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First posted on Turnskin at Pan Historia on July 6, 2008. Trying to pull together the threads of the different plot ideas and keep us writing as a team is often one of my duties as a collaborative writer.
Wyatt clicked off his cell, a heavy frown on his face. Laying the device down on his desk he rose from his chair and moved over to the window, looking out over the park. The deeper simpler part of him just wanted to be out there in the green, running.
He heard her enter the room, smelled her warm human scent, and turned. Amanda was so used to turnskins that she wasn’t surprised he knew she was there with his back turned. She held more folders, this time research from their latest recruit for the office, Mary.
“She’s doing a great job. It’s amazing what she can dig up – even stuff I thought was cold.”
Amanda laid the file on the desk and then a small frown came to her face as she saw Wyatt’s expression.
“What’s happened, sir?”
“You were right – he’s been working in South Jersey. It’s worse than it we even suspected. He’s recruited and turned Tony Martinelli. Ksuyeya was just on the phone. Her informants have revealed that he’s using large packs of ‘dogs’ to enforce for him. Let’s see if we can id that hit man that took out Quentin as one of Tony’s wise guys.”
Totally professional as always Amanda didn’t let her dismay at the news touch her features, but Wyatt could hear her heart beat step up a notch and her scent changed, but she was as deeply troubled by the news that Michael had spread lycanthropy to the boss of the South Jersey mob. It was outrageous, bold, and totally outside of all Society mores. It had seemed obvious that Michael would have targeted disaffected petty criminals, or even lower level soldiers, but in reflection they should have guessed that he’d skip the dregs and go to the top. And now, no doubt, Tony Martinelli was spreading it just as fast as he could. The police would never believe the facts, and those that could believe would be muffled from ever accusing Tony of the truth. It was a win win situation for Tony. The only surprise was that the heavily Catholic South Jersey boss had been persuaded in the first place.
“This is bound to alert the Holy Order of Adverse Metamorphoses* if it continues,” observed Amanda.
“Yes, and I imagine that is part of Michael’s plan – though how he can hope to achieve his goals by early exposure is beyond me. I can no longer even comprehend the man he has become.”
Wyatt sighed heavily. Once he and Michael had been very close.
“He used to call me the dreamer – now who is the pragmatist and who is the wild dreamer?”
*A secret branch of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith
Originally posted in the Turnskin collaborative role-play novel at Pan Historia. Michael is starting to plan some serious terrorist activities for his pack.
Jack turned up at the appointed hour. He was never late when Michael called, even though his six o’clock shadow and his leather jacket suggested a guy that was too big on rules – and he wasn’t – except the rules of the pack. Michael hadn’t made a mistake recruiting Jack, just like Candice, this one was a killer. It had just been waiting inside for the right moment – the moment when his skin turned.
Michael grabbed a couple of micro-brewed organic beers out of the well-stocked fridge (Lucille knew what he liked) and headed into the den with Jack. Nothing in this apartment was terribly fancy as it was just another halfway house/hideout, but at least there was a table and chairs. Passing a cold brew to Jack Michael sat down and opened up his briefcase (which Lucille had left right where she knew Michael would want it for talking to Jack) and pulled out some newspaper clippings and articles. He spread them out on the table in front of Jack. Jack gave them a quizzical glance and waited for Michael to illuminate the picture.
“So here is what I’m thinking, mate: the Society is going to be chaotic without Quentin ruling the roost with an iron grip. The only other man* for the job won’t take it, and frankly they’re all soldiers with no captains now. It’s time to strike and strike big. Besides upping our recruitment I want to see some real action. What do you see in those pictures?”
“Wayne Bingham and his wife, what’s her face.”
“Right and Mr. Bingham is a fucking sod of the first bloody water. As CEO of Apache Oil Corp he’s one of the world’s biggest polluters, rapist of resources, warmonger, and all around shit. See his wife there, Melissa Bingham, she’s an ex-beauty queen turned charity queen. She takes care of making Mr. Bingham look like a saint by donating a paltry amount of his ill-gotten gains to high profile charities like kids with cancer and WWF. It’s hypocrisy beyond what I can stomach. Also so here she is supposedly on the board of WWF protecting wildlife – what is that you see on her back?”
