Network marketing by moonlight

by Reo_Lion

Why are werewolves compelled to spread their curse? Sounds like a pyramid scheme to me.

Cold.

Dry.

Silent.

It was definitely a warehouse. Or an office, maybe? Could be a police station, he’d been to one of those before. Why was he wasting time speculating? It was impossible to tell in the dark. In fact, dark was the best descriptor Ryan could come up with.

Very dark.

And his body was broken.

He was slumped, collapsed against a coarse surface; probably a brick wall. Trying to move his… anything… just made a thousand different nerves flare in protest. His arms were limp, one propping his body up against the cold tiled floor. That arm didn’t move, period. The intense pain of his broken arm was only compounded by a searing agony in his left shoulder; as if it had met with a red-hot cattle-brand that someone had forgotten to remove. In the dark he couldn’t see any of this. He could barely see a few feet in front of his face, which was probably a blessing, as the way his legs felt seemed unnatural.

He closed his eyes. There was nothing to see anyway. Maybe he could pass out. Nerve shock or something. He rocked his head from side to side in an attempt to clear some of the grogginess he felt. It wasn’t very helpful. Now he tasted blood. He spat clumsily, spilling a foul, coppery mix of drool and blood over his front. The rusty taste now coated his lips, refusing to go away. He opened his mouth wide, drawing a number of deep throaty breaths. Cracked ribs too.

How did he get here? He began to wonder. He took inventory of his thoughts. He started with what He knew. Events from earlier began to come back to him. Racing, foggy images of the grimy bar his friends dragged him to to meet some ladies. ‘Game,’ they called it. Gross, but a night out is a night out.

It was a bust, but it was a rainy night, so the group stayed later than usual. A dozen or so beers later, they figured they’d call it quits. He remembered turning down an offer for a lift. His one wise decision that night, they were just as drunk as he was. Whatever he was now, beaten and broken was marginally better than dead.

Figuring he’d walk through the rain the city blocks back to his apartment building, he set off staggering in a direction he assumed was the right one. After that it got a little hazy. The combination of booze, adrenaline and what felt like a concussion meant the memories came in a trickle of fragments. Streets. Moonlight. Cars. Darkness. A sudden and vicious assault from his left and a hard collision with the sidewalk.

Ah.

“Well, that explains some things,” he thought to himself, suddenly aware of a throbbing pain at the back of his skull. He tried to move his hand to rub it, but only managed a lazy shrug of his shoulder.

His shoulder.

It was burning!

Not the kind of burn you might get from a rug or length of rope, it felt like it was literally burning! It was unlike any of the other pain he felt over his entire body. The red-hot brand had been retired. It was now like being stabbed with heated metal. He was almost happy he lacked the capacity to scream.

But he did whimper. Not unlike a tortured animal. Eyes closed and wet with tears, short, pained sobs escaped the bloodied man. He quietly wished he’d just pass out, and let either death or a kind stranger find him. But he couldn’t. In fact in the quiet darkness of the unknown room, he found himself abnormally alert. His ears twitched frantically, earnestly tuned for interruptions to the silence. However faintly, he heard pedestrian traffic timers beeping outside, cars hissing over damp roads, and the sound of footsteps, somewhere nearby, growing louder.

Opening his eyes and cranking his neck as best he could, Ryan faced the direction of the sound. Curiously, he found his sight had somewhat adjusted to the near-complete darkness, clearing the once blurred shapes and silhouettes into identifiable objects. He made out the shapes of small desks and chairs lined up neatly in rows. The walls were unplastered white brick, and covered in posters and smaller pieces of paper, but there were no windows. And as if a final giveaway, at the front of the room was a whiteboard, with something illegible scrawled on its surface.

His vision sharpened as he eyed a poster on the wall of the room, the letters gaining clarity.

“Believe you can achieve!”

He was in the city college, a high-density educational slab he’d attended some years ago. While he didn’t recall this room in particular, he remembered the notable absence of windows. A harrowing place to be at the best of times, but certainly at night with an ominous set of footsteps growing louder. Closer.

The sound was very close now, practically deafening to his focused ears. Ryan’s attention was drawn to a blackened archway he could only assume was the doorway, wide open. Beyond it was the sheer darkness from which the steps echoed. It wasn’t long before the silhouette of what appeared to be a scruffy, tall and lanky individual entered the room. The strong, bracing, unmistakable scent of coffee followed him, mingling with the immediate smell of dried blood, causing Ryan to gag gracelessly. Did the stranger know he was there? He tried to speak, and get his attention, but only managed a watery gurgle.

Great. More blood.

The figure approached a table at the front of the room, and placed something fairly large upon it with a distinct thud. He then began to manipulate the mysterious object. Once or twice, the person seemed to look at the mess in the corner, producing a mirror effect on the man’s glasses. It was chilling. Baffling.

Suddenly there was a soft whirr that anyone could immediately recognise. It was the sound of a laptop powering on. Half the room was immediately blanketed with blue light, including the mysterious person operating the machine.

He was indeed tall and scruffy. Narrow and waifish, he’d appear perfectly unassuming if it weren’t for… the rest of him. He wore a torn flannelled shirt that was clumsily done up with what few remained of his buttons. Horrifically, his entire front was matted with crisp blood, a pattern that spread upwards to his face. Aside from the red glisten surrounding his mouth, the man’s face was unremarkable. He had a peppering of stubble, narrow features and a pair of glasses perched upon his nose. They too seemed a little bent out of shape, hurriedly corrected with a roll of tape. They covered a set of predatory amber eyes which seemed to glow, even without the light of the screen. Finishing off the visage was a sopping mess of hair that seemed to say, “Yes, I’m probably a psychopath.”

Once again, the man on the floor let out a fearful wet noise. The figure definitely looked at him time. He was smiling. His smile looked like it had too many teeth.

“One moment, please. This laptop isn’t mine. I’m not so good with Windows,” he said with an irritatingly pleasant voice that bounced hauntingly off the walls. He sipped loudly from his convenience-store coffee, visibly wincing at the taste.

“Ugh, awful. You’ll just have to bear with me a little longer. Thanks, love.”

A strangely candid thing to say given the situation, and it just made the man on the floor even more uncomfortable. As if anything else were an option. He shuffled awkwardly, instinctively trying to make himself smaller, his body slightly more cooperative but nonetheless immediately rendered immobile with pain.

More light flooded the room, emitting from a projector bracket-mounted to the roof. It hit the whiteboard with a painful glare. It projected… something, but his head was too groggy to make it out. He forcibly blinked his eyes a few times, trying to adjust.

It said, ‘Welcome new recruit(s)’.

The words were clear; bright blue Comic Sans on a yellow background, but they still didn’t make much sense. He groaned pathetically, the best expression of confusion he could manage. The man’s face appeared one more time before stepping forward, leaning over the desk to address the crippled man before him. His over-toothed smile appeared once more.

“Okay, I suppose this is as good a time as any to get started. I’m Jeff, I’m a recruiter. I’ve been recruiting for about 8 months now,” the man said warmly, sipping loudly once again. “I love my work, and I take it very seriously, which is why I like to personally take the time to welcome my recruits.”

“I invite you to get comfortable while I explain a few basics to you.”

Ryan’s jaw hung open. He was probably drooling stupidly. None of this made the remotest bit of sense. In the brighter light, he could make out the tangled mess of broken limbs that turned out to be his own legs. This was about as comfortable as he was going to get.

“But first, about me.”

