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Werewolf Moon

By: vorcla



Part 1 Winslow Junction

1.

Dusk.

A few birds were finishing their songs as they settled down to roost for the night. A cardinal warbled four miles away, and a jay squawked almost two miles farther on.

He heard them as if they were sitting on a branch of the tree that was just outside the cavern.

The limb of the full moon was edging above the eastern horizon through the trees, like a pastel chalk drawing against a darkening sky. Its blood-red glow was baleful, foreboding. Its cold luminescence crept into the mouth of the cave like rising water. 

He could already feel its power tugging at him.

Soon the Change would be upon him.

Derek Lawrence Talbot raised his head. As the moonlight bathed his blue eyes, they changed to a pale, golden-amber hue, and he smiled.

This business trip to the state of Washington was just what the doctor ordered. By day, he wheeled and dealed as the President and CEO of Talbot Enterprises, a successful, wickedly-handsome young man who drove a ruthless bargain.

By night, when the wild beast held sway, he hunted fresh prey; beautiful, innocent girls and young women who fell to his lethal fangs and talons -- and his cock - as wheat fell before a scythe. Fresh pussy, and fresh meat, to sate both of his appetites.

For Derek Talbot was a werewolf.

It was a family curse. His great grandfather Lawrence Talbot was the progenitor, having been bitten by a werewolf in the early 1940's while on a visit to the ancestral hamlet of Llanwelly in Wales. The curse was passed down to Derek -- along with the vast Talbot fortune -- by his father. 

But unlike his forbears, Derek did not consider the so-called Curse of the Werewolf to be a burden. Not for him were the self-pity, the torment and the angst of his sires. He reveled in the change, enjoyed the power of the wolf and his heightened senses. The call of the wild sang in his blood.

He was not a "reluctant werewolf."

He enjoyed the hunting, and the killing -- and the feeding. The horror in their eyes when they realized what was about to happen, the way their soft young bodies came apart under his fangs and claws, the taste of their flesh, their blood, their entrails.

"Fuck 'em, fillet 'em, feed on 'em, and forget about 'em," he murmured. "Words to live by."

The moon was inching higher, and he could feel his skin crawl as stubbly, shaggy brown fur began to sprout all over his body. He was growing increasingly irritable; he felt as if his skin was on fire, and he itched all over. Quickly he stripped off his tee shirt, shorts, socks and running shoes and neatly folded them. Then he stashed the clothes in a duffel bag, which he placed in a fissure on a rock ledge. 

He would need them in the morning.

The selection of the ritzy Hotel Royale had been inspired. It backed right up to a hiking trail leading into the Winslow Junction State Wilderness Area. The little town of Winslow Junction was about five miles away -- an easy lope for the werewolf. Already his super-acute animal senses told him there was prey nearby.

A human female -- wet and aroused, about three miles away. 

She smelled young and fresh.

He scented testosterone, too. His lip curled in a snarl. An interloper! A man -- a boy? It didn't matter. Whichever, he would make short work of him. 

He was hungry, and it would get much, much worse when the Change took him. The hyperaccelerated metabolism of the werewolf would demand food.

The thought of eating a young girl's sweet, tender flesh made his mouth water in anticipation.

Suddenly, the snapping and cracking of extending bone and stretching skin reverberated like a pistol shot in the cavern. Derek cried out in pain and went to his knees. His skeletal structure became elastic and malleable as his body shifted and flowed into a new, sinister shape, much bigger and more massive than Derek Talbot the man. His head pounded, and agony seared through his nervous system.

The Change hurt. The Change sucked! This was the only facet of his lupine existence that he didn't like. 

But it didn't last long, and it was well worth it to gain the gift -- the power of the werewolf.

Derek Talbot jerked convulsively and cried out as the moon's rays washed over his naked body. He could transform himself at will, at any time, but he was helpless before the sinister glow of the full moon, its insistent tidal pull tugging at and distorting his brain. The primal urge was too strong for any of his kind to ignore at this time. 

He felt the familiar twitching of his facial muscles and the lengthening of his teeth as they became long, sharpened fangs. His skin rippled and rolled as his muscles swelled and thickened. The metamorphosis was almost complete; he felt the Human part of his mind being submerged by the beast as coarse, thick, bristly animal fur sprouted over his entire body. 

The thing he had now become drew its black lips back over its fangs, threw back its shaggy head and loosed an unearthly, bloodcurdling howl. Silver threads of saliva drooled from its snarling maw as it menacingly glared about its surroundings. Its bestial mind was driven by only one impulse: the urge...no, the need...to hunt down, to kill and devour its Human prey.

The werewolf loped from the cave and raced over the soft ground, running like the wind, silent and merciless.

He would find her, hunt her down, and ravish and kill and eat her.

It would not be long now....

2. 

"Oh, God, Bobby -- eat me! Eat my pussy!"

Bobby Martin couldn't believe his luck. 

Bethany Jensen, the hottest girl in the junior class, captain of the cheerleading squad, all four feet eleven inches of her, was naked in the back seat of his fire engine red Mustang convertible. It was a typically hot and humid evening in mid August; dusk was gathering as the full moon rose behind the trees. They had parked in a secluded pulloff, an open parking area near the head of a hiking trail.

Bethany curled her toes, and drew her shapely legs back until her knees touched her firm breasts. The delicate scent of her pussy was wonderful, like roses. She had probably douched with something, but he didn't care. 

He studied her closely as he teased her, fingering her clit. Bethany was a wet dream come to life, an ethereally beautiful girl, all blondeness and blue eyes and peaches and cream, with a perfect little teenaged body. Nice ass, flat, well-toned belly, and full, rounded breasts that jutted up proudly from her chest, defying gravity. Bethany's tits were the stuff of legend. He loved watching them bounce and jiggle under her sweater as she led cheers at football games.

Now he was enjoying watching them bounce and jiggle in all their naked, pink-tipped glory as she squirmed under him.

Bobby had gone to her eighteenth birthday party last week, and had finally gotten up the nerve to ask her out. He had never dreamed it would lead to this! It was only their fourth date. 

He was just an average guy. Good-looking enough, slender, but not movie star handsome. He wasn't a football player. He wasn't even the class brain; he was a slightly above-average student, but nothing to write home about.

Of course, he did have the Mustang, his own eighteenth birthday present last Fall!

As hard as it was to believe, Bethany was lonely. She intimidated guys without meaning to. She was shy -- shy! - and her reticence was mistaken for stuck-up aloofness. Even the football players didn't try to hit on her, figuring a beautiful little girl like Bethany had to have a boyfriend -- probably a college guy.

As it turned out, all Bobby had to do was ask.

He buried his face between her legs and ate her out, sucking and nibbling the wet, pink folds of her cunt with lips, teeth, and tongue, reveling in her clean scent and her salty-sweet taste. She screamed as the curled tip of his tongue found her clitoris, and she bucked and writhed, soaking his upholstery with her juices.

They were a little cramped for space in the back seat of the Mustang. Somehow she contorted her petite form beneath him until his eight-inch penis hovered over the wet opening of her vagina.

She stared at his big, rigid cock, looking suddenly lost now -- and a little scared.

"Hey -- you okay?" he asked.

"I-I want you to make love to me," she whispered. "But......I'm afraid."

"Afraid?" Bobby's tone was incredulous. "Why?"

She gazed down, shamefaced.

"I've never....I've never done it before!"

His eyes widened.

"You are kidding, right?" he asked. "A beautiful girl like you -- you've never....?"

There were tears in her eyes. She shook her head.

"I've never been with a boy -- I mean, not like this."

Bobby Martin was stunned.

She was a virgin!

Beautiful Bethany Jensen, the cream queen of Winslow Junction High, was a virgin!

Who would have thought it? Not only was he going to fuck her, he was going to pop her cherry as well!

"Are you sure you want to?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes....I mean, I think so."

She smiled through her tears.

"I really like you," she whispered. "I want to do it with you. Will it...will it hurt?"

He shook his head.

"Not really. Kind of like a flu shot. It'll sting for a second, but it'll feel so good afterwards that you won't even think about it."

"Then let's do it!"

She lay back on the seat with a sensuous smile then, and spread her legs wide.

Somewhere in the nearby forest, a twig snapped and leaves rustled -- but the young lovers were too wrapped up in themselves to notice.....

Bobby was only too happy to oblige. He entered her slowly. She was wet, and incredibly, pleasurably tight.

He continued to push slowly and gently until he met with resistance.

"Owwwwwwwwouuu! " she cried, tensing up. "Easy -- it hurts!"

"Just for a second, remember?"

Then, without warning, he shoved himself into her to the hilt. Bethany screamed as her hymen tore like wet tissue paper. Bobby began to thrust in earnest, and her sobs quickly became sensuous, throaty moans of pleasure.

"Oh, God -- yes!" she gasped. "Ohhhhhh......it feels so good!"

He came several moments later, and she quickly followed, screaming, whipping her head from side to side as she climaxed.

They collapsed in each others arms and kissed for a long time, their tongues wrestling with each other.

"Ohhhhh," she breathed finally. "I had no idea that could feel so good. I should have done this a long time ago! Thank you."

"My pleasure," he said as he caught his breath.

"I've missed out on so much," she said. "I've been so lonely."

Bobby shook his head in disbelief.

"Bethany, you're the most beautiful girl in Winslow Junction -- Hell, maybe the most beautiful girl in the state of Washington! I can't believe you've never made it before. You could have had any guy you wanted."

Bethany smiled.

"I want you," she whispered. "You've always been so nice to me, even before you got up the courage to ask me out. You weren't afraid of me because I was pretty. You'd think I was going to tear out their throats or something."

They kissed again. 

Her dreamy smile became suddenly mischievous.

"Everybody thinks I'm Little Miss Goody-Two-Shoes," she said. "I want to do something really nasty to prove them wrong."

"Like what?"

Her grin became lascivious.

"I want you to do me doggy-style!"

Bobby gulped. Could this night get any better?

"Are you sure about that?"

"I'm sure," she said. "It's so dirty!"

Bobby's cock grew even harder and longer as Bethany got on her hands and knees and raised her perfect backside in the air.

'I've created a monster,' he thought. 'Here goes.'

Bethany Jensen's screams of pleasure rang through the forest. He began to fall into a steady, pumping rhythm. She was incredible; he threw back his head as he built to a climax, gently kneading her breasts.

And then Bobby Martin's world exploded in a crimson haze of incredible pain, pain so intense he couldn't even breathe, much less cry out. Razor-sharp, four inch claws dug in deep under his chin and jaw. He ejaculated reflexively, and semen spurted from his cock as he was bodily pulled out of Bethany and lifted from the back seat. 

Through the scarlet veil that occluded his vision, he saw a powerful, thewed arm covered with thick brown fur reach down between his legs, long ebony claws gleaming like scalpel blades on the ends of elongated fingers.

The talons sliced up behind his scrotum and lopped off his genitals -- half-erect cock, balls and all - and then slashed upward, gutting him from crotch to chin. He managed only a horrible, wet, gurgling sound as his world went dark.

The last thing he saw was his hot blood and entrails spraying all over Bethany's well-formed rear end and back.

The last thing he felt was the searing agony of long fangs, like twin rows of daggers, biting deep into his neck under his chin, severing his jugular and windpipe and nearly decapitating him...

Bethany was rhythmically thrusting back, getting hotter by the moment, her head whipping from side to side. Guttural, slutty moans of pleasure issued from her throat. The sensation of Bobby pulling out of her barely registered through the orgasmic fog clouding her brain.

An instant later, though, hot liquid rained down on her back and ass. She pounded the seat in frustration. 

He had pulled out and was coming all over her! How could he?

But the scalding wetness kept pouring down on her in torrents, and she realized, even as naïve and inexperienced as she was, that no guy could hold that much jism!

Slowly, fearfully, she turned her head back over her shoulder -- and screamed at the top of her lungs.

Bethany Jensen was being showered with blood and entrails, and they were spewing from what was left of the gutted remains of Bobby Martin.

Some thing had him by the neck, long fangs buried in his mangled flesh. It was shaped like a huge, muscular man, nearly seven feet tall, but had the face and shaggy head of...of a wolf!

Then the creature tore out Bobby's throat. The boy's severed head toppled from his shoulders and bounced on the seat next to her. His glassy, dead eyes stared unseeingly at her.

Bethany screamed in sheer terror.

The werewolf casually tossed the dead boy's mutilated corpse over his shoulder, as if he were a used Kleenex. The headless carcass lodged in the crotch of a tree eight feet off the ground.

With a swipe of his foot, the creature kicked Bobby's severed head out across the parking lot.

Bethany continued to scream, squatting on the back seat, rooted in place. Everything was moving in slow motion. The wolfman's huge cock was fully erect and stood up against his rock-ribbed belly. It looked to be as long as his forearm, with the head as big around as a fist. A droplet of pre-cum wept from the tip.

The werewolf grinned at her, drawing black lips back over long, gleaming fangs......

He was on her then, flipping her over on her belly, taking her from behind, shoving eighteen inches of thick, rigid meat into her. He thrust brutally, taking his time with her. Her screams were ragged and terrified.

"GOD, STOP -- YAAAAAHHHHH! PLEASE, NOOOOOO..."

Bethany's pleas were ignored. The beast continued to pound her mercilessly. Powerful paws brutally crushed her firm young breasts as he violated her.

After what seemed like an eternity of endless torture, the werewolf bellowed and flooded her womb with his seed. Bethany lay moaning in agony. She could feel blood and semen seeping from her torn sex.

"Uhhhh...ooouuwww ...oh, God.....hurts........." she sobbed. "P..please...nuh-nuh-no more....ooouuuwwwww..... "

She heard a menacing, vicious snarl and her eyes snapped open wide.

Bethany frantically rolled over on her back and stared up at the monster looming over her. She blanched; her face turned as pale as milk.

She saw her death mirrored in the werewolf's soulless golden eyes.

Bobby's blood dripped from his giant fangs as his snout and lips curled up in a snarl. Lethal talons gleamed in the light of the full moon as he raised a powerful arm high over his head.

She tried to move, to run, but her fear paralyzed her.

"Oh, God -- p-please don't k-kill me! Nooooooooo................."

Suddenly, the werewolf loosed a feral roar. The great paw whipped downward, ripping Bethany's face, breasts and stomach to bloody ribbons. She dropped back, face down and screaming on the seat. Her blood puddled rapidly on the upholstery.

*

Claws dug in deep, laying open her back to the bone and shredding her beautiful, fleshy ass.

And then she shrieked insanely in agony and terror as the werewolf swept her up in a bear hug with one huge arm, snarling ferociously. His claws slashed across her face from left to right, sliced open her perfectly-formed breasts, reducing them to mangled lumps of raw, bleeding meat. He mauled her again and again, carving her smoothly-tanned legs into gory tatters. Exposed muscle throbbed, and here and there white bone glinted where chunks of flesh had been torn away.

Bethany thrashed and kicked frantically, agonized screams ripping from her throat. The werewolf yanked back on her left shoulder; her collarbone and shoulder blade broke with a brittle 'crack.' The beast gutted her with a disemboweling slash, opening her stomach. Her entrails spilled out over her lower abdomen and hung down below her knees.

The werewolf lunged. He buried his fangs in her broken shoulder, and, with a terrible growl, lifted her and shook her like a terrier would a rat. Bethany's teeth rattled as she was savagely whipped from side to side. She spit up blood.

Finally, mercifully, it was over.

There was a flash of white in the moonlight as razor-sharp fangs found her unprotected throat. Bethany's screaming eroded into a pitiful, gurgling wail as powerful jaws clamped down beneath her chin with crushing strength. With a savage toss of his great head, the creature tore out her throat in an explosion of blood and mangled meat. 

Her legs stopped kicking and twitched feebly as she succumbed to deep shock. A shudder rippled through her mutilated body.

The bloody maw bit into one of her shredded breasts and ripped it from her chest.

The last sensory impression of Bethany Jensen's young life was a visual one of an unholy monster gulping and swallowing a chunk of flesh that had once been part of her. 

Then the blackness of forever seeped in. 

But the beast continued to maul his dead prey in a frenzy of blood-lust. Deadly fangs and talons slashed and tore, raking the soft, tender flesh of the mutilated body until it was reduced to an oozing, shapeless mass covered in gory red slime. 

Finally, the werewolf stopped. He stood up to his full height in the back seat of the Mustang, in a puddle of blood that was nearly ankle-deep. He raised the young girl's tiny, mangled body over his head with one powerful arm, as if she were a bloodied rag doll. Gruesome splashes of crimson dripped from his jaws and talons as he defiantly bayed at the moon, heralding his successful kill. 

The werewolf dragged the pitiful remains from the car and dropped them on top of a large, flat boulder. 

Then he settled down to feed

As the moon crawled slowly toward the zenith, the beast began to devour all the soft body parts and steaming, glistening organs. He ate her other breast first. He devoured her buttocks, tore out her loins by the roots, and then gnawed on some of her intestines. 

When he finished, he would leave behind only scattered, bloody bones, teeth, and hair. The creature bolted down great pieces of flesh he ripped from Bethany's still-twitching corpse. The hunger was all encompassing; his overdriven metabolism demanded that he feed.

Headlights swept the parking area, and the werewolf snarled, irritated at having his meal interrupted. He faded back into the treeline just beyond the edge of the lot.


Werewolf Moon Ch. 02



For all its affected luxury, the Hotel Royale offered a merely adequate breakfast. Derek Talbot resolved that he would find a nicer place for lunch. Bow Hill -- the alleged resort town where he was staying - boasted one street, a strip that was a half mile long, burgeoning with all manner of restaurants, taverns and hotels. The place reminded him of Gatlinburg. As he drove his rented BMW out toward the main road that led to Winslow Junction, he noted a likely candidate -- Marlowe's Restaurant. Several people had recommended it, and he thought he'd check it out. It appeared to be fairly upscale, which was always reassuring. 

Talbot made the short jaunt into Winslow Junction in less than ten minutes. Now this was more like it -- a small town of 15,000 nestled in one of the majestic forests the Northwest was famous for. 

Prime hunting grounds. 

As he cruised slowly down Aspen Street, he noticed Castellini's Gun Shop on the southeast corner of the intersection with Walnut. He saw a police cruiser with sheriff's department markings. Sheriff Jeff Tomlinson climbed out of the car and went inside the gun shop. Interesting.

Talbot pulled two spaces ahead of the cruiser and parked. He strolled casually up the sidewalk, a copy of the Wall Street Journal tucked under his arm, and sat down on a bench outside Castellini's. The door was open; he could easily hear every word of the conversation between Tomlinson and the owner.

"Let me get this straight, Jeff," George Castellini said. "Silver bullets?"

"Yeah," Tomlinson answered. "I read a journal article that reported they flew truer than lead slugs. Thought I'd check it out."

"Uh huh," Castellini returned, skepticism in his voice. "So happens I have a couple of boxes -- one for a .38 caliber handgun, and the other for a .3030 rifle. Made 'em up for this nutcase big game hunter who said he was tracking down a werewolf. Never saw him again." He paused. "You wouldn't be gunnin' for a werewolf, would you, Jeff?"

Tomlinson chuckled. "Come on, George -- there are no such things as werewolves!"

"Right."

Castellini was silent for a moment. Then he bluntly asked, "By the way -- what happened up in the woods last night? Heard that two kids and a ranger girl got mauled and eaten by some kind of animal."

Tomlinson didn't answer right away, and Castellini just waited. The sheriff sighed. "We think it was a grizzly. Can't talk about it too much yet."

"Well, that's a dirty shame." He paused, somewhat embarrassed. "Jeff, I know you're the sheriff and all, but I still gotta ask you some questions...."

"It's okay George -- it's the law. I'd have to run you in if you didn't. Jeffrey A. Tomlinson, 53 Trailridge Way, Winslow Jun..."

"Okay, okay," Castellini said. "Same info?"

"Yeah."

There was a rustle of paper, and the store owner said, "Say hello to Susie for me."

"Will do. I'm going home in an hour and a half for an early lunch."

Castellini guffawed. "Oh -- one of those lunches, right? No wonder you're always smiling in the afternoon. See you later."

"Bye, George."

Talbot watched the police car pull away, then he hopped into his BMW and consulted the GPS system. He smiled. 53 Trailridge Way was nestled in the forest only about two miles from his hotel. He drove back to the Royale as quickly as he could and stripped naked, then donned a pair of running shoes and shorts. He jogged easily up the trial, but as soon as he got out of sight in the deep woods, he put on a blazing burst of speed and sprinted through the undergrowth, far faster than a normal human being could possibly run. He wasn't even breathing hard as he came to the hillock that overlooked the Tomlinson property. It was rustic, a nice place carved out of the forest and overlooking a tumbling stream. Secluded, with no neighbors in the immediate vicinity. The house had an almost log cabin feel to it. A woman dressed in tight shorts and a tube top was hanging up laundry in the back yard. 

Susie Tomlinson appeared to be in her late thirties. She was a blonde, a little on the high side of voluptuous -- not fat, but fleshy. What was the word -- Rubenesque? She was the kind of woman Italian men would love. She was pretty, even sexy, but definitely not model material. Talbot could see her being passed around like a bottle of wine at a drunken frat house fuck party during her college days. 

He stripped off his shorts and kicked off the Nikes as she went inside. He had come to kill the sheriff. The wife was the proverbial "innocent bystander." She might make a nice appetizer, though. 

Talbot willed the Change to begin; he managed to stifle his cries during the most painful parts of the transformation. Hair sprouted and muscles bulged. Finally he stood up, massive and lethal now, and he snarled. His keen ears picked up the sound of a shower running. He loped down the hillside to the house.

The prowling creature paused, sniffing the air. The back door would not budge at first, but powerful muscles easily forced and destroyed the knob and the lock. The werewolf stealthily slipped inside and stood in the shadows of the darkened house. Its shaggy fur stood on end, tingling in anticipation of the kill. He crept quietly up the steps and waited just outside the master bedroom.

The translucent door panel of the shower stall swung aside, and Susie stepped out. She toweled off and padded across the bedroom carpet. Her naked body was pink and clean and dry. She lay casually across her bed, a contented smile on her face. Jeff would find her like this, hot and ready for him when he came home for 'lunch!' 

She barely caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. 

Something large, dark and furry leaped at her with incredible speed. Sharp fangs and claws gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the window as the beast's right arm began a deadly, downward arc. 

