 
# The Beast

A Wolf Point Novella

by Kate Spofford

Published by Kate Spofford at Smashwords

Copyright © 2014 by Kate Spofford

Cover design by Kate Spofford

Cover photograph by Gary Kramer (public domain)

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First eBook Edition: August 2014

#

# -1-

I am known as the Beast of Gèvaudan, but my tale begins in a town called Soissons in the north of France.

By birth I was the seventh son of a seventh son, and of no fortune. We lived on the edge of a great forest, far from town, due to my parents' nature. Papa was a hunter and a drinker and made his living selling furs and winning fights. Maman was just as ruthless, and should any woman look my father's way, she was wont to gouge out the lady's eyes. It was best to live separately.

I grew up knowing our nature, as my brothers all grew into theirs well before me. Each brother was born a year apart, and each year another would turn wolf and begin spending nights hunting with Papa and Maman. Soon the forests could not support so many hungry mouths, and Papa sent my brothers out to find their own families. We had many acquaintances, other wolf packs, and if any of those had daughters they competed for a wife. There were few females among us. Only the eldest two brothers, John-Pierre and Allain, found wives in this way. The others were forced to look for wives among the girls in town, and convince them to turn wolf and live away from their families, as human women could not carry a wolf child without death for both mother and baby. They had luck with young orphan girls but few others.

When the time came for my change, I was ready. I had practiced hunting since I could walk, and had helped Papa flay the skin from many a beast. I had learned to move silently through the forests and to sense prey without using the sense of sight. Papa had always been impressed by my abilities, for even as a human my senses rivaled those of my wolf brothers.

On the eve of my thirteenth birthday, I could hardly sit still for all my excitement. John-Pierre and Allain now lived several cities away, but had returned for this night to welcome me into the pack. All the men laughed and wrestled and filled our simple house with so much energy Maman commanded us to go outside. She would not join us.

The moon that night was full and bright. "It is a sign," Papa remarked. "Our little Georges will be a powerful wolf."

"Not more powerful than me," boasted Allain. He shoved me down and laughed.

"Nor me," said Bernard, the brother closest in age to me.

We did not eat the evening meal but instead began hiking into the forest. This was not so different from when we hunted, except now the trail took us up and up to a high point of the hills surrounding the town of Soissons. With no food for energy, I tired quickly, but did not complain. I felt itchy and achy.

"Are you afraid, brother?" Bernard asked.

"Not at all," I told him. As I spoke, my teeth cut my lip, and the coppery taste of blood filled my mouth. Thus, as we entered a large clearing where the grass shone blue from the moon, I convulsed and turned.

All the men of my family turned to stare at me: Papa, John-Pierre, Allain, Jean-Baptiste, Martin, Etienne, and Bernard. Fourteen eyes glinting in the moonlight in that way only animal eyes do.

I growled in return.

Quickly, they turned and set upon me. I locked teeth with Allain first, and ruthlessly tore out his throat, his taunts still echoing in my mind. Standing over his body, I faced the remainder of my brothers, who had backed off and stood with tails drooping behind my father. Papa, I knew now, was the alpha of our family pack. Allain had been his second. Now, with Allain's death, I would be Papa's second.

I had been the last all my life. The smallest, the youngest. While it was true I had been my father's favorite, I was tired of being under anyone's command.

I lunged at my father.

He was a full-grown wolf, and I just a boy. My wolf was not as large as his in size, yet I found that to be my advantage. I was quicker, and could sense his attacks before they came. Mere minutes passed, and then I had him by the throat.

A chorus of voices entered my head

Do not kill him, brother

You have won the fight, death is not necessary

But another voice commanded otherwise.

I cannot live with this shame.

As my father gurgled his dying breath, I turned to face my brothers.

#

# -2-

I should have been alpha then. I should have earned their respect.

Instead, they refused my leadership.

Their minds became foreign to me, and as one, my five remaining brothers turned on me. I might have stayed and fought had I not been confused by this turn of events. Instead, I ran.

