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Georgina Kamsika can be found hunched over a keyboard either writing fiction or developing web sites. She writes short stories while working on a final draft of her novel ‘The Sulphur Diaries’. You can find her at http://www.kamsika.com
CAGE THE BEAST
By Georgina Kamsika
Day 1:
With the scent of blood in her nostrils, and the feel of flesh shredding between her claws, Bliss raises her head towards the moon and shouts of her joy--a long rippling howl ululating between the tall buildings. The pregnant moon pulls at the darkness in her, her anguished cries the only form of worship she knows.
Dropping her muzzle, she sniffs at the cooling bodies lying at her feet, long tongue lapping at the blood pooling beneath them. A mere sip of their life to keep in her perfect memory, nothing more. She has no need to feed on these pathetic creatures, the only urge is to run and chase and catch. Each kill attains her shuddering release.
It’s almost too easy for her; humans move as if dipped in treacle and they have no idea that she’s there. A slender, golden shadow, not much larger than an Alsatian, she challenges herself by only killing bad men. Scoundrels. She’s sure of it, the darkness within them, as they die.
One night, a couple of months ago, she’d not found anyone and she’d spent the night screaming her frustration to the moon. It had been physically painful not to kill the first person she’d seen as the moon pulled at her blood like the tides, but she’d managed to hold the beast back.
Her control is all that keeps her sane.
She comes to the city for three nights of the month, her human menses synched with the moons cycle. It’s a thirty minute drive from her town, but it’s worth it. Dark alleyways full of lurking muggers, seedy ghettos with desperate addicts. Home to the lost and the unloved.
Two men had been laughing as they’d torn a girl’s dress, a blade flickering in the moonlight. But as scared as their victim had been, when Bliss had ripped their throats out, the girl had found new heights of terror as she fled.
Under the pale moonlight the mens brown eyes are already opalescent, their lives long since leaked onto the sidewalk. Wiping blood from her face, she bites through their throats, casually decapitating one ... then the other. While she is convinced they were already dead, decapitation is the only way to be sure that they might not turn. She’s so new to all of this, she has no idea what parts of the stories are true or not. Better to be safe.
It’s only the first night of her moon-blood, but the beast is stronger than ever, frenzied urges soaring through her body making her teeth snap and claws scratch. As much as it pains her to admit it, she was tempted to kill the poor screaming victim, too, just to stop the howling in her blood.
Day 2:
Bliss Maddox is used to stopping traffic as she sashays past. Boys jaws drop to the floor, girls look on in envy. Teachers tend to roll their eyes, but she's wise to the ones who give her a second glance. They're the ones who have helped keep her in school. Well, they used to.
There was a time when her looks were everything to her, perfectly natural blonde hair flowing down her back, china blue eyes and skin the color of porcelain. Now that her mind is running to full capacity, she can barely remember a time when the hardest choice in her life was between pink crush or antique diamond for her nails.
Her brain is an Armani original, whereas everyone around her is second-hand K-Mart rags. Not so long ago, she'd had trouble even keeping up with conversations; now, she's surrounded by a brainless herd. The irony of that metaphor isn't lost on her, as she rubs her soft sheepskin coat against her cheek.
Metaphor. Another word that wasn’t even in her vocabulary until recently.
If you’d asked her what was important, beauty or brains, she’d have blinked, pursed her perfect cupid bow lips and the answer would have been obvious. Now, she exercises her brain like a muscle, cramming in as much information as she can.
"Bliss," a high-pitched voice grates against her sharp hearing.
Bliss stifles an instinctual growl, turning to greet the red-headed girl trotting up to her with a wide smile.
"Daisy," Bliss holds up her hand, pinky crooked as she air kisses to her friend. "Mwah, mwah! Looking wonderful today darling."
Daisy beams back, one hand patting the back of her short-cropped red curls as she drops into place at her side. Bliss wrinkles her nose at the influx of scent; moisturizer, deodorant and perfume. She's so sensitive to aromas now, it's like Daisy is walking around in a stinking cloud.
They flounce down the halls, Bliss keeping one ear on Daisy as she talks about her weekend shopping trips, the rest of her attention fixed on scouring the area. Her senses are always sharper now, but during the three day period when she is able to transform they go into overdrive.
