Haitian Werewolf Goddess

"Mwen se yon lou garou," I said calmly, looking right into my boyfriend Marcelin Etienne's chestnut eyes as the words left my mouth. Just like that, I betrayed my people's code of secrecy. I just told my boyfriend that I am a Werewolf. The two of us sat inside Renedad Restaurant, a nice little Haitian eatery located in the east end of metropolitan Ottawa, Ontario. I waited for Marcelin's reaction, and then he smiled and shook his head.

"Jacqueline, you're a funny chick," Marcelin said, laughing as he continued eating his plate of white rice, brown bean sauce and goat meat. Not sure what kind of reaction I was expecting, but this wasn't it. Putting on a smile, I bit through my fish, ate it and changed the subject. Yup, Marcelin and I went on bantering about exams at Carleton University, life at school, the lame clubs in Ottawa and things of that nature. To think I spent last night agonizing over how to tell him the truth about me. Oh, well.

My name is Jacqueline Augustin and I'm a young woman of Haitian descent living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I'm in the Nursing program at Carleton University, and when I'm not in class, at work or at home, I deal with...problems. There's a lot of unnatural things happening in the City of Ottawa, and it is my duty to punish the wicked. You see, about a year ago, my father, Jacques Augustin, sat me down and talked to me. Papa and I have always had a close relationship. He raised me alone after my mother died when I was little. We had a conversation I shall never forget.

"The time has come for you to know the truth about our family, ma petite fille, we are Loup Garou, what the Westerners call werewolves," Papa said to me and I lasted about five seconds before I burst out laughing. Of course, when my father's eyes turned bright yellow and his teeth elongated and sharpened, and hair grew all over his body, I stopped laughing and shrank back from him.

"Papa, sak pase ou?" I asked, my heart thundering in my chest, and the creature my father had become grinned, shook his head, and in the blink of an eye, resumed my father's form. Five-foot-nine, slim, dark-skinned, with silver hair and real bushy eyebrows, the man who raised me, my beloved Papa. Smiling, Papa gave me the rundown about our people's history.

"From the Dawn of Humanity, we've been around, men and women with the ability to turn into wolf-like creatures, and we stay hidden because humanity has persecuted us in the past," Papa said, and he smiled at me, waiting for my reaction. This was totally crazy, for sure. I looked at Dad, stunned, but after what I'd just seen, I had no choice but to believe him. Fear and excitement swirled through me as I thought about my father morphing into a fearsome beast-man in front of me.

"Can I change like you?" I asked, and Papa grinned, and nodded. Thus I was made privy to the family secret, and welcomed into a brand new world. Now, if my lack of shock surprises you, guess I have to explain myself a bit. My whole life I've felt different, and not just because I'm the daughter of Haitian immigrants living in uptight, at times xenophobic Ottawa. I've always been a little faster and a bit stronger than everyone in gym class back in high school. I thought it was because of my natural athleticism but it turned out to be more than that.

"Now, Jackie, being what we are isn't all fun and games, our kind are endangered, we have many enemies," Papa cautioned me, and then he told me about the various other supernatural creatures that went about disguised as people in the mundane world. Apparently, there are vampires out there, and we werewolves have a sworn duty to cull their numbers. Sounds farfetched to me, but in this ever-changing world that I live in, I would learn to keep an open mind.

Three nights after Papa and I had that talk, we went to the woods near Casselman Village, a few miles outside Ottawa, and there, under the full moon, I transformed for the first time. In the movies, whenever a person turns into a werewolf, it's horrible to look at and seems painful. I worried it might be so, but turns out, my worries were completely unfounded. When the moonlight struck me, I felt my body easily pass from one state to the next.

"I feel amazing!" I cried out, and I stood in the clearing, shielded by the trees, fully transformed and free. I looked down at myself, and I didn't feel ugly or tormented. Rather, I felt at peace. My father stood a short distance away, fully transformed, and he smiled at me. And then, without warning, he took off into the woods, a blur of speed that moved faster than anything human. I followed him eagerly, and later that night, we caught a deer and shared its meat.

Papa took me on numerous trips to the woods, far away from human eyes, where we could truly be ourselves. The full moon isn't what transforms us into werewolves. We are what we are and would revert to our true forms at some point, no matter where we might be. The moon empowers us, the way a battery fuels everything from your iPhone to most electronic gadgets. We simply have a special relationship with it, what can I say?

