I looked horrified at Michael. For a second, I thought he was dead, but he slowly lifted himself to his knees without anyone observing him. He brought his hand to his head, which must have been spinning from the blow, and when he pulled it back, his expression changed almost instantly … His hand was full of blood.

​

His words came back to me:

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All I remember is that I saw blood, and then my mind went blank ... The leopard who attacked me was dead. I was the one who killed it, and I couldn’t remember a thing.

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“Run!” I yelled, terrified.

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“Shouldn’t you have said that before we caught you?” the one who held me mocked me, smirking.

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“I was talking about you guys! Run!” The desperation in my voice was clear, but it was too late.

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 Michael, who looked as if he wasn’t breathing, stood in the middle of the group, with his head bent, emanating a devastating energy. All those around him were looking at him puzzled, not knowing how to react. He waited rock-still. One of the hooligans dashed at him, but from a single punch he fell down unconscious. Looking at their knocked-out friend, then back to Michael who reverted to his initial position they ganged up on him with everything they had in hand, metal bars, baseball bats, even pocket knives. But trying to put him down proved to be impossible because comparing to him, they looked like small children swinging sticks at the air. He glided elegantly between their hits, turning their power against them, knocking them out with a single unrestrained blow. The hooligans were falling one by one under his merciless hits. He was fighting for his life, and he was too fast to be hit. The one who held me became scared and ran to the door, but he didn’t notice Michael was closer than he thought. With a groan, he fell to the floor before he could even touch the door with only one finger.

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Just George and I were left standing. Whatever reason I had left in me, it told me to run away and not look back, but I didn’t. I didn’t move, I didn’t even flinch when Michael stopped in front of me and looked into my eyes. His eyes looked empty, devoid of any expression. I couldn’t feel any malice intent directed at me, but then he went after George.

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“No! Stay away from me!” he cried in despair, but Michael didn’t seem to hear him.

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He put him down as if he was nothing more than an old pillow. His fangs, slowly and dangerously getting closer to his neck as if he was enjoying the moment to come.

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He had his throat ripped apart.

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The memory of his words flashed through my mind and without another thought, I jumped on his back. I had no idea what I was doing, but I couldn’t let it happen. I put my arm between his fangs and George’s neck, who was petrified with fear and covered his eyes with my other hand. His body was so tense I could barely feel his breath.  His fangs pierced through my skin, pain invading my arm all the way up to my shoulder, but I tried to keep my calm.

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“Michael … everything is fine, you can stop now …”

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Damn it, it hurts! I thought, biting my lower lip.

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“It’s alright, Michael … it’s over now. Everything will be fine.” I was saying it as if he were a small child.

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While I tried to calm Michael down, George left, unsteady on his feet, wiping off his cold sweat and tears.

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 Still holding him from behind, I felt how slowly, gradually, the grip of his teeth grew weaker until it became non-existent. Now, on my bleeding arm, was the soft touch of his big hands. He was breathing normally now, but tears were flowing down his cheeks, and his body was trembling violently. My arm stopped bleeding, but he still didn’t let go. He opened his mouth, and a faint sound came out between his tears.

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“Forgive me …”