The nurse had already given him up for dead, but he had a strange feeling about the lad. He began a transfusion of twelve ounces of defibrillated blood using a rubber sealed Higginson’s syringe and ball valve. That was when things got interesting.
As soon as the last drops of blood entered the young man’s vein, his lacerations started to heal at an astounding rate. Dr. Smith documented the case carefully, wondering if the accelerated healing might be adapted for use in other patients.
Administering another twenty ounces of blood, Dr. Smith was pleased to see his breathing return to normal. He congratulated himself on this latest achievement, leaving the hospital to celebrate with a pint as he mentally composed his latest submission to the British Medical Journal.
The Crow Moon rose full in the dusky sky, cawing farewell to the cold breath of winter. Quiet fell on the hospital, save for the occasional groans of the sickest patients. The night orderly attended to their needs efficiently, changing bandages and dispensing the prescribed medicine. He saw little reason to check in on the patient resting peacefully in room 5.
Dorian’s eyes shot open. They were the same blue color as from birth, but they glowed with power. The transformation came on more easily now. His mind maintained control, no longer washed aside by the savagery of a vicious beast. The change now felt less like having all his bones ripped out at once—more like just one at a time.
He grunted against the pain as his shoulder blades doubled in length, piercing the skin of his arms. His limbs lagged behind a half-second in their own growth, before his biceps swelled and the flesh expanded to accept the bones once more. His pectoral muscles bulged, cracking the ribs until they too enlarged. Dorian’s jaw fractured and warped into a wolf’s muzzle, bristling with sharp teeth. Blood burned as it coursed through elongated limbs. His fingernails fell out as sharp claws grew in their place, the skin darkening as grey fur germinated everywhere.
The bed collapsed as Dorian surged to his hind legs, a guttural howl escaping from his jaws. The door swung open, the night orderly’s face first freezing and then turning white in primal fear at the sight of the grey werewolf in room 5. The man turned and ran down the hall, yelling for the night watchman.
Dorian blinked his predator’s eyes. His human mind was clear again after the haze of the transition. Senses snapping into focus, everything around him came alive. All the patients in the hospital could hear the bellows of the fleeing orderly, but only Dorian could distinguish the clink of the man’s stethoscope against his brass pocket watch as he ran. The bedridden woman next door stank of disease. Farther down the hall was the scent of dried blood on some used bandages.
I must feed. Dorian’s last memory was of him bleeding out on the ground. Going so long without blood had weakened his healing ability. What would have happened if he had not somehow been transported and treated at the hospital? Would the world be better off if he had simply perished there in the dirt?
No. The black werewolf was still out there. He must end the creature, gladly sacrificing his life to do so. That would be a fitting end. Dropping to all fours, Dorian padded over to the hallway and looked out. The orderly had gone below to the first floor. It would not be long before he returned with an armed guard.
“Puppy.” The soft voice came from a toddler standing in the doorway across the hall.
Dorian’s hackles rose at the smell of the boy’s blood pumping in his veins. He shook his snout, trying to breathe through the bloodlust.
“Puppy,” said the boy as he wobbled over on too-thin legs. The boy raised his hand and Dorian shrank back. Then he realized the child was going to try to pet him. How absurd. How could he not be afraid of the giant creature in front of him? Relenting, Dorian allowed the boy to stroke the fur on his neck and back.
“My God, it has Charles!” The orderly had returned and was pointing at Dorian. The night watchman behind him was raising his revolver to fire.
“No! You’ll hit the boy.” The orderly put himself in front of the gun.
Dorian gave the paternal orderly a wolfish grin. He surged past the child and crashed through the two-pane glass window. He fell to the ground below along with spinning shards of glass. The inevitable gunshot missed wide as Dorian fled across the grounds. Swift as the wind he ran, startling a passing priest as he cleared the outer wall, loping towards the fresh fragrance of cedar.
