“I think you know where this is going, but…we believe they were yours.”
Santiago was quiet for a moment, but when he spoke next, he sounded tired. “What do they look like? I’m assuming they are all dead now, so you should be able to tell me.”
Foxx grimaced. “Yes…” He glanced at the dead. And as quickly and succinctly as he could, he described them. “Three with brown hair, tall and stocky, they look to be related. Two have blond hair, one’s thin while the other has a swimmer’s build. The last has white dyed hair, an average build, but a large scar on his chest.”
“They…are…part of my pack. Those six refused to go into hiding with the rest of my people.”
Harlow shifted on his feet, somehow managing to speak without sounding like he was hurt. “Do you know where they were staying? Or did they continue to go out even with the warnings?”
“They didn’t go out. While they refused to hide…they promised me they…wouldn’t leave pack lands. My land is spread out. We don’t live in one house, or even a close grouping of houses, like many packs do, but in this case, they…” There was a soft distressed whine that was barely audible before the man admitted, “They were staying in my house.”
“They were at your house? Are you sure?” Foxx asked sharply.
“Maybe if they hadn’t been…they would still be alive…but the stubborn bastards decided that since they weren’t leaving, they would guard their…” He let out a derisive scoff. “Alpha’shome…”
Foxx winced. The werewolf was obviously blaming himself. He didn’t bother saying that it wasn’t his fault, as he was sure the man wouldn’t appreciate it at the moment. “We will check it out for you. Did anyone else stay behind?”
“No.”
“Santiago, play dead,” Harlow suddenly said.
“W-what?!” the man stuttered.
Frowning, he eyed Harlow with a brow raised in question.
“Maverick is obviously coming for your ass. Why else would he try to attack your pack when he’d already infected another? It was unnecessary. He only terrorized one area with his attack on vampires…why would he then do two with werewolves? He views both in the same light. So play dead, all of you. We will tell the news that your pack managed to lock themselves inside, and as a result, you killed each other.”
“Or…” Foxx gasped. “We can spin it that the pack, in a desperate effort to protect innocents, on realizing they had been poisoned and would soon lose control, locked themselves inside, dying bravely for the safety of others. They don’t even have to say the name of the pack. We can leak it as developing news. The Guild can tell them that they are keeping it vague to protect the families that are mourning. The public doesn’t need to know who, as long as Maverick knows. At the same time, it will generate sympathy towards paranormals, while shedding bad light on Humanity's Last Stand.”
“Will that even work?” Santiago asked slowly. “Won’t whoever they sent to do it know that we weren’t all there? Besides, the public doesn’t yet know what is really going on either. They know the group is involved, but the Guild hasn’t released information letting the public know that these individuals aren’t just attacking at random.”
“This could be the chance to inform them of that fact. And whether the person exposed your home, or every house on your pack’s land, they wouldn’t stick around to watch things go down. But if this is around the time the chaos would start, the lack of noise would draw them back, wouldn’t it?” Harlow said, the man wincing as he shifted on his feet.
“They won't come back now. If one thinks they infected a pack of a hundred and…fifty-seven wolves…one doesn’t just go back. Cowards would never risk their own skin in that way.” Santiago chuckled darkly. “No, they aren’t there now. If they were to come back, and the lack of chaos likely would draw them in…they’ll come eight to nine hours from now…when they know that even if we were infected…we’d be dead.”
“You are most likely right,” Foxx mused. “But we’ll make sure to be there waiting for them when they do come back. Though, I suppose, this does give us time to get your back stitched up, Harlow.”
“Stitched?” Santiago asked grimly. “Were you injured?”
Foxx had an urge to cheekily blurt out why Harlow was injured…but didn’t, because the werewolves they killed weren’t just strangers, they were people Santiago cared about.
Instead, he just said, “They clawed up his back pretty bloody well.”
“Ask for antibiotics when they stitch you up. Beyond any logic, the marks I received in my efforts to restrain my nephew…had begun to fester.”
Foxx frowned. “Werewolves can get infections, even though it’s extremely rare. However, vampires can’t. Harlow is vampire adjacent. He is close enough to my species that the same should hold true for him.”
“This is true… However, even on the very rare occasion it happens to us…it’s something that usually takes months of neglect. This developed in less than twelve hours. It’s best to be cautious.”
“Right… We’ll try,” Harlow said slowly, sounding unsure.
Foxx was a bit unsure himself. They could go to any hospital they wanted to now…but getting antibiotics could prove difficult, unless they came across another arrogant bastard like that one ignorant doctor. Then again…maybe it wouldn’t be difficult at all. Ignorance and arrogance were abundant in hospitals.
He wrinkled his nose at the thought. “Well, until then, play dead. We will keep you updated.”
“I’ll attempt to. Doc has informed me I am welcome to stay here. Though, I think part of that welcomeness is due to him needing my blood. In more ways than one.” The werewolf muttered the last part so softly he wasn’t sure they were meant to hear it.
“Ah…so that’s how he’s decided to stay awake longer.”