Something clicked on the machine, and the projection was suddenly filled with a smiling portrait of Jeff. He looked much tidier in this picture, no blood. No torn clothes. But the same amber eyes and the same smile with all those extra teeth.

“My name isn’t really Jeff. That’s a nickname, you’ll find we all have nicknames. We can get into a bit of trouble sometimes.”

Why was he being told this. Why did it matter? And who was this group he kept referring to? We. Our. The thought of multiple gangly bloodied psychopaths was terrifying.

“When I’m not recruiting or checking on my existing recruits, I like to draw. Fancy myself a cartoonist. Did all the illustrations you’ll see later in this presentation.” He looked quite pleased with himself, a few extra teeth appearing in his widening grin. “But there will be time to talk about me later. Things are going to start changing for you very soon, so we’re on limited time.”

Ryan swallowed. A dry, rusty swallow that ached intensely. What changes? Being mutilated and left for dead? Maybe killed outright. Would that be so bad? Actually he didn’t hurt as much as he had earlier. Except for his shoulder. It still burned. It would bring tears to his eyes if he had the moisture to spare. Jeff’s smile disappeared suddenly. The glint of his extra teeth vanishing as he looked sympathetically at the broken man.

“I know it hurts, kiddo. We lose a bit of control when we taste blood… but I’m getting ahead of myself,” he said, recomposing himself. He faced the projector as if to deliberately avoid looking at Ryan.

“So,” Jeff continued, pausing for a moment. He held up what appeared to be Ryan’s wallet, shifting it around trying to catch some light. Given the circumstances, he secretly hoped that this whole situation turned out to be a simple mugging.

“Mr Ryan Johnstone,” he read, looking over his glasses at his audience. “Ry to your friends. Live alone in an apartment but, split the rent with a roommate who is never around.”

Ryan swallowed. This was all correct. The stranger smiled and continued

“Employed, single, searching. Confirmed bachelor, I believe!” He grinned flirtatiously. “I won’t tell.”

He put the wallet down and stared. He was smiling darkly. “You are now cursed.”

There was a click, and the power point blinked to its second slide. Jeff the recruiter read directly off it for Ryan’s convenience.

“You are a werewolf.”

In the silence that followed, Ryan stared ahead lazily. Moments passed that felt like hours. Nothing made sense. The strange man in the tattered flannel shirt was simply smiling dangerously from the front of the room, as if waiting for a reaction. As much as Ryan wanted answers, he already knew he was incapable of speaking, or even nodding. So he just stared back, managing after significant effort to raise a single eyebrow. Jeff brought his cup to his lips but didn’t drink. Instead he whispered under his breath.

“Pause for effect…”

The silence continued until a loud popping noise erupted from Ryan’s legs. Jeff decided this would do for a cue.

“Yes, you are a werewolf. I am too. In fact, I’m your recruiter, and from now on, you are part of my pack. There is a hierarchy here, and I invite you to respect it.”

“Can you give me a yes, pack leader?”

Jeff raised a bloodied hand to his ear and smiled. Ryan croaked softly in neither affirmation nor dissention. His ‘recruiter’ chuckled loudly.

“Haha! That’s a little joke I like to tell. I twisted your throat just enough to keep you from doing anything silly and drawing attention. So I don’t expect a reply; not right away anyway.”

The bloody taste in Ryan’s mouth became painfully apparent again.

“I like to keep an informal pack. I was friendly enough to nip you on the shoulder so you can hide it; because that’s just the sort of thoughtful alpha I am! We joke, we kid, and we know how to have fun. I promise, once you get past your first couple of teething weeks, you’re going to have a blast. But let me fill you in on the ins and outs of your new role.”

With a click, the Powerpoint changed to a slide featuring a cartoon of a little man, smiling, with one hand raised in a friendly wave, next to a cartoon of a massive, skulking, hairy beast – hungrily eyeing off the man to his side. In case there was any confusion, a little red arrow pointed from the former to the latter. Ryan was still too groggy to react, but inside he was nothing short of terrified.

“As a werewolf, you harbor a powerful beast inside you, and let me tell you, that furry little guy will come out one way or another.” Jeff said with a laugh. He waved a hand over his ruined shirt matter-of-factly.

“While you can keep it on a leash, the longer you hold it back, the harder it gets,” he continued, ominously. He paused for a moment staring aimlessly into space.

“Sometimes it will just be impossible…”

He spoke softly, continuing to stare. More popping from Ryan’s legs snapped Jeff out of whatever stupor he’d found himself in. What the hell was going on with his legs?

“Bad moods, full moons, rare steaks. There are a lot of triggers out there that will just cause your wereside to… blossom forth.” Jeff continued suddenly with playful hand gestures. “When this happens, well. My best advice is to simply not be wearing any nice clothes.”

Jeff never stopped smiling. It unnerved Ryan just seeing all those extra teeth. It was a small mercy when he turned and spoke towards the screen.

“We call this feeling the craving. But you may as well call it bloodlust, because there’s no two ways about it. You’re a predator now, and a predator must have his kill.”

With a click, the slide changed. The larger of the two cartoons was now standing over the smaller one’s mutilated corpse. It had a severed arm in one of its massive claws. The other was giving friendly thumbs up. It was winking.

“But it’s ok kiddo! Why kill when you can recruit instead?” Jeff said excitedly. He pulled a chair out from under one of the desks and set it down in front of Ryan. He sat in it back to front and leaned forward. “Because of the way the curse works, the more people you recruit into your pack, the stronger your control over your inner beasty gets, and the more cool powers you get in and out of your wereside!”

With a click, playfully coloured word art began to spiral on-screen, surrounding the happy monster. Jeff read them off as they appeared. “Like: rapid regeneration, super strength and stamina, night vision and enhanced senses, longer life and much, much more!” he said with increasing enthusiasm. “You’d be crazy not to want this!”

Ryan wiggled his bloodied limbs in objection. Did they hurt less?

“So to master your wereside, you’ll have to share the gift and start your own pack, kiddo.”

There was a click. The friendly werewolf moved to the top of the slide, shrunken down. Beneath him were three men. Beneath each of them, three more. This went on and on, forming a pyramid shape.

“Recruit three members, and you gain full shift control. We call this magic number 3. In and out of wereside at will, and exceptional, but not complete, control over accidental shifts,” Jeff said, still facing Ryan. He was obviously well versed in his spiel.

There was a click. The first level of little men were replaced with werewolves.

“What’s more, if each member of your pack recruits three of their own, you, your pack leader, and everyone else above in the pyramid receive a similar boost to their powers! That’s just how the curse works, it works for you!”

Click! The second level was replaced with werewolves.

“Ad”

Click! The third followed.

“Infin—”

Click! And the fourth.

“—itum!”

Click! The whole pyramid was replaced with werewolves.

Always the showman, Jeff once again paused, allowing the impact time to hang and letting his latest recruit stew a while with the torrent of new information. A cold chill went down the parts of Ryan’s spine that still had feeling. He didn’t actually believe any of this… did he? He wanted to pinch himself, but if the smoldering pain in his shoulder couldn’t wake him, a pinch on the wrist certainly wouldn’t cut it. After a few more moments, the familiar click sound signaled a new slide.

This time, the cartoon werewolf from before was looking confused and upset, both of his paws (including the one still holding the severed arm) and shoulders raised in a shrug. The caption was read by Jeff.

“What do I do now? Well that’s up to you, kiddo. You can pretend this never happened and go about your normal life,” Jeff said as he hurled Ryan’s wallet back at him. “You’ll inevitably end up wolfing out at a bad time and probably getting killed. Hey, we may be super badass! But we’re not invincible. Bullets hurt, let me tell you!”

