"I wonder if they can see us," Zoë Whittaker muses out loud.
Miles Drake snuffs, "highly unlikely. They seem rather self-absorbed right now."
He extends a palm, "New roll, please."
Zoë fishes in her pocket for a new roll of film, and hands it absently to Miles. They’re beautiful, she thought, and she was losing herself in those hypnotic golden
eyes as the gray she-wolf looks directly at her. She surprised herself by sighing a little when they locked gazes.
"Then again, fate would chose now to prove me wrong," Miles says nervously, standing up slowly and backing away from the camera tripod.
"Zoë, we need to go now! They've spotted us!"
"I know."
"Are you daft, girl? Run! If you're not coming with me, you'll have to meet me back at the truck!"
Zoë just stands there awestruck at the two she-wolves that had definitely noticed her. Miles realizes she wasn't budging, and takes off at a dash.
"Fine Miles, you just missed the opportunity of a lifetime," she says softly to herself.
The werewolves rise to their feet and approach Zoë with hunched-over, loping gaits. Even through the binoculars, her view of them hadn't been that good. Now,
though, she can see them in full as they stride towards her.
They are palpably feminine in shape, and even more beautiful than she thought they were before. She looks them over, noticing their distinguishing marks. The one
closer to her has a mane that fades from silver to black in streaks, like ashes, and dappled grey fur. The other has a dark grey mane that shimmers oddly, like
graphite, and a coat that is nearly entirely jet-black save for her chest and stomach, which are brilliant white.
Zoë puts aside her fears and takes a step towards them, wondering in the back of her mind if they're intelligent...
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"We'll make the female our pack-sister," you say gruffly, "and if the male interferes, he is food."
Ashmane growls in appreciation, "Mmm, you're sexy when you're ruthless. Let's do it!"
You both rise, and instinct defines the predatory lope that carries you towards them. The male seems to have noticed, and is backing away. As you close the
distance, he panics and flees.
"Bah! Not even worth the meal," Ashmane snarls.
"She's still there, though," you say, "I think she wants it!"
You reach the clearing where the humans had set up the tripod, and you see her standing there, almost waiting for you.
She looks oddly familiar, but you're not sure where you've seen her from before, the memories of your former life muddy and indistinct. Her long brown hair whips
in the wind, her glasses glinting in the moonlight. She is dressed in a light jacket, t-shirt, jeans and hiking boots.
"Miles is afraid of you," she says, "but I'm not. He's a fool for running away."
"Ah, but you're not a fool," Ashmane coos, "are you?"
The female seems somewhat surprised to hear your mate talk, but responds.
"O-of course not! God, you're both so beautiful!"
"Nature always is," You snarl, "but then again, you knew that."
She reaches out to touch you, almost in disbelief, running her hand through the thick black fur of your shoulders.
"You're...you're real!"
"As real as you," Ashmane quips huskily, "perhaps more."
"Aren't you a little warm?" you ask.
She blushes and nods, shedding her jacket and tossing it aside sheepishly. Then, her eyes lock with yours, and you know you have her. Almost involuntarily, she
steps towards you again, and you open your arms to receive her. She collapses against you, throwing her arms around your neck and burying her face in your
mane. She embraces you, and you return the favor as she takes a deep breath, savoring her scent.
"She's ready," Ashmane says, "do it!"
Nodding with a smile, you reach around with a clawed hand and grasp her shoulder roughly, digging your talons in. Just as she begins to wince with pain, you rake
down across her back, the coppery smell of her blood in your nostrils briefly before the wound closes itself to form puckered scars. She cries out, but then is silent,
clutching you tightly.
A tremor goes through her, and you know the change is upon her. You feel something brush your hand as it caresses her back, and you see that much like the
differences in your colouring and Ashmane's, she will be unique as well. Her hair is actually deepening in colour, her mousy brown becoming a rich russet, fading to
a tawny blonde at her temples. She looks up at you, and you see the wispy beginnings of a widow's peak working down her forehead even as her eyebrows grow
shaggy. Her ears poke forth from her hair, pointed, and her expression is one of pleasure.
"You're very close to understanding it all," you say.
"I want to," she replies, her voice already taking on the bestial undertones yours did, "thank you..."