Vinent and Alacard slid back from being struck in two quick motions by Mr. B. All three of them had transformed into werewolves and were hashing it out on the roof in a battle of wits, strength, and claws.

Vincent turned to Alacard. “We need to work together.”

“I got this,” Alacard said, charging Mr. B and getting smacked back in the same moment. He kicked himself back up to his feet and growled. When Vincent gave him a look, he waved an angry arm at him. “Okay, okay. What’s the plan, genius?”

“You go, I’ll follow,” Vincent said, lowering his head and narrowing his eyes.

“So, just like what I did a second ago?” He shook his head and rolled his eyes, then let out a sigh and charged.

Vincent followed on his heel, wanting to deliver delayed strike. He thought that once Mr. B countered Alacard, he’d come up and hopefully find an opening and strike, or maybe get a hold of him so they could pin him down.            

Mr. B blocked and dodged Alacard’s strikes, then knocked him with a push against his shoulder, stepping into him and headbutting him. He stumbled back, and Vincent swept around him, keeping his head down and eyes on Mr. B as he attacked. He pivoted his feet, twisted his torso, and pushed his forward momentum into a punch.

Vincent smirked, then frowned as an unaffected Mr. B whipped around, backhanding him in the snout. Vincent yelped and slipped back from the strike. He shook it off, his smirk widening, his eyes alight with enjoyment, and he nodded. “We can do this.”

Alacard stepped to him. “What are you mumbling about?”

Vincent didn’t know what was more baffling – them being turned into werewolves, fighting on the roof, or Alacard talking to him with less insults.

They are improving faster than I expected, Mr. B thought as he watched them, feeling a bit of an inner smile form in his mind. “However,” he said, leaning forward as he readied himself to launch at them knowing they had reached their limit. “They’ve got plenty to learn.”

“Huh?” Alacard said, tilting his head.

“He’s coming,” Vincent said, sensing it. “Look out.” He shoved Alacard to the side as Mr. B bolted forward and was on him, throwing a pummel of punches in his direction. He lifted his arms in front of his face, doing his best to block, hoping Alacard would move on him. “Attack… him… now,” Vincent said between blocking and dodging. He had let his guard down, though, and one of Mr. B’s fists connected with his face, knocking him to ground.

Alacard growled and moved forward, and Mr. B pivoted to him, leaning forward as if he was going to strike, noticing the assuredness of Alacard’s smile, then he stepped back ever so slightly, letting Alacard’s forward momentum, and lack of a connecting punch, make him stumble forward. Then Mr. B simply stepped and punched, knocking him out cold with a steady and direct strike to his head.

                                        .           .           .

They both opened their eyes at the same time, groggy and dazed, looking around the roof. Mr. B stood nearby, all of them in their human forms. They looked exhausted, tired to their last breath, so Mr. B presented them with bags of beef jerky. Hefty, juicy pieces in gallon-sized, re-sealable plastic bags.

Vincent eyed the bags, his stomach growling with yearning hunger. He took a piece and bit into hungrily.   

“Meat,” Alacard said, snatching up a piece himself and tearing into it with loud chomping motions.

Vincent swallowed his piece and grabbed another, tearing into it with delicious delight. “Love me soe meat.”

“True dat,” Alacard said, snapping into another piece himself.

Mr. B took a piece himself, tearing at the delicious meat.

“Thank you, teacher,” Vincent said with a slight nod of his head.

“You’re welcome,” Mr. B said.

“I gotta say,” Alacard said, tearing away at the beef jerky with admiration and hungry eyes. “This stuff is damn good. Where’d you get it.”

“It’s homemade,” Mr. B said. “Now, I think it’s time you both head home.”

                                   .           .           .

Vincent decided to stay behind, sitting on the edge of the roof of the school, looking up at the moon, legs dangling over the side. He leaned back and patted his stomach as it was full of beef jerky he had voraciously helped Alacard finish off.

He had come a long way, thinking back on the day when he was terrified to get close to the edge, having been pushed over, and literally losing his mind to this – this being able to transform at will and growing in strength and agility.

As he stood and leapt down from the building, landing in a crouch and slowly standing, he had a gnawing feeling that he had forgotten something important. A soft breeze blew about, portending something dangerous as his hairs suddenly stood on end. And when he heard a voice, felt a presence move from the shadows, took in a lovely scent of strawberries and coconut, he realized what night this was, and his eyes went wide.

Alicia stood with arms folded and eyes like a predator in the night, waiting to pounce. “So, you have come.”

The fight. The challenge to see if he could strike her, and what would happen if he could not. He gulped, as he had totally forgotten.

“Uh,” he said, scratching his head. “Yeah, about that. Can we just forget I challenged you?” He let out a little chuckle, not sure why he was backing down.

“Forget?” she said, raising an eyebrow and stepping forward with authority and anger. “Are you trying to run away with your tail between your legs, dog? Are you a coward, or a man?”

He shrugged, not sure why he was being lighthearted with her when she was visibly serious. “Actually, I’m a teen.”  Still, all jokes aside, he felt his body tense as his anger rose at the realization of who he was dealing with and what was about to happen. “And no, I’m not running away. I’m ready.”

And he was, as he felt invigorated after downing all that jerky.

He transformed into his werewolf form with a smoothness and ease that he was becoming more and more accustomed to. Still, he thought, looking at his hand and flexing his arm as he felt the power pulse through him with a smirk of pure relish, it felt great every time.

“Ah, so you’ve learned how to Transform at Will,” she said, pulling her sheathed sword from her body and point it at him. “It will not save you from your fate.”

“One strike’s all I need,” he said with a werewolf grin, then leaned forward, readying himself for battle. He couldn’t help but say the next words to himself. “Then you’re all mine.”

                               .           .           .