He stuffed it in and chewed.
That moment was something he would never forget. He had never tasted anything so perfect, so succulent, so satisfying. It exploded into his mouth with juices he had never dreamed existed, sliding down the back of his throat like hot chocolate in a blizzard, like ice water in a desert.
A strange, electrified sensation seized his limbs. His hands and legs began to twitch. He was forced to clench the muscles of his thighs or he would have collapsed in front of this guy.
“You okay, young fella?”
Jace nodded. “That was good. Thanks!” He had to get away before he fell.
He hurried toward the tree line at the perimeter of the festival, his track wandering left and right. His limbs felt herky-jerky, tingling, spasming, hot and cold running up and down.
His teeth ached.
The sunlight sent needles into his eyes. Colors looked different, washed out.
His clothes chafed.
His palms were bleeding.
Because his tight-clenched nails had suddenly darkened and grown an inch.
The hair on his arms thickened.
Sharp aches stabbed deep into his bones, his ribcage. The bones of his toes, his fingers.
With each new battlefield of pain, his stomach clenched tighter and tighter.
Tears trickled down his cheeks. “What’s happening to me?” Was he dying? Was he poisoned?
His nails looked normal again, but cuts in his palms still oozed blood.
He leaned against a tree, sliding down to sit against the roots. His breath pumped, wheezed, ripped through his throat. His lungs ached.
Lying against the tree, terrified, agonized, he cried for the first time since his mom died.
Then the pain subsided. His eyes blinked back to normal. His breath slowed. The spasmodic pain and electric tingling subsided.
Time had passed but he didn’t know how much.
He lay there for a long time, collecting himself, until he heard a voice calling his name.
He peeked around the tree and spotted Eric at the edge of the festival, hands cupped around his mouth, looking for him.
Jace stood, brushed himself off, wiped his tears, took some deep breaths and gathered himself.
How could he possibly tell anyone about what had just happened to him?
Simple.
He couldn’t.
Jace was quiet for the rest of the day, unable to drive away the memories of what had happened. He couldn’t have imagined it, but the cuts on his palms had healed. If they had ever been there at all.
God, was he going crazy?
While the sensations had subsided, the uneasiness did not go away.
It continued through dinner, while Coach Slade showed DaShante and Caleb how to grill a good burger. Jace had not forgotten Caleb’s theft of Lee’s comic book, but rather than simply take it back secretly, he needed a way to make sure it would never happen again. If he simply jumped Caleb and started pounding, Slade would probably kick him off the wrestling team. But he hadn’t yet found another solution.
Thoughts like this gnawed at him as he bedded down in the tent at nightfall. Everyone acted normal, but the way they all looked at him made him feel so self-conscious, it was like he’d grown an ear in the middle of his forehead. It took him a while, but the word describing it finally came to him.
Expectant.
But what could they be expecting from him?
And why? Had he missed something he was supposed to do?
He lay atop his sleeping bag, covered in sweat. “Is it hot in here?”
Someone replied, “No.”
They all had to be tired of his weird feelings.
The night air felt cool, but his skin did not. For what seemed like hours, he lay staring at the bugs flitting around the inside of the tent’s dome, backlit by the starlight filtering through the fabric. Sleep was like a rabbit scampering ahead of his pursuit, maddeningly out of reach.
The glow of the moon rose over the surrounding forest, casting leafy shadows onto the tent.
He rolled and tossed and turned. Every snore from around him heightened his frustration.
Until the moment where his insides clenched like a fist and it was time to either run for the bushes or crap in his britches.
He jumped up and hurried for the tent flap.
He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he caught the steely-blue glint of Slade’s eyes on him as he stumbled over Garrett’s prostrate form.
“Idiot!” Garrett mumbled.
Jace clenched himself as tight as he could. If he filled his britches in here, he might as well go drown himself in the Missouri.
Unzipping the tent flap only halfway, he plunged outside. Knowing he would never make it to the campground toilet, he lunged for the trees. He practically jumped out of his shorts on the way, but when he finally reached minimum safe distance from the tent, what actually happened was not what he was expecting. His legs went all wonky and he fell forward onto his hands.
But they weren’t hands anymore.
And his arms were the wrong length.
And they bent in the wrong place.
And his teeth screamed with pain like dental drills grinding into all of them at once.
His nose burst into pain as if someone had just punched him hard, making his eyes burst with tears.
His ears crinkled as if someone had just yanked them.
His spine hunched and contorted, his tail bone erupting with a series of sharp, snapping pains.
His guts writhed inside, knotting and unknotting, like a nest of slimy nightcrawlers.
His T-shirt ripped away. His gym shorts and underwear sagged and fell from his haunches.
Thick, silver-gray fur sprang from his flesh like some bizarre, time-lapse video.
The black night suddenly shifted to silvery twilight. The heavens were luminous with stars.