I absolutely love being a Loup Garou. Let the world continue to wallow in its ignorance about us so-called supernatural creatures. The truth is that the creatures that humans call vampires, werewolves and demons, are simply other intelligent species of humanoids who've been around since the dawn of humanity. We are born, and although most of us members of these inhuman breeds can live a long time, much longer than ordinary humans, we eventually die. Come to think of it, eventually all things die. It's just the way of the world.

Fast forward a year, and I've got the hang of the Werewolf lifestyle, if you will. There are quite a few of us out there. In Ottawa alone, there's a few hundred of us. Like any community, we have our ups and downs, friends and foes. Among our people, my father is a member in high standing. You see, Papa's got the unwanted, admired and sacred duty of eliminating threats to our people. And the deadliest enemy of the Wolf people is the vampire.

"Les suceurs de sangs sont trop nombreux a Ottawa," Papa said to me one night, as he got ready to go hunting. Translation? Blood suckers are too numerous in Ottawa. I insisted on going with him. In the past year, I'd learned to master my newfound abilities and felt confident enough to take on anything. Of course, I hadn't faced any vampires before. I guess what I felt could be dismissed as the overconfidence of youth.

"Papa, let me come with you, I'm ready to fight," I pleaded, and Papa shook his head, then kissed me on the forehead. I looked at my father as he donned a tight-fitting black jumpsuit, along with gloves and boots, and then exited our house. Outside, he was joined by several people I recognized from the local Adventist church which we attended.

"Chef, we're ready to go," said Darius Magloire, a tall, slender, dark-skinned man whom I remembered from church. Darius is one of the deacons, and he's married to a sister named Marlene Jean-Baptiste, with whom he has two sons. I knew he was a wolf-man, but didn't know he was part of the Hunters, whom my father leads in an attempt at curtailing the vampire problem. Standing next to Darius was Roger Sauve, a chubby, chocolate-hued, clean-shaven man in his early thirties. The sole woman in the unit was a tall, lovely lady with charcoal skin and a smooth shaved head, whom I immediately recognized as Diane Joseph, wife of Pastor Josue Joseph, from our church.

"Brother Jacques, are you sure we're going to be enough?" Diane asked my father, who nodded. The four of them got into a nondescript dark blue van and speedily drove away. According to my father, I wasn't trained to fight the vampires, whom he described as fearsome foes. Against them, my new powers would be useless. I resented being stuck at the house, as you can imagine. So I took the bus and went to visit my boyfriend Marcelin at his apartment in Vanier.

"Hello beautiful," Marcelin said, as he greeted me at the door with a big smile. Clad in a blue T-shirt and red boxers, my favorite Haitian stud looked good enough to eat. Marcelin and I have known each other for practically all of our lives. I always found him cute, although he usually dated skanks at our church. When he finally asked me out, during our freshman year at Carleton University, I accepted, but under one condition. That he would get rid of his posse of skanks and be faithful to me. So far, Marcelin has been a man of his word.

"Hey sexy," I replied, and planted a kiss on Marcelin's full, sexy lips. We embraced, and as we did, I could smell all kinds of things on my boo. Like the Shawarma sandwich he had earlier, and the fact that he showered minutes before I showed up. I felt his hands on my ass and smiled, for I had him right where I wanted him. Marcelin winked at me, and then led me to the bedroom. I love this young man something fierce. Handsome, intelligent, ambitious, and respectful towards me. If only he was a Wolf...

"I've missed you so much, Marc, it's been too long," I whispered as Marcelin took me to bed. The Haitian stud smiled wolfishly, and then proceeded to worship my body. I lay there, stark naked, and from the way Marcelin gazed upon me, I could tell that he liked what he saw. As a six-foot-tall, voluptuous woman with dark brown skin and short, kinky hair in a land that worships skinny blondes, I have been known to feel self-conscious at times. Marcelin told me I was beautiful, and I believed him.

"You are beautiful my chocolate goddess," Marcelin said, and he kissed me on the lips and on the neck, setting my flesh ablaze with his every touch. I lay there, mesmerized by the virile, passionate young man who made love to me. Marcelin definitely knew his way around the female body. I shuddered as he sucked on my breasts and I felt a wetness begin between my legs. Spreading my thighs invitingly, I winked at Marcelin, who kissed a path from my tits down to my belly, and finally, my sweet spot.

