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The soulful howl sent shivers up and down her spine, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. Having been raised with a vampire for a grandmother, the call of a werewolf was something that she never had to endure. They were only mentioned in legends and stories that Babcia sometimes told, and they rarely, if ever, had a positive light shined upon them.

To say that Tourma was terrified by the call was an understatement. The fact that it had come from upstairs, from Ken's room no less, just added to the apprehension.

Swallowing, she glanced around the garage for something other than the protection Babcia had given her when her parents moved out. That, she silently argued, might be too much.

Then again, she had no magic to counter such a threat, it might be the only option. While contimplating this, another thought came to mind that positively chilled her bones.

What if it was Ken? There was a pause.

Ken, an athletic, natural killing machine? Yeah right. An awkward chuckle cut the looming silence as she stood, deciding on the only weapon she had, a semi-automatic shotgun. Tourma knew that her grandmother's gift probably didn't have the most legal of histories, but at the moment she didn't give a flying pig if she were breaking any laws. There were lives at stake!

As quietly as possible, the teen stalked her way through the house, listening to her surroundings cautiously. Adrenaline coursed through her body as she climbed the stairs, peeking around the corner before heading to the far end of the hall. Ken's room was where she had heard the howl, so that was where she was going to go.

While she stepped past the closed bathroom, she cocked the gun as silently as possible. To her, the sound seemed to cut through the silence and echo off the walls.

Suddenly, she stopped, glancing over her shoulder at the bathroom with the light on. Her breathing hitched. It had to be in there. Heart booming in her ears, she retraced her steps and put a hand on the doorknob. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she tightened her fingers and gave a powerful and quick turn of the knob while kicking open the bathroom door with a loud crash.

With a fearless battle cry, she charged in with the shotgun leveled, prepared to mow down the werewolf invader.

She watched the scene unfold in front of her as if in slow motion as realization dawned on her like a cold shower.

Holy. s**t.

Her scream of fury died out to nothing as she stood there with her eyes wide open at the sight in front of her. If she had been terrified before, the idea of her charging in on a friend and her tenet with a loaded shotgun had her nearly in tears.

As if it suddenly dawned on her (again), she looked back and forth between the shotgun in her hand and the petrified Ken dangling over the tub. Panicked, she hurriedly put the gun down and stepped towards him.

"OMG Ken I'm so sorry!" Tourma whispered hoarsely, blinking back tears spawned from a combination of emotions as she bent next to him. "I heard the howl! I thought the werewolf was in here!" The teen was visibly shaking, tail bottle brushed behind her as she carefully knelt down on the floor next to him. "Are you okay?" she asked meekly, voice barely audible.

God she felt worse than dirt right about now.

Everything seemed to be happening in a whirlwind, and it didn't help that her own heart beat remained in her throat for the entirety of it.

"I'm okay."

Tourma latched onto the two words like a life preserver in a riptide. Unfortunately, moments later the flotation device figuratively exploded as he passed out.

For a moment, she simply stared in a daze of shock. And then, she freaked out. "KEN?!" she cried out in fear. Oh dear gods she had given him a stroke! Or a heart attack! Or BOTH!

Her head spun with the fathomable options as well as the more far fetched possibilities before it came to her that maybe she should check to see if he were alive. With a deep breath and a shaking hand, Tourma leaned over him and the tub to grasp his wrist and take his pulse.

A look of deep concentration lingered on her face before she felt something consistent. "He's alive!" Tourma cheered to no one in particular. Pausing, the teen blinked down at him blankly.

Now what?

A memory from one of those Law & Order episodes cut in her mental line of ideas, causing her to glance upwards at the shower. Well, they did it to unconscious victims of overdose, why wouldn't it work here? With this logic, she stared at him a moment before taking a deep, deciding breath and turning on the cold water.

Relief flooded her as she quickly stopped the cold shower, and a grin threatened to crack her face in two. He was okay! Under the pretense of wiping her face dry of water, the teen did away with the tears that were brimming dangerously around her eyes.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know what else to do." Tourma admitted sheepishly, smile diminishing somewhat.

Getting her wits together, Tourma reached up and pulled a fresh towel from the nearby rack. She wrapped it around him the best that she could before holding her hands out to him in just in case he wanted help out of the tub.

"Come on, I don't want you getting a cold on top of everything."

"The werewolf?" Tourma asked, shaking her head. "I thought she was in here... Look, all I heard was that howl when I was in the garage... I was terrified." She shuddered visibly at the audio replay in her mind. "So I grabbed the gun and came upstairs thinking the worst..." Her eyes closed as she trailed off, taking a few deeper breaths.

When she opened her eyes again, Tourma gave him a quizzical and concerned look. "Dude, what the ******** -actually- happened?"

Tourma frowned slightly, her experience as a mighty gossipiere and as a female both told her that there was more. For now, she decided it'd be best to leave it, but as always, a mental note was taken. "Well..." She began, motioning towards the door, "Lets go to your room, and if she's still there... I'll take care of it, since it's my house."

Eying him for a moment, she turned to pick up the gun, carefully maneuvering so that it was no longer cocked. However, she simply couldn't just leave it in the bathroom. Instead, the teen leaned it on her shoulder as if it weighed nothing.

She really hoped that the werewolf girl wasn't around still.

Before they left the bathroom, however, Tourma took a moment to peek into the medicine cabinet and after a bit of rummaging, she plundered a bottle of NyQuil that she saw. This should do nicely should they need it.

Stepping ahead of him since she had the gun, she quietly strode down the hall and into his room. Carefully, she poked her head in and glanced around to see if she remained, fingers tight around the gun. They relaxed when she noticed the room's emptiness, and walked across it to shut the open window, peering down and out of it.

In the light of the moon Tourma was able to see the deep shoe prints of impact in the damp mulch directly under the window. This brought upon a deeper feeling of relief. The werewolf was gone. "She's gone," she said, echoing her thoughts.

With a look that told him she'd be back, she put a reassuring hand on his shoulder on her way out. "I'm going to lock this back up. You should get changed for bed." Her voice took on a comforting, almost motherly tone, and she offered him a smile before ducking out.

Five or so minutes later, she returned wearing a comfort worn pair of boxer shorts and a black wifebeater. In her hands were her cell, the NyQuil, and a hair dryer for his tail. Just in case.

Her eyes had a sadness in them as she caught sight of the foxcoon sprawled apathetically across his bed. Taking a deep breath, she closed the distance between the two of them and gently reached down to push the wet hair from his face.

"Ken, you're not sleeping in wet clothes so either you change or I'll change you. I don't care either way, but it's up to you."

She waited for his response while plugging in the hair dryer and setting aside her phone and the NyQuil.