Date: Fri, 31 Aug 2012 14:01:30 -0700 (PDT)
From: Queer Tribes <queer_tribes@yahoo.ca>
Subject: The Tenderness Of Wolves - Chapter 6

THE TENDERNESS OF WOLVES

The following story contains sex acts between male teenagers where consent
is somewhat ambiguous. While these situations can be really hot in a
fantasy, they'd be absolutely dreadful in real life. This story is only a
fantasy, and it's not meant to be taken seriously, or to be condoning the
idea of forcing people to have sex. If such stories are not legal in your
locale, well... you know what you're supposed to do.

There are also some elements that could be triggering for survivors of
sexual abuse.

It's a werewolf story. People get killed. Flesh is eaten. If you don't like
horror mixed in with your smut, go read Playgirl. If the idea of something
primal and savage like a werewolf gets your juices flowing though... Read
on. ;)

The Tenderness of Wolves is an awesome musical piece by Coil. This is where
the title comes from.

Feedback and encouragement is welcome and appreciated. You can get a hold
of me at queer_tribes@yahoo.ca.

Have fun! :)

* * *

CHAPTER 6 -- Conrad

Conrad awoke. The first thing he smelled was the human boy sleeping next to
him. Sex. A tinge of booze. Spices. Remains from a somewhat tasteful
deodorant that had faded many hours ago. The next thing the Wolf smelled
was the city. Car exhausts. Noxious smokes from factories nearby. The
stench of yeast from the distillery. This part of Hochelaga had little
going for it in the scent department, unlike many other parts of Montreal.
Sunlight shone through the filthy windows of the warehouse. It was morning.

Conrad was still in the bestial form. He rarely enjoyed long moments in
this shape. He revelled in how immense he was at the moment, in the sheer
power of his own musculature. Jules was but a tiny shape cuddled against
him, in a foetal position. He seemed such a fragile thing, Connie's nose
told him the morning air was brisk, but his thick fur protected him -- and
his lover also -- from the autumn chill.

The werewolf took a glance at the bite he had inflicted to the Haitian
boy. He had seen far nastier wounds. He had licked it clean before dozing
off; only the holes where his teeth had sunk in remained, and they had
scabbed over already. Such an injury should normally heal in weeks, but it
would be gone in a matter of days. Jules would find that from now on, he
would recover much faster from life's little accidents. Connie hoped his
human lover would be grateful. Still, Jules was a tad cold to the touch;
maybe he had lost more blood than the Wolf boy had first thought. The
predator doubted his lover was in any danger though. Humans were not as
fragile as they appeared, and the bite would make Jules much, much
tougher. The young ape was about to go through some exciting changes.

The Wolf was aware that his cock was engorged with blood, roused by his
usual morning lusts. The erection was tucked between the other teenage
boy's thighs. Conrad moved his hand and stroked the brown globes that were
Jules' buttocks. His paw was large enough to cup the whole butt. He
remembered how they had mated a few hours before, how the human boy had
bucked and moved under him, eager to please his "Master". Jules had been
such a willing little bitch. Conrad shivered at the thought of the two
orgasms that had overtaken him. It should not have been this good, not with
a human. Such pleasure normally happened only with the pack. Was it his
Gift acting up, telling him something about the young ape curled up next to
him? It had never behaved in such a deep, intense way before -- not back
when Connie had been part of Derek's pack.

Connie's cock was throbbing with arousal once again. Blood beat against his
temples. He could just flip the boy over on his stomach and breed with him
again. The Wolf's hard shaft was imploring him to be plunged once more in
human heat, to be buried up to the hilt in boy-cunt. He wanted to hear
Jules wake up with a scream of agonizing pain, to take him whether he
wanted it or not. The Haitian's thigh was already slick from the Wolf's
arousal.

Breed. Breed. Breed. Breed. Breed--

Conrad took a profound inspiration. He shrank back to the feral form; Jules
was now barely shorter than him. He liked the boy. He didn't want to rape
him, at least not without a hint of consent. The Wolf kept still for a
second and decided to even go all the way back to his human guise. Some
memory of what human emotions were like tugged at the edge of his
consciousness, reminding him that Jules would most certainly be shaken when
he'd wake up. A werewolf had bitten him. Shock would be a normal, human
reaction to the experience.

