A gasp of horror escaped from her lips as she saw the hideous beast that was depicted on the canvas. The once-innocent wolf cub had grown immense and was now the most gruesome thing that she had ever seen. It had changed into a terrifying beast, whose shape now dominated almost all of the picture—save the beautiful, smiling face of Dorian in the background. Its elongated fangs and treacherous claws were covered in a black foulness that could only be rotten, hardened blood. The sinew and muscles had grown more pronounced, but also more sickly. It looked wrong in a way that compelled the eye to shy away from the raw savagery of it. And the face—that was the most frightful thing of all. The eyes of the monstrosity glowed blood-red with hate. They bore down into the very depths of the soul, seeking to devour any light or goodness found there. They spoke of a deep and unquenchable thirst for blood and violence. They were calculating, cruel, and disturbingly intelligent—as only a man's eyes could be.

Tears came unbidden to Sage's eyes. It was impossible. Who had done this wretched thing? To paint over the small wolf cub with such vile menace. Yet, she seemed to recognize her own brushwork. The creation was too terrible to comprehend and she became afraid. She seized a lighted candle and held it up to the picture. Surely it was some foul parody. A joke of some sort. That was not her picture. But it was. Her thoughts went back to the wolf that had bitten her hand before returning to the forests. It had not been seen since.

All the reports of animals being killed savagely in the surrounding areas now seemed to make sense. But what about the killings of people, the murders of innocent citizens? Was it not the handiwork of Jack the Ripper, marauding gangs, or vicious Bulldogs? She felt an icy surety now that the responsible party was this beast depicted on the canvas in front of her. Her artist's eyes detected a resemblance to the wolf that she had so lovingly raised. It could be seen there in the color of the mane and here in the angle of the maw. Was this what had become of the wolf that had deserted and betrayed her?

Dorian merely stood there, leaning against the black-marble fireplace mantel and observing Sage's reaction.

Sage begged for answers in a quiet voice. "What does this mean? It is impossible. I don't believe that this is my picture."

"You don't see your handiwork in it?"

"There was nothing evil or shameful in what I painted. I knew I shouldn't have put so much of myself into the work. I shouldn't have mixed bloods and herbs into the paints. I shouldn't have spoken the old words and the spell of making. Most of all, I shouldn't have linked your names together. I should have listened to my mother's warning. But how could the wolf have been corrupted so?"

"It is the face of my soul."

"It is a demon!"

Dorian replied with a shrug of despair. "Everyone has both heaven and hell in them Sage."

Sage turned back to the portrait. "If this is what you have done with your life then you must be even worse than they say."

Her hand shook, and the candle fell to the floor and began sputtering. She flung herself to the chair by the window and buried her face in her hands to weep. Soon, both she and Dorian were sobbing quietly.

The tears flowed freely from her eyes. "Dorian, we must pray. We must pray for forgiveness and to have our sins washed away. Come, let us pray together."

"It is too late for that."

"It is never too late, Dorian. Come kneel down with me now. Can't you see the way in which that accursed thing leers at us?"

Sage fell to her knees with a pleading look.

Dorian looked once more at the picture. Suddenly, an uncontrollable feeling of hatred for Sage came over him. Rage and violence warred within him. He loathed this woman kneeling on the floor by the window. It was her doing that had caused this. Her fault. She had to be stopped—killed!

An explosion of sharp glass and bent metal flung Dorian back from the window. An enormous dark shape crashed through the pane and struck the kneeling form of Sage. As Dorian slammed to the ground his ears were filled with the sound of a terrible growl. It rose above the crashing, tearing, and wet smacking noises. Dorian turned his head to see Sage set upon by the beast from the picture. A stifled scream and the sound of choking on blood came from Sage's mouth. The brute rose and descended again and again on her form. She was child-sized next to the huge, hairy figure. The claws continued to render flesh and began disemboweling her. With blood splattering everywhere, Sage had only a moment to begin shrieking in pain before the heavy jaws descended upon her throat. They ripped out the delicate flesh there—cutting off all sound. In her last few seconds of life, Sage locked eyes with Dorian in an accusatory stare. Her arms and legs convulsed with a mind of their own, her blood flowing freely onto the floor as she died.

