Heir of The Werewolf Blood

Chapter 5 Shadow Between Words

Harry knew something was wrong even before his shoulder was shoved hard from behind.

His body instinctively moved first. He spun around, his left foot stepping forward half a step, shoulder lowered, ready to charge. The movement was too fast, too wild for a human. A hand slipped off his jacket.

“Whoa, relax! Relax!” a panic-stricken voice yelled.

Harry stopped right before impact. His breathing was heavy, chest rising and falling. In front of him, a young man with a sling bag stepped back, eyes wide.

“What’s wrong with you?” the man grumbled. “I just bumped you a little.”

Arthur immediately appeared beside Harry, his thin but firm hand pressing Harry’s arm down.

“I apologize for him,” Arthur said quickly, his voice friendly but cautious. “This kid… his hearing isn't very good.”

The man scoffed, glancing at Harry from head to toe. “Next time don’t space out in the middle of the street.”

He left while muttering curses softly.

Harry still stood stiffly. The man’s fear scent still clung to his nose, sharp and unpleasant. He swallowed hard, trying to calm his racing heart.

“You almost caused trouble,” Arthur whispered, pulling him away from the crowded sidewalk. “In the city, one wrong move could mean a beating, or worse.”

“I was attacked,” Harry countered softly.

“No,” Arthur replied. “You were touched. That’s different.”

Harry didn't respond. The difference felt thin to him.

They walked several steps before finally stopping at a quieter street corner. Arthur stared at him for a long time, then sighed.

“You have to learn to control your temper,” he said. “Instincts are useful, but also dangerous.”

Harry nodded slowly, even though he didn't fully understand.

A moment later, they sat on a small park bench. Arthur handed him a piece of kebab wrapped in greaseproof paper.

Harry bit into the remaining kebab meat with newly learned caution, trying to hide the necklace beneath his overly large collar. His gratitude to Arthur was mixed with heightened suspicion. The necklace was indeed a key, but Arthur seemed to be the first person to notice that key was valuable.

“You can’t be too obvious with that,” Arthur whispered, nodding toward Harry’s necklace. “On the streets, what makes you different is what makes you a target. You have wolf eyes, Harry. Don’t let them see the human flash in there.”

“I’ll hide it,” Harry promised. But another question surfaced in his mind. How can I learn if I don’t see anything?

“Knowledge,” Arthur said, smiling proudly at Harry’s quick response. “That’s what differentiates us from wild beasts, kid. We can learn to hunt with our minds, not just with our fangs.”

The following days passed in the same pattern, but were never truly calm.

Every morning, before the sun rose high, Arthur woke Harry from beneath their cardboard and thin blankets. The city was still half-asleep then, the cold scent mixing with the remnants of last night’s rain.

Arthur called this the best time to learn.

“You have to learn to blend in,” Arthur said as they walked on the sidewalk. “Pretend.”

“Pretend to be what?” Harry asked.

“Pretend to be ordinary.”

Arthur forced him to walk parallel. Not ahead, not lagging behind. Their steps had to match the flow of other people.

“Look at them, Harry,” Arthur said. “They move fast, but they don’t see anything. They just stare straight ahead, afraid of being late for a job they probably hate.”

“What is a job?” Harry asked. The word felt strange.

“It’s something you do so other people give you money,” Arthur answered, pointing at a large billboard with a picture of a man in a suit. “You trade that money for food and a non-leaky bed.”

Harry stared at the picture for a long time. The man’s face was too neat, too clean.

Arthur started teaching basic words. With coins, with hand gestures, with endless repetition.

“This is money,” he said, showing a dull coin. “Take it with your fingers. Don’t grasp it like a claw.”

Harry tried.

“You can ask, say ‘How much does it cost?’”

“How much… does it cost,” Harry repeated.

“Softer,” Arthur corrected. “You’re not challenging them.”

Harry growled unconsciously, then quickly covered his mouth. Arthur chuckled softly.

Frustration began to grow inside Harry. He could hear people's conversations across the street clearly, could smell lies from the scent of their sweat, but human words felt slippery, hard to grasp.

“I don’t understand,” he grumbled one afternoon. “They say they’re fine, but their smell says otherwise.”

“That’s the city,” Arthur replied, sitting on a park bench. “Everyone lies. Even to themselves.”

Arthur then took him to a rundown secondhand bookstore.

“The best place to learn language is where words are stored,” he said. “Don’t take anything. Just read.”

He gave Harry a few coins.

Harry entered carefully. The smell of old paper filled his nose. He picked up an old newspaper folded in the corner, then sat in a dark spot.

Reading felt like a fight. The letters danced. But slowly, he began to recognize patterns. Work. Money. Police.

Then his eyes locked onto a small headline.

AUBREY FAMILY TRAGEDY

INVESTIGATION STALLED

His chest felt tight.

The name Aubrey echoed in his head. Like an old, buried sound. The black and white photo below it showed three people. Man. Woman. Small child.

Harry pointed at the photo, then unconsciously touched his necklace.

“Arthur,” he called.

Arthur approached. “What did you find?”

“This… is similar,” Harry said softly.

Arthur read the headline. His face tensed for a moment. “An old case. Car accident. Wealthy family. All died.”

“Accident?” Harry repeated.

Arthur nodded. “Nothing we can do.”

But Harry knew that wasn't true.

The small child in the photo was holding something around their neck.

Harry held his pendant tighter. This wasn’t an accident.

“Arthur,” he said, forcing the pronunciation. “I want to… learn more.”

Arthur looked at him for a long time. “Good. But listen to me. This case… isn’t clean.”

They practiced again that afternoon. Word by word. Simple sentences.

“I need more coffee.”

Harry said it carefully.

Arthur smiled widely. “You learn fast, kid.”

However, as they left, Harry saw a piece of paper fall on the bench.

He read it.

Watch the boy. He isn’t yours.

Harry's heart pounded hard. He turned to look at Arthur, who was walking ahead, as if nothing had happened.

“Arthur, wait!” Harry shouted.

Arthur stopped. Turned around slowly.

“What is it, kid?”

Harry gripped the paper tightly. His throat was dry.

“Who… wrote this?”

Arthur looked at the paper. His smile disappeared.

For the first time since they met, Arthur didn’t answer right away.

He took a long breath, then said slowly,

“Harry… since when did you feel like we weren’t alone?”

“Turns out a lot of people want you."