Connie recalled his own bite. Thomas had thrown him to the ground as Derek
looked on. The 13-year-old he had been had yelped in sudden fear. His face
had hit the floor and blinding pain had exploded from his nose -- he had
broken it. A hand -- no, something far larger, something clawed -- tore
apart a leg from his jeans. His eyes full of tears, he had screamed in
terror when he had realized they were werewolves. He was going to die. His
mind had fluttered, and he had thought of Michael, who had been his next
door neighbour, his love, and his doom. Then the teeth had sunk in. He had
soiled himself. He was being eaten alive. Yet, as quickly as they had gone
in, the fangs had let him go. Derek had ordered something in his soft
voice; Connie had little recollection of what he had said. He could only
think of the agony searing through the back of his thigh, of the certainty
of death.

He had lived. It had been his first steps into the werewolf universe.

Conrad ran his hand through the Haitian's frizzy hair. He adored the coarse
texture it had.

It was time to face the young human.

"Jules", said Conrad, breaking the silence with his barytone voice. "Wake
up, bitch."

The black boy stirred.

"Wake up", he repeated.

"I'm awake."

The Haitian had not moved. He had said the words in a husky tone, as if his
throat had been parched. Connie noticed Jules had not called him "Master",
but decided not to comment on it; their little game was over. Silence
lingered between the two teenagers. After a minute, Jules removed himself
from Conrad's loose embrace and sat up. The dark-skinned youth winced as he
moved his shoulder.

"You bit me", he said.

"Uh-uh", replied Connie with a nod.

"You hurt me."

A hint of a storm passed through the Haitian's gaze. The Wolf smelled
anger, far more potent than the scent of subdued fear.

"Don't be a baby", said the punk. "That's just physical pain. I know you're
tougher than that."

"I took a chance. I trusted you. And you bit me."

Conrad stood up. His erection had softened. He walked towards his discarded
clothes and picked up his jeans. He began to dress.

"You're not a half-eaten carcass rotting in this warehouse", replied the
Wolf. "I could have done far worse to you than this."

His attention was on his garments as he said this, but Conrad could feel
the human's glare weighing on him.

"Is that how it's going to be?", asked Jules. "Each time, that I should be
grateful that you didn't butcher me like Williams, Hartigan, and
Ballantine? Is that your standard? 'I didn't kill you, so I'm treating you
right?'"

The Wolf realized he was oddly unannoyed by Jules' tantrum. It should have
been getting on his nerves by now. Instead, he experienced a tinge of pride
towards the human boy -- he was glad his lover had the nerve to stand up to
him. Connie pulled his t-shirt over his pale chest.

"You're alive", he said. "That alone is more precious than you think. You
should make a better use of it. Besides, I took you out, and I probably
gave you the best fuck you ever had. You should stop bitching."

"Is that all there is to you? Fun, sex, and killing?"

Conrad thought of his pack mates. He thought of Chad wrapping his arm
around his shoulders, giving him a pat of comfort and encouragement. He
thought of the ridiculous amount of time they both spent playing Guild Wars
2 together. He thought of the transboy shoving his cunt unto his face and
ordering him to eat. Conrad thought of Catherine. He thought of her dumb,
dreadful jokes. He thought of their endless arguing over who was the
greatest Doctor. He thought of her firm tits pressed against his chest, of
the way she'd rub her croth against his dick.

He thought of his heart screaming when he'd found to courage to run away
from Derek's pack, of the gaping emptiness in his gut. That thought, he
chased away quickly.

"No", Conrad said at last. "That's not all there is to me. You forgot the
most important. You forgot the pack. Have you got a pack, Jules?"

The Haitian answered nothing. He stared at the crass cement floor where
they had both slept, thinking, pondering. He stayed silent a long
minute. Finally, he spoke, although what he said had little to do with
Connie's question.

"The government has always said a werewolf bite doesn't turn humans into
werewolves. They say it's a myth. They say werewolves are a genetic
anomaly, that people can't be turned. Is that true?"

'Here it comes', thought Conrad. He rummaged through his pockets for his
cigarettes and his matches. He realized he was down to his last cig. He
offered it to Jules.

"It's my last smoke, you want it?"

The human boy stared back at him in silence.

"Suit yourself", said Conrad.

He cracked a match and lit up. He took a drag from the acrid smoke -- he
smoked green Export As, the "full flavoured" ones. Some people called them
the green death. Conrad liked his cigarettes strong. Nicotine cleared his
head, and he realized he had been craving the substance.

"Are you going to answer my question?", asked Jules.

Conrad sensed anxiety beneath the angry impatience. He puffed out a cloud
of blue smoke.

"Chill out, I'm not going anywhere. We're not a genetic anomaly. And yes,
humans can be turned into Wolves. It takes more than just the bite alone to
do it though."

