#oc karvolf

Whoever said all vampires were immune to disease and sickness was an idiot. As James lay in bed, shivering and coughing and feeling like his head might explode at any moment, all he could think of was that all of this was unfair and that he didn't deserve any of it.

Of course, in the end it all came down to blood. Most vampires were immune to disease and sickness, because most vampires were permanently high on human blood. It made them fast, and strong, and powerful, and everything the stories people told about vampires described, and even more. It was addictive and made you feel like you were capable of anything, like the whole world in front of you was at your feet. And to be fair, it was.

But James didn't care for human blood, so instead of being fast and strong and having the whole world at his feet, all he had was a couple of dead rats in a bucket and a cold that wouldn't go away. And he was hungry.

Sometimes the world really had the shittiest ways of repaying you for even trying to be a good person.

Reaching for the bucket, James looked inside and grimaced. Nothing left to eat in there, and he still wasn't feeling good enough to go outside. This was soon going to be a problem. His stomach growled and James tried to ignore it, rolling to the other side of the bed before pulling the heavy blankets over his head.

Just as he was finally ready to fall asleep again, the ticking noise of small claws of the floor woke him up. It got closer and closer and stopped right in front of the bed, then was followed by a soft thud as something fell on the floor.

Pushing the blankets away, James opened his eyes and came face to face with Karvolf, who was staring at him. Holding out his hand, James gave it a small pat on the nose, his fingers scratching the short, soft fur, and forced himself to smile.

"Hey, I thought I told you not to come here. I'm hungry and I'm really not feeling good, you shouldn't stay near me."

Karvolf pushed its muzzle against his hand, a low growl coming from its throat.

"You should go and stay with Mira for a few days, I'm sure she wouldn't mind." James sighed and coughed. "I hope she won't be too angry at me for not answering her calls. You know how she is, she'd worry if she knew I was sick..."

Looking down, James saw what had made the thud-ing noise he had noticed earlier: on the floor, between Karvolf's front paws, were two dead mice and a rat. James couldn't help it; he laughed.

"I don't think this'll be enough for you to be able to stay safe here for very long, but thanks," he said, scratching Karvolf behind the ears. "This will really help."

As Karvolf seemed to lose interest and walked out of the bedroom, James reached for the dead rat on the floor and picked it by the tail. Dead animal blood was far from ideal, but it was better than nothing. He bit the rodent's neck and drank, slowly at first then faster as the hunger took over his mind and he forgot everything else. He bit again and again, his fingers clutching at the soft fur, until there was nothing left but an empty husk, which he let fall into the bucket. James grimaced and spat, a few rat hairs still in his mouth, then coughed, sniffed, and lay his head on the pillows again.

His stomach growled, but he decided to keep the two mice for later. He was going to need them. As he pulled the blankets closer again James thought about Karvolf, and for a second he felt a burning rush of energy surge through him, a wave of hunger that made him want to run and hunt and kill, because even a karvolf's blood would have been better than some dead rat. For a second he was baffled at how easy it would've been, and he wanted to give in to that hunger more than anything else in the world.