For a few moments his hearing and vision left him and an enveloping darkness seemed to descend around him. A moment later, his hearing returned first. It was filled with a ragged breathing. The panting was wet with blood and slowing, as from an athlete completing a long run. He heard the great figure shift and turn—long claws scouring the floor as they moved.

As his vision restored, he could make out the giant form. The beast had turned from Sage and now looked at him with those glowing, red eyes. Dorian was sure that at last his life was over. But the beast only remained still. Motionless. Waiting. Carefully, Dorian rose to his side. There was no response from the monster except for the movement of the huge nostrils, which expanded and contracted as if taking in his scent. Several more moments passed without any other motion from the pair.

Dorian rose tentatively to his feet, leaning heavily upon the table. Amazingly, the creature seemed to back away and lower its head, breaking eye contact. That's right. Now he remembered. Dorian was the pack leader to this wolf. He reached out with his senses and felt the renewed connection that he and the wolf had once shared when it was still a normal wolf and not this—thing. He was abruptly confident that the animal would do him no harm. Dorian began to pace the room.

Dorian did his best to fill his voice with a scolding tone as he continued to observe the creature's reaction. "What have you done you vile beast? We will be discovered for sure." The creature knew that it was being rebuked and lowered his ghastly head further, eyes downcast towards the floor.

But was that true? Would they be discovered? Certainly, there had been a rather loud crash and other—noises. But how effective was the deep, London fog at distorting and concealing sounds? He went over to the landing and listened to the street outside. Everything was absolutely quiet. The hour was late and no one was about. There was hardly any light to be seen on the vacant street. The constables must be currently far away on their rounds of the silent houses, shrouded in white fog.

Everything was still in the house. The valet! No—he had left on holiday earlier that evening. He turned back to the hulking wolf. He could see that it waited on his command. Quickly, Dorian's mind formulated a plan.

"Can you understand me?"

The ears perked up and turned forward. The murderous eyes raised and softened, as the terrifying head tilted ever so slightly at an angle—as if to listen.

"I can see that you do. Very well, take Sa—the body, as far away from here as you can. Do not be seen. I suppose you are most adept at that. Make sure the body is never discovered. Devour it if you must, but do so fully. Sage left on the midnight train and nothing must link her remains to me or my home. Now, go!"

The immense claws seized onto the bloody mass of meat with disturbingly strong hands. The canines of the great beast sank into the flesh with a surprising delicateness. It lifted its kill from the bloody floor and moved towards the shattered window. With a final piercing look, the towering creature leapt away using its powerful hindquarters. It sailed through the broken window and crashed into the soft garden below.

Dorian collapsed to the floor in relief. He strained his brain as he thought quickly. Sage had left the house at eleven and dismissed the valet. No one had seen him come in again. As far as anyone knew, Sage was on her way to Paris. She would be gone for six months or a year before suspicions would be roused. All of the evidence could be cleaned up and destroyed long before then.

The servants were surprised to find their master hard at work as they arrived. He was shoveling fresh mulch and moving debris in the garden in a most vigorous manner. It was not unusual for their master to quickly change his fancies and this week it was apparently gardening. They were quite used to his eccentrics by now and could only smile and agree as he began giving orders.

"Ah, quickly now! Help me move away that brush from the old rose bushes. I've decided the garden is quite overdue for a renovation, you see. And naturally, this must include removing that small, old window that overlooks the garden. It will be replaced with a new large-pane, machine-polished glass. They are quite fashionable. I'm afraid I got quite carried away in starting the demolition myself and have done just a horrid job. Send for someone from the James Powell & Sons glassworks at once to finish the job."

Dorian made a point to speak to his valet in front of the other servants. "I came home so late on the evening before you began your holiday. Tell me, did anyone call?"

"Lady Holdsworth the artist, sir. She stayed until eleven, then went off to catch her train."

"Oh! I am sorry I didn't see her. Did she leave any message?"

"No, sir. Except that she would write to you from Paris."

"That will do, thank you."