He inhaled from his cigarette once again. Jules appeared to calm down a
bit.

"So... I'm not going to turn into a Wolf?"

"I'd never turn anyone if they didn't want it", said Conrad. "Some other
Wolves are not so nice."

His former pack leader had held no such scruples.

"But you are about to go through some changes. The bite will take care of
that. It comes with... a few perks."

At once, Jules seemed to shrink. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

"What do you mean?"

"There's a bit of Wolf in you now. It's prepping you up for turning, should
you ever decide you want it. It's making improvements."

Connie watched Jules carefully. The Wolf had not been blessed with such
explanations when he had been turned. He had been shoved into a dank pit,
an empty cell with a hard bed and a pail to piss and shit in. He had been
stuck there a few days, with nothing but despair, terror, and boredom for
company. He'd had plenty of time to notice the abnormal stuff happening to
him. By the morning of the second day, he could smell things no human
should have been able to smell: not only the obvious stench of his
makeshift toilet, but the smell of his food -- cold Kraft Dinner, mostly --
being brought in the corridor, along with the body odours of his jailers --
although they never entered the room. It was not all. The bite healed too
quickly -- by the end of the third day, it had become a series of small,
painless scabs. He should have been happy at how quickly the pain had
ended. It had terrified him instead. Finally, he had been nagged by a
growing awareness of the faint trace of a need that had not existed before
-- a subtle sensation that tugged at his gut, that sharpened his senses
even more. That one might have escaped his notice in other
circumstances. But with nothing to do besides waiting for his fate and
worrying about what the bite was doing to him...

Jules was fortunate that he was being allowed such leeway in whether he
would turn or not. The Haitian boy, however, appeared obviously
distraught. Something incandescent rose in his eyes.

"What have you done to me?", said the human in a low, angry voice.

"Don't get mad. You'll like it. It's just to give you a taste of the power
you could have if you ever chose to become one of us."

Jules rose. He stared at the werewolf, his fierce eyes locked with those of
Conrad. It was not the meek, submissive boy the predator had fucked the
previous night. There was steel in this gaze, although Connie picked up a
scent of tension that was familiar to him. The young human was sensing
immediate danger in what he was about to do and carefully weighed his
options. Conrad withheld a smile. He liked that fire in Jules, but there
was little point in stoking it any further.

"I'm out of here", spoke Jules. "Don't talk to me, don't get near me or
anybody else I know. You're sick, Conrad Blackstone, and following you here
was the dumbest thing I've ever done."

Conrad studied Jules carefully. He inhaled a draught of smoke from his
cigarette.

"And what will you do if I don't leave you alone?", asked the Wolf.

He noticed the human taking a deep breath.

"I can be a lot more trouble than I'm worth, Conrad. I know what you are,
and you wouldn't last long if the 'authorities' found out."

"That would be a very bloody mess indeed", replied the Wolf, "for everybody
involved."

"So just leave me alone, and it won't come to that."

Jules walked towards his own discarded clothes and started dressing himself
up. 'I could kill you now, and that'd be it.' The words had come to
Conrad's mind, and he had nearly spoken them. He did not truly mean them,
but threats came easily to him -- frightening apes into compliance was
simple. He knew he was playing a delicate game, however: slowly nudging
Jules in the direction he wanted to take him, without destroying his
relationship with the human boy, and also without endangering himself and
his pack. Yet he was becoming sick of games. He spoke, in his low voice.

"I used to be a person, you know."

The Haitian kept dressing up without pause. He was looking away from
Conrad, but he could still see the Wolf from the corner of his eye. He was
probably careful enough to not let the predator fully out of his
sights. Connie continued.

"I wasn't for a very long time, I guess. Not compared to most people."

He drew in smoke again and ashed the cigarette.

"Thirteen years. It mostly sucked."

"Why should I care about your life story? I told you I didn't want anything
to do with you anymore."

Jules bent down to tie his worn-out sneakers. Connie noticed the boy could
use a pair of new shoes. The soles looked like they were about to fall off.

"When I was eight years old, I had this next door neighbour. His name was
Michael. He was 23. My parents were almost never home. I would hang out
with him."

He hadn't talked about Michael in a long time. He realized the memory of
his face had become a haze in his mind.

"He'd take me out to the movies. We saw V for Vendetta and Batman Begins
together. He even snuck me in to see Sin City, even though it was super
violent, because I really wanted to see it. He had bought tickets for
Madagascar, but we went in the other showroom instead."