"You know what to do, mon prince," I cooed softly, and a grinning Marcelin winked at me, then buried his face between my legs. I giggled as Marcelin began licking my already wet and decidedly horny pussy, lapping away at me like a thirsty nomad in the desert. Damn, I've often accused my man Marc of being thirsty, by way of teasing him. Looks like I was right in more ways than one...

As I lay on the bed, Marcelin licked and teased my pussy with his tongue and fingers, making me squirm with pleasure. Later, Marcelin put me on all fours, spread my ass cheeks and stuck his tongue in there. I've never had my asshole licked before, and it was a fun experience. Seriously, Marcelin worked his tongue in there like a miner drilling for gold. My Haitian stud knows how to make my toes curl, and I love him for it.

"Ride me, Miss Thickness," Marcelin said as I straddled him, and I grinned and stroked his long and thick, uncircumcised dick. Dark and scary in its thickness, Marcelin's dick reared up like a snake. I stroked it, and then leaned over and kissed it before taking it into my mouth. I love the way Marcelin smells and tastes, his masculine funk is wonderfully intoxicating. As I sucked his dick and gently massaged his balls, my Haitian stud moaned deeply and cried out my name.

"Give it up," I paused to say, and then I flicked my tongue over Marcelin's dick head. A shocked gasp escaped his lips, and then his whole body shuddered. I grinned, for I knew what was coming. Moments later, Marcelin came, and I happily tasted his masculine seed. Hot, salty and yummy, that's how I found it. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, then looked up at Marcelin, who sighed happily.

"Come here, my goddess," Marcelin whispered, and then he pulled me up, and I sat on his lap. Amazingly, his dick sprang back to life. A lot of dudes tend to stay soft for a while after they cum, but not Marcelin. The sexy Haitian stud gave me the let's-get-busy look and I nodded happily. Smacking my ass, Marcelin rubbed his dick against my cunt, and then entered me with a swift thrust. I hissed as he penetrated me, and wrapped my arms around him. Marcelin buried his face in my tits, held my hips tightly and began fucking me with gusto.

I like to get buck-wild in the bedroom, and it's a special kind of man who can handle me. I'm happy to say Marcelin is that man for me. The brother left me pleasurably sore after I rode that fuck stick of his. Seriously, I felt like my pussy was burning up afterwards. Now that's what I call a good fuck. Marcelin and I fell asleep in each other's arms, happy as can be. The next morning, my world almost ended.

I returned home, worried about what my father might say, for as a Wolf-man, he'd definitely smell Marcelin on me. I returned to our house in Orleans, and after finding no one there, I sent Papa a text, then took a shower. I got dressed, went downstairs to make breakfast and then paused as I heard a car pull up in the driveway. With a Wolf-woman's keen senses I detected the scent of three males and one female, as well as the smell of blood. Frantic, I went to the door.

"Jacqueline, sweetie, help us get him inside," Darius said, as he, Roger and Diane held onto my father's limp body. I gasped in shock, stunned to see my father, a strong man through and true, so grievously wounded. I helped them get inside, then rushed to the medicine cabinet to get some necessities. Understand that as a Loup Garou, I heal much faster than a normal person, as do all of my kind. What could have injured my father so badly?

"It was the vampires," Diane said, looking at me gravely as I helped Darius and the others administer to my father. We stitched him up, and as we worked on him, my father was in and out of consciousness. He looked at me, and seemed about to say something and then he lost consciousness again. I gently kissed my father on the forehead as tears streamed down my face. I looked up at Diane and the others, furious.

"Who could have done this?" I asked, and Diane gave me the rundown. Apparently, they went over to the nearby City of Gatineau, Quebec, and encountered a large band of vampires. One far larger than they'd anticipated. They got into it with the vampire band, and the band leader, a particularly cruel and sadistic vampire named Narcisse, apparently injured my father. I looked at Diane, then at my father. I learned all I needed to know. Whoever this Narcisse was, the fucker was going to pay.

"Jacqueline, don't be foolish, you can't go after them alone," Diane called out, but I was already gone. I got into the ban, and let my superhuman senses do their work. A werewolf can track prey across huge distances. It would take you all day to drive from Ottawa to Thunder Bay. A werewolf like me could track a person or animal by scent across such a great expanse. Our senses are that keen. I drove to Gatineau, and my senses led me to a warehouse off of Rue De La Tortue in the Aylmer neighborhood of metropolitan Gatineau, Quebec.