Susie's mouth dropped open in terror, but before she could scream, she no longer had a throat. 

*****

'There's no such thing as a werewolf,' Brianna Lang told herself savagely. 'I don't believe in that superstitious shit!'

The building had emptied out; everyone had left for lunch except for her and Steve Dante -- Sam D'Amato had announced that he was going to take an extended liquid lunch. It had become eerily quiet in the lab, which gave her the creeps.

She gazed at the image on her laptop screen again, the image of the creature that had slaughtered the three luckless victims in the wilderness area. She wanted to pee in her pants from sheer fright every time she looked at the picture of the beast.

She wanted to scream every time she consulted the results of the DNA testing of the semen sample that had been rushed through for her.

'Unable to find match.'

Brianna read further down on the screen and swallowed hard.

'Closest matches: Homo sapiens, .573; Canis lupus lupus, .427.'

Her sample was similar to human semen, and also similar to wolf semen. A blend of both - and neither. Definitely a mutant.

Werewolf?

She recalled the words of Sheriff Tomlinson, and could not repress a shudder. 

'This thing looks like a werewolf, walks like werewolf, and howls like a werewolf. I'd call it a werewolf. What would you call it?'

"God," she whispered. It was almost a moan. "It's got to be some kind of mutation."

"What is it?" Steve Dante queried.

Dante leaned over Brianna's shoulder and peered at the screen. He couldn't speak for several long seconds, and when he finally did, his voice sounded tight.

"Sheriff Tomlinson was right. It looks like a werewolf, walks like a werewolf, and howls like a werewolf - it is a werewolf!"

"Bullshit!" Brianna snapped, visibly shaken. "All the test results are saying is that the sample has characteristics of both human and wolf semen."

"Yeah -- a werewolf!" Dante gritted. "Whatever you want to call it, it's deadly!"

"There's got to be a plausible scientific explanation for it," Brianna said. "If we could've just finished investigating the area..."

Brianna let out a slow breath as she turned back to the computer. She downloaded a disc which contained the autopsy reports of the victims and photographs of the remains, and she added it to the DNA report and the dash cam recording. She saved the file; then she brought it up and clicked on it.

"I'm going to post this on the web, on the F.I. Network," she said with a yawn. "Maybe somebody else has run into something like this. We'll see if we get any bites. I'm curious."

Brianna turned toward Steve Dante and frowned. He was tense. She could see it in the tight lines around his eyes, in his hunched posture.

"Hey, Stevie -- you okay?"

She was shocked to notice there were tears in his eyes.

"Bri -- please don't go back up there -- to that parking area."

She was touched at his concern. This guy actually gave a damn about her! She smiled.

"It's okay, Stevie. There will be rangers and deputies all over the place. What are they going to do -- make me walk back out? Besides, if I get into trouble, I've got this!"

She pulled a government issue .45 automatic pistol out of her backpack.

Steve Dante gasped.

"Holy Christ, Bri!"

"It has specially-made .45 hollow point hunting slugs in it," she said. "It'll drop a grizzly bear; makes an exit wound the size of a softball at ten yards. And I know how to use it. I can show you the marksmanship trophies and ribbons I've won at the gun club. So don't worry -- I'll be fine."

She caressed his cheek.

"It's really sweet of you to be so worried. Thank you."

He smiled softly, and Brianna looked at him as if she was seeing him for the first time.

He was actually kind of handsome under all that hair. And he was so sweet and considerate. He would do anything for her. She read the logo on his tee shirt: 'SELF-PROFESSED GEEK.' She smiled ruefully.

She had wasted so much time in bars and clubs cruising for jocks and hunks, and what had she gotten from it? She had gotten her tits mauled and her ass pinched. She had gotten catcalls and obscene remarks. "Hey, baby -- back that ass up over here so I can lay some pipe!" "Are those real, honey, or do you have stock in Dow-Corning?" Once she had bagged a Seattle Seahawks quarterback -- or so she thought. When she went to suck his cock, she tasted the juices of another of his conquests from earlier that evening.

Brianna later found out that she had been his third girl of the night The son of a bitch hadn't even had the decency to wash his prick!

She pursed her lips. She'd been looking for Superman, and maybe she should have been looking for Clark Kent!

Assuming Clark Kent had a beard and a modified Afro, anyway!

She kissed him.

Something unexpected happened. The flame that neither of them realized had been smoldering between them ignited with a bright flash. They were all over each other, groping and petting, their tongues meshing and sparring like a pair of fencing foils. He was a surprisingly good kisser -- fantastically good, actually. Brianna was beside herself with lust. She managed to shrug out of her red denim shirt. She hadn't worn a bra, so her magnificent breasts bounced and bobbled enticingly.

"Oh, God! Oh, God!" she moaned, kneading and squeezing herself.

And then Steve pulled away. He appeared to be terrified.

"What?!" Brianna squealed, her voice high and frantic.

"Ummm....I-I-I d-don't know, Bri!" he stammered. "Should we be d-d-doing this?"

"Yes, we should!" she cried. "You're not leaving me hanging like this, you son of a bitch! Now fuck me!"

"B-but I've never done...th-this is m-my first t-time...I mean, with a real girl!"

"Then this is your lucky day, Stevie!"

She practically tore his 'SELF-PROFESSED GEEK' tee shirt off his body as she wriggled out of her cutoffs and bikini briefs. Then she pulled down his jeans and boxers and gasped.

"Oh....my!" she breathed. "Oh, Stevie! Nice slide rule!"

It was long and thick, prime meat in Brianna's book. And he was ready; he wasn't going to need any foreplay.

Brianna hurried over to the door and threw the security bolt. Steve Dante's breath caught in his throat as he admired her slender, naked form. It was obvious that Brianna Lang took very good care of herself; her soft, supple curves bore testimony to that. 

"If Sam came in and caught us, we'd give him another reason to get pissed off at me!"

Steve burst out laughing and pulled her into the circle of his arms. Now that he had calmed down, his kisses were soft and slow, and he hunted gently over her body with his lips until Brianna was beside herself with lust and frustration. 

Then he knelt in front of her, and his tongue found her most intimate place, probing the thick wet tangle of bronze curls between her legs. Her sex opened to him like the petals of a moist, pink flower. He was incredible; his tongue sent jolts of electricity through her nervous system..

Her eyes widened.

"Unngghhhh! My God, what are you doOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAHHH........."

No one had ever eaten her pussy so thoroughly. He knew just what to do -- when to lick, when to nibble, when to use his fingers. She had no idea it was beginner's luck. It wasn't long before her body shook in the grip of a wrenching climax, and her rubbery knees gave out.

"Enough!" she finally moaned. "Enough!" 

Steve picked her up and carried her to the kitchenette where he promptly laid her on the table. He spread her legs and entered her smoothly, and fell into a forceful but gentle rhythm. 

He was awkward and he came almost immediately. He pulled out of her and blasted his come all over her belly and vagina, much to her dismay. But she was patient with him, and coaxed an erection out of him with her talented mouth.

He did much better the second time.

Neither of them could speak for quite a while. Steve recovered first, and noticed that Brianna was still breathing hard.

"Hey, Bri -- you okay?"

Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled sweetly up at him.

She scooted off the table and threw her arms around his neck.

"That was nice -- the second time! I think you've got some potential, with a little work on your technique. I feel like I've been looking for you all my life. Someone who is a great lover, but who's also sweet, gentle, trustworthy..."

"You're making me sound like a Boy Scout!"

She kissed him and laughed.

"A geek Boy Scout! God, we'd better clean this place up. Look at that puddle on the table! I hope we have something to disinfect that with!"

Steve shook his head. "Just paper towels and water -- maybe some dish soap. We could get some alcohol from the lab, but that would really stink up the kitchenette. No sense in making it obvious."

"Then we'll have to do the best we can," Brianna said. "I hope nobody wants to eat there for a while!"

They laughed and set about tidying up the area. Then they cleaned themselves up and got dressed, and were back at their stations, hard at work, before anyone arrived.

It wasn't long before the staff members came straggling back in from lunch. Sam D'Amato came back earlier than expected as well.

"Sam! I thought you were going to be out for a while," Brianna said.

D'Amato shook his head. "I just drove around. Gave me too damned much time to think. I need to get back to work." He headed for his office, and as he passed the kitchenette, he stopped up short, frowning. "Anybody smell something funny?" he queried. "When's the last time we cleaned out the fridge?"

It was all Brianna and Steve could do to keep from bursting out laughing.

*****

Sheriff Jeff Tomlinson steered his car up the long winding driveway to his house. It had been a rough morning. Folks in Winslow Junction were on edge, and asking a lot of questions about the "animal attack." It was wearing on his nerves.

He smiled. A session with Susie would drive away all his tension. He thought of her nice, big bubble butt. She loved to take it up the ass, and after all these years, she was still good and tight. She swore by some kind of sphincter exercises she did, and he couldn't argue with the results!

Tomlinson parked by the front porch. He unlocked the door and strolled inside.

"Hey, Suze -- I'm home."

No answer. He smiled, and his loins tingled. This was going to be one of those days. She was probably waiting for him up on the bed with her jiggly rump in the air, her asshole well greased with KY Jelly! He entered the bedroom.

Hey, hotass, what do you say we...."

His anguished scream rent the stillness of the house. He tore his gun from its holster.

Susie Tomlinson's mangled torso was on the bed. The lower half of her body lay with the legs askew at a crazy angle by the bathroom door. Her face had been clawed into unrecognizability. Her breasts and genitals had been devoured, as had her big, beautiful ass. Entrails were strewn all over the room.

It was hard to believe that this bloody thing on the gore-soaked bed had once been his voluptuous wife. Whatever had done this to her had slashed and mutilated every square inch of her flesh. Her throat was gone; there was blood everywhere, splashed on the walls, the floor, even the ceiling. She lay in a great pool of it. Tomlinson's mind reeled crazily at his grisly discovery. He wanted to scream, but could not. It seemed to him that there was more blood and gore in this room than one human body could possibly hold. His stomach turned over and over, but somehow he controlled it. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Oh, Suze..."

A floorboard creaked behind him, and the hair on his neck stood on end.

Tomlinson whirled around -- too late! Powerful jaws bit down, and he screamed in agony as his gun hand flew across the room. Blood spurted from the stump of his wrist.

He slipped and fell, and the werewolf had him. 

Tomlinson found he could not scream, even though this creature was the most horrifying apparition he had ever seen, even though the pain inflicted by its raking claws was excruciating. He lay on his back on the floor, watching in a sort of nightmarish fascination for as long as he lived, watching as his blood and chunks of torn flesh and great scraps of his uniform flew in all directions. 

As the huge, shaggy head lunged for his throat, Tomlinson realized with a start that the misshapen thing he had seen bouncing off a wall was one of his mangled, severed arms. 

It was the last thing he ever saw.

TO BE CONTINUED... 



Werewolf Moon Ch. 03



The lunch was exquisite, and his waitress even more so.

'Liz Brannigan,' her name tag read.

Derek Talbot watched her through hooded eyes as he finished his steak salad. She was petite and slender, barely five feet tall, with a slim waist and narrow hips. Her figure was almost boyish, which he found quite stimulating. Her breasts were nicely sized, and round; not too big, but not "mosquito bites," either. She was tiny -- and fragile. 

But it was her face that stopped him in his tracks.

It was the face of a goddess: high cheekbones, almond-shaped jade green eyes, lush lips. Her blue-black hair was short and curly. There was obviously some Asian heritage, and the ethnic combination imparted a truly exotic aspect to her appearance.

'Marlowe's' was the restaurant's name. It was upscale and trendy, and it had the virtue of being close to his hotel. He was glad now that he had come here.

She stood in the order expediting alcove, a pot of coffee in her hand, talking to a fellow waitress, a cute, slightly chunky blonde named Emily. They were discussing him. He could hear every word, as if they were standing right next to his table.

"God, Liz. This is your lucky day. Look at that hunk! He's hot!"

"I know," Liz answered. "He's making me hot. It's hard to concentrate."

Talbot smiled slightly. One of the benefits of his "Curse" was that it gifted him with a muscular physique, and an irresistible animal magnetism. He was lean and lithe; he knew he looked good in his denim shirt and snug Levis. And he could turn on the charm, ensuring that the beautiful Liz Brannigan would be putty in his hands.

He brushed a lock of his bushy chestnut hair off his forehead and fixed his waitress with an appraising, blue-eyed gaze as she approached. She was indeed hot. She was wet between her legs; her musky scent was pungent and arousing. She was also exuding a tidal wave of pheromones, and he could feel his cock harden in response. He fought down the urge with great effort.

"More coffee, sir?"

"Not just now, thanks," Talbot replied. "I'd appreciate it if you'd check back in a bit, though."

She beamed at him and checked on a nearby table. Talbot followed her with an unabashedly appraising stare. He always chose the best. She was indeed the thoroughbred of this stable.

Yes, he would enjoy breaking her.......

The world was Derek Lawrence Talbot's oyster. At twenty-eight, he was the President and CEO of Talbot Industries, a multibillion dollar computer software and internet consulting corporation. The company was becoming a major player in the industry, thanks mostly to his drive and determination. He had taken over the company four years earlier, at the tender age of twenty-four, when his father had disappeared on a vacation to Tibet. Most industry analysts had expected Talbot Industries to go right down the drain. Derek Lawrence Talbot was too young and inexperienced, they said. They started writing the company's obituary.

But Derek had done his homework. He was a prodigy who had grown up with computers and software. He knew as much as -- if not more than - the men and women who designed them. And he was ruthless and driven, with a take-no-prisoners attitude. He relished his new position, cutting the fat out of the company and surrounding himself with people who were as driven as he was. Within two years, Talbot's market share had doubled. This year it had tripled.

Talbot watched the petite Liz Brannigan as she glided from one station to the next. He had never had a steady girlfriend, nor had he wanted one. There had always been plenty of women, plenty of sex. But no relationships. His view of women had been shaped very early on by a cold, brittle mother who had no use for him, and a father who traveled a great deal -- especially during the time of the full moon. His mother tolerated his father only because he locked himself away during the Change - and, of course, she tolerated him for his money.

It was only later that Derek would learn that his mother's icy attitude toward him was molded by fear of what he might -- and eventually did -- become. 

Instead of learning about life and the "birds and the bees" from loving parents, he had been exposed to a twisted view that warped and damaged his impressionable psyche. He had stumbled upon it quite by accident. He was only ten years old at the time. He was outside the cottage of the gardener of the sprawling Talbot estate, when he heard a woman screaming. Curious -- and alarmed -- he had peered through the window and gasped in shock.

The gardener was watching a porn video that depicted three men raping a young, naked girl. She was on her hands and knees. One man lay under her thrusting into her vagina, another stood behind her sodomizing her, while a third shoved his organ down her throat. When they finished with her, they ejaculated all over her.

Then the attacker standing behind her yanked her head back by the hair and slit her throat from ear to ear with a huge Bowie knife.

As the girl lay jerking on the ground, blood spewing from her slashed throat, Derek saw that the gardener was masturbating, and he came at the moment the girl shuddered and died on the TV screen, his semen shooting into the air. 

At the same instant, as he watched the dying girl convulsing on the ground, Derek experienced a tingling in his groin that he had never known before in his young life. At his tender age, he still had difficulty separating fantasy from reality. He didn't realize that it was only a movie, that the girl was an actress and the death was simulated.

Watching the girl die -- watching the power the depraved men wielded over her -- intrigued and thrilled him somehow. 

The next day, while the gardener was out on the grounds, Derek 'liberated' his stash of pornographic videos. All of them were rape and bondage movies, and some "snuff" flicks; some of them featured the simulated murder and sexual mutilation of the victims, which enthralled him even more. 

From there, Derek graduated to the internet, which he could navigate expertly, even as a small boy. He frequented websites like "rapedandroped," "ravishedbrides," and "snuffbabes.com." 

In the absence of parental guidance, Derek Talbot developed into a budding sexual psychopath and misogynist. In a society where it was somehow acceptable to dehumanize girls and young women, he was brainwashed into the notion that females were sexual playthings, objects that gave pleasure to men, to be used -- and discarded -- by those men.

Then, when he reached the age of sixteen, something happened that changed his life forever.

Her name was Gretchen Farlow, a hot, sensuous redhead, a senior girl who was the slut of McKinley Academy, the upscale private school near Seattle that Derek attended. She seduced him. She took him out into the woods under the romantic full moon, and they had sex.

And when Derek climaxed, he Changed.

Pinned under the hulking, metamorphosing body that had been Derek Talbot, Gretchen's agonized screams rang through the woods as the werewolf slaughtered her, tore her apart and ate her. He took special pleasure in devouring her breasts and her sex -- destroying the parts of her that made her a woman.

As news of the "animal attack" spread, Derek's father John surmised what had happened. He took the boy aside and somberly related the story of the Talbot family and the Curse of the Werewolf. As Derek listened, he realized the power he now possessed. He barely heard John Talbot's self-pitying drivel about how the Curse was a terrible burden, and how horrible it was to kill. 

Hell, he wanted to kill!

Derek could only remember how exciting, how liberating it had been to watch the redheaded bitch die, blood spurting from her savaged throat and mangled, naked body. He had fed on her fear almost as much as he had her flesh and blood. The expression of sheer terror and agony on her once beautiful, slashed face, the mouth frozen forever into a perfect little "o" of horror, aroused him beyond belief.

Even as he contemplated the freedom he would enjoy as a werewolf, his father had arranged for him to be locked up "for his own good" every month during the cycle of the full moon. He would spend his nights in a maximum security cell, raging and howling impotently, searching vainly for escape, until the sun rose the next morning.

And each night, in a nearby cell, he could hear his father snarling and roaring as well.

Then when his father had disappeared four years ago, Derek Talbot had taken control. He had only recently learned to Change at will, and had kept that ability secret. One by one, the handful of men who were charged with his monthly incarcerations "disappeared," and his secret had vanished with them. Now he was free to run -- and kill -- on his own terms.

His mother had left of her own accord. So great was her fear of Derek that she left it all behind - the money, the houses, the cars - everything.

He sighed. He had enjoyed slaying the sheriff and his slutty wife that morning. He was worried, though, that he hadn't found the silver bullets Tomlinson had purchased. He had torn the police cruiser apart - literally - to no avail. He was fairly sure that most - if not all - of the other law enforcement officers felt that the whole silver bullet scenario was nothing but a superstitious fable, but it would behoove him not to take any chances.

Liz Brannigan was returning.

"Anything else for you today, sir?

"Thank you, no." He flashed his most disarming smile at her. "Liz Brannigan. Funny, if you don't mind my saying so, you don't look like a Brannigan."

She blushed.

"My mom's Japanese, and my dad's Irish." 

"And you're, what, then -- Japirish or Irinese?"

They both laughed.

"I guess I'm a mixed up kid," Liz answered. She stifled a yawn.

"Long day?" Talbot queried.

"Yeah. I work here for another half hour, until one. Then I'm off until five, come back and work until ten. And then I go to my second job!"

"And I thought I was busy!" He scribbled something on a business card, then slipped a couple of bills from his wallet. He handed the money, the business card, and the check to her.

"Well, Liz Brannigan, you are a thoroughly delightful and beautiful young lady. Keep the change."

She watched him go in dismay. Then she unfolded the money. 

There was a hundred dollar bill on top -- and...and a thousand dollar bill underneath! For a $25 check?! She held the thousand dollar bill up to the light, flabbergasted, and she could see the red and blue fibers imbedded in it and the watermark, and the portrait of Grover Cleveland. It appeared to be authentic. The business card was for a Don Mannix of Global Exporters, whose title was 'troubleshooter.' The note on the back read, 'Room 203, Hotel Royale. How about a room service dinner of steak and lobster later, and maybe....dessert? Before and after dinner? See you a little after one.'

She arched her eyebrows, and her face flushed. The nerve of him -- thinking she would be swept off her feet by a handsome face, a charming smile, those intense blue eyes, and that...that hot body! He was bold, she'd give him that. Super cocky and confident. She didn't know whether to be flattered, incensed, frightened or excited. 

She decided she was excited -- very excited.

Liz Brannigan found herself counting down the minutes until one o'clock.

*****

Text © 2007 by Vorcla. "Van Helsing," and Gabriel Van Helsing are © Universal Pictures. This story was created out of love for those characters, films, and that genre, and is not meant to infringe on those copyrights. We're just borrowing the characters; we'll put 'em back where we found 'em when we're finished playing with 'em!

THREE AND A HALF MONTHS EARLIER SOMEWHERE IN THE DANIEL BOONE NATIONAL FOREST EASTERN KENTUCKY

'Something's wrong,' Gabriel Van Helsing thought. 'They should be in position by now!'

They had to lie low. The forests of Eastern Kentucky were very dense, but they had not yet completely leafed out in early May. He peered down at the clearing through his night vision goggles and winced.

The huge bonfires painted the clearing with the flickering, garish light of Hades. An ancient, rotting wooden coffin, apparently full of soil and dust, was propped up on a bier. A beautiful young auburn-haired woman, naked except for a long black cloak and a leather belt, stood next to the casket. She raised a serrated dagger in her right hand. Its silver blade gleamed crimson in the firelight.

Two terrified young girls dressed in white blouses and plaid skirts struggled in the clutches of a pair of enormous werewolves. 

Schoolgirls -- probably from some nearby Catholic high school, judging by their uniforms.

On the open ground in front of the makeshift stage, hundreds of werewolves milled about, snarling and growling impatiently. A hulking beast of a man in a blood-colored robe climbed the steps to the platform, his shaved head shining in the night.

"Attend your mistress, Lady Deidra!" he bellowed, motioning to the cloaked woman wielding the knife.

The werewolves only grumbled more loudly. Deidra surreptitiously touched her belt buckle, and the creatures calmed down somewhat. 

Van Helsing studied the wide leather belt around the Deidra's slender waist. There were small blinking lights and touchsensors in the buckle. Microchips? Was that how she was controlling the werewolves?

The fresh-faced young woman lying prone on the cool ground next to him was getting antsy. Like him, she was dressed in a camouflage uniform and helmet, and outfitted with all manner of lethal weapons and high tech equipment. Tessa McCallum turned toward him.

"Gabe, we've got to do something now!" she hissed sotto voce. "They're going to kill those two little girls!"