Safely among the trees, Dorian savored the smells of the forest: the musk of soft moss growing on the trees, the tang of damp pine needles, and the scent of other animals moving in the woods. He caught a whiff of a hare as it broke from its nighttime cover to bound over a log. Checking his impulse to give chase, he continued along a game trail, following the aroma of fresh droppings. The trees grew closer together as he moved farther away from the world of man. He caught a whiff of larger prey.
He stalked the red deer on silent paws, moving ever closer. The doe was kneeling between a copse of small trees as she slept, nearly invisible. Dorian’s keen night vision glowed as he approached downwind, careful of every step. Suddenly the breeze shifted. The deer’s brown eye shot open. She sprang to her feet and burst from the trees.
With a growling curse, Dorian gave chase as the doe leapt away, vaulting a thicket and veering between the trees. He was no match for her graceful speed, so he used brute strength to force a direct path through the thick vegetation. Every blow from a low hanging branch or bloody scrape from a thorn bush only served to increase his hunger.
As he closed the gap, the deer suddenly changed direction, but Dorian altered his lope to match, his human mind anticipating the possible paths of escape. At last he pounced, his sharp claws digging into the doe’s back as his jaws closed around the slender neck. The hot blood filled his muzzle as the animal struggled in her death throes. The thrashing slowly subsided and Dorian sank down to devour his kill.
CHAPTER 9.
A
BLOODY REUNION
Sage and Majaris had ridden a pair of piebald Cob mares to a hard lather, their need for speed outweighing their concern for the horses. Sage did what she could to strengthen them with a healing spell. Majaris assured her they would recover under the watchful eye of any experienced stable hand.
The remainder of their journey was by steam locomotive on the Bristol and South Wales Direct Railway. Majaris spent every moment guiding her student in the use of her powers, unrelenting until Sage could repeat every word of the combat spells back with precise inflection. As her mastery of them increased, so did the change she could effect.
Sage closed her eyes. Reaching out with her senses, she searched among the passengers of the train. She settled on an old woman whose legs lay useless in a Bath wheelchair. Polio had ravaged the poor woman’s body and paralyzed her from the waist down.
Grasping the iron ingot she had sewn into her pocket, Sage whispered the spell as quietly as she could.
Prin sânge și fier și voință,
Vindecă această formă,
Restaurați-l,
Faceți-l întreg.
By blood and iron and will,
Heal this form,
Restore it,
Make it whole.
The old woman shivered. Her eyes fluttering open as her muscles and joints regrew and strengthened. A look of pure joy came over her and she swung her legs to the side.
The young man next to her cried out in alarm. “Mother, what—“
The old woman stood, her face almost as shocked as that of her son’s. Then she fell to her knees. Not in pain, but to praise God. “We offer unto thy Divine Majesty the sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving, lauding and magnifying thy glorious Name for such thy preservation and providence over us; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”
The whole train turned to observe the spectacle, convinced they had just witnessed a miracle.
Massaging her temples, a desperate hunger came over Sage. She unwrapped the hard bread and Cașcăvăl cheese. Between bites, she murmured to Majaris. “What a wonderfu
l gift to be able to heal others. Perhaps there is hope after all.”
Arriving in London, Sage hailed a carriage. She instructed the driver to take them at once to the place where she had last seen Dorian: St. Bartholomew’s Hospital. She willed the horses to trot faster as they made their way across the River Thames. Could she reach him in time?
But when they arrived at the hospital Dorian was already gone, the night orderly spouting a fantastic story about a werewolf that had nearly killed everyone as it tore through the second-floor.
“See what you can learn from the other patients,” said Majaris. “I will find us a place to stay for the night.”
The hospital watchman gave her a once over, his gaze lingering on Sage’s figure for just a moment too long. “Did ya know the man in room 5?”
She barely had to exaggerate the look of distress she gave the man. “Yes. He is…a close friend. Did you see what happened to him?”
The watchman’s look softened. “No ma’am. I’m sorry.”
