Those That Were

Chapter 2

Large paws hit the ground that night, thudding against the earth as a rhythmic drum. The moon washed over Bryson like a clean bath, making him feel whole again. He paused for a second, and reared his head back into a delighted roar. He was stronger tonight; he felt it in his taut muscles and even in his very bloodstream. Bryson felt as if he could take over the world with the might within his body.

Ah, but he wouldn't.

He wouldn't know what to do with the world even if he cradled it in his palms. Honestly, Bryson could just settle for some good food right now. Lifting his nose to the air, various smells of game tickled his senses. He smelled the tangy scent of a small herd of deer not far away, and that was enough to send him barreling toward the source. He tried not to make unnecessary noise, but that didn't stop the twigs from snapping under his large form.

As he ran, he imagined he would be quite a frightful sight to the deer. At full posture in this hybrid form, Bryson stood a few inches over eight feet tall. In this form, Bryson was covered top to bottom in coarse, grisly brown fur and his long teeth were those that one might see in his or her nightmares. His shoulders stretched nearly four feet wide and his bipedal body was corded in thick, sinewy muscle.

The deer would run, but they would be caught. Bryson was faster than they. Even still, he continued to do his best to remain silent. If the deer learned of his presence before absolutely necessary, catching them would be far more work than Bryson was willing to commit to in his nighttime, freedom run.

It didn't take long.

The herd was resting about a quarter-mile away in a small alcove. And of course, they bolted upon the sight of him. Bryson quickly decided on a large, brown male deer and began the chase. Usually, bucks would stand and fight, especially with so many females nearby. But this time? It ran as well. It seemed to know that it was far outmatched.

It didn't matter.

Bryson caught up to it in minutes, pouncing atop it and grabbing it in his powerful jaws. It's neck snapped easily and mercifully, and the werewolf began dragging his food to back to the cave he usually ate in. Bryson trotted along happily, dragging the dead animal in his mouth. As he went, the scent of blood attracted more normal wolves and coyotes... but none dared challenge the beast that claimed the buck.

That being said, they still reveled in his kill. Their howls of delight could be heard for miles and miles. Wolves followed strength, and therefore, Bryson was their master for the time being. He didn't care. He just wanted to eat. And he was just about to do just that, when a peculiar scent caught his nose. This was a scent that he identified almost immediately. The scent of a lycanthrope. Or... multiple lycanthropes. And sex. Yes, that scent was there too.

Another quick sniff told him that there were humans amongst the pack.

Bryson hunkered down as far as possible, not caring to be noticed by whoever was here. He figured by the smell that it was a so-called pack showing off to a group of women in exchange for a good lay out in the wilderness. Not that there was technically anything wrong with fucking in the wild, of course. Bryson could attest to that from experience.

But even still, he tried to avoid them.

Didn't work.

He knew the moment he heard the excited hooting and hollering coming from close-by that they'd picked up his scent just as he'd picked up theirs.

He resigned himself, sitting in the middle of the wolf pack and chewing on the deer he'd killed.

From what Bryson knew, every werewolf in Tuscumbia was young and inexperienced: pups. That's what Bryson called men and women who hadn't been wolves but five to seven years. The only ones he'd met that were as old as he --or older, even-- lived back in the city about three hours from their small town.