Damian's Wolf - 2. The Moon's Curse

The wolf closed the shop door, making sure it was locked before heading around the back of the store. The fall evening still held some light to it, and Jordan grumbled. He couldn’t wait for the middle of winter when he would be able to transform in darkness, where it would be hard to tell who he was.

Werewolves had been around for centuries, coming into the public eye when King Paelius and his consort had decreed they were no longer to be hunted but embraced instead. Opinion of the wolves had varied over the years, but in this day they were not feared any longer. In fact, many took werewolf lovers to bed, claiming they were better lovers. And for those who preferred the female sex, Jordan had no doubt they were. It was the males people had to be wary of.

He hadn’t known Eric was a werewolf when they went to bed together. And they had been careful; Jordan had heard too many stories to not use protection. For his first time, it had been fast, almost brutal, but the human found it pleasurable all the same.

But when his so-called friend ghosted him after, the man grew suspicious. And when he had sprouted hair and a tail a month later, Jordan vowed if he ever saw the werewolf again, he would punish him for inflicting this curse upon him.

Looking around carefully, Jordan shed his clothes, hiding them behind a dumpster. He would be back for them when the changes were finished for the month.

A howl filled the air, various voices slowly joining to fill the air with the song of the wolf, and Jordan took a deep breath as the first spasm hit him.

His body twitched, muscles clenching. The air around him seemed to heat, an insistent need forming in his loins.

Jordan didn’t fight the change. There was no one here to protect, and he let his wolf have his head. It would go badly if he didn’t. He knew from experience.

Brown fur erupted around his body, the change fast and fluid once it finally started. He fell onto all fours, teeth baring in the pain. As the shift finished, the wolf forced back a howl. This was no victory to be celebrated.

He slunk away from the shop, walking down the street when he was sure no one would know where he came from. Another wolf trotted toward him, and Jordan growled, scaring the creature away.

His stomach echoed his growl and Jordan sniffed the air. With luck, he might be able to find some scraps before heading home. His wolf wasn’t as picky about food as his human side was.

A clucking caught his attention, and Jordan looked toward the noise. An old elven woman smiled at him, a large chunk of raw meat in her hands. Her limp silver hair hung to her breasts, framing a face that had seen its own share of trials and tribulations.

Jordan’s ears flattened warily. His human mind fought the urge to approach the elf, to accept the handout. But he was hungry, and his body moved of its own accord.

“There now,” the elf smiled, placing the meat at her feet. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She backed up a few feet, giving the werewolf some space. Jordan sniffed the meat suspiciously, hoping to find something wrong with it, some reason he shouldn’t eat it. But all he smelled was the faint perfume of the elf.

He took a bite, the raw juices of the meat exploding in his mouth. A small growl of pleasure escaped his maw, and Jordan began feasting, regaining the energy he had lost in the transformation.

“I don’t suppose you know my daughter, Methair,” the elf said, sitting on the front step of her home. “She ran off with a wolf a year ago today.”

The wolf made a noise of dissent, gulping down his food.

“I didn’t think so,” the woman sighed. “She’s probably in Mydara by now. I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but your people can be monsters sometimes, stealing children from the breast of their mothers.”

Finished with the meat, Jordan stared at the elf, trying to make his sympathy apparent. He was a monster, a beast that should never have existed.

The elf mistook his look, standing up.

“I can get some more,” she said. “Don’t move, okay?”

She vanished into her house and Jordan huffed. Sniffing the air, he smelled the trails of many wolves, all of them tinged with a self-righteous scent. He could just imagine them storming this house, demanding food from one who deserved their sympathy.

The wolf walked the edge of the house, finding a spot that would carry his own scent. He raised his leg and let out a stream of urine against the house. This elf was under his protection, and no wolf was going to abuse her kindness again.

Spreading the scent with his feet, Jordan sniffed again. Satisfied, the wolf began his long and lonely walk back to his home.

He curled up in his bed, teeth biting into a bone he had bought a month before. The wolf could be destructive sometimes. It was better to give him something to do when they were home.

Jordan retreated from his own mind, trying to find some rest. He had been up for over 48 hours, and he was exhausted.

His wolf alerted him to a scent, and Jordan reluctantly stood up. Leaving the half-chewed bone on his bed, the werewolf ambled over to the door, poking his head through the flap cautiously.

A bottle of green liquid sat in front of his door, a note tied to it. His wolf recoiled at the smell of it, but Jordan forced himself to take the bottle in his mouth. He knew what this was, and he knew who had left it for him. It was too late to use it tonight, but at least he would have the potion for tomorrow.

The wolf dropped the bottle roughly, but the glass was thick, and the bottle merely rolled with the force. He would put it in the fridge once he regained use of his hands.

Settling back onto the bed, Jordan continued his chewing, waiting out the moon. He really needed to start remembering to turn on the television before a full moon. But for now, he was just a bored domesticated wolf.

Clenching his mouth, Jordan forced back a lonely call, the wolf whining instead. The last thing he needed was for people to realize there was a wolf in his apartment. Standing, he jumped off the bed, pacing back and forth in the apartment.

The werewolf cursed the moon. He needed to get out of the apartment, needed to run. Stepping through the door of his apartment, Jordan paused and sniffed the air warily. He could smell the wolves on the air, and something else.

“Cat…” his wolf growled.

Jumping away from his home, Jordan sprinted down the road, fighting his wolf to get away from the cat. He didn’t want to hurt the animal, and his wolf would try to hunt it if he was given the chance.

It had taken him so long to find a way to fight the wolf. For the first several months after his change, it had seemed the wolf would always be in control, the new moon the only reprieve from a life of fur. But over the months, Jordan had built the willpower to bend the wolf to his bidding, and now he felt much more in control of the creature.

Or as in control as one could feel when forced to shift every month…

He ran around the block a few times, getting out the extra energy caused by the moon. If he was lucky, he might make the wolf pass out so he could actually get some sleep. But it was a long shot, and both he and the wolf knew it.

Still, running felt better than being cooped up in the apartment, gnawing on a bone. As long as Jordan was careful to control his inner beast.