It was a night like any other when the creatures on Crescent Island felt the earth tremble. It was an ancient island, steeped in magic, enshrouded in mist and lost to time. One of the dark places of the world, both solace and prison to its inhabitants.
The moon pulsed bright and full, both sharp and soothing as it coaxed and crooned to Bregut. Bregut was the youngest in his pack, the quickest and the most impetuous. He snuffled about in the grass enjoying the way the moonlight turned his dusky coat into silk and made his veins burn and senses sharp. Musk and fur and blood thrummed and vibrated beneath his paws as he scented his prey; a young golden buck with velvet antlers. Bregut knew his meat would be tender and sweet. So he crouched in the swaying, tall grasses that tickled his belly and stalked nimbly through forest and field until they reached the long rocky cliff that hemmed in the western side of the island. The buck looked out to sea as if it too felt the ancient call of the moon, mist curling in his slim antlers.
Fur tufting along his spine, Bregut crouched low, muscles bunching and tensing as he readied himself to pounce. His claws dug into the rocky scree as he lunged. The deer's gaze snapped to him, terror in its eyes. A harsh screech shattered the night as both hunter and hunted froze. A tremor shook the earth, the rocky cliffs abandoning parts of itself to the angry sea below. Molten ore, ash, blood and salt scented the night air.
The deer squealed it's terror and fled as Bregut flattened himself to the tumultuous earth. Gouts of black soil and rock geysered across the island and Bregut heard the yips and howls of his pack. Like calls to like and so Bregut howled his fear and felt his brothers respond. He felt them race across the island swift as spectres, over trembling hills and under swaying trees and across boiling streams. His pack swarmed around him just as the furious sea rose to obstruct the moon. Fur to fur they cowered together, breathed together, trembled together. They lived and ate and suffered together just as they would now die together, brothers to the very end.
The raging wall of water crested, spilling, crashing and just as suddenly, vanishing into a wall of mist. The pack rose as one, fur on end, teeth bared, sniffing cautiously at the unnatural fog. The mist swirled, collapsing in on itself, thickening and forming into a shape. A man. A monster. Red eyes pierced the fog and the pack stiffened, scenting something they had not seen in nearly two hundred years. "Phasma." The voice separated the fog, spearing for the terrified wolves. "Phasma," the voice was the crush of the ocean waves on rock, the quiver in the bones of the earth. Bregut whined and one of his brothers snarled at him to be silent.
"Phasma!" Rage suffused that crushing voice and Bregut shuddered. A gleaming white figure broke rank, his Alpha; the oldest, strongest and wisest among them. Eyes of blue frost and coat like spun spider silk, he crept to the front of the pack. "There you are Phasma," that devilish voice purred.
The Alpha whined as he lowered his head in deference, muscles shaking. Bregut felt sick, his Alpha was trembling. "Ah yes, the full moon. I thought that might be an issue." A bone white hand jabbed through the misty veil, fingers splayed wide. A gut wrenching howl pierced the night as Phasma fell on his side. Hackles rising, Bregut watched in horror as his Alpha writhed and twisted in the dirt, his beautiful, ghostly pelt smeared with blood.
Sharp whines escaped the pack but none moved. Phasma's howls slowly transformed into screams as that white fur flew backwards, bones snapping and crunching into altogether different shapes. Sweat gleamed on the naked man who rose where Phamsa had fallen. Coughing hoarsely, he whispered, "M-master." Howls of fury met these words, the pack raging at seeing their Alpha so debased.
Bregut's howls were cut short as something icy stabbed him in the gut. He fell on his side, barely registering as his brothers joined him, their pained whines echoing across the rocky cliffs of Crescent Island. Spines snapped, femurs broke, fangs shrunk, fur withdrew, and howl's shredded raw throats. One by one the members of the pack rose stiffly to their feet, utterly human. Bregut was human during a full moon for the first time in a hundred and fifty years.
Gasping, the pack listened as the demon addressed their Alpha. "A new player has entered the board Phasma, one which concerns us all. You are summoned. I break the bonds tying you to this Island. I break the curse upon your pack, upon your line. I release your gifts." As one the pack fell to the earth, invisible bonds bursting across their skin, new power flooding their veins, new hope beating in their hearts. "Now," the voice purred, "Come to me."
An explosive wind snapped at the thick fog and the red eyed demon vanished in the blink of an eye. Spines snapped, femurs broke, teeth elongated, fur grew and the werewolf pack of Crescent Island howled at the moon. Yipping and barking and trilling, they raced across that dark island to the eastern shore, to await the dawn.
As the sun crested the horizon in a glorious explosion of rose and ochre, twelve wolves chased the tide. Twelve fur and fanged creatures fell beneath the frothy waves and rose as flesh and blood men, born anew. A large black ship rode in with the tide and without a backward glance at the island that had been their prison for a hundred and fifty years, twelve men swam to freedom.
YOU ARE READING
Bad Blood
Paranormal[Open Novella Contest 2021 Shortlist] It started with the northern lights. In the winter of 2022 physicist Aeslir Bekke disappears from the tiny village of Ny-Alesund. Twelve years later he's found wandering naked in the snow, the veins in his arms...