Jules had finished putting his clothes on, but he lingered, a scowl on his
face.

"He had a Game Cube. I was always at his place playing Wind Waker or Skies
of Arcadia. He was the person who cared the most about me. We'd talk about
school, about the other kids who pushed me around because I was so fucking
tiny. I'd tell him about my parents, how they were always upset with me. He
listened. He'd tell me to hang in there, that things wouldn't always be so
shitty."

Conrad chuckled. If Michael had known...

"We'd listen to old punk bands together, even though the singers always
cussed. He gave me CDs so that I could listen to them when I was pissed."

Connie's cigarette was down to the filter. He killed it, squishing it under
the tip of his shoe.

"We'd cuddle on his couch. He'd give me long hugs. I had never felt so
loved in my entire life. He'd always tell me I was the best."

Jules had walked to a nearby window and was gazing outside. He still
refused to look at Conrad. The Wolf wished he had another cigarette.

"One day, he asked me what I knew about sex."

It had been a subtle thing, but he noticed how Jules' lanky frame had
tensed up when he had spoken. Seconds later, a faint aroma reminiscent of
bile touched Conrad's nostrils.

"I wasn't stupid; I'd had the birds and the bees, and I'd seen people
fucking on the Internet. Back then, I thought it was gross, but... I was
still curious about it. I knew it was something grown-ups did that was
forbidden to kids, so it was kinda... 'alluring'? Kinda like the way Sin
City had been, or a horror movie."

"I think I know what's coming next", said Jules.

Conrad nodded.

"It's not a terribly original story. It happened to millions of boys. He
never hurt me, mind you. It was always more about my pleasure than his. It
weirded me out a lot, though. I knew about 'bad touching' and that you were
supposed to tell adults if it happened. But I'd promised Michael I wouldn't
tell. I didn't want him to go to jail. And even though it felt we were
doing something wrong, the 'bad touching' felt good. Not just
physically. It was like Michael was sharing a grown-up secret with me. And
he'd always touch me like I was the most precious person in the world."

"He was using you. He was a selfish fuck-up who didn't stop to think about
what it'd do to you."

Conrad answered nothing. Telling the tale brought no emotions to him
anymore, besides perhaps a vague sense of nostalgia. Events that had
happened before he had been turned were remote to him. He knew them as part
of his own history, but they no longer were significant. The aftermath of
his relationship with Michael had left him with painful, ambiguous, and
contradictory emotions -- guilt, longing, loneliness. He remembered how
they had torn him apart, but he could no longer recall the precise flavours
that had accompanied them. Becoming a Wolf had cut him off from such
feelings."

After a moment, the Haitian boy spoke.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"There was a person before there was the Wolf. I've changed so much, but
it's still a part of who I am. I had a feeling you could relate."

Jules shot him a black glance.

"What you've done to me, it's messed up too. It feels like I have something
crawling under my skin. You stole my body from me."

Conrad almost came up with a smart-ass retort. It's what he always did. But
he held his tongue.

"I'm sorry", he said at last.

Jules' lips moved as if he was about to reply, but he said nothing.

"Stupid apes, why are you always so damn tricky?"

"You said you used to be a person, can't you understand why?"

"Because you're fearful little things... most of you guys anyway. I thought
you were braver."

The tone of his voice held no jape. It wasn't meant to be a taunt. It
appeared to sting Jules nonetheless. The black teenager began to walk away.

"I think you are", said Conrad. "Brave."

His predatory senses noticed Jules slowing ever so slightly. For a very
short moment, he thought the Haitian would stop, perhaps turn around and
say something. The human boy, however, didn't look back. His steps took him
across the vast empty room, and he climbed downstairs. Connie shifted to
the feral form, growing taller, expanding his awareness of the realm of
sound. He listened to the footsteps, straining his animal ears to pick up
the soft sound that faded in the distance. Eventually, he became truly
alone.

He hoped he had not pushed Jules too far. Of course the human boy was
angry. The Wolf remained proud that his lover had stood his ground,
although something at his core had become empty when Jules had left. It was
a longing he had not experienced in his time as a werewolf. He recalled the
gaping distress that had swallowed him whole when he had deserted Derek's
pack -- his pack. Both feelings were not unlike each other, but the one he
experienced right now was far more subtle. Once more, he thought of his
Gift. It made a lot of sense that he'd react in such a way to Jules, but
why was this so much stronger than with any other ape? Was it because he
was with a smaller pack now? Was it because something was missing in him
now to become whole again? Or was there something deeply unique about the
Haitian boy?