There was sincerity behind that statement that spoke from experience.

“No, the better idea is to premeditate your first couple of recruitments. I’m a responsible, proactive pack leader, and I take care of my cubs. And if you’ll let me, I’ll help you. Remember that your wellbeing is mine!”

“I recommend a friend or family member for your first. They’re easier to track down. And definitely easier to talk to after!”

There was a click. What Ryan could only assume was the final slide came up. It featured the same cartoon wolf from before. This time, he was face on with a huge grin and paw raised in a wave. Enjoy your new Wereside!

“I better wrap up,” Jeff said, finishing off his coffee and tossing it into a nearby bin. “I need to recharge this laptop and return it to IT! Your regeneration should have you up and about in an hour tops. This is a good thing since the cleaners start pretty early, and they’re going to have their work cut out for them!”

Jeff let out a disturbing cackle, his extra teeth gleaming with the dying laptop LCD light. Ryan noticed a lot of the pain had gone entirely. Some limbs were still a bit stiff, particularly the broken ones, but movement was steadily returning. He tried to speak.

“Wuh…wuh…” Ryan choked. He coughed violently, impulsively raising a hand to cover his mouth. He was surprised that his arm had full movement, but more so by the pieces of blackened flesh he’d coughed into his hand. Jeff chuckled somewhat inappropriately as he switched off the projector. The room was dark once more, but sure enough, as promised, Ryan was able to see quite comfortably. Now he was starting to panic. His breathing quickened as reality started to hit him.

“Don’t try to speak, my little pup! Relax and let the regeneration do its thing.” The gangly man said in a disturbingly motherly manner. “I’ve put my number into your phone so you can speak to me when you’re ready.”

Ryan just stared. Partly out of fear. Well, mostly out of fear. Partly out of the coarseness of his breathing precluding anything else.

“I care, Ryan Johnstone,” Jeff said as he approached the dark doorway, a hand placed to his heart. “Don’t feel like a victim of bad luck here. Trust me when I say I’ve had this night planned weeks in advance. I chose you, and I know you won’t disappoint me.”

Ryan gasped, but choked as he aspirated a chunk of flaking dead flesh. Jeff simply smiled as he stepped through the door. Ryan clutched at his throat with both hands as his mind grew foggy. Before long he passed out onto the cold tiled floor while his body dutifully continued repairing itself.

Ryan came to, feeling oddly refreshed and rejuvenated. It felt like he was waking up after the longest, most impossibly-perfect sleep imaginable. A quick glance at his wristwatch revealed that it was broken, courtesy of Jeff’s enthusiasm no doubt.

Jeff.

Werewolves.

Nonsense.

He shook his head, trying to find lucidity in his muddled thoughts. The events from earlier returned to him. Ryan realised that he was indeed on the floor of a windowless college classroom. There was certainly no light to speak of, but the confused young man had no difficulty making out his surroundings. Reality was hitting him hard, and he leapt deftly to his feet.

The movement took him by surprise. He’d have staggered if not corrected by an innate sense of balance. As if operating on autopilot, his body performed in ways he didn’t know it could. The pain he recalled so vividly from before was completely gone. Ryan gave each of his limbs an exploratory wiggle to test their movement. He was limber. Flexible. Everything was operating as it was meant to. Better even. What was that Jeff had said about accelerated regeneration? A cold pit formed in his stomach.

“I am not a werewolf,” Ryan said out loud in a jittery voice that betrayed his own disbelief. “Not a….”

He ran his hands over his torso. His hands caught on the tattered strips of a once-pleasant silk button-up shirt, matted in places with dried blood, but not a wound to be found. The odd flaking scab, but mostly just smooth, goosebumped flesh. Oddly warm to the touch.

Ryan began pacing on the spot, giving brisk strokes to his sides in a display of panic and anxiety. Thoughts were racing back to him from before. Jeff’s comments about cravings, powers and… wolfing out. Ryan considered himself a rational person. Unfortunately all signs pointed to an honest, supernatural Jeff.

His hand met with his shoulder where he noticed the intense burning from before was replaced with… nothing. The flesh was numb. Ryan pulled down his shirt collar to get a better look at the wound. There was a ring of scarring running the length of his upper shoulder in an unmistakable dog bite formation.

“Craaaaap,” Ryan blurted out suddenly. His pacing sped up, his anxiety piqued. Werewolves didn’t exist! He smacked his head, seemingly trying to dislodge the stupid thoughts from his brain.

Except the thoughts didn’t seem so stupid. It seemed he was probably a werewolf. Or the victim of some incredibly elaborate prank, which was somehow the less likely possibility. There was no point wasting time with denial, as much as he didn’t like it. He couldn’t help thinking Jeff probably orchestrated things to minimise confusion. He seemed to take his recruitments very seriously.

Ryan was suddenly uncomfortable with himself and his surroundings. Fearful of what might happen next or to him or to anyone he might happen to meet. He needed to get out. He needed to get home. He needed to…

He patted his pocket, feeling for his phone. Fortunately it was still there. He slipped it out, facing the screen. He winced painfully as its light assaulted his dark adjusted eyes. A single message from… Jeff? He did put his number in his phone. He had managed to bypass his lock screen… actually he did have Ryan’s fingerprint. The blood made verification a challenge, but eventually his phone accepted him and he found the message.

‘Don’t try to call me. Get out. I’ll call you outside. Good luck pup!’

Thumbs up emoji. Dog emoji.

Jeff’s friendly reassurance disgusted Ryan more than comforted. He wanted to shut off his phone and hurl it at the bare brick walls. He wanted to forget everything about Jeff and werewolves and magic number 3. He… wanted to get out of here.

Ryan half ran to the front of the room, to the desk where Jeff had set the laptop. There was a laminated card set conspicuously in the middle.

‘Cleaning Schedule for room 0812’

Attached to the card was a sticky note with a hasty sketch of a winking wolf with a speech bubble. “Hurry!”

Another courtesy of Jeff it seemed. Fancied himself the cartoonist. He had mentioned the night before that the cleaners would be in before too long. Squinting, he checked the time on his phone. Just past 2 a.m. Just how long had he been lying here? Cleaners would be up here by 4, so he should be well and truly gone by then. Ryan wasn’t sure how he was expected to escape the locked-down building. Or how Jeff had managed to get in and out. In a fit of frustration Ryan picked up the schedule and hurled it with all his strength. It hung in the air before wafting daintily to the floor. Desperate and aimless, his eyes darted about the room, searching his surroundings for some sort of clue. Maybe Jeff had thought of this too?

His focus was stolen. His attention fixed upon the corner he’d been collapsed in, not minutes ago. The chalky brick wall was caked with his blood. It had pooled on the floor in a sticky red mess. Was this really just going to be left for the cleaners? It looked as though someone had died here. Breathing rapidly, Ryan found himself suddenly noticing the smell of his own blood. He inhaled deeply the rusty scent, letting it fill his nose and lungs. His mouth hung lazily open, as if he was trying to catch the scent on his tongue. Just to taste it. His eyes were closed, mind in a haze, but nonetheless racing. He was acutely aware of the pounding of his own heart, the rush of blood through his veins and arteries, and it excited him. His breathing quickened, his pulse raced. He was filled with the desire to simply… run.

“Ng… no.”

