The Most Important Rule

I was irritated.

I was angry because Foster had stupidly run off, right into the hands of a few hundred werewolves and vampires. And I was feeling guilty because it was basically my fault he had left in the first place. I was also confused because Rustan was helpingme find Foster. He hated Foster, but he hated me more. It didn't make any sense.

So essentially I was in emotion-overdrive and I had no idea what I was feeling - or, more truthfully, I didn’t know what I was supposed to be feeling. I didn't like that. I wanted everything to be clear and simple; my emotions only clouded my perfect sight. They were worthless, just a distraction. And that's why I was irritated. I was irritated with myself.

For a second I wished I was actually a vampire. Vampires don't have souls or beating hearts - they didn't have to feel any of this baffling, mushy-gushy crap. It must be so much better being a vampire.

No. I did not just think that. That was probably one of the dumbest ideas I've ever thought of.

Rustan and I had been running around the streets of New York, searching frantically for Foster. So far, we hadn't seen the slightest sign of him.

As I rounded a corner I was immediately pulled back by Rustan. I turned to yell at him but he put a finger to his lips and then pointed down the street. I peeked around the corner of the building and squinted—it was pitch black, but as my eyes adjusted to the darkness I could vaguely make out a group of vampires. They were hidden in the shadows and my human eyes had not noticed them at first, so I was lucky that Rustan was able to see them before I could go charging straight into them.

They were all crowding around something - their next meal, I suppose - and a sickening thought found its way to my mind: What if their next meal happens to be Foster?

Rustan seemed to be able to figure out what I was thinking, because he stopped running and cautiously made his way over to the vampires. I stayed a safe distance away, where they couldn't notice me. The other vampires barely gave Rustan a second glance; they must have thought he was just one of them. I saw Rustan peer over the heads of the vampires to see what exactly they were clustered around.

He suddenly turned back to me, a worried look etched onto his face, and he motioned for me to come over. 'Quickly,' he mouthed.

With a sudden churn of my stomach, I immediately bolted over to the crowd.

I pushed through the vampires, careful to keep my neck covered by my jacket, though none of the vampires even glanced my way—whatever was in the center of the circle must have been fascinating. I noticed that there were a few werewolves here as well, changed into their wolf forms under the full moon.

Rule #16: Vampires and werewolves are completely different species. If they are not occupied with slaughtering each other, they merely stay out of one another's way.

Werewolves and vampires are never together. Peacefully, at least. And yet, I saw the vampires standing around with the wolves. I didn't have much time to ponder over this odd detail, though, because as I reached the center of the crowd I saw my greatest fear.

Foster was there, lying on the pavement.

He was dead.

No - I could definitely see him breathing. He was still alive - unconscious, but certainly still alive.

What I did actually see, though, was at least ten times worse.

He had three long, deep gashes running down the side of his ribs. It was bleeding freely and I could easily see him get paler by the second. It looked like he had been clawed – it was a werewolf wound.

My heart stopped beating. Foster was hurt. By a werewolf.

This was a Code Red.

That was why the vampires and werewolves were so docile: they wanted to watch Foster as he turned into a werewolf. Personally I had never seen anyone change over, but I had heard it was very gruesome and involved a lot of pain – for immortals it must have been entertaining to watch.

"Get him out of here!" I screamed at Rustan. My brain kicked into gear and I knew that we had to get Foster back to HQ as soon as possible. Rustan shoved through the crowd and picked up Foster's broken form and slung him over his shoulder.

The vampires and werewolves, in response, became very angry. Angry immortals are not very fun. Especially an entire group of them.

I instantly grabbed the weapons from my belt and prepared myself for a fight.

Usually bad guys like to give long monologues to reminisce on their evil plan. And with at least fifteen of these “bad guys” here, I was expecting at least someone to say something. Nope. I didn't even get an evil laugh. No warnings whatsoever.

Almost catching me off guard, I had at least five immortals lunge at me, bangs and claws bared. I fought back ferociously.

"Go!" I shouted to Rustan as I kicked a werewolf in the face while stabbing a vampire through the chest. Two down, thirteen to go.

Rustan hesitated, wondering if I would be all right. He would have an easier time fighting off all of these immortals, but it was more important for him to get Foster to safety; I would not be able to run very fast with a fully grown man slung over my shoulder. Besides, I could handle a few pesky immortals on my own. I shot Rustan a threatening glare, and he finally turned on his heel and started running back to our apartment.

