I could have fought the urge, I knew, but it wasn't what I truly wanted. All of my life I'd wished deep down to change in moonlight, and now I would. Arnold had never understood my fascination, and even had laughed when he'd found a collection of lycanthropic art stashed under my bed. But soon enough he would understand. Soon enough he would see and feel it.
I slowed my pace again, eagerly looking up at the sky. My heart was hammering in anticipation. "Dude!" exclaimed Arnold again, "What in the hell is SO fascinating?"
"The moon, buddy, just the moon. The power that it holds," I replied, walking again, still quite slowly. We were approaching a small park, where I planned to stall. "Hang on a sec, I want to sit down for a minute," I told him, planting myself on a bench.
"Man, what is UP with you tonight?" Arnold asked, sitting down next to me.
I stared skyward again; the clouds were breaking up now, and the moon's rays were slowly filtering through. I could feel a light tingle; it wasn't the full sensation yet, but it was building. "Arnold, don't you get it?" I asked, smiling up at the sky. "Tonight is the dawning of a new age. That anchorwoman...she changed, man!"
"Man, what the FUCK is your obsession with werewolves and HER tonight? Fucking christ, it was special effects!" Arnold snapped yet again.
"It doesn't turn you on?" I asked as the clouds fully broke apart, showering me with moonlight, setting me ablaze with energy. "It...doesn't turn you on...to.." my voice had deepened, gaining a bit of a raspy tone, and I struggled a bit to speak, "to..know there's a....bitch...out there...now...looking to rut?!!"
I tore my shirt open, baring my chest to the rays of the moon, even as my teeth began to protrude. My whole body was energized and swelling rapidly with new muscle. I went into a sort of convulsive state as my body continued to change, my new feet bursting forth from my shoes, and my pants shredding under the new size of my legs.
As my face exploded outward into a muzzle, and the rest of my body grew a coat of long brown fur, I let out a howl, and rose up on both feet. Arnold had barely moved. I could smell his fear, and I liked it. He smelled of prey.
"Dude," he barely whispered, "It's me...don't fucking...don't hurt me," as tears fell from his eyes.