"The pain of having a large part of the torso (okay, the left shoulder, but still) being torn out of a guy," thought Duncan, as he lay in a pool of his own blood, "can't be equaled."
"Yeah it can," he thought, weakly inclining his head, and looking toward his jeans. "Lucky she didn't . . ., well she's still killing me, that gypsy bitch."
Esmerelda had pounced back, and disappeared from his sight, leaving him to expire in a pool of blood, broken nerve fibres, and torn out muscles. So it seemed to Duncan.
But after about five minutes, Esmeralda reappeared. Staring at him.
Duncan didn't know what to say. Plead for his life? Call for help? Use a few good words and hurl 'em at Esmeralda? None of his options seemed practical.
He did the old cliche. Saw his life pass by - backward. Then he wrote his obituary. "I was a nice guy," he thought.
He was. Besides having a strong libido and swearing, as if he were, well, sixteen, he was a decent person. Duncan felt sorry for his parents who'd have to bury him, and pay the costs for his funeral. His five year brother would probably miss him, as well as his three year old sister. He usually had relatively little to do with them, given the differences in their ages, but he knew they'd take his death badly. All because he wanted to fuck Esmeralda.
Suddenly, Duncan felt his pain subside.
"Yeah, you fuckin' bitch. And you are a fukin' bitch, literally," he said, laughing somewhat deliriously. "I'm dying, you got what you wanted."
But that wasn't what Esmeralda wanted.
Duncan pain soon disappeared, replaced by a throbbing in his torn shoulder, as it grew back and the wounds healed themselves at a astonishing pace. He wasn't, as he expected, passing out and checking out, so to speak. He was healing.
"What the hell?" he said, rubbing his healed shoulder, visable under the still ripped section of his shirt.
Duncan thought about what he knew about medicine. This couldn't be explained. Then he realized he knew a thing or two about werewolves. The stuff you'd learn as a kid on Saturday morning cartoons. He realized what was happening to him.
"FUCK" he said, sort of suddenly, and with a look of absolute horror upon his face. It put the stunned look he had when Esmeralda changed to shame.
Esmeralda, the wolf, made some noises which vaguely resembled laughter.
Duncan wasn't paying attention. He realized Esmeralda had torn a chunk out of him, partly to punish him, partly to speed up the infection. A simple bite would probably take a month to infect him, if at all. This was starting to impact him immediately.
"The hospital," muttered Duncan, getting up. "Am I fucking delusional, what are they gonna do with a werewolf bite. Give me an IV?"
It was too late anyways. Esmeralda had ripped the phone off the hook, and was now blocking the door. And Duncan was changing. The throbbing from his shoulder spread to his whole body.
Duncan itched madly, as things began to happen, and hair began to sprout. He winced in pain, as he fell victim to growing pains, pains which stretched out all his previously well-fitting clothes.
Duncan rushed to the mirror, and stared at the extremely hairy, six-seven teenage boy who stared back at him. Even though he had never needed to shave, he badly needed one. Even though he had no chest hair, it had crawled up his neck and met the stubble of his face. Even though his hands had previously had no hair on them, the skin was virtually invisable throught the thick mat of hair which covered them.
As the shocked Duncan stared in the mirror, his ears sprouted fur, and grew to points. Then, with a vice-like pain, his face and nose grew outward, sprouting hair all the while, finally popping out into a muzzle with the distinct black nose of a canine.
He opened his mouth, and saw his teeth painfully grow into fangs. Then he scratched himself, as he realized his entire body had sprouted fur.
He stared on in shock, though he managed an occasional growl, as his 0ead and neck reshaped. Then he shuddered as his spinal cord went mad, and produced a tail sprouting out, and tearing his pants, just above his butt.
His hands turned to paws, he feet broke through his shoes and did likewise. Then he chest barreled out, and ripped the top of his shirt. Everywhere, his clothes ripped at the edges. Finally he gripped the dresser, stumbled a few moments, and fell to the ground.
Duncan, the werewolf, was an impressive specimen. Huge, almost twice as large as a proper wolf. Larger than Esmerelda, the youth still wore his badly strained and ripped clothes, battered baseball cap inclusive. But the new lupine muscles, tail, ears, and paws, gave his new identity away.
Esmerelda came up to him, and sniffed his ass. He had an overwhelming urge to be a wolf, and gave out a long AHWOOOOOO!."
But he had more than enough of Esmerelda. When they turned human again, he'd leave her.