Slaver dripped from his long, lolling tongue.
The wonder of it all, the speed at which it all happened, left no room for fear.
Not until the process seemed to cease.
He stood there on all fours, heart thumping, lungs heaving as the pain subsided.
He was not...HIM anymore!
The night came alive with scents, smaller animals hiding in the forest, the lush, living forest, the fishy, muddy Missouri in the distance.
A small herd of deer, five or six distinct scents. Close.
Ravenous hunger seized him and a fresh torrent of slaver burst over his tongue. He charged through the night, leaping over bushes and dodging trees, running faster than he’d ever run before, at once exhilarated and terrified.
The shapes of the deer moved silently as ghosts through the brush. A buck, his antlers still only velvety nubbins in spring, led three does down a narrow trail through the undergrowth. Behind one of the does came one smaller than the rest, either last year’s fawn or a small doe. That deer would be the only thing that could quell the raging hunger in his belly.
He charged.
Almost like a flock of birds, the herd bolted away. The yearling pelted after its mother, great brown eyes glistening with terror as it fled.
In moments, Jace was almost upon it, every sense fixated upon his prey, and then the superior speed and agility of the deer took it out of reach of his jaws, stretching the distance from him with every bound.
His breath huffed, his claws tore the earth as he strained. He lost sight of the buck at the head of the herd. Within moments, he would lose the does as well.
Then suddenly the does diverted their direction so quickly Jace had to swing wide and get back into pursuit.
Other smells came to him, the sounds of other beasts in the dark, joining the pursuit.
The deer changed course again, another ninety-degree angle, but this time the yearling stumbled.
That was the opportunity he needed.
He leaped and clamped his teeth onto the side the deer’s neck. Rather than ripping out its throat, he hung on. Th
e deer bleated with terror, dragging him a few dozen yards before it wearied.
Like a wrestling move, he dug his claws into the earth and flipped the deer onto its side.
That was when he ripped out its throat.
It jumped up and tried to run, but its legs wobbled, blood dark and slick on its chest. The scent and taste of it washed over Jace, so pungent and delicious that exhilaration like he’d never known dashed through him, like every Thanksgiving dinner that he’d had to miss lay before him.
The deer staggered to a halt. The rest of the herd was gone.
Jace paused for a moment, feeling a stab of pity for the creature’s plight. It was in pain, terrified. It must know that its existence was about to end. Did deer go to Heaven? Then those concerns were washed away by the wave of triumph, blood lust, and power that drove him one last time for the creature’s throat.
He didn’t know how long before the creature stopped struggling and lay still. But he could not wait. With his teeth he tore away bits of its hide, ripping, chewing, swallowing chunks of succulent flesh.
But then they surrounded him.
Six dark shapes with eyes gleaming yellow in the starlight.
Six wolves.
Watching him.
An enormous black and silver shape stalked forward, half again his size, a hulking beast of shoulders and fangs.
Then he knew.
He remembered.
The massive wolf stepped up to the deer, its lip curling into a snarl at Jace. Jace backed away.
This was the Alpha.
The Alpha got to eat first.
Five other wolves edged in closer.
He knew them all.
His gaze fixated on one of them, a lean one with coloring more like a coyote than a wolf. Without quite understanding why, he launched himself fangs first at this newcomer. Their teeth clashed as the wolf met his attack.
Their claws ripped at each as their teeth sought purchase in flesh, but thick fur made getting a secure hold difficult. Jace and his adversary rolled through the underbrush, coating themselves in slaver and dead leaves. The others watched the fray.
From the front, Jace threw himself onto the other wolf’s back, trapping its head between his front legs, snapping his teeth onto one of its shoulder blades, finally securing a hold. His weight and force pressed his adversary nose-down onto the ground.
A front headlock.
The other wolf whined and struggled to back out of Jace’s grip, but he held fast. His rear claws raked his adversary’s face as he rolled them both onto their sides.
The other wolf yelped and whined, signaling submission.
Jace growled deeply, held on a moment longer, and then released him.
The other wolf tucked its tail against its leg, gave one longing glance toward the deer, then slunk away into the night.
Jace turned back and faced the five pairs of eyes watching him. From the great black and silver beast, Jace sensed approval, satisfaction.
Then the Alpha returned to his meal.
The anger melted away into hunger as the smell of the deer’s blood wafted back into his nose. Jace edged forward, aiming for a bite of tender haunch.
The Alpha allowed this.
As soon as Jace had his next mouthful the others of the pack came forward to join the feast.
A few hours later, nothing remained of the deer but bones and offal. The wolves lounged around the carcass, gnawing on bones.
Jace’s belly was full in a way he had never experienced before, as if the strength and speed of the deer now suffused him. He was concentrating on a thigh bone, trying to suck out the delectable marrow, when footsteps next to him caught his attention.
Human footsteps, human feet, human legs, rising up toward the naked shape of a man standing over him.
