The campground became embroiled in a bevy of howling and snarling, as the transforming females pawed and pleasured each other. One by one, they grew muzzles and tails, their legs altered and feral gleams infiltrated their eyes.
Leslie returned the embrace of Flaxmane, tentatively at first. As seconds passed, as the stroking of her bestial friend’s paw along the thickening black fur on her shoulders began to feel more sensual, her crying ceased and her grip strengthened.
“You’re becoming so beautiful,” Flaxmane snarled to her, “so strong. You’ll never have to fear anything ever again.”
The changing girl looked to her friend with an animal’s eyes. “Amy.” Emotions welled up within her, ready to burst like a strained dam.
The she-wolf shook her head. “Amy is gone. I’m Flaxmane now.” Her leathery paw stroked the long, wild mane of hair on Leslie’s head, soft and now jet black. She brushed the tip of an ear, slowly prodding its way through her locks.
“Flaxmane,” Leslie whispered, her voice hoarse and breathless. She leaned in, her darkening lips slightly agape with the growth of her fangs. “My…mate.”
They kissed, deep and passionate. Leslie moaned with desire, for the kiss of her inhuman lover and the spreading warmth of her own alterations. Her tongue traced the ivory daggers inside the werewolf’s muzzle, and danced with the thicker tongue of the wolf girl. Leslie touched her freely, drunk on her musky scent.
Flaxmane broke the kiss. “Howl for me. It’s the only way to make yourself complete.”
Leslie looked over the assemblage. Every girl had become a full werewolf, and had taken a mate. A few looked her way, waiting to welcome her to their moonlit sisterhood. A few others had surrounded Christopher Stonegard, snarling at the only human that remained so.
Flaxmane nodded. “He was not meant to be one of us. He is to be our food. Your sisters are waiting for you before we feast.”
The thought of devouring Mr. Stonegard felt strangely proper, even exciting to her. Her mouth watered, and saliva dribbled from the tips of her smaller canine fangs. She examined herself, her tufts of fur, black as midnight. Her razor claws, her pointed and sensitive ears. She felt wild, primal, and strong.
She debated for a second, on whether she would miss her humanity. Could she willingly discard it?