious state."

He didn't think he understood her entirely, only that she knew what he was and she had yet to show an ounce of fear towards him. She was a peculiar woman. He noted that her hair was an ashen blond in the light of the oil lamp on the nightstand. It reflected nicely in her eyes and brought out the shape of her cheekbones, casting slight shadows over her delicate face. Soon he found himself being lulled into a warm state of drowsiness, watching the woman in red as she tended to his wound.

"Who are you?" he asked, voice drunk with fatigue. She dressed his injury meticulously, her hands soothing and cool, and applied a cold balm that made goose bumps rise on his skin.

"I'm Maka, Maka Albarn," she said absentmindedly, but her gaze was focused on his back. She patted the bandages gently, smoothing over hard skin and firm muscle that was already knitting itself back together. He swallowed his spit. "And your assessment about me was almost correct. I am no witch, but I am a sorceress."

Soul snorted loudly, burying his face in the pillow beneath his head. "I didn't know there was a difference." Granted, he didn't know a lot about the world. He wasn't as alarmed as he ought to be probably, but then again, he could shift his shape into a wolf's and decided that as long as she didn't try to turn him into a puppy again, he'd remain calm. She was helping him right now, wasn't she?

"Of course there is a difference," she said huffishly, putting her hands onto her lap. He regarded her from the corner of his eyes, intrigued. "A witch's magic is innate, a sorceress has to study and work for her magic!"

He closed his eyes. "I see."

"What about you, Mr. um─"

"Evans. My name is Soul Evans."

"How long have you been able to turn into a wolf, Mr. Evans?"

"I...don't know," he admitted truthfully. He didn't even know how much time had passed since that fateful day. He just knew his family had died and that he was very likely the only Evans left. He told her this and she furrowed her brows, but there was something in her eyes that looked like pity and he wanted to embrace and strangle her for it. He did not need anyone's pity, but he had longed for human touch, even just a conversation. The words came to him much easier, he didn't stumble upon his sentences; he could talk freely and he felt more alive than he had in years.

"Do you know of anything important that happened when you were turned? Do you...perhaps recall who the king was?"

Soul pondered about her question for a moment, trying to lift this veil of not-knowing from his mind. There were a few names that rang a bell; he knew he had lived in London and there was a king, and he recalled his father talking about a rebellion or was it a revolution?

"It was George," he croaked out.

"Which George?"

He shrugged. "I think it was George II or III. And-and, yes! There was a revolution in the americas, protests in the colonies and such..."

"The revolution?" she asked suspiciously, but her voice had softened and he could clearly hear the pity in it. "It has been about a hundred years since the revolution ended."

"What was that monster that attacked me?" he asked hours later, propped against the headboard of the bed despite Maka's disapproval. His back didn't hurt anymore- he was used to having his wounds healed quickly, even if he had never been injured to this degree before. Maka suggested that it was his lycanthropy that accelerated the healing process.

"It was an afreet," she replied simply as if it should be obvious to him. She threw away the blood soaked bandages and washed her hands in a bin. She had taken her hood off; it had been more precisely a hooded cape that had been covering her shoulders. Her dress was low cut, her shoulders and most of her arms bared, her slight breasts pushed up by the corset shaping her lithe waist. The skirt of her dress was scandalously short, baring her calves and ankles.

His eyes roamed her appreciatively up and down; what he wouldn't give to see her without her dress and preferably in bed with him. Soul shook his head. Now was no time to think about bedding her.

"Would you mind elaborating on what an afreet is, Ms. Albarn?"

She dried her hands on a cloth and sat down on her prefered spot on the edge of the bed, placing her hands primly in her lap. Her demeanour and speech contrasted starkly with her apparel, which reminded Soul more of a daughter of joy than of a lady like she behaved. But even if his mind was muddled and unclear, he knew that telling a woman that was not polite.

"Afreets used to be human once, but their souls were consumed by evil. They feed on the pure souls of innocents and the...agency I work for is tasked with stopping them," she said smartly. "We were contracted by the Metropolitan Police Service and asked for help with a series of murders in the city. At first I believed the one that attacked you to be the culprit, but he was disoriented and not clinical in his approach as I was expecting. He was weak and more harmless than the person he worked for." She stood up, arranging different vials and flasks that held numerous, colourful liquids into a big leather pouch. He watched her intently, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

"What's that... and what do you mean by 'more harmless'?" he mumbled tiredly, and he did not know what she meant with Metropolitan Police Service. Upon thinking over it further, he wasn't sure if he really wanted to know what a more dangerous monster was like.

"You mean this?" she asked, holding one of the smaller flasks up. The liquid inside looked like clear water, unlike the many colourful little vials there. "This is a shrinking potion," she said flippantly, before she deposited it onto the vanity, right in front of the mirror. "The afreet I disposed of was lusting more after the souls than anything else; the one that is still on the loose enjoys the killing. He targets women- usually prostitutes- and as long as they suffer he does not care about their souls."

Soul gulped, sweat beading on his forehead. "How are you going to find him?"

"I can usually sense souls, but this one can conceal his. I don't know how he does it. My guess is that he either has the help of a witch who uses soul protect, or- as rare as it is- he is a witch himself. Or should I say warlock?"