Jack had to squint but when he finally realized what he was looking at his lips rose in a snarl of a lupine nature.
“She’s wearing a fucking wolf skin coat.”
“Yeah, they gotta go. Both of them, and any of their flunkies that get in the way.”
“Have you got a plan?”
“Yes, they have an apartment in NYC and they’re currently here. Tomorrow night they’re at this big charity ball.”
Michael pushed another piece of paper across the table. It was a carefully constructed itinerary of all the Bingham’s activities and locations for the next few weeks.
Jack whistled.
“That’s some surveillance.”
“Yeah, Lucille is good.”
Jack took a swing of his beer.
“Speaking of which – do I get to meet the new lady?”
*Michael is still unaware that Wyatt has been promoted to Chief of Security at the Lycaon Society.
First posted at Turnskin on Pan Historia on May 22, 2008. Michael has brought his new alpha bitch back to the States to continue his plans. Here he reveals a little of his thinking to his new mate.
“I can’t believe you still smoke.”
“It’s organic and I roll my own.”
Michael was deftly converting a little moist tobacco leaf and a thin fragile slip of rolling paper into a smoke. Otherwise he was naked. There was a slice of sun coming in through the curtains and it caressed his skin like a lover.
Candice curled her nose in disgust.
“It’s still a revolting habit.”
“I savor it.”
Michael laid the cigarette down next to his Zippo lighter with the etching of a howling wolf, content to leave the pleasure for later when it wouldn’t offend Candice’s sensibilities and canine nose.
“So this cunning plan, lover?”
Candice traced a finger though the light thatch of gingerish hair on Michael’s chest.
“I intend to take down civilization and revert us to the Stone Age.”
“Oh, nothing big then?”
“Nope, nothing too big I can’t handle.”
“And how will this be achieved, exactly?”
“Murder, mayhem, and a few well planned terrorist actions.”
Candice’s finger stopped its trip over Michael’s chest.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Oh yes – deadly serious. The only way to stop this train of human destruction is to derail the whole thing, and maybe to eradicate humanity all together.”
“But … aren’t we…?”
“No, not anymore. We’re something better, or we could be.”
Michael gave Candice a quick run down of the Lycaon Society and their methods, including his own background with the Society and the training he received there.
“It’s against the Lycaon rules for us to just make other turnskins. There is an approval and mentor process, but that’s too fucking slow. Furthermore I ceased to believe that we can live in the same world with beings that operate solely from fear, greed, and profit. They are fucking apes and they’re cut off from nature.”
The way Michael said ‘nature’ indicated a deep reverence, even a certain spiritual feeling for the concept.
“We’ve become wolves – wolves gifted with the blessing of being able to understand art, spirituality, and fine wine but still wolves. As wolves we are better qualified to than humans to know what is best for nature. We are not apart from it, but part of it.”
Michael needed that smoke. He swung his legs out of bed and grabbed his boxers.
“I’ll be back.”
“But Michael… how?”
“By making us all wolves, baby, and killing those that aren’t and those that are weak.”
Originally written for the collaborative novel Turnskin at Pan Historia on May 10 2008.
Wyatt had Mary sit on the opposite side of the desk from him as he reviewed her resume. Of course he was her mentor and while, on the surface, this looked like just another interview, the facts were that Wyatt had already taken Mary’s measure throughout their previous time together. He knew her scent as well as his own, and he knew her potential loyalty. She knew her brother was bad news and she had made all the right choices. Her records with the Lycaon Society, so far, were exemplary. Adam Sweetapple, her tutor, had sent up glowing reports of her progress and assimilation. What Wyatt hadn’t quite realized until he put in some calls to Prudential, her current employer, was quite how good Mary was at her job. An insurance investigator had to have skills, nerve, and the ability to dissociate from the people she was investigating. In addition her record showed that Mary always got her ‘man’. She was a highly trained field operative. Yeah, sure, people didn’t often think that being an investigator for an insurance company was dangerous or glamorous but Mary was the one Prudential called out when there were hundreds of thousands to millions of dollars at stake, and a lot of people prepared to scam an insurance company were prepared to do anything not to get caught at it.