He closed his eyes. He imagined a hunt. Cat and Chad were present, of
course, but he also saw Jules prowling with them in search of a prey. He
wondered what it'd be like to see his new lover kill. What would he smell
like as a majestic beast? What would he look like?

Conrad wondered if Jules would take things that far. Derek's methods made
recruiting new pack members uncomplicated, but they disgusted
Connie. Killing a human was one thing; sometimes you just had to do it, and
besides it was in Wolves' nature to prey on the apes. But defiling a
person's very nature against their will, press-ganging them into a pack
they had not chosen -- it was wrong. To Connie, it felt the way rape would
feel to most humans.

He wondered why it disgusted him so when all his former packmates seemed
unfazed by it. He did not regret being a Wolf, even though his life as a
shapeshifter had been troublesome. Being a Wolf rocked. It meant brimming
with life in a fashion he could only have dreamt of as a human. It meant
power. But Wolves were meant to be free -- not to be Derek's toy soldiers
in his grandiose plans.

The memory of Derek's smell brushed his mind. His heart tightened. It
stirred feelings at his core. Conrad immediately crushed them to bits,
denying their right to exist. That chapter of his story was over.

Maybe there was something wrong with him. After all, he was a pack breaker.

A noise Conrad's stomach made brought him back to reality. He hungered for
meat. It was not time for the true Hunger quite yet, although it crept on
him slowly. He simply craved a ham sandwich and coffee -- Tim Hortons would
do. Yet he wished he'd had the time to nibble a bit on one of those idiots
he had killed two days ago. It would have been strong, healthy meat, and he
had most certainly earned those kills. But tt had been too much of a close
call, with the police patrolling nearby.

He wondered if the cops would have stopped if it had only been about the
boys beating Jules up.

Conrad made his way to the exit of the abandoned building -- a boarded-up
window with a couple of planks that he had set loose -- at a leisurely
pace. He loved derelict warehouse. He came there often after school, and he
sometimes brought along Fred and Joey. They would chill out, listen to
music, and smoke pot. He had blown Fred here once. He had devoured his
slender dick, drowning himself in the musky scent of horny teenage
hormones, and he had swallowed the copious amounts of semen that his friend
could produce. He had smelled the hint of shame that Fred had experienced
afterwards. Straight boys were like that: so full of lust, but also full of
the need to defend an ill-conceived notion of their own virility. Still,
fooling around had been sweet.

He had at times flirted with the idea with the idea of revealing his
werewolf nature to his two school friends. He was curious as to how they
would react. Doing so would be a show of poor judgement on his part,
however. A Wolf's human identity was its most precious secret. Take too
many dumb chances with it, and the anti-werewolf squads will soon be
gunning you down.

Why had he trusted Jules with his secret? He had hardly known the human
boy. Yet revealing the truth to him had felt right, as if a primal instinct
had urged him to do so. Probably his Gift. It was the problem with this
sixth sense of his: although it could be a powerful drive, it did not
provide him with any distinguishable sensation. It was a gut feeling, an
instant liking he would take to an ape. It was probably what had nudged
Connie towards taking those risks with his new human lover. The possibility
had crossed his mind before, but last night seemed to confirm it. And
biting the boy -- truth be told, it had happened in a spur-of-the-moment
burst of passion. Quite possibly his Gift, once more. Two years into being
a Wolf, he could barely get a hang of the damn thing.

Parts of his Wolf nature remained shrouded in mystery to him. Wolves didn't
know that much about their own selves after all. They did not exist up
until a few years ago. They'd had to learn the hard way, with no true
elders to light the path for them. So much still remained uncharted
territory. It had taken nearly a year before Conrad had started getting a
good sense of what his Gift was: he could sense kindred souls among the
apes -- humans who carried that shadowy taint in their heart. Some people
would just stick to his mind, drawing his attention, stoking his curiosity
-- just like it had happened with Jules, although what he had experienced
with the black boy had quickly grown into a fascination. Conrad had an
inkling that humans had been terrible fellows to Jules. He sensed the
wounds; they had marked the Haitian with a bitter darkness.

Connie wondered if Jules would ever willingly eat the Flesh and allow the
Wolf that slept inside him to be born.

