Sitting at your seat, your elbows leaning on the bar top, your senses are tightened by the sudden sensation of the hairs on the back of your neck standing to strict attention.
A scent curls by your nose, scattered by the smell of alcohol strewn through the bar, the smell of sweat from the dozens of men sitting and drinking, mostly just having gotten back from their jobs.
Even buried beneath all the sharp, unpleasant smells, this smell stands out. The only way to really describe it, would be to imagine a huge red line painted mid-air...
Your head slowly turns, your eyes dart to their left corners, as you watch the door to the place swing open. The small bell above the door jingles with the person's entry, some people looking up and looking back away, as a natural reaction.
As the door swings open, hints at smells from the street pour in. Normal people smell nothing but air, but then again, you're not normal, are you...?
Your nose is as sharp as a bloodhound's.
And the man in black jeans and a white shirt who has just entered the room, his scent makes your nose hairs curl. You breathe a shaky breath out, watching him still from the extreme corner of your eyes.
He stands at the door for a second or two, and then he hikes up his loose jeans, and starts into the bar.
Had he smelled you? If he did, he didn't show it. You see his head turning to look at you, and before he can glance at you, your head cranes back to stare straight at your empty hands.
They shake, you can see.
You're not afraid of him, are you? A voice in your head asks you.
I'm not afraid, you hear yourself think back to the foreign voice. Who were you talking to?
You follow the man's sound of the thumping of his boots as he moves through the bar, finding a barstool two or three seats down from you. Your ears follow him and report the distance to your instincts.
Stalking? Hunting? What was he doing?
You flash a very quick glance to the man, to get an image of him. He's only a few feet away. 4 seats down, just like you thought.
He was sitting at the bar, sipping at a drink.
Your eyes start trailing along the back wall of the bar, the mirrored glass, until they trace outside.
... Bright night, tonight, it's hunting weather. Just the thought of it makes your heart beat a little faster, a smile spread across your weary face.
You glance at the back mirror, but this time, you catch it; the straight glance. Through the mirror, the man 4 seats down stares at you, sitting absolutely still.
Again, his harsh scent passes by your nose, making the hairs in your nose curl again. This time, goosebumps stand up along your arms.
Was he hunting you? He was in for a terrible surprise, if so.
It happens, suddenly. Your eyes dart back to the outside window, as the night gets brighter...
You begin to doubt. The last few nights have been fuzzy to your recollection...
What night was this? A clock hangs on the back wall, flip-face analog with white on black, displaying time in military and the date, ticking each second loudly.
... You picked the wrong day to leave the house.
How could you forget that tonight, of all nights, is the night the moon escapes her parent's shadow?
You feel your hand jerk, but your other snaps to hold it down.
How long can you fight it? The voice asks. How long can you hold me back?
You violently twist your neck, as if to shake the voice out of your head.
Your breathing picks up, as your eyes continually dart to the corners. Heart beats faster and harder, jaw trembles, every vein in your body pulses faster and faster.
Your heartbeat thumps in your ears. You watch the other's reflection in the mirror. His eyes shine. He WAS hunting you, but now you're sure your scent has passed his nostrils.
He still stares though, even as he feels the changes, you're sure.
You suddenly... feel different. Your mind turns to a more primal nature.
A fight? You think. Does he want a fight? ... He'll get one. One he won't forget.
And as the voices in your mind merge into one, you become the monster.
The sapid taste of blood slips into your mouth, your tongue watering at the tease. Your teeth grind together as they stretch and sharpen, arming your hungry maw.
Your hand trembles harder now. Your chest feels tight, and you feel yourself fighting off the growl you so desperately want to let out. Your throat closes, as the pain starts to pulse through your body.
But even that doesn't last long. The pulses grow stronger, but you've grown so accustomed to pain, that your body feeds off of it. You feel an unnatural energy coursing through your veins. You teeth chatter together, as you keep your lips closed. It's going to happen, and no matter how hard you fight, you can't stop it. You can't.
Slowly, you start to think something else. Not that you can't stop, but now, you don't want to stop.
The feeling of your muscles stiffening and swelling all over your body makes your eyes slide shut, your attire growing taught against your skin. Your nostrils flare as you breathe faster and deeper. Nothing matters now, only the pure indescribable change. Your stomach tightens as your abdomen swells and draws in, muscle painfully carving itself into you. Your back muscles tighten and tighten, pushing you forward to curl over the bar more.
By now, you've attracted the attention of the bar, but you don't care, you can't. Your mind is attentive to more pressing matters.