She stretched her arms high above her head and let out a quiet moan that was enough to make the fine hairs at the back of his neck rise. "You can use this house as long as you need to recuperate," she said, tipping her head at him as she retrieved her cloak from a small dusty hook from the wall and wrapped it around her shoulders. "I shall take my leave."

"Wait. Where are you going?"

"I am going to catch the murderer, of course. I might not be able to sense him now, but I can still look for clues in the city and ask potential witnesses."

He had seen what she was capable of, had witnessed his with his very own eyes how the blade had pierced that monster mercilessly, but it still didn't settle well with him to let her go on her own. It might be gratitude or his upbringing and his mother's words ringing in his mind. Never let a lady walk on her own at night. Soul struggled to his feet, shook the slight pain of his closing wounds off, and looked her straight in the eye.

Be good, he told himself, but much to his shame, altruism was not his only reason to help.

"Let me help you," he said lowly, clenching his fists.

She raised her chin and her eyes sparked with that glint that had captivated him since the first time he had looked at her. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Sir. I don't need a chaperone, but I thank you regardless." There was an edge to her voice, telling him she was insulted rather than grateful, but Soul would not budge.

"I can help you. My senses are sharp, and while I may not be able to sense souls, I can perhaps track the murderer. Let this be my apology for attacking you in the forest."

She let out a snort that was unbefitting of a lady, the corners of her mouth twitched into a slight smile. "I don't need an apology like that," she said, her smile widening. "But I do see the possible merits of your assistance."

Wes had grown old. His youngest child had died from a rabid dog's attack- the poor boy never stood a chance. Wes' wife was inconsolable, locking herself to her room and refusing to meet the world outside. Soul hadn't been there to see the attack and wished he'd been able to protect the boy. Wes had named the boy Soul, and maybe he was biased, but Little Soul had been his favorite nephew, even if he had looked nothing like him. He'd resembled more his mother, with his dark hair and green eyes.

Soul followed Wes quietly, making sure to take refuge in the shadows of the buildings. He avoided carriages as the horses were easily frightened and would immediately give his presence away. The stench of dead bodies and moist soil became stronger and stronger, but Wes kept moving on, eyes vacant. It was the second month in a row that Wes sought out the cemetery; he'd pray at his son's grave, place flowers on the moist earth, and stand there and watch.

It pained Soul's heart. He wished he could comfort his brother, but he knew the moment Wes saw him he'd scream for his death. At first, the thought upset Soul, but now he was used to it and understood. He doubted he would have acted differently if he had been in Wes' position.

This time, however, Wes didn't remain silent at the grave. His words were tired and weary, his shoulders were hunched, his eyes dull. He retraced the name of his little son on the tombstone, smiled sadly, and whispered all his regrets, telling the unmoving earth how he had failed to protect his brother and now his son suffered the same fate. It was cruel irony that they would be buried side by side, their names identical.

Soul tried not to howl and bark at his brother; he wanted to help so much. He had seen Wes living with the burden of his death and Soul just wanted to tell him that he was alive. Maybe he was not well, but he was alive and that it had been Soul's own fault for being careless and drunk and incapable of defending himself.

"Who's there?"

Wes turned around quickly, eyes narrowed. Soul stood up straight, his paws digging into the moist earth beneath. Maybe he had been too loud in his beastly lament. He cursed himself to hell and back, growling lowly. He didn't know what possessed him to do it, but he cautiously stepped out of his hiding place. Wes let out a gasp, trepidation on his face, leaving him frozen on the spot. Soul approached him, undeterred, and licked at Wes' shoes, nudging against his long legs. He could feel his brother shiver from the cold or from fear- from both Soul could tell.

Soul raised his head, seeking out his brother's eyes. Wes didn't run; he didn't look scared anymore and something like familiarity flashed in his gaze. He threw his head back and chuckled, his words bitter, and for a moment Soul was afraid his brother had gone mad.

"I must be mad," Wes said, dropping to one knee. He hesitantly placed his hand on Soul's head, petting him carefully. "For a moment I believed you to be my brother. But my brother is long dead and he was not a wolf." Wes gave him a grim smile, lips pressing into a thin line as he scratched him behind his ear.

Soul barked happily, nuzzling against his brother's palm. He wished he could speak, wished he could tell Wes that he was indeed his little brother. Soul turned his head towards to the gravestone of his nephew, knowing Wes would glance there too. Next to Little Soul's grave was another one- one that was bigger, one that made the bones freeze in Soul's beast body. The tombstone was worn and weathered from the years, but there was no mistaking the name that was elegantly engraved in the marble.

It was his name, his date of birth and his alleged date of death. It ripped a low growl from his throat, but it sounded pathetic and vulnerable, nothing like the horrifying beast that others feared. He padded softly towards the grave, sniffed at the earth there and shook his head, letting out a bark, and turned back to his brother.

Wes shook his head, his fingers gripping his white hair roughly, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. "I am truly going mad," he muttered to himself, but his eyes were on Soul, the wolf, the beast, the animal, the not-human. "S-soul?" he choked out, voice small and desperate, and Soul made his best attempt of a nod.

Wes' arms were around him, his tears hot on his fur as he wailed for the family that was lost.