A red mist seemed to cloud his senses, seemingly arresting whatever control he had over his body. He covered his ears, as if to silence the assault to his thoughts, but whatever the source of this madness was—it was already inside him. It was him. It tore at his rational mind, accessing ancient parts of his brain—parts rendered inert by genetic centuries of relative comfort and plenty. The presence swelled, and apprehensions all but vanished as a single thought dominated his mind.

Out.

Ryan stepped into the doorway leading to the hall, and gripped the doorframe tightly. He looked down the blackened hall and grinned menacingly. Licking his lips, and spitting savagely, he entered into a bound, running with newfound speed past classroom after classroom. Air whistled past his ears and the breeze hit his face. The darkness didn’t challenge him, as his eyes somehow continuously made sense of the blackness in ways he could not comprehend. It seemed his vision was actually enhanced in the dark. As the stretch of hall suddenly became a corner, but with an automatic display of animal instinct, Ryan made an almost hairpin turn, and within moments was back up to speed. His mind almost seemed to operate externally to everything else, as if he was helplessly watching in fascinated horror as an unseen force assumed control of his body. The fun it seemed to have. His feet seemed to barely touch the ground, instead planting softly on the tips of his toes before deftly entering another bound.

Nevertheless, it was exhilarating. Maybe even fun? The scent of blood had grown fainter as he put more and more distance behind him. His hearing, sharper than before, could hear past the scuffing of shoe-rubber on tiles. The outside sounds were getting louder. There was a soft howling that betrayed the entry of an air current.

Window.

The presence accessed it’s host mind, frantically searching for relevant information. It afforded Ryan a brief moment of lucidity. Exhaustion. It was like fighting an infection. He felt his mind being fanned through like a filing cabinet. It wanted to know where it was. It promised such rewards if Ryan would only help, and in his dumb animal state, he was helpless to resist. He thought clearly. The city college had a single outside-facing wall. Ryan recalled the solitary window on each floor next to the elevators where students could replenish on vitamin D to stage off rickets another hour. A flood of endorphins. A reward.

“Thank you.”

The mist descended again, and Ryan’s lucid mind was once again pushed aside. Less forcefully this time. Perhaps even gently. Symbiotically. A path formed automatically in his mind, as if dictated by a newly discovered sixth sense.

Ryan stopped suddenly, tumbling as his momentum continued forward. He thrust his hands out to break his fall, and landed squarely on all fours, his shoulders cushioning the impact comfortably like it was the most natural position in the world. He raised his head, ears twitching in an effort to hone in on the wind.

He found it. Picking himself up, he chased the sound down once more, regaining his former speed at an impossible pace. Before long, unmistakable light was bouncing off the polished tile floors and catching in his newly improved eyes. Tiny, yellowish halos hung in the air that obviously belonged to street lamps. He had to give his eyes a moment to adjust, as he found himself at the window very suddenly.

Ryan approached the massive floor-to-ceiling glass portal. At its base was a glass double door, leading onto the small concrete balcony outside. Stale city light streamed inside, seemingly ferrying the smell of wet city streets with it. Air whistled in through the tiny gap between the doors. Panting, Ryan approached the wall of glass until his breath left fog on its surface, and his curiously amber eyes looked back at him.

There was something else. Visible, even with the city sky thick with cloud and smog. A pale moon, full, peaked through the cover, and it demanded the man’s attention. Ryan’s pulse quickened at the sight. The window fogging up entirely with his staggered breathing. Even protracted by the glass pane, the moonlight awakened something desperate in him. Something primal, feral and dangerous. And it wanted out.

Frenzied, Ryan began pulling at the door. The massive panes of glass weren’t meant to be moved by hand, and instead were operated mechanically; something Ryan did know. Part of him anyway, but the presence had long since seized his mind, not so much evicting his rationality but instead forcing it to watch helplessly. He needed to be outside. He needed to feel the moonlight upon his body.

His fingers bloodied as they managed to wedge between two panes, fresh blood only stirring his frenzy. He continued to pull, fitting more of his hand behind the door with each give of the glass panel. The wetness of rain on his fingers rewarded his effort, pushing him harder. Harder. The hand, now free to feel the pull of the moonlight, worked with renewed strength and determination, his nails grinding to find purchase on smooth surface. He felt powerful. His teeth gritted with new sharpness and his back arched, his roars echoed hauntingly as he gave the glass panel one mighty heave. There was a crash as it detached from its mechanism and shattered against the floor, though Ryan could not hear it. Even as it splintered upon the floor he stepped forward in an almost religious reverence. His every ounce of focus was stolen by the moon, pale and choked by the city sky, but nonetheless captivating.

The moonlight now shone unimpeded upon the man, entering his mind and body, and beginning to affect him more intensely. Panting heavily, and stunned with what he had just accomplished, Ryan raised his bloodied powerful hand, partly out of concern, but mostly fascination. The cuts from the glass were gone, replaced by darkened leathery pads. Built for grip, purchase, balance, survival. The pads extended from beneath his fingertips to the ball of his palm. Flipping his hand, he noticed a matting of hair now covering his darkened, hardening skin. His lengthened fingers also now each boasted a small, but nonetheless fearsome looking claw, black and solid. He shook his head, his fleeting humanity looking on in horror as he changed. The cliché raced to his lips before he could stop it.

“What’s happening to me?”

“Watch.”

The presence relaxed him as one would a panicked child. His eyes ran the length of his hand up his arm which, now dark and hairy like his hand, had a certain… sinewiness to it. With his other hand, darkened and padded too, he gave it a squeeze where he found himself met with surprising resistance. He was undeniably bigger, both longer and… stronger, judging by the way his tattered sleeve bit into his bicep, which not only enjoyed its own coat of hair, but a thick vein running the full length, pulsing powerfully with his raised heart rate. It throbbed, feeding rich altered blood into arms, fueling their change. Their growth. Mist beaded on his thickening fur, causing it to glimmer with the outside light. Balling his enlarged hand into a fist, he rotated an unfamiliar arm, looking on it with a combination of horror and deep admiration as the powerful muscles in his arms bunched and bulged against one another. Delighted, he noticed the changes mirrored on his other side, the formerly narrow arm well along with its own transformation. With each flex his arms grew demonstrably larger, hairier. More monstrous. Ryan continued this for a moment, hypnotized by the swelling muscles, their meaty competition to take up any free space, and how with a sharp rip, they utterly destroyed his sleeves.

Always the small man, this teased the parts of the old Ryan that still remained. His arms were heavy. Big. Vocabulary eluded him but there was a pure and primal eroticism to the changes he never wanted to stop. He cupped his bicep in a massive padded paw, rubbing it tenderly when his hand failed to cover its sheer area.

“M-mine?…” he spat out clumsily, an unfamiliar voice stumbling over newly pointed teeth. He shifted his clawed hands, pawing with curiosity at the unfamiliar landscape of his face, growling with frustration that he couldn’t watch the radical changes taking place. It felt… altered. Lengthened in areas, and completely alien in others. Frustration mingled with discomfort. He was suddenly aware of his clothing. How it shifted and chafed against him, how it pulled and bunched around his chest, neck and thighs. Sensations he had never even known now infuriated him. Others he found both sickening and… alluring. He shuffled awkwardly onto the balcony casting more and more of his body into the moonlight. He ran his altered fingers across his growing form, snarling with dissatisfaction. This was wrong.