"We've got to wait, Tessa," he countered. The anguish in his voice was palpable. "We move too soon, four months of work goes down the drain. If this wolfpack is turned loose, hundreds may die -- or be turned to werewolves themselves. So if I have to sacrifice two innocent lives to stop that, then that's what I'll have to do -- whether I like it or not! We start blasting away and those weres will scatter to the four winds, and it could take us years to hunt them all down. I haven't gotten the signal from Taggart yet, and I can't raise him."

The woman on the platform nodded. The red-robed hulk roughly stripped the screaming girls naked. The blonde girl was slender and beautiful, with firm, pert breasts. The redhead was pretty, too, although still a little plump with baby fat. 

"What are they doing?" Tessa asked in a strangled voice.

"Resurrecting a vampire."

"What?" She was aghast; her eyebrows climbed toward her hairline.

"The werewolves are probably being controlled by microchip implants and a transmitter in the woman's belt buckle -- not the most reliable method. A vampire, however, can control hordes of werewolves and other dark creatures with ease."

"But who would want to control a pack of..of werewolves? And....why?"

Van Helsing shook his head.

"As to why...who knows? Extreme evil needs no reason. And as to who...."

He hesitated.

"Maybe Satan himself." He clicked on the mouthpiece of his helmet. "Christ! Come on, Taggart -- where in hell are you?"

The young blonde girl was strung up by her ankles head down over the open coffin from the limb of a tree that hung over the platform. Her piercing shrieks of terror split the night as she swung back and forth, and the werewolf pack began to howl in agitation.

"These virgins, both of whom have reached their eighteenth season, will be sacrificed to revive and nourish our mistress, Giselle du Meliere, the Queen of the Vampires!" the cloaked woman intoned. 

Van Helsing stiffened. He paled, and his eyes widened in horror. 

"Gods, no!" 

"What?" Tessa's face was etched in concern.

"Giselle du Meliere lived in 15th Century France," he said. "She was an innocent eighteen-year-old girl, the daughter of a French nobleman. She was studying in Romania, and was the first victim to be 'turned' by Count Dracula , when he began his reign of terror. As a vampire, she is evil incarnate - as dangerous and cunning as Dracula himself. If she is revived....." 

"My God!"

"I must stop her -- again," Van Helsing said. "It was I who........staked her and put her in that coffin in 1882."

Tessa shivered. She had to remind herself that Gabriel Van Helsing was an immortal. He was so handsome and virile. He appeared to be in his mid thirties, and yet he was hundreds of years old. Sometimes it creeped her out.

Deidra's lips moved in a silent chant. Then she shouted, "Dark Lord -- guide my hand!" 

Suddenly she buried the huge dagger between the blonde girl's spread legs with a meaty 'chunk.' The girl's piercing screams shattered the stillness of the forest as Deidra savagely sliced downward, gutting her victim from groin to collarbone. Blood and viscera rained down, flooding the interior of the coffin. 

The butchered girl's companion shrieked and passed out from sheer fright, and the werewolves, maddened by the smell of blood and raw meat, set up a hair-raising cacophony of howling. Deidra tapped a series of several buttons on her belt buckle this time, and the beasts finally quieted down.

Van Helsing closed his eyes. Beside him, Tessa McCallum wretched quietly.

The contents of the coffin began to boil and smoke. The girl's entrails dissolved and her blood was greedily absorbed by the bubbling soil. Something began to coalesce and take shape in the midst of the roiling mess. As the scarlet mist cleared, they could see what it was.

A skeleton!

As they watched in horror, blood vessels, nerves and muscle began to grow over the bones. Within seconds, pink skin began to form. Long, flowing raven hair grew down to the shoulders of the now fully formed body.

A beautiful young girl lay in the coffin now, where only moldering soil had been. She was as naked as the day she had been born....over 600 years earlier.

A last few droplets of blood from the dangling corpse dripped onto her too-red lips. A pink tongue flicked out and licked them away.

Suddenly, bright green eyes snapped open wide. The girl in the coffin sat up abruptly with a scream of terror.

"Why have you awakened me?" she demanded, her voice thick with anguish. "I was at peace!"

The werewolves on the stage and in the clearing suddenly grew silent. As one, they prostrated themselves before the newly awakened Giselle du Meliere. She climbed out of the coffin and stood on the platform, looking for all the world like a sweet-faced young girl, a terrified, innocent eighteen year old.

Van Helsing grabbed his compound crossbow and reached for a sharpened wooden stake.

"Wh-what time is this?" Giselle asked.

"It is May 2nd, 2007, Mistress -- the night of the full moon."

Giselle closed her eyes, and a single tear tracked down her smooth cheek. "I have been at peace for almost 130 years, and you have disturbed my rest."

Suddenly she cried out and went to her knees in pain, clutching her stomach. "S-so hungry!" she sobbed.

A werewolf stood up and pulled the unconscious redheaded girl to her feet, rousing her. A sudden, terrifying change transformed Giselle's guileless features. Her lips drew back over her teeth in a feral snarl, revealing long, vicious fangs. Her skin turned the color of putty, and her eyes became as deep red as a pool of blood, and glowed like twin coals. 

The redheaded girl revived just in time for the attack.

She shrieked as the vampire sank razor-sharp fangs into her soft, tender throat. Giselle tore out the jugular and drank greedily. She drained every drop of blood from her victim within minutes, and the redheaded girl's bladder emptied helplessly as she died.

As her corpse began to sag toward the platform, Giselle grabbed it by the neck. She effortlessly tossed the girl's body out into the crowd of werewolves with one arm, and the beasts were noisily tearing apart their treat before it hit the ground.




Werewolf Moon Ch. 03



Giselle turned, wild-eyed, her face covered with blood. She yanked the blonde's gutted corpse from the ropes that held her ankles, and tossed her body to the crowd of lycanthropes as well. Her carcass met a similar fate.

Stronger now, Giselle turned to Deidra. She picked up the cloaked woman by her throat.

"Now -- you will explain to me why I was awakened!"

The red-robed giant lumbered forward to come to Deidra's aid. Without sparing him a glance, the vampire lashed out with her free arm and decapitated him. His head bounced off the platform, and was immediately fought over by three werewolves. His body sank to its knees, blood spurting from the thick stump of its neck, and then collapsed on the floor of the stage.

Shaggy, thickly-muscled arms dragged it off the platform and down to the ground.

"A-all will be e-explained in time, my M-mistress," Deidra wheezed in terror, her eyes bulging. "Those who c-command me won't arrive until after sunset this coming night. They have an offer for you. For now, won't you t-take command of your army?'

"My 'army?'" Giselle released Deidra, who shakily stood massaging her throat. "Hah! This motley collection of mangy, flea-bitten curs? I have commanded legions of thousands of the undead!"

Van Helsing's earpiece crackled.

"Gabe, it's Vic. We're in position -- a mouse couldn't get out of there now."

"What the hell took so long?" Van Helsing hissed. "And where's Taggart? Two innocent girls were murdered while we were waiting for you!" 

"I'm sorry -- couldn't be helped. Long story. We ran into some....resistance. I'll tell you later."

"How bad?" 

"Four dead -- including Taggart."

Van Helsing closed his eyes. Then he loaded the stake into his crossbow. He turned to Tessa.

"Be careful!"

She smiled and fingered the 14-K cross charm she wore on a fine gold chain around her neck. "Don't worry - I will. This is my good luck charm; you gave it to me."

Van Helsing nodded. Then he clicked his helmet's comm link. "Let's hit it!" he snapped. He sighted the crosshairs of his bow's scope on Giselle's chest, just to the left of center. He fired, and the stake shot away toward its target with a high-pitched "twang."

Giselle du Meliere saw it coming. She grabbed Deidra by the shoulders and planted the cloaked woman in front of her, using her as a shield. Van Helsing's missile pierced Deidra's back with a hollow 'thud' and protruded out between her breasts. Streams of crimson gushed from the wound and poured from her mouth.

"M-mis..t...tress?" she burbled, choking on her own blood.

And then all hell broke loose. Submachine guns opened fire, spewing silver bullets as Van Helsing's troops poured out of the woods. Grenades arced into the crowd of werewolves and exploded violently, flinging dozens of the beasts high into the air. Silver shrapnel flew everywhere. The mangled corpses that hit the ground were human.

Giant bat-like wings sprouted from Giselle's back, and she flung Deidra aside as she launched herself into the air. She landed feet first on Van Helsing and slammed him against the thick bole of a tree before he could aim his bow again. He cried out in pain and went down, his helmet tumbling off down the hillside. He was sitting slumped against the tree, helpless. Panic gripped him when he realized his arms and legs were useless; he had no feeling from the neck down. Giselle knelt in front of him and repeatedly smashed a fist into his face, driving his head back, slamming it against the tree trunk until he was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.

"YOU!" she snarled. "How can you possibly still be alive in this time?"

"I...have connections," Van Helsing gasped as his blood ran in his eyes.

"You think you are amusing? I do not find you so."

The vampire backhanded him again and again, and his head snapped from side to side with the force of the teeth-rattling blows as his blood sprayed around the clearing. Tessa charged forward to help him, a sharpened stake in her hands. Just as she was about to plunge it into Giselle, the vampire slammed a locked arm palm-first into Tessa's face. The young woman was propelled violently backward and rolled down the hill, losing her helmet as well. She was abruptly stopped by a large gray boulder, and lay stunned, moaning in pain. Blood streamed from her broken nose and smashed mouth.

Giselle listened to the sound of machine gun fire and the howls of dying werewolves. She snarled. "Let's even the odds, shall we?" she said. She raised her hand over her head

Tendrils of blood-red mist began to creep along the ground. Within moments, the woods were filled with the billowing scarlet fog. A half conscious Van Helsing could see little of the area beyond where the stunned Tessa lay just a few yards away. The chattering of the guns ceased, to be replaced by the confused voices of Van Helsing's troops.

Then suddenly, a fearsome roaring shattered the sudden calm, and the agonized screams of dying men and women joined the din. The werewolves were on the attack now; they could see in the fog, and the tide had turned. The humans were functionally blind. They were easy prey for the savage beasts.

Tessa stirred. She lurched drunkenly to her feet and shook her head. Giselle's smile was savage as she raised her right hand over her head like a claw, her eyes blazing like twin ruby lasers. "Come to me, little one," she crooned.

Tessa jerked upright, as if she was a marionette on strings. She stared fixedly ahead with a sleepwalker's stare.

"You are indeed beautiful, my little one," the vampire whispered. "Take off your clothes so that I may admire all of your beauty."

"Tessa -- don't!" Van Helsing cried. "Fight it!"

But Tessa was deeply in thrall to Giselle du Meliere. She peeled off her camouflage jumpsuit and wriggled out of her panties, then slipped off her bra. She even kicked off her shoes, but she didn't take off her socks. She had the body of an athlete. She was small breasted, lean and supple, like a runner. Her nipples were hard in the chill night air. She shivered, her lower lip quivering. Her smooth skin puckered into goosflesh.

Something gleamed on Tessa's neck. The cross charm.

Giselle hissed and whirled away from the young woman, throwing an arm in front of her eyes. "That charm!" the vampire snarled. "Remove it now and throw it away!"

Tessa obediently unclasped the necklace and tossed it aside, and then she willingly walked into Giselle's deadly embrace. Their naked bodies came together. Tessa gasped and moaned. "Y...you're so cold," she quavered.

"As you will soon be as well, little one," Giselle murmured. Woman and vampire kissed, and Tessa gagged. Giselle forced herself on her prey, and before too long Tessa began to respond, moaning and thrusting her hips in arousal. Giselle probed Tessa's sex, spreading open her lips with two fingers, and a stream of her juices spattered on the ground. 

Suddenly, Giselle pulled away and sank her fangs into Tessa's tender throat. She sucked voraciously.

"Noooooo!" Van Helsing screamed, but there was nothing he could do.

With a prodigious effort, Giselle finally yanked herself away from the young woman's torn throat, gasping, her face smeared with blood. Tessa was turning blue; she was dying. The vampire took a sharp thumbnail and sliced a deep cut in her left breast, just above her nipple, so that blood flowed. She shoved Tessa's head down, and the woman feebly sucked like a baby nursing at her mother's teats. Giselle's blood streamed from the wound into Tessa's mouth as Van Helsing shrieked in impotent rage. Once Tessa had ingested Giselle's blood, she, too, would be doomed to forever walk the night as one of the undead. The vampire arched her back in an orgasm, and ran her tongue across her upper lip. Her own icewater juices ran down the insides of her legs.

"Yesssssss," she hissed. "Now you are.....hhhhhhhhhhh......m ine, little one."

Tessa sagged forward like a rag doll into Giselle's arms. The vampire's fangs slashed again, and she finished draining her prey. She let Tessa's limp corpse slump to the ground; then she pushed the body with her foot so it tumbled down the slope. The vampire queen smiled triumphantly and returned her attention to the sobbing Van Helsing.

"She was your cunt, no, mon cherie?" she taunted. "Your lover? Now that she has been turned, you will have to share her with me. But we can have the ménage a trois, no?"

Van Helsing's tears mixed with the blood on his cheeks in a watery pink cascade. He spat in her face. "Go to hell, bitch!" he howled.

Giselle merely smiled. "I've already been there, mon cherie," she said, wiping the gobbet of his saliva off her cheek. "Such delicious irony, no? The great Gabriel Van Helsing, vaunted vampire slayer and inestimable monster hunter, turned into a vampire by little Giselle du Meliere. You will die tonight, along with your troops, but this coming night you will rise again to be with me as my consort. Your troops, alas, will be reduced to werewolf dung."

Van Helsing could hear the screams of his soldiers growing less frequent now, as the triumphant howling of werewolves echoed through the trees. If he could kill her, the fog would lift. But how....

Giselle tore open his shirt front. "I promise you, mon cherie, that your death will be exquisite, pleasurable."

She kissed him, and Van Helsing nearly threw up from the taste of hundreds of years of death and corruption. She licked the blood off his face; her icy breasts pressed against his skin. Her body was as cold as the deepest winter day in January, and Van Helsing shuddered. Her tongue traced its way down his body, lapping off his blood. He could feel her clawlike fingernails tearing bloody grooves in his chest. He started.

He could feel her fingernails!

Van Helsing realized that sensation was returning to his legs, and that his arms now felt normal, although he was still numb from the waist down.

Suddenly, a werewolf roared in triumph nearby, and a woman screamed in consummate agony. There was a good deal of frenzied thrashing in the brush; then the distinct sound of chewing and crunching could be heard, and the woman's shrieks doubled in intensity. 

She was being eaten alive!

The screaming abruptly stopped. The naked torso of a woman, its head and arms torn off, sailed into the mist-shrouded clearing. A lycanthrope dashed through the fog and grabbed the mangled prize in his jaws and fled with it, trailing intestines behind, while another werewolf ran alongside in hot pursuit, ripping a breast from the bloody remains and swallowing it whole as he ran. Then he managed to sink his fangs into the belly, and a vicious, snarling tug of war began over the carcass.

Van Helsing desperately glanced over the ground, looking for a weapon. He had to find some way to defeat Giselle to save the remnants of his troops. He saw what he needed lying on the ground near his right hand - the stake that had dropped from his crossbow when Giselle had slammed into him. Could he get to it? He stretched out his hand; his fingers brushed against its roughened wood surface. If he could only get a grip on it......

The vampire squatted in front of him. Her smile grew bestial as she bared her fangs, and her eyes shimmered into pools of blood. "You will enjoy this, mon cherie. I will make you come!"

She attacked, burying her fangs in his jugular, and began to suck. Van Helsing moaned, but it was a throaty moan of sheer pleasure. The sensation of her fangs in his neck, his blood gushing down her throat as she sucked, was the most intense source of pleasure he had ever known. It would be so easy just to give in.....

And then, before she even realized what was happening, Van Helsing finally grabbed the sharpened stake and savagely drove it to the hilt into her chest in an explosion of blood. Giselle shrieked and convulsed; her wings receded, and he pressed his advantage, falling on top of her and driving the wood deeper into her. Then he grabbed a rock and hammered the stake in all the way.

Then Giselle du Meliere, the vampire, reverted back into Giselle du Meliere, the innocent young girl. 

Her beautiful face was wreathed in a radiant smile as blood trickled from the corners of her mouth. "M-Mama...I have b-been released......" she gurgled. She turned to Van Helsing. "Th...thank y-you..."

Her head lolled to one side and she died.

Again.

The fog lifted almost immediately. The stuttering of machine guns began anew, and the tide shifted back in favor of Van Helsing's soldiers. The death cries of werewolves rang out through the trees.

Suddenly the forest lit up as bright as day as spotlights flooded the area. Two helicopter gunships, RAH-66 Comanches on stealth approach, opened fire with 20 mm cannons and specially-designed Hellfire missiles and assorted rockets. The choppers had been called in as reinforcements when the red mist had filled the forest. The werewolves were mowed down like tenpins now; the ground troops cheered and pressed their own attack with renewed vigor. The lycans were bracketed from above and below.

It was over within moments. The last werewolf lay kicking on the ground, quickly reverting to her human form as she died.

Van Helsing sat wearily against the tree as his troops mopped up. Vic Childress trudged slowly up the hillside.

"All the bodies need to be cremated," Van Helsing said without looking up. "The werewolves, our troops, all of them. You need to cut off the vampire bitch's head and fill her mouth with garlic, and burn it away from her body. We need to do the same...with Tessa. Use thermipalm to cremate them; that's hot enough that there should be nothing identifiable left behind from any of the bodies. I want a gunship to hover and scatter the ashes when the fire's out."

Childress nodded. As he turned to leave, Van Helsing added, "And I need a torch from the bonfire."

A young soldier ran and brought one back, and before their horrified eyes, Gabriel Van Helsing pressed the flaming brand against his wounded neck, screaming as the gagging stench of charred flesh wafted through the air. He nearly passed out; then as smoke curled up from the horrible, blackened burn, his trembling fingers grabbed a bottle of holy water from a pouch on his utility belt, and he liberally splashed the liquid on the wound.

Within moments, the flesh had totally healed. Not even Giselle's fang marks remained.

Van Helsing was to his feet by Childress and the soldier who had brought the torch. They half-dragged and half-carried him over to the clearing where Tessa's naked body lay, pale as snow now. He sagged to his knees and sat on his heels next to her, and his shoulders shook with silent sobs. He slowly raised his head.

"Get me a stake and a hammer," he ordered.

"Gabe," Childress began softly, "I can do this...."

"Just get me the fucking hammer!" Van Helsing cried, distraught.

Vic Childress nodded. He walked off, and returned moments later with the implements Van Helsing needed. The vampire slayer's lips moved in silent prayer. Then he rammed the stake to the hilt into Tessa's chest with one mighty blow, just to the left of center, as blood arced into the air.

The "dead" woman sat up, screaming, clutching at Van Helsing's arm. She stared at him in horrified disbelief, as if she had just awakened from a nightmare.

"G....Gabe? What.....happened... ."

Then she slumped back on the ground, fangs gleaming in her open mouth.

Tears streaming down his face, Van Helsing slid a long bayonet from its sheath and decapitated Tessa. He drew on thick gloves and stuffed her mouth full of garlic from a pouch on his weapons belt. Vic Childress took the severed, dripping head from Van Helsing, while two of his men picked up Tessa's headless corpse and lugged it away.

Something glinted in the midst of the gore where Van Helsing had beheaded her. He bent down, heedless of the blood. His fingers closed over a charm. Tessa's body had rolled atop the 14-K cross charm she wore on a fine gold chain around her neck.

Her good luck charm.

Van Helsing threw back his head and loosed a scream of raw anguish.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO...... ............. ."

Gabriel Van Helsing awoke with a gasp. He had fallen asleep at the computer terminal again. He rubbed his eyes.

They had gone into the compound in Kentucky with 257 troops and had come out with 84. It had been a bloodbath. He had lost many friends, and.....Tessa. They never had discovered who was behind the unholy convocation of werewolves and vampires, although he had heard rumors that the CEO of a mining company who was an aficionado of the occult had wanted to terrorize the residents of counties bordering the National Forest and drive them away from their property. The residential areas sat on some rich coal veins. His company could buy the property for a song and strip mine it once it was abandoned. There wasn't much incentive to stay when werewolves were running amok in your neighborhood, killing and eating people.

He shook his head. Such an elaborate scheme, just to satisfy simple greed. Satan could take many forms.....

It was only later that he learned Giselle du Meliere's coffin had been spirited away in the melee before the funeral pyre was lit. If there was any of Giselle's essence remaining in the casket - and he'd be willing to bet there was - she could be resurrected yet again with another sacrifice of virgin's blood.

He feared they hadn't heard the last of Giselle du Meliere.

Van Helsing gazed moodily out the window at the shimmering late August heat of the Kansas plains. He had been assigned to this satrap of Eglon Special Forces for rest and rehabilitation. Eglon was a quasi-military clandestine ops organization that specialized in.....unusual cases. Very few people, even inside the organization, knew that the real power behind Eglon was a secret society called the Knights of the Holy Order, who had been fighting the forces of supernatural evil for centuries. Van Helsing answered to no one at Eglon. As the Chief of Operations, he got his orders directly from the Vatican.

A light flashed on his monitor screen, and a beep sounded, informing him that Eglon's computer network had picked up an alert. Van Helsing sat forward, suddenly wide awake.

"Something come in?"

He craned his neck as Miranda Tyler, his new assistant, walked into his quarters. She was girl-next-door pretty, a slender brunette with brown eyes and a nice smile. He nodded.

"I haven't opened it yet," he said. "It's on F.I. Network, a forensic net. Coming in from a place called Winslow Junction, Washington."

He clicked on it and opened the file. Miranda gasped in horror when the image of the Winslow Junction werewolf came up on the screen. Van Helsing swallowed hard. "My........God! What a nasty-looking bugger! He's maximally transmogrified." He scrolled down the screen. "The video is from a dash cam unit on a Park Ranger's cruiser. She was a young woman; the werewolf violated and slaughtered her. The video shows it....all."

Miranda stiffened.

"You don't have to watch," he said softly.

"Yes, I do," she said. "Don't forget, I was in Kentucky, too. I saw the carnage first hand, and I'm still with Eglon. If I'm going to be your assistant, I'm to be spared nothing."