Last month, when her senses were heightened, she’d got a hint of something. Someone. A kindred soul who was already changed, or who would be perfect to join her.
Nothing within range yet, she sighs.
***
Bliss fakes boredom as their teacher drones on. She used to hate this, being forced to go to the library, being taught research skills. Now, she huffs and sighs as much as ever, while secretly having worked her way through as many books on werewolf myths, lycanthropy theories and predators as she can find in the limited selection.
The more she reads about werewolves, the more annoyed she gets. Women bleed and change on a monthly basis anyway, yet men still try to claim lycanthropy for themselves. Hundreds of famous stories about men, yet how many famous female werewolf tales are there? Two or three? Less?
‘So sexist,’ she thinks for a moment, before her newfound smarts inspire a revelation. ‘Of course. Who wants a hairy, angry woman? That's a mans role; women should be submissive and pretty.’
What the books have told her is that no-one really knows anything. There are plenty of legends and very little fact. Sensationalist nonsense. Painful transformations (wrong) that lead to slavering beasts with no control (wronger), with nothing more than bestial instincts (she loves her newfound cunning – totally, absolutely, wrongest.)
“I want to paint my nails citrus next,” Daisy prods her in the arm.
“Lime or lemon?” Bliss murmurs, scouring the ancient Greek text hidden inside a gossip magazine. No use letting anyone find out that Bliss Maddox can actually read a book without pictures.
“Citrus isn’t a color?” Daisy looks down at her fashion magazine, blinking.
Bliss rolls her eyes at the confusion in her friend’s voice. “Go for lemon. It’ll match your skin tone.”
“Oh, you think?” Daisy pats her cheeks, checking her reflection in a little hand mirror.
Bliss stares at her friend’s throat, the pulsing jugular exposed to the world. She can almost taste the hot blood splashing against her lips, thick and pulsing from an artery, dripping onto her tongue…
“I said, what about Innocence for my nails?”
“Innocence isn’t a color either,” Bliss murmurs, watching the hypnotic pulse throb in her friend’s throat.
“Maybelline says it is,” Daisy frowns, examining the make-up article more closely. “See, looks a bit like cream.”
“Beautiful,” Bliss tears her eyes away from her friend; she’s sensed Him again. He’s close enough now that she can tell he’s not like her yet, but he’s oh, so perfectly suited to the change. Contained anger pours off him in waves, aggression tempered with strong control. Teenagers, so much delicious angst. Bliss swivels in her seat, licking her lips as she glances across the tables. There. Him. He only joined the school recently, that must be why she’s not sensed him properly before.
“Nige, Nate something like that,” Daisy says rolling her eyes. “Part of the flannel brigade.”
Pacific green eyes and truffle colored hair, the same shade as her favorite fake tan. She sniffs once, quickly, struggling to block out the clashing perfumes and scents of those in the way. Yes, definitely, it’s him.
Average build, average height with a shocking taste in clothes, she’s never considered Nate handsome before. Hell, she’s never considered him at all before; they’ve barely spoken, they move in such very different circles. But now that she can see through him, she’s breathless at the beast she can sense inside. Her blood is already thrumming to the moon’s call, but now it pulls her towards this boy too.
“I’m grounded anyway,” Daisy whispers, apropos of nothing. “Mom says the Full Moon Killer struck again last night. Two men. Two gang members,” she corrects herself. “So for the next five days I’m grounded.”
Bliss doesn’t break her gaze from the boy, admiring his profile, the impatient tap in his fingers as he watches their lecturer speaking. So much unfocussed rage. Yes.
“What is it about him? I’ve never seen you look at a boy like this, are you in luuurve? I’ve underestimated your taste.” Daisy’s voice lilts as she teases.
“Please, I was just wondering if his mommy still cuts his hair,” Bliss snorts.
“He’s kind of cute, if you squint,” Daisy peers at him. Too vain for glasses, too scared of touching her eyes for contacts, Bliss knows Daisy probably can’t see him clearly anyway.
“Not my type, I prefer my men post-puberty,” Bliss yawns, pretending to inspect her nails. The glare he shoots them makes it clear that he can hear them. Bliss remembers watching a documentary on wolves, something about them being pack animals. Perhaps that is a clue to the strange emptiness she feels inside. She looks at Daisy then, her old friend, the one member of her pack.
