Chapter Text
"You should talk to them."
Carrie groaned as a brush ran delicately along her back, the feeling of wet paint drying on her skin itching slightly.
"Don't wanna. They tried to kill me, held me hostage, and then threatened me for information on Blackwell."
The weight on her hips shifted slightly, the brush stilling. "First of all, you and I both know Lawrence is a complete dick. Otherwise, you wouldn't be hiding at my place at the moment. Second of all, did you start the fight?"
Carrie was sullenly silent.
Foley, Carrie's partner, laughed softly. "Oh, my little sunshine wolf. Talk shit get hit, as they say. Maybe now would be a good time to smooth things over?"
"Don't need a pack," Carrie muttered. She buried her face into a pillow, grumbling as the brush began to move once more. "Just need you."
"And that's sweet to hear, muffin, but my wards are meant to keep vampires out, not feral werewolves in. The possible kinkiness of me handcuffing you aside, of course." A heavily tattooed arm reached into view, dipping the brush into a tiny ceramic pot of paint. "I can feel your wolf pressing out against your skin. Metaphysically, not physically. I'm into most things, but…well, actually…"
Carrie made a sound of disgust. "No. That's not happening. I'm not going to half shift for you. Besides, how the hell is your fancy macrame supposed to keep vampires out?"
The handle of the brush tapped disapprovingly on the top of Carrie's head. "It's knotwork. Practically one of the oldest forms of magic, aside from painting and tattooing. A stable knot pattern can hold a ward at full strength until the material used begins to rot from old age. Besides, I shouldn't hear you complaining. My 'macrame', as you so sweetly put it, is what keeps my fingers so dextrous. Now stop moving. This cleansing pattern requires some precise detail."
She grumbled but settled down. Foley had popped into her life several months ago and had strangely remained the most constant aspect of her life. The fact that they were a witch and didn't give a shit that Carrie was a weird vampire-hybrid came as a bonus.
"Now listen to me," Foley continued. They snapped their fingers and Carrie felt a flash of heat before the loft filled with the scent of incense. "I am not a werewolf. As you well know, by this point. I can help
some
with withdrawals, but when the full moon comes, your wolf is gonna blitz out. This is the first time you've been stone-cold sober in years. You need to be with a pack that can handle you. Whether you stay is up to you, but these wolves seem like a pretty safe bet. Go to them. At least ask them. There's no harm in trying."
"And if they try to rip me apart?" Carrie asked bitterly.
Foley hummed, setting the brush aside. "That's why I'll be with you, of course. If they try to rip you apart I'll massacre them. Simple as that. Now deep breath in."
Carrie breathed in and choked on it as white fire raced beneath her skin, flooding her veins. She let out a strangled shriek, feeling claws slip out to scrabble on the wooden floor, her wolf making her skin ripple as it tried to escape.
Just like that, the pain subsided, and Carrie was left with a wash of relief. The exhaustion and irritability of the withdrawals calmed slightly, and a headache she didn't know she had went away. She breathed out and went boneless.
Foley ran their long, manicured nails through Carrie's hair.
They leaned down and purred, "Good girl."
-
"Now I hope you know this is a bandaid, sweetheart," Foley said, washing the paint from their hands. "You've done a lot of damage to your body, forced your wolf down for years. I can get rid of the headaches for a time and some of the aches from your bones. But I can't kill withdrawal. Your body has to fight that battle on its own."
"Why isn't there magic to just instantly fix it?" Carrie grumbled, putting her shirt back on.
|Foley took in a pleasant eyeful before they responded. "There is if you want to ritualistically sacrifice something. Usually someone. That sort of magic has big costs, and it's never worth it. Knew a witch who tried that sort of shit once."
"And what happened?" Carrie walked over to Foley's side, leaning against the counter next to the sink.
The witch sighed. "Two words. Flesh pretzel."
Carrie grimaced. "I think I get your point."
Drying their hands on a towel, Foley stole a kiss as they passed by. They dragged their wrist against Carrie's, unsubtly scent-marking her in a way that made her wolf rumble happily.
It was a new sensation that confused the shit out of her.
Foley grabbed a wooden spoon, lifting the lid off of the crockpot they'd had slowly cooking in the kitchen. The rich smell of meat and vegetables rolled through the air, rich and savory. They stirred it.
"So," they called over their shoulder. "We gonna go visit some wolves?"
Carrie huffed. "You're not gonna let this go, are you?"
"Mm…no. I care about you and your well-being, I'd rather you not freak out in a few days because you shifted." Foley felt arms slink around their waist and went very still, trying not to startle their werewolf. Carrie was still iffy when it came to touch, and they didn't want to spook her.
The werewolf grumbled. "Fuck. I'm going to hate this."
"Not necessarily. Open." Carrie obediently opened her mouth, and Foley gave her a mouthful of the stew. She sighed with pleasure. "How is it, sugar?"
"Mmm. Good. Needs a little more salt." Swallowing her mouthful, she rested against Foley's back, just barely managing to hook her chin on their shoulder.
Foley clicked their tongue in disapproval and glared at the stew. It bubbled a little more frantically. "Should be good now. Let's eat, and then we'll go see about this city pack." They switched the crockpot to low and grabbed two bowls. "Grab the utensils, pumpkin."
Carrie did as she was told, a worried frown on her face.