his safe room—his clothing already removed and carefully folded, waiting for him in his tidy bedroom—and he would be torn between the fear of escaping and the terrible urge to unlock the door.
Tonight he was naked and pacing, but that was where the similarity ended. Tonight he had the day’s confusing events running through his brain in a muddled sort of way: the unexpected arrival of Andy and the altercation that had followed, the heady intimacy he’d felt working beside Chris, the kiss that had hit him more powerfully than a closed-fisted punch. And tonight the door was open—all the doors were open—so he could look outside and see the mist making the air thick, softening the line between day and night.
For the first time in over two years, and for only the second time since he’d been bitten, the wolf was going to run free.
It began with a maddening itch that made his skin twitch, that he knew he’d never be able to scratch. He shrugged his shoulders and tossed his head like a horse being pestered by flies. Then the ache began deep in his bones, first a dull thud in rhythm with his heartbeat and then a twisting, searing agony that made him grind his teeth to muffle his cries. But his teeth hurt too, and his entire jaw, and at the same time as his cock grew hard with excitement he fell to the floor and quivered there. His vision was hazy, reds and greens washing away and blues and yellows becoming paler. He heard sounds that had been hidden to him before—the squeak of rodents somewhere in the walls—and as the sentient portion of his brain dimmed, he made a note that he’d need to buy traps.
It was always the smells that hit him like a bomb blast. When he thought about this later, it always reminded him of that moment when Dorothy lands in Oz, and her bland, sepia-toned world suddenly bursts into lush Technicolor. But maybe a Dorothy analogy was a little too clichéd for a gay man, and in any case, it didn’t matter at the moment, when his entire sensory orientation had shifted wildly, along with the shape of his body.
More pain, so hot and sharp that he couldn’t take it, he couldn’t… but he did. One last shudder and an agile leap to his paws. The door was open, and the velvety darkness was calling to him.
Dylan ran.
Terrain that was steep and a little difficult on two feet was easy on four, and thick fur made an effective barrier against blackberry thorns. So many intriguing smells. And he wanted. He wanted, but he no longer had the words to shape his desire. He ran without planning or thought, just the joy of smooth muscles rhythmically stretching and flexing.
Down at the pond, small things splashed and slithered. Water was good—it would be cool on his warm, panting tongue, full of slippery life that would slide pleasingly down his gullet. But not yet. Now he squeezed through the underbrush and around the pond, then climbed the thick woods on the other side. He hadn’t been this way before; there were no paths for human feet.
He bounded through the forest, leaping over fallen logs, stopping now and then to snuffle at the base of a tree or beneath some ferns. Twice he paused long enough to sit on his haunches and howl his freedom. A coyote answered back once, far away and defiantly fearful. Dylan ignored it.
But he didn’t ignore the scent he caught—fast and warm and scared—and he put his nose to the ground and ran until he saw the rabbit. It was cowering under a sapling. Very still but not invisible. Dylan jumped.
Hot blood in his mouth, muscles and tendons and bones giving under his jaws. Wonderful.
Dylan had eaten a pound of raw hamburger before he changed, and although the cold meat alone hadn’t been enough to satisfy his hunger, now his belly was full. He licked the blood from his muzzle and then spent several hours simply exploring, getting a feel for his new territory. Sometimes he lifted a leg and pissed on a tree. Mine. I was here.
He was a little footsore but happy when
Tonight he was naked and pacing, but that was where the similarity ended. Tonight he had the day’s confusing events running through his brain in a muddled sort of way: the unexpected arrival of Andy and the altercation that had followed, the heady intimacy he’d felt working beside Chris, the kiss that had hit him more powerfully than a closed-fisted punch. And tonight the door was open—all the doors were open—so he could look outside and see the mist making the air thick, softening the line between day and night.
For the first time in over two years, and for only the second time since he’d been bitten, the wolf was going to run free.
It began with a maddening itch that made his skin twitch, that he knew he’d never be able to scratch. He shrugged his shoulders and tossed his head like a horse being pestered by flies. Then the ache began deep in his bones, first a dull thud in rhythm with his heartbeat and then a twisting, searing agony that made him grind his teeth to muffle his cries. But his teeth hurt too, and his entire jaw, and at the same time as his cock grew hard with excitement he fell to the floor and quivered there. His vision was hazy, reds and greens washing away and blues and yellows becoming paler. He heard sounds that had been hidden to him before—the squeak of rodents somewhere in the walls—and as the sentient portion of his brain dimmed, he made a note that he’d need to buy traps.
It was always the smells that hit him like a bomb blast. When he thought about this later, it always reminded him of that moment when Dorothy lands in Oz, and her bland, sepia-toned world suddenly bursts into lush Technicolor. But maybe a Dorothy analogy was a little too clichéd for a gay man, and in any case, it didn’t matter at the moment, when his entire sensory orientation had shifted wildly, along with the shape of his body.
More pain, so hot and sharp that he couldn’t take it, he couldn’t… but he did. One last shudder and an agile leap to his paws. The door was open, and the velvety darkness was calling to him.
Dylan ran.
Terrain that was steep and a little difficult on two feet was easy on four, and thick fur made an effective barrier against blackberry thorns. So many intriguing smells. And he wanted. He wanted, but he no longer had the words to shape his desire. He ran without planning or thought, just the joy of smooth muscles rhythmically stretching and flexing.
Down at the pond, small things splashed and slithered. Water was good—it would be cool on his warm, panting tongue, full of slippery life that would slide pleasingly down his gullet. But not yet. Now he squeezed through the underbrush and around the pond, then climbed the thick woods on the other side. He hadn’t been this way before; there were no paths for human feet.
He bounded through the forest, leaping over fallen logs, stopping now and then to snuffle at the base of a tree or beneath some ferns. Twice he paused long enough to sit on his haunches and howl his freedom. A coyote answered back once, far away and defiantly fearful. Dylan ignored it.
But he didn’t ignore the scent he caught—fast and warm and scared—and he put his nose to the ground and ran until he saw the rabbit. It was cowering under a sapling. Very still but not invisible. Dylan jumped.
Hot blood in his mouth, muscles and tendons and bones giving under his jaws. Wonderful.
Dylan had eaten a pound of raw hamburger before he changed, and although the cold meat alone hadn’t been enough to satisfy his hunger, now his belly was full. He licked the blood from his muzzle and then spent several hours simply exploring, getting a feel for his new territory. Sometimes he lifted a leg and pissed on a tree. Mine. I was here.
He was a little footsore but happy when
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