🗽 It was probably for the third time that the aircraft was circling the city, descending further with each turn... the tiny, colorful game pieces that Ian had seen earlier now taking on a more distinct form as they lost height, gradually growing larger, assuming clearer shapes -- rows of buildings, homes, network of roads with vehicles...

It was a clear day -- beautiful weather, great visibility -- and as the plane took another turn, banking sharply to the left, the waters of New York Harbor seemed to rush up at him, right in front of his face, Ian briefly spotting the Statue of Liberty in that shimmering sheet of water... a tiny speck - blink-and-you-miss.

But that fleeting glimpse of the iconic landmark filled his heart with immeasurable joy... he was indeed home, sweet home... back in his own city!

The vision also bringing a sudden, amusing thought to his mind, making him smile: come to think of it, the Statue of Liberty -- symbol of freedom, of emancipation, of hope and dreams, the very embodiment of the United States itself! -- wasn't just the most recognizable, but also the world's most abused landmark ever!

Every script writer and director in Hollywood seeming to reserve a special animus for Lady Liberty... having her repeatedly destroyed in movie after movie, be it a natural or man-made disaster -- freak weather, storm, tidal wave, earthquake, meteorite strike, monster or alien attack -- you name it, and she bears the brunt!

The good ol' Lady unceremoniously flung off her high pedestal, twisted and dismembered, her head ripped off and knocked over, sent hurtling into oblivion!

What a terrible fate!

So much for enlightening the world!!!

The familiar ding of the PA system brought his mind back to the real world and he heard the pilot ask the cabin crew to return to their stations for landing... once more looking out of the window, seeing the ground, the buildings, now so much larger, swiftly pass by under him...

God, was he HAPPY to be back!

🏰 Well, he had enjoyed his trip, especially his stay at Brasnov... but those last four days had made him yearn for home, making him nearly desperate to get back to New York...

Frankly, he didn't remember much of that last night in Brasnov, in the forest behind the castle... other than the fact that he had some exhilarating wild sex with the strange lad...

Recollecting being led into the woods... both making out before the boy undressed him... mounting him... penetrating him.

It was amazing, very fulfilling... and then things got kinda fuzzy.

All he could remember was waking up the next morning, stark naked in the Count's cemetery... sprawled out on the cold, hard ground, his clothes scattered all around... and his ass on FIRE!

Barely able to get up and stand, his stomach roiling as he gathered up his clothes... looking around for the boy, but there was no sign of him anywhere.

His whole body aching, like the flu... the side of his neck, at the shoulder, throbbing and pulsing... and when he touched the spot he could feel the swelling, feel two distinct bumps... his fingers triggering a sharp, shooting pain, radiating out and down along his arm and back, making him groan... vaguely recalling the boy bite him in the throes of orgasmic ecstasy.

And his ass, God, it felt like he had taken a fire hydrant up his butt!

He had reached down and touched himself while pulling on the boxers, winching at the contact -- the mouth swollen, pouting high like a toroid, gaping like a cavern -- gasping at the jarring pain the tentative touch sparked. Feeling the dry, crusty semen coating his crack and butt cheeks.

Once dressed, he had staggered back to the manor house, barely able to walk straight!

Up in his room Ian had taken off his shirt and looked in the full length mirror... noticing the swelling, the angry redness... but there weren't any bite mark, and neither any puncture wound... wondering for a moment if it was even real...

Well, the encounter... the sex in the woods was real, VERY REAL, and his gaping, throbbing, aching ass was the living proof of it!

So, was the bite just a dream... something his ecstatic mind had imagined? Something he had simply concocted in his benumbing post-coital euphoria?

By mid-morning Ian had developed a slight temperature, and when he left later that afternoon, he was in severe discomfort... wondering if he'd need a doctor, or medication... hoping it was just a mild cold - being out all night, that too naked!

Forced to spend the final two days laid up in his hotel room in Bucharest... feverish, aching all over, fatigued and weak... and ravenously hungry!

Luckily the temperature held and he didn't develop a full-fledged flu, and neither a cold or cough... the swelling and redness gone, though the tenderness had remained. Simply glad he could make the flight.

🕈    🕈    🕈

🌑 It had been an uneventful first week, and then, about 9 or 10 days after his return, he woke up one early morning with a splitting headache, and severe body ache... all queasy inside... wondering for a moment if it was the flu again, though he wasn't feverish this time.