Clothing was wrong. It was another prison, like the building he had just escaped. His formerly loose, tidy silk shirt now pulled tight across his adding bulk. He could feel the change, the same pulling sensation the moonlight had drawn out earlier. His once flat chest inflated, barreled out and tugged at his shirt buttons, the size and weight of his pecs threatening to undo them entirely. Gazing down, he noticed the swollen mass of his chest, and with a childish fascination, brought a single clawed digit up to tease the fabric. He traced It along the curvature of each slab, appreciating their roundness and enjoying the way his finger sank into the space between them, disappearing up to his first knuckle. He worked downwards discovering where his pecs curved inward, forming a cleft of such depth it cast its own shadow. Ryan was lost in the feeling, cupping each pec in a grossly enlarged paw. He moaned suddenly when his fingers brushed his nipples, which too had grown in size, firmness and sensitivity. They each poked conspicuously against the fabric of the shirt, threatening to tear right through.

The beastman continued to tease himself, running his claws around the areola before coming together for a pinch. More lewd sounds escaped his altered lips, as he was assaulted by a wave of heat. His widening traps now completely sealed the neck of his tortured shirt. He hesitated withdrawing from his nipple play, but had to loosen his suffocating collar. Fumbling with a button, he huffed as he clumsily slashed through the fabric and removed it entirely. It was a chain reaction, as the buttons below simply undid, the heft beneath spilled forth with a mass of weighty muscle, coated with midnight black fur. Button after button followed, popping off and hitting the concrete floor with a wet plasticky click. His meaty pecs sagged proudly, dark pointed nipples angled downward by their heft. He again lovingly cupped his paws around himself. He gasped as he observed his altered nips, easily doubled in thickness and length. Comparable to a normal man’s fingertip. This privately delighted Ryan, as he could now comfortably roll them between his enlarged fingers. His throat rumbled with satisfaction thinking about his pecs. There was weight and power behind these chest muscles. They weren’t just for show. He was being built into the perfect predator.

The emerging wolfman grinned lustfully. It was what he assumed was a grin, he had no frame of reference for his facial developments save for the sharpness of his teeth and the… coolness of his nose. He loved whatever it was he was being turned into. Letting his arms hang, and pushing his chest forward, he enjoyed the breeze and wetness of the outside elements against his bare skin, now definitely fur. All fear or trepidation had left the monster’s mind as he instead found himself wanting to touch, wanting to explore, his new form.

“More.”

He compelled himself to keep changing. To grow. The moon’s pull elicited another pulse of growth across his body, causing a gasp to escape his lungs. Precious inches were stacked onto his frame, more size and power. Bones thickened, lengthening with sickening snaps. This was joined by the sound of more stretching, tearing fabric. He moved to run his hands over his densely furred torso but found himself unable. The tortured shirt now tugged at him, owing to his overdeveloped back muscles. The wolfman let out a staggered huff which could only be described as a chuckle. A quick examination proved that his ballooning biceps had long since shredded his sleeves, a hard pulsing vein running their solid length, visible even beneath his leathery pelt and lustrous coat. Grunting with satisfaction, perhaps even pride, the wolfman pulled his massive arms forward across his chest, stretching the shirt tight over his back. As if on cue, his body pulsed again with size and bulk causing him to gasp, shredding the shirt and freeing his impossibly wide back. Even his pecs inched forward atop his tightening, but furry stomach muscles. The new coolness relaxed him, a contrast to the intense heat radiating from his monstrous body.

He knew he was getting closer. Closer to being free. There was only so much soft, flawed humanity left to be shed; replaced by powerful wolfen perfection. He leaned his muscled frame against the chill of the window, feeling his titanic traps hugging his neck and shoulders. He closed his eyes, his clawed hands in a frenzy to discover every new inch of his animal body. Leathery pads dipped into the recesses between his pulsing abdominals, eventually discover his own navel tucked impossibly deep between the fantastically tight muscles. They drifted downwards to find the tortured waistband of his trousers, stretched obscenely by his widened midsection. Pawing to the sides he found his obliques, packed awesomely beneath the emergence of his lat spread, which itself opened gloriously like a pair of wings to challenge the wideness of his shoulders and back muscles. The werewolf purred, his tremendous weight slipping down the wetness of the glass until meeting the concrete floor. Almost, that is to say. As another interruption caused the monster to leap back up, partly out of surprise, but more so for the excitement of witnessing new changes. More shed humanity.

With difficulty, his thick arms reached behind him and found the development. A tiny, but growing tail was extending from the base of his spine, shifting the tight waistband of his trousers down. He clumsily turned his head from side to side, hoping to see his newest addition but found his explosive shoulders blocking his view. It now filled his paw, thick and warm. It bristled with rapidly lengthening hair. He angled the tip around his relatively narrow waist so he could see it, giving an uncharacteristic yip of joy as he did. Even now in its growing state, it was wonderfully fluffy, distractingly endearing compared to the rest of the bulging clawed monstrosity. With his other paw, he teased his tail fur, enjoying the way it swished and swayed. When it had reached the thickness and length of his leg, he tugged it between his arms, hugging it close, feeling its length in the cleft of his pecs. The tip teased his cool wet nose, as he breathed deep the rich, earthy musk of his tail. He moaned lewdly, intoxicated by the thought that this is what he smelt like. Him. It was spicy, and woody and undeniably masculine. Like a stuffed animal, he nuzzled against his own tail, eyes closed, his altered face locked into an expression of intense satisfaction. Each inhalation of his scent dizzied the werewolf, and he again found himself slipping down the length of the glass. This time meeting the wet concrete below with his furred but trousered ass. The moon’s pull continued, however. He wasn’t complete.

So far invested in his transformation, he knew when more changes were to come. He felt his ears prick up, somewhat displaced at the top of his head. His legs, still so human, splayed in front of him, cast in the glow of the moon and begging to be changed. The beast reluctantly released his tail, wishing an unimpeded view of the next round of changes, his lengthened tongue hanging out of his panting mouth. Or was it a muzzle now? His tail too seemed excited as it wagged intensely next to him producing an audible thwack each time it smacked the ground.

Inside his bloodied shoes, his feet were twitching. Shifting. Perhaps it was the adrenaline leaving his system, but this was the only change he’d describe as painful. He exhaled as he leaned forward, crunching his stomach muscles in an attempt to remove his shoes. A spike of pain sent him reeling back into the glass, the weight of his body sending a crack arcing up the smooth surface.

“Huurghnn…” the monster moaned. His teeth clenched with force enough to shatter stone. His eyes winced in pain, and he felt a disturbing stretching feeling in his feet. With effort, he opened his eyes and watched through the tears. His heels were stretching sickeningly out of his shoes, as if climbing his legs. This wasn’t the case, as it was his foot that was lengthening, widening, and filling out the shoes. His toes bunched painfully in the confines of his tiny shoes, massive clawed digits threatening to eviscerate them from the inside. That’s exactly what they did, as his new wolfen feet spilled out the front of each shoe. He moaned with relief, wiggling each of his padded toes in the night air, enjoying the wetness of the rain, and the light of the moon. It found purchase at the base of his foot, and with no clothing to impede it, his transformation accelerated.

The growth travelled up his foot, widening and darkening the flesh as it went. Once again his feet were painfully constricted by the shoe leather, but at this pace they didn’t contain for long. Wolf Ryan roared, his altered head hung back to face the sky. His feet pulsed with new growth, shredding each shoe in the process, sending the leather and laces flying. Boney yet powerfully-built footpaws ended each of his legs, relatively small compared to his upper half. The lucid part of the beast’s mind wondered how such tiny feet would support his monstrous weight.

