None spoke. They stood outside Elsbeth's cursed shop as if made of stone. No looks were exchanged, no thoughts leaked into words but the tension thickened the air and boggled the mind. The image of the 'future', dreadful as it sounded, was forever etched in Mathian's brain. The oracle was toying with them, he was sure. It was in her nature. She was fickle and crafty, burned-at-the-stake worthy, and entirely unlikable. He vowed to steal her crystal ball, again, in retaliation.
He tried clearing his throat a few times, casting shy glances at Theo but only reaching at the sight of his knees; venturing above was murderous. The pink in his cheeks lightened, it was but a blately shade now. He would never, even if hell froze over, twice, ever go anywhere near Theo's intimate regions. Who would consort with a werewolf and put up with all the shedding and the howling and the bad breath, though the idea of trying to get him to fetch was a good one. He almost smiled, barely, but Theo broke the silence first. Thank the witches of Salem for that.
Mathian could hear him talk, but he had a hard time trying to listen. It was a few moments before he had any reaction and moved in the direction Theo was heading. He placed his hands in the deep pockets of his coat, sighed, and managed to focus a little bit.
"We could speculate," his tongue almost tripped over his words but he remained composed and eloquent as ever, "or we could just focus on finding the bloodsucker. I'm sure we'll know then." Mathian thought that if he didn't muse over all the inconsistencies with the mission, they might just prove to be irrelevant.
He paid scant attention to their surroundings as they walked in the assigned direction. He was just worried about keeping a safe distance from the werewolf to ease the uncomfortableness that followed in their steps. Suddenly, however, he felt the hackles on the nape of his neck rise like before and a single electric shock hurl down his spine. He halted almost instantly and whispered, sort as a feather, "Theo," in other moments he would have opted for 'werewolf', or 'beast' but he needed to get his attention more effectively.
The werewolves he had noticed a while back on their way to Elsbeth's shop were following them not bothering to mask their presence. They were already far off from the market square. There were fewer shops around, the streets were wider and almost empty and far from safe.
The wolves, their eyes glowing and teeth bared, slunk in the shadows, behind columns and walls, watching and wagering. One of them, a tall, long-haired, broad-shouldered man in a plaid shirt and patched trousers, stepped out, catching them sideways and spoke in a thunderous voice,
"Ain't no passing through here without paying toll," a special kind of enmity resounded in his throat. To see a witch and a werewolf traversing together was unacceptable. "traitor," he spat on the ground, Theo's way. Two of his pack members, smaller men but equally belligerent, came up behind Mathian, inches away from him, ready to claw their way through his insides. But Mathian wasn't defenseless. He moved away and closed the distance between him and Theo, eyes locked on the two preying werewolves who attempted to follow but had their beards, shirts, and fingers singed as a warning when Mathian whispered a light fire spell. Instantly, they moved back, for all werewolves feared fire.
"We're on official business. Beat it, dogs," Matty clicked his tongue, more and more annoyed by the current plot development.
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