He was outside now. He wandered along the Notre-Dame Boulevard. The sun
told him the day was still early, but the road was busy with all the cars
taking their drivers to work. Still, it was a pleasant stroll. A thin patch
of woodland bordered the street, through which ran a bike path. Conrad
walked on the trail, the occasional rider passing him. He made his way to
Tim Horton's. It was full of apes lined up to get their morning fix of
caffeine. The restaurant nonetheless held the pleasant scent of coffee and
food. Connie ordered his sandwich and a very tall cup of coffee that he
would drink black; he cared little for cow juice along with his brew, and
adding sugar to the bitter mixture amounted to blasphemy. He sat down and
devoured the sandwich, and he leisurely sipped his coffee while Black Flag
pounded in his earphones. A nearby customer glared at him -- his music was
probably too loud. He gave the human a wolfish grin, and he cranked up the
volume further.

The weather was gorgeous outside. Conrad decided he would ditch school
today. He would get detention, but the trade-off was worth it. He would
have no trouble catching up with his school work.

Conrad grabbed his coffee, stood up, and walked out of the restaurant,
singing under his breath along with Henry Rollins. It was going to be a fun
day.

* * *

Montreal's gay Village had managed to retain its charms despite the city's
descent into unbridled paranoia. Storefronts cheerfully displayed
rainbow-coloured stickers and flags. Poster of half-naked pretty boys were
all over the place, although the plastic looks of the models left Conrad
indifferent; he liked his boys in the flesh. Passers-by were chatting and
gossiping chipperly, and Connie traded flirty looks with young adult males
and older men alike. He enjoyed younger skin better, but he was accustomed
to the affections of men past their prime. Cars drove by noisily on
Sainte-Catherine street. Sadly, the busy-happy stretch of asphalt was no
longer a pedestrian area at this time of the year -- it was too late in the
Fall for that. Conrad noticed a few male hustlers who hung around; they
stood there with a certain restlessness, waiting for a client who would be
willing to pay them for sex. They practised their trade despite the obvious
CCTV cameras that watched every singly bit of the street and the ominous
black police vans that made sure their presence was felt. It was also
something Connie was familiar with: hustling, and omnipresent human
surveillance.

He had to visit two 'depanneurs' before he could buy a pack of cigarettes
without being asked for ID. He wondered at times why humans still worried
about their young smoking, when there were Wolves on the loose. Conrad then
made his way to the small park behind Club Sandwich -- an enormous
restaurant complex that was empty of clients most of the time. It was the
neighbourhood's worst kept secret that the establishment was a
money-laundering operation for organized crime. Montreal was ruled by a mix
of dirty politicians, corrupt unions, biker gangs, and the Mafia, although
in the past few years, the police itself had become a force to be reckoned
with. He could hear the loud buzzing of a police helicopter patrolling
nearby.

Still, the park behind the restaurant was a pretty place, with flowers and
trees that had draped themselves in the colours of autumn. Connie sat down
at a picnic table and pulled a thick book from his backpack. It was
Dhalgren, by Samuel R. Delany, a difficult if engrossing read he had
borrowed from Cat's bookshelf. It was filled with tales of bisexual sex,
poetry, and street gangs roaming an abandoned metropolis. Conrad stayed in
the park for a while, absorbed in the book. It provided his sharp mind with
a temporary reprieve from his troubles.

A couple of hours later, Conrad resumed his stroll downtown. He had just
grabbed lunch in a small Lebanese fast-food joint. He was thinking about
shopping around for a new shirt when the sound of a female voice, low and
ripe with hostility, stopped him in his tracks.

"Conrad Blackstone. Pack breaker."

The Focus washed over him. Time slowed. Two young adults, a male and a
female, each wearing jeans and a hoodie, stood in front of him. People
passed them by, in slow motion in Connie's augmented awareness. The man was
Caucasian and had a baby face; his cheeks were covered with peach fuzz. He
was trying to look tough, but he didn't have a head to intimidate people.
The woman was Asian, possibly Chinese. Her gaze was a tempered blade; she
seemed like she was actually a piece of work. Conrad knew neither one of
them.

"What do you want?", asked Conrad.

He put his hand in his pocket. The Asian woman began talking.

"Our Lord and Master sends us with a most gracious offer, for one as
unworthy as you."

"So Derek sent you. Figures."

"Shut up, pack breaker", said the male.

Conrad ignored him.

"And your Lord and Master -- Conrad said the words in the most sarcastic of
tones -- told you to pick this most public of places to conduct his
business?"

Many humans milled about, but some began to steer clear from them, sensing
the palpable tension. They were on the sidewalk of Sainte-Catherine, smack
in the middle of downtown. Cameras surrounded them -- Big Brother was
watching.

"Our Lord and Master extends his forgiveness should you choose to come with
us right now."