Sage placed a hand on the man’s arm. “I understand. You were bravely protecting these helpless patients. Do you mind if I speak to just a few to see if they saw anything?”
The man’s chest swelled with pride at that. “Too right. Certainly, be my guest.”
Sage smiled warmly and wandered down the hall. She felt a pair of eyes watching her. Looking around, she saw a small boy peeking out from his room.
“Well, hello there,” she called softly.
The boy was startled, but quickly put on a brave face. “Good…good ev’neen.”
Sage sank down to her knees and held out her hand to the toddler. After a moment’s hesitation, he came forward and shook it.
“Well, aren’t you the little gentleman?” She smiled. “My name is Sage. What is yours?”
The boy shot her a toothy grin. “Charles. You see puppy?”
Sage gave a forced laugh. “No. But I love puppy’s too. Was he nice?”
“Soft,” said Charles.
Had he petted it? Sage struggled to match the orderly’s account of a vicious monster with that of a gentle puppy. “Do you know where the puppy went?”
Charles’ grubby finger shot out, pointing towards the tree line in the distance. “Woods.” Suddenly bored of the game, the boy ran back to his room and began jumping on the bed.
Sage knew she should wait for Majaris, but instead she slipped silently from the hospital and headed for the edge of the forest. She had to know the truth. Had Dorian become an unholy creature, or could she still save him?
There was just enough moonlight to see by as she moved through the trees. Sage had always been at home in the forest, but she had never plunged recklessly into one knowing there might be a deadly predator waiting for her. She moved as silently as she could, opening her mind to the spirit of the forest and following the gentle tug she knew would lead her in the right direction.
Sage walked for what felt like hours. Eventually she came to a small creek and walked alongside it, speckled red toads fleeing in her wake. There should have been other animals come to the water’s edge to drink, but she saw not so much as a shrew.
She heard the creature before her eyes were able to distinguish anything in the eerie moonlight. Sage could hear the unmistakable sound of teeth tearing sinew from bone and the gentle lapping of blood. Stepping into the clearing, she glimpsed a hairy form astride the carcass of a deer.
Sage clutched the iron ingot tight and began a spell as the bloody muzzle of the beast rose, teeth bared. “Prin sânge și fier și voință—” she froze as the creatures blue eyes regarded her. Dorian’s eyes.
Releasing her hold on the charm, Sage looked inside those shining blue eyes and recognized the man she had once known. Before he had succumbed to evil. “Dorian, is that you?”
The werewolf’s snarl faded. She had sensed a threat, but that receded too. Sage sensed something else as the creature took a step backward. A mixture of fear and curiosity wafted off it. Cocking its head to the side, it inhaled her scent in a distinctively wolfish manner.
A look of human surprise appeared on the werewolf’s face. She heard the silent question uttered in her mind. “Sage?”
The telepathic response she sent back felt as natural as breathing. “Yes—but not as you knew me. I have changed just as you have.”
Emotions coursed through their psychic link: shock, disbelief, and then shame. The creature opened its muzzle as if to speak, then turned and fled instead.
CHAPTER 10.
T
HE LUNA
Lady Helena was bathing as the moon began to rise. Trenton Potteries had installed one of their new all-white porcelain tubs just two weeks ago, making it one of the more luxurious items in the small flat. Lucious had carted in bucket after bucket of steaming hot water before taking his leave. He had a long list of business engagements at her behest.
She opened a bottle of Vin Mariani and then shed her silk nightgown. She drank it rapidly and refilled her glass. As she lowered herself into the tepid water, she sighed as her muscles unwound. Lady Helena’s skin tingled as she ran a bar of soap over her exposed breasts. She spread the lather down her shoulders and arms, smoothing it across her delicate wrists.
Her eyes were closed only for a moment when her skin began to itch. Sinking lower into the water, she muttered in annoyance. “I told Lucious to buy the more expensive soap.”
But the warm water only increased the burning. Unwilling to end her bliss so soon, she tried scratching her arms. When had they grown so hairy?