She’s known Daisy since they were five. Inseparable since nursery school. Now that she can think Bliss finds herself spending half her time planning how to kill her. Surely it’d be better to put her out of her misery than letting her continue to live like this? Barely alive, barely functioning, just a clothes rack with an expensive haircut.
But they’ve been friends for so long, surely a real friend would share this gift? A friend to hunt with, someone to talk to about the changes. No more feeling like the lone wolf stalking a herd of sheep. Not that it’s all easy and fun though, Bliss thinks, rubbing her right wrist absently, looking at the scars from her silver charm bracelet. Her only scars since her change, in fact. Still, losing part of her jewelry stash is a small price to pay.
“I’m going to ring your mom and tell her we have an assignment due,” Bliss tells her friend. “She’ll let you stay at my house. There’s something I need to let you know.” Yes, she thinks, watching Daisy poke her tongue out of the corner of her mouth to try and read half a page of text, it’s the only humane thing to do.
***
“Daisy,” Bliss prods her friend with a sapphire blue toe where she’s lying on the floor next to her bed. Bliss has to do it now, this afternoon, while her mother is knocked out by valium and her daddy is staying at his apartment in town. “Remember a few months ago, I was off sick from school for a week?”
“Mmm, no. Not really,” Daisy flips the page of her magazine, her head resting on her arms as she scours the lurid images.
Bliss rolls her eyes. Daisy had complained for the entire week, especially as Bliss had been too ‘sick’ to take any calls or see visitors. “Anyway, there’s something I need to tell you about then.”
“Mmmm?” Daisy is looking at the swimsuit page, her tongue sweeping across her bottom lip as she tries to understand the caption text.
“You know I don’t wear my silver charm bracelet anymore?” Bliss tries again.
“Yes,” Daisy looks up with a squint. “What is up with that? I heard J.J. gave you a new charm too, and you still don’t wear it.”
Bliss forces herself not to rub the faint scars encircling her wrist. “That’s because I broke up with J.J. like four months ago, since he’s such a stupid dumbass. Anyway, my point is, around that time is when I got sick, okay?”
“Okay.” Daisy is meek, submissive.
“Something happened. Something wonderful. I…” For once since her change, Bliss is lost for words. How do you explain to your lifelong friend that you’re no longer you, not really? And werewolves? It’s like a bad horror movie, except the perky cheerleader is usually the one running from the wolf, not being the wolf.
“Did you… All the way? Who with?” Daisy’s eyes are wide, her mouth hanging open.
“No, ah…” Bliss rubs her hand over her face, subconsciously taking care not to smear her makeup. “You know the Full Moon Killer? Well, that’s me. I’m a werewolf.”
Daisy doesn’t blink, her wide eyes unchanging as she stares up at Bliss on the bed.
“Say something,” Bliss murmurs, her fingers gripping the blanket. “Anything.”
Daisy starts to giggle, rolling onto her back and kicking her feet in the air. “You… You got me! You were so serious…”
“I am serious, Daisy,” Bliss almost growls, her voice dropping lower. It’s early evening, but she feels her flesh rippling. Too soon, not now. She pushes back, concentrating on her friend.
“Oh Bliss, I know there’s no such thing, now … ”
“I’m lonely. Being the only werewolf I know about,” Bliss murmurs, her gaze flicking to the window. “The first time I changed was a shock, sure. But it doesn’t hurt and I feel so much smarter. Everything is sharper, like someone removed a plastic film between me and reality.”
“You’re scaring me… why are you growling like that?” Daisy sits up.
“Because you’re not listening. God, Daisy, how can you live like this!” Bliss snarls.
“You’ve been so moody lately, it’s like you’re a different person.” Daisy pooches out her lower lip in a sulk.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Bliss growls through clenched teeth. “I am. And it’s better. It’s so much better.”
“You’re crazy, werewolves don’t exist. Why would you become one, anyway?” Daisy shakes her head.
“I…” Bliss runs her hand through her hair. “I don’t know, I can’t figure out how it happened, either. I can’t remember getting bitten or cut. I just got sick for a few hours, then I changed. But it’s not important now. What’s important is that I have instincts about it. I know how to turn you, too.” She looks down over the edge of her bed to her friend. “We’ve done everything together, our whole lives. Share this with me.”