By mid-morning he was restless, in the grip of an anxious apprehension... the general feeling of unease only increasing with each passing minute, before the steadily escalating sense of foreboding completely took over...

It left him pacing the room like a trapped animal, unable to concentrate on anything -- the tablet, and his notes scattered on the table, the computer screen staring back at him, the cursor blinking away, patiently awaiting his input -- his mind a total blank.

AND, the gnawing, ravening hunger... he had almost cleaned out the fridge in his famished voracity.

The pills hadn't helped much - the headache now a dull, continuous throb, literally driving him out of his mind... and the body ache discomfortingly wrenching.

The frustration, the simmering discontent, filling him with RAGE... a seething, smoldering fury.

He felt like screaming... no, howl out at the top of his lungs, tear at his hair... break something, anything... go on a rampage!

God, he NEEDED to get out... walk down a street, watch people pass by... simply ramble around the block if nothing else!

It was well past noon when Ian became conscious of the flood of strange new sensations as he walked down one of the relatively quieter side street lined with those historic brownstones...

He was in the Village, meeting an old friend at the little bookstore that the guy owned... had lunch together in the cramped little back-office before deciding on walking around some more... just wander the leafy streets, ramble around for a bit... reluctant to go back to the loft...

Suddenly becoming aware of the smells and sounds around him... not just the lane he was walking down, but beyond... his skin tingling, all his senses on heightened alert, acutely alive to all the stimulus!

His nostrils twitching as he was assailed, literally swamped, by the array of smells... scents... aromas... some pleasant, some odious.

His olfactory neurons overwhelmed by the odors wafting in the air -- freshly brewed coffee from a cafe tucked somewhere... the florist round the corner... the patisserie someplace within the jumble of stores further down... the festering garbage...

The sounds... nay, the DIN, a cacophonous assortment of disparate dissonance, bouncing off the buildings, swirling and echoing around, amped up till it literally hurt his ears -- the trickle of dripping water somewhere... the susurrous scurrying in the sewers below... the jarring grate of dry leaves blown across the sidewalk... the squeal, the screech, and the collective chatter... the distant honk! -- practically able to hear a pin drop a block away!

The brilliance of the daylight... the harsh glare stinging his eyes, making him squint in discomfort!

And the tingling... every inch of his body buzzing and twitching... fingertips, toe-tips, nose-tip, all prickly, like a low voltage current was being passed through his entire frame. Every follicle taut, the fine dusting of hair bristling, crackling with static electricity!

Ian staggered past the quaint little stores... past the boutiques, the vintage shop, the tattoo parlor... unseeing as he rushed past the people, the crowd... suddenly dizzy, the world swirling all around him!

God, was it some sort of panic attack?

He needed to take a deep breath and keep calm, get a grip of whatever it was. He needed sit down.

And as he emerged from the side street, there it was, right in front of him - Washington Square Park!

He dashed across the road and ran in... hurrying past the fountain... past the performers, the poets and musicians, past the hurdle of students, the gathered families...

Desperately seeking out a quiet spot, ready to flop down anywhere if that was the only spot he could sit and be alone!

💿 Noah had just walked out of the little store, his two newest LPs securely tucked under his arm, when he sensed the presence, picking up the scent... almost instantly spotting Ian across the street...

Noah loved his music (besides a few other things) - classical, country, and his fav, opera - but didn't like them in digital mode, preferring old style records instead. Well, there was no greater joy than a gripping thriller in one hand, a glass of delicious, sensually textured Merlot in the other, and a vinyl playing in the background, yes, hiss and scratch and all!

Handsome and desirable, the man seemed disoriented... troubled as he uncertainly stumbled along, helpless and vulnerable -- oh, what an alluring and deadly combination! -- Noah quickly crossing over and following Ian...

The scent was unmistakable... and strong, very strong -- of confused befuddlement, of fear spawned by ignorance -- but above all else, the overpowering scent of the alpha that had marked him, had bred him!

At twenty-four Noah was a mere child by all standards, but then, he came from a very ancient line... pure bred and of noble extract!

He also had the added benefit of being personally taught, and trained, by his great-grandfather, someone who had seen a lot, had heard even more from his parents who had experienced it firsthand - those terrifying events that had eventually forced their family to flee across the ocean...

Noah was sensitive, was perceptive... could instinctively pick up even the most subtle of cues. Sense a threat, an approaching danger, an impending crisis... could sniff out strong emotions - anger or fear, despair or despondence, elation or devastation.

