--- Emily ---
Lycanthropy comes with a unique set of changes, physical and mental. I think the physical ones are the worst. Not the obvious body changes, no. The hormonal ones. The urges and new desires.
It's hard to control but you
can
learn to control it if you're the right kind of person. Otherwise you go crazy from it.
Four years. Forty-eight months. Roughly one hundred and forty-four changes. Give or take. Fuck whoever that was on the mountain four years ago. Fuck him and his need.
But, by God, I understand it. The hunger. The heat. The heat more than anything once you get the beast under control. I had an okay sex drive before. I liked sex when I was in the mood for it but I could go a while without and still be happy. A good video or piece of erotica or something in between lovers and I was sated for a while. Once a week or so when I was in a relationship.
Now, outside of the full moon, I need it almost every day. When the full moon hits, I
hurt
from the need to get off. Thankfully my job is flexible and I schedule way out in advance. Those days I'm home. Masturbating. Eating. Needing.
Even when it's not a full moon, my life is forever changed. I can no longer wear anything that shows my belly. No bikinis. Dentist visits are out. Doctor visits are a no-go. Thankfully, a side effect is that I'm really, really healthy. Freakishly so. One might even say I can heal from almost anything within a day or two.
Almost anything.
Fucking Jacques. My fault there.
A year into my change, when I finally brought the beast under control, I couldn't take it anymore. I had to have a lover. The heat and base, animalistic urge to have a mate (trust me, it's not the same as a lover) was harder to resist than the beast herself. So I took some time to find one. Went on a ton of first dates and asked little probing questions as carefully as I could. I was a walking talking personality test. HR departments would've loved to have me on their team. I could sniff out assholes from a mile away (literally sometimes) and knew just what to ask to suss out the ones I couldn't smell.
Or so I thought. Jacques hit all the right notes. Calm, thoughtful, sweet, caring and intelligent. You'd think I'd be looking for some macho alpha male crap but, hell no. That's a recipe for murderous raging beast. Plus, despite Lupa inside of me, I happen to like a guy that'll be sweet to me. Until the heat hits then collars are off, nails come out and I expect blood to be drawn while we fuck. Beast in the sheets, sweet in the streets? Sure.
Night of the full moon comes and I change Jacques. We hadn't had sex yet (hey, I'm self conscious about my body) and I thought I'd found The One.
Holy Jesus Fuck, it was amazing. I'd gone a year without being fucked and enduring the heat throughout and finally, finally I had a mate. Best day ever.
But, I guess you can't reduce someone to a personality chart completely. The beast changed him. I don't think he even tried to fight it. He
reveled
in the power and strength and brutality and carnal needs. I tried. For half a year, I worked with him. Reasoned with him. Suffered through his bouts of rage. Tried to get him to listen. My Lupa had enough before I did.
The last night I had with him, on the night of the full moon, we were out in the middle of nowhere while I tried to work with him on controlling the beast and he struck me. Not in a rough sex kind of way, no. That would've been fine if we were playing that game. No. She took control from me in an instant, burying her teeth in his throat. I struggled against her but it seems she has a limit and knew it better than me. I hurt for days, even with the way I heal. Days. I almost lost the thumb on my left hand and that's saying something.
Now it's the night before Halloween and I've been dating again. Trying, anyway. I fucking hate dating. So many assholes and "nice guys" and the same bro over and over that still thinks he's stuck in his sophomore year of college. I'm tired of it but I have to keep trying.
"Buck up, Emily," I tell myself. Staring in the mirror, I flash my teeth and wince at the obviously sharp canines. I can't tell you how many times I've had to explain them away to people. They aren't full-on vampire teeth but they sure the hell aren't normal human teeth, either.
Thank you random mountainous werewolf creature. Thank you so fucking much.
No zits (not anymore, not since the first change) and my hair's all in perfect place, pulled back into a ponytail. Looking fine if I do say so myself. Got my comfy work clothes on and my good shoes.
Let's do it.
The drive is quiet and uneventful for a large city. I work and live on the outskirts so I get to skip most of the traffic issues. I'm a therapist in a small physical therapy office and focus primarily on leg injuries. Lower body at least. Out of the car, shrugging off the cold (thank you, Lupa) and into the building. I've worked here five years and love it. Keeps me active and moving and time passes fast because of it. Although I guess I don't need exercise to keep in shape anymore.
"You've got your new client coming in about ten minutes," Janice says. I smile at her and thank her because she's our awesome receptionist. Christian as all get out but not pushy so she gets a smile. Super friendly.