I continued to fight the immortals - they kept on attacking me, and with a slash and a stab I continued to take them out - but it was getting a bit overwhelming. I knew that I couldn't kill them all by myself - I needed to get out.

I took out two vampires at once and, as soon as I had punched a werewolf in the gut, I shoved my way out of the crowd. I narrowly avoided some snapping jaws, but I managed to break out of the violent group.

I sprinted after Rustan. A few scattered wolves and vampires ran after me, but I easily took care of them. I reached back into my belt and pulled out a slender wooden stake and flung it at the closest vampire. My aim was, as always, perfect, and the stake struck the vampire in the heart and he burst into dust. The other immortals tailing me got the hint, and they realized they were going to be killed if they continued to chase me. They reluctantly fell back.

As I ran, I got out my cell phone and pressed speed dial.

"Talk to me," Thez's voice came after the first ring.

"Co...Code Red," I panted into the phone. I didn't need to say anything else.

"Who?"

"Foster."

"Get him back to your apartment and make sure you keep him unconscious. We're sending a helicopter over immediately. The three of you will be flown back to headquarters."

At that, he hung up the phone.

As soon as I Rustan and I got back to the apartment, we did exactly what Thez said. We laid Foster out on his bed and I cleaned his wound the best I could, while Rustan made sure he remained unconscious. Foster had been wounded by a werewolf while the wolf was in its changed form – without a doubt, he was going to turn. If Foster woke up he might not be fully human anymore – he might attack us.

I was afraid what D.a.r.c. was planning to do with him once they got here. They usually have to kill turned Agents.

I think, for the first time in a very long time, I was concerned for the wellbeing of another person.

-_-_-_-

The D.a.r.c. helicopter came within thirty minutes, and Rustan, Chase, and the unconscious foster were all flown to headquarters.

Foster was placed under Intensive Care - with high security, of course. It was an odd sight to see an unconscious person needing to be supervised by ten armed guards.

For the three hours that D.a.r.c.'s best medics tended to Foster, Rustan and Chase sat in the waiting room in silence. There were two options for Foster: he would either die from blood loss because of the wound; or he would become a werewolf. The first choice was probably better.

Rustan watched Chase carefully and curiously. She was obviously stressed out and worried about Foster's health, and she continuously got up and paced, or asked the doctors how he was doing.

Rustan wasn't so freaked out about it. To be honest, he just didn't care.

In all honesty, he hoped that Foster would survive and become a werewolf. Rustan was tired being the only immortal Agent, and he wanted someone to be able to understand what it's like. What it's like to lack all emotions. What it's like to undergo hardships of being a nightwalker. Rustan wanted someone to suffer with him. Misery loves its company, after all.

Rustan looked at the clock: One forty-five in the morning. The medics were taking a long time.

As if on cue, a doctor walked out.

Chase stood up immediately. "How is he doing? Did he make it? Has he turned yet? Is he awake yet? Can we see him? Is he - "

The doctor held up his hands and Chase stopped bombarding him with questions.

"He has survived," the doctor said simply, and Chase visibly relaxed a great deal, as if a terrible burden had been lifted from her shoulders. "With twenty-seven stitches, we were able to close up his wound. This was probably one of the worst turning marks we've ever seen on a werewolf."

Werewolves heal quickly, but their 'turning mark' heals like it would with a human. It's the only scar a werewolf will ever have. That's why Foster was at risk for too much blood loss. He couldn't heal the gash on his own.

"W-Werewolf?" Chase stuttered in a small voice. "So you mean he has indeed..."

"Turned? Yes," said the medic sorrowfully. "I'm afraid there was no way we could have prevented that."

Suddenly, Thez entered the room. He had guilt written all over his face. "I'm so sorry, Chase," he said.

Chase had a look of horror on her face. "No!" she shouted. "You can’t kill him!"

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "That's the safety procedure we have to take. You know that."

"That's not fair!" she protested childishly. "Just because he's a werewolf - "

"We have to do it," Thez replied calmly.

"But what if he's not evil!" Chase's voice cracked as she shouted full-volume. "Some werewolves remain human-like for the majority of the month. It's only one night where they can't control themselves and they change. What if Foster's like that?"

"What if he isn't?" Thez countered.

"Then we can make him that way! It will only be a little bit of training, he could handle it," Chase said hopefully.

