Chapter One

 

 

 

 

I have too many character flaws to get into. The chief of these are a huge lack of patience, an inability to suffer fools gladly, and a ruthless concern for my own well-being at the expense of anyone and everyone else. I don't mean to say I have no empathy for others, for I do. But I worry about me first.

My mother was a whore. I could talk about how she was seduced, abused, and made a fool of by my father, about the drugs and alcohol they both took, about the circumstances which led the two of them into being the dregs of society, but those circumstances change nothing. My mother was a whore, and that's all there is to it.

I was an orphan, for all intents and purposes, from the age of about four. Small chance those two would put much thought or effort into raising me. If I was a brat (I was) it wasn't really my fault. My mother died at the hands of my father when I was eight or so. It's hard to recall birthdays when your parents never remembered or celebrated them.

I got one thing from my mother; looks. My mom was a beauty, a second generation American of Finish background, and I look very much like her pictures. I'm not bragging when I say I'm beautiful, just stating a fact. I have mirrors, and even if I didn't, my beauty is reflected in the eyes of the men who stare at me and want me and try to seduce me.

I got one thing from my father; brains. I don't mean he was any kind of intellectual genius. He never even graduated from high school. But he had a feral intelligence and cunning which, if it weren't combined with an innate laziness, various addiction problems, a violent temper, and a determination to get as much as he could from the least possible amount of work, might have actually gotten him somewhere other than prison.

I passed through the foster care system as a beautiful young girl with no power, completely at the mercy of the winds of fate and whatever adult happened to be making a decision over me at any particular time.

It was not a childhood or youth I would recommend to anyone.

I grew a hard heart and a thick shell. I learned to be suspicious of anything anyone told me, of any promises or intentions, good or not. I learned not to trust. I also learned to use my attractiveness to get what I wanted, to look sad and pitiful, to use my big blue eyes and sweet face to gain sympathy.

As I passed into adolescence, my sweet face was joined by a lithe and athletic young body which was much coveted by men and boys. I attracted, you might say, a certain amount of predatory attention. I also learned to fight. All the feeble protests in the world don't carry as much weight as one well aimed knee to the groin.

Yes, my body became quite useful, something I had others valued and might be willing to trade things for. I, however, had no desire to share it, no desire, in fact, for male companionship (or female, come to that). I had learned that no one in the world would look after you or care about you but you yourself.

I was an island unto myself and I looked at other people solely as threats, or for what they could give me or get me. I was a schemer and a dreamer, and I used my looks as the only currency I had to get what I wanted.

And I was cheap. I did not spend my currency easily. I learned how to make use of it without spending it. I learned that a smile, a sweet voice, a certain way of positioning my body, of pushing my breasts out and batting my eyes, could usually get me what I wanted without having to do anything more.

I realized that my body could be used to manipulate men, and my sweet face to manipulate women. I appealed to womens maternal instincts. The instincts I appealed to in men were, of course, quite different.

And as I grew older men were the ones increasingly more willing to help. The maternal instincts of women tended to fade away as I outgrew gawky adolescence, as my legs lengthened, my hips widened and my breasts grew.

I became a gymnast in grade school because I liked to move. I had a great deal of energy, much of it born of frustration and anger, and not a lot to do with it. I had both a natural talent and a determination which surpassed everyone else in my class. Unfortunately, early in adolescence it became obvious I was destined to be too tall to be a gymnast.

The next outlet became kick-boxing. It was right up my style, and it was offered free, as a self-defense thing at school. Again, I was very good at it. I moved well, and I had a lot of anger to put into my lessons. And it helped keep my body well, helped tone it. I knew that was important. Like I said, it was the only currency I had.

I applied myself to my studies with the same determination, which, along with my poverty, got me a scholarship to university. The universities were under pressure to find women for athletic programs because there was a law which mandated they balance them with the men. Karate was one of them and I jumped at the chance.

I hated being helpless and at everyone's mercy. If I couldn't have money or influence or contacts at least I could learn how to beat people (men!) up.

Did I have a chip on my shoulder? Maybe some uhm, pent up anger due to my father? Gee, maybe. But I knew I wasn't going to be a sap like my mother had been, and let some guy make me his bitch to use and abuse however he wanted. That was absolutely NOT going to happen with me!

The scholarship made school free. It didn't make everything else free. I took jobs where I could find them, and wound up selling television antennas door to door. Growing up poor and female had made me learn to be persuasive, and had developed my skill in reading people. I was good at reading those I talked to (especially men), and good at selling.

I learned to dress in a way which was sexy and provocative without seeming to be trying to be either. There's often a fine line between sexy and slutty and I never wanted to cross it. A tight top, sometimes just a little cleavage, maybe a bit of midriff exposure, whatever it took. Batting my eyes, smiling, using my little girl voice. I'd do it all for a sale.

I was looking to take law at university. Did I like law? No. It represented power to me, and wealth. I had never had either and I wanted both. I was tired of being at everyone else's mercy. Before going to law school, you needed an undergraduate degree. I did well my first two years, worked my tail off during the summer, and went back for third year.

I approached the law with a cold heart, a clear, clean mind empty of illusions about justice. The law was a tool which could be used to get your way, and to make money. That was what I wanted it for, and lacking friends (or a lot of interest in friends) I pursued my education with a zealousness largely unknown among my classmates.

This is where the werewolf comes in.

His name was Paul, and we met late one evening (evening is the best time for door to door sales) on Delancy street, near the park when I had just about decided to call it quits for the day. I was wearing low slung khaki trousers and a tight, midriff baring white top with a little cleavage.