Buck's the only other person in the office since it's a light schedule tonight and he's working with a high school kid on a shoulder injury.
"Hey Emily," Buck says without looking. "Don't forget to update the board. Your turn."
"Oh, I remembered," I tell him. In fact, I've been looking forward to it. And have been subtly maneuvering into being the one to do it this week. Dropping off my stuff, I grab a dry erase marker and stand in front of the board. Finally, I nod and start writing.
"The Howling 2," a voice eventually says behind me. My 8 am client. He smells nice. A little sweaty, though and hasn't even started exercising. A nervous, no - anxious smell. Sounds like his right knee is hurt based on the way he steps and I can hear a little bit of pain under his voice. I'm going to guess football injury and, let's see, twenty-seven years old. White dude and brown hair.
"You're right," I say, turning to smile at him. Ah, rats, bad guess. Black hair. Still looks twenty-seven, though.
"And An American Werewolf in London for the third one," he says and then stops to think for a bit. He looks up and to the left when he does that, and taps his finger against his leg. "The second is, uh, Nosferatu?"
"One hundred percent, you get a gold sticker," I tell him and step forward with my hand out. "Horror movie lover?"
"Oh, yeah, I mean, good ones," he says with a firm shake. "I'm behind on the times, though. I'm Daniel. You must be Emily?"
"One hundred and
ten
percent," I answer. "Have a seat on the table. You know, I thought nobody would get the first question."
Every week we rotate out trivia questions and, this week, with Halloween around the corner, I thought I'd set out some bait. Dumb and low chance of catching anything but, shit, what else can I do? I picked two werewolf movies and a vampire one just so I didn't look like a total weirdo. American Werewolf in London was easy. Nosferatu semi-difficult but how many other landmark '20s horror movies are there? No, the real catch is the Howling 2.
First, I made the question obscure: "What 80's horror movie starred a 1970's Captain America actor?"
Answer? The Howling 2. But, I picked it not just because it's obscure (and a sequel) but because it's a dirty, dirty sex filled werewolf movie. There's literally a scene where werewolves (poorly) do it. No, I haven't watched it multiple times for masturbation material. Of course I wouldn't lie about that. Look, over there! Squirrel!
It's a dumb test but how the flying fuck do you expect to try to catch someone who might be okay with being a werewolf? I've ran the idea of just asking "Hey, would you like to be a werewolf?" to a date after we've been going out for a while but I haven't gotten there yet. It's a sore point that I still debate mentally. If I ask and they say no, then what? I kill them. But if I like them and take a chance and change them and apologize afterwards? Well. Foot in the proverbial werewolf door, you know?
Fuck, who am I kidding? I'm scared. Scared of failing and I know what I'm doing is shitty but I can't keep doing this and I'm terrified of taking a chance and killing someone innocent again. So I lie to myself that it's alright. I can't wait longer. I honestly believe I'll lose control of her again. It's been two years and I'm running out of time.
"I don't know many people that have seen that one," I say with a smirk as he sits back on the table. "Or that want to admit it."
"Well," he says with a little bit of a blush. Adorable. "I watched a lot of movies growing up and I like monster movies."
"Oh yeah?" I ask slightly disinterestedly.
Oh yeah?
I think, ears perking up. Yes, they're slightly pointed. Yes, I try to hide it a little. Yes, I'm terrified that they'll continue to grow out into sharper points the longer I live with the beast. So far, so good. "Alright, tell me what's wrong."
We talk a bit. Recreational touch football injury.
Touch
football. Oh my. Torn ACL from lack of proper strengthening and sudden sideways motion and a good lick of bad luck. He's cute and has a good self-deprecating sense of humor. I'd fuck him and turn him into a monstrous beast. No problem.
She stirs within me and my smile freezes for a second while I push back. I don't think he noticed.
Down girl,
I think.
I was kidding. So far.
We talk and I probe as gently as I can.
"We're going to go through a range of exercises and I'll make you a list for you to do at home," I tell him. "Do you have someone with you that can help if you need it?"
"I'm not, no," he says, blushing a little again and swallowing. Awww. I just want to pinch his adorable reddened cheeks. "Just me. I'll figure it out if I have to, though."
There's no female scents on him but it's always best to ask. Although, even if his girlfriend or fiancée had been out of town a while, I would've smelled her. Our scents tend to pile up when we stay in one place too long and then we drag those scents around us.