He nodded and pushed 'play' with his mouse.

When it was over, Miranda was numb with horror. Van Helsing was as pale as she had ever seen him. There was an almost imperceptible tremor in his hand.

"You were worried about me," she said softly. "Are you okay?"

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. "It brings back memories -- all of them bad," he said. "I keep going back over it all in my mind, asking myself if I could have done anything differently, and I keep telling myself 'no.' That mist Giselle generated -- only a vampire as powerful as Dracula himself could have done that. We weren't expecting that. I should have been prepared. All those people died. Tessa......."




Werewolf Moon Ch. 03



His voice caught, and unshed tears glimmered in his eyes. "I promised her father, as he lay on his deathbed, that I would do my best to protect her. My best wasn't very good, was it?"

She kissed him on the cheek. "You did do your best. Don't beat yourself up; I hate to see you torture yourself. I....care about you."

He affectionately squeezed her hand. "Miranda -- please. Don't go there. You know what I am, but you don't know what that costs me - to sit and watch people I care about grow old, wither and die - assuming they live long enough to die of old age - while I stay forever frozen in my thirties. You don't want to get involved with me. It's dangerous. People I get close to end up dead. Anna Valerious....Tessa. Don't join the list."

"I knew the risks when I signed up for this duty," she returned. "Please don't shut me out."

He sighed. "I won't. I'll do my best to protect you, but...no guarantees." Van Helsing pointed at the screen. "This may be our 'random werewolf.' The modus operandi fits. Little backwater towns, different one each month. He hits and runs, in and out. The brutal rape, the sexual mutilation -- eating the breasts and genitals. He's an elusive bastard, though. He's a real psycho -- probably is one in his human form, too. Maybe this time we'll have a chance to get him. Most of the time the law enforcement agencies won't admit that they have a werewolf on their hands, and by the time they do, it's too late - our beast has left town." 

He glanced at her and smiled. "Ever been to Washington?"

"No. I hear it's pretty country though."

"It is," he said. "Let's go."

"Whoa, uno momento, cowboy," Miranda said. "You're forgetting the little matter of medical clearance. The staff is still concerned about the spinal trauma and bruising you sustained in your back when you hit that tree in Kentucky. It's almost cleared up, but they're not sure it's 100% cured - at least enough for you to go back into action."

"I'm fine," Van Helsing said defensively.

"Then let's see you stand up," she challenged.

He got up slowly and stiffly. He fought to hide the involuntary wince from Miranda, but she was having none of it.

"It's just a little creaky when I first get up," he said. "Once I get moving, it's fine. Maybe a cortisone shot..."

"That's up to the doctor," Miranda said.

"But I'm Chief of Operations!" he protested.

She chuckled. "On Star Trek, there was only one man who could pull rank on Captain Kirk, and that was Dr. McCoy! You, love, are in the same boat." Her eyes twinkled. "You could always do what James Bond did in Die Another Day."

"And that was?"

"He was still pretty banged up, and not really ready to go back on duty," Miranda replied with a grin. "007 persuaded the pretty young doctor to reactivate him by screwing her! You, however, my dear Gabe, need to convince Dr. Collins. He's 82 years old, been married 57 years, and is totally devoted to his wife!"

"I'm doomed!" Van Helsing groaned. "Come on, let's see if we can talk him into it."

He left the room. Miranda followed behind him. She glanced once more at the horrifying image of the werewolf.

A shudder coursed down her spine. She slammed the door and hurried after him.

TO BE CONTINUED...



Werewolf Moon Ch. 04



Liz Brannigan was asleep.

Her warm, naked body was curled up against him in a fetal position. She was sucking her thumb, which he found to be very endearing. Derek Talbot smiled. She looked so beautiful and innocent, like a little girl. Her shaved pubis only added to the effect. 

They hadn't fucked; they had made love - there was a distinction. 

A shadow passed across Talbot's face. It was the first time in his life that he had been gentle with a woman, and he was at a loss to explain why. That wasn't like him at all; it troubled and confused him, and made a part of him very angry. A tiny voice in the back of his mind screamed at him, urging him to smash her face-first into the dresser mirror and ass-rape her tiny rear end. Sex for him had always been rough, usually brutal. He enjoyed inflicting pain on his partners -- and sometimes the kinkier ones enjoyed being on the receiving end.

But for some reason, Liz Brannigan evoked different feelings in him. Never before had he looked upon a woman as anything more than just a piece of ass.

Or prey.

She was fun to be with. She was fun in bed. She was intelligent, curious. He truly enjoyed his time with her. This wasn't the sheer physical pleasure he took from raw sex. It was much more than that. Derek Talbot had never believed in love at first sight -- at least not for him. He still didn't, but something was definitely happening here - something he didn't fully understand. He felt strange and funny, like a little boy who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and it bothered him - a lot. The conflicting emotions it raised in him roiled like whitewater rapids in the spring.

He shook her gently. "Hey, Liz -- wake up. Dinner's coming up shortly, and then you'll have to leave for work."

She awakened slowly. When she realized her thumb was in her mouth, she yanked it out, her face reddening in embarrassment. "Old habits die hard," she murmured. She reached up playfully and grabbed his neck in a tight hug, and gave him a kiss. This sudden movement pulled him off balance, and they landed on the floor. Talbot was on his back, and Liz was straddling his washboard stomach with her legs.

"This will work," he said with a grin as he felt himself respond to her nearness.

"Ummm....yes, it will," she said. "Most definitely!" She slid her hips down his body, then lifted up slightly and slowly took all of him inside her. Her eyes widened as his erection filled her. "Oh! Oooohhhhhh, yes!" she moaned. "That feels so...hhhhhhhhhh.....s-so good!"

Liz sensuously glided up and down, playfully teasing him with her eyes, reaching down with her hands and stroking him with a feather light fingertip touch each time she slowly raised up off his shaft. Every now and then she would bend forward at the waist and kiss him, sometimes nipping and tugging at his bottom lip. She was controlling the pace, and she wanted it slow and tender. 

Talbot gasped. The sensation was intensely pleasurable; he wanted it to last, but quickly discovered that it took all of his concentration to keep from coming. Finally, he could hold on no longer. Liz leaned forward, kissing him, her body shuddering in a wrenching climax as he emptied his seed into her with a hoarse cry. They lay on the floor in a sweaty heap, kissing languidly, sensuously. 

"Ummmmm.....oh, Don, that was fantastic! This has been such a wonderful afternoon."

"Glad you've enjoyed it," he said with a smile. "There's more to come." He was about to say something else when there was a knock at the door.

"Mr. Mannix? Room service."

Liz squealed and scrambled into the bathroom as Talbot got to his feet and pulled on a robe. He tipped the bellhop and rolled the cart into his suite.

The steak and lobster was much better than the breakfast had been. In fact, Talbot ranked it with some of the meals he had enjoyed in better restaurants over the years. Liz Brannigan was a dainty eater. Talbot watched her, and he could feel a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Then he tried to suppress a chuckle, and finally burst out laughing.

Liz stared at him quizzically. "What's so funny?" she asked.

"I wish I had a camera," Talbot chortled. "You're sitting there, completely naked except for your lobster bib. It's priceless!"

She glanced down and started to giggle. Her nipples peeked out from the edges of the bib. "I must look as silly as hell," she said.

"Actually, you're quite fetching," Talbot said. He kissed her, and for the next several minutes, all thoughts of food were forgotten.

Finally the dishes were all cleared away, and they cuddled together on the bed. Liz sighed contentedly.

"I'll be walking around Marlowe's tonight with a big, shit-eating grin plastered all over my face -- and everybody'll want to know why."

Talbot brushed his lips over her hair. "May I ask, Miss Liz Brannigan, why you work so hard -- and such long hours?"

She let out a long, slow breath.

"I....I want to go to college," she explained. "I've been on my own since I was sixteen. Mom and Dad split up and went their separate ways -- and apparently the ways they went didn't include m-me." The raw hurt was evident in the catch in her voice. "I managed to graduate from high school on my own -- I was only a quarter late finishing up. Public high school didn't cost me anything, but college is w-a-y expensive. I've been accepted at a local branch of the University of Washington that's only about fifteen minutes away, down in Blanton. The fall term starts next week, and I was hoping to enroll this semester. Looks like I'm going to have to wait, though."

"Short on funds?"

She shook her head. "No, I've got enough to get started, but my car's ready to conk out. It's a question of need over want -- I want to go to school, but I need a new car. Your tip from the restaurant today will really help, but I want to get a car that's going to last a while." She closed her eyes. "I'm going to be twenty-five soon; I'm afraid if I don't go to college soon, I'm never going to go."

"So you're working double shifts at Marlowe's," he said. "Didn't you say you've got a second job?"

She abruptly looked away. "That's not important. Between my salary and tips at Marlowe's, I almost make enough to live on and go to school. I live in a nice house out on the edge of the wilderness preserve. The owner rents it out to me for $100.00 a month. Where can you rent a nice place for $100.00 a month? But I have to keep the house and yard in shape. Getting a car is going to set me back a quarter or two, but damn it, I'm going to go!"

"Liz -- you say you almost make enough to live on at Marlowe's. Why won't you tell me about your second job?"

A tear slid down her smooth cheek, and she hung her head. "Because I'm ashamed."

He caught her tear on the tip of a finger. "Don't be. I'd like to know."

"I....I work at Rebel's. It's an exclusive.....'gentleman's club' out on the main highway, and I'm an exotic dancer -- 'exotic' being a euphemism for 'nude.' I hate it -- all the groping and pawing and slobbering, but the pay is great. I could make a lot more if I agreed to work the 'back room.' My boss says I've got a hot body, and I could make enough to retire on in two years. But I have to draw the line somewhere. I'm not that desperate....yet."

Talbot pursed his lips. "I can guess what goes on in the 'back room'."

Liz nodded. "$800 for a blow job, $2000 for straight sex, $3500 for anal, and $5000 for a gang bang. A little pricey, I know, but the clientele supports it. I'd get to keep 30%. He never has any trouble getting college girls to work back there. God, they're all so young and cute - and he always has three times as many applicants as he has jobs to fill! But I'm not going to become a whore!"

The concept of working for anything was foreign to Derek Talbot. Despite the fact that his parents had never shown him much in the way of love, he had been privileged and well-provided for. He'd always enjoyed his work at Talbot Industries, and didn't really consider it a job. The idea that someone would have to scrimp and struggle so hard just to get an education boggled his mind. 

But this enchantress on the bed with him was doing just that.

He arrived at a decision - he had no idea why - and reached for his laptop. He logged on and handed the computer to the puzzled young woman.

"You deserve to go to college -- and I'm going to help you. Do you have an online savings account?"

"Sure, but --"

"Log on to it -- I won't look at your user name and password."

She did as he instructed, but stared at him quizzically. "Don, what are you...."

"Shhhhhh. Are you logged on?"

"Yeah, but....."

"Okay, my turn." He activated another internet connection and pulled up his own account. "I have special secure commercial links to a number of big banks on this laptop. I'm going to transfer some funds to your account. It should make things a little easier for you."

"Can you really do that? But you don't even know how much I need for school; besides, I can't let you......"

"Yes, I can really do that, and you will let me -- and I'm sure this will more than cover it," he said with an enigmatic smile. He keyed in a transaction, then logged off his bank account and slid the computer back to her. "How's that?"

Liz Brannigan stared at the screen. "Internet transfer from Seattle Federal Bank in the amount of...." Her eyes widened; all the color drained from her face, and she fainted dead away.

She came around several minutes later with an anxious 'Don Mannix' hovering over her.

"Hey -- you okay? What's the idea, passing out on me?"

"D-Don....you t-transferred....five million dollars into my account!" Her voice was little more than a squeak.

"Yeah? So? Don't spend it all in one place. Hopefully that's enough to cover your schooling?" He flashed her a boyish grin.

"But why would you do that?" Her eyes brimmed with grateful tears. 

"Because I want to. Because I can. Liz, I won't live long enough to spend all my money. I'm not saying this to boast, but five million is chicken feed for me -- chump change. I make that much in interest in a few weeks."

"I can never repay you," she murmured.

"Yes, you can. You can call your scumbag boss at Rebel's and tell him you're never coming in again -- ever."

She smiled brightly, her eyes sparkling. "That I can do with pleasure!"

"I think you could probably bag your job at Marlowe's, too."

"No, I can't do that to Tony," she said. "He's been really good to me. I like the people there, too. I'd at least like to give them two weeks notice. Maybe I could work part time after that. I'll see."

Talbot shrugged. "Well, if you're going in, it's almost four o'clock. You said you wanted to get in by four-thirty. Time to hit the shower, probably."

She kissed him, and her smile was seductive. "Why don't you join me?"

They let the hot water run over them, getting themselves good and wet. Liz held tight to the handrail as Talbot gently worked the lather up her thigh, teasing her until she was ready to scream, then slowly eased into her. Now it was his turn to take his time, and after they finished, they soaped up and scrubbed each other.

They got out and dried off, and Talbot wrapped himself in a bathrobe, while Liz shrugged into her waitress's uniform. He decided she made the simple dress look like a Christian Dior gown. She clasped his hands and kissed him one last time at the door.

"Oh, Don, thank you -- for everything. Will I see you tonight?"

His face darkened. "You wouldn't want to see me tonight," he muttered under his breath.

"What?" she looked puzzled.

"I have an online business conference to moderate tonight," he said, recovering. "I'll catch up to you tomorrow." He kissed her goodbye. "Don't forget to register for this coming term!"

He watched her go. Then he closed the door and sagged back against it.

'What in hell have I done?' he thought. 

Never in a million years would he have believed he could do what he had done today. The feelings he was experiencing were alien to him. Kindness, consideration.....attraction? He had never felt them before. This was a woman he had planned to fuck in the afternoon, and then kill and devour tonight. The clash of emotions churned him up inside. He was confused -- and angry. But angry at whom? Himself? Her? Why her? He was almost shaking with rage. He walked out on the balcony overlooking the pool, searching for a diversion to take his mind off his runaway emotions. He plopped down in a chair and took a deep breath. Then he chuckled.

The "Bikini Bimbos" were on patrol. He had seen them yesterday afternoon when he'd gone for a swim. They were a bevy of five young women who dormed at the U of W branch down the highway. They wore extremely revealing, next-to-nothing white bikinis. Returning students were always given free passes to the Royale's swim club during the week prior to "Welcome Weekend" - traditionally Labor Day weekend. They called themselves the "Bikini Babes," and he wondered if they were aware of their other nickname! He understood that the "Babes" were U of W cheerleaders who "dressed up" for their visit to the pool. Each year new initiates joined as other girls graduated and moved on. They returned every year during this week, like the swallows returning to Capistrano. Their sole purpose in life was, apparently, to titillate and frustrate the men at the pool, and infuriate their wives and girlfriends. They reminded him of the lyrics to an old Eagles' song. How'd it go -- "Look at me / Look at me / I'm beautiful, I'm beautiful / I'm somebody?" That described the "Bikini Babes" to a tee.

And Talbot was certain that more than a couple of them had gotten help from a plastic surgeon's artistry.

He raised his eyebrows. Apparently there was trouble in paradise today. Janice, the blonde who was a clone for a young Pamela Anderson, and ostensibly the leader of the Babes, was getting in the face of Meryl, who looked to be the youngest of the group. She was probably an incoming freshman. For Talbot's money, Meryl was the prettiest girl of the five -- and he suspected that fact was not lost on Janice. Meryl was stunning; she had startling blue eyes and masses of wavy auburn tresses held in place by a green hair band. She had an incredible, perfectly-tanned body, and while she didn't have the biggest breasts, hers were almost perfectly-shaped. And she had an appealing deer-in-the-headlights expression that the boys found irresistible. The other three girls gathered around eagerly. He had learned their names, too. Judy was a raven-haired beauty, Tara was a hot redhead, and Crystal was another pneumatic blonde! They pressed in close to watch the catfight.

He expected to hear hissing and spitting and meowing any second.

"You can't be a full-fledged 'Babe' until you go skinny-dipping in the pool - it's your initiation!" Janice raged. "All the rest of us did last year!" Talbot found he didn't need his supersensitive hearing to listen in on the conversation; the normal hearing range of a human was more than sufficient. In fact, their voices were seriously grating on his nerves.

He found himself growing more irritable by the second.

"I don't want to!" Meryl protested. "I'd be so embarrassed!"

"Embarrassed?" Janice howled. "Christ, Meryl, you're practically naked now!"

She had a point. Meryl's bikini was the skimpiest of the bunch. The bottom was practically non-existent -- a thin strip of cloth that rode up in her pubic notch, with wisps of auburn curls peeking out. There was nothing in the rear except a thong that disappeared between her smooth buttocks. The top consisted of two tiny triangles that barely covered her nipples.

Suddenly both of Janice's hands darted out and stripped Meryl. The auburn haired beauty screamed in outrage as a cheer went up from the men, followed by jealous screeching from their 'significant others.' The two girls were fighting now, shrieking and slapping, pulling each other's hair.

And then it all exploded inside Talbot like a wildfire.

The irritating noise -- the screaming and the shouting, the smell of rage and fear from the two combatants, the jealousy, pheromones and testosterone -- all of it ignited his already swirling emotions like a match tossed on a pool of gasoline. He cried out as bolt of pain seared through his stomach.

Long claws and thick, coarse fur burst from his hands. Horrified, he jerked his head down and saw that his feet were sprouting hair and talons as well.

He was Changing!

Overwhelmed by his emotions and the commotion at the pool, he had let down his guard, and the beast was out -- and he couldn't drive it back inside himself! Alarmed, he bolted to his feet, knocking over the chair. He couldn't let anyone see him! 

Meryl, meanwhile, had torn off Janice's bikini and shoved her in the pool. "You go skinny-dipping, bitch!" she cried. She stormed off, sobbing, naked except for a pair of flip-flops. She grabbed an oversized terrycloth beach robe and slipped it on; then she stomped up the trail into the woods to a rousing round of applause. 

The wolf-thing Talbot was becoming locked in on the retreating girl, memorizing her scent.

Another wave of hormones assaulted him. He felt his face twitch as a muzzle and fangs started to grow. His muscles thickened; his bones snapped and stretched. He stifled a moan of agony as his burgeoning form expanded and tore the robe to shreds. He darted inside, tearing off the remains of the bathrobe, and then dashed out into the hall, which was thankfully empty. He jerked open the door to the staircase that led to the roof.

By the time he reached the top, he was fully transformed.

The werewolf streaked across the rooftop, almost too fast for the human eye to follow. If anyone was looking his way, they would see only a tawny, indistinct blur. Without breaking stride, he launched himself into the trees, scrambling from one to another. When he was deep enough into the woods, he climbed down, following a deer run he had found that intersected the trail the auburn-haired female was taking. She was easy to track; her scent was strong with rage and humiliation.

He would be waiting for her........

*****

"Quittin' time!"

Brianna Lang stretched luxuriantly at her desk. She had spent a long, harrowing shift working on the "werewolf" case, and the brutality of the murders had shaken her. She'd had enough for one day.

Steve Dante glanced up at her from behind a microscope. The corners of his brown eyes were crinkled with concern. "Busy night ahead?" he asked, feigning nonchalance. He was ready to jump out of his skin; he frantically tapped his right foot under his desk.

"No, I'm bushed. Gonna go home and take a shower and crash in front of the tube."

"No......hiking or anything?"

"No. This stuff today about wore me out. See you tomorrow, Stevie."

Dante relaxed visibly, and the lines on his forehead eased as he watched her leave. A moment later, his cell phone beeped, signaling he had a text message.

"MY PLACE AFTER U GET OFF. PIZZA AND THEN UR NEXT 'LESSON!' BRI."

Dante chuckled and pocketed his phone. Now that was something to look forward to!

Outside in the parking lot, Brianna slid behind the wheel of her Ion. She hated lying to Steve, but she didn't want him to worry. A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth when she thought of Dante. He was such a sweetheart! The sex part they could work on; he'd get better with practice -- and Brianna intended to give him ample opportunity to practice! But when the molten heat of first lust burned out down the road, he was someone she was sure she could count on for the long haul that a really good relationship required.

Brianna pulled out into traffic, drove the four blocks to Parker's Woods, and whipped into a parking spot in the lower lot. Parker's Woods was a city park that adjoined the Winslow Junction State Wilderness Area, and the walking trail from this lot intersected the Chilhowie Falls Trail in the state park, the one that wound its way around the lake -- and came within a stone's throw of the murder scene. Unless there was a phalanx of sheriff's deputies and rangers totally sealing off every inch of the wilderness area, she could get in. 




Werewolf Moon Ch. 04



Brianna checked her pistol. It was loaded with the safety on, ready for her if she needed it. Didn't hurt to take precautions. They hadn't been given the chance to check the woods around the parking area where the bodies had been found this morning. If nothing else, she wanted to satisfy her own curiosity, and make sure they hadn't missed an important piece of evidence.

The sun was sinking lower as she climbed out of the Saturn. It was getting dark earlier now in late August, but it was still light until around 8:30. Brianna was confident she could hike up and back well before then.

She locked the car and headed up the trail into the woods.

*****

Chief Deputy Sheriff Clay Palmer was royally ticked off.

Nobody had heard from Sheriff Tomlinson all afternoon. He had dropped off a couple of boxes of ammunition at the sheriff's office and said he was going to take a long lunch. Everyone knew what that meant; he was going home to screw his bimbo wife Susie. Granted, one of the perks of being sheriff was that he could set his own hours, and God knew that Jeff Tomlinson put in a good 60 to 70 hours a week and had earned the down time. But every once in a while these "afternoon delights" dragged on a little too long. And today of all days, when they were trying to hunt down the whatever-the-hell-it-was that had raped and slaughtered two young women, and gutted and killed a boy. It wasn't like the sheriff to so blithely kiss off his duty.

Palmer glanced at his watch as he pulled onto the private drive that would take him to Tomlinson's house. Christ -- it was 5:15! Tomlinson had left for lunch at 11:30! Palmer knew better than to disturb the sheriff when he was "out to lunch," but he needed to check with him about some adjustments to the night shift. He had been unable to reach Tomlinson on his radio. Gravel crunched under his tires as he drove up the winding wooded driveway to the house. 

Suddenly he slammed on the brakes.

"Hol-ee shit!"