Mary looked pretty cool and collected as she waited for Wyatt to grill her over her credentials, but he could smell her nervousness. It made him suddenly smile. It was a bright moment to see a young turnskin aglow with the spirit of the Society. It was all to easy to get jaded over time and to start to be blind to the forest for the trees. The death of Quentin had cast a pall on the older members of the Society but Mary was the new young blood and she had never known Quentin. Now was her time. Wyatt laid the resume down on the desk before him.
“Mary I don’t need to ask you a bunch of questions. I already know the answers. How would you like to work for me, here?”
“I would love to!”
Mary fairly bounced up and down in her seat with enthusiasm and Wyatt reflected that it was her innocent baby features that no doubt served her well in her old job.
“But wait.. I’m not sure I’m qualified to work in the charities division. You can train me yes?”
“We could train you, of course, if you desire to completely change careers, but actually the job I’m interviewing you for is the real function of this section. My real job title is Chief of Security.”
Mary was pretty sanguine in her reaction to the news, but that was really only as Wyatt expected from her resume. Tinier clues that only a turnskin could read indicated that she was excited, but calm, and so he began to explain a bit more about what the Society did and about it’s enemies – packs that were more like her brother.
“Mary, the most important thing in taking this position is your complete loyalty to the Society and its goals. That means sometimes we have to fight for our cause – fight tooth and claw. Your particular job, which is very similar to your previous job, could bring you into direct conflict with chaos wolves and other dangerous people. You may find yourself required to fight, even to kill – so if you need to think think this over some more let me know.”
“But it would be for a good cause?”
“I believe that to be the case, heart and soul.”
Wyatt watched as Mary used her own fledgling turnskin abilities to gauge his truthfulness. The stillness was only a few seconds but whatever she read in his body language and his scent satisfied her.
“I’m ready to start, Wyatt. I want to do this. I was born to do this. It was you that told me that not everyone can be what we are – it has to be inside of us. I’m not like my brother. I wish for peace and safety for our people.”
“Excellent!”
Wyatt rose from his seat and stepping around to Mary he took her by the hand and gave it a hearty shake.
“Let me introduce you to Amanda. She’ll be doing the necessary paperwork. I assume you have to give notice to Prudential, but we can start you with some training and access to level two security files. “
Wyatt escorted Mary into the outer office past the secretary and rapped on Amanda’s door.
“Amanda is my chief assistant in the office, sort of second in command, but she has some hifalutin’ charity related job title that is escaping me right now.”
Amanda grinned at Wyatt.
“Executive Charities Facilitator.”
“Amanda, this is Mary Maverick. She is one of my charges, and I’ve just hired her to security. She’ll need security clearance two.”
Amanda raised an eyebrow. Most new hires were started at one.
“I’m pleased to meet you.”
“She’s got extensive experience and we need her expertise now. I hope you can expedite any paperwork needed, as well as show her around, get her set up with an office and computer. She’s got to give notice at her present job, but I expect she’ll be putting in a few hours here to get up and running.”
Amanda pulled some forms out of her file cabinet and handed them to Mary. As Mary started to fill them out, Amanda pulled Wyatt aside.
“I need to talk to you – can we step into your office for a minute?”
“Sure.”
First posted on April 12, 2008 in the Turnskin role-play collaborative novel at Pan Historia. Candice and Michael have arrived in the states and as Michael’s new alpha bitch she’s not too pleased about Lucille. Lucille is a natural beta and though her human feelings are hurt she’s prepared to accept the situation. We also get a glimpse into Michael’s motives for what he does.
“She can stay for a while, Candice.”
Michael opened a fresh pack of cigarettes. Candice wrinkled her nose in disgust. The smell was even worse to her now; she wondered how he could stand to pollute his lungs like that.
