Four years later Duncan and Esmeralda Smith parked Duncan's old car in a garage beneath a big city bank. Both of them had changed a lot in those years.
You would of thought that Esmeralda, at the age of 16, had developed all she would of developed. Whether it purely through nature, her magical powers, or her slutty ways, she had grown to resemble a six foot sex doll. He face was the same, so was her shoulder length raven black hair. Her breasts however, had grown so much that Esmeralda couldn't look modest if she tried. They stuck out all the more since she usually liked to wear a skin tight tank top. A guy could suffocate if accidently got his in between her gargantuan boobs. In fact Duncan once almost done so. If it hadn't been for the fact only a silver bullet could kill him, he would of died.
Her legs were thin and sexy. She had traded in her skirt for tight shorts, that showed off her camel's toe. Her hips were also very feminine.
She was as sexy, teasing, and slutty as ever. She was also very devoted to Duncan. Increasingly so as he become "more of a werewolf."
Duncan probably wouldn't have grown or changed much, since that fatetful day when he was sixteen, if he had never met Esmeralda. But the werewolf curse, as he was very much aware, slowly changed him phyisically and mentally. Its a common misconception that a werewolf only changes when they change into a wolf during the full moon. However, their human form changes as well. More so the longer they're a werewolf, with the most notible changes a few years after contracting the virus.
He was taller and more powerfully built than when he was an ordinary kid. He was a man who had over four years grown to the height of six eight. All the better to transform into a larger, more powerful and more savage wolf. His face retained some of its old features, but in most ways it was warped by canine features. It was much the way it was in the clearing, just before he howled at the moon for the first time. His ears were large, pointed, with hair at the tips. His nose stuck out somewhat. He eyes were strangely sinister. His teeth were sharp and white, the canines protuding into small fangs. His face was heavily stubbled, although he shaved daily. On his hands, the front and back of his neck, emerged the thick mat of hair that helped identified him as a werewolf.
Duncan from time to time regretted not being human anymore. Regretted not living a normal life. But he was used to it, and the life he lived you couldn't help but enjoy. He had Esmeralda, and occasionally went on one night stands (she did as well). As the years went by, he came to reluctantly enjoy howling, ripping prey to shreds, and other stuff he once hated. On the other hand, despite Esmeralda's pleas, he didn't act like a wolf in public, and did his best to conceal his ears with his old ballcap, his quick growing beard with daily shaving, and his furlike hair with long sleeve shirts. He didn't however, know how to, or was able to, conceal his growing want of blood and violence.
Duncan and Esmeralda made their living by robbing banks. They were never caught, probably because Esmeralda must of used her magic to throw off the police. That was probably why they usually robbed the largest and most heavily guarded banks.
This time was like any other. Duncan would go in first, maybe dressed in a suit, an uncomfortable proposition for a werewolf. Through the itching and sweating, acutely aware of how inhuman he really was, Duncan would say:
"Put your hands up, this is a robbery."
He'd usually get several bullets. Not being silver, they'd never hurt him.
Esmeralda would then join him with a gunney sack in getting the money. Even though she was protected by magic, probably, she never liked being shot at herself. She collected the money while Duncan held the gun. Usually he never shot anyone.
Lately, however, he liked the idea. He shot a lot people. For fun. In the leg still, as he had time to choose where to shoot them, but this worried Duncan.
"How long . . .," he thought sometimes when looking in the mirror. He became more wolf-like every full moon, he thought. Esmeralda had told him that soon he'd be a perfect werewolf. Completely resigned to animalistic urges, would loose any scruples he still had for a life of pleasure. "Wonder what that's like," he said to himself, staring at his toothy grin, his pointed ears, his almost snout-like nose.
They'd then usually escape in the car. Like they did now. They'd count their money. They'd usually be set for six months to a year. Sometimes they went to fancy hotels instead of the usual motels. But Esmeralda liked living in bars and motels, and Duncan with his werewolf tastes couldn't stand fancy living for more than a few weeks. He couldn't be in a city or a large building. He needed room to howl.