I can’t move, I feel stuck to that ground. Compelled to lie in wait. Broken.
My clothing has been torn off me in places and bits of material still cling to me. Embedded in my raw skin with blood and who knows what else.
Fever burns through me constantly. Making my muscles throb. The throbbing increases blood flow. What is left of mine. That means I am continuously bleeding slowly from all my wounds.
My heartbeat hasn’t slowed down since the attack started. It just keeps pumping, furiously pumping all that blood around and out of my body.
All that blood that is not drying and clotting up. My skin is heating up. Boiling me and making me sweat, keeping the blood coating me, moist. Stopping it from clotting.
My own body was working against me. Killing me in the most torturous way imaginable. Slowly.
I’ve never given death much thought before now. Would never had predicted this being my potential ending. Not at fourteen years of age.
Slowly, slowly it allows me to be conscious of everything I’m feeling.
My head aches like it’s split in two. Like someone has come along and inserted a migraine in there just to up the ante on my pain threshold. To see how much I can take.
Everything hurts. Hurt upon hurt. Veins and tendons upon muscle and sinew.
Could I be sick? I’ve never been sick in my life. Not whopping cough, not even a common flu.
How can a werewolf, a natural born werewolf get sick form a lycan bite? Maybe they’re shape shifters. Only they don’t seem to act that way.
The attackers who grabbed me act like wolves. Lycans to be exact. Lycans are not known for their manners. Or their ability to get along with werewolves since, you know, werewolves are responsible for lycans. Semantics.
I am a werewolf. That is probably the only factor that is keeping me alive longer than I should otherwise be.
If I were a non, I’d surely have died by now. My werewolf genetics whilst not yet fully matured appear to be my saving grace.
A lycan bite to a werewolf is inconsequential. Even to a un shifted werewolf like myself. It can’t harm me. At least that’s what I’ve always been told. I hope that’s true.
Well it can’t harm me in the sense that it couldn’t infect me with lycanthropy. It can’t turn me into a lycan. Because I’m already a werewolf.
The bite doesn’t work the other way. It’s negated. It means nothing. Zero. Zip. Nadda. But nobody ever said anything about a swarm of lycan bites. Who knows what they’re able to pass on to me from a multiple group bite fest?
Shape shifters on the other hand, I really know next to little about. But I’m working on the theory that if you are already something, you couldn’t be something else.
I was born a werewolf. Made a Breukelen and that’s how I intend to stay. Since death doesn’t want me.
Bg Sommers. Breukelen Girl through and through. Nobody, especially no lycan, going to change that. Be hard pressed to try. Although this pack appear to have given it a red hot go.
When I was one and half years old, I did my very first werewolf like thing.
Thinking past the pain is hard to do. But my mind, despite the migraine pounding my skull, is still in tact and I all I can do while I lay here is think. Think and feel.
I was walking by then. Well, kind of running. Like away from parents and people. I liked to run all over the place. Have people chase me. So I’m told whenever anyone recounts this story.
I feel migraine beaten and light headed the next. I feel blood in my throat, clinging to my insides and air seeping into me from the outsides.
Our family was outside, having a picnic. Us pups were doing what pups and toddlers do. We play.
I’ve been torn into pieces. I’m sure of it. Although I feel pretty whole. So maybe the vast majority of my body is in tact. I can’t really say as I can’t see. There’s numbness in certain areas of my body too. I just don’t want to know what damage has been done. Just do me in already and get it over with.
I had wandered off from the confines of picnic blanket on the ground. But I was still within sight of my parents. I’d plonked myself down on the ground and was playing with some twigs and leaves or dirt. Markus was close by. Possibly a doll I’d dragged through the dirt, depending on who you let tell the story. The details vary, slightly.
Gingerly I move one set of fingers on the ground around me. Soft in places, hard in others, rocks all round. I try to reach for a rock.
Werewolves don’t tend to use weapons when they fight. In their mindset they consider it insulting to their breed. Like cheating. Very beneath them and their skill level. But I’m not a full grown werewolf yet.
As I’m picking up leaves and playing with them throwing them in the air, what happens? But a snake rears its head from under the leaf pile I’m playing with.
I’m not sure how long I’ve got here. But I’m here now, and that’s what counts. I need to make my body work. I need to reclaim myself to get through this. So if cheating is my only option to getting out of here, away from these lycans, then that’s what I’ll do. You do what you must to survive.
