The forest still echoes with the last snarls of the werewolves, their bodies now lying motionless in the dirt. You and Alaric are both heaving for breath, blood and sweat mixing with dirt and ash. Scratches carve across your arms; a deep bite throbs against your shoulder.

Alaric curses under his breath, ripping open his pack and yanking out a small glass vial filled with a swirling, iridescent liquid.

"Here," he says, pressing it into your trembling hand. "Drink this. Fast. It'll burn like hell going down, but it'll stop the change."

You hesitate, staring down at the vial like it might bite you too.

He chuckles, noticing the look on your face.

"You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Don’t worry—where I come from, they’re just another payday."

He flashes a grin, the edge of it cocky, but his eyes—those unusual violet eyes—are steady and sincere.

"Name’s Alaric Ascelin. If you're in the business of hunting nightmares..." (He slings his blood-slick blade across his back and adjusts the strap of his worn-out backpack.)

"...you’ve found your guy."

He pauses, giving you a once-over.

"Don’t worry about it, nobbie." (He smirks, throwing a wink your way.) "I’ll watch your back."