Your now bright yellow eyes slide to the right corners, staring at the man who sits four seats down, who's staring straight at you. You can see that just as you are changing, he is, but you're changing much faster.
You suddenly groan out as the pains grow worse, the swelling and changing of your body taking on a much more intense level. Your shoes grow tight, tighter, until your feet tingle from the squeeze, your toes curling and crushing against the insides of them. A weak point at the tongue tears, and your shoes slap against the ground loudly as your feet finally release from them.
Your eyes clench shut again, as you curl against the bar one last time, growling and roaring, feeling everything move faster and faster. Time slows, though. Agonizing seconds creep by as your pores open, sweat starting to bead in hot droplets, and your fur starts to sprout, charcoal gray traveling up your arms like a living shadow.
Your hands outstretch and crack again and again as your knuckles grow and separate more, your fingers growing longer and more slender. Your feet stretch long, your toes forming into a tough, moveable paw, and your nails split as sharp, black talons take their place.
The pants on your legs grow too tight, and rip down the sides of your thighs and calves, tightly pulled against your skin, where the fur sprouts too.
Your shoulders grow thick and round, your biceps inflate to the size of a softball, curling hard against your body as you spasm from the sensation, roaring out as the final change takes place.
Your eyes clench even harder to where they cross, from the effort. You grit your sharp teeth as your face stretches out into the powerful jaw of a wolf, Your ears curl and stretch back, your hair on your head stretches down and hangs in front of your eyes, and with a loud roar, you stand and tense your body, your chest exploding from the shirt, hanging in shreds strewn upon your body.
The change was done, but now the hunger moves in. The will to hunt rises up.
But you have a more pressing matter at the moment. The one who hunted you, the one who took you for some meager human...
Your anger against him increases tenfold, like embers rising into a white flame.
You see as he is nearly done with the change, but you don't even give him that long.
You leap, and with your incredible weight of muscle and size, you bring him down to the ground like he was a piece of paper, and pin him to the ground. But during the jump, his claws had dug into your shoulders, deeply, to try and stop you.
By this time, the people occupying the bar had screamed and ran, but they were of no consequence, yet.
Without warning, his change finishes, and you feel a stiff hook across the face from his heavy paw,
Sending you reeling off of him, to the side. You, with your superior agility, roll and slide back onto all fours, muscles tensed, senses sharpening to a razor's edge, watching him as adrenaline pours into your blood.
You leap again with a loud, low growl, and pin him down, biting into his arm, and he thrashes, but you're too strong. Your rip back, your teeth sawing into his arm and leaving a huge gash, before he throws you off and backhands you at the same time. You're sent into the table and chairs like a rag doll, taking them down, and as you try to regain, you feel a sudden weight as he leaps upon you, and bites hard into your neck. You roar out, and then grab him and throw him over your shoulder, his back folding against the table's sideways edge in a painful manner. After he hits, his leg's weight drags him down to the floor violently, as you stand up. You can feel your hot blood trailing down your chest and back, but the pain only fuels the fight. Your head pulses from adrenaline, but you keep going.
He starts to stand, crippled by the maneuver, but he's hit with another broad pain as you leap forward, four-hundred pounds of your muscle and bone driving into his back, nearly breaking him in half, as you push him to the ground hard. On his stomach, you thrash and claw wildly, digging into the flesh half inches at a time. He roars out, planting his hands and pushing up hard, tossing you off his back, but you roll on your shoulder and come up on your feet, with a heavy growl and the sweet, sharp taste of his blood in your mouth. He groans in agony as he tries to stand, but you leap again. You dig your inch long claws in to the hilt, in his back, and your teeth sink in until your gums are drenched in blood, throwing him to the ground again, wildly. He roars and tries again, but you dig your claws into the wood of the floor, keeping him pinned. You thrash your head around, feeling his flesh bend with you, and you keep your powerful jaws locked on him.
You decide to finish him.
You push down with your hands, and pull back with your head, and after a loud, ear-splitting roar, you feel the mass you had a lock on come free from his body, blood splattering and drenching your neck, face and chest.
He thrashes and sends you off again, and you land on your back, spitting out the flesh and muscle.
You look down at him, as you lay on your back, as he crawls in a circle, whimpering and whining, trying to survive the devastating wound. A piece of his neck is missing, deep enough to where his collarbone exposed to the air.
Blood escapes his body by the pint, until his whimpers of pitiful pain cease, and he finally dies, limp on the floor.
Hunt me? ME? What a fool, you think.
Your taste for blood has only begun, as you leap out the door, leaving the dead carcass in the bar. You will hunt tonight, and feed well.