"It's a one-time deal only, Blackstone."

"Forgiveness. That's cute."

So, Derek still wanted him. Or at the very least, his Gift. A tiny part of
Conrad ached at the thought of returning to his old pack, longed to set
right what he had broken within himself. It was only a tiny part of him,
however. All the other parts of his being were disgusted at the thought.

"I presume Derek has given rather precise instructions as to what you were
to do should I spit on his gracious offer."

"Yes, he has", said the woman.

"We're to skin your sorry hide right here, right now."

This was bad. Conrad was confident he could defeat both Wolves -- he was a
deadly combatant, and he knew how to fight other werewolves. He was ready
for such a battle, but he understood the stakes. Cameras were everywhere in
this main street. Such a public brawl would expose his identity as a
werewolf to human authorities. Even if he managed to win without shifting
out of his human guise -- an unlikely feat -- the police would become
irrevocably suspicious of this teenage boy who had held his ground against
two big, bad Wolves. He'd be hunted without mercy. This was such a Derek
move, to force him into a victory so costly as to not be a victory at all.

He'd be damned if he'd let Derek push him around.

"If you start a fight here, the whole world will know you are Wolves."

Truth be told, the hoodies did a decent job of hiding their faces, and
gait-recognition systems could be fooled. They might get away with it.

"Our Lord and Master will protect us."

That one, however, was a huge display of faith or foolishness. Derek did
have a lot of clout, but there were things even he could not do. These
Wolves should have known. Maybe there wasn't much to the Asian She-Wolf
after all.

"So, what will it be, pack breaker?"

Conrad wrapped his fingers around the weapon he always carried in his
pocket.

"Go fuck yourselves, you and that piece of shit you call Lord and Master."

Both Wolves growled, a nasty sound that conjured primal terror in prey. A
few apes nearby heard it, and the scent of panic filled the air. Conrad's
adversaries started changing, growing, tearing clothes. Some human boy let
out a terrified wail. Connie did the sensible thing.

He bolted and ran away.

Conrad held no illusions of escaping his opponents; they would catch up in
moments. But when faced with higher numbers, do your best to take the fight
to favourable ground. In this case, any place with few cameras would do.
Conrad had a keen sense of focus, better than most other Wolves.  Although
it was a breakneck chase, events unfolded with a precise clarity around
him. He nearly ran into a middle-aged man -- some suit on his lunch break
from work. Conrad grabbed the poor sod and shoved him behind him. He sensed
that one of the other Wolves slowed down for a second to rend the ape
apart. 'Good', Conrad thought. Connie lucked out: a tiny alley opened to
his right, next to a clothing store. He ducked into the passage and kept
running. The nearest of his pursuers -- Conrad knew it was the male, the
nimbler of the two -- had nearly caught up with him.

Another perk of running away meant that sometimes, one opponent caught up
with you before the others. Alone.

Conrad plunged to the ground, rolled, turned around, and flicked open his
jack knife. The beast was on him. He lunged at it. The short blade plunged
into the brown fur of the Wolf's stomach, burrowing into the thick muscles.
Conrad ducked, and jaws snapped just above his skull. Claws raked at his
back, ripping open his backpack, spilling its content. They tore into
Connie's right shoulder. He winced, but he could take some pain.

Then a revolting spasm shook the monster, and it collapsed to the ground.
It began writing and convulsing in agony.

Conrad pulled out his blade and turned to face the She-Wolf. He shifted
into the feral form, his muscles tightening, his stance more assured. Blood
started to soak his shirt.

"Good old wolfsbane", he said. "Want a taste of it too?"

The female werewolf stopped. She was taller than her companion, bulkier,
her arms with longer reach. She looked at the short knife, black with
blood, and growled, murder in her eyes. But she hesitated. This confirmed
Connie's intuition.

"You're just cubs, aren't you? Two sad, little baby Wolves sacrificed for
Derek's plans. You didn't really think you were sent here to actually kill
me, did you?"

The large Wolf and Conrad circled each other. He heard the sound of
helicopters, faint in the distance, but growing stronger. Connie made sure
he manoeuvred towards a nearby fire escape. Already, his wounds were
mending.

"If Derek wanted me dead, he wouldn't have half-assed it. He would have
sent good Wolves, the kind that know what they're doing. You... I don't
even think you've fought a Wolf before. You wouldn't be so bad at it."

Insult your adversary. Lure it into committing a mistake. In reality, the
knife was merely a bluff at this point. There'd be too little poison left
to do anything. But Conrad had been stalling for time, and his shoulder was
now mostly healed. The She-Wolf realized this. She snarled, and took a step
forward.

