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PROLOGUE It’s late. The moon, full and fat, is blindingly bright through the window above Kate Folan’s bed. It’s not a comforting light. It only makes the wide night sky seem even blacker. Kate can feel it through the glass, bathing her sweating skin like iced water. She’s so hot. She leans over and heaves open the window. Her shaky breath mists out and mingles with the humid night air. She lifts the damp dark hair from the back of her neck, to expose it to the cool breeze. So many scents and sounds carry in from outside… There’s a tiny electric buzz sparking in her bones. It tickles and warms her, as if her whole body is itching on the inside and she has no way to scratch. It’s maddening. Dizzying. Kate shuts her eyes, shakes her head. She wants to let go. To lose the fear and the doubts — just give in to the craving. Why should she fight it? This has to happen… Kate’s heart begins to pound. It feels like a fist knocking against her ribs, so hard it hurts. She can see its movement beneath the soaked white cotton of her night-clothes. The moon seems incandescent, like it has caught fire. Kate knows now. It will happen tonight. The burning heat now pounding through her body seems to be melting her bones. The pain is delicious, irresistible. Kate wonders how she could ever have wished it away. The change feels maddeningly near now. Why won’t it come? Kate clutches the bedclothes, panting for breath, filling her lungs with the scents of the night. She could howl with pain and frustration. So close… She bites her lip, tastes the iron tang of her own blood — then smiles as under the moon’s gaze, spasms of sheer exhilaration shoot through her. It has begun. Kate laughs feverishly as her bones begin to shift. Muscles tear and ripple. Teeth twist into spikes. Silken hair sprouts from every sweating pore. She shucks off her damp, clinging clothes, rolls over on to her front, then giddily raises herself from the bed. Her heart beats sure and strong. This room, these things, these meaningless possessions, none of them are hers. All she owns is the nightworld outside — and everything in it. She leaps through the window on to the roof outside, then down to the grassy verge leading into the wood. She glories in her speed, her agility. Soon she is bounding over sweet-smelling earth. At last she feels alive. Feels she belongs. She catches the sweet smell of a frightened animal close by. She slips through the undergrowth towards it. A deer, startled, bursts from its hiding place and starts to bolt. She matches it for pace, watches it swerve and dance with fear. Finally she tires of the chase, and slams the animal to the ground. Her claws tear into the deer’s flank; her jaws close around its throat, sharp teeth piercing the downy neck. Blood flows over her lips. It’s everywhere, sweet and sticky, she is bathed in it. Exultant, she raises her head and howls her thanks to the moon. The scream tore out of Kate as her eyes snapped open. She jolted upright in her bed, trembling and gasping for air. She pressed her hands to her face, fingers searching the smooth clammy skin as hot tears poured over them. Then she gagged. The dream had never been so vivid; the blood had never been so real. The moon was just a soft glow through her flimsy curtains, but Kate feared even that intrusion. She pushed sweat-drenched hair from her eyes and turned on her bedside light. Looking around at the familiar objects in the room, she reassured herself she was normal. For now… But the images of the dream wouldn’t fade this time. The moon. The blood. The exultant wolf. That’s going to be me, she thought, still trembling. That’s what I am going to become. Kate dreaded the day she would think those thoughts not with fear and guilt and shame — but with pleasure and pride… © Stephen Cole Click here to read more from The Wereling: Wounded |