Chapter 1

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    I can't see the moon, but I can feel it.

    There is still half an hour or so before the point of no return, but I need to hurry and get situated.

    Heavy clouds, vestiges from an earlier storm, provide for an unusually dark night. No starlight penetrates through the deep gray-black blanket of haze, leaving the city swimming in a sea of shadows. It makes the tangible world seem smaller with so much of it currently hidden from prying eyes.

    However, all the shadowy corners and dark pathways of the city are not hidden from me. Indeed, the opposite, as I consciously seek out the refuge they offer. With my dusk-colored clothing I blend in well, slipping from shadow to shadow as I walk briskly through the midnight alleyways of the slums.

    A knotting in my stomach instills within me a new sense of urgency, and I pick up the pace. In my haste, I step into a slimy looking puddle of brown water, splashing it up over the hem of my jeans. I wrinkle my nose in disgust. The rain from earlier has helped to mute some of the normally overpowering smells, but there remain constant reminders as to why this part of the city isn't frequented by many.

    The slums are dirty, dangerous, and ridden with poverty. The air always feels heavier here among the rayless, rotten buildings and maze-like streets, as if weighted down by the foul fumes being spewed from the sewers. Garbage billows in the wind, violence is common place, and even the police tend to avoid this area.

    Each factor seems to serve only in driving people away, and this is why I come here. The slums are a haven for those seeking to hide. Seeking asylum. And on this night, I need to keep a low profile.

    As the seconds tick by in time with my frantic heartbeat, my skin begins to prickle. Initially, it starts only as a light dusting of sensation over my heated skin, vaguely ticklish in nature, but eventually it feels like someone has ignited an electric current beneath my flesh. I need to hurry. Hurry and get closer to the edge of town where even the homeless are sparse. I consider running, but the joints in my knees protest at the thought, tightening and threatening to buckle.

    I'm running behind schedule. I knew that I would be, what with how late class had let out this evening. Next month I'd have to leave early.

Against the dissent of my legs, I force myself into a jog for the last part of my trek.

    The barest hint of silvery moonlight drifts down from the sky the second I round a corner and slip into a secluded, stygian alleyway. My cathedral, my sanctuary... rank with the smells of old piss and stale beer. It's a dismal scene, but this is what I have to work with. This particular spot is the third one in my rotation. I never frequent the same location twice in a row.

    Perhaps I'm overly paranoid, but practicing caution helps put my mind at ease. It provides a small, fragile comfort in an otherwise overwhelming situation.

    I take a final look around, straining my senses to reach out in every direction as I check and re-check for any signs of life.

    There is no one.

    "Show time then, I guess." I mutter to myself, but my own voice sounds foreign as it echoes in my ears. Too deep, too rough. Like gravel being churned in a grinder. I clear my throat as my quaking fingers struggle to undo my belt, and unzip the crotch of my jeans. From my back pocket I retrieve a crumpled, plastic shopping bag.  I shake it out as I shimmy free of my pants and underwear, then fold the articles of clothing to be stowed away. My hoodie and bra follow suit, pleated in the same meticulous fashion that speaks of routine. Knotting the bag, I place it securely in a dark corner of the alley, then kick off my filthy shoes.

    Now the waiting game, though instinctually I know it won't be long. I let out the shaky breath that I have been holding, and shift awkwardly as I wait naked and alone. The concrete feels foul and cold beneath the soles of my bare feet. It's the beginning of October in New York, and while the daytime is warm enough, the temperature drops once the sun has fled from the sky. However, the gooseflesh that covers my exposed arms isn't from the cold. I'm not even chilly. Just anxious.

      This is always the worst part: the anticipation of it all. My chest and lungs feel tight, and my entire body aches as if I've just run a marathon. 

    I shut my eyes against the discomfort, and somewhere in the back of my mind I imagine that I can hear a clock ticking, counting down the seconds as I wait for the inevitable.  Suddenly, a rippling of muscle tears though my abdomen and I double over at the waist.  My jaw tightens as I strain against the unbridled tension that sings through my form.

    Groaning through clenched teeth I will the moon to take charge, and it's like flipping a switch. The moment I relinquish control and give myself over to the forces that pull me, I feel the change sweep over me.

    It wells from within my chest and belly, working its' way laterally through my limbs from my core. The current coursing beneath my skin weaves through my muscles, breaking them down and tearing them asunder.

    My labored breathing and the sharp crunch of bone are the only sounds in the night, but I can focus on neither over the incessant pounding of blood in my ears and behind my eyes.

    I collapse as my knees buckle, the bones in my legs snapping like fragile twigs beneath a great weight. It hurts, but not in the way one would think. It's bearable somehow, as if this type of pain doesn't register in my brain the same way.

     Bracing myself on my hands and knees, I begin to pant heavily.  My tongue lolls from my mouth, and spittle drips down my chin. I can feel my legs healing already, shattered bone fusing back together as new tendons and ligaments knit through the forming structure. My shoulders jerk back as my chest expands abruptly, and my spine lengthens and curls into a new shape.

    Almost done.

    Pain rockets through my jaw as it extends forward, and my skin burns as fur erupts all over my body.

    Almost done.

    I shudder, a quivering mass huddled in the dark.

    Almost done.

    For all the intensity, the change usually takes less than a minute to complete once it gets started. Maybe 40 seconds on average. It's not like the long, drawn-out sequences in the movies, filled with brutal distortion and violent screaming. The final few snaps of bones into their proper placement have my stomach rolling, however. Nausea wells from within me, and I purge all over the ground, splattering my paws with the putrid contents of my stomach. The smell is rancid, too strong for my new nose, and I stagger up and forward in an attempt to escape it.

    I rock for a moment on my four legs once I'm upright, still reeling from the shock of it all. Full Moon shifts are always the most intense, and it takes me a moment to become reacquainted with my bearings. With my new body. Breathing slowly through my nose, I take in the scents of the night and attempt to calm myself. No one is around. I am safe.

    Then, pricking my ears forward, I take my first few cautious steps out into the open as a wolf.


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