Her skin was on fire. Lady Helena scratched all the harder and opened her eyes. The water was tinted red. She had scratched her arms bloody. The nails on her hands had fallen out, replaced with sharp claws. Twice as long, they were dark and ugly—like an animal. She screamed as they continued to grow. Light brown hair shot up along her forearms.
A sudden spasm jerked her head backwards, the impact smashing off a piece of the porcelain. Her vision swam with pain from the blow. She blinked back tears as another round of unbearable pain shot down her spine and sent her legs convulsing. Arms jerking with spasms, she slid below the water. She sucked water into her lungs with silent shrieks of agony. I’m drowning.
The inner walls of the tub smashed as her legs thrashed. Her arms felt like they were being ripped out of their sockets. They flailed about, desperately sliding across the slippery surface. The water darkened as more blood poured out of her mouth.
Her left shoulder locked back into place with a grinding shudder. Striking the side of the tub, she shattered the wall and was expelled to the floor in a rush of bloody water. Rolling onto all fours, she vomited water along with some of her teeth. I can breathe.
A spasm racked her body and she realized she was shaking the water from her…fur? She rose tentatively onto two legs and stared in awe at the reflection in the mirror. She had transformed into one of those hideous werewolves. So, it was true. The healing, the newfound youth, the power—it came with a terrible cost. She was a monster. Albeit a bloody attractive one. Instead of bulging muscles, her arms were toned and sleek. Though her muzzle bristled with terrifying teeth, her eyes still looked beautiful, the bones in her face were still refined. She admired her new figure. She was shapely, complete with fur-covered breasts and…a tail. She gave the mirror a seductive look. What a sensuous monster I make. Turning to glance at her backside, she gave her tail an experimental shake. Her soft snout picked up the smell of her own pheromones. How exciting, like a bitch in heat. She felt completely free, reborn without the constraints of her life. She was more than Lady Helena. She was…Luna.
A sharp pain in her stomach focused her sensations. Time to hunt. Taking one last look at her alluring image in the mirror, she moved to the door and placed her clawed paw on the handle. It turned, clumsily. She gripped the metal in her jaws instead, delicately turning the knob and swinging the door open. She repeated this at the front door, pausing in the threshold of the flat to smell the air.
The street was empty. Luna padded down the stairs towards the cobblestones. At the bottom, she stopped to gaze at the moon. Unable to control the urge, she gave a throaty howl. Somewhat embarrassed, she sped off down the causeway. The thirst for blood grew as Luna hunted the sparse streets. But there were no dogs or horses to be found.
She came across a familiar scent. The cologne was unmistakable. Only James Brook wore a tangy musk like that. She had done some business with him in the past and even taken him as a lover—until a younger opportunity presented itself and he dropped her like a bad habit. I should hunt a man. And why not? They prey on helpless women in the night.
With Luna’s wolfish sense of smell, the markers of cologne James left were as easy to follow as footprints in the mud. She tracked the man’s scent down an alleyway, then to the back of the Red Lion Pub facing the Derby Gate gentleman’s club house. The slate-roofed building was four stories high with a gabled attic. The smell of unwashed male bodies, piss, and Brandy wafted out through the open door.
It was nearly midnight. She stuck to the shadows, retreating several paces down the back street to wait. Luna busied herself cleaning the blood from her fur with a rough pink tongue. Nearly three-quarters of an hour passed before James emerged from the Red Lion, shuffling awkwardly on unsteady feet. He smelled faintly of cinnamon. James always took cinnamon with his Brandy when completing a business deal. This must have been a very profitable night and he had overindulged. Luna padded after the oblivious man, taking note of the red lipstick staining the back of his collar. He passed outside the smoke-filled window of the Derby Gate Smoking Room. It was in that very room that James had undercut many of her more lucrative import deals, leveraging his inside knowledge of her operations and twisting it to his full benefit.
Box Set: The Wolf of Dorian Gray Series: Books 1-3 Page 35