The place they were at was yet another apartment Lucille had rented for Michael. With enemies such as the Lycaon Society there was no way that Michael could settle down. The flat was pretty bare bones and he’d seen the disappointment in Candice’s eyes when she took in her new ‘home’.
“The flat is not important, love, we’re not going to be here long. Get used to living out of a suitcase. I have powerful enemies. Lucille, make us some coffee, will you, luv.”
It sounded like the same word ‘love’ and ‘luv’ but Lucille wasn’t the only one to catch the difference. Candice had smiled. Michael had made no mistake in her. His bite had turned an unhappy human woman into the alpha predator she was meant to be.
Once Lucille was out of the room to make the coffee Candice hissed at Michael.
“You’re fucking enjoying this too much, mate. Why does she have to be here, get rid of her.”
“She’s very useful to us and very loyal. She’s not the only one, just the only one I was sharing my bed with. Now that you and I are mates, there is no question of that relationship continuing but wolves run in packs, my love.”
Candice sighed. Michael knew she wasn’t going to let it go, but she was content to let this round go to him for the time being.
“So why the suitcase thing, why all the mystery, and why the lackeys?”
“This is war, baby. I used to belong to a turnskin secret society called the Lycaon Society. You’ll learn about them all in due course. I was a happy soldier for them for many years, but after a while I started to have questions. This whole fucking world is going to hell and no one wants to do a thing about it. We’re all going to burn to a fucking crisp in much less than fifty years, maybe less than thirty years, or maybe twenty years, and humans are going to take everything with them: every last wolf, swallow, tree, flower, even the blue skies. I couldn’t sit by any longer. The Lycaon Society was as blind as the humans. I mean no fucking charity or environmental protection agency or stupid little eco-lobby or celebrity spokesperson is going to change that. I’ve taken the war to the street. I’m opting for total Armageddon now.
“Oh nothing big then?” said Candice.
Michael laughed. Lucille brought in the coffee, careful always to avoid eye contact with Candice, keeping her posture subservient. Candice ignored her, didn’t even thank her for the coffee.
“And now I suppose you want me to tell you how I plan to effect this dastardly plan?”
WARNING: some graphic content. First posted on March 14, 2008 at Turnskin at Pan Historia. The purpose of this piece was to start up the rivalry between the two females in my story: one a non-player character and the other my new writing partner as well as bonding with my relatively new writing partner.
“Christ, is it just me, or do these things get smaller and smaller?”
Michael was, of course, referring to the narrowness of the seating on the transatlantic flight.
“Maybe you’re getting fat?” Candice cooed, snuggled up as she was to Michael. Through the small portal all that could be seen was blue sky as they were far above the sea and clouds.
“Cheeky bird. These things are just big fucking flying buses and the service gets worse every year.”
Michael was indulging in a cocktail. They cost an arm and a leg but they helped with the boredom of the flight and how bloody cramped he felt. He had the most incredibly urge to start howling. To say that Michael hated flying was a small understatement. If he could have afforded the time he would have sailed on the Queen Mary.
Pushing the little fluffy blanket the stewardess provided over his lap Candice slipped her hand over Michael’s cock and squeezed.
“Perhaps you just need a little distraction?”
Michael glanced around the cabin. Most passengers had their headsets on and were watching the banal in-flight movie. He turned his face to Candice and grinned.
“Why the hell not?”
She gave him that gorgeous smile of hers and fondled him to hardness. Then he felt her fingers as she deftly found her way into his trousers. Michael closed his eyes and released himself to pleasure, letting the tension just ease away.
A few minutes later he kissed her skillful finger tips.
“Mmm… I owe you one.”
“And I’ll be collecting, mister, don’t you forget it.”
Later on, collecting their luggage, the atmosphere turned a bit chillier again. Lucille was there at baggage claim. She was waving furiously until she saw her rival and then her hand dropped to her side and her face revealed her pain as clearly as written.
“Good god, Michael, you didn’t tell her not to come?”
“I don’t see why I would do that. We’re wolves, not men. She’s beta. You show her who’s boss while I grab the last case.”