Well, reared it’s head might be a little dramatic. But there was a snake, a garter snake amongst the leaves. Apparently I took one look at this snake flickering it’s tongue around and growled at it.
Bile rises in my throat and I jerk, convulsing as I throw up, vomit and blood puking out of me, dribbling down my mouth and face. What an undignified way to die. Pain sears my head again and I squeeze my saw eyes as shut as I can make them. My swollen skin pulling taunt at the effort. Hurting myself further.
My attempted baby growl caught Markus’s attention. Until then we’d been playing relatively quietly. Markus started making noise and pointing to me. Which got my parent’s attention.
“You’re fucking annoying me.” The woman’s voice spits at me and I open my eyes enough to see her face before mine as I feel the pressure and weight of her body pressing down on my entirety. Heavy ass bitch.
But even as she lays on me I can tell, it’s all muscle. No fat. “Shape shift bitch so we can have some real fun. It’s the least you can fucking do since you fucked up our plans to turn you.” She breathes into my face.
We are eye to eye and I can smell her now. I pick it up in her breath. Definitely a lycan. It’s the scent of fur with a copper tinge to it and wet hay.
My father walked towards Markus and he in turn pointed at me.
She’s laying on top of me, crushing my broken ribs, making it harder for me to breathe than it already is through all the blood and liquid trying to drown me.
My father looked across at me because Markus was pointing at me and that was when he saw the snake.
All the while my temperature tries to bake me, alive. I gag as I feel fingers dig into me, she dips them into an open wound on my torso and grabs at the gooey soft, tender and sensitive insides.
“Shape shift. Now.”
Would that I could. But I can’t let my attackers know that I can’t. I’ve already managed to disappoint them. I’d completely ruin their fun, be of absolute no use to have around if they knew I wasn’t a full grown. Fully developed werewolf yet. I haven’t a clue what to do.
I had by this stage picked it up in my hand and was still growling at it and bringing it towards my mouth. The baby werewolf ready to devour the serpent whole. He didn’t recognise at first that it was a garter snake. They’re harmless. So he leapt, covering the distance between Markus and I and dove down towards me. Ripping the snake from my grasp and tossing it aside.
When he’d calmed down and realised I was fine, he’d then gotten a sense of pride in me. Swinging me around calling me his little Breukelen Girl. Telling anyone who’d listen about how his bad ass baby werewolf took on the harmless Garter snake.
The notion of Breukelen Girl stuck. My parents just started referring to me as Breukelen Girl whenever I put on a temper tantrum and then some when I didn’t.
Eventually it just became Bg when my siblings
started calling me it all the time. Thus I became. Haven’t not been since. My father says it’s my true name, because it reflects me. My attitude, my spirit, my true self, it’s the werewolf in me coming out.
“Fuck you.” The words aren’t as powerful as I’d like them to be. But it’s a good enough insult to get my point across about how I feel.
Breathing with someone three times your own body weight on top of you is hard to do. Let alone speaking with defiance.
Besides, now that I know what they want from me, want to do to me, I only have one option. Movement is too hard to comprehend at this point. So my best option is to be defiant, to piss them off enough till they just kill me outright. Or abandon me all together. Not that they will. Lycans I’m pretty sure, would rather kill first.
9
“No. Fuck you.” She spits back at me. Pulling her fingers out of my wound and shoving them up between my open legs.
I close my eyes as her fingers thrust inside me, violating me in the most intimate way possible. She shoves, pushes, into me. Rapidly hard and fast.
I let the tears stream down my face as I grit my teeth together. Not wanting to make a sound. Not wanting to give into the pain I have never felt before upon me. It hurts.
“Shape shift.” She says with menace in her voice as that hand keeps slamming into me.
I can hear someone giggling in the background. I’m being violated and they’re watching. Getting off on it. They’re watching what this female lycan is doing to me.
A hic cup catches in my throat as I try to muffle the sound of building sobs in my throat. I can’t believe what I’m being reduced to.
I feel warmth encase my breast and I can tell, without looking that it’s her mouth. She’s sucking at my skin. Sucking the blood off it. Her tongue licks trails of it over and around my breast. Flicking at my straining nipple. The ability to hold off crying, is lost.
My body racks, sobs making it jerk and move under her. Her hand hasn’t stopped pumping it’s way into me and I can hear her breathing pick up. Like she’s excited by this. Her fist is too big, I’m too tight and it hurts with every unwanted movement.
I hate her with everything left in me.
