The alarm buzzed at 6:30 AM, same as always. Fenris reached across the nightstand with a massive clawed hand, careful not to crush the cheap plastic clock as he silenced it. Seven feet of lean muscle unfolded from the queen-sized bed - too small for him really, but the apartment came furnished and he wasn't one to complain.
He padded to the bathroom on silent feet, ducking slightly under the doorframe. The mirror reflected back crimson eyes set in a wolf-like muzzle, black fur still mussed from sleep. He ran water from the tap, splashing it across his face, then reached for the electric razor he'd specially ordered online. Keeping the facial fur trimmed was just part of looking professional.
Twenty minutes later, Fenris pulled on his usual work clothes: dark denim jeans that accommodated his digitigrade legs, and a comfortable flannel shirt that hung loose around his broad shoulders. He grabbed his leather jacket from the hook by the door - the morning air still held a chill, even in late spring.
The walk to Rosetti's Butcher Shop took him through the quiet residential streets he'd grown to appreciate. Mrs. Toki from 4B was walking her corgi, and she waved cheerfully as they passed. The dog had taken months to warm up to him, but now it barely stirred at his scent.
Morning, Mrs. Toki. Lovely day, isn't it?
Oh yes, dear. You have a good day at work.
The shop was already bustling when Fenris arrived. Marco Rosetti looked up from the display case he was arranging, his weathered face breaking into a grin.
Fenris! Perfect timing. We got that grass-fed beef you ordered for the Hendersons. Want to help me break it down?
Absolutely.
Fenris tied on his apron and washed his hands thoroughly. His natural strength and precise control made him invaluable for the heavier work - what took Marco twenty minutes with a saw, Fenris could accomplish in five with his claws. But he was gentle, methodical, treating each cut of meat with the respect it deserved.
The morning passed peacefully. Fenris helped customers, restocked the display cases, and listened to Marco's stories about his grandmother's recipes. A young mother came in looking for something special for her son's birthday dinner. An elderly man needed help carrying his order to his car. A vampire customer appreciated Fenris's knowledge about which cuts were best for their particular dietary needs.
You're a natural at this, you know.
Marco said during their lunch break, biting into his sandwich.
Got a real understanding of the craft.
Fenris ducked his head, almost bashfully.
I appreciate that, Marco. I like working with my hands. There's something honest about it.
The afternoon brought a steady stream of regulars. Fenris knew most of their names, their preferences, asked about their families. Mrs. Patterson's arthritis, young Tommy's soccer games, the Johnsons' new baby. These small connections, these gentle moments - this was what he valued most about his life here.
As closing time approached, Fenris helped Marco clean the equipment and lock up the display cases. The older man counted the day's till while Fenris mopped the floors.
See you tomorrow, kid. Tell that landlord of yours I said hello.
Will do, Marco. Have a good evening.
The sun was setting as Fenris made his way home, hands tucked into his jacket pockets. The neighborhood was settling into its evening rhythm - lights coming on in windows, the smell of dinner cooking, children being called inside. He'd grown protective of this peace, this simple life he'd carved out for himself.
He was cutting through the alley behind his building when he heard it - a sharp cry, quickly muffled. Fenris froze, every predatory instinct suddenly alert. Fifty feet ahead, two men had cornered a young woman against the brick wall. One had his hand over her mouth while the other rifled through her purse.
The transformation was instantaneous. The peaceful shop assistant vanished, replaced by something far more dangerous. Fenris moved like liquid shadow, covering the distance in heartbeats. His footsteps made no sound on the concrete.
Gentlemen... I think the lady would prefer to be left alone.
Both men spun around. The one holding the purse dropped it immediately, his face going pale in the dim light. His companion released the woman and took a step back, hand moving toward his jacket.
Walk away.
Fenris suggested, tilting his head slightly. His crimson eyes caught the streetlight, glowing like embers.
Right now. While walking is still an option.
The man with his hand on his jacket thought about it for exactly three seconds. Then both of them bolted, leaving the purse scattered on the ground.
Fenris relaxed slightly, the predatory edge fading from his posture. He bent to collect the woman's belongings, careful to keep his movements slow and non-threatening.
Are you hurt? Do you need me to call-
Don't.
The woman's voice was sharp, cutting him off. She snatched her purse from his outstretched hand, her eyes flashing with something that wasn't quite gratitude.
You shouldn't have done that.
I'm sorry?
Fenris blinked, taken aback.
They were robbing you.
She backed toward the mouth of the alley, clutching her purse against her chest. In the better light, Fenris could see she was younger than he'd first thought - maybe early twenties, with dark hair and intelligent eyes that held far too much knowledge.
You have no idea what you just stepped into.
Her voice tight with what sounded like fear - but not fear of him.
They weren't random muggers. They were looking for me specifically. And now... You don't know what you've gotten yourself into.
Before Fenris could respond, she turned and disappeared into the evening crowd on the main street, leaving him alone in the alley with more questions than answers and the uncomfortable feeling that his quiet life had just become significantly more complicated.