I made my way down the mountain, to the cabin where I had grown. There I became once again the boy my mother had raised. Her wails of anguish came from the common room, where she wept upon the rough-hewn floor.

For but a moment I stood there, observing what I had done, and then I left.

#

# -3-

As a wolf I made my way south. The forests were teeming with wildlife at that time, and wilderness took up more of the French countryside than did villages. I stayed well away from places of civilization. My wolf mourned for a pack, and though I occasionally came across other wolves in the woods, these wolves were shy and sensed something different about me. My father had never been able to work with animals, making him ill-suited for farm work or blacksmithing. Horses shied from him, and cows did not produce milk.

Now I experienced a true loneliness. After a long, cold winter, I made my way closer to the towns. I recalled a family Papa had spoken of, the Loupes, who lived in the eastern Gèvaudan region. The alpha of this clan was called Abelard.

I observed this family with great caution. There were not allies of my father like many others, but rather separate. Papa often hoped to convince Abelard to give up a daughter for one of his sons, and join our packs, but Abelard had never agreed.

Abelard, I soon discovered, owned a popular tavern in the village square. I dared not approach this place directly. He and his family lived far from town, however, in a modest home near the forest edge. The trees near there reeked of their marks. Finding a system of caves on a nearby hill, I watched this family go about their business. Abelard's two daughters were indeed beautiful. One had hair the color of honey, while the other wore hers in a long, dark braid. They and their mother did the chores of the household as well as some duties at the tavern.

Abelard also had five sons. The oldest had thirty years and lived in a separate building with his wife and their two children. Papa had told us about this marriage several years ago. "The Loupe family breeds with their own," he had said distastefully, and I found that this wife did indeed share the likeness of her cousin with the dark braid.

There was little I could do to find favor with this family. They had few visitors and kept to themselves. One day, I was startled from a nap in my cave by footsteps approaching. Two naked youths not much older than I blocked the entrance. By their scent I knew them to be Loupes, and I growled deep in my throat at the intrusion.

"Face us as a man, stranger," the elder boy commanded.

I rose to my feet but remained wolf.

The younger boy spoke. "Maybe it's just a normal wolf."

The elder scoffed. "Can't you smell the stink on him? I said turn human, wolf."

Reluctantly, I did so. I had not been wolf long enough to become comfortable with my nudity, and I stood covering myself as best I could.

"Look at him," said the younger. "He's smaller than I am!"

"I am Fallon," said the older boy. "This is my brother Lucien. Pray tell what are you doing on our land?"

"I am outcast," I mumbled. "I mean no harm."

Fallon raised his eyebrows. "No? Then you won't mind moving along?"

"I have no place to go."

"You cannot stay here," Fallon said. "Your presence is unwelcome and a threat. You have two days."

Without another word, Fallon and Lucien turned and began walking away. Within two steps, they had both turned wolf and disappeared.

That night I did in truth leave the cave. I did not, however, leave Gèvaudan.

#

# -4-

In all my watchings, I had found a young girl of great beauty who constantly tore my attention from the wolf family. She had long red hair and spent her days in a field, tending cattle, sitting, dancing, singing... I watched her from afar, but wolf eyes see long. I was entranced.

One day I decided I would hide in the tree she often sat beneath during the hottest part of the day. It was now late spring and the sun had become lovely and hot during the day, though still chilly at night. For clothes I stole from a neighbor's clothesline, and before dawn I turned human, then donned the pilfered garments and shimmied up the tree. A wide bough made for a fairly comfortable seat, and I waited for the young girl to arrive, as she did every day, at an hour past daybreak.

The bough had by then become less comfortable, the bark of the tree digging into my skin even through the breeches I had stolen. The sight of her, however, made me numb to these small hurts. She drove the cattle along with the help of her little dog. She wore her usual green dress that day, with an apron.

Unsurprisingly, her dog barked once at the tree, then trotted off to lie in the grass. She watched me constantly, but refused to come closer despite the girl's words of encouragement. The cattle as well spread themselves far from the tree.

