And Howl Your Pain unto the Moon

Part 8 - Werewolf

Geralt felt his nervousness reach new highs as he watched Eskel lock all the locks and make sure the door held. He could hear Jaskier undressing, his heartbeat erratic, the smell of his fear wafting from the room. The sun set behind the horizon, as he could see through the hallway window, and Jaskier swore.

For a moment everything was calm. And then the moonlight came, growing stronger and stronger, and everything went to shit. The shift came quickly. One moment Geralt was intently watching the door, paying attention to Jaskier's heartbeat, the next Eskel had to hold him because he couldn't bear the terrible screams coming from the room. He'd never heard Jaskier scream like that.

"Geralt, calm the fuck down," his brother swore into his ear, but Geralt couldn't, not while Jaskier screamed until his voice broke, horrible sounds of bones cracking filling the keep. Not while the bard's pained gasps turned into low growls and Lambert stood next to the door with his hand on one of his daggers.

"Fucking hell, brace the door!" Lambert shouted just as the low growl turned into a high, long howl, cold and hungry, calling for blood, and leaned with all his weight against the wood. Then the monster on the other side shut up for a moment and with another low growl slammed itself right into the door. It shook.

After that, the night turned into a living nightmare. They could do nothing for the bard, even though they heard how he repeatedly hurt himself crashing into the door. He was mindless. Totally gone for the hunger the curse made him feel. They could only hold the door as the beast relentlessly continued its assault, never stopping for longer than an angry and pained howl at the moon.

It felt to Geralt as if the whole world was shaking when he was there, holding the door together with Eskel bracing their backs against it, Lambert and Coen taking a short rest. He could feel it when Jaskier broke something during his attack. He could hear it, the whimper that turned into another angry growl. He could smell the pain and fury in the air, thick and animalistic.

He wanted nothing more than to go through that door. Help Jaskier. Beg for forgiveness. But he couldn't. Nobody could come close to the wolf.

The monster didn't relent. It didn't grow tired. It held on until even the witchers had to take potions just to go on. It held on long after the moon was hidden by heavy clouds shrouding the world in total darkness. It held on until the moment the first rays of sunlight rose over the mountains and then it stopped, as if someone cut it off in the middle of a horrible, violent sentence.

Then it crumpled to the ground whimpering, the whimpers turning into screams as the bones cracked and snapped, the flesh twisted and curled. Lambert slumped to the ground, pushing away from the door, Coen sitting next to him as Geralt rushed to the room, fumbling with the locks.

The screams cut off just as quickly as they started. But nobody cursed at the sun this time.

...

Jaskier woke up slowly, his mind swimming up to the waters of consciousness as if through a thick layer of honey. First, it was the sound, low voices, fabric being folded, and vials gently clinking. Then came the smell, sharp, medical, herbs and concoctions he knew well by now. Then he managed to peel his eyes open and blinked at the ceiling of the infirmary.

"Good morning. Are you with us?" asked a gruff, old voice.

Jaskier looked around to see Vesemir sitting at a stool near him while Eskel put away a few newly filled vials of premade potions.

"It seems to be so," he rasped, his throat still numb from the screaming and howling, but he knew it was quickly healing, just like his few broken bones and the scrapes all over his body. Vesemir handed him a cup of herbal tea, sweetened with tons of honey when he sat up.