She was exhausted and hungry. She hadn't gathered the courage to beg for money or food. Infection Control also patrolled the areas where most homeless hung out, ready to take in anyone who showed any hint of being a werewolf.
There was no one who she could trust. She was all alone in the world, with only the voices in her head and the craving for a murderer's touch.
Deepa buried her face in her hands, tears falling freely, her stomach rumbling with hunger.
Heat spread through her body as fur began to sprout from her skin, her muscles and bones contorting and snapping.
"Fuck," Deepa hissed, trying her best to fight it, but it was like someone else had taken the wheel and there was nothing she could do but watch.
Deepa's clothes tore, the cold evening air caressing her sensitive skin.
"Please," she begged, but her voice came out as a low whine.
She hated this. She hated this fucking body, she hated this infection, she hated herself, but the wolf inside her mind didn't care.
It was going to take whatever it wanted.
Chapter Six
The wolf dashed through the dark streets, her senses on high alert.
She could smell the faint scent of prey, growing stronger as she drew closer.
It was a group of humans, huddled together on the street corner, their faces illuminated by the light of their phones.
They looked up, their expressions turning to horror as they noticed the beast approaching.
The wolf bared her fangs, letting out a low growl.
The humans scrambled, dropping their bags and phones as they tried to run away, their feet slipping on the wet pavement.
"Shit!" one of them cried. "Someone call Infection Control!"
That name at least sparked recognition in the wolf. She turned and dashed away, disappearing down a dark street.
There was plenty of other prey that she could hunt.
The footsteps of other critters were easy to pick up on. The scurrying of rats and the squeaking of bats, the fluttering of birds.
The wolf ran towards the sounds, her paws slapping against the ground.
A small raccoon caught her attention. It was digging around in a garbage bin, searching for scraps.
The wolf pounced, her claws digging into the soft flesh.
The raccoon squeaked in terror, trying to free itself from the wolf's grasp, but it was no match for the predator's strength.
The wolf bit into the raccoon's neck, tearing out the flesh and gulping it down.
The blood was warm and fresh, the taste intoxicating.
The wolf tore into the animal, ripping it apart with her sharp teeth and strong jaws.
She had never tasted anything so good.
The wolf was satisfied, the hunger fading, but it had another craving that it needed to feed.
Him.
