Making the Fur Fly

Two | Leroy

If I could have chosen whether I wanted to be a werewolf or not, I would have said no. Sure, I could see in the dark and I could hear and smell better than any normal human ever could, but that's where the perks ended. Our bodies weren't built to shift skin, muscle, and bones into a completely different size and shape. It was hell.

The exact length of it varied, and I didn't know which was worse: having to sit through five to ten minutes of excruciating pain once a week or more, or putting it off and forcing myself to endure the itching and the restlessness until I no longer could, which resulted in a rushed shift. I liked to call that the condensed version of hell, and I avoided it at all costs because the pain was so bad it made you want to kill yourself. I couldn't risk that when I was at an inconvenient place anyway. Especially at work. No one would react positively to seeing hairs grow out of my skin as I prepared their food.

After I'd successfully shifted to my wolf form, I lowered myself to the ground with a sigh and laid my head on my paws. The aching in my limbs slowly faded as I waited. Trae usually took a little longer than me; his pain threshold was lower. I had teased him about it when we were younger, but now I said nothing and waited until he was done, even if the way he reacted to my teasing was endearing.

When I finally heard rustling behind me, I knew what he was trying to do. And I knew he would fail. I would've smiled if I were in my human form.

I waited until the very last moment before I leaped up and caught him in the act of jumping on top of me. I crashed into him, and he slid across the earth with a startled noise. I didn't know why he was surprised. He should've known I would've heard him coming. My ears were my best friend.

He bucked upward, throwing an excessive amount of dirt in the air in the process, but I pinned him to the ground. He whined dejectedly in response.

Many of our fights ended like this, with him on the ground. He was by no means helpless, but I had a few inches and a few pounds on him and two extra years of experience. He had to learn how to fight smarter.

But that's what these play fights were for. I got off and moved back, and he wasted no time scrambling up. The guy was fast, at least.

Seconds later, we were rolling around in the dirt, snapping at each other, huffing and snarling with effort. We kept going until our stomachs growled. It was all part of the process. First we wrestled, then we ran and hunted, and then we fell asleep from the exhaustion beneath the moon. That routine had been bestowed upon us by our parents, ingrained like an instinct.

Every time I found something—an animal or an unfamiliar scent, paw print, or sound—I turned around to get my father's attention, only to stare at an empty forest. Every time, it was a slap in the face. He wasn't there.

I didn't like to think of him, but I couldn't help it. He was hard to forget about. He had always been such a huge part of my life. It had been several years since he'd stopped being a part of it, but it was just as painful now to think that he was never coming back.

— · —

At the end of the night, our bellies were full, our eyelids were drooping, and we fell asleep about a mile away from home. The first few months after we'd moved here, we always made sure to return to our beds, no matter how tired we were—we didn't want to risk anyone finding us. But it turned out this place was even more perfect than I'd imagined. People rarely came here, if ever. We were usually woken up in the morning by sunlight or chattering birds

This time, it was a phone. Ringing.

I shot up, which had Trae tumbling around in a mess of naked limbs before he looked at me in confusion. I lifted a finger and tilted my head to listen, but the ringing was gone again. I couldn't smell anything, either.