Sheriff Jeff Tomlinson's police cruiser was scattered all over the driveway. It had been violently dismantled, almost down to chassis level. What was left of the body of the car was upside down on the gravel. The doors, trunk, and hood had been torn off. The engine had been ripped from its moorings; puddles of fluid leaked all over the ground, and there was shattered glass everywhere. The wheels had been yanked off their axles, the tires shredded. The mangled steering wheel hung from the branch of a tree. It looked as if the frame of the vehicle had been twisted and bent!

There were deep gashes in the fenders, claw marks, which had slashed completely through the metal.

Clay Palmer's stomach churned. What kind of strength could have torn apart an automobile as easily as if it were a few pieces of paper? How sharp were those claws that they could slice through metal as if it were swiss cheese? He thought of the victims whose bodies had been discovered at the parking pulloff this morning. What incredible agony they must have suffered in the last few moments of their lives!

He hoped they had died quickly.

He willed his hand to move and grabbed his radio microphone.

"All units -- officer requires assistance. I'm at Jeff's house -- and I'm afraid our critter has been here. The sheriff's cruiser has been destroyed!" He cursed the quaver in his voice. He was a police officer, for crying out loud!

"Sheriff's Department -- Ranger Commander here. Clay, would you like us to help out, too?"

"I'll take whoever I can get, Jace. I'd take the frickin' National Guard if I could! If you could see what this car looks like....." He repressed a shudder.

"What about........Jeff and Susie?"

"Don't know," Palmer replied. "I'm not going in there without backup."

"Understood. All units -- use silent approach," Jace Morgan commanded. "Let's not stir things up until we see what's going on. If it's still there, we don't want to scare it off."

Palmer grabbed a short-barreled 12-gauge semiautomatic shotgun and cocked a shell into the chamber. Icy sweat trickled down his back. He couldn't have been waiting more than five or six minutes, but to Palmer it seemed like a lifetime before the squad cars pulled up the driveway, with lights flashing, but no sirens blaring. Twenty-four assorted deputies and rangers assembled in the driveway, staring goggle-eyed at the remains of Tomlinson's cruiser. Jace Morgan squinted at the claw marks.

"Jesus Christ -- think what those would do to a human body! No wonder those poor kids we found this morning looked the way they did." He turned to Palmer. "It's your show, Clay. What do you want to do?"

"Surround the house," Palmer snapped. "Everybody be careful. You saw what it did to the car."

The sound of ratcheting shotguns shattered the drowsy, late-afternoon stillness. The officers moved out, surrounding the ominously silent house. Palmer and Morgan went around back, and halted abruptly when they turned the corner of the house.

The back door stood open. Palmer's heart sank; there were splashes of blood on the ground, more inside on the floor.

And there was a trail of the huge, wolf-like tracks they had seen this morning, leading back into the woods. 

Palmer and Morgan eased inside, weapons at the ready. The staircase was splashed with blood as well. Palmer slapped his shoulder radio. "All units - converge on second floor staircase at the rear of the house," he ordered.

When they were all together, the officers cautiously climbed the stairs two abreast, in a solid assault wave, led by Palmer and Morgan. They made their way to the master bedroom, and Clay Palmer's stomach lurched. Someone vomited behind him.

"Ah, Jeff...." Palmer groaned, his voice cracking.

He had never seen so much blood in one place in his life; there were dismembered body parts strewn all over the room, and it was difficult to tell which belonged to Tomlinson, and which belonged to his wife. The sheriff's severed head was barely recognizable.

"Jesus Christ!" Morgan muttered. "Somebody call Sam D'Amato!"

*****

Meryl Shuman had wandered much deeper into the woods than she had intended. She could barely hear the noise and commotion coming from the Hotel Royale's swimming pool, and it was dark and a little creepy up here. She sniffed and stifled a sob.

Well, her freshman year at U of W/Blanton had started with a resounding 'thud!' She had so looked forward to the start of the school year; she had made the cheerleading squad, and had been invited to join the 'Bikini Babes.' Her older sister Kim had been a cheerleader and a 'Babe,' and last year, Meryl had come along to watch the team in action in its annual pilgrimage to the swimming pool. The expressions of frustrated lust on the faces of the boys and dirty old men had been hilarious. Meryl loved to tease boys with her sexy body, and she had eagerly awaited this week all summer. 

But she hadn't counted on the jealousy of Janice Curtiss, the captain of the cheerleading squad. 

Now she was certain she no longer wanted to be a 'Bikini Babe,' and she wasn't even sure she wanted to be a cheerleader any more, either. Why was Janice being such a bitch? 

Suddenly she heard the bushes rustle about ten feet off the trail, and her heart leaped into her throat.

Something was back there -- something big! 'A deer?' she hoped.

"Meryl!"

She turned and looked back down the trail. Janice was coming! The last thing in the world she wanted to do right now was talk to Janice Curtiss!

"Meryl, honey, it's me -- Janice. I'm sorry I embarrassed you. Please come back down to the pool!"

Janice's voice dripped with honeyed insincerity. Meryl glanced in the other direction. There was a trailhead about a dozen yards further on. It was a side path. The sign read, "Hotel Royale - .7 miles." She cast an apprehensive glance toward the area where the foliage had moved, drew in a deep breath, then hurried on and cut down the branch toward the pool.

Janice Curtiss strode up the trail, clad only in her reclaimed white bikini and a pair of "aqua socks." All of the delightful parts of her lithe body were in sensuous, undulating motion. It burned her ass that the other girls had ganged up on her and forced her to come up here to find the little auburn-haired slut and apologize to her! Meryl was going to be trouble, she could see that. Her sweet, "Little Miss Innocent" expression had the boys wrapped around her pinkie -- and the other girls liked her, too. It pissed her off; she craved being in the spotlight, and she was damned if she was going to relinquish it to Meryl Shuman!

"Mer-yl!" she called, forcing as much sweetness into her voice as she could.

The underbrush quivered off to the side of the path. So the little bitch wanted to play games, did she? 

"There you are!" Janice cooed as she ventured off the path. She pushed aside the undergrowth and walked right into the outstretched arms of the werewolf. 

Janice flailed in helpless terror, but her piercing scream died in her throat almost as it was born. The beast's long ivory fangs sank into the soft flesh of her neck like a hot knife slicing through butter. He sucked and tore at her ravaged throat while one huge paw ripped open her belly, then sliced through her face and breasts. Her struggles excited him; he could feel his burgeoning erection swelling, standing up hard against his abdomen. The girl's frenzied kicking quickly subsided. He tore away her bloodied bikini, completely stripping her, slashing her tender flesh, shredding the limp body with his claws in a bestial fury. 

The werewolf licked her blood from his muzzle. There was a fullness in his chest; he wanted to howl, to proclaim his victory over his helpless prey, but some instinct told him no......it would be too dangerous. Instead, he reached down and grabbed one of the dead girl's bloody wrists. There was a copse of trees nearby where he could ravish her, and then enjoy his grisly feast in peace. 

He dragged the mangled corpse toward the trees, leaving in its wake a horrible, gory stream of blood and entrails. 

*****

Judy Rifkin had her eye on a cute blond lifeguard who was trying not to stare at her from behind his mirrored sunglasses. She wanted to put the moves on him before Janice and Meryl got back, so she smiled seductively at him as she massaged sunscreen into her full breasts. Then her fingers dipped under her skimpy white bikini top, and she teasingly smeared some of the cream on her nipples. She ran her tongue across her upper lip and moaned for the boy's benefit as she tossed her long black hair over her shoulder.

Then she stiffened and sat up straight.

"What is it?" asked Tara Kepler, a buxom redhead who had just lay down next to her on a beach towel and unfastened her top.

"I...I thought I heard a scream. It sounded like Janice."

"Damn, you have good ears, girl!" Tara exclaimed. "I can't hear anything for all this commotion!" 

Judy frowned.

"I don't hear anything now. Maybe it was a bird."

"Or maybe Janice got scared by a snake!" Tara grinned wickedly. "You know how she hates snakes!"

The two girls laughed, and Judy resumed her conquest of the blond lifeguard.

*****

The werewolf bent his back and climaxed; slowly his spasms subsided, and he pulled out of the dead girl's gutted body. He turned over her bloody corpse and lifted it toward him, almost drooling at the sight of her succulent breasts.

He bit deeply into one of them and was rewarded with a gush of brackish fluid.

The beast dropped the girl's body as if it were electrified and spat out the stinging, briny liquid, coughing almost uncontrollably as the salt stung his sensitive taste buds. He stared through streaming eyes at the slashed breast and saw what looked like a torn, bloody plastic sac embedded in the midst of the mangled flesh.

Implants!

He hooked the shapeless bag with a talon, and the last of the sodium solution dribbled out. Then he yanked it out and flipped several thousand dollars' worth of a plastic surgeon's art into the weeds.

The werewolf settled back on his haunches. Killing the girl had released much of the tension that had built up within him. He could control the Change now. He was contemplating reverting to his human form when, suddenly, a familiar scent reached him, and his tingling fur stood on end.

Brianna Lang had entered the woods, about a mile and a half away!

With all the emotional turmoil he had been through this afternoon, he had totally forgotten about the beautiful forensic investigator! He could easily intercept her; he knew where she was heading, and he would arrive first.

He exploded into a blur of brown fur and sped off over the matted grass of the deer run, his latest kill lying torn and bloody on the grass, already forgotten.

*****

Sterrett, Kansas

Gabriel Van Helsing's breathing slowly returned to normal as he cooled down back inside the air-conditioned comfort of the doctor's office in the Eglon headquarters complex. The obstacle course was the last leg of the grueling Eglon physical fitness test. He had given it his best shot, but he was afraid he already knew the verdict. He could tell by the expression on Dr. James Collins' face. Collins resembled a wiry little bald cherub, his skin remarkably unwrinkled for someone his age. His blue eyes, which normally twinkled, were narrowed in concern just now. He shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Gabriel. You did quite well overall -- your performance was well beyond the best score a trained athlete ever received on this regimen -- but your score was 3.69 out of 4.00. The minimum is 3.75."

"You're going to keep me grounded for a measly six hundredths of a percentage point?" Van Helsing exploded. "That's ridiculous! Who came up with those parameters?"

Collins smiled wryly over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses.

"Why, you did, Gabriel!"

Van Helsing sagged back against the wall, defeated. "Yes, I did, didn't I?" 

"The biggest problem is that you haven't quite recovered your full range of motion in your back, turning and twisting," Collins continued. "A little more rest, and..."

"I don't have time to rest!" Van Helsing shot to his feet and urgently gripped the physician's arm. "Look, Jim -- we have evidence that there's a werewolf in this little town of Winslow Junction in Washington. I'm convinced it's the one we've been tracking for the last year and a half. Last night was just the first night of the cycle of the full moon. If I can get out there, I can catch the bastard before he leaves town and kill him!" 

Collins removed Van Helsing's hand from his forearm.

"I'm sorry Gabriel -- my hands are tied. Unless you can get a waiver from the Vatican, you're still off the track until you make up those six hundredths of a percentage point." 

Van Helsing pounded his fist against the wall in frustration.

"Damn it, Collins -- people are dying! And there will be more!"

"The Vatican, Gabriel. Remember -- they're your rules. I'm just the messenger!" He picked up his clipboard and left the room chuckling.

"Unfeeling bastard!" Van Helsing spat. He burst into the corridor, brushing past his assistant, Miranda Tyler.

"Uh, I take it that didn't go too well?" she queried.

"He's grounding me over six hundredths of a rating point!" he grated. "I've got to get hold of Cardinal Morelli; I need a dispensation from the Vatican!" 

"Oh, that should be interesting! Cardinal Morelli thinks you're about as much fun as a canker sore!" 

Van Helsing whirled on her furiously and leaned in nose to nose. Miranda backed away, startled by the towering rage in his blazing eyes.

"Listen - I don't have any choice!" he shouted. "Everybody's treating this like it's some big, fucking joke! Ha-ha-ha! Well, you know what -- I don't think those three people who were killed last night are laughing very hard!"

He stormed into his office and slammed the door, leaving a stunned Miranda Tyler in his wake. He plopped down in a chair at his computer console, wearily rubbing a hand over his eyes. 

'That had been uncalled for,' he thought. He would apologize to her later. Right now he was on a mission. He cued up a satellite phone and punched in an overseas speed dial number. The speaker on his computer crackled as the connection was made.

"Get me Cardinal Morelli!"

TO BE CONTINUED...



Werewolf Moon Ch. 05



A warm breeze rippled through the golden grass of the clearing, rolling like the surf at the seashore until it spent itself at the edge of the trail. The dull orange disc of the sun hung low in a cloudless blue sky; the trees cast long shadows in sharp relief. The day teetered on the brink between late afternoon and early evening.

On the other side of the path, to her right, the green waters of Lake Winslow lapped serenely at an earthen bank. 

Brianna Lang wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. It was a gorgeous day, except for the heat and the humidity. The light wind offered a little relief, but she had worked up quite a sweat climbing the hilly trail to the wilderness area. She'd made her trek in about forty-five minutes -- just about what she had estimated. No sheriff's deputies or park rangers had impeded her progress. The forest was almost eerily silent, save for the insects and a few birds. She slid her backpack off her shoulders and opened the flap so she could get to her instruments -- and her gun, if need be.

She could see the parking area on the other side of the glen through a break in the trees. She shivered. As a little girl, she had spent many happy hours in this park, picnicking with her family, taking walks on this very trail with her father.

Now these once friendly woods seemed somehow menacing, foreboding.

Last night, an unholy beast had stalked and killed two young kids in a convertible, and then slaughtered a female ranger in that lot. In all likelihood, the thing had probably been somewhere in this area. In fact......

About twenty feet ahead on the trail she saw an area where the grass had been trampled. She rushed to the depression and bent down, scrutinizing the turf.

There -- on a bare patch of ground. They were unmistakable -- huge, wolf like paw prints, leading away from the parking area back into the woods. Some of the stalks of grass were stained a rusty brown. 

Dried blood, most likely.

The creature had passed right through here last night. 

Brianna suddenly felt very cold, even in the blast furnace heat of the late August afternoon. She hugged herself and apprehensively glanced around. Well, this was something, anyway. If they could backtrack these paw prints, maybe they could find the creature's den -- if it had one. Maybe bring in some bloodhounds. She wasn't about to do it herself! She realized how alone she was up here -- and how vulnerable. 

And then, suddenly, the forest grew deathly still. A robin cut off its freeform song in mid-warble, and even the insects ceased their buzzing. Brianna felt gooseflesh pucker all over her body.

"It gets dark a lot quicker up here than it does down below. Must be all these trees."

She screamed and whirled around.

He stood on the path about ten feet away from her -- and he was naked. He smiled ingenuously at her, leaning against a tree with his arms folded. He was a handsome young man, with wavy chestnut hair and piercing blue eyes; he looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, well-toned and well-hung. Ordinarily she would be gawking in open-mouthed appreciation.

But this was very, very wrong. How could she not have heard him coming?

"Sorry if I startled you, Brianna, but I'm here to help you find what you're looking for."

She felt an icy fist clench in the pit of her stomach.

"How d-do you know my name?" she quavered. "And what do you think I'm looking for?"

He chuckled.

"I have excellent hearing. I was up on a ridge over there this morning when you were doing your preliminary investigation, and I heard them call you by name. Brenna -- Brianna Lang. Pretty name, Brianna. And as for what you're looking for -- well, you're looking for the werewolf."

Brianna's palms were wet, and her mouth was desert dry. "Th-there's n-no such thing as...."

"Oh, but there is!" He closed his eyes and raised his head, and appeared to be meditating. When he opened his eyes again, they were no longer blue.

They were amber -- almost yellow. It had to be a trick of the light! Brianna swallowed hard.

"The thing is, people think that werewolves can only change during the full moon. That's just not true; the most powerful ones can change any time they want to -- but they can't help but change when the moon is full."

Now there was no mistaking it. He was changing! His skin had darkened to a shade of mocha and was thickening, like animal hide. His fingernails and toenails had grown into long, razor-sharp talons, and patches of chestnut fur sprouted all over his body. His penis had almost tripled in size and was sheathed -- like a wolf's. Brianna stood rooted in place by sheer terror.

When he spoke again, his voice was a guttural snarl.

"Don't you feel stupid, bitch? Haven't you ever watched a horror movie? You're the airhead bimbo who goes off in the woods all by herself and gets butchered by Freddy or Jason -- or eaten by a werewolf." He bared his teeth, which were now long, bristling fangs. "In the movies, the werewolf always goes for the throat. Not me -- I go for the tits! Especially when I nail a hot babe with a nice rack like yours. And the thing is -- you'll still be alive and watching while I eat them!"

"No!" Brianna quavered, terrified. "Oh, God - no! Wh-why me?" She took a halting step backward, wondering if she shoud run or go for her pistol.

He shrugged, and flashed a fearsome grin. "No reason, really. You have a very pleasant musk - I like the way your pussy smells. It's imprinted in my mind and marks you as my prey....and you do look good enough to eat!"

His muscles began to ripple and bulge, and he was growing taller.

With a shriek of terror, Brianna yanked her .45 out of the back pack, flipped off the safety and squeezed the trigger. The pistol roared and bucked in her hand; the slug caught the changeling in the center of his chest with an explosion of blood, flesh and bone, and knocked him backward. He howled in agony. 

Brianna pulled again and again, emptying the clip into his chest with deadly accuracy. The impact of the bullets lifted him in the air and dropped him into the lake with a great splash. He floated face down in the water, streaming blood from eight tightly-spaced exit wounds in his back. The fur faded away; his skin returned to its normal hue.

He was changing back into his human form.

She sobbed with relief. She had done it; she had killed the werewolf! Now they could identify the son of a bitch, and.....

He had stopped bleeding, and the wounds were closing up! 'God, no!' she thought. 'No way he could still be alive!' Every shot had hit its mark.

He rolled over and sat up. His chest wounds were healing rapidly; then they totally disappeared, leaving behind smooth, unmarked skin. He shook his head as if to clear it, and fixed her with a venomous, yellow-eyed scowl.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" he raged. "That really stung! You'll pay for that, bitch -- big time! Your death will be as slow and agonizing as I can possibly make it!"

He was changing again, only much faster now, looking more like the horrifying creature Brianna had seen on the dash cam video. She backed slowly down the trail as she prayed for the first time in ten years. 

His muscles swelled to immensely thick proportions. Bones began to elongate and forcibly stretch with a horrible crackling noise, thrusting forward and rupturing through his bleeding skin, and then quickly covering over with new flesh and fur. He was down on his knees in the water, loosing unearthly shrieks of pain. He was growing even taller now, and his chest and shoulders broadened. He was now covered with thick, bristly fur. Then a great shudder rippled through his shaggy body. His eyes snapped open. They were a glowing red now; wild, malevolent -- insane.

The werewolf glared at Brianna and grinned.

She felt a trickle of urine slip from her bladder and stream down her thigh. She screamed in terror, then broke and ran for her life.

"GO AHEAD, BITCH!" he roared. His voice was thick, almost unintelligible. "YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM ME! I'LL FIND YOU -- I CAN SMELL YOUR CUNT A MILE AWAY!"

Brianna careened down the path, running faster than she had ever run in her life, sobbing in terror. She reached into the pocket of her shorts for her cell phone, and her heart sank when she realized she'd left it in her backpack. A deep, resonant howl filled the forest, an otherworldly, terrifying sound. A chill ran down Brianna's spine. The werewolf!

He was coming!

Brianna kept on running, even though her lungs were on fire. She could hear leaves rustling and branches snapping behind her.

She could hear his paws now, pounding over the ground as he bounded down the path. He was going to run right over the top of her!

'Oh, nononononono! Oh, Jesus -- please don't let this happen!'

The creature leaped on Brianna's back with an ear-splitting roar, driving her to the ground and knocking the wind out of her. She felt ribs crack as his thickly-muscled body crushed her. He sank his long fangs into her shoulder; he picked her up and shook her viciously as she shrieked. Then he flung her across the clearing, ripping away a chunk of flesh and exposing muscle and bone. She landed hard by the edge of the lake and lay there, stunned and moaning. 

And then Brianna Lang's world erupted into a paroxysm of unbelievable agony as the werewolf clawed open her back from the nape of her neck to her tailbone with the long talons of his right foot. Her piercing screams shattered the early evening calm. Birds exploded from their roosting places in the nearby trees.

The beast bent down and tore off the pieces of her bloodsoaked shirt and cutoffs, then discarded them. His claws had severed her bra strap and cut through her panty briefs, so he stripped them off as well.

Then he slowly dragged the long claw of his index finger over the bridge of flesh between her cunt and asshole, cutting deeply, slicing it open. Brianna managed only a gasp of agony this time, and fresh blood gushed out onto the mud and quickly formed into a puddle.

The werewolf rolled her over onto her back. He stood above her, flexing his lethal claws. He drew his lips back over his fangs in a toothy snarl.

He attacked then in a raging fury, falling on her, his claws and fangs a deadly blur of motion. Brianna found her voice again, shrieking at the top of her lungs as blood and dollops of flesh sprayed into the air. Talons raked over her, ripping skin and tearing flesh. His fangs grated against the bones of her skull. He tore at her face and neck, jerking and tugging violently, gnawing away tendons and muscle. His claws dug deeply into her cheeks. They carved downward, cutting her face into bloody ribbons. His huge maw closed over the top of her head, and there was a terrible, ripping pain. 

Her scalp hung from his gore-clotted jaws like a bloody, copper-colored wig. He dropped it on her slashed belly.

Brianna moaned, her body wracked with spasms of intolerable torment. She wanted to die, but she knew he wasn't finished with her yet. He was grinning that horrific, bloody grin at her again. His penis was gorged with blood and fully erect, extended to its monstrous length. 

He knelt in the shallow water and grabbed her ankles; then he spread her legs wide and pulled her to him. There was no mistaking what he intended to do to her.

"Ohhh.......God, no......please d-don't ...."

He thrust brutally into her; Brenna arched her back, and her raw, elemental shriek of pure agony shivered across the lake.......

*****

The forensics department's phone rang just as Sam D'Amato was leaving for the night. Against his better judgment, he picked it up.

He quickly wished he hadn't.

Steve Dante watched curiously as the forensic chief's face drained of all color. He swayed, and almost dropped the receiver, looking for a moment as if he might faint. Then he straightened resolutely.

