Wolf's Blood

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A beautiful wolf thing

He made a beautiful Wolf thing. He had a long muzzle, fur white in color and soft to touch. He had thick shoulders and short legs. His under belly was black as coal and he had a large chest that streamlined into a small belly. He loved his wolf self and he rolled around in the grass and chased his tail just having fun getting his energy back. Devon reveled in his wolf form so much.

Distracted playing in the grass Devon didn’t smell and almost didn’t see the man in the tree line. He froze where he stood sizing the man up. The hunter had a luminescent orange hunting vest which made him stick out from the weeds, and he was armed with a shotgun. He staggered around haphazardly with his gun. He had been drinking; this much was obvious, he didn’t see Devon yet. Devon weighed his options, he could incapacitate him and flee or lay low in the weeds and hope the hunter didn’t see him.

“Hey Chet,” another man dressed just the same as the drunken hunter emerged from the forest.

Devon could kick himself for not smelling them. Then it dawned on him, they’re hunters, they immersed themselves in animal urine to mask their human scent! Never taking his eyes off the hunters He hunched down on his belly slowly, and then an idea came to him. They had clothing, water, probably beer, and if he was lucky, a truck nearby.

His paws began to lengthen until they converted to hand-like claws with six-inch, razor sharp black nails. Tendons and ligaments contorted until arm like appendages emerged. Devon stretched his muscles and tendons like a spring opening to its limits. He shifted his weight onto his paws and with a deep breath he jumped from the shadows. A rustle of weeds, birds fluttering away obscured by thick shrubbery, a white shadow rushed at the hunters. The blur of white fur had the hunters doing a double take.

“What was that, Chet!?” Brad exclaimed.

The hunter Brad with blond hair and an orange-hunter jacket on twisted around wide-eyed looking at the swaying honeysuckle. He could smell the honey-like essence that the disturbed flowers set off. In the blink of an eye Brad’s gun was in splinters, twisted metal and wood particles in his hands. He could swear he felt coarse fur brush his hand that clutched his now mangled rifle.

“Fuck!” Mitchell the drunken belligerent hunter staggered in the direction of honeysuckle staring off at the swooshing vines.

Mitchell swore he saw something in the overgrown brush just to the left of his friend Chet, the third hunter in the trio. Hard to see with inebriated eyes and the thick waist high brush but he thought he saw a shadow of a dog just inches from Chet’s boots. Mitchell pointed a shaking hand down at the pine needle covered ground near the bushes as color drained from his face.

Once again Devon exploded out from the bushes superhuman speed propelling him to his target. The hunters stood stunned as the beastDevon zeroed in on the second gun. Devon saw it all in slow motion but the speed with which the beast moved caused the hunters to get disoriented. A blur of dazzling white fur and in an instant the second gun destroyed like the first with a whirlwind of fangs and talons.

Chet stood wide-eyed, staring at his empty bloodied palms. His mind would not allow him to comprehend what was unfolding before him. His fragile psyche began to crack; it would not allow him to process the doglike thing standing upright like a bear, its huge paws finding the heads of his friends before they had time to react. In one fluid motion the beast picked them up off the ground and smashed their heads together and then flung their limp bodies against a massive oak tree.

Chet could’ve run when the snow colored monster named Devon stopped and got on all fours again. He could’ve run when the monster was staring intently at his fallen friends before slowly turning around and gazing at him quizzically. Chet locked eyes with the monster. Incandescent smoldering smoky gray eyes, strange, he thought, they almost seemed like human eyes. Now standing before him he could see the thing, it wasn’t a dog at all or bear for that matter. Chet could tell by the lupine skull, it’s larger than usual curved fangs, its muzzle and it ears that it was some form of Wolf standing before him.

Standing six feet, five inches and an ex-MMA fighter in his glory years, testosterone and alcohol made him generally a man without fear. However, the closeness of the beast made Chet’s world views come crashing down around him. It is impossible! It’s a yeti! Fantastical whitehaired versions of the Bigfoot or Sasquatch come to life, he thought.

The Wolf-thing’s huge white, engorged muscular shoulders looked like a football linebacker’s shoulder pads. The beast’s neck looked like a healthy juvenile tree trunk with thin, short white furs masking pulsing arteries. Massive but extremely thin and streamlined… a well-oiled hunting and killing machine.

Chet willed himself to run, walk, even move, but he stood immobile. As He looked into the beast’s eyes the beast stared into Chet’s. The beast straightened his hunch, standing all the way erect at seven feet tall and now Chet stared up at him. Able to get out one hay maker from his glory days in the MMA Chet managed to surprise the beast Devon in the muzzle, bloodying his nose and watering his eyes. But He froze when he looked into Devon’s eyes letting out a blabbering nonsensical bellow just as a powerful upward swipe temporarily turned out the lights.

The upward motion had Chet’s feet up off the ground and knocking the breath out of him as he hit his back and bruised his buttocks. The other hunters unconscious he’d have to fend for his self, bloody, blind and wounded.

Chet obliviously clawed at the dirt, desperately trying to withdrawal like a crab that had been found hiding under a rock. Stinging sweat and tears forced Chet’s eyes shut. He could not see beast but could hear and smell the beast, his musky wild aroma and he could hear a “swoosh” as Devon’s claws came over him once more.

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