Michael didn’t really give a shit about the hierarchy issues between Lucille and Candice, and he was damned if he was going to chase off one of his bitches. Wolves ran in packs. Lucille was a pack mate at the very least.
His cell rang. Flipping it open Michael was immediately back in the world of the New York branch of the Lycaon Society’s influence.
First posted in Turnskin at Pan Historia on March 14, 2008. Amanda may not trust the ‘new guy’ but Lycaon Society enforcer Ksuyeya has no doubts about Wyatt’s skills.
“Suya, you of all people should know I never wanted this job. I liked being where I was.”
“Wyatt – you’re not beta, you never were. Quentin knew who you were and trusted you. I knew he left instructions that in case of anything happening to him that the Society should appoint you. I may just be a hunter, but I know that it’s not standard practice to appoint a scholar as Chief of Security.”
Wyatt sighed and indicated to Ksuyeya to sit down.
“And yet, so you say, but I know you were still surprised I got the promotion.”
“I didn’t expect that Quentin’s wishes would override common sense.” Ksuyeya gave Wyatt a feral smile.
Wyatt was startled but then he laughed so loud that even Amanda, human senses and all, would be able to hear.
“Well thanks for that. I needed a good laugh. It’s been damned tense around here lately.”
There was a small session of chitchat where Ksuyeya brought Wyatt up to speed with her latest activities and then she fell to silence and waited to for Wyatt to get to the business of Quentin’s killer. He didn’t disappoint her.
“Everything indicates that Michael ordered this killing – he’s left his mark all over it. He’s not hiding his involvement, but there is another message here. Why did he send a mob triggerman?”
“To get close?”
“Logical, another turnskin or even a pack would have put Quentin’s guard up far sooner, but still there is a message here. I can’t even imagine, but I have to, that Michael has stooped so low as to get in bed with the Mafia.”
“I know he was your friend, Chief, but don’t kid yourself – he’s just that low. All that environmental crap was just that: bull from a bullshit artist.”
Wyatt knew that Ksuyeya had to be hard as a hunter. She needed no spark of empathy to spoil her kill so he kept his further thoughts on Michael’s psychological motivations to himself. Besides what did it matter that the reality was that Michael was just an idealist? So were most terrorists.
“I want you to bring him in, Suya. You’re the best. I don’t want him dead, but feel free to eliminate any of his compatriots. Consider all of them expendable. We need to stop this damn rot and now. No mercy.”
“But you want Michael alive?”
“I want him here and a prisoner. His eventual fate will be up the elders to decide. I’ll be sending other field agents to clean up any offshoots of his main pack, or mop up any leftovers or track down any cells, but you are to focus purely on Michael. Bring him in.”
This was posted first on February 8, 2009 at Turnskin at Pan Historia. There is a hint of personnel trouble beginning as Amanda, Quentin’s staffer, assumes her new boss is under-qualified to replace Quentin.
Wyatt made a steeple of his fingers as he pondered Amanda’s report.
There really only two possibilities as to who ordered the hit on Quentin: Michael and his cronies, the chaos wolves – or possibly the lieutenant that Quentin had heard rumors of – the one that might even be even more rogue than Michael’s pack. What was alarming, and interesting, was that whoever had employed a contract killer to do the job. They were also confident enough, and savvy enough of Lycaon Society policy to know that Amanda would never be a good witness to the NYPD. She was wrong about her being a loose end. From Michael’s point of view she was irrelevant because of her loyalty to the Society. She had already offered up a meager description to the police. They would never track down the killer. Lycaon Society agents didn’t need witnesses to track a killer. In fact they already had his scent. Moments after the assassination several of them had been on the scene.
Wyatt quickly explained his reasoning to Amanda, taking her into his confidence as Quentin had often done in the past. It was Michael, had to be Michael, and that what was needed was to have agents find the contract killer and find some leads as to what Michael was up to. Wyatt seriously doubted that Michael had the kind of cash to just find a killer and hire him – which suggested strongly that Michael was making ties to organized crime.
