As the sun had begun to set, and Esmerelda had been out on the prowl, finding her way to Duncan, the camp had been abuzz with an energy all its own.
There was a small fire burning, and the smell of meat roasting over the flames. Roughly eight men and six women wandered barefoot in the woods, a few miles outside of town. They'd arrived in a small caravan, not unlike the ones their ancestors had travelled in. But intead of horses, they had small cars and trucks pulling the modest trailers behind them.
Unlike their ancestors, they didn't dress entirely in peasant's blouses and rough-hewn shirts and trousers. They dressed as you and I might, though they held an otherworldly aura about themselves.
They were modern day gypsies, and just like their ancestors, they were both nomadic and lycanthropic. On a normal evening, someone wandering across their campsite might find themselves seduced by a young woman, only to find themselves drugged and robbed. On a good night, they might be fortunate enough to share a campfire and a meal.
But on three nights a month, they would find themselves in a much more precarious position. This was the first of the nights for this month.
The men and women slowly grew more eager as the sun dipped lower. The air almost crackled with energy as the last of the sun's rays still filled the air with a dim glow. The men absentmindedly scratched at their faces, already gaining stubble. The women casually unhooked their bras, and kicked their sandals off.
The men and women began to snarl, eagerly staring in anticipation at the night sky, their faces beginning to tense, their mannerisms becoming more feral.
The moon rose, winking out of the night sky, and in unison, the clan disrobed. Men hurredly pulled their shirts off, tugging their pants down. The women slid their skirts off, the few still with their tops on quickly removed them.
They converged on one another, gathering in a knot, their flesh beginning to pulsate, the transformation upon them. They fell to the ground in a mass, women groping women, men groping men, women licking men, men licking women. Fur began to sprout as their changes continued, fueled by primal lust and moonlight. Fingers and tongues found genitals of both genitals to suck and stroke. Spines popped, tails blossomed, and muzzles emerged under the writhing orgy of the lycanthropic clan. Muscles grew, talons slid out of nail beds, and new breasts blossomed. Moans and groans became howls and growls.
The simple writhing and groping turned into a full on mating rut once all had transformed, with werewolves locked into the rut hammering madly away at their howling lovers.
All the while, locked away in a trailer was Esmerelda's best friend Kari, her eyes glowing yellow, trembling as she tried to block out the call of the moon, and her clan. She wanted to be with Esmerelda, out on the hunt with her, or at least feeling her touch in the moonlight. She knew Esmerelda would come back tonight...she HAD to.