When you've got dozens of draft stories that are *this close* to being done, and you get an idea for another... You drop everything to bring that new story to life. Madness.
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Hunting is what finally got Mother and my little sister caught. First it was Lily, trapped in an alley by the Trackers, killed without any mercy or feelings or humanity. Despite the Trackers being human, they didn't act human or even humane. Mother was inconsolable, and during the next Tide she went out hunting the Trackers. She killed four of them that night. And seven the following month. Killing them was her sole purpose in life after we lost Lily.
The Trackers knew we were in Jacksonville, so they came from far and wide. Mother took out three more on the next Tide, but they wounded her badly. Even after the Change she was still hurt, still in pain. The next month, she was determined to go out hunting again. I tried to stop her, but she was in so much pain, emotionally, psychically, and physically, that she wouldn't listen. I tried to follow her, but when she doesn't want me to find her, she was practically invisible. There were not many Trackers left after what she'd already done to them, and she killed most of the remaining ones that night, but they prevailed anyways.
Then I was alone. I'd never been alone before. I had to get away from there, so I went north. All the way up into Canada. Once you get a hundred miles north of the border, the population up there thins out to nothing and I could be free. I could run all night and see no one, smell no one, hear no one. That was what I'd always enjoyed most during the Tide. Running.
Alone, I mourned my lost family for years, but eventually began to yearn for social interaction again. So I moved closer to the cities, and took Human jobs. I am more or less Human most of the time, and I don't mind being around people. Most people anyways. In these modern times there are more people, and more people means more bad people. That's what started me Hunting again. People who smell evil, who feel evil, who radiate such awfulness that I cannot help myself. I hunt them. These are the ones preying on their own kind. Pure evil.
I do my best to hide my tracks, because there are always Trackers out there, searching for me and my kind. Nowadays, if I stick to the Hunting the worst people I can find, no one seems to care. No one really wants to know who took out the drug lord or the murderer or the rapist. They're just glad that the scum has been skimmed off the gene pool. But I still have to be careful.
In earlier times, Mother and Lily used to Hunt for the thrill of it. They hunted loners and outcasts. The homeless, the lost, the weak. Those were people that few would mourn the loss of, but to me they were innocents. I could not touch them. So I turned to Hunting the kind of people that not only would not be missed, but whose death would actually be celebrated.
I stayed away from the big cities, and moved from one small town to the next. I got good at surfacing with a new identity every decade or two. But things changed and with the modernization of bureaucracy it became harder and harder to disappear and show up with a new identity somewhere else. That just meant I had to learn new skills, like forgery, identity theft, and hacking. Learning new things keeps you sharp, keeps you aware, keeps you alive.
I was in a small town a hundred kilometers from the outlying suburbs of Toronto. Pretty close, but not too close. I'd been there for twelve years, working as a librarian and volunteering at the local food bank. When the Tide rose in me I was close enough to the open countryside to run. I was careful where I went, and careful not to leave traces that would lead Trackers back to me. There were not a lot of evil people around, so I was hardly ever driven to Hunt. Life was good. But Evil comes to all places, eventually. When it did, I Hunted them.
When there was no reason to Hunt, I ran. That night was one of those. It was a cool and perfect evening. I put miles and miles under my paws, delighting in my speed and silence. I was so caught up in the exhilaration of Running that I missed the scent of Man at first. Just as I realized that I could smell someone, I ran straight into them.
We fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs, both of us crying out in surprise. I'd run into a campsite, complete with tent, fire ring, and a food barrel strung up in a tree. I was on top of the Human I ran into, so I pushed myself up onto my arms and looked down into a VERY surprised male face.
My ears had been tucked back in embarrassment and shock in that first moment, but when I pushed myself up, I flicked them forward. A natural reaction for me. But a surprising one for the poor guy I was pinning to the ground. I could tell. The look on his face was one of shock. I tensed to leap up and spring away, because I knew that his reaction would be one of terror. Meeting a werewolf up close and personal was quite traumatic to the average Human. But he was anything but frightened.
The look on his face went from surprise to awe. And his hands came up to hold my sides, just above my hips. He wasn't scrambling away in abject fear, screaming and running for his life. No, he looked up at me with rapt fascination as he held me gently.
"Wow." he whispered, a long, sighing, quiet sound that went with that look on his face. I could see his eyes searching mine, my face, my ears, and my mane. Then they swept down and his jaw dropped. I don't have big boobs or anything, but they're nice and firm, and are more than a handful. There wasn't much to see in the dim flickering light of the fire, what with the layer of short pale grey fur covering my chest and belly. But my nipples were pretty obvious, as they were pink and hairless, and they stood out in sharp contrast against my fur.
I started to try and get up. He clutched at me for a second, then let me go and began to scramble to his feet as well.
I turned to leave and he said "Don't go! Please."
There was none of the terror I expected in his voice or manner. And I couldn't smell any fear on him. Actually, I could smell something. Something new. Something interesting. He was excited. I'd never encountered a reaction like this from anyone before, not during a Tide nor during my Human time. I hesitated at the edge of the firelight.
He turned and sat down by the fire on a section of log. Perhaps making himself appear less threatening? Now he was getting nervous. "Can you stay? Just for a while? I-I won't hurt you."
Hurt me? Hah! Unlikely. Even if he was armed, which he wasn't, I'd smell it if he was, a few gunshot wounds wouldn't slow me down. They'd heal up fine when I Changed. I turned to leave, but something in his voice and manner stopped me. I stepped back into the ring of firelight and squatted down on the other side of the fire from him. "Who are you?" I asked him.
His eyes went wide again, and he swallowed before answering. "Frank. Frank Bench. You can talk."
I perked my ears up and tilted my head to consider his words. He sounded... awestruck. His heart rate was way up, and he was starting to sweat. Not because of the temperature. It was a nice cool night, and the fire was bright but not very big. I tasted the air, but all it told me was that he was nervous and excited.
I laughed. "Yes, I can, Frank Bench. My name is..." I thought for a second. What should I call myself? Not my real name, nor my current Human alias. I told him "Annabel." My words were slurred by the shape of my mouth and my snout, but I was confident I could be understood. Not that I got a lot of practice speaking during the Tide.
"Annabel? Wow. Are you- What are you?"
"Can't you guess?"
"I, uh, a wolf girl or something?"
"The correct term is Wolfen, but werewolf will do." I figured that word would probably end this conversation.
"Wow. You're, um..." He looked uncomfortable.
