Tenderness of Wolves

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