He knew how best to react in any given situation, the instinct encoded in his genes, honed in the crucible of everyday life.

About when to give fight, and when to take flight, blend into the background... when to reach out, and when to withdraw... about how to protect, and keep safe kindred souls... guide the confused novice, and teach them how to control, especially the traumatic initial days.

The man was agitated... distressed... poor innocent soul, ignorant of the fact that he'd already been turned, that he'd transform into a werewolf the following fullmoon, the night of the Hunter's Moon.

Unaware that what he was going through, experiencing, was simply the effects of the Dark Moon... for it was 14th day after the Harvest Moon, the final phase of the waning cycle... the day of the moonless night!

Oh, poor, stupid humans... they thought only the bright disc of the full moon affected them... ignorant of the fact that the darkmoon too was full, just not visible since it rose with the sun at dawn... was up there in the sky with the sun, and therefore 'invisible'...

But still exerting the same pull, the same power... still sparking the same heightened sensory perceptions... the same urges... causing the same level of unease and confusion in people who hadn't turned yet.

The only difference being that the daylight prevented the moon from triggering a full transformation, blocking the transfiguration!

At least in eastern cultures they acknowledged this phase of the moon, even had a name for the day, knew about the immense power it wielded, the force it exerted. While the west had somewhere along the way lost that knowledge, the day simply termed as 'new moon'.

As they reached the main street he saw the man race across and enter the park.

Noah followed, watching the man run past the play hill, the occupied benches, past the chess players... literally circling the park as he sought a lonely spot... maintaining a discreet distance as he observed.

🕈    🕈    🕈

👥 Straddling Front and Water Street in the South Street Seaport area, situated just a stone's throw away from the original Fulton fish market, the full block of late 1700 to mid 1800 buildings still retained most of its old look, and feel, in the fast, forever transforming Lower Manhattan landscape.

Once a mix of warehouses, store-and-lofts, merchant establishments and residences, it had been substantially altered and remodeled over the intervening centuries. Partly restored and consolidated, it now housed a marketplace of shops and cafes, offices and homes... still managing to conceal secrets within its bosom that the uninformed traveler, the casual passerby remained ignorant of.

Encircled within the block, shielded from view behind an unobtrusive doorway and silent passage, was an oasis of peace and tranquility -- an enclosed, cobbled courtyard -- lush, green and open to the sky, unseen and unknown to strangers, gateway to the upper floor residential apartments and lofts

Ian loved it there... was lucky to have come across it, grabbing the loft immediately.

He loved the quietude, right in the middle of all the jostle and dissonance, loved the waterfront, the piers right across the street... and he loved the view!

Of late, he also loved going right down to the water's edge, past the wharves and piers, sauntering along the Greenway after dark -- breeze in his face, ruffing his hair, the hint of sea and salt in the air -- a distinct spring in his step, humming a cheerful tune that even he didn't recognize.

Relishing the fascinating whiff of a nerve tingling aroma wafting in from somewhere further upwind... carried over the waters for miles, blown unobstructed across the swift, forever shifting currents of the East River tidal estuary... a heady bouquet of flesh and fish, strangely invigorating.

Terribly tempted to follow the scent to its source!

After that harrowing day, and his near meltdown at the Village, (over a week now), Ian had woken up a changed man the next morning -- that unease, that sense of doom, the aches and pains, all gone.

His mind more focused, once more brimming with confidence, bubbling with energy, once more in control.

His senses still on a heightened state of alert... weirdly perceptive, instinctively aware...

Literally able to sniff the people around him - their natural, individual odor, and their perfumes. Smell their fears, their joys and their uncertainties - a thousand little different scents - each distinct, so unique, and yet, somehow each identifiable!

Regularly waking up to the delicious aroma of bread in the oven over a block and half away... the whiff of fresh brew from the cafe down the corner...

And of course, that overpowering scent of carcasses and the day's catch being unloaded from trucks... way up in Bronx's Hunts Point meat and produce market, world's largest food distribution facility, miles away!

Somehow very agile, and surprisingly limber... strangely flexible, his limbs seeming almost jointless. Swift and nimble on his feet - bounding up stairs, weaving through traffic and pedestrian like some star player on the basketball court, or the soccer field.

And, CONSTANTLY HORNY!

Noticing the weird behavior animals displayed around him -- the agitated flutter of the pair of parakeet outside the little antique store in the hidden courtyard, the uncomfortable yelps and whines of dogs as he walked past, the hostile hiss of cats as they bristled.

