replenish the strength it had taken to travel north from New Mexico into Colorado.
Emerging from the shed I surveyed my surroundings, cast in pale reddish twilight as the clouds overhead reflected the distant lights of Denver. A frozen creek gurgled behind my daytime shelter, the frigid mountain run-off flowing sluggishly beneath the thick ice and snow. Looking in the opposite direction I saw the small two-story house I had glimpsed when I had crawled, exhausted and sated, into the shed hours before. Between me and the house stretched a steeply sloping yard blanketed in a layer of snow, the inorganic shapes of rusting car parts and an abandoned swing set poking up through the snow like ghosts of the past.
The icy ground crunched beneath my bare feet as I stalked towards the distant light, drawn forward by its warm glow. 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, while the scent of frying meat and oil drifted to me on the breeze.
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, letting the interloper know that this was his territory. Little did the dumb beast know that the intruder was far more dangerous than a curious Poodle. Coming out to the edge of the deck, he stared out at the yard from the top of the steps, trying to catch my scent on the wind that blew towards me, full of fat swirling flakes.
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. The sound of liquid splattering the snow covered boards at his feet was accompanied by the sharp, sour smell of urine, and I couldn’t hold back my low, chuffing laughter. 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 to weave a path up to the back door of the house, my stomach rumbled 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, my fingernails falling away as dark and thick claws erupted from my nail beds, slicing through the tender skin, raining crimson droplets of blood down on the snow. 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 such as I could achieve the balance between man and wolf needed to allow them to coexist in time and space.
Stupid humans.
Curling elongated fingers around the door handle I pushed the door open, 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 in an L, broken up by a small stove and a dented almond colored refrigerator. A chipped Formica topped table and two chairs sat in the middle of the tight space,
Emerging from the shed I surveyed my surroundings, cast in pale reddish twilight as the clouds overhead reflected the distant lights of Denver. A frozen creek gurgled behind my daytime shelter, the frigid mountain run-off flowing sluggishly beneath the thick ice and snow. Looking in the opposite direction I saw the small two-story house I had glimpsed when I had crawled, exhausted and sated, into the shed hours before. Between me and the house stretched a steeply sloping yard blanketed in a layer of snow, the inorganic shapes of rusting car parts and an abandoned swing set poking up through the snow like ghosts of the past.
The icy ground crunched beneath my bare feet as I stalked towards the distant light, drawn forward by its warm glow. 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, while the scent of frying meat and oil drifted to me on the breeze.
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, letting the interloper know that this was his territory. Little did the dumb beast know that the intruder was far more dangerous than a curious Poodle. Coming out to the edge of the deck, he stared out at the yard from the top of the steps, trying to catch my scent on the wind that blew towards me, full of fat swirling flakes.
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. The sound of liquid splattering the snow covered boards at his feet was accompanied by the sharp, sour smell of urine, and I couldn’t hold back my low, chuffing laughter. 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 to weave a path up to the back door of the house, my stomach rumbled 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, my fingernails falling away as dark and thick claws erupted from my nail beds, slicing through the tender skin, raining crimson droplets of blood down on the snow. 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 such as I could achieve the balance between man and wolf needed to allow them to coexist in time and space.
Stupid humans.
Curling elongated fingers around the door handle I pushed the door open, 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 in an L, broken up by a small stove and a dented almond colored refrigerator. A chipped Formica topped table and two chairs sat in the middle of the tight space,
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