Miles never claimed to be an Olympic-class athlete.
He chooses this moment to imitate one, barreling through trees and briars and any other flora that stand between him and freedom.
The news truck is close by, he tells himself. I’ll tell everyone that Zoë was mauled by the beasts.
He runs, evidence in hand, like the hounds of Hell are after him.
“We must stop Miles,” Zoë growls, loosening her jaw muscles as her teeth begin sharpening. “He plans to expose you—us. He endangers the pack.”
“Agreed,” you say, caressing her billowing fur with a soft paw.
Ashmane assists the changing girl in freeing herself from her clothes. “We shall. First, you must become, completely.” Zoë’s boots slide from lengthening feet,
tipped with sickle claws. She flexes her fingers as they thicken, stretching them again as her natural daggers slide forth.
“Yes… I want to…become…” Her voice is faint, dreamlike. She gazes upon you with the eyes of a wolf, amber filling them to luminescence. “Tell me…please say
what I am…”
Ashmane grins, feral and joyous. She leans close to her ear, twitching and creeping slowly to the crest of her skull. “You’re a werewolf,” she snarls, her voice feral
and sensuous. “A special, wonderful creature, primal and free.”
You lean to her other ear, gently raking your claws along her thick coat. “You’re just like us now. Soon you’ll grow a tail, and fangs, and you’ll run with your pack
sisters, naked beneath the moon.”
The girl looks to the heavens, dropping to all fours in reverence. “The moon…” A ribbon of sacred light washes over Zoë, eliciting rapturous growls from her.
“I…feel it…calling to me…”
Not another word is spoken before Zoë raises her head and howls. Her song drifts on the winds; it bears no sadness, it whispers only of completion. You see her
fangs developing completely in the spotlight. Tufts of fur flow from her face, framing the black nose and curled lips into a bestial cast. Ashmane glances at her back;
her tail must be forming. She rises on her hind legs as her new teats blossom. You and Ashmane join her chorus, merging your lupine voices as you have your
spirits. Her symphony ends in synch with her shifting; she rises before you and Ashmane, human no more.
“Tonight, you are reborn into our pack,” you growl. “Now, tell us your name, she-wolf.”
The brown-furred wolf woman raises a claw to her tawny-furred chin, her rich brown tail wagging in pensive thought. Finally, she nods, and stands proudly to you
both. “I am Windhowl.”
Ashmane snarls in approval. “Then join us, Windhowl, in our hunt.”
Miles breathes a sigh of relief as the driver’s door of the Blazer slams shut. He looks out over the cliff edge, mentally plotting his escape route back down the
mountain. For a minute, it’s all he can do to keep his heart from outrunning him down the road.
Dutifully, he checks his camera. It’s scratched, and the telephoto lens was broken off in transit, but it can be fixed. Most importantly, the film hatch did not open.
His precious negatives are safe.
The journalist breathes a sigh of relief. “You didn’t die for nothing, Zoë.” He holds the camera up like a sacred grail, grinning ear to ear. “You just cinched my
career.”
Then the howl came.
The dedicated journalist narrowly avoided dropping his grail in alarm. Fear coils at his brain as he fishes in his pockets for the keys.
The keys that Zoë was holding on to!
“Oh, my…” The desperate man fumbles for the glove compartment latch. Shaking fingers finally manage the autodial. He scans the dark forest for signs of
movement, straining his attention past the static of the phone.
“Hi, you’ve reached the voice mail box of Caitlin Carradine…”
Miles jumps out of his skin at the sound of scraping metal.
“I’m not able to take your call right now…”
He sinks with the truck, deafened from the popping of slashed tires.
“…but if you leave your name, number…”
The balled-up paw of a brown-furred werewolf punches through the passenger side window, spraying the screaming human’s arm with glass.
“…and a brief message…”
The she-beast snatches his camera with a vicious snarl, carving into the seat with her claws. She withdraws her arm as the Blazer rocks to and fro, tumbling the
blanched human within.
“…I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”
The back half of the Blazer rears up, thrusting Miles unceremoniously into the windshield. He hears the glass spider-web, feels the lancing of his epidermis and the
trickling of blood down clammy flesh.
“Okay, here comes the beep!”
“C-Caitlin.” He resigns himself to his death, knows what the three wolf creatures intend as they hoist the crippled vehicle into the air.
“W…w…wolf…Lake. W…were…wolves…” He signs himself as the ravine looms closer.
“G…get…proof…” He steels his grip on the headrest, and wonders what it will feel like when gravity compacts a three-ton 4 X 4 through him.
“T…tell…world…”
Miles’ purchase on the cell phone ends when the werewolves launch their prey from the ravine edge. The Blazer tumbles silently in the air, gaining velocity as it
nears the sudden stop at the bottom.
Miles feels his heart pound hard. He prays for it to explode, as part of a final libation before the thunderous impact.
It does, beating the Blazer by seconds.
Windsong yanks open the camera, tearing out the film. She hands it to you, allowing you the honor of slashing it to confetti. You watch the Blazer burn for a long
time as the pack howls in victory.