In fact, it sounded like a very pissed-off wolf.
The others must have had the same thought. Wiz and Nero stared at each other in shock. The alien, however, seemed to settle more firmly into its form as he warbled.
“Much better. You will survive now.” Then he looked at the other men. “The other one will die without help.”
“What other one?” Nero demanded. Then he waved off an answer, pointing hard at Wiz. “You watch this one. Gelpack, you’re with me. At least you can get a leg ripped off without dying.”
The alien oozed toward the door. “It is hard to stabilize a werewolf while being dismembered, but I will try.”
Laddin turned to help. After all, this was his set, his workplace. But his body moved strangely. His head was tilted too far forward, and his vision was different—more side to side, less in front. His balance was off because his hands were taking weight.
He looked down and saw fur and paws, and when he gasped, his tongue was too long and his nose… mamma mia, the scents! He could smell everything! He started spinning, stumbling as he tried to maneuver. His backside was wiggling, and he kept trying to stand up to see better, but he was a wolf. He couldn’t stand like a man.
He was a wolf! The joy of that flooded his body, and he yipped in excitement. There was so much to explore. Not just his body, but everything in his office was new. Dust bunnies and spilled soda, cracker crumbs and gunpowder. He couldn’t decide what to smell first.
“Settle down!” Wiz exclaimed as he knelt down with his arms wide. “You’re going to break something! And in here, who knows what you’ll set off.”
That sank in. His office was filled with explosive charges and delicate electronics for special effects. He’d spent hours organizing things in the most logical and safe manner. The last thing he wanted was to mess that up. So he stilled, though not quite frozen. His backside was wiggling back and forth. It took him a moment to realize that it was his tail whipping around behind him. And with that knowledge came the need to see, so he twisted around to could look. But then his ass turned as well, and he was spinning like a top.
Wiz groaned. “They always have to see their tail. Hold still! I’ll grab it so you can see it. I’ve never seen a happier wolf in my life.”
There was a sharp tug on his butt, hard enough to make him yip in surprise, and then he lunged forward to bite. It wasn’t a conscious movement. Hell, nothing he did right now was conscious. It was all instinct. The more he thought about moving anything, the less he was able to do it. But he lunged and nearly took a hunk out of Wiz’s hand.
Fortunately the guy was fast. One second his hand was right there, the next it was gripping Laddin’s muzzle tight.
“There’ll be none of that!” he snapped. “But now that I’ve got you….”
Something sharp stabbed him hard in the neck. A hypodermic needle, he realized as Wiz abruptly stood holding the thing high. Laddin growled in annoyance, but Wiz just shook his head.
“You’re a new pup. We need to get you into a safe environment. Then you can chase your tail all you want.”
Lethargy was growing fast. It was becoming harder and harder to stay standing, and damn it, his head was dropping too. He whined, high-pitched and mournful, but that was all the sound he got out before he flopped onto the floor. He could see his paws spread out before him, but he couldn’t move them. And pretty soon his head lolled to the side. He tried to keep his eyes open. If nothing else, there was so much to see from this angle. And the smells….
Too late. He was going under.
But the good news still echoed through his heart, and his last conscious thoughts were joyous.
Grandmama had been right! He’d transformed into something magic! And being a werewolf was fun, fun, fun!
Chapter 2
SIX WEEKS LATER, BRUCE DISCOVERS WEREWOLVES AND FAIRIES, OH MY!
BRUCE COLLIER had been nine when his father had first told him Bruce’s uncle and younger brother, Josh, were monsters. He’d laughed because he was nine, but it hadn’t taken him long to realize that his father was serious. The older man had shown him police images of bodies ripped apart, blood everywhere, and a black-and-white TV covered in gore. That was the impression that had burned into his nine-year-old brain. An old TV, front and center in a family living room, just like where he and his brother and sister often sat and played video games. It was smashed and covered in things that made his stomach lurch.
“Your uncle did that, and Josh carries the same curse. It’s buried right now and we’re going to keep it that way. We’re going to keep him weak and frightened so it never comes out.” Then his father squatted down so that they were eye to eye. When he spoke, Bruce could smell the acrid scent of whiskey and tobacco on his father’s breath. “But if something goes wrong, if Josh does change, then I’m going to need you to protect your mother and sister. I’ll take care of Josh, but you need to be strong enough to fight for them. Can you do that? Can you fight for your mother and sister?”
Bruce nodded because that was what a boy did when his father asked such things. And that was also when the lessons in violence began. His father punched him, and