I clamp my mouth down as I sob, underneath her. My eyes close tightly. I want the earth to swallow me whole, as I am now. Alive. Just take me, bury me in it’s embrace and kill me when I’m underneath it. Cover me in dirt and leave me alone, forever.
Her mouth moves off my exposed breast and I’m grateful for the small mercy in my humiliation. Her fist pulls out of me and I feel the tear of stretching as she breaks my skin doing so.
There is no comfort here. Sobs catch in my throat and I long to wail. Loud and long. Silently screaming in my head, I keep it locked there.
I can not give her or the others more than they have already taken from me. I just can’t. I’m glad she’s done with me. Now she leave me alone.
But her hands are on me again. She parts me and then her tongue is delving into me. Licking, probing and sucking.
My body betrays me again. Ignoring my emotional state of mind, it bucks under the touch. Which makes her press harder, more aggressive in her intrusion of me.
I’m being destroyed from the outside in. There is a pressure building in me. Struggling to register with my brain. Over all the agonizing pain that is racking through me with every involuntary movement my hips and legs.
Her tongue keeps hitting a sensitive area of my flesh. That responds too easily, every time her tongue brushes over it.
It’s making me squirm, even though I know I should lay still. Act as dead as I want to feel. But I can’t. My body’s response to her is killing me. It’s working against me, like it’s on auto pilot.
The pressure is increasing and I feel a flame inside. My blood is at boiling point and I no longer want to live inside my skin.
My hand clutches around the nearest rock it can find, cutting into it’s rough edges as I hold it in a death grip. It’s not big enough to do any damage to the lycan. And that makes me cry harder as the sensation of everything rushing to burst from me comes to life.
My mouth drops open and I scream as my hips fly up. My legs trying to squeeze her head between them. I want to collapse inwards and squirm outwards at the same time. Her hands are pressing back against my legs, making sure I can’t suffocate her there.
The sensation’s barely left me, when she pulls away from me, shoving me aside like she’s done with me. Finally. Hopefully.
“I own you.” She states from somewhere above me.
I relax my grip on the rock. Opening my tear streaked eyes to look at her standing over me again.
I was always taught a werewolf could not be owned. My anger at her is only equal to the shame I feel surging inside me.
The crescendo she unleashed in me, the unwanted it brought through all the pain racking my body’s muscles and sensors. Hasn’t stopped, there’s a thrumming, a throbbing and I feel my arms lift and slam back down.
My wrist bone snapping back on the ground. Maybe this is my death. I can hope. My legs twitch and jerk, and leg bones shatter for no apparent reason.
My heart is thudding and pressing to hard into my breastplate. My jaw stretches the skin of my face, forward and sideways tautly at the same time. A sound like a mewl escapes me.
“What the fuck?” one of the male voices says as my shoulder snaps taunt and then collapses, breaking into multiple parts, bones breaking through my already torn skin.
“Man that is ugly.”
“She’s shifting.”
“About fucking time.”
“Get the gun.”
But I don’t hear much else. I can’t do anything about what I can hear anyway. My body can only hear the squelching of muscles liquefying. The sound of meat tearing.
My body is changing.
I’m being thrown about the floor without restraint or control. It’s doing it of it’s own accord. The shape shift is automatically torturing me despite my condition.
My world goes black some time after all this starts and fire burns through out me, gasping for air, my limbs continue to break and contort, pushing and pulling at my skin.
I feel above myself and below myself at the same time. Without place or time, as something like an invisible string, aches throughout me. Telling my entire being there is a moon out in the night sky that is commanding my body’s true release.
But I feel stuck. I want the shift to happen know. I have enough of my human mind left to carry the anger of my disposition through with me and I want to tear at those that thought they could feast on my young flesh. But my body is taking so long to shift.
I have the brief thought that maybe it can’t now. Maybe the lycans biting it, violating it before it was ready, somehow stuffed that up for me.
But the machinations of my body’s rigours do not stop. It keeps going, jerking me any way it wants. Putting my limbs in un natural positions, straining every fiber of my muscles.
It’s like being assaulted all over again. I think this night is endless and I’m trapped when consciousness leaves me again.
10
Dirt. The scent of dirt is old, and warm. I’ve been laying on it. My snout sniffs at the dirt around me, over the sharp little rocks as my eyes looked around at the black, white and grey world I was eloped in.
I snort digging with a paw at the soft earth. Paws. New. They feel new. Soft and tough underneath.
Growing Up Werewolf Page 4