Though there was just that one thing he couldn't seem to get rid of... a feeling that had stayed with him from that afternoon at the park -- of being watched.

Something, or someone, observing him... following him!

It was a constant -- early mornings when he went out for his jog... when he went out for those jaunts by the water's edge... when he sat near the window, working late in the evening...

And no matter how much he looked around, searched, he could see no one, spot no one... just that unshakable sense of being shadowed.

The entity unseen like the late night zephyr... yet, as real as its invisible touch, as tangible as its gentle grazing caress while swirling past.

Though, it never felt threatening, he didn't sense any danger... rather, the presence was oddly reassuring!

Noah had been following the man since that day at the Village... inexplicably drawn toward the handsome stranger...

He could sense all the changes taking place, and he wanted to be there, needed to be there... be close when the man began to turn on the night of the powerful Hunter's Moon...

Be there to, yup, PROTECT him from the terrifying bewilderment, the disorienting perplexity... the horror and fear as the devastating realization finally dawned...

Be there to calm the untamed rage, the uncontrollable urges that the shift would spawn...

Be there for the shock and trauma that would invariably follow, the next morning.

Especially since the guy considered himself an expert on the subject - a serious scholar of myths and legends, of werewolves and vampires. Claiming to know EVERYTHING that there was to know.

A disbeliever, pooh-poohing all those tales as: 'fanciful fantasy, and demented drivel of a dark and ignorant society!'

His doctoral dissertation littered with amused references to the various fanciful tales and fables palmed off by 'experts' as irrefutable, proven facts. Those nonsensical trash and misconceptions, those stupidly ludicrous concepts and constructs passed as established scholarly wisdom.

Ridiculing and debunking all those claims. Unambiguously repudiating all possibilities of the existence of any such fanciful creatures, any being other than normal humans!

Oh, the sheer hilarity of human ignorancy!

Noah could never stop laughing whenever he read those comic books, graphic novels and the so-called scholarly tomes... or watched those popular TV serials and movies, with all their ridiculous theories and nonsensical narratives. Each propagating those same age-old misconceptions as established fact, ad infinitum!

Well, there were the believers, and there were the skeptics...

At least the nonbelievers, the doubters, the so-called rationalists, rejected everything that they couldn't comprehend... that their 'logical' brain couldn't grasp.

While it was the 'believers', with no timidity of imagery, and no dearth of imagination, who spun outrageously ludicrous tales - an incongruous jumble of hodgepodge ideas - passing it off as gospel truth without a clue or understanding. Their ridiculous concepts then propagated and popularized by the story-tellers and movie-makers!

About autumn moon and blooming wolf's bane... about wolf skin belts and girdles... about rainwater in wolf's pawprint...

About sleeping outside on a summer's night with the full moon shining directly on the face... and about scrapes and scratches...

About how it could turn even a man of pure heart, who said his nightly prayers, into a ravening werewolf.

And of course, the all-time favorite - a secret 'pact' with the Devil himself!

About how the transformation took hours, causing excruciating pain with EVERY bone cracked, re-shaped and re-arranged. Conveniently ignoring the fact that humans and wolves fundamentally share the same skeletal structure - same bone in same place.

About how every inch of flesh - each muscle, each ligament - was stretched and torn before being re-aligned!

How the eyes turned blood red instead of yellow, the normal color of wolf iris!

How they lost their human mind once transformed, becoming rapacious monsters, vicious and violent... bloodthirsty savages craving raw flesh while in their human form, killing and eating humans while in their wolf form!

Utterly clueless that the moon, the bloom, dirty water and pelt could never 'turn' a human...

Oblivious to the fact that a scratch only caused a lot of pain, with the possibility of getting infected if left untreated...

Totally ignorant that a bite, and the resulting shift, didn't change anything (other than the physical form), the person essentially remaining the same - just as good, bad, or evil as before... as any other human being.

The transformation merely amplifying their personality, accentuating their innate, inborn nature, like wealth, or power, does. Not make them 'wild beasts' with a blood lust, with an uncontrolled urge to kill anything that moved!

In fact, it is man that hunts and kills for greed, for sport, and brutal pleasure. Wolves, like all other predators, only hunt for food, or to protect!

Completely unaware of the potent power of an alpha's semen!

And all that funny tales of half wolf and full wolf... of bipeds and quadrupeds.

Of alphas, betas and omegas, (but thankfully, no thetas or gammas). About alphas being pack leaders, with not a clue about what 'alpha' really meant!