Daisy continues to shake her head, gathering her things from around her. “I’m not laughing and I’m going home.”
Bliss leaps for the door, spreading her arms to bar the exit. “You’re going nowhere,” she snarls. “Watch.” Then she loosens the reins and lets the change take over. Dropping to all fours, her blonde mane falling to cover her face, she arches her back and watches her hands prickle and shimmer. Always so painful and time consuming in the movies, she transforms in seconds with no pain at all. A blink, and she’s changed from a goddess into a golden, tailless wolf, her dress puddled around her paws. Her sense of smell sharpens further and she tastes Daisy’s fear on her tongue.
A wail hurts her ears and she glares across the room. Daisy is backed into the opposite corner, her hands clawing at her cheeks as she screams.
“Daisy, it’s me,” she growls. “It’s still just me.”
Her friend doesn’t answer, shaking her head and moaning.
“It’s me, I’m fine. Better than fine. Let me show you,” she pads across the room. “One small bite, that’s all. Then I won’t be alone.”
“Don’t kill me, please, god!” Daisy scrabbles at the wall behind her, her voice getting louder. “That growling!”
“Quiet, my mom might hear.” Bliss shakes her head, slaver dripping from her muzzle. Her friend’s high-pitched voice is scraping inside her head, making it harder than usual to think. “Shut up. This is me, Bliss. I’m still in here.”
“Bliss, stop growling, it’s not funny.” Daisy’s voice rises higher and louder than ever before. “You’re scaring meeeeee…”
“Shut UP! I’m trying to help.” Bliss leans in closer to nip at her friend, but Daisy takes her by surprise, lashing out with her fists. The blows are weak, futile, until Daisy’s silver ring catches Bliss high on her temple. The silver burns her skin like acid, the shape branded high above her cheekbone.
Bliss can’t stand the pain, it’s excruciating and she lets go, lets the wolf take over. Her teeth rip out Daisy’s throat with one swipe, her claws following swiftly to tear at the soft flesh of her chest. She has no control now, her blood roaring through her veins as she shreds and shreds. Daisy’s scream is gone, replaced by a soft sighing, blood bubbling in her throat as her eyes glaze over.
When Bliss comes back to herself, she’s lying in a pool of wet, sticky blood, her fur matted in clumps along her chest and legs. Licking her muzzle, she can taste her friend. The same friend scattered into lumps of meat and gristle in the corner of her bedroom; deep red flesh and clotted black blood.
“Shit.”
***
Bliss has become pretty good at cleaning up after herself. Hiding ruined clothing, tidying up her hair and nails. Bright makeup and a new wardrobe can cover a multitude of sins. But a bedroom that smells and looks like a slaughterhouse? This one’s new.
Bin liners. She’d never realized how big a human body was until she’d had to fill a bin liner. How much sheer mass of bone and meat and gristle there was. Daisy now occupied three tied black bags, stacked at the bottom of her closet.
Scrubbing the walls and carpet with bleach and disinfectant helped. It no longer looked like someone exploded in the corner, but it stinks like a hospital.
It’s nighttime, way too early to try and sneak three bags of best friend anywhere, so Bliss is lying back on her bed, fixing her nail polish. Sunset; a deep orange. Not that there’s any blood left under her nails to hide, but it feels better.
“Why didn’t you listen, Daise,” she mutters to the closet. “You got me mad. Even the gang bangers don’t get me mad.” The closet doesn’t reply, and her dark urges whisper to her, soothing her conscience, telling her it’s okay. “I can usually control it. Mostly.”
She remembers the Greek lycanthropy book she liberated from the school library and picks it up with the tips of her fingers, careful not to smudge her nails.
A werewolf, also known as a lycanthrope is a mythological human with the ability to shapeshift into a wolf, either by being bitten by another werewolf, or after being placed under a curse. This transformation is often associated with the appearance of the full moon.
Skimming ahead, one line leaps out at her. It is commonly believed that the curse is a consequence of their sins.
Sin.
Sunday school used to talk about sin and hellfire and brimstone, but it had never made much sense to her, not really. And how could sin be related to her being a wolf? Bliss blows on her nails, giving them one last inspection before closing the book.