Another wave of growth answered this question. His foot paws each growing in size and strength. They were now each the width of his massive paws. The claws looked positively terrifying, not sleek and narrow like those of his hands, but wide and visceral. Made for damaging. The growth carried up his lengthened ankles, to his calves which suddenly ballooned in size. An appropriate word as they formed noticeable tears in his trouser legs. They continued to stretch against the fabric until, like his pecs earlier, they spilled out of the exploded garment and were cast into the moonlight. Their width seemed almost unnatural, the way his narrow ankle mushroomed forth into calves the width of most men’s waists. But this didn’t bother him. He licked a lengthened tongue across sharp dangerous teeth. He loved it. He loved everything about what he was becoming.

The changes now traveled up his thighs. A change that brought a sudden sense of alarm to the growing wolf. The tightness of his upper legs as they grew against the fabric put pressure on a part of him he had somehow ignored. Gazing down, sure enough there was a noticeable tent at his crotch. Human Ryan’s very average equipment was positively straining in his boxers, tortured under the pleasure of the change and his body worship. Angling his massive arm around, he let his fully transformed paw sit softly atop the bulge, sending a pulse of pleasure through his body. Even with his enhanced wolfen stamina, he knew the weakest part of his body wouldn’t last much longer.

His thighs were bulging obscenely now, even his furry butt swelled with added mass, adjusting his seating upon the ground. He pivoted from side to side, splaying his legs further, affording them more room to grow. His body answered with a sudden surge of growth taking him by surprise. What was once one of his nicer pairs of pants were completely torn along the sides, the dark, hulking mass of his legs spilling out from inside. He pushed harder onto his tenting crotch, grinding his leathery palm into tender flesh below. His muscular ass tore the back and sides out of the pants, impossibly hard and hairy mounds now free to see. He peeked around his beefy shoulder and checked out his spectacular backside. He loved what he saw, it drove him crazy. Throwing his head back he howled with delight, his mighty wolfen voice carrying far across the city. He pressed with both paws hard into his crotch, startled when he found it pushing back.

He looked down, as best he could. Struggling to see around his meaty chest. Leaning forward he witnessed the development. Beneath his cupped hands, the tent in his trousers was growing. Not slightly either, it grew with some rapidity. The beast had a toothy wolfish smile, his eyes drooped and his tongue lashed lustfully. His hands moved to more aggressively rub the bulge, feeling it enlarge under his grip, growing hotter. Heavier. A bead of wetness was forming at its tip. He gathered the fluid on his fingertips bringing them to his canine nose for investigation. He breathed deep before moaning lewdly. It was pure sex. Utterly masculine. He put the fingers to his tongue, the taste driving him to the edge.

Planting both paws to the concrete he raised his hips and began bucking against the air. The feeling was so intense. His cock was so large now that it was beginning to pull at his waistband. Gazing down he could actually see its girthy base, black like the rest of his leathery hide, and throbbing with pent up urgency. Each pulse sent another deluge of pre soaking his pants front, the scent assaulting the monster’s senses and driving forward his transformation. It thickened, lengthened and bunched tightly beneath his dampened trousers. The pleasure was so intense he feared he’s pass out. He wrapped a paw around his bulge and squeezed perhaps harder than was necessary. He milked his length with long deliberate strokes punctuated by the odd thrust into his own palm, when he was suddenly awestruck by the sound of tearing. His cock was going to come out fighting, like the rest of his body.

He pulled back his hand, admiring the obvious striations in his trousers. The lewd outline of his massive tool was incredibly apparent, how it surged outwards before snaking back inward where it rested atop his aching balls. They’d obviously changed a fair bit. No longer a pair of chestnuts, he was now sporting a pair of juicy ripe oranges, hot and pulsing like the rest of his body. The whole package pushed hard against his pants. It wanted out. It wanted to feel the moonlight as the rest of his body did. Wolf Ryan found himself willing it to grow, challenging it to tear apart his pre-soaked trousers. His tool seemed to accept this challenge. Throbbing larger with each beat of his bestial heart. He moaned softly, his paws trembling. He knew he was close to something, right at the edge. He was afraid to swallow, afraid to blink. He wanted to ride the moment for as long as his body would allow. But he wasn’t in charge, and it was at that very moment, his hips swung forward as if on their own, and his mighty monster cock tore through his trouser front, smacking wetly against his abs and spattering his face and chest with juicy werewolf pre. He caught what he could on his tongue.

He licked his lips, feeling his long animal tongue lap across his face, snatching up the salty droplets. It was even better than before, tasting somewhat appropriately more complete. It was a miracle he hadn’t cum then and there. He needed more. He wanted to pump his werewolf cock raw until it unloaded directly into his hungry maw. In an instant he snatched his tool up, his massive hand unable to encircle it’s impossible girth. It was big, easily the length of an average man’s forearm, and just as thick, possibly thicker. His eyes trailed its length, which mushroomed forth into a massive head which leaked a wasteful amount of pre. Below hung his nuts, packed tightly together in a furry sack, yet nonetheless swollen, trembling and sodden with spent werewolf juices. He slicked his paw before slathering it across his chest, the sticky wetness clinging to his pecs, coating them in his scent. He began stroking with his other hand, long careful strokes meant for both pleasure and discovery. He wanted to know everything about his new tool.

His paw picked up speed, making wet smacking sounds as it worked its way up and down. He could feel himself approaching something, each inch forward a point of no return. His balls were tightening, riding up to his cock with each motion. There was no going back now, as much as he wanted to savour the moment. He even stopped stroking only to have his hips compulsively take over and continue bucking into his pre-lubed paw. He removed the paw entirely, grabbing the base of his nutsack and tugging, hoping to stall what was coming for even a moment. But it was no help. His breathing quieted as he felt his balls contract. The head of his black monster cock began to pulse and tremble. He opened his just briefly enough to see its massive slit winking at him, the head engorged and flush with blood. The moment seemed to last forever until the silence was at last broken.

“Auuuugh!” Ryan shouted, the first torrent of cum connecting with his face. This was incredible. This was impossible. He came with force enough to surprise the muscled wolf, rope after creamy rope dumping onto his face and chest. He greedily hung his mouth open between moans, eating all he could, savoring it. The rest he massaged into his chest and abs, letting the musky fluids coat him entirely. His whole body felt the aftershocks of each spurt, his beefy ass raised off the concrete as he bucked wildly into the air, practically fucking it. And it continued, the blasts losing intensity but none of their volume, his cock now ran like a loose faucet, punctuated by the odd blast that he’d once again catch on his tongue. Trembling with pleasure and grinning stupidly, he began to pump slowly, hoping to extract every last drop from his heavy nuts. His eyes drooped. His breathing relaxed. He was intensely satisfied. He was an impossibly huge muscle monster with an equally monstrous cock. He looked and smelt like pure maleness and sex, and he had just coated himself in a blast of warm werewolf spunk. He turned his head and chuckled in his rumbling voice as he flexed his ample bicep. It was unreal. It was perfect. He was perfect.

He slipped down the glass until he lay flat on his back. One paw idly massaging his balls, the other played with his cumsoaked chest fur. His cock had softened somewhat since his orgasm, but was still freakishly huge. It sat limp on his abs, the rise and fall of his breathing causing it to leak every few moments. The werewolf glowed with satisfaction. Was this what being a werewolf was? Quick transformation, a big body, and explosive orgasms? “Curse” seemed a bit much. This was fucking awesome.

The wolfman purred low guttural rumbles from his thick neck. He felt like he might fall asleep right there. Being a werewolf won’t be much different from a regular night. Quick wank before bed. Ok it might be a bit different. His old cock didn’t take two hands to hold. And it didn’t blast hot cream directly into his face. He licked his lips at the thought, he couldn’t wait to do it again.