"Are you suggesting that we...tame a werewolf?" Thez asked slowly.

"Well, why not?" she replied. "We have Rustan on the team. And it's the werewolf blood that makes him...well, you know. Unevil."

Thez furrowed his eyebrows, but not in anger. He was actually thinking this over.

"...All right," he said slowly. "I'll talk it over with the D.a.r.c. head of directors."

Chase looked absolutely delighted and she threw her arms around Thez.

"Don't get your hopes up," came Thez's muffle voice from the depths of Chase's bone-crushing hug. "We don't even know if D.a.r.c.'s going to allow it."

Chase seemingly didn't hear him. "Oh, thank you thank you thank you thank you!" she chanted. "You're absolutely the best boss ever and I don't know how I can ever make it up to you - "

"How about letting go?" Thez grunted. Chase released him and gave him an apologetic look. "I'll do my best," he said, trying not to get Chase's hopes up too high, but she continued to smile anyway.

Things might not be so bad, after all.

-_-_-_-

It took an entire day for Thez to convince the D.a.r.c. president to allow Foster to live, but miraculously he finally agreed to it. If the president wasn't my boss and he was younger and better looking, I would definitely marry him.

As soon as I was allowed to, I visited Foster as much as I could. Rustan stayed with me, standing in the corner and glowering as I hovered over Foster's sleeping form. I was overridden with guilt; it was basically my fault that he had taken off in the middle of the night in the first place.

He was a werewolf now, but he didn't look too different. His light brown hair was messier than usual, and he looked a bit scruffier in general. Though I have to say, his skin was so flawless it would make any model jealous. Since he hadn't been able to shave in the last day, he had some stubble...but Foster was one of the few men that could actually pull off the scruffy look.

It took several hours before Foster woke up.

I was sitting on the corner of his bed when, suddenly, his eyes just fluttered open.
His eyes weren't a dull brown anymore; now they were a rich shade of glowing amber.

"Foster!" I exclaimed happily.

He winced as I shouted. "Not so loud," he muttered, rubbing his temples. His voice was even more hoarse than usual.

"Sorry," I said sheepishly, now whispering.

Foster slowly propped himself on his elbows and looked around. "Where am I?" he wondered aloud. "Last thing I remember, I was in the middle of New York..."

I quickly explained everything to him, watching his face go from curiosity to sorrow as he discovered what had happened.

He looked down at himself. "So I'm a...werewolf now?" he asked. "I don't feel any different."

I sighed unhappily. "I'm sorry," I murmured.

He laughed bitterly. "It's funny, I've spent the last five years killing these beasts, and now I am one."

I remained silent. There wasn't really anything to say.

"I guess that makes us two peas on a pod, eh?" he asked, and I realized he was talking to Rustan, who still stood in the corner.

"A pod in a garden of roses," Rustan replied.

"And we're the weeds," Foster said, chuckling softly to himself. "Well," he added, sitting upright, "I'm sure there are a lot of exciting quirks on the way. This will be fun."

"Foster, please try to cheer up," I said. "At least they're letting you live."

"Oh? And do I get a say in this?" Foster asked. "What if I don't want to live? What if I don't feel like being a monster for the rest of my life?"

"Could be worse," Rustan commented from the corner.

Great, Rustan, just the perfect thing to say in a moment like this. Effing idiot.

"Oh yeah? How so, exactly?" Foster sneered.

"You could have been left without a soul," Rustan replied. "And with the undying thirst for blood. And without the ability to control whether you kill innocent people or not."

Foster fell silent. Rustan was trying to tell Foster that he was lucky he was turned into a werewolf, and not a vampire.

"...I got you flowers," I said idiotically, trying to lighten to mood.

Foster looked to the nightstand on the side of the bed, where I bouquet of mixed flowers stood. He gingerly reached for the card attached to it. "Dear Foster," he read. " Please don't die. Love, Chase."

He looked over the letter again. "Awe, that's cute," he cooed. "You said love."

I smiled weakly. "D.a.r.c. said that you had to stay here for the next few weeks so that they can monitor your behavior," I informed him. "But Rustan and I opted to stay here with you to keep you company."

Rustan coughed from the corner.

"Okay, so it was only me. I'm just making Rustan stay."

Foster managed to give me a wary smile. "Thanks," he said.

I looked back from Foster to Rustan, and it dawned on me that the three of us were in this together. We were a team.