She’d been proud, vain, stupid, greedy, selfish. If you named a sin, she’d probably done it. But in that case, why reward her with brains, strength, and speed? Is it a curse, or a gift? Is it wrong for her to kill? What happened to Daisy was an accident, sure, but would she have reacted so violently if she’d never killed before? And has the killing of an innocent changed her? She still feels like the same person, just one with guilt twisting her stomach into knots. Never mind the worry of how she’s going to dispose of the evidence. Of Daisy.
The dark urge, it gnaws at her, killing makes her what she is now. She’d die inside if she didn’t allow the wolf out to play. But it doesn’t control her, not yet.
Day 3:
“Less talking, more chemistry!” The tutor bellows, looking up from his half-eaten sandwich.
Bliss mimes a yakking hand, but she’s only covering up her real focus. Nate sits two seats away from her in Science. How had she not known this? How had she not sensed him? His very presence is thrumming through her blood now, driving her with a need that she barely understands. A documentary on wolves has given her some idea though; a wolf will find a mate and they pair for life.
She moves, settling into the empty chair at his side. He looks up, eyes wide in surprise. As he notes who it is, he glares at her and returns to his work.
“Hey, Nate,” Bliss beams at him, leaning close. “How’s things?”
“Bliss Maddox. What do you want with me?” His speech is clipped and he doesn’t look up.
Unusual; she’s used to inspiring more interest than this. “So, yeah, I realized I don’t have a partner for this experiment… do you want to…?”
“Not really,” Nate glances to his right, but all the nearby students are paired up. Bliss sees Nate’s friend wiggling his eyebrows and giving a thumbs up.
“Looks like I have no choice. Great,” Nate sighs.
“You don’t want to work with me?” She pouts, fluttering her eyelashes. Usually a sure-fire winner, Nate still hasn’t looked her fully in the face.
“You only want me to do your homework for you, like Al does for your economics or Burt math.”
“Don’t be silly. I want to get to know you,” she puts on her most breathy voice.
“Really,” he snorts, still not looking around. “Five months at this school, at the next desk, and this is the first time you’ve even acknowledged my presence. What’s wrong, are you failing science? Mr. Jones got tired of giving out A’s for blowjobs?”
Bliss narrows her eyes. Her normal tricks aren’t working. No one’s ever resisted her like this before. It’s as frustrating as it is arousing.
“Can’t you feel how compatible we are, silly?” She hisses, reaching under the table to touch his leg. It’s so frustrating, the first person who’s interested her since she turned, and he hates her.
Nate jerks away from her hand, his brow furrowed as he finally looks at her. “You assume because you’re beautiful, any guy will fall at your feet? Don’t touch me.”
“Why are you lying to me?” She growls. “I can smell how aroused you are. I can hear your increased heart rate. You want me.”
“I’d assumed you were just some vacuous blonde, but now I see you’re a lot more cunning than I’d thought. Just because my body reacts to you physically, my brain still hates you. I’m in control here, not my...” He glances down and away, a flush coloring his cheeks.
While he’s looking away, she leans closer still, sniffing along the back of his neck, breathing in the scent.
“You’re…kind of gross.” Nate flinches away from her. “Are you serious? Stop sniffing me.”
Part of her growls in appreciation of his fire, the other part is furious that he won’t even listen to her. Every instinct in her body screams that this is him, her mate, her partner for life. She wants to see him change, to see his eyes as a wolf, to hear his heartbeat racing as they chase humans through the night.
“Help me with this, then, since we are partners now,” Nate pushes a glass beaker across to her, sloshing with a pale amber solution.
“Oh sure,” Bliss reaches out, rubbing her shoulder against his arm. He doesn’t flinch away this time, but his lips press into a thin line.
She’s got one night; her last chance for a month, and one thing she’s sure of is that this won’t work at any other time. “Meet me in the city tonight. When it happens, don’t be scared, but come meet me in the city tonight,” Bliss whispers into Nate’s ear as she squeezes the beaker into fragments, the glass slicing her hand.
“What…?”
Moving faster than a human can see, she uses a shard to slice into Nate’s hand and presses her own cut against his. Her blood pumps into the wound, and she feels it pass between them. It’s done.
“Ouch… You goddamned psycho!” Nate pulls his hand back, examining the cut.
“What’s going on over there?” Their chemistry teacher glares at them, spraying chunks of half-eaten egg sandwich. “Nate Williams? Are you harassing Miss Maddox?”