It was very suddenly though that Ryan was broken from his post orgasmic stupor. His ears pricked, moving in unfamiliar yet completely automatic ways. There was a sound on the wind. Loud but faint against the sounds of rain and city ambience. It was not unlike his own, a long piercing howl. A call. To him.

Ryan stumbled to his feet, his new weight taking him by surprise. Thick powerful legs balanced him elegantly, his ample wolfcock hanging proudly between, nudged forward by his emptied balls. He wanted to give it another go. But he needed to find this sound. He moved on the spot, shifting atop his massive digitigrade claws. The movements came more and more naturally, and he wanted to test out his new improved body. But it was something else that caught his attention.

The darkness inside the college and the sheen of the glass produced a reflection which captivated Ryan. A wolfman faced him. Tall. Very tall. Just under 8 foot maybe. He’d have to duck to fit through a door, to be sure. Small inconvenience. Tall was one thing but he was also broad. Like double an average man’s width at the shoulder, like two Olympic weightlifters pushed together. The bulge of his tris added maybe an extra foot of width to his frame. He might have to go sideways through doors too!

He was also suddenly shocked at just how long his arms were. The solid black limbs would be dragging his knuckles along the floor were he to drop to his haunches, which was the position his body seemed to naturally prefer. He raised the arm slowly, appreciating its weight, watching his pec stretch and his lats come into view. Even at rest, his lats had his arms shifted at odd angles. He curled the bicep, watching the already spectacular muscle form a generous peak. Powerful. So perfectly… male.

Chuckling he gave the muscle a lick, savoring the familiar woody spicy notes. Breaking his focus away from his arm, he realised, somewhat to his own embarrassment, that he’d only just noticed his face. It wasn’t Ryan who stared back, except in some ways it was. It was the face of a midnight black wolf, long broad snout tipped with a great flared wet nose. Large, pointed ears. It was a face unmistakably animal, but there was definitely more than a little Ryan in there. The way his eyebrows angled suddenly in their arch and his chin tapered inward were reminiscent of his own… his human face. It was definitely a face that belonged to him, and one that he thought, rather awkwardly, was quite handsome. He angled his face from side to side, checking out his features. His eyes were certainly not his own. They’d gone from his unremarkable blue grey to a brilliant amber. He would have sworn they even glowed softly, his pupils wide taking in what light they could. Yes, he was a handsome wolf. Perhaps it was another instinct the change had brought him, but he knew a fine male exemplar when he saw one. He grinned, pointed teeth bared, his cock giving a discrete jump. A fine male example.

His ears reacted ahead of the rest of him. Angling suddenly in one direction. The same high pitched howl from before carried across the city. The call for him. Ryan turned and faced the city. It’d be rude not to respond. Throwing his arms and head back he answered in kind. A ric,h bassy howl escaped his lungs and hurried to fill any air that would carry it. It rose in pitch, audibly trembling the windows. It was beautiful, he was singing. The other voice soon joined in with renewed spirit, its pitch lowered into a sweet harmony with his own. He wasn’t just being called—he was being summoned.

Lowering his stance he stumbled awkwardly to the balcony railing, a cheap steel construction which he didn’t expect to be very strong. Certainly not enough to support his added weight. He glanced back briefly, admiring the shattered glass door, and huffing proudly at the pile of bloody fabric that had once been his clothing. That had once dared to contain him. He turned to once again face the dark sleepy city. The rain had cleared slightly, and a cacophony of loud smells assaulted his senses. He was determined though. He would find the mystery voice.

The werewolf approached the railing with apprehension, eyeing it warily. He carefully raised a foot and set it down atop the wet steel surface. Gradually he let it take more and more of his weight, stopping when it began to groan. Rolling his amber eyes he at once let all his weight upon the railing, crumpling it as one would an aluminium can. Growling with pride, he fetched the wreckage a solid kick, sending it splintering over the edge. Moments later, a crash. Not that high up.

He peeked over the edge, about eight storeys down the crumbled wreck lay in a heap. He thought about leaping down to follow it, but he’d only been a wolf for a few hours now, he wasn’t ready to kill himself. His gaze shifted to the balcony below. It had the same cheap steel railing, the same concrete base. And it wasn’t that far down, surely. He stepped into the gap he’d created and took a low stance. He considered the slipperiness of the floor relative to his pads and claws, part of him furious at the return of his rational mind. This level of trepidation was unbecoming for an 8-foot muscle-monster.

He carefully lowered himself feet first, digging his claws into the concrete. He trusted he wouldn’t slip, provided his claws stayed put. Glancing as best he could over his shoulder he let his feet dangle, and prepared to drop. All he had to do was quickly grab onto the railing as he fell, and repeat for the remaining floors. Simple.

Ryan let go. A thrill as he let his body freefall for a while, his heightened senses watched in slow motion as the railing approached, and with the precision of a gymnast, wrapped his paws around the railing. A familiar creak told him what a terrible idea this had been. The railing ripped out of the concrete base, tugged downwards by the werewolf’s weight. Fumbling, he tried to find purchase on the concrete landing, but a spear of steel railing slashed his arm, eliciting an uncharacteristically pitched yelp. He impulsively covered the bloody wound with his spare paw, and again entered freefall.

With an explosive crash, the werewolf’s body slammed into the pavement, cracking it in parts, and collapsing it in others. It was a small mercy that he’d missed the wrecked railing just to his side. He huffed quietly in realisation of just how quickly his new life may have ended. Jeff was right, he wasn’t invincible. He was bleeding.

He leaned forwards, struggling to raise himself. His bones ached, which was miraculous given what he’d just survived. Teeth gritted, he removed his paw from the fresh wound. Sticky blood webbed between his fingers, hot and fresh from the wide gash, knotting his ebony fur and… exciting him.

The clearing rain had introduced him to many new scents, but at this moment there was only one. That same rich metallic scent from what felt like ages ago. He brought his wounded arm up to his nose, breathing deeply and before he knew what he was doing, he was licking. The rusty taste filled his mouth, clouding his mind. He closed his eyes, enjoying the moment, letting the thrill fill him, his cock returning to a half hard-state, bouncing lewdly against his thighs. He moaned as he moved his arm away from his mouth, instead kneading forcefully against his eager rod, his head hung back and created all sorts of bassy groans. His eyes snapped open, their amber replaced by a rich and haunting red. The bleeding had already stopped, the wound closed and the flesh knitting itself back into place. He watched in stupefied fascination as the arm returned to its previous state of perfection, balling a fist and watching the repaired muscles tighten and shift. He lunged back to his feet before stumbling onto all fours, his posture shifting to accommodate the stance. His longer arms and powerful legs handily carried his generous weight, and now begged to be used. Intoxicated by his own power, the werewolf punched at the pavement, cracking it further. His body was a weapon, every bit of him perfected for the purpose of hunting, chasing down and catching. He’d be remiss if he misused it. His purpose had shifted. He was going to find the owner of the beautiful voice, and fuck them. Growling lustfully he bounded in a direction that only made sense to him, pre drooling in his wake.

It was like the hallways of the college, charging forward, making sudden turns, following a direction known only to his instincts. Except everything was bigger, the streets were bigger, the city of course was much bigger than a hallway. And he was bigger, bounding in a manner that appeared both clumsy yet deliberate. Feral yet elegant. Sleek yet savage. His maw fell open, his wolfen tongue hanging slack off to one side, tasting the moist city air. He loved this. He loved to run. He loved that his body knew what to do. He especially loved the way his tool whacked against his underside between bounds. Letting him know It was there. Stirring him onward. The howl rang out over the city once more, dulcet and masculine. No redirection was needed, he had it right the first time. He snapped his jaw shut, now reshaped into a grin. His suitor might find it hard to sing with his mouth stuffed with Ryan’s cock.