Clueless that there were just three types of werewolves - natural born (like himself), cursed (like the Transylvanian Count's descendants) and turned (like the man now before him).

About how helpless they were under the full moon, turning and remaining in wolf-form from dusk to dawn.

About howling at the full moon, unfazed by the fact that wolves, (including werewolves), don't howl at the moon, but to communicate with other members of the pack.

And the tales of immortality... claiming they were immortals, yet asserting that silver - arrow, knife or bullet - and mistletoe could kill them... that wolfsbane and monkshood could weaken, or even kill them, or could be used to stop them from shifting even on a full moon's night.

How rowan (mountain ash), could contain and confine them... even make a bite ineffective.

Foolishly ignorant that all that myth - about wolfsbane and silver, rowan and mistletoe - were just that, MYTH!

Yes, while poison or a serious injury did hurt, could be debilitating, it didn't kill. Their self-healing powers, plus the loving care of the family (or, pack) always nursed them back to health...

And as for immortality... well, the pure bred were long lived, not immortal, as were the bitten. While the cursed ones lived their normal human lifespan and then died.

Thankfully ignorant of the fact that the only time a werewolf was really vulnerable was during a total lunar eclipse while still in their human form. The only time he could actually be killed... that too, only if rend in two, from head to pelvis, in a single stroke!

Yeah, very violent, and so typically human!

So, being a skeptic, when the Hunter's Moon rose, (in another three days time), and triggered his transformation... once he began to turn, he'd freak...

First the incomprehension of what was happening, then the harrowing realization finally dawning...

The utter disbelief, the shock and horror further aggravating an already dire situation, exacerbating his confused condition even more... resulting in uncontrolled rage, and impulses that could be destructive.

Noah wanted to be there... guide him through that terrifying transfiguration, the traumatic transformation process. Stop him from succumbing to the darker instincts... help him become a werewolf in charge of his own powers!

So, he kept a close watch, but stayed out of sight... very aware that the man could sense his presence.

It wasn't just his good, charitable heart alone... nay, there was another reason, a powerful one.

Not only was the man very good looking, and highly desirable, but was also smart and intelligent... and following him around, observing him, getting to know him, Noah had fallen madly in love with the stranger.

The man had been bitten by a cursed individual - a powerful, vicious individual. Had also been tied and bred by that same animal. Had accepted the alpha's semen in his bowels, absorbed the potent seed.

Even if the Transylvanian werewolf hadn't bitten he'd still turn from the potent seed, the seminal fluid his human body had received and soaked up... had imbibed!

The man was marked for the rest of his long life, and Noah just wanted to claim him, for himself... they'd make a brilliant pair!

And the timing was perfect too, for the next two full-moons, (December and January), being Wolf Moon -- 'moon when wolves run together' as named by both the Cheyenne and Sioux -- was ideal for pairing and bonding!

🕈    🕈    🕈

🌕 The western sky was a kaleidoscope of colors as the sun dropped low, Nature's scintillating brush strokes across Heaven's canvas announcing day's end.

In another half hour it would sink below the horizon, and the October moon would rise in all its mellow glory...

Noah had got there early, sitting at the sidewalk cafe across the street from the loft, waiting for the moon to emerge - the powerful Hunter's Moon...

Hunter's Moon - time to go hunting, time to collect and store food for the harsh winter months ahead. Also known as 'Blood Moon', for it turned red from all the blood spilled from the rampant hunting!

He knew that it was a matter of time, minutes in fact, before the man began to turn as the first shaft of moonbeam shown in through his windows...

He could already sense the agitation... the daze, the unease... the confusion, the puzzlement... the emotional upheaval taking place in that human mind and body... getting progressively more intense as the sky darkened further...

He had sensed it in the morning too when he had swung by, just to check... now stronger, more powerful!

🐺 The day had been dreadful for Ian, forcing him to remain confined in his loft the whole time...

Woken sometime very early in the morning by the dull, throbbing headache, drenched in cold sweat, Ian had tossed and turned drifting in and out of his fitful slumber... his muscles taut and tense, his entire body hurting like before the onset of a flu.

By dawn his head was pounding... his muscles unbearably sore, and the joints stiff... feeling all weird inside, the gut tender.

And the week-long tingling in his gum and jaws -- that dull throb and tenderness, the ticklish discomfort before the molars erupt -- was intense that morning, as if an extra set of teeth were ready to rupture his gum and emerge any moment. The funny thing though, he'd already had his wisdom teeth a couple years earlier!