From my perch, I had a lovely view of the girl's décolletage. This alone kept me quiet for a long time. Then, the pleasantness of the weather and the peacefulness of the view lulled me to an unexpected slumber.

I woke up when the ground hit me.

Once I finally regained my hearing – my ears rang from the blow to my head – all I heard was, "Oh, my... Oh, my... Oh, my..." Over and over.

Once I could see again, I saw the red-haired girl's face looming over mine.

I blinked at her and tried to smile.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, wringing her hands. "Oh, you're bleeding!"

When I touched my fingers to my forehead, I felt a bit of slippery blood and a bruise welting up. "I feel fine."

"Well, you gave me quite a fright!" she huffs. "How long have you been up in that tree?"

I knew better than to tell her. "I don't remember... I fell asleep there." I blinked my eyes dopily and grinned up at her. "You are the most beautiful creature I've ever seen."

She folded her arms. "You fell asleep in a tree?"

My dumb act wasn't working. Inching myself up on my elbows, I said, "I sleep in the trees. It's safer that way. You know, because of wolves."

"Oh, that's rich. Wolves wouldn't attack people."

"No?"

"Not in the spring, anyway. Perhaps in the dead of winter, when game is scarce... Might attack a sheep, or a cow, but not a person. You are... not from here, are you? Your accent is a little strange."

"I'm from the north," I said vaguely. "And wolves do too attack humans. I've seen it."

"Perhaps northern wolves attack humans. Do your parents sleep in trees also, or are you travelling alone?"

"I'm... an orphan." I glanced up at her to see her reaction. Would she pity an orphan, or sneer at one?

She sighed. "That would be the case. You'd best move along then. My parents certainly do not need another mouth to feed, nor an apprentice, nor is my father likely to see you as a good match for me."

"I was here first," I said.

"Ha! My family has been using this pasture for three generations, and I've never seen the likes of you here before today."

I stand up, wobbling a bit. I had fallen a bit harder than I'd let on. "And who's to say I'd be wanting you for a wife?"

"It does not matter if you want me, for I do not want you, some penniless orphan who sleeps in trees because he's stupid."

"Wolves eat people!" I said loud enough for a flock of sparrows in the tree to flutter off, and for the dog to perk up its ears and issue a bark. My fingers curled into fists. I'd not had much experience with dogs – we had always stayed far away from them, for when we did get near, most dogs tried to attack us.

Most dogs who came near us ended up dead.

"Be gone, stupid boy!" the girl said, and she sat down with her arms crossed and called to the dog. "Come here, Bebe. Come!"

How had I ever believed this girl to be beautiful? She was an ugly sack of skin, her hair the color of unripe tomatoes, her freckles like some deadly skin disease. I stalked toward the forest. My shirt chafed at my skin, and the whole idea that I had gone to such lengths to steal clothing for that ignorant girl was so foolish I could not believe I had done it.

Shoving the brush aside, I plowed into the thick forest until I could not see her. Then I removed my clothing without delicacy, tearing the thin fabric of the shirt, and ripping a seam on the breeches. Then I was all wolf, only I felt myself grown larger with rage. How dare she! How must I prove myself to anyone? I had fought and won my way to alpha, only to be shunned. I attempted charm and received scorn.

I would show her how wolves attacked humans.

#

# -5-

I tore out of the forest growling. Bebe, that little mutt, jumped to her paws, but then turned tail and ran. The girl stood and called for the pup. Then she saw me.

Her mouth opened. Her eyes blinked. My wolfy mouth grinned, tongue lolling, as I slowed. I wanted her to see me. All of me. My, what wicked teeth you have! I made sure to show every dripping fang.

Finally her disbelief faded, and she screamed long and loud.

My mistake came from discounting the cattle. Who would assume that fat, cud-chewing bovines had any thoughts, never mind the thought to protect a girl? I might have, had I spent any time around such beasts as a child.

I didn't even notice the bull, focused as I was on the hateful girl, until it barreled into my narrow range of vision.

Paws dug into the dirt to stop before impaling myself on the bull's horns. I growled at it. Thinking it might be intimidated, I then attempted to dart around the beast.