Roaring with anticipation, he picked up speed. As he approached the city centre the streets became less empty. Cars were now sharing the road, lazy taxis likely making airport runs and early risers in for a rude awakening. As they got in his way he simply climbed over them, collapsing more than a few roofs and leaving at least one windscreen with a fresh coating of pre. He charged forwards, delighting in the demonstration of power. He couldn’t care less if people saw him. Let them see. Let them envy.

His destination came into view. The city park. People called it the tree museum, because there weren’t too many places to see green in the city proper. The main gate was closed naturally, locked some time the night before. But to the beast, it was just another challenge. The werewolf rammed into it with the full force of his massive shoulder. Kept closed by a simple chain and padlock, the entire gate flew off its hinge, clattering worthlessly off to one side. He roared in triumph, giving his semi-hard prick a victorious squeeze. He had arrived.

He rose to his haunches, and then to his full height, his towering 8-foot frame coming into full view. He sniffed savagely at the air, idly playing with himself with a spare paw. He had an idea of what he was searching for. Surely something not unlike himself. He shuffled on the spot before setting off on all fours—deeper into the park, pausing to take in the scents on the ground and in the air. Arriving at a stone bridge his lucid side knew to be the park centre, he stopped. Stepping forward to glance into the water below. The moon’s reflection teased upon the surface, a perverse facsimile of the real thing but nonetheless captivating. His posture slumped until his body hung limp upon the stone. The red in his eyes turned to warm amber as the haze clouding his senses subsided, and they stared back at him somewhat solemnly. His carnal desires too passed as he suddenly found himself feeling incredibly alone. A pack animal by his very nature, he had underestimated just how much he’d crave companionship.

The owner of the beautiful voice promised him something he couldn’t get just anywhere—something that might not be so easy to find anymore. He couldn’t see his friends or family, not like this. He was a monster now. A chill ran down Ryan’s spine and up his tail as a dozen realities hit him. Would he change back like Jeff? Or did you have to “earn” that power? How would he work if he could wolf out at the sight of a little blood. What if he hurt someone. What if he turned someone. That thought in particular gave him much pause. On the one hand he would enjoy the additional company, but on the other he couldn’t deny how suddenly violated he felt having his life upended over the course of a few hours. The massive wolf slumped further, deeply melancholic and fearful. He almost didn’t hear the familiar voice at the end of the bridge.

“Oh dear. I’m so sorry…”

Ryan turned suddenly, and snarled. He raised to his full height to face the stranger directly. He was no less angered when it turned out to be no stranger. The werewolf’s hackles raised and his snarl broadened. It was Jeff. He’d found fresh clothes yet appeared just as lanky and scraggled as earlier. Enhanced eyesight saw past his glasses into the amber irises beneath. It was the one who turned him, and he looked so… disappointed.

“Look at the size of you…”

The beast took this with pride, rolling his shoulders to emphasise his physique. Jeff simply smiled weakly, showing all those extra teeth.

“Yeah, you like it, don’t you kiddo. You silly pup…” he sighed.

The werewolf huffed at this comment. Who was he to talk down to him? Of course part of him knew the answer, he was Ryan’s alpha. His pack leader. He was in charge. Jeff approached, examining his pup all over. Despite everything, Ryan felt a compulsion to make this man proud. He tensed his muscles, and bared his fangs; assuming a wider stance so Jeff could appreciate all his assets. He had to please his pack leader. He was compelled to. Which made the fact Jeff looked so unhappy worrisome.

“Stop that. You made a real mess earlier—a mess I have to sort out!” Jeff snapped, pointing in the direction of Ryan’s warpath. The wolf’s shoulders dropped, his tail slipping between his legs, looking like a large, shaggy dog had slipped underneath him. Jeff, noticing his distress, sighed as his expression softened.

“You’re probably confused. Of course you are,” he began, obviously adept at reading wolfen facial expressions.

“Most of us are a lot… more compact than you.”

He sat on the stone of the bridge opposite Ryan, his eyes still fixed on the giant wolf

“Was a time we were all like you, but as we moved into cities, we had to learn to be a bit more subtle. Natural selection took care of the rest. Have to say, I’m pretty proud there’s still a bit of classic wolf left in me. Figured you’d all been bred out long ago… in a manner of speaking.”

He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You weren’t supposed to happen… I’m so sorry.”

Ryan was just as confused. Not supposed to happen? Bullshit. He was perfect. A mighty wolf. He wanted to make his alpha happy. But here he was calling him… A mistake? He felt his temper rising, his breathing became heavy and his fists tightened. Jeff noticed this and raised his eyebrows. He chuckled with condescension as he replaced his glasses.

“Oh, look at you, all big bad. Gonna huff and puff and then what?” he all but shouted, hands raised matter-of-factly. “That’s why your kind died out, kiddo. You can’t just smash everything. I saw the warpath you made of uptown tonight. That’s how you get caught. That’s how you get killed.”

Jeff stood up. With his hands in his pockets he approached the werewolf, who watched him with narrow amber eyes. He both wanted him away and as close as possible. The gangly man put a hand on the wolf’s giant arm, which automatically flexed for his master. His snarl vanished, replaced with a sheepish guilty grin.

“I get it, your first wolf-out is exciting. Very exciting, eh kiddo?” he said, eyeing down at Ryan’s half-hard cock, still leaking pre onto the cobble bridge. The wolf angled His body to one side in an unprecedented show of modesty. Jeff shook his head.

“Don’t worry, it’s as I said. I look after my pups. I’m going to take care of you. We just need to be… careful. Your existence may draw some unwelcome attention. I just mean like when you tore up the street. We do our damndest to stay secretive, it’s a bit tough when you’re the size of a building.”

Jeff began scratching Ryan’s arm tenderly, eliciting a happy rumble from the wolf. He pushed himself into his alpha’s touch, causing Jeff to stumble slightly.

“Easy, big fella. Damn you’re impressive. We just need you to get recruiting ASAP. You’ll get a bit more control. I’m going to make sure you’re safe.”

Jeff placed his tiny hands on Ryan’s pecs, scratching the leathery skin beneath the fur. More rumbles from his throat clearly showed he enjoyed the attention. Jeff leaned forward, his head sitting in the cleft of the werewolf’s chest.

“Do you trust me?” he asked quietly.

Ryan continued to rumble. He opened his mouth to speak but found he lacked the articulation. His mouth simply didn’t work that way anymore. Instead he nodded quickly.

“Then close your eyes.”

The wolf stirred with excitement. He obeyed immediately, closing his amber eyes and shifting expectantly in place. His anticipation caused a wave of desire to travel down his body where it caused another stir in his cock, which now stood fully erect. The thought of being safe with his alpha, and the thought of making him happy delighted him. So distracted, he didn’t hear the familiar shifting sounds which came just before…

Wham.

A massive blunt force came down on the back of the wolf’s neck. More than enough to stagger him, and certainly enough to send him to the ground where he landed with a heavy thud. His consciousness slipped as he saw Jeff’s feet come into view.

“Sorry, kiddo, it’ll just be so much easier this way”.

His last conscious recollection was of his body being hefted up onto Jeff’s shoulder. The alpha’s arm seemed… bigger.

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