“This is a truly horrifying development, Amanda. Giving those criminals access to our secrets puts all of our high profile turnskins in danger of blackmail; not to mention the kind of weapon he’s handing them in terms of their foot soldiers. We’re going to have to step up our operations. Meanwhile I need you to spin this for the media which is baying at the doors to find out why our director of charities was the target of a ‘hit’. Besides you’re assignment with the media I also need you to go through Michael’s records with a fine tooth comb and see just how far into the Society he got before he turned rogue. I need to know the names of those who are likely to be most in danger.”
“I assume I don’t have to point out that includes your self, sir?”
“True. But I’m not so easily blackmailed. When does the press release go out about me being appointed Director of Charities?”
“We are waiting for next Monday. We didn’t want to look like we’re in a hurry.”
“Good, but hold it off another week even. I also want to be alert for leaks. If someone outside the Society knows of my new position than we’ll know he’s got skins on the inside.”
“Did you want a security detail then?”
“Absolutely not – then it will be obvious that I hold this office.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, sir, Wyatt, but … don’t you think that a man of your … experience might benefit from the added security?”
Wyatt knew exactly what she meant: lack of experience. His grin was feral.
“I’ll be fine, Amanda, I went through the training with Quentin. Michael was my classmate. If anyone knows his weaknesses and his strengths it is me.”
“And now, Amanda, if you could track down Ksuyeya for me and send her in. I can smell her around the building.”
This one was first posted at Pan Historia for the collaborative role-play novel Turnskin on February 2, 2009. It was a tad tricky because I was attempting some good canine romance without coming across as too creepy or weird – and trying to avoid it seeming like what a human imagined wolf affection to be like – which was, of course, exactly what I was doing. I’m not sure how successful I was. You be the judge.
It was the habit of humans to think in words and even as a turnskin it sometimes seemed as if words were used, but the link between wolf and wolf was more primal than any oral language. The communication jumped back and forth with sight, sound, and scent – tiny nuances that would be completely invisible to the upright ape – as well as the direct touch of mind on mind.
Right now, as they had turned, the thoughts and signals flew back and forth between the wolf known as Michael and his bitch, sometimes known as Candice, with as much richness and depth as any day time conversation, even though they were running flat out. The wolf had taken the bitch to the wildest place in London: Hampstead Heath. There wasn’t much hunting on this city-locked 800 acre oasis of green in the throbbing heart of England’s capital, but there was room to stretch one’s legs, and room to sing sweet to the glowing moon. There wasn’t too much chance of being seen, but a little caution was needed to avoid late night dog walkers, cruisers, and lovers. Singing to the moon was a dangerous luxury in London but enough dogs would join that ancient song that the mix of voices would be sufficient to hide their true identity.
Later they loped down to one of the Heath’s ponds where the fat lazy mallards slept in the rushes near the bank, their heads tucked under their wings, no thought of predators, lulled by the relative safety of the park, and the wolf showed the bitch how to snatch the oily juicy birds right out of the water. There was much fun and splashing in the endeavor, most of the birds managing to take flight, running across the water until they achieved liftoff, but each wolf got their duck. They made quick work of the fowl on the banks of the pond, though there was little to eat under the slick feathers but a little blood, fat, and gizzard. The wolf licked the bitch’s face clean with his tongue, grinning.
This was a good time, the best for a wolf, carefree with a full belly, space to run, and no guns to pierce their hides. The wolf was large and boney with a light colored pelt with rich gold red hues in his thick fur, fur so thick it easily hid the scars of gunshot wounds and battles with other alpha males. The bitch wagged her tail and rolled on her back, exposing her belly, but there was a sense of joy in the act, not fear or servility. She was offering what was due – in pleasure. He straddled her and nipped at her neck. She squirmed out from under him and took off like a shot deeper into the parkland. The wolf followed. She was in heat, and now he was in heat, pursuing the elusive enchanting goal of her retreating hindquarters.