“Nothing to worry about, sir,” Bliss smiles at him, fluttering her eyelashes prettily. “I kind of dropped a glass thingie. But it’s okay now. My hand isn’t cut,” she turns to hold up her palm to Nate. It’s spotted with blood, but clearly free of any injury. “I didn’t infect you or nothing.”
“Hell, I hadn’t even thought of that,” Nate inspects the slice on his palm. “You’re sure you’re not cut?”
“Nothing,” Bliss smiles sweetly. The bell rings, and all around them, students gather their belongings. Bliss stands to go, looking down at the blood pulsing from his wound. “Remember, don’t be scared. The city. Tonight.” Then she’s moving, gone faster than he can react.
***
The moon is full. Bliss has been stalking the city since dusk and yet there’s still no sign of Nate. She felt his first change nearly four hours ago at least, but she can’t sense him in the city. Did he not listen? Did he not understand? Despite having never met another of her kind, she knows in her transformed blood that if he comes within the city limits, she’ll sense him.
Water drips nearby, there is the scurrying of rats and roaches, but no wolf. The night continues to slip away from her, the moon sailing unconcernedly across the sky. She’s not killed yet, wanting to be with him, to teach him, but the pain is building. She’s not sure how much longer she can walk through the darkness.
Time’s running out. She can see the unmarked police cars everywhere, uniforms crossing her usual hunting grounds. Keeping to dark alleys, she easily avoids their detection, but she has no idea how Nate will handle himself.
A black and white car creeps past, like a shark circling its prey. Little do they know that this prey has teeth. Bliss grins to herself, her tongue lolling out of the side of her muzzle.
“Jimmy? You checked this alley, Jimmy?” The silhouette of a cop, his fear baking off him as he peers into the darkness towards her.
Bliss freezes, saying nothing. She waits until the cop moves away, his footsteps fading. Shaking her head, she looks up to the moon, forcing the wolf back. She’d promised herself, only bad men, not some convenient cop in the wrong place, at the wrong time.
The moon slips behind a cloud, sinking into the horizon. How much longer should she wait for Nate? Perhaps she underestimated him? No, he’s her mate, he’ll come to her, she knows it just as surely as she felt his change earlier.
Fifteen minutes later she notices a young man in a leather jacket leaning against a wall beyond the traffic lights and texting on his cell. But his scent disturbs her, he smells wrong, false.
You're jumping at shadows, she growls to herself, glancing to her right. Only one other person is visible in the street, but it sets off another internal alarm. He stands at a bus stop, smoking a cigarette, but she knows the busses have long stopped running for the night.
Bliss feels a shiver creep along her spine, her instincts screaming of a trap.
Another man. This one wearing a hat and numerous gold chains, a caricature of a dealer, saunters down the street and leans casually against the wall near the young man in the leather jacket.
She notes with distant terror that the normal clientele of the streets are no longer around. These men, their scruffy clothes and fluid movements seem oddly out of synch with each other. Cops. They’re cops, looking for the Full Moon Killer. They’re hunting me, she snarls.
No, the beast inside corrects her. They’ve already found you.
If I’m going to get out of this, it will be by keeping my head. If I let the beast take control, they’ll capture me. Sliding back into the darker shadows of the alley, her blue eyes glitter in the moonlight.
“He’s on the move, go go go,” the man at the bus stop points and wheezes and the world snaps into bright focus.
Bliss snarls, retreating further into the dark alley. It’s fine, there are at least two other exits. That’s why she chose it. Racing down the narrow passage, she sees shadows moving in the right hand fork, so she veers to the left. The exit looks empty. Good.
There’s a cop, young, pale, his hands shaking as he aims his gun at her.
She’s barely aware of her claws shredding his shoulders as she leaps over his collapsing body, self preservation burning brightly within her.
Bliss lets out a surprised huff as the cop’s partner leaps at her, hand swinging. She’s sure the gun is going to connect with her temple – but it passes in front of her, missing by no more than an inch. The wind of its passage blows her shaggy fringe back from above her eyes.
Run, keep moving, get away, the voice urges her and she listens, her four legs a blur as she skids away.
