As the fears pass through your mind something deep within you rebels against them. If you chose to lock yourself up in your bedroom, what would even be the point of letting out your inner alpha bitch? Even with the pain you're feeling stronger by the heartbeat, thrilling to your fantasy writing itself upon your flesh in fits and starts. All keeping yourself confined would accomplish would be a thrashing beast destroying your belongings. No, a creature like you needs to prowl. If anything it'd be safer to fully unleash yourself.
It's all started to make a terrible sense in your pounding head.
You plant your monstrous hands on the edge of your dresser, the tendons rising in stark relief as the faint scattering of new hair on your arms multiplies, bristling over swelling muscles. Your back pops again, your ribs lifting as your vision lurches upward in the mirror you're facing, eerie green-gold eyes staring back at you, the sclera of your eyes gone dark and animal. Your rusty red hair is plastered to your brow, your cheeks, the back of your neck as you feel your scalp tingle beneath your rough pixie cut. Your brow and cheeks throb visibly in your reflection, rising to give your face a brutish cast as your hairline creeps forward into a pronounced widow's peak. Your hair pushes forth, going from merely unkempt to overgrown, wet locks dangling down to frame your primitive face before slipping past your jawline to trace moisture across your broadening shoulders.
Your nipples twinge in the night air. Not just the pair you were born with, but each pair below them, connecting in a constellation that brings a sudden wetness to your quivering netherlips. You bring your pawlike hands up to grope yourself roughly, but your padded palms clasp leather against pale skin sooner than you expect. Your animal eyes dart down to see your breasts rising in your beastly grasp. You're not just becoming an ordinary wolf. This has all the hallmarks of the werewolf you've sometimes imagined yourself as. The thought of growing beastly, but also more of a woman in the process. To be a feral, elemental Female. Indeed, your blossoming chest is quickly becoming something any woman would privately be jealous of. Or they would, if it wasn't for the obvious inhumanity of your thickening nipples as they darken to dusky black.
Then again, perhaps the marks of the beast upon you would only entice other women. The thought appeals to you as you lick a lengthening fang before pushing off from the dresser, tossing your unruly mane in an arc as you wheel about on your pawlike toes. It settles in a wild tangle, draping across your chest, down your back, luscious locks of it brushing your burgeoning rump. The room looks so small to your amazonian frame, easily past seven feet tall as your muscled thighs flex, striding towards your window. As you throw the curtains wide the sensation between your legs is electric, your snatch twitching and swelling in the moonlight. You guide a leathery fingertip alongside as your sex distends into a canine pouch, glistening netherlips turning as dark as your nipples before your shaven nethers burst with sprouting silk. Your tongue lolls between your lower fangs as you pant, petting the moist and musky fur that's fountaining to wreath your secret, lush enough to brush against your steely thighs.
If you were in your right mind, you would have thought it a mistake to expose yourself to the moonlight, but in your addled thoughts, swimming in new hormones, it just feels right. You let out a stuttering moan before prying your clawed fingers away from pleasuring yourself, hooking both hands to pull the window open.
Stepping out onto the fire escape has you drowning in sensation, your steely and toned curves trembling as the moonlight covers you, pelt racing along your hulking frame as a lupine plume of a tail erupts triumphantly from your rump. Your rust-colored winter pelt crowds up towards your face, sprouting tufts from your cheeks as your nose flattens and lifts, darkening at the tip. You give a sneer, dark lips peeling back to reveal a dagger-wall of fangs that juts more and more from a human face being submerged by animal features. Your jaws snap at the air as the last of you disappears beneath ruddy pelt. Triumphant, you lift your muzzle to the sky and howl.
Still shuddering from the aftershocks of both the change and your pleasure, you clasp shaggy hands against the railing of the fire escape. Your nostrils twitch and flare, the night air carrying a scent to fill them.
A woman.
A female, as your altered priorities feel more comfortable thinking of her.
Someone you could change with your bite. With your fluids. Someone you could set free into your pack.