"I'll get a team up there right away, Jace."

"What is it?" asked Gord Matthews, the assistant director. He was a wiry, middle-aged man with receding, curly blond hair and a neatly-trimmed silver-streaked beard. 

D'Amato plopped in a chair, trembling. 

"Th-the sheriff and his wife were torn to pieces," he said, his voice barely audible. "Probably by the same thing that killed those kids and Megan last night. So I guess it can hunt during the day, too. Jace says you can't tell which body parts belong to whom."

"My God!" Dante exclaimed. "We've had one murder here in the last eight years. Now we've had five in less than twenty-four hours." He shuddered. He was thankful that Brenna had decided not to go up to the wilderness area. 

Matthews clapped D'Amato on the shoulder. "Sam -- go on home. I can handle this. You've been at it all day."

D'Amato wearily shook his head. "Thanks, Gord, but I'd better go, too. We're a little short handed." He stood up. "Let's go, people -- all hands on deck. We've got a job to do."

He saw Steve Dante grab a shoulder mounted mobile radio out of his drawer. "I suppose you're going to ride your dirt bike up there, Steve, since your sweetie Brenna's not here to drive you up this time? Be careful you don't take a spill on that thing." There was a note of resignation in his voice.

Dante chuckled. "I will, 'Dad' -- and it's not a dirt bike. It's a Husqvarna TE-510, made for Enduro racing. It's a finely-tuned machine. You can take it off-road, but it's DOT street legal, too." 

"Whatever," D'Amato retorted. "Just don't bust your ass."

Dante grabbed his kit and headed out the door. He had a very un-geek like fascination with motorcycles, and was a fair to middling rider. He loved his Huskie; it was a powerful machine, the top of Husqvarna's Enduro line. He started it up. Then he popped a wheelie for Sam's benefit as he streaked out of the parking lot past the director's car.

He hadn't ridden far when he saw something that made his blood run cold. He skidded the bike to a stop and slewed sideways.

Brianna's car -- parked right by the head of the Parker's Woods Trail. She had lied to him! She was up there in those woods, and that thing might be running around up there, too! A thrill of fear shot through him as he slapped his radio. 

"Sheriff's Department, Clay Palmer here."

"Clay, this is Steve Dante in Forensics. Brianna Lang is hiking up the Chilhowie Falls Trail. She's going up to do a more thorough investigation of the parking area!"

"Christ! That area's off limits! I'll send a couple of cars up there right away!"

"Thanks, Sheriff," Dante said. "I'm on my bike heading up that way. I can take the trails."

"Dante -- no! It's off limits to you too! Don't you....."

Dante turned off the radio and gunned the Huskie. He went roaring up the trail, driving his bike faster than he ever had in his life. Branches whipped his face as streaked over the path, but he paid them no mind. His thoughts were focused on the beautiful young woman he had made love to this afternoon.

'Come on, Bri, please be all right!' he thought. 'Please be all right!'

*****

The pain had become her constant companion, the only reality left in a world that was swiftly tilting toward oblivion. Brianna Lang couldn't believe that she was still alive. 

Blood filled her mouth. Its metallic taste choked her. Internal injuries. She didn't have long. Never had she felt agony like this; it was almost beyond the ability of her nervous system to process. She tried to move, but her torn, mutilated body no longer listened to her. She thought of Stevie, sorry that she had lied to him, sorry that they would never get the chance to grow together as a couple. She thought of her mom and dad. They would be heartbroken. She had planned to visit them in Seattle this coming weekend. If only she could have seen them one last time, told them she loved them.....

The werewolf crouched over her. His huge, powerful jaws engulfed her left breast; he bit down slowly, shearing away the tender flesh until his fangs snapped together in the middle. He chewed up his gory prize and swallowed it. She had thought the pain could get no worse, but she'd been wrong. Brenna tried to scream; she managed only a horrible, wet gurgling noise. She was in shock, weakening from the loss of blood.

The creature's massive head darted between her spread legs. His bristling fangs tore out her cunt by the roots, and he gobbled it down right before her eyes. 

Brianna's eyes closed and the tears flowed down the slashed ruins of her face. 

Gradually a lethargy calmed her tormented mind; the physical pain became sublime, almost blissful. Bright lights danced before her eyes, growing more and more intense until her entire universe was a swell of incandescent flame. 

And then she was no longer lying in agony at the edge of the lake. 

She was in....her Grandpa Sam's backyard? 

It had been one of her favorite places when she had been a little girl. Only this backyard was transformed by an ethereal, golden-white glow. It was like the most beautiful spring day you could possibly imagine, multiplied by a factor of a thousand. It was just as she remembered it, just the way it had been before he had......gone away. The two-tiered yard, bisected in the middle by a neat flagstone retaining wall with steps at the far end, was filled with hanging baskets and planters bursting with all manner of beautiful flowers. The grassy areas were cross-hatched with mulched flower beds. Gorgeous climbing roses in all colors of the rainbow covered the high stone walls that bordered the property, and pine trees whispered in the gentle breeze. Flowering vines twisted in among the roses. She raced up the stone steps to the upper level of the yard, where his potting shed was. 

Sure enough, he was inside, filling clay pots with topsoil and plants. He was healthy, trim and tanned. His well-barbered mane of wavy white hair was neatly combed, and his brown eyes sparkled kindly behind those goofy photo-grey glasses. As usual, he wore a short-sleeved white knit shirt and pressed gray slacks, as neat as a pin. He was the way she remembered him in happier times, before the disease wasted and ravaged him.....

"Grandpa?" Brianna quavered, an arm reaching out to the old man. "Grandpa Sam, is that you?" 

"Kitten?" He looked surprised, but enfolded her in a warm embrace. "Lord, let me look at you! My, my, you've really blossomed into a young beauty. You were knee high to a grasshopper last time I saw you." 

She squeezed him tightly. "Oh, Grandpa, I've missed you! I love you!"

He kissed the top of her head. "I love you, too, honey. I must say, though, I wasn't expecting to see you just yet. Sort of figured Grandma Rose and your Mom and Dad would be along first."

"Is this....is this real?" she asked in wonder. "Is this heaven?"

He chuckled. "You can call it whatever you like, I guess. It's whatever makes you happiest. Favorite people, favorite places, favorite things -- it can be anything you want."

Brianna glanced down at herself. Her slender body was whole, unscarred by the werewolf's lethal attack. She was wearing her favorite jeans and a comfortable, loose-fitting denim shirt.

She heard a familiar 'meow' behind her.

"T-Tiger?!" Her eyes filled with joyful tears as the big, beautiful gray-striped tabby cat leaped into her arms. He purred and nuzzled her face, a comforting, warm bundle of fur. He had been dead for almost ten years.

"Oh, baby, I've missed you, too!" she exclaimed.

"Why don't you stay here with me, Kitten?" her grandfather urged, waving his arm invitingly. "You always did like my backyard." 

"Oh yes," she sighed contentedly as she stroked behind the cat's ears. "Oh yes! I'd love that!" 

A tug in her stomach brought her back to the reality of the bloodsoaked lakeside as a red curtain of pain occluded the comforting vision. So it had been just a pain-induced hallucination, then? Brianna sobbed softly. She desperately wanted to go back, to go where she would find an end to her suffering. 




Werewolf Moon Ch. 05



She moaned feebly. Her vision dimmed again, and she faded into unconsciousness...... 

Fresh pain quickly brought her around. Her body jerked upward and flopped back as something tugged at her chest. Her eyes flickered open. 

The werewolf had severed her other breast with his talons; it sat in a bloody heap on the leathered palm of a huge paw. He held it out to her, taunting her, so she could get a good look at it. 

Then he raised the bloody lump of flesh to his mouth and plunged his fangs into it.

Brianna turned her head to one side and threw up blood.

She lay back sobbing, drifting toward unconsciousness. The beast had made good on his promise. She was still alive; he leaned down within inches of her face, her shredded breast clenched between his bloody fangs. Then he bolted it down and let her own blood dribble into her open, gasping mouth.

She swallowed, finally clearing her throat enough to speak.

"Get it...o-over with....you b-bastard!" she sobbed. "K-kill........me...."

His deadly grin returned. He flexed his talons in her face; then he dug in deep at the notch of her collarbone and clawed her open down the front, only stopping after he slashed through the splintered remains of her pubic bone. She gasped; then a wet shriek of agony bubbled from her lungs. Blood streamed from her mouth, geysered from her throat, splashed over her savaged torso. It spurted from her belly in a torrent. Her limbs twitched uncontrollably. Her breathing was a liquid, reedy whistle; waves of dizziness and nausea flooded over her. 

Brianna's mind struggled to comprehend the horrible magnitude of her injuries. Her entire body was afire with flames of agony that never quite consumed her, but always tortured her, like the fires of hell. Her screams grew ragged and weak as he brutally yanked entrails from the bloody cavity he had carved. He reached down and spread apart her ribs; they gave way with a sickening 'crack,' opening upward like a clamshell, exposing her shredded lungs and intestines.

She began to shiver, feeling cold and clammy. She was in deep shock now, her body's systems shutting down as essential life forces were shunted to sustain the heart and brain even as the beast continued to maul her. She could feel what little remained of her life spinning away, like water swirling down a drain. She watched in horror as the werewolf plunged his shaggy arm into her chest cavity and ripped out her heart. It was still beating when he stuffed it into his mouth and bit into it. 

'Good bye, Mom. Goodbye, Dad,' she thought. 'I'll always love you guys. Stevie....I'm so sorry we didn't....'

A brief lance of agony tore through Brianna's eviscerated body; then, to her joy, she saw the flood of brilliant light return. The gruesome image of the werewolf devouring her heart faded away. She had always thought that dying would be terrifying and dark, like watching a picture on a television screen fade to black after the set had been unplugged -- not this bright, joyous light. Her eyes suddenly cleared with the final understanding that her death was at hand. She was not afraid.

"Yes," she whispered, a smile on her torn, blood-flecked mouth. "Yes. This time, I'm coming to stay.........." 

*****

The werewolf finished swallowing Brenna's heart, then glowered at her slaughtered remains in confusion. She might have been smiling; it was impossible to tell because she no longer had a face, but the bloody gash of what had been her mouth seemed to have turned up at the corners when the light went out in her eyes.

He tore out her liver and greedily devoured it. He needed the nourishment. He was weary, even a little weak; the Changing always took quite a bit out of him, and as if that hadn't been enough, the gunshot wounds had exacted a very heavy toll as well. He had expended a lot of energy regenerating lost blood and muscle and organs, and then he had Changed again so he could run her down and kill her.

She had suffered unbelievable agony; he had made her pay in full for shooting him. The lower part of her body lay in a few inches of shallow water; a crimson stain spread out from between her skinned legs like an oil slick, and the torn sac of her uterus floated on the surface. The two halves of her rib cage had been stripped of skin and flesh, and pointed toward the sky. Flies already buzzed over the grisly chasm he had carved down the front of her body.

The beast buried his bloody snout in her open stomach, growling softly in his throat as his fangs sheared through more viscera. He ripped out a coil of intestine with a jerk of his head and drew it slowly into his mouth, like a long strand of spaghetti. 

Suddenly, his keen ears pricked forward. He heard the annoying rasp of a motorcycle as it bounced up the trail. It would be here shortly. And in the distance, he could hear wailing sirens coming up the road. 

The werewolf snarled in frustration. He would have liked to finish his gory meal, but there wasn't time. It wasn't that he was afraid of the men who would come, but he didn't want to risk being shot again so soon after being blasted by the .45. They wouldn't be able to kill him; however, if he was hit and Changed back into human form, they'd see his face, and he might not be able to slay them all. In a fit of mindless rage, he dismembered Brianna's corpse, sank his fangs into her neck and tore out her throat. He watched her horribly mauled head roll free of her torso.

The motorcycle was getting closer. The beast bent down and tore one last huge chunk of entrails from Brianna's body. Then he raced over the ground and ran straight up the side of a tall tree, climbing the vertical trunk as easily as if he were sprinting over flat terrain. He hid himself in the thick foliage at the crown and devoured his handful of organ meat. He waited and watched.

The motorcyclist was a tall, slender man with curly black hair and a black beard. The werewolf could hear his anguished screams over the roar of the motor when he spied the girl's butchered remains. The engine died as he ditched the bike. He rushed over to the edge of the lake, crying her name over and over. He went down on his hands and knees and threw up.

Then he rolled over on his back, weeping and screaming hysterically, beating his fists against the sides of his head

The creature peered down at the shrieking man thirty feet below, wondering how he had even recognized the young woman. Probably the bloody scalp. It would be so easy to go down there and kill him, but the sirens were much closer. He didn't need a confrontation just now. He set off through the trees, running across the limbs with the agility of a leopard, flinging himself from tree to tree. He considered doubling back to feed on Janice's carcass for a while, but ruled against it. Again, too risky. He'd had no choice but to kill close to the hotel when the Change had unexpectedly seized him on the balcony, but it would be unwise to push it. He decided to head back to his room, where he could revert to his human form and rest awhile before tonight's hunt. 

He launched himself into a huge oak and skated down its trunk in a controlled slide. Then he landed on all fours and bounded down the path.

*****

TO BE CONTINUED...



Werewolf Moon Ch. 06



A pair of owls hooted a call-and-response to each other back in the pines. The shadows were lengthening; it was getting dark up here, and the denizens of the night were taking over.

Jace Morgan gripped his shotgun tightly, nervously glancing around the forest. He'd been coming up here since he'd been a little kid; he knew every rock, every tree in these woods, as if they were part of his backyard. 

Now, however, he felt as if he were marooned on a deadly alien planet.

Somewhere out there lurked a murderous beast that had savagely killed six people in less than twenty four hours.

"Colonel Morgan? We're about finished here."

Morgan nearly heaved a sigh of relief. He turned to face the plump young woman who was leading the gruesome task of gathering up the gory, scattered remains of Brianna Lang's dismembered body. Julie Hinton's dark hair was plastered to her head, and her glasses were fogged from the humidity. Her surgical gloves and green lab smock were drenched with blood. The anguished expression of grief on her face was heart wrenching. Morgan could understand. This wasn't just the corpse of a Jane Doe; this was their friend.

Spotlights raked the bloodstained mud at the edge of the lake, and Julie nodded. 

"I think we've got it all," she said. "I just didn't...." 

Her voice broke.

"I just didn't want to leave anything for the scavengers," she finished.

Two technicians lugged the bloodstained body bag containing Brianna's pitiful remains away from the edge of the water. Morgan realized he had been in a combat crouch. He relaxed and straightened up.

Steve Dante lay heavily sedated on a stretcher. He appeared to be almost catatonic. His eyes were open, unblinking, staring at the purple sky. Behind him, Sam D'Amato sat on a stump. He was devastated, exhausted; tears streamed down his face. His team was spread thin. Half his people were mopping up at the sheriff's house, and the rest were up here.

And they had lost one of their own.

"I never t-told Brianna what a good....job she did, Jace," he managed, his lower lip trembling. "She was the best. Never told her. She was young and ambitious, and I guess I felt threatened by her. Now.....I c-can't...tell her..."

Morgan gripped D'Amato's shoulder. "Sam -- why don't you head on home? You've had enough for one day."

The ranger commander flagged down a paramedic. "Can you get him a sedative, too?" he asked, indicating the weeping D'Amato. The EMT nodded. He pulled a syringe from his bag as he knelt down next to the forensic chief and quickly injected him. Then he helped D'Amato to his feet.

"C'mon, Sam," the paramedic said, glancing apprehensively around the clearing. "Everybody's leaving. This place gives me the creeps."

Morgan stepped aside as Dante was carried out, and he watched as D'Amato shuffled by, leaning heavily on the EMT. "Never told her...." he muttered.

One by one the rangers and deputies filed out, bringing up the rear of the procession. Acting Sheriff Clay Palmer fell in step alongside Morgan.

"No keepin' a lid on this now, Jace," Palmer drawled.

"Wasn't trying to," Morgan returned. "I was hoping we'd be able to kill the son of a bitch and be done with it. Christ, Clay, what the hell is it? It's almost like it can think!"

"Mebbe it can."

Morgan stopped and spun Palmer around. "C'mon, Clay -- don't tell me you believe this werewolf bullshit too?"

Palmer's eyes narrowed. "I'm open to suggestions. Why kill the sheriff? Why kill Brianna? Both of them were investigating the killings. I think it wanted to kill them; I can't believe the murders were random. Susie -- now she was random. She just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Morgan sighed. "Clay, I want to believe that this thing is just an animal -- some kind of mutant, probably, but just a very wily animal. Now I'm not so sure."

"What was it Shakespeare said -- 'There are stranger things in heaven and on Earth, Horatio, then were ever dreamed of in your philosophy?'"

"I didn't know you were into Shakespeare, Clay."

Palmer chuckled. "That was my cousin, Charlie Shakespeare, who said that. I'm just sayin' we shouldn't necessarily rule out any explanation, no matter how far fetched."

Morgan drew in a breath. "I don't know......"

Suddenly there was a crashing in the brush off to their right. Morgan and Palmer whirled around, bringing their shotguns to bear as a large, tawny shape charged from the undergrowth.

The deer froze on the trail, staring at the two men. Then it bounded away, back in the direction from which it had come.

Neither man said a word for several minutes. Then Palmer let out an explosive breath.

"This is gettin' to me," he murmured. "I almost iced Bambi."

"This place is never gonna be the same for me again," Morgan grated. "Let's get the hell out of here."

They hurried to catch up to the others, grateful for the security they felt in numbers.

*****

It was getting dark, but there was still time - time to get what she wanted.

Judy Rifkin moaned with pleasure. The sound was muffled by the thick cock that filled her mouth and slid halfway down her throat. Chad Brecker was everything she'd hoped for and more. He had a perfect body and was hung like a horse.

And he knew how to eat pussy better than any boy she had ever been with.

Judy squealed as his tongue found a particularly sensitive spot. Chad raised his head and grinned, wiping her pussy juices off his face with the back of a hand.

"Girls with hairy cunts turn me on!" he exclaimed.

She smiled around the shaft of his huge penis. Judy was a "natural" girl; she didn't believe in shaving, and her thick black tangle of pubic hair grew halfway up to her navel and strayed over her inner thighs.

She released his cock, and he moaned in frustration.

"Fuck my big tits!" Judy hissed. "I want you to come all over my tits!"

Chad was only too happy to oblige. He slid his wet, glistening cock into the valley between her huge mounds of flesh. He moved like a wild man, sliding over her soft, warm skin.

When he was about to finish, her mouth darted up and took him in suddenly. He came; she swallowed some, then pulled out his cock and pumped it, spraying semen all over her face, hair, and breasts.

Judy's nerves were on fire. She sucked him voraciously, and he was hard again in no time. She still smiled, though, as he turned her on her stomach, and she raised up on all fours. He easily slid into her wet, dripping cunt and began to pump furiously. 

Judy was beside herself with lust. He was going forever! God, he had staying power!

Chad pulled out suddenly. He pushed her face-first into the beach towel, expecting protests or cries. He got neither. 

"That's it baby; now you're cooking! Take me up the ass...go all the way in one shot! Shove it all the way up my shithole!"

It quickly became obvious to Chad that Judy had done anal on more than one occasion. In fact, her cunt was tighter than her asshole. Still, the sensation was pleasurable, and before long he came all over her fleshy ass cheeks.

Judy stood up shakily and kissed him. 

"We'd better get back before we're missed," she whispered. "I'll never hear the end of it. Let me find my bikini." 

She walked a few steps forward and stepped into something cold, wet and slimy.

"Shit!" she growled. "What the hell was that?"

She glanced down; there was just enough light in the glade to see by.

The horribly mutilated and partially dismembered, naked body of a young girl lay in a pool of blood in the weeds. Her guts were strewn everywhere, and her left breast had nearly been bitten off.

Judy had stepped into the gory wound that had once been her stomach.

It was Janice...

Judy screamed at the top of her lungs; when she tried to pull her foot out of Janice's stomach cavity, she tripped and fell on top of her dead friend.

She scrambled to her feet, coated with blood and gore and semen, and ran down the trail toward the hotel, shrieking mindlessly.

*****

Derek Talbot crouched on a thick limb of an oak tree, obscured by a curtain of leaves. It was a forty foot drop into the outdoor bath house of the Hotel Royale's swimming pool -- a piece of cake for a werewolf, even in human form. It was an easy -- but attention-getting -- jump to the ground.

It wasn't every day a naked man dropped from a tree limb and landed on his feet. 

Talbot shifted over, leaned his back against the trunk and yawned. He had to rest. The afternoon's activities had taken a lot out of him. He'd made the bitch Brianna Lang pay for shooting him, but he was paying for it now. He would need to sleep, and soon. 

If he could ever get back to his room.

He was contemplating what his next move should be when piercing screams rang out from the darkening forest behind the pool area.

"Ohmigod! It's Janice -- she's dead! Something tore her apart!"

The raven-haired 'Bikini Bimbo' -- Judy? - was running down the trail from the woods, naked as the day she was born. She was covered with blood - not her own - and there was semen all over her face, breasts, and stomach. A blond Adonis of a lifeguard followed after her, still shrugging into his swim trunks. His thick penis was glazed with a slimy mixture of jism and cunt juice. 

All eyes were on Judy and her provocatively-bouncing naked breasts.

"I tripped over her!" Judy shrieked. "She's dead!"

"Thank you, Judy," Talbot breathed. He dropped to the ground and landed easily on the balls of his feet. No one was in the bath house now, so he showered and grabbed a towel, which he wrapped around his waist. He casually left the bath house, which was now unattended, and headed for the elevator that would take him to the second floor of the hotel. Everyone had run up into the forest; his preternaturally keen hearing picked up the sound of a woman screaming, and then retching. A man's voice, edged with hysteria, shouted, "Jesus - what could have done that to her? Somebody call the cops!"

Talbot rode the elevator to his floor. He was exhausted now, the adrenaline rush of his hunting and killing having deserted him. He punched the keypad code to get into his room, and he pulled on a pair of briefs, running shorts and a tee shirt before he collapsed on the bed. He winced. His chest felt as though a herd of horses had trampled over him where he had been shot, and it hurt to breathe. He realized he was still healing.

Soon the full moon would rise, and he would be forced to hunt again. He would need to sleep now to withstand the rigors of the Change when that time came.