"Bring it on, puppy girl. I'll show you how it's done."

Conrad turned around and leapt at the metal railing of the fire escape. His
opponent gave chase, but the feral form was more agile; Connie could easily
swing around his own weight, strong but still somewhat light, while the
Wolf girl was slowed down by inertia. Conrad climbed, swung, and jumped his
way up the metal stairs. He made it to the top a couple of seconds before
the other werewolf. She propelled herself after him, but this was a grave
mistake -- never rush an opponent who holds the higher ground. 'Gotcha',
thought Conrad. He grew into the bestial form, stretching into a hulking
shape, utterly destroying his clothes in the process. As the She-Wolf
reached him, he gave her a vicious swipe to the neck, tearing flesh and
tendons. She lost her grip and plummeted to the ground -- a three-story
fall.

Conrad hurled himself after her. As he dove, he saw her hit the pavement --
hard. He crashed into her feet first, her massive shape breaking his own
fall. He heard as much as he felt her ribcage crack and implode, and he
began savaging her. His assault was an embodiment of fury, a torrent of
murderous teeth and gory nails. She clawed back at his chest, but he had
crippled her already, and her strength was failing. Conrad wrapped his
enormous hands around her skull, and he pulled with all his strength. She
struggled, raking at his abdomen, but her neck gave up and snapped. Her
form became limp and air escaped her maw, a sick whistling sound. Conrad
pulled harder, and her whole head came off.

'That's how you kill a Wolf', he thought to himself.

He glanced at the male he had stabbed. His defeated opponent lied there,
still in the bestial form, immobile. From where Conrad stood, it seemed the
cub had stopped breathing. The poison had probably killed the poor sod.
Helicopters buzzed louder now, getting closer. They were police choppers.
It was difficult to mistake them for any other kind: they were designed to
be loud and to cast an overbearing presence. They would be there in
moments. Conrad had to make his escape.

He hesitated, however. Conrad looked down at the Wolf corpse at his feet.
He remembered the rumours Chad had heard and shared with their pack. Could
he... steal from her? Dared he?

He sunk his claws into the She-Wolf's chest and pried open her ribs. They
came off, stick with gore. He felt around her insides. He found her
heart. He wrapped his finger around the muscle, and he tore it off almost
gently, nearly afraid to break it. He held it in his hand. It was much
larger than an ape's heart, the size of a small melon.

Conrad took the Wolf heart to his maw, and he gulped it down in a two
swallows. He tasted its savoury, metallic flavour. A shiver of ecstasy
coursed from his tongue to his stomach. It reminded him of the Flesh, but
the meat was richer, more complex. It settled inside him, sating the hungry
sensation that had begun to gnaw at him, too faint to be noticed until
now. Conrad's senses grew sharper, and time held still for a few
heartbeats. Then everything returned to normal.

He wondered if eating the heart had achieved anything. He didn't feel any
different. Maybe this was all Internet speculation. Maybe he had wasted
precious seconds out of greed.

'Shit', he thought.

Connie reverted to the feral form and sighed. He was a gory mess, his
clothes gone, but his wounds had mended already. He scanned around quickly,
and spotted no cameras. He was glad he'd managed to avoid leaving too much
evidence of his identity, although it would probably make little
difference. He had to assume Conrad Blackstone was a hunted man now.

The helicopters were almost there -- he could tell. He heard sirens in the
distance. It was time to escape. The roofs were out of the question, not
with choppers around. He could think of only one way out of this death
trap. It was a long shot, a wild guess, and the idea stank. Conrad hustled
to the nearest manhole leading to a storm drain, and he lifted the grate.
It was a feat he doubted he could have accomplished in his human guise --
the damn thing felt heavy. There was murky water three feet below. Connie
lowered himself into the hole. He set his back to the side of the shaft,
and he pulled back the grate on top of him.

'Fucking hell, I hope the drains for the rain are not the same than for
sewage, otherwise this is going to be one crappy afternoon.'

He could hear men shouting in the alley, the sound of military boots
hammering the pavement. Conrad sank into the disgusting water. It was
lukewarm, and it reeked of dead things. The Wolf closed his eyes, drew in a
deep breath, and sank underwater. He began feeling around for a way
out. His fingers found an opening at the bottom of the well, and he half
swam, half crawled into it.

Conrad thought of his pack. He even thought of Jules. He had to make it. He
couldn't die in a fucking hole.

TO BE CONTINUED