The sounds of gunfire are nearly deafening to her sensitive ears. Gun smoke, sharp and acrid, stings her nose. Then, for no reason she can fathom, her left hind leg collapses under her and she’s startled enough to fall. It doesn’t hurt, but a quick glace shows three or four bullet holes have peppered her back and legs.
Normal bullets, just shock, can’t hurt me. Panting, she’s about to stand when her body spasms and arcs, her head snapping up and down as her transformation takes her by surprise. It’s only the second time she’s transformed involuntarily...the first was her very first change.
No, not now, she howls her dismay, but it’s too late, far too late. She’s already lying naked in the gutter, shivering and exposed as the shadows draw closer.
***
“It was a dog.”
“It wasn’t a dog. I saw it under the streetlight, it was a wolf.”
“Well, you’re both idiots, because it’s a girl.”
Shivering, trying to cover her nakedness with her hands, Bliss can barely move. She heals fast, but the bullets have cut through her flesh to the bone. In human form the regeneration is painful, draining, and she can only tremble as the policemen circle her, guns drawn.
“It is just a girl,” one with a blonde mustache says, bending down to look at her.
“She’s not ‘just’ anything; see the blood on her face and hands? Savage.” A heavy cop sneers at her, his gun still held to her face.
Blonde mustache grabs her wrist, pulling her to her feet. Bliss struggles, normally much stronger than any human, but she’s still weak, bleeding, and the wolf inside is silent.
Heavy whistles. “That’s a fine looking woman, I think I need to check she’s not got any concealed weapons.”
Mustache rolls his eyes, but releases her arm, allowing Heavy to lead her towards a car.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you,” Heavy drones as he pushes her hands up against the police car.
Bliss stands as he positions her, her legs trembling with fatigue. There’s a haze over everything, her mind shut down as the wounds in her back and thighs knit together. She’s so out of it that at first, she doesn’t realize how far the cop is taking his ‘search’.
“Dwayne, leave it out,” Mustache complains.
The heavy cop, Dwayne, doesn’t reply, his hands weighing and squeezing her breasts as he rubs against her rear.
“Dwayne, seriously. You’ve already had a warning about this.”
“Can it, this is different,” Heavy’s hands dip lower and Bliss shudders in disgust as fat fingers stroke her body. She whimpers, trying to pull away, but the cop just laughs and pushes a finger into a bullet hole in her thigh.
Her consciousness fades then, her mind retreating from the pain and the horror. She can feel him touching her, but her mind closes off, drifting in a sea of grey.
“Wolf girl here has got some amazing healing skills,” Dwayne laughs, ramming his finger into another semi-healed bullet hole.
Her knees give way, but the heavy cop’s hands hold her firmly in place against his body.
“She’s not a wolf girl, she’s just some crazy junkie after too much meth. Get her in the car,” Mustache orders.
“Want me a piece of it,” the heavy cop hauls her bodily backwards as he opens the car door. “No one will care about some psycho Full Moon Killer.”
Her head is knocked against the side of the car as she’s pushed through the door. In pain, humiliated, she’s never felt less in control, less empowered. The heavy cop leans inside, shuffling along the seat with a wide smirk. He reaches down to his belt, unbuckling it.
As if the moon has come out from behind a cloud, a pleasant hum courses through her, her blood singing in her veins. Her mate. He’s come, he is here.
The wolf in her, suppressed for months because of her grip on her humanity, surges to the surface, battering all remnants of Bliss away. Bad men? What is the definition of bad men? Men who would hurt a defenseless woman? Take what is not offered freely? The wolf watches the heavy cop unzipping his pants, her eyes wide and luminous as she pants.
She can’t remember why the human controlled this power, kept it reigned in. All the wolf can see is a slow, dimwitted victim who has caused her shame and pain. Summoning her true form with a trembling in her limbs, she shudders and changes, hair and blood and claws and teeth.
The scent of fear in her nostrils, the feel of the dying, evil, man between her teeth, this is what she lives for. This is why she made him.
The wolf raises her head to the sky and calls out to her mate.
This story is a little more for mature readers.
Some strong language is used and it's a tad bit more graphic in places.....so don't read if you've got the heebie-jeebies or are squeamish.
Jeannie's Pick
Vampires, werewolves and other creatures of the night are favorites of our newest editor...so those of you who we might have turned away before....try us again after the end of the year...it's a new time at GVM.