His heavy-lidded eyes drooped shut, and, within minutes, he was snoring lightly.

*****

EGLON SPECIAL FORCES, KANSAS SATRAP

"Van Helsing - do you have any idea what time it is?"

"It's around 5:00 PM here, Your Eminence," Gabriel Van Helsing replied innocently.

Cardinal Guiseppe Morelli stared, owl-eyed, from the monitor, his florid face redder than usual.

"It is 11 PM here, Van Helsing, and while it may not seem that late to you, I rise at 3:00 AM every morning! I have been asleep for two hours; you have awakened me from a very satisfying slumber, you Philistine!" He glowered from across the ocean. "What is it you want - and it had better be good!"

"A dispensation," Van Helsing said. "There's a werewolf I need to hunt in the state of Washington, and I can't get Dr. Collins to clear me for duty. I'm fine - I'm ready to go."

"I see." Morelli frowned. "So now, in addition to your other dubious talents, you've added M.D. behind your name. Request denied!"

"Damn it, Your Eminence!" Van Helsing growled. "I can kill that beast if you let me go! People are dying - more will die!"

"People die every day, Van Helsing," the cardinal said, his tone icy. "Request denied. Good night!"

The screen went dark.

With a howl of rage, Van Helsing smashed his fist completely through the monitor. Fat sparks spat and sizzled, and a puff of smoke wafted from the dying screen. Van Helsing stormed out into the hall, sucking on his battered knuckles.

"I take it that went about as well as expected?" Miranda asked.

"He said 'no!'" he snarled.

"We are therefore going anyway?"

He whirled on her, and she took a step back.

"Captain Kirk in 'Star Trek III: The Search for Spock.' That's what he said when Starfleet Command refused to let him...."

"What do you mean, 'we?'" he asked coldly. "I'm going, but I need you to stay here."

"No," she said defiance in her voice. "You need me with you. If by some chance you aren't 100%, you'll need backup."

She wasn't going to budge. She stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at him. Van Helsing sighed.

"All right. We'll need...." 

"I, er, appropriated a Jeep to get us to the air strip," she offered. "Two 12- gauge sawed-off shotguns, silver shot in the shells, silver nitrate in the powder. Two .45 caliber automatic pistols, two AK-47's. Silver ammunition, of course. Oh, and your crossbow with silver stakes, and those blade thingies you use. Silver-tipped, of course." 

He stared. "O-kay. How will we get out there?"

"I've hired a plane."

"Reputable?"

Miranda smiled. "Let's just say he won't ask any questions. He's reliable, and he's got a Lear jet."

Van Helsing's left eyebrow rose "Really? I'm impressed. When do we leave?"

"Now," she said. "All of our gear is packed. The guard at the main gate likes me. We'll be long gone before anyone realizes what's happening."

He kissed her forehead. "Miranda, what would I do without you? I hope you realize what you've gotten yourself into, though. This is a werewolf - the most dangerous predator on earth. You'll need to watch your ass."

"I wouldn't mind it if you watched my ass, too, Gabe," she said. Her smile was coquettish. 

He grinned. "I can think of less pleasant ways to pass the time!"

They walked outside and got into the Jeep, and then they drove, unmolested, through the main gate of the compound.

*****

Where were the colors?

His world was monochrome, black and white, halftones under the pale white light of the full moon, and he wanted to fill it with color. Red, the color of life - and death.

The werewolf went down on all fours on the dew-dampened path. The trail glowed in the dark for him, lighting his way through the dense forest. He loped easily over the ground, a muscled bundle of frustrated violence and hunger and barely-leashed power. Trees drifted by as he ran. The night was still; even the crickets stopped chirping as he passed.

He was hunting, hunting something warm and soft.

The woods were thinning out now. He could see it in a clearing up ahead - a house, a neat, white bungalow with a black roof. He snarled. 

Where were the colors? 

Then he stopped. A familiar scent - a woman, in the house up ahead.

Liz!

The tiny human spark buried deep in his brain supplied the name. Yes, Liz! Soft, sweet, pretty Liz! He salivated, and the scent of her cunt brought a rush of blood - and desire - to his loins. 

Yes - he would rape and kill her, the one he loved!

His lips writhed back over his fangs as he snarled. His sharp eyes could see her through the large picture window at the rear of the house. She was lying on the bed, asleep, the covers thrown back, clad in a clinging, transparent nightgown. She was small and delicate, like a little porcelain doll.

With a roar, he charged forward. He leaped; he felt a shock, like ice breaking, and the window shattered into a million silver splinters. Ebony talons flashed in the moonlight. She screamed. Her beautiful face and supple body were rent with deep, bloody grooves. Her nightdress was torn away,and now the color flooded his world. Red, everywhere! He exulted as scarlet soaked the bed, splashed on the floor, spattered the walls. He rolled her over on her stomach, pushed her face down in the pillows to muffle her screams. He entered her. He was too much for her; she was so tiny, and her insides tore apart under his brutal thrusts. His penis ripped through the top of her cervix and up into her body. More color gushed out onto the sheets.

He finished with her quickly, and now claws and fangs ripped and shredded. He gulped down chunks of her flesh as she screamed, until she finally screamed no more, and her body fell apart on the bed. He came up with a loop of intestine clenched in his fangs.

Then he threw back his shaggy head and howled...

"Liz! Nooooo!"

Derek Talbot flung himself from the bed. He was Changing! 

No! It wasn't time - not yet! He glanced at the bureau mirror. Hair and claws had sprouted on his hands, and his eyes gleamed yellow in the semi-darkness. 

Slowly he brought himself under control. The hair and talons receded, and his eyes transformed back into their normal blue color. He fought down rising panic.

Liz! He had to get out of here, go far away, before the full moon rose! The Wolf wanted Liz! 

If he stayed here, he would hunt her down and kill her.

He frantically packed a duffle bag with a couple of changes of clothes, bounded down the steps and out into the parking lot. He didn't have much time. Hopefully he could get far enough away from here so that he wouldn't be able to get at Liz. He climbed into the BMW and slammed the door.

The engine roared to life. Tires screeched and slung gravel in all directions, and Talbot slewed the car out of the parking lot and headed toward the main highway, leaving the cloying stench of burning rubber hanging in the air.

*****

TO BE CONTINUED...



Werewolf Moon Ch. 07



Time was running out. A pale golden glow in the eastern sky told him that the full moon would soon edge above the horizon.

Derek Talbot ground his teeth in rage. He felt as if he was suffocating; the air was closing in on him like a clenching fist, crushing him, making it difficult to breathe. His skin was stretched taut, and felt itchy and stubbly from head to toe. His head and his chest pounded, thumping like a drum to the beat of his heart. All too soon he would be forced to Change.

He was twenty five miles away from Winslow Junction, twenty five miles away from Liz.

Would that be far enough away to save her?

Oh, God -- Liz!

A road sign flashed by.

BELMONT

POP. 2500

The garish neon of a roadside hotel stabbed through the gathering gloom in the near distance. Wouldn't have been his first choice, but it would have to do. Any port in a storm. It did have the virtue of backing up into a dense forest. He whipped the BMW into the parking lot.

The Drake Motel. Talbot frowned. To call this place "seedy" was a compliment. The bright pink paint was peeling, and several windows were cracked and starred. He felt his lips twitch back over his teeth in a snarl, and he remembered why he had come.

To save Liz.

He grabbed his bag and jumped from the car. He was going to book a room, whether there were any vacancies or not. Just let anyone try to stop him! He burst into the office, startling a pimply-faced youth with greasy black hair, clad in jeans and an Iron Maiden tee shirt.

"Need a room," he growled.

The kid got up slowly and stretched.

"Sometime today!" Talbot roared.

The clerk jumped. He hustled over to the battered counter and quickly started filling out a ticket. "N-name, sir?" he quavered.

"Give me that!" Talbot irritably snatched away the paper and quickly scribbled the billing information on the form and signed it. Then he whipped out a Visa to pay for two days' lodging. He was Mr. B.C. Redmond of Bellingham, Washington.

Fortunately the motel had a decent VeriSign system, and his card was quickly approved.

"Room 103, down on the..."

Talbot ripped the key from the clerk's hand and stalked wordlessly from the office.

"Thank you, Mr. Redmond," the kid rasped. "We have a continental breakfast at..."

The door slammed, and the clerk was alone in the room.

"Prick!" he grumbled. Then he repressed a shudder. Something weird about that guy.

His eyes were yellow - and they seemed to glow.

Derek Talbot furiously stripped naked as he pulled the door to his cabin closed behind him. He tossed his clothes on the bed, noticing that the window opened outward and was wide enough to accommodate him. He wormed his way through the gap and eased the window frame shut. 

He made it to the crest of the hill behind the motel before the first wrenching stab of agony clawed at his insides. He went to his knees, choking off a scream. His muscles rippled and thickened as bones stretched and fur covered his body. He glanced up, the skin around his eyes netted with pain.

The full moon floated just above the horizon, a glowing orange skull grinning stiffly in the twilight.

"Liz!" 

His cry was thick with despair. Derek Talbot's human self was slipping away, and he said a quick, desperate prayer for her as the Wolf exultantly claimed control of his being. The creature went down on all fours, excited by the raw power that throbbed, violently and impatiently, through his transformed body. He yearned to hunt something warm and soft. His keen nose sifted the air.

Then he caught a scent. Prey -- and not very far from here!

The beast tossed back his head and loosed a bloodcurdling howl. Then he crashed off through the underbrush, his bloodlust driving him onward.

*****

It was so peaceful up here.

The forest was silent, except for the hooting of an owl and the sigh of pine needles whispering in the breeze. 

Helen Noble gathered a bouquet of wildflowers by the bright moonlight. She and Bob had come here to the Belmont Nature Preserve for their honeymoon, and had returned many times to this very campsite over the years. It was their special place.

They were here now to celebrate what would be their thirty-second -- and last -- anniversary.

Her eyes misted over with tears as she gazed down the slope to the campsite where Bob threw a couple of logs on the fire. She could not accept that he had only six months to live. He looked so healthy and fit. Lung cancer -- and he had never smoked a cigarette in his life! 

But his parents had both been heavy smokers, and the second-hand smoke of their habit had doomed her husband.

She studied him in the moonlight. At 54, he was still handsome and virile. His jet black hair had turned iron gray, and he had a bit of a paunch, but he could still make her feel "frisky" -- their pet term for being aroused. For herself, she had held up fairly well, too. She had just turned fifty, and was still pretty. There were flecks of silver in her blonde hair, and she was a little bit thicker through the middle, but in the properly-tailored outfit, she could still turn heads.

In another four years he could have taken early retirement. They had been bursting with plans - cruises, trips, all kinds of things to do. They would still be young enough to enjoy their leisure time.

All that had changed when they found the spot on Bob's right lung.

Tonight they would make love in their little tent, just as they had thirty-two years ago. It would be bittersweet -- it was always bittersweet now, because each time could be the last. There was no telling when his energy would begin to flag, when he would no longer be able to make love to her.

Suddenly, the owl stopped hooting.

Something moved, rustling the bushes behind her - something big.

Bob's eyes widened in horror, and he frantically grabbed his shotgun.

"Helen -- get down! NOW!"

She knew him too well to question him. She dropped to the ground as the explosion of the powerful weapon rocked the quiet forest. Pellets sang over the top of her, and the deafening roar of a huge animal in pain shattered the air. A bear?

Helen glanced up and screamed in terror.

It was an apparition from hell, seven feet tall and thickly muscled, covered with shaggy brown fur. It stood upright like a man, but the massive head was the head of a snarling wolf. Spatters of bright red blood peppered its shoulder where the pellets had found their mark.

Jesus -- what was it?

Bob was sprinting toward her now, yelling, pumping the semi automatic Browning on the run. The creature howled and fled as her husband fired another blast in its direction. 

"Are you all right?" he asked anxiously as Helen got to her feet.

"I'm fine," she answered. "What was that? Bigfoot? It looked like some kind of a wolf thing! God, did you see that face? Horrible!"

"Don't know what it is, and I don't want to know!" Bob pumped another shell into the chamber.

"We'd better break camp," Helen suggested.

He shook his head. "Screw the camp! We're getting out of here now and going to the police. We'll come back for our gear in the morning -- with the National Guard!"

He took her by the hand and hustled her down the hill to the Land Rover. They hopped in and slammed and locked the doors behind them. Bob started up the vehicle and tore down the trail until he came to the main road. They breathed a sigh of relief.

Bob suddenly chuckled.

"What?" Helen asked, a smile quirking the corners of her mouth.

"When I said we needed to put a little more excitement into our marriage, that's not exactly what I had in mind!"

She laughed, and leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder. "I love you, honey," she whispered.

'And I am so going to miss you,' she thought.

A silent tear tracked down her cheek.

*****

His shoulder burned like fire.

The werewolf seethed with rage and pent-up frustration as he crouched on the huge, flat boulder overlooking the main road. The wound wasn't that bad, but a hit at close range could have disabled him for a while. At the very least, the injury would force him to revert to his human form. He couldn't take that chance.

He watched as his wounded skin regenerated and healed. The flesh undulated, and, one by one, the shotgun pellets popped out from beneath his skin, rejected by the new tissues. The tiny lead bb's clattered on the rock.

Guns - he'd had enough of guns today to last him a lifetime!

His stomach rumbled. The supercharged metabolism of the Wolf was burning up his last reserves of energy. He would have to feed, and soon. He toyed with the idea of descending the hill and taking out the greasy hotel clerk, but he decided he wasn't that desperate - yet. 

The wind shifted, and he flashed a terrible, toothy grin. 

A female, a young one - alone! His keen eyes peered through the darkness. He salivated as he caught sight of her.

She was a mahogany-skinned beauty, petite and slender and well-toned, and apparently a runner. She was dressed in a tank top and shorts. 

And she was injured.

The girl limped painfully up the road, cursing and hopping on one foot from time to time. The werewolf slid stealthily off the rock and loped down the hillside toward the road. She would be easy prey, and her skimpy clothing provided no hiding place for a gun. Soon both of his appetites would be sated.

For a while.

*****

"Shit!"

Holly Robeson hobbled over the blacktop, trying to keep her weight off her right leg. She had popped her ankle really good; it was either a nasty sprain or a ligament tear. It was swollen up to the size of a softball.

Either way, she could pretty well kiss off the fall track and field season at UW Blanton. It was her junior year, and she was hoping to be elected captain of the team.

She'd be lucky to be named an honorary member now.

Holly was a pretty girl, with huge, luminous dark eyes, a brilliant smile, and a halo of blue-black curls surrounding her dusky face. She had a lean athlete's body with long legs. Some said she was a little too skinny and boyish looking.

But Ted Garner didn't mind. He loved her. Ted said she was exceedingly graceful when she ran; he had once compared her to a young gazelle when he watched her run the 440.

Right now she fancied she resembled the Wicked Witch of the West galumphing along the macadam. All she needed was a gnarly old cane.

She ruefully shook her head. It was her own fault; too much partying with Ted this summer, and not enough training. Now she was paying for it. On top of that, she had run too far. She had become distracted.

Now she was stranded out in the middle of nowhere in the dark woods with a dead cell phone. Her fault; should have charged it.

A tear dribbled down her soft cheek. She had every right to be distracted. This had been the week from hell.

Holly and her boyfriend Ted Powers were very much in love. They decided to become engaged before the school year started, and happily announced it to their families.

That was when the shit hit the fan.

Latent prejudices that neither of the young lovers realized existed surfaced in both families. Holly and Ted were appalled. 

They loved each other; that should have been the end of the discussion right there. The fact that Holly was black and Ted was white should not have mattered in the least.

Apparently it did.

Holly bit her lower lip. Her father she could understand, but Mom?! That paragon of tolerance had wailed and wept and stormed from the room when the announcement was made, leaving the young couple to face the wrath of her father. 

And when she remembered what Ted's father had called her...

Holly sobbed aloud. 'Put it out of your mind, girl,' she thought. 'Concentrate on getting home to Ted. It's creepy out here! Thank God the full moon is out so I can at least see where I'm going!'

Crickets and katydids were joined by tree frogs in singing a canticle of the night. An owl hooted every now and then, and once a fox barked its yapping call back in the woods. There was no light to speak of up here, save for the cold, white, unwavering glow of the full moon, which illuminated both sides of the black ribbon of the road, marking her way. There was going to be a total eclipse in the wee hours of the morning, which would plunge these woods into pitch blackness.

She intended to be safe at home in bed with Teddy by then.

Holly figured she had maybe another ten minutes to get to the bottom of the hill and her car. Might be fun driving with her bad ankle, but she would try come hell or high water.

Then the forest grew as silent as a church, as if even the trees were holding their breath.

She heard something, and she froze.

It was subtle at first -- a slight scuffling noise, then a snapping twig.

Then there was no mistaking the sound. It was an animal, padding through the brush and across the road on all fours, like a dog.

A very big dog.

There was a pattern to it; first it ran across the grass and leaves, then its claws ticked on the pavement.

Holly shuddered.

It was circling her!

And it was getting closer. She couldn't see what it was; it was just a blur, a silhouette, moving fast.

Then it stopped, and she screamed.

The creature was down on all fours about fifteen feet from her, flexing, ready to pounce. It was unlike anything she had ever seen, an enormous, unholy crossbreed of a man and a wolf. The thing appeared to be about the size of a bear, and it looked lethal. Fiery yellow eyes glowed demonically in the dark.

Then it grinned at her, flashing long, sharp, ivory fangs. Its growl was horrible, deep, and it raised goosebumps on Holly Robeson's body. Her knees buckled, and she wet her pants.

With its gaze locked on Holly, the beast roared like a lion and tensed to spring. She shrieked and turned to run.

Had she been in peak condition, Holly might have been able to outrun the werewolf for a short distance, but with her bad ankle, she managed only a few hobbled steps before a great taloned paw whipped across the backs of her knees and severed her tendons, and a four hundred pound juggernaut slammed into her, punching the breath out of her and knocking her several dozen yards through the air. She landed hard on the blacktop. The creature attacked before the stunned Holly could move. The young girl shrieked in agony as the werewolf's claws dragged savagely across her body, viciously mauling her, ripping away clothing and skin and chunks of flesh. It was stripping her as well! The creature sank its fangs into her left breast and bit down, shearing through flesh, and Holly nearly passed out. Her blood raced down the road in streaming torrents as she screamed.

The beast finally stopped slashing her. It pinned her torn, naked body to the ground and snarled in her face as she gasped in terror. Its scalding drool spattered on her face; the stench of its breath clogged her nostrils.

Then it knelt between her legs.

Somehow she was still conscious. Holly managed to raise her head and look down across her body and she moaned in horror.

Her left breast was gone, torn off and devoured by the beast, and intestines dangled from a gaping wound in her stomach. Every inch of her seemed to have been slashed and torn. Her blood was everywhere.

She was dying.

It was then that she noticed the werewolf's enormous, erect organ. The beast gripped her ankles and spread her legs wide. She could feel the massive head of its penis pressing against the lips of her sex.

"Ohmigod, nononono! Please d-don't!"

It was inside her with one brutal thrust. Holly arched her back, and her screams shattered the night. Agony blazed through her insides; everything went red, as if all her blood had been squeezed into her brain and was about to explode out through her eyes.

Then she felt something rip inside her. The pain was unbelievable; the Beast pulled out of her, and she stared in disbelief at the gory sight of the torn sac of her uterus impaled on the end of his huge cock.

Then he thrust everything back inside her and began to pump rhythmically. Holly's screams grew more feeble by the moment. Eventually the monster ejaculated, and she could feel his scalding seed flooding through her torn tissues.

The werewolf flipped the sobbing girl over on her belly, and she could feel his huge cock sliding between her buttocks.

"Oh...n-n-no!" she sobbed. "N-not th-there..."

The Wolf shoved brutally forward; her asshole tore with a sound like a pistol shot, and blackness consumed her.

*****

Gino Falloni was seething.

The owner/manager of Rebel's Gentlemen's Club was in a black mood. The hottest girl at his club had quit on him. He was very generous to his girls. Most of them made high five figure incomes, which was unheard of for a dancer. Of course, the ones who did more than just dance made even more than that.

And because he was so generous, Gino expected unswerving loyalty in return. Liz Brannigan would regret her decision; there were dire consequences for any bitch who walked out on him.

Nobody quit on Gino Falloni.

Rebel's was hopping tonight, and it would be hopping even more if Liz Brannigan were here. He could pack a private party of 200 into the Crystal Room just to watch her pole dance and lap dance. A bank president had once offered Gino $500,000 for just one hour with Liz, and the stupid slut had turned him down! He knew she needed the money; she would have made $150,000 just for a quick fuck, but she had refused. Miss Goody Two Shoes.

She could slide up and down bareass naked on a pole and get her rocks off in front of a room full of hundreds of strangers, but she couldn't take a tumble in the privacy of one of Rebel's bedrooms.

He swiveled around in his chair and gazed at Liz's gallery on a wall of his sumptuous office suite. He felt his cock stiffen as he looked at his favorite, an 36" by 48" poster shot of a naked Liz, her legs wrapped around a dancing pole in such a way that there was a tantalizing glimpse of her pretty pink pussy, her head thrown back and her teeth bared as she climaxed.

She could do that, but she couldn't go for a roll in the hay with a rich client. Hell, he couldn't even get her to use a vibrator onstage.

Falloni rested his elbows on his massive oak desk. He stared at the monitor screens, and his mood improved somewhat. 

All of the back rooms were occupied, with a waiting list of impatient customers in the hall. He had a front row seat for all the action, which was being professionally recorded by six cameras in each room - unknown to their clients and the girls. The best vids were professionally released as adult videos. The girls, of course, were among the most beautiful young women in the country, but some of the men...

Falloni shuddered. Some of the men were old and fat and butt ugly. But then there were some real winners. Like the ones with Lisa. The beautiful, big-titted UW coed was on screen 4, doing a three way with a trio of studly football players. Good looking boys. The closeup camera captured a perfect money shot as one of the kids pulled out of her mouth and messily came all over her pretty face. 

And Amber, another fresh faced college girl on screen 10. She looked as though she was maybe fifteen years old. He kept a copy of her birth certificate at the top of his stack in case he needed proof. And appearances could be deceiving; despite her innocent face, she was his most experienced anal girl. The other girls had dared her to take this guy up the ass, and she had smugly accepted the challenge. 

