The Home

The wolf stretched out his muscles and shook his body like a wet dog. It was always weird to be in his human skin when he was in the front seat; a wolf wasn't made to live like a house-pet. His sharp yellow eyes glanced around the room Rollin had chosen. It was one of two rooms on the very top floor. He'd struggled with where to stay in a building full of supernatural beings; he didn't want to be stuck between floors, nor share the basement with the vampires. He would much rather share a space with the foreign creature than be cramped with the others.

He opened the door — ignoring the paper that smelled like Abby — and made his way down to the main foyer. Maybe Rollin should have asked which room was hers, and picked one near it. She didn't seem bothered by the fact that she was the only human, just focused on helping them. He snorted; what could a measly human do to help him? Other than put him out of his misery... Oh, how Rollin would love that. Too bad I'm not going anywhere, the wolf thought defiantly.

It was still light outdoors, so he had no problem walking through the house like he was a civilized human. As he neared the "meeting room", he sneezed like an invisible fairy had just tickled his nose hairs. Magic... His lip curled when he recognized the scent of melted candle wax and burnt charcoal; it was the lingering, stinging odor of a vampire that made his muscles tense. He could sit in the same room with a vampire for 10 years and still be uncomfortable around them. If the witch (who, he realized, was in the "talking room") was a dark one, then it would be a completely different outcome.

He rolled his shoulder, ridding himself of the thoughts of black witches, and continued to the entrance doors. The cursed male let out a rumbling growl when he felt the first human bone break and rearrange itself to accommodate his bear-like, true form. He could only take so much of the Home, and no amount of sandwich meat would keep him at bay.