Wearing a midriff baring top in front of a werewolf was like wearing the most incredibly low cut blouse in front of a normal guy. Werewolves have this thing for soft, white underbellies, you see, though I didn't know it at the time.

Paul, luckily for me, was not very good at being a werewolf. He hadn't been at it long, and wasn't at all good at controlling himself. He also wasn't a very big or powerful werewolf, as such things are measured.

I, on the other hand, was very good at being preyed upon. Or at least, I was very used to it. Walking through the darkening evening next to thick bushes and a park, I was, of course, wary, though not particularly worried. When I heard the movement of something in the brush, my reactions were very quick. I suspected it was some guy coming for me. I just didn't realize how hairy he'd be.

I had just leapt forward when he literally flew out of the trees at me! I let out an involuntary scream and ducked aside just enough that he went hurtling past me and into the side window of a BMW.

He smashed through the window and wound up inside the car while I sprinted up the street. His howl was blood curdling, and leant me speed as he thrashed around in there, with the car alarm screaming into his big ears, and finally sent the entire door flying out into the trees.

Werewolves are strong, even if they are new at it.

I was very fast, especially with a rush of adrenalin, but no human is as fast as a werewolf, even a clumsy one. I took one look over my shoulder, got an extra rush of adrenaline, and took a flying leap onto the hood of a Toyota with him not far behind. I bounded onto the roof, then took another flying leap and grabbed the light pole next to it.

He howled as he jumped after me and I swung around the pole, letting him fly past and into the trees. Then I frantically shinnied up the pole. Climbing a light pole isn't easy, but desperation, terror and strong thighs helped a lot. By the time he'd turned himself around and jumped for me again I was too high.

I would have screamed but he was howling enough that would have been pointless. He was more wolf than wolf-man, and couldn't quite manage to claw his way up the pole at first. He bared his teeth at me and growled ferociously and I told him to go fuck himself in the most sincere terms you could imagine.

He managed to get his legs and paws around the pole, and claws digging deep, began to climb. He was all hairy with huge, ugly teeth, and he stared up at me like the ravening beast he was, promising death!

I climbed as best I could and he climbed after me, in his clumsy way. Being a lot stronger he managed to catch me and started snarling and snapping at me. He managed, in fact, to get his teeth around my ankle for a quick bite before my other foot kicked him in the face, which sent him falling all the way back down and crumpling the roof of the Toyota - whose alarm began to wail.

People began to yell from a nearby house and lights started going on, and the werewolf, pulling himself from the car, shook his head, and then ran for it. My trembling arms couldn't hold me up much longer, and I slid down the pole (more later about poles and me) and then ran off in the opposite direction, stunned, unthinking, and still terrified.

You're supposed to go to the hospital when these things happen, but what they do there, as I understood it, was lock you up for a while until they see if you're going to start howling and getting hairy, generally at the next full moon.

I did not want to be at the government's mercy again, and had zero trust in me for their competence, much less concern for my well-being. I bandaged my own ankle, rationalizing it as only being a small bite, hoping nothing would come of it, that the full moon would pass and I would remain my usual (mostly) hairless self.

That didn't mean I didn't take some precaution. I might be a bitch but I didn't want to kill anyone (at least, not strangers). The next full moon, in a stolen car (a guy called Joey had taught me how to steal them to impress me) with a pile of raw meat in the back seat, I drove down a fire trail just outside the city and waited to see what would happen.

I won't say I wasn't scared shitless, that I wasn't sweating bullets, or that I was being tough about it. I would have prayed on my knees if I was a believer, but praying had never gotten me anywhere before so I'd given up.

I knew before anything happened that I was going to turn. It wasn't like me to be that heart-poundingly anxious, or to start feeling so hot I was sweating, even when doing nothing but sitting on the car's hood. I started feeling light-headed, and way too hot. I started to cry, which again, was absolutely not like me, because I knew I was going to get it, that I had it, that I was going to become one of them.

I peeled off my clothes, panting for breath, moaning low in my throat, cursing at the world in general and my miserable luck in particular.

I felt sick. I felt like the wicked witch of the west after water had been thrown on her. I was melting!

I screamed, repeatedly, and then my voice started sounding more like a howl than a scream, and my face ached as the bones shifted, and my skin both burned and felt incredibly ticklish as the little hairs became big hairs and multiplied.

And then I was laying on my side, panting, moaning, and seeing the world in odd shades of bright gray.

I'm not sure how long I lay there before rolling to my feet, but as soon as I did I realized I had four of them now. I was also a lot shorter.

The forest sounded very, very loud. And it wasn't nearly dark enough. I staggered around a little, but instincts kicked in, and I soon got the hang of walking. The less I thought about it, the easier it was. Then I started running.

Running was a pure joy. All my fears, anxieties and worries fled as I did, racing through the fields and woods, running, bounding far, far faster than I'd ever been able to move before! I reveled in the pure wild movements, leaping and spinning and howling for the joy of it!

But the longer I was a wolf, the more I thought like one. And there was that incredible hearing... I heard movement, and without thought, fell still, crouching in the deep grass, ears perked up. I haven't mentioned my nose. That was because the scents filling my brain were overwhelming at first. It was taking me some time to get used to it.

It was a deer. I hated deer. I'd been in a car once that had hit a deer. The stupid thing had nearly killed me! I didn't think like that, because I was more wolf than person by then, of course. What I thought was - food.

A real wolf runs in a pack, and they look for the weak ones. I wasn't a real wolf. I was way bigger and stronger and faster. I bounded forward and the deer barely had a chance to turn and start to leap away before I was on it.

Digging your wolf teeth into flesh was an almost erotic experience, with none of the gross factor a human would feel. It was all wild animal instinct.

Besides, I was hungry.