I rose with a groan that worked vocal chords rough from disuse, and stretched, reaching out blindly for the wall. My fingers were dark with dried blood and dirt. I shivered as another blast of cold air tore through the ramshackle shed. The three hunters had not only provided me with some human clothes, their flesh had helped to replenish the strength it had taken to travel north from New Mexico into Colorado. But now the beast inside was eager for more.
Emerging from the shed, I surveyed my surroundings. The clouds overhead reflected the light pollution from Denver, casting the world in a reddish twilight. Behind me, I could hear the gurgling of a creek, locked now under ice and snow. Before me was the small two-story house I had glimpsed when I had exhaustedly crawled into the shed at dawn. Between me and the house stretched a steeply sloping yard with rusting car parts and an abandoned swing set poking up through the snow like ghosts of the past.
I stalked towards the distant light of the house; even out here I could hear the loud boom of explosions and the fast pops of gunfire coming from the TV inside. How strange mundanes are, thriving on the thrill of Hollywood violence when the real thing freezes them in pants-shitting fear. I caught the clatter of pots and pans from the back of the house, glimpsing the silhouette of its single occupant through the window, and the scent of frying meat and oil.
Too bad he won’t live long enough to enjoy it.
I was halfway across the yard when the flap in the back door swung outwards and a large black and tan head emerged to lift a twitching black nose to the sky. Catching the first traces of something foreign, the German Shepherd shot through the flap, filling the air with his booming bark, claiming his territory. Little did the dumb beast know that the intruder was far more dangerous than marauding raccoons. Coming out to the edge of the deck, he stared out at the yard from the top of the steps, trying to determine what was invading his yard.
A sudden shift in the wind carried my scent towards the house, cutting off the dog’s barks in an instant, transforming them into a low whine of fear. Tucking his tail between his legs, the German Shepherd turned and ducked back through the flap into the house, no doubt in search of a hiding spot.
“What’s wrong, Max? Is that skunk out back again?” the man inside asked as the dog shot past him, nails clacking on the floor.
I guess the beast isn’t so dumb after all.
Continuing up to the back door of the house, I grinned in anticipation, my mouth already flooding with saliva at the thought of fresh meat writhing hot and bloody between my jaws. A hissing breath rolled out of me as my fingers began to elongate and thick claws erupted from my nail beds, slicing through the tender skin. Arching my back I ground my teeth against the pain of my spine shifting, the sensation of a partial change somehow so much more painful than a full shift from man to wolf.
In a matter of seconds I stood as the epitome of the Hollywood Wolfman, a hulking beast on two legs covered in thick dark fur, armed with vicious claws and grinning fangs. Yet, as close as human fantasy came to envisioning the partial shift, they knew little of its reality. Only an Alpha could achieve the balance between man and wolf needed to allow them to coexist in time and space.
Stupid humans.
I pushed the door open with minimal effort, the flimsy bolt giving little resistance. I took in the small, dimly lit kitchen in the blink of an eye. Cheap cabinets ran around the room, broken up by a small stove and a dented refrigerator. A table and two chairs sat in the middle of the tight space, half of the table’s surface covered in old newspapers with dismantled engine parts sitting on top.
My sudden entrance drew the attention of the man standing at the stove. Dressed in stained jeans and a yellowed t-shirt, and smelling of engine grease, he was muscular in a sinewy way. I hoped he’d put up more of a fight than the hunters had.
“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded, rounding on me with a fork in his hand, a slab of meat hanging from its tines, dripping oil to the floor. His voice faded away to a startled gurgle and his eyes grew wide as he took in my appearance.
The fork fell to the floor with a clatter and wet sounding slap, and in a rush he reached for a knife on the counter, wielding it like a weapon. My laugh came out as a low, rumbling sound, making the foolish man wince and shrink back against the stove.
“You really think that little thing will hold me off?” I asked, my voice distorted by the razor sharp teeth crowding my mouth, but he understood me just fine.
“Get the fuck out of my house!” he yelled at me, even as the hand holding the knife shook.
The staccato clack of my nails on the floor sounded loud in the small space as I took one step, and then another, towards him, challenging him to fight me. The scent of fear rolled off of him in dizzying waves, pungent and sweet as I drew in a deep breath, savoring the taste of it on my tongue.
Lunging at me in a sudden rush, he swung the knife, forcing me to step back. This one would not go down easily.
Excellent!
“You mundanes are so pathetic,” I said, laughing in delight as he slashed at me again.