Ian didn't know what, he didn't understand why, but he sure felt lousy... absolutely miserable.

Things only getting worse as the day progressed... the discomfort, the soreness, the muscle pain, the joint aches unbearable, leaving him restless just like that other day.

His mind in utter turmoil... that unease, that sense of doom back once more, wondering if it was another panic attack.

And the worse part - the daylight seemed hurtfully intense, making it impossible for him to even step out... escape the loft, go for a walk... pacing the room instead, pacing to and fro like a caged animal.

By day's end Ian was frantic.

And as the eastern sky began to glow with the rising moon, the full orb slowly heaving itself out of the rolling waters... clearing the waves and lifting higher, casting its magical radiance over the land below, Ian felt the first jolt course down the length of his body - a powerful, debilitating frisson.

It was followed by a quick succession of saccades, each more stronger than the previous... trembling all over, his torso spasmodic, his limbs jerking as he tottered...

It left him gasping for air, his heart pounding as his pulse raced... his ears abuzz and vision blurred... filling him with a strange terror he'd never experienced before.

And the heat, God, it was like his body was on fire... an all consuming conflagration raging somewhere deep within him, spreading before engulfing him entirely.

The moon by now had risen high enough, shafts of moonbeam flooding in, lighting up the room... and as he passed by, the rays lapping his naked form, Ian felt the electric jolt course down his frame... the shudders undulating like the rolling ocean waves, from head to toe, making him stumble as his steps faltered.

Opening the shower Ian quickly stepped under the spray, the water - like icy drops on heated rocks - literally sizzling as it came in contact with his burning skin... his body wracked by powerful spasms and gut wrenching convulsions... his muscles taut and twitching as the cold water laved his nude, tremulous frame.

And as he stood shaking and shivering under the spray... above the hiss and splatter of the water, above the deafening buzz in his ears, above the sibilant static of the charged air around him... Ian heard the call - a soundless voice beckoning him...

The inaudible voice as loud as the ocean's roar... seductive... insistent... urging him to venture up, up to the rooftop... asking Ian to join him...

For some odd, inexplicable reason it sent a tingle down his spine, and Ian felt himself begin to harden rapidly... the above average shaft filling with blood till he was hurtfully rigid, his cock engorged to almost bursting point... throbbing and pulsing with urgency, already oozing desire from the tiny slit at the tip of the bloated glans.

Enwrapped in that erotic haze of unexplained arousal, ensorcelled by the susurrous summons... powerless in hypnotic trance, Ian turned off the shower and stepped out of the bathroom...

Still buck naked, still dripping water... sporting a hardon that was fiercely stiff... heading straight for the fire escape and slipping out... sprinting up the metal staircase.

The moonlit rooftop was silent... the incandescent lunar orb bright against the dark canvas of the night sky, refulgent with the sun's reflected radiance... casting its magical glow, drawing random patterns of light and shadow around the various structures.

Ian could hear the voice no more, but he sensed the presence... desperately looking around... seeking...

And as he searched, he spotted a pair of glowing points staring back at him... instinctively knowing what it was, intuitively aware of what was about to happen... suddenly terrified, and yet, terribly excited.

But bathed by the unobstructed rays of the full moon, every naked inch of his unclothed body illuminated by the argent luminescence, Ian couldn't ponder or dwell on any thought or emotion, concentrate on anything other than just that pair of glowing eyes...

Barely able remain standing... his body twitching and trembling, shaken by a tremor that seemed to rise from somewhere deep within him... dropping down on all fours, his mind going totally blank, his body suddenly numb.

Without even moving a muscle, Ian felt his body pandiculate, just like on waking up in the morning -- his torso, his limbs, stretch and strain... his every muscle, each joint, flex and fibrillate... his spine camber and arch -- only it was more powerful, more intense!

Scared and confounded... his heart slamming like crazy as his mind flitted between the real and the imagined, his conscious mind darting between comprehension and confusion... trembling with dread and disbelief... Ian felt an welcoming warmth surround him, like being wrapped up in a big furry coat.

Sensing an immense surge of strength and power course through his frame... fill his every limb, his every sinew... flooding every niche, filling his whole being - body and soul - till it was brimming over!

Going on staring back at those mesmeric eyes watching him... seeing them slowly draw near as the creature emerged from the shadows... a wolf of immense proportion!

... to be continued     ♻