Of course she wanted him to catch her. It was all in the spirit of the play. She jumped and did some half hops, nipping at him, her teeth barred but only in female modesty. The wolf could feel the joy radiating off of her. She was truly at home in her new skin and he nipped back, helping her to spin in one spot, her tail held high, making sure he got the scent of what she wanted. Finally tired of teasing, he grabbed her pelt, by the neck, and mounted her. It was quicker altogether than the human equivalent but no less exciting for the pair of lovers as they cemented the bond between them now in both skins.
This was first posted at Turnskin on January 25, 2008. In this segment Michael has already slept with Candice and in a seeming act of grand passion bitten her. She’s already feeling some interesting effects.
He took her back to the flat before even attempting to answer any questions. As far as Michael knew she hadn’t actually changed fully yet; she was just feeling the change internally in the form of emotions and increased sensory perception. Using his own acute sense of smell he gathered information about Candice’s state of mind even as he poured them a couple of drinks and started fixing them some dinner. He liked to cook. It gave him a way to free his mind when he kept his hands busy with familiar tasks, and the added bonus was at the end of it there was a good fresh meal. He often cooked for Lucille… ah, Lucille. She wasn’t going to take too kindly to Candice but that wasn’t his problem. Lucille had it too good for too long being the sole bitch. It wasn’t often a beta got that kind of bone thrown to her.
Even as the scent of the onions he was chopping rose to his nose and watered Michael’s eyes he was making a lot of observations about Candice from what soap she favored to when the last time she shampooed to the fact she was in the middle of her menstrual cycle. He could also smell the wolf on her. She would be hard pressed to resist changing tonight when the moon was up, which was good. It made it much easier to explain things. She stood in the kitchen leaning against a wall, her wine glass in hand, watching him.
“You sure you don’t want me to help.”
“No, love, I’m golden.”
“Then when are you going to tell me what’s going on, Michael?”
“Now’s as good a time as any.”
Michael pushed the chopped own to the side and pinching a couple cloves of garlic off the bulb pressed them with the flat of his knife until the dry skin popped. He peeled it off and began mincing the garlic finely.
“You’ve already said you have heightened senses, like you can hear better and see better than you ever could, yes? And you suddenly have an excellent sense of smell. Any normal person would be able to smell the garlic and onion I’m chopping but stop a moment and tell me what else you smell?”
Candice did as Michael asked.
“Wow… yes, I did that in the office today. I can smell you, the fabric your shirt is made out of, cigarette smoke just faintly, not just a place you passed through but you smoke sometimes don’t you? “
Candice wrinkled her nose at the tobacco scent. The slight look of disgust on her face was actually totally adorable and Michael resisted the wave of passion that threatened to drown him.
“Go on. What else?”
“You were in Hyde Park today.”
It was all a tumble in her mind but he could see how her brain was processing a wealth of olfactory information that had never before been given to her. Her brain was mapping out new neural pathways to accommodate the new data.
“It’ll be the same with sound. Your night vision will be greatly improved. Interestingly enough human eyesight is astonishingly good in the animal world but you now have several interesting additions. If you look in the mirror closely you’ll see some interesting very subtle changes in your irises and pupils.”
“Ok, you understand this is all very fucking freaky, right?”
“Sure do, love.”
“So what the hell is it? Have you infected me with something? When you bit me perhaps?”
Michael grinned and set aside the knife, wiping his hands on a tea towel.
“Yes, I did, in a manner of speaking.”
“Alright out with it you cocky bastard.”
“I’m a werewolf and so are you.”
Candice laughed abruptly at the absurdity of the notion. Michael moved in close and caught her mouth in a kiss, silencing her for a moment. She couldn’t help herself, she moved up hard against him, rubbing her body against his. He almost succumbed and just took her right in the kitchen. She was too damn fine for words. He hadn’t been this turned on by a woman in years. It took all his will power to step back and attend to the question at hand.
“I mean it, Candice. I’m not joking.”
“Oh yeah, buster, well than prove it.”
It was a simple shift of focus to wipe the smile off her face and prove it. Michael was more than happy to. He knew she could take it. He was stripping his clothes even as his head started to reshape like sand, so fast that even the eye of a turnskin could barely see the shifting molecules.