The bull bellowed. I had never heard a sound like this in my life. And he wasn't the only one. Two other bulls in the herd bellowed as well, and then a stampede of hoofbeats shook the earth under my feet.

With six large, sharp horns coming at me, I was forced to retreat. I ran as fast as I could toward the forest again. The cattle chased me for a short ways, then I heard the hoofbeats slow. I slowed, too, and turned to reassess the situation.

Of course, the bulls were protecting the cows and the calves. That made sense. Not the girl. I rounded again, and kept wide of the herd. I approached the girl from the other side.

I could smell her so clearly. Before I had not thought much about my hunger. Now I could hear her heart pounding and the scent of milk and honey on her and the pounding of her blood in her veins. My teeth ached to rip open her flesh, to cut through her meat and muscle, to crunch her bones and suck out the marrow.

Now wide of the bulls, and with a clear line to the girl, I charged.

Unfortunately, the bulls were much faster than I had anticipated. They came at me bellowing, three tons of muscle and sharp hooves and horns. I barely managed to alter my course, still attempting to snap at the girl, who had run round to the other side of the tree, screaming – and one of the horns dug into my hip, lifting my hind legs off the ground before my skin tore.

I howled, but I knew better than to stop. I dug in and kept running. I could outrun the bulls. The fire in my hips flared and burned. Still, I managed to get to the forest – the trees – safety. The bulls had stopped and now stood grunting and snorting with their ears flicking angrily. I slunk deeper into the wood to nurse my wounds.

#

# -6-

Revenge. All I could think of was revenge. Though the girl had done nothing and the bulls had done everything, I wanted her dead.

Werewolves heal faster than humans, much faster. The bull's horn had gored my hip and torn up some of my innards, but it was merely a day later than I was able to walk with only the slightest of limps.

I donned those discarded clothes and made my way into town.

For days I skulked around the village. I begged for scraps, and slept in the gutter, and stole food from farms. All the while I kept my ears open. If there's anyone people won't notice, it's a beggar.

Gossip had come along quietly. "A wolf tried to attack my daughter," said a man at the tavern one evening.

"Must have been rabid," said the man beside him. "Hope it didn't get its teeth any of your cattle."

"Nah, was the cattle what drove the beast off. Anne was quite upset by the whole incident."

"We ought to hunt it down before it tries to attack anyone else."

"Thing'll be dead in a day or two once it's at the foaming stage."

"Still."

I listened and waited, but no one seemed much interested in hunting me down. Not until word got back to the Loupe family, that was. They might be more interested in a rabid wolf.

Anne. Her name was Anne. I now knew her father's scent and I could have easily killed him. As I curled up in another forest cave, far from human scents, I began to think about Anne's sweet flesh. She would have tasted lovely.

I had tasted my father's blood, but only briefly. I had expected great glory for his kill. I should have been alpha!

Were I to vanquish the Loupe family, I might have a chance at earning the respect and command of my brothers. The Loupes were already wary of being found out. It was uncommon, but men had been burned for werewolves before. Occasionally they were actual werewolves. The common people had no idea that being a werewolf was a family affliction.

The fools, they had written poems about how if one were to consort with the devil and use a belt made of a wolf's pelt, or don a cape made of such, one could become a werewolf. As a hunter my own father courted accusations, but as he often killed wolves that pestered neighboring farms, he was not normally suspected.

Should the Loupe family be found with such a pelt in their possession, after a beast had wreaked havoc in the region, well...

There was the problem of the cattle. Vicious creatures. I must avoid them.

There were many young shepherdesses about, and it was a simple matter of finding one who tended sheep rather than bulls.

#

# -7-

Sheep were the smelliest, foulest creatures, I had decided. I had been lying in wait upwind, knowing due to their stink that sheep were grazed on this hill, and all I had to do was wait until the innocent shepherdess arrived. I had thoroughly investigated the area and could smell her lovely odor throughout the grasses. Delicious. I was salivating.