Slade.
“Welcome to the pack, son,” Slade said.
“You can do it,” Slade said. “We can’t very well go back to St. Sebastian’s with a wolf in the van but no Jace.”
The other boys, standing around him now in human shape, laughed.
“Take a deep breath, and focus on one body part. Your hand, your foot. Then imagine using it like a human would, like flexing your fingers and toes. That should start the process. You have to concentrate.”
Eric squatted beside him and laid a hand on Jace’s furry shoulder. “You can do it, bro.”
Jace took a deep breath, relaxed, and imagined flexing his fingers, making a fist.
Within moments, his right front paw began to tingle. Then it happened in an avalanche. The waves of pain he’d experienced a few hours before cascaded through him in reverse, a torrent of agony and disorientation.
An eternity later, Jace—the boy—lay on the ground, gasping.
Naked.
He covered himself.
Dawn was coming awake across the river.
He glanced at the deer’s remains. Its blood was caked between his fingers, under his nails, the taste of it still in his mouth. Despite of the horror of it, it tasted good.
“Well done,” Slade said. “Let’s get you cleaned up and find your clothes. We’ve got a long drive back to Omaha.”
Slade led them in a jog through the forest back to their campsite. The spring chill raised gooseflesh across Jace’s skin, but it was somehow less unpleasant than he would have expected.
Questions swirled through him. An entire pack of ... werewolves ... at St. Sebastian’s. They were all around him, and he never knew.
It was Slade. Slade had bitten him.
Slade had made him into ... a monster.
A monster that prowled through the night and devoured living prey.
He’d be as terrified as the deer had been if... it weren’t so awesome. He felt like a superhero, able to leap tall bushes with a single bound, able to crush massive bones in his powerful jaws.
But he was a monster now. A dangerous beast.
His mind batted these opposing thoughts back and forth like a volleyball until his brain was numb with weight of questions and possibilities.
When they reached the campsite and set about tearing down, he retrieved his clothes from the bushes. Scratch one more T-shirt.
How could they all act like this was so normal? How long had they all been monsters too? They were not human.
Slade had chosen him, but why? Jace was one of them now, but what did that mean? Slade’s authority felt more complete, instinctive, rather than simply the authority held by a teacher or a coach. This was deeper. How deep did it go? Could he disobey if he wanted to?
These guys, all of them, were monsters, too. They’d all known what would happen to Jace this weekend. He was a lamb literally led to slaughter. It was all a setup. Or maybe a test. Apparently he had passed the test, but... would he have wanted to, had he known?
Would he turn into a monster at the full moon and eat...his friends? Were Lee and Malcolm in danger from him? Would he lose control and ... eat somebody? A cold ache settled into his chest. But he was able to control the beast last night. He had felt mostly himself, even as a wolf, except for the hair and stuff. Mostly. Memories of it seemed to be fading like a dream. Last night had been close to a half moon, not a full one, and he had changed. Could he transform at will? During the fight, Jace had been able to control himself, to use his mind. But were there circumstances where he might lose control? What if his abilities evolved? What if he lost control entirely and really hurt somebody?
After about an hour of takedown and cleanup, the van was loaded again, drawing Jace away from these thoughts.
As Slade fired up the engine, Jace noticed that his duffel bag, tucked under his seat, lay slightly unzipped. Closer inspection revealed the cover of Lee’s Superman comic book tucked inside.
He glanced at Caleb, but Caleb wouldn’t meet his gaze. Jace smiled and nodded. After the whupping he’d given Caleb last night, he’d have no more trouble from him, and neither would Lee. Jace had taken his place in the pack hierarchy.
The pa
rk fell away into the rear window.
Jace had so many questions, he wanted to pepper Slade with them. “Mr. Slade, what about—?”
But Slade just waved them away. “You just wait and see, son. You’ll make a fine addition to the pack. All in due time.”
The way Slade said it gave Jace a deep chill that wouldn’t go away, like Slade had specific plans for all of them. And there were no deer at St. Sebastian’s.
THE BEGINNING....
So what’s going to happen to Jace?
What is Slade’s nefarious plan?
Check out T. James Logan’s Lycanthrope Trilogy
VOLUME 1: NIGHT OF THE HIDDEN FANG
Want to hear more about the latest books, special deals, and other goodies?
CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP FOR MY MAILING LIST!
About the Author
T. James Logan writes a lot of different kinds of things, from science fiction, fantasy, and horror to working on roleplaying games and screenplays. In this persona, he loves to recapture bits of childhood, those times when a glimpse of a werewolf on television kept him up at night, those times when crushes were crushing, and those moments of youthful exuberance when the world was all possibilities. He lives in Denver, Colorado, with his family, plus a dog and a cat, neither of which are lycanthropes—at least he’s pretty sure.
Fangs in the Dark Page 3