Falloni winced. The guy was hung like a draft horse; he was too much even for Amber. She was crying and sobbing and screaming bloody murder, and there was blood all over her ass. Great drama. A split screen featured her agonized expression and a closeup of the insertion. He made a note to be sure she got a huge bonus for this one.




Werewolf Moon Ch. 07



A knock sounded on his door.

"Come in," he sang out.

Steve Foley sauntered into the office, smiling ingenuously. With his clean cut, all-American good looks, he resembled a college linebacker. He ostensibly served as a bouncer at Rebel's. 

No one would ever suspect the burly young man was a vicious, cold-blooded killer. In the eight years Gino had run Rebel's, he'd never required Foley's services in that capacity.

Until now.

"You sent for me, Boss?" Foley asked.

"Got a job for you, Stevie," Falloni answered. "Tomorrow night I want you to go over to Liz Brannigan's place and...persuade her to come back to work here."

Foley whistled. "She quit? Ah, man, that's a shame - she's hot!"

"I know," Falloni agreed. "There are a lot of hot girls here, but she's special. But not so special that she can walk out and think she can get away with it." He pulled a Colt Python out of his desk drawer and spun the cylinder.

"What do you want me to do to her, Mr. Falloni?"

"Rough her up," Falloni returned. "Ass rape her and gang bang her. But don't mark her. Rubber automotive hoses are good - but I don't have to tell you that. See if she'll come back, but make sure she realizes that she'll have to agree to fuck if she returns - and emphasize that she'd better return if she wants to live! If she absolutely refuses after all that..."

He raised the revolver and fired at a black and white portrait of Liz, shattering the glass as the thunderclap reverberated in the room. A bullet hole nested in the middle of her forehead.

"If she refuses, make sure nobody finds her. Make sure her own mother wouldn't recognize her if they do. Make them work to identify her."

Foley grinned boyishly. "Consider it done, Boss."

"Stevie - I'd like to get her back here working," Falloni said. "I'm counting on you!"

Foley nodded. Then he left the office, and Falloni swiveled back to his monitors. On screen 10, Amber passed out as her john ejaculated all over her smooth, creamy ass, and a pinkish mixture of blood and semen coursed over her flawless skin. Falloni grinned.

That vid would definitely be a keeper!

*****

The werewolf gnawed the last few scraps of meat off the severed lower right leg. The girl had been tasty; her flesh had been lean and tender. He had devoured everything else except for a few morsels between the ribs that he couldn't quite reach. He tossed the stripped leg bones onto a pile with the rest of her scattered skeleton and growled. 

He was only partially satisfied; the hunger still burned in his stomach as his metabolic furnace worked overtime. He had been through a lot today. He had been shot twice, once seriously, and had Changed more times than he should have. The various traumas had overtaxed his system. He needed more nourishment.

More meat.

His lips suddenly tightened against his fangs in a feral grin.

Liz!

Yes, beautiful, delicious Liz. She was far away - but not far enough away! Even pacing himself to conserve energy, he could be back in the little town where she lived in a couple of hours. Plenty of time to ravish her and make a feast of her. He made one last hopeful inspection of the jumbled pile of bloody, gnawed bones that had been Holly Robeson. 

Nothing left.

He turned and loped up the trail into the forest.

And the tiny, ineffectual spark in the Wolf's mind that was Derek Talbot pleaded and screamed impotently.

TO BE CONTINUED...



Werewolf Moon



An Explorer -- a Park Ranger's vehicle. The big 4-wheel drive rolled to a stop next to the Mustang. The ranger got out. She was a beautiful young brunette who filled out her uniform quite nicely. She frowned at the sight of the Mustang.

The beast's cock hardened again at the sight of the lissome female. He gathered his legs, ready to pounce....

Lieutenant Megan Foster of the Winslow Junction State Wilderness Area Park Rangers shook her head. 

Bobby Martin's Mustang. It was probably the most well-known car in the small town of Winslow Junction. 

'Looks like Bobby got lucky tonight,' she thought. 

Megan wanted desperately to go home, but she had six more hours left on her shift. Her breasts were sore and swollen and felt as if they would burst; she was full of milk. She hadn't had time to pump them before she left for work. 

She hoped Brandon, her infant son, was plenty hungry tonight!

"Kids!" she muttered. "Probably out in the woods screwing! Serve 'em right if a grizzly came along."

She cleared her throat.

"Bobby! This is Lieutenant Megan Foster with the park rangers. It's illegal to get some nookie in a State Wilderness Area. You and your little girlfriend better come out of the woods now with your clothes intact. If you do, we'll forget all about this and you can drive out. Besides, it can be dangerous in these woods at night."

Then her flashlight played over the sea of blood in the back seat of the Mustang and she gasped. 

She saw Bobby's severed head lying face up in the parking lot, and she went white.

"Ohmigod! Ohmigod! Ohmigod!"

Something was dripping steadily on the rim of her Smokey Bear hat. 

Rain? No, it was red.

Blood!

She gazed around wildly, her head whipping from side to side. She caught a glimpse of Bobby's corpse hanging in the tree, and then her frantic gaze fell on Bethany's pitiful, eviscerated remains, which looked like a deer that had been run over by a dozen tractor-trailer trucks. 

She gagged and retched.

She wiped her streaming eyes, hyperventilating, and reached for her shoulder radio with trembling fingers.

With an elemental roar, the werewolf leaped from the brush and landed at her feet. Megan shrieked in abject terror and wet her pants. Her radio went flying, and she clawed for her pistol.

As she pointed the weapon at the werewolf, he lashed out and tore off her arm at the shoulder. The severed limb flew into the woods, trailing a stream of crimson, and six foot jets of blood spurted from the stump. 

Megan Foster screamed mindlessly. She staggered backwards, stumbling to the Explorer. Somehow, despite her agony, she managed to open the driver's side door. She sank back against the seat. Deep shock was clawing at her consciousness.

She was bleeding to death! She had to get help.

As she awkwardly fumbled across her body with her left arm for the car radio's microphone, the werewolf plunged a powerful fist through the windshield. He grabbed the screaming young woman by her throat and viciously yanked her out of the vehicle through the windshield in a shower of broken glass.He slammed her down on the hood. Shards of glass were buried in her bloody face, scalp, and neck. There were slivers imbedded in her eyes. Her blood was everywhere.

As Megan lay on the hood, moaning in agony, deadly talons slashed and tore until they had ripped away the last scraps of her bloody, sodden ranger's uniform and undergarments, leaving her naked and covered with gory claw marks. 

The werewolf gripped her ankles, spread her legs wide and, without preamble, plunged his huge organ into the dying woman, forcibly opening her womb. Megan jerked and screamed as he violated her. She piteously begged for mercy.

After punishing her for several long minutes, the werewolf arched his back and climaxed with a howl.

The werewolf gazed down at his dying prey. 

Megan Foster was trembling, cold and clammy and fading in and out of consciousness as the last of her lifeblood drained away. Her bloody breasts were swollen, and milk dribbled from her nipples. The livid pink scar of a recent Caesarean section stitched across her belly.

A new mama.

Her eyes flickered open. She saw the beast glaring at her with glowing red eyes.

"P...p..please......" she sobbed. "Get...me to a h-hospital. My....baby b-boy's...only five m-months old. He...needs...me..."

The werewolf bared his fangs in a feral grin.

Then slowly, sadistically, he traced the Caesarean scar with a long, sharp claw, slicing Megan open and gutting her as she shrieked. With a vicious tug, he yanked her intestines from her belly. He lowered his muzzle and cropped her huge left breast from her body and gobbled it down.

Megan's pitiful cry ended in a gurgling death rattle. Even though she was already dead, the beast tore out her throat for good measure.

Then, for the second time that night, a howl of triumph echoed through the thick woodlands of Winslow Junction State Forest, announcing another kill.

The beast turned his attention to the fresh carcass, eating ravenously. Blood streamed over the hood of the Explorer in glistening red torrents.

And somewhere in the nearby town, a man and his baby son would wait in vain for the return of a young mother.

3.

Sheriff Quint Tomlinson, chief of the Winslow Junction Sheriff's Department, was a seasoned veteran, but this gruesome bloodshed was beyond his ken. He had to look away to keep from getting sick. His round, baby face was bathed in sweat under his mop of brown hair -- and not from the heat.

Clouds of black flies swarmed over her mangled remains of the three victims in the pulloff. Overhead, an ever-increasing flock of vultures wheeled and circled. The corpses were bloated and stinking pretty badly, having lain under the hot morning sun for several hours.

Megan Foster -- what was left of her, anyway - sprawled spread-legged on the hood of the battered Explorer. Someone had retrieved her severed arm -- still gripping her pistol -- and had laid it near her head. Her breasts were gone, as was most of her stomach. 

Tomlinson had met her before. She had been a pretty young woman. 

Now her smashed face reminded him of raw hamburger.

And poor little Bethany Jensen. All that remained of her upper body was her slashed head, and a gnawed ribcage and spine. 

Her buttocks and vagina had also been eaten.

Not to mention Bobby Martin. His decapitated corpse was lodged in a tree, and his head lay in the middle of the parking lot.

Tomlinson watched as forensics people dispassionately went about their business. Some of them poked and prodded the mutilated bodies, taking samples. Others were sweeping every inch of the parking lot and the nearby woods.

"Jesus God in Heaven -- what got at them? A bear?" Tomlinson asked no one in particular.

"Come on, Quint -- you know damned well no bear did this."

Tomlinson turned to face his old friend Colonel Jace Morgan, chief of the Winslow Junction Wilderness Area Rangers. Morgan's rangers called him a "poor man's Clint Eastwood." The resemblance was uncanny. Right now, his lean, weathered face was taut with grief and barely repressed rage. He squinted at Megan's mangled remains.

"Then you tell me, Jace -- if a bear didn't do this, then what in Hell did?" Tomlinson demanded.

"I don't know," Morgan drawled softly. "This is like nothing I've ever seen."

"That's not very encouraging, gentlemen," a beefy, middle-aged man said, mopping his brow. Blood from his surgical gloves soaked into his kerchief.

Sam D'Amato was the Chief of Forensics with the Winslow Junction Sheriff's Department. He could have been a Roman Emperor in a sword-and-sandals movie from the '50's. He was short, chubby, with a florid face and a thatch of receding gray ringlets that looked as if they had been airlifted onto his head. 

All he needed to complete the ensemble was a toga and a laurel wreath.

"This is ugly," D'Amato muttered. "Ugly, ugly, ugly. The kids' clothes were in the back seat of the Mustang. They must have been screwing when...it got them."

He shuddered.

"What the Hell could have done this?" he asked, echoing the sheriff.

"God -- there're about two liters of semen inside her!"

The young woman who had been examining Megan Foster's remains stood up, wrinkling her nose. 

Tomlinson couldn't help staring appreciatively, grateful for the opportunity to forget the gory tableau for a moment.

Brianna Lang was a vision. She was easy to look at, and round in all the right places. A cloud of auburn curls framed startling sea-green eyes in her lovely face. She wore a red denim shirt with rolled-up sleeves knotted under her full breasts. Her midriff was bare. Cutoff blue jean shorts hugged her smoothly-rounded backside.

She could easily have been a model.

But Brianna wasn't a model; she was a forensics investigator. At twenty-two, she was fresh out of college, trained in all the latest methods, using all the most advanced equipment. She was very conscientious, a real go-getter.

And she rubbed Sam D'Amato the wrong way.

"I'm going to run a sample and feed it into my laptop," she announced, holding up a syringe. "I wonder if some sicko did this and then sicced a mastiff on her -- or, even worse, did it after the mastiff tore her up?" 

"Little Miss CSI: New York," Sam muttered under his breath. He raised his voice. "You're jumping to conclusions again, Miss Lang!"

"Surely you're not suggesting the animal that mauled her also sexually assaulted her, Mr. D'Amato?" she asked.

"I'm not suggesting anything until I've got some evidence," Sam growled. "I suggest you do the same."

"Well, let me see if I can get you some evidence," Brianna retorted.

She had a high-powered microscope and a laptop set up in her car. She put a droplet of the semen on a slide, focused on it, and gasped aloud.

"My....God!" she murmured. "What the Hell is this?" Curious despite himself, Sam hurried over to her car. Brianna got up to let him use the scope.

"Look at that, Mr. D'Amato!" she exclaimed. "It's got to be some kind of mutation."

"Great Christ!" Sam sputtered. He blinked, and looked again. "I've never seen anything like that!"

He turned to Brianna.

"Get that fed into your computer, Brianna," he said. "See if you can match it up with....well, anything!"

"Okay -- would somebody like to enlighten us laymen?" Morgan asked in irritation.

The two forensics people ignored him as Brianna patched in a cable from the microscope to her laptop.

"Sam!"

Exasperated, Sam D'Amato glanced over his shoulder. "This jism is....."

His voice trailed off.

"I dunno what it is. It looks like Human semen, but it's.....not. I don't know -- like she said, maybe a mutation."

"What in Hell does that mean?" Quint Tomlinson exploded. "You sound like you're talking about an alien -- or a monster or something."

Sam looked down. "Maybe I am," he whispered. "Or something. I don't know exactly what I'm talking about just yet, Quint." 

Brianna's computer hummed for a long time, the microscope's image of the semen sample glowing on the screen. Finally a dialog box opened up.

"Unable to find a match," she said, frustrated. She typed in a new command.

'Find closest matches.'

Her laptop whirred and chuckled again. Finally the screen displayed images of two slide samples next to the one Brianna had taken from Megan Foster's vagina.

"Ohmigod," she whispered.

"This is not what I wanted to see," D'Amato muttered.

Jace Morgan leaned over Sam's shoulder and peered at the screen. The legends under the two slides read, "Homo Sapiens" and "Canis Lupus Lupus." Morgan couldn't speak for several long seconds, and when he finally did, his voice sounded strangled.

"Sam -- you sayin' whatever did this was part Human and part wolf?"

"I'm not saying anything!" D'Amato exploded. "Assuming it's working correctly, the computer is saying that Miss Lang's sample has characteristics of both Human and wolf semen."

"Yeah -- part Human and part wolf!" Morgan gritted.

Tomlinson laughed nervously.

"That sounds like a werewolf!"

"Bullshit!" D'Amato roared. "That's more conjectural than Brianna's mastiff! Hell, why not blame it on Bigfoot?""

Brianna Lang, meanwhile, had pricked her finger and smeared a droplet of blood on a slide.

"What're you doing?" Moran queried.

"Introducing a control sample." 

She focused her microscope and fed the image to her computer. Almost immediately, the laptop identified the slide as a human blood sample.

"Damn!" Brianna said softly. "I was hoping we had an equipment glitch. Still, we should feed this into our computers back at the office to make sure."

"Over here!" a voice called. "I've got something!"

The group rushed over to Ranger Lieutenant Tom Stewart, who was squatting on the grass near one of the parking bumpers. He shook his head. "It's a track," he said. "But look at the size of it!"

He pointed at the impression in the soft mud.

"My God!" Morgan whispered. "It's a....a wolf track!"

Tomlinson swallowed hard.

"A wolf that wears a size sixteen! I take a size 11 medium, and that track's a good five inches longer than my foot."

He put his foot next to the gigantic pug mark for comparison. The huge print dwarfed his shoe.

"The tracks lead off into the woods -- that way," Stewart said, pointing.

Sam D'Amato was sweating even more profusely than before.

"This can't be real," he muttered. "It's a nightmare. That's it -- it's a nightmare! I'm gonna wake up and none of this will have happened."

"Could it be a fake?" Brianna asked. 

"Somebody wearing boots or something?" Morgan mused, "Could be, I guess -- but these look real."

"Hey, you guys -- I've got the dash cam fixed!"

Steve Dante was the forensics department's techno-geek. He was a wizard with anything mechanical. Dante resembled a tall, skinny mulberry bush with a curly black beard and Coke-bottle glasses. 

And he adored Brianna Lang, much to Sam D'Amato's chagrin.

"Stevie -- can you hook up the dash cam to my laptop?" asked the object of Dante's affection. "We'll be able to see things a lot better on my screen."

"Sure -- piece of cake, Bree. This is one of the new ones with a USB port."

He hooked up a cable to her laptop and set the computer on the passenger seat of the Explorer. He wound the dash cam back to the beginning of its last sequence and hit "play."

Fifteen minutes later they stared at the image frozen on the screen, numb and sickened by what they had seen. They were all decidedly green around the gills. Sam D'Amato had gone into the bushes to throw up. He staggered back to rejoin the group, his face chalky. 

"My.....God!" Brianna quavered. "It...it raped her....then it tore her apart and ate her!"

"It's got to be some sick psycho in a Halloween costume!" D'Amato bleated, near hysteria. "It's got to be!"

He turned to Morgan, a note of desperate pleading in his voice.

"Jace!" he whimpered, pointing at the screen. "Jace! Please tell me that can't be real!"

Morgan stared at the image of the beast, at the unholy face that was some kind of obscene cross between a man and a demonhound from Hell. Its eyes glowed like burning coals, and blood dripped from razor-sharp fangs. Icy sweat trickled down his back as he remembered Megan Foster's piercing, agonized shrieks as the creature raped and slaughtered her.

He would hear those screams for the rest of his life.

"Jace!"

"That's no Halloween costume, Sam," Morgan drawled. "Whatever that son of a bitch is, it's real."

"Everything was fully functional," Brianna said. "The fangs and claws........."

She shuddered.

"They were real. The penis was fully functional, sheathed like a.....like a... wolf's. It looked like it was a foot and a half long."

Brianna closed her eyes, wondering what Megan experienced in those last, painful moments of her life. The violation of her body by that obscene organ....

Sam D'Amato lurched away and ran to the edge of the woods, where he promptly vomited.

With a snarl, Jace Morgan charged after him. He spun D'Amato around and grabbed him by the shirt front.

"Jesus Christ, man, get hold of yourself!" Morgan raged. "You're the chief of forensics! What the Hell's the matter with you? You've seen mauled bodies before!"

D'Amato wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was trembling in terror.

"It's not the bodies, Jace, and you know it." He pointed to the image of the beast on Brianna's laptop. "I defy you to tell me that you weren't absolutely scared shitless when you watched that thing tear Megan apart. Did you see it? It enjoyed raping her! It enjoyed slashing her to death and eating her! It's supposed to be an animal of some kind. Animals don't rape young women, and animals don't enjoy killing! It's a killing machine, a monster, and it's around here loose somewhere. What the Hell is it?"

Morgan closed his eyes.

"I...I don't know, Sam."

"It's a werewolf."

Morgan whirled on Tomlinson and glared daggers at him. The sheriff shrugged.

"If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it's a duck. I'd call it a werewolf." He paused. "There was a full moon last night, too."

"Oh, sweet Jesus!" D'Amato cried.

Morgan backhanded him across the face.

"You're in charge of the forensics investigation!" he hissed. "Take charge of it -- or turn it over to Brianna!"

Sam D'Amato held his hand against his red, stinging cheek. He looked like someone awakening from a nightmare. He nodded, and set his jaw resolutely.

"Bag the bodies and get 'em down to the lab," he said in a shaky voice. "Hopefully the autopsies will give us something we can work with."

Morgan held up a hand.

"Nobody breathes a word about this," he said. "For now it's classified as an animal attack -- nothing more. We're going to close the park. It's off limits to everyone -- including all of you -- until we track down this....thing."

"But we've still got a lot to do here!" Brianna protested. "Can't we...."

Morgan shook his head.

"Too dangerous. Off limits for everybody. We know what we're looking for; we can pick up the pieces later. Let the rangers and the sheriff's department handle it."

As the bodies were loaded onto the ambulances, Brianna turned to Steve Dante.

"I work until five," she said. "The Parker's Woods trail comes up out of town and passes within 30 yards of here; I won't need a car. I'm hiking back up here to continue the investigation. Want to come along?"

Dante shook his head, a mournful expression on his face.

"God, I'd love to, Bree. Alone in the woods -- with you? That's a dream come true! But I'm pulling a double shift. I don't get off until ten."

"Can't wait for you, babe!" she said. "I want to be out of here long before dark."

"Jesus, Bree, Sam'll have a cow if he finds out."

"He won't find out -- right, Stevie?"

"I won't tell him," Dante answered. "Just be careful!"

"Always am." She kissed him on the cheek. "Come on, we've got work to do back at the lab."

They got in her car and followed the ambulances out of the park.

As he watched the caravan leave the pulloff area, Tomlinson shook his head.

"So what's the official line, Jace? We tell people there's a rogue bear or what? Might cause a panic."

Morgan chuckled.

"And telling them there's a werewolf on the loose won't?"

"I see your point." He frowned. "I'll put the whole department on emergency duty -- every able-bodied man and woman."

"I'll do the same with the rangers," Morgan said. "We've got to get the park blocked off. And we're going to need guns -- lots of guns. High-powered rifles, the works. We might need to bring in some contract hunters to augment our forces."

"Might want to get a load of silver bullets, too," Tomlinson added.

Morgan laughed. When Quint Tomlinson's expression didn't change, the ranger colonel's smile faded.




Werewolf Moon



"You're not joking."

"Nope. I'm going into town to Castellini's Gun Shop and have George make up a couple of cases ASAP. After what I saw on that pretty forensic girl's laptop, I'm not taking any chances." 

He got into his squad car and drove off. Morgan watched him go and shook his head.

"Everybody's going nuts," he murmured. "Fill that thing full of enough lead, he'll go down."

He slid behind the wheel of his own car and pulled out of the parking area, hoping they could find the beast and put a quick end to this bloody nightmare.

He wondered what he would tell the kids' parents, and how he could tell Pete Foster what had happened to his wife.

***** On the crest of a ridge a quarter mile away, Derek Talbot lowered his binoculars as the ranger's car pulled away. He had heard every word of the conversations in the parking lot, as if he were standing right there with them. His cock stiffened as he thought of the beautiful forensics investigator. 

"So little Brianna Lang is going to hike up here all by herself this afternoon," he mused. "Maybe I can give her a little help with her investigation -- a little first hand experience!"

He stood up and stretched, and headed back down the hiking trail that led to his hotel. He was looking forward to a quick shower and some breakfast.

Then it would be time to take a little stroll through the neighborhood.