Bad Blood

Fur and Fang

The cloying scent of bad blood twisted and scudded across three city blocks. It writhed like blue mist across the cracked, moonlit pavement. Bregut did his best not to sneeze as the sickly sweet stench clogged up his poor nose. His lips were drawn back in perpetual disgust, his fangs glistening eerily. Where he normally preened and pranced under the moon's ardent gaze, this night he called the shadows to him. They clung to his pelt, hiding him from the casual observer and they muffled the soft padding of his enormous paws. He had forgotten how wonderful it felt to use his gifts. To hunt worthy prey.

His brothers ranged out behind him, using Bregut's shadows when they could. The saccharine scent intensified and Bregut crouched low. Phasma slunk past him, his gargantuan paws completely silent on the pavement. There was not even a click of a claw to give him away. The Alpha stood staring into the darkness, his silver eyes glowing, seeing things the rest of them could not, despite their own sharp vision.

New York City had become a deadzone. Not a single spark of electricity had animated the concrete jungle since New Years Eve. The big apple was dead in the water, most of its denizens fleeing after that tragic night, with promises to return once power was restored. To the bafflement of all, the city remained dark. Like a giant burnt out bulb.

The wolves preferred it this way. Being trapped on an enchanted island for the past hundred and fifty years did not incline them towards the new, the modern or the bright. The ship they had arrived on was a marvel in and of itself; no sails, no crew or slaves breaking their backs on the oars.

Bregut tensed as his Alpha leaned into the wind, silver eyes aflame. They had tracked the Skrekk across the city every night since their arrival a month ago. Some nights they were able to hunt down the creatures infesting the city. Other nights they chased the scent around in fruitless circles. These strange creatures were very fast. Tonight Bregut yearned to sink his fangs into an enemy. He could feel the bloodlust in him rise and throb like an angry wound. Four days to the full moon. The closer it came, the more he and his brothers had to fight the savagery coursing through their veins. The instinct to hunt. The need to kill. The Skrekk were a perfect outlet.

Phasma suddenly crouched low and Hotclaw growled right behind him. Bregut felt the sound ripple along his spine. Muscles bunching beneath him, his borrowed shadows fluttered with excitement. Any moment... NOW! The wolfpack speared into the darkness like a living blade of fang and fur. The pavement was a blur beneath their swift paws. Bregut's shadows rose to cloak them, to silence them, as one mammoth building, then another fell behind. And then they were upon them. Six men shouted in surprise as the pack flew from the darkness. His brothers broke upon them like a crashing wave. The Skrekk became blurs of black-veined flesh on the empty city street.

Phasma kept pace as if it was just another pack exercise, sinking his ghostly fangs into the arm of one. The Skrekk screeched in pain and surprise. A flash of steel glinted in his hand as he swiped at the enormous white wolf. The Alpha dodged nimbly aside, darting in beneath each wild swing to take a bite. Bregut watched in awe as the wolf darted and bobbed and weaved, wearing his opponent down. In the blink of an eye it was over. Phasma took a fantastic leap, his powerful legs propelling him high into the air. The wolf latched onto the Skrekk's throat midair, fangs sinking deep. The pair crashed down in a tangle of limbs. Phasma spat out the black ichor with a throaty cough then tipped back his head and howled his victory, his ghostly muzzle stained with dark blood.

A yip of joy slipped from Bregut as he snapped at his own prey. The towheaded Skrekk wheeled backwards faster than humanly possible and the delighted young wolf gave chase. The Skrekk streaked across a deserted courtyard into a dark alley. The buildings were so close that the moonlight could not pierce the veil of darkness. Bregut trotted slowly down the alley, pulling his paws high to avoid the piles of noxious refuse. The stench was so strong he lost the wispy blue trail of his prey. Disappointment and shame welled up in him. He could not go back to his pack without victory!

Bregut grew still as he had seen Phasma do on many occasions and let his other senses take control. His keen eyes began to adjust and his large ears pricked forward, flicking this way and that with every little noise. The breeze ruffled his fur, and clouds scudded across the narrow strip of sky above him. Bang! Bregut shot forward as he heard the metal can tip over. Charging headlong into the alley, he did not see the Skrekk behind him until it was too late. A terrible cold fire sank into the meat of his back leg. Bregut squealed in agony as he landed hard upon his snout. Rolling onto his back, Bregut dodged another swipe from his attacker. His strong hind paws shot out, catching the Skrekk in the stomach. He tried to ignore the crippling pain that shot through his whole body. Phasma would. He could do it. Panting heavily, the injured wolf rose to his feet. He limped forward, shoving down the fear that crowded his gut.

"What's wrong pup?" The Skrekk taunted him, a sick grin twisting his face. "No milk-bone for you tonight."

Bregut's growl started low in his chest, rumbling along his aching spine and down into his padded feet. He would tear this stinking Skrekk apart. A hard tug echoed through his midriff, the call of his Alpha. They were looking for him. He felt the worry in the tug and he felt the command; come. He wouldn't go back empty handed. With a deep breath Bregut called the shadows to him just as the Skrekk launched across the alley. Leaping aside, the wolf twisted around the airborne man, latching onto his throat. With a strangled cry the Skrekk brought his weapon down once more into Bregut's flank. The wolf clamped down on the tender throat and ripped it out with a savage yank. The Skrekk flopped to the ground, dead as a doornail. Choking on the bad blood, he spat it out and threw back his head. His howl was triumph and pain. He heard his brother's answering barks and knew they were coming.

Trembling in agony, Bregut limped down the alley until his leg gave out. With a cry he collapsed on his belly in the middle of the courtyard, his energy completely spent. His brothers found him within five minutes. Their cold, wet noses snuffled along his muzzle covered in black ichor, then down his spine to his injured leg.

Bregut whined piteously as Tormund pulled a long, lethal looking barb from his flank. He growled as the second piece remained firmly lodged in his flesh, even when Tormund braced his large paws on either side of the wound and yanked with his teeth. Two enormous white paws padded into view. Bregut looked up and up and up at his Alpha from his lowly position on the ground. He grew still as the white wolf sniffed him, eyes flashing silver, then nodded his great shaggy head in commendation. Overjoyed by this mark of approval, he said nothing as Turmund and Hotclaw fell to the ground. They writhed as their bones snapped and skin tore, reshaping themselves into two panting men.

One hard yank with two human hands had the last bit of metal out. Bregut rolled over, yipping and whining as his skin grew hot, his hair retreated and his tough paws gave way to tender flesh and bone. Naked and sweaty he watched in awe as the wound near his hip sealed itself slowly. He'd been a werewolf for a hundred and fifty years yet he never grew tired of watching his body heal itself. The muscles would need more time to fully heal and as deep as the wound was it would ache for days yet. "Why does it always have to itch?" He blurted into the night. Phasma, still in his wolf form huffed loudly, amused, his mouth stretching wide into a doggy grin. He bumped his muzzle affectionately against the young man's forehead.

Hotclaw and Tormund helped him to his feet, each lacing a strong arm under his shoulder. As they hobbled slowly down the street, naked, sweaty and covered in blood, Bregut coughed and spat upon the city pavement. "Why do they have to taste so nasty?" His brother's laughed long and loud as they followed the large white wolf into the heart of the dark city.