As I stood outside the warehouse, I noticed that it had all the signs of being a vampire's lair, if one knows what to look for. Boarded up windows and doors that would render the place sun proof during the daylight hours. My father told me a lot about vampires. One thing I don't understand? The fact that the Hunters, the elite of the Werewolf community, have a sense of honor in their dealings with the vampires, while vampires don't return the favor. My father and his friends went after the vampires at night, in their element. Me? I would operate under no such compunctions.

It was ten o'clock in the morning. The sun was high in the sky. The vampires weren't going anywhere. I had work to do. I went to a nearby Petro Canada and got a few gallons of gasoline, and then returned. I torched the place, and stood at a distance and watched it burn. The warehouse burned down. I could hear the shrieks of frightened vampires inside as they burned. The police came, as did the fire department. They went in and tried to rescue the pale, groggy bozos they found inside, unknowingly exposing them to the sun's lethal rays. Many vampires died that day, and it was all because of me. Satisfied, I returned to my house.

"You're awake, Papa!" I shouted as I found my father lying on the living room couch, sporting bandages all over, and a tired-looking but smiling Diane looked at me and nodded. Joyfully I embraced my father, as Darius, Roger and Diane looked on. My father hugged me back, and kind of winced, and I apologized for bruising his fast-healing but still fresh wounds. Hey, I'm an emotional daughter thrilled to find her father alive and well. Don't judge me.

"Of course I'm fine, ma petite, it would take a lot more than a few vampires to bring down your old man," Papa said, and he kissed me on the forehead. While I was away, Diane and the others made some food, and I happily ate with them. In all the excitement, I almost forgot to tell my father about what I've done. When I told them, though, they didn't react like I thought they would.

"You did what? Jacqueline, no! This is breaking all the rules!" Papa said, and a look of consternation filled his aged but still handsome face. I looked at my father, then at Diane and the others, and saw the same look of concern and disappointment reflected on their faces. What the fuck? I went out and killed some vampires, our sworn enemies, and that's the way my own people reacted?

"Werewolves, vampires, demons, we're all citizens of the Night World, and we don't pursue vendettas during the day, it's one of a few rules in this game, young lady," Diane said, and she looked outside, where the skies were already darkening. I looked at the tall, lovely Haitian woman whom I respected and admired as a leader in my church and as the sole female among the Hunters, a group I aspired to join. In that moment, I didn't like her very much.

"Diane, I respect you but those bloodsuckers hurt my Papa, damn right I went and torched their pale asses while they slept!" I said vehemently, and Diane glared at me, anger in her dark eyes. For a moment, the Huntress looked like she was about to say something, but suddenly, she shushed me. Everyone in the room fell silent, and I felt a chill down my spine. Moments later, the front door exploded. A man-like shape, moving too fast even for me, stormed into our living room.

"You treacherous furry filth, you will pay for killing my family!" shouted a tall, bald-headed, brown-skinned man who stood there, eyes crimson, fangs bared. His dark skin was covered with tattoos, and he looked like he might have been welcome on the set of Sons Of Anarchy. The dude reminded me of those black gangs the bikers got into it with. Without needing to be told, I realized that I was looking at Narcisse, the vampire leader who hurt my father.

"Fuck your blood sucking family, you Undead piece of shit!" I shouted defiantly, stepping protectively in front of my father even as I morphed from ordinary young woman to Werewolf. Darius and Roger morphed as well, but stood aside, as did Diane, for some reason. I faced Narcisse, and the vampire leader roared ferociously, a sound not unlike that which a lion emits when angry or threatened. I refused to back down, and faced the vampire.

"Tracked your scent from Gatineau, you cowardly cunt, you attacked them during the day, against all the rules!" Narcisse shouted, even as he launched himself at me. I hurled myself at him with equal ferocity. Vampire and werewolf collided, and I lashed out at Narcisse with my claws and fangs. I tried to rip the vampire's head off with my claws, but he dodged, and struck me hard across the face. Reeling from the blow, I hissed and came at Narcisse.

From what my father told me, I knew that vampires were every bit a Werewolf's equal in terms of strength and speed. The vampires hate us, calling us half-breeds because we werewolves still retain a shred of humanity while they're Undead and thus completely inhuman. They are more vicious than us because they don't hold back, while we werewolves do, for some stupid reasons. If Narcisse thought I was like other werewolves, the fool had another thing coming.