They both continued down the hallway.

“You’re like the nicest werewolf I’ve ever met.”

“Have you known a lot?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” she said, bowing her head as if remembering unwanted things.

“You make it sound like a bad thing.”

She shrugged. “Bad luck tends to follow me, especially involving werewolves. I tend to be a magnet for their attention.”

Vincent rubbed a hand against his chin. “I wonder why that is?”

She knew exactly why that was. She was weak, and helpless. Not like her sister at all. She wished she could be more like Alicia. Werewolves were also tough, and strong. They liked girls that were sassy, sexy, and independent. She was none of those things. But maybe she could be to Vincent. Maybe he’d like her.

She shrugged. “I’ve gotten used to it. Besides, I think that will change from here on out, after meeting you, that is.” She looked embarrassed and pleased at the same time.  

“Oh yeah, why is that?”

“You’re different,” she said. “You’re… nice.”

“Thanks?” Vincent said, not sure if he should be pleased with the compliment or worried. He also wondered if all werewolves were like Alacard, then? Which didn’t make sense because Mr. B didn’t seem so bad. He wondered what sorts of werewolves and situations Isabella had encountered. Was he different because he was a newbie, or because of his nature?

 “Why didn’t your parents tell you that you were a werewolf?”

That came out of nowhere. Yet, it was a pertinent point. Why hadn’t they told. What was the reason for it? He knew that they had instructed them to not tell him until now, but why? He didn’t know how to respond. “I-I don’t know.” He felt himself get a little frustrated at that response, angry even. “They claimed it was because my actual parents entrusted them to do so.” And it just didn’t make sense. It happened all the time in stories and movies and books, where one character kept an important thing from another character to protect them, and it always blew up in their face, especially when said character found out the truth and felt lied to. Vincent felt the same. Why couldn’t they have just told him when he was a kid?

Why! He had stopped and clenched a fist, and when Isabella placed a soft hand against him, he met her eyes and shivered. He would never get used to looking into them, and yet, he couldn’t look away.

“So, your parents you are living with aren’t your actual parents?”

“Nope,” he said with frustration, feeling sad at this.

“So,” she said, tapping her finger against her chin, looking forward. “Who, and where, are your parents then?”

“Dead.”

“Dead?” she said, shocked at this answer. She shifted her weight and leaned toward him, hand placed against his again, an emphatic look in those dark eyes. “I’m… I’m so sorry about that.”

Vincent shrugged. “It’s not a huge deal. I didn’t even know them.” Yet he still felt angry, betrayed, sad. He also didn’t want to talk about this anymore. “While it’s a lot to take in, I’ll figure it out.”

“Hey,” she said, touching his arm gently, her tone tinged with kindness. “If you need anything, like to talk, or anything at all, let me know, okay?” She tilted her head, and the way she looked was so adorable.

He couldn’t help but blush. “Yeah, sure.”

They made their way around a corner, Vincent continuing his thoughts. “It woulda been nice to know, though. Would have helped make a lot of sense out of the weird things that happened during my childhood. I can’t count how many alarm clocks I’ve accidentally destroyed, among other things.” He chuckled at that thought. All of this was completely crazy. He rubbed a hand through his hair, slowly surrendering to the surrealness as it seeped over him. “I’m a beast, I’m actually a beast.”

“No, you’re not,” Isabella said with a stern tone that a teacher might have taken. “That only happens if you let the Beast Mind take over. You are the master, not it.”

“How can I be a master over something I don’t know anything about?” Vincent thought back to when the Beast Mind had been mentioned before. Was it the Beast Mind making him lose it, or just the realization of the truth of this crazy new reality and his monster being? He did feel as if his heart was racing, his blood pumping faster, his body wanting to unleash for some reason. And yet, as she held onto him, met his eyes, pulled him away from the crazy thoughts, he was able to calm himself, catch his breath, and maintain a semblance of cool.

“Werewolves are not beasts, even if some act that way.” She was talking about Alacard, wasn’t she? “We all have a choice, all beings – vampires and werewolves alike. Just because you have the capability of killing doesn’t mean you have to engage in such animalistic behaviors. You’re still a human at heart.”

Vincent smirked. “Tell that to Alacard.”

Isabella laughed. “That’d be something.”

“You know, you’re really smart,” Vincent said as they arrived to classroom 412.

Isabella blushed. “T-thanks.”

“What is the Beast Mind, exactly?” Vincent asked.

She blinked, meeting his eyes, then looked away, cheeks red at his intensity. “It’s kind of like an alter ego, vying for control over your mind and body – what we beings call your essence. It’s always there, running in the background, waiting for you to lose your cool, to become enraged, and emotional, and when you do, it relishes that moment and lets loose, leading to a sort of berserk behavior that wants nothing more than to engage in all sorts of carnal desires and sinful, destructive behavior.” She gathered her strength and met his eyes again, not necessarily in his eyes, but at his face, her cheeks pink. “Giving into your Beast Mind is like a hit of pure pleasure, a sort of high that makes you feel as if you are floating in a state of elation that pumps through you as you give into the feeding nature that is the Beast Mind. If you give into it, it can turn into a wild ride until you awake in a random location, with little to no memory of what happened when the Beast Mind was able to take over. And it won’t stop until its hunger is satiated.”

“Oh, is that all?” He said with a chuckle, feeling his chest and throat tighten at that thought.

“No,” she said, her eyes intense. “But you’ll learn more about it in class. Vampires have something similar known as a bloodlust, where we have to keep track of our blood balance, which is essentially making sure our blood intake doesn’t get too low, that our thirst is satiated, or else we can also lose control, becoming monstrous and beastly, wanting nothing more than to suck the lifeblood from other beings, giving into animalistic urges and rageful states if the thirst isn’t satisfied.” She looked down, not out of embarrassment, but more out of… what was that, guilt? Remorse? Had she experienced a… bloodlust?

“Geeze,” is all Vincent could manage, rubbing his hand slowly through his hair. “That’s… intense.”  

“Not if you have a handle on it.” She said, lifting her eyes to him again, strong and fierce, an energy he had seen from her if only for a few moments. A potential. Granted, she had this swinging nature of emotions to her – one minute she was shy and embarrassed or seemingly upset, another minute she was confident and proud. “And you need to get a handle on it, because if you think it was hard to control it just from being overwhelmed, wait till you actually have a fight with Alacard.”

Gulp. Her intensity, as he stared into her eyes, was palpable. He felt pulled to her, unable to look away, frozen in the stare. Until she blinked, which let him find his breath, and movement of body.  It was similar to what had happened with Shayla Grave. Was what happened some sort of vampire ability? No, perhaps he was just in a state of shock and awe.

At the same time, the thought of Alacard made his blood boil. “If I don’t stand up to him,” Vincent said with a clench of his fist. “He’ll never leave me alone.”

She leaned back, folding her arms, judging. “That wasn’t me encouraging you to fight. It was me giving you a word of warning to be careful.”

While Vincent was a newbie, her didn’t agree with what she said. He was a part of this supernatural freakshow now. Which meant making his own decisions, and coming to his own conclusions based on his experiences. And when it came to Alacard he knew he’d have to confront him. It was the only way. He stared at her, taking in what she had said, but let her know his own truth. “Yeah, I know. But this is something I have to do.”       

They both turned and entered class.

.           .           .