And here she came on such a glorious morning, the hem of her skirt wet from the dew, the sun not yet hot. She stopped at the top of the hill, fanned herself with her hand, then stood gazing out over the landscape with her back to me. While the sheep bleated nervously, she stood still.

I darted in, and she had only managed to turn slightly with a surprised look on her face before I had knocked her down and ripped her throat out.

A spray of blood misted the blue sky with red until her arteries stopped pulsing out her life's blood. I gulped down that sweet mouthful, and slashed at her dress with my claws for good measure. The flock had begun running, galloping down the hill toward home as fast as they could while they pressed against one another for comfort. I snatched up a small one at the back and carried it off to eat.

Though the girl's blood had been sweet, sweeter than I could have imagined, I needed the townsfolk of Langogne to find her corpse and begin their witch hunt.

#

# -8-

The little girl's name had been Jeanne Boulet, and I listened as the villagers lamented the death of little Jeanne. My thoughts could not linger on this idle gossip - my mind had only two different tracks:

1. Find a true wolf and kill it, and somehow managed to get this pelt on the property of Abelard Loupe.

2. Kill kill kill

I fought for control. I needed to find a wolf, else my whole plan would be for naught. Moving north, I searched the forests high and low while my throat ached for blood. Animals were plenty and I killed and ate, yet this thirst would not be sated. Pretty little Jeanne's face filled my thoughts. Her scent followed me. My distraction made for many missed opportunities. I began to realize that I was not hunting correctly - I had not been taught to hunt as a wolf, only as a human. How one walks to avoid making noise, how to sit downwind... it was as though I had forgotten the basic lessons Papa had taught me.

This was to prove to my brothers that I would be Papa's equal - _non_ , his superior - had they accepted me as alpha. I fought the thirst. I tracked for wolves. Perhaps the presence of the Loupe family had kept true wolves away, or perhaps wolves made themselves scarce in the summers. Whatever the reason, I could not find a single beast anywhere for miles. I roved through the forests, killing spontaneously when the blood lust became too much to bear. My body grew fat and big, so that when I returned late in the summer, and turned human for the first time in months, I could not fit into the stolen clothes I had left behind. The breeches were many inches too short, and the shirt was so tight across my shoulders that the seams ripped.

No wolf pelt. No clothing.

With more ease than I had ever experienced, I slid back into wolf form and headed south.

#

# -9-

I stalked the edges of the forests, waiting until I caught just the right scent, some innocent victim alone and unawares. In Puylaurens, it was a girl just a year older than I, a sweet voluptuous thing whose corpse I used after I ate off her face. In a field near Langogne, I found a slender boy tending crops alone and ripped off his head. One woman I caught just before sunset, several feet from her front door. It had been one of her children with the delicious scent, but I ran off after the first taste, pausing only to be sure I had been seen. I killed again and again and again, yet my thirst could not be slaked.

By now I had been a wolf for a full month, and my thoughts had grown disordered. When the villagers gathered up their pitchforks and began crowding through the forest thrusting into the bushes, my wolf reacted in alarm and I ran off without thinking, without a plan.

I forced myself to turn human again with all the effort it takes to wake from a deep slumber. I groaned and felt the constraints of my skin. October in Gèvaudan was more temperate than the autumn season in Soissons, but I do not consider this the reason for my comfort in my own nudity. I found myself lifting a leg to piss on trees.

There was something I had forgotten in this time, and it was revenge. Slowly this memory returned to me, and under cover of darkness I made my way into the town of Saint-Chely. In the shop windows, illuminated by the moonlight, I startled myself with my own appearance. I had grown tall, and broad, and a scruff of hair covered the lower half of my face.

The parish there was easy to break into; the doors were unlocked to welcome worshippers and offer sanctuary. I could smell the priest asleep in his chambers. An old man, sleeping soundly, for I could also hear his long and steady breaths. Using the holy water, I scrubbed my face and body clean, then wrapped myself in one of the many altar cloths and fell asleep.

Upon the morn the priest found me there. "Young man, have you no respect for God?" he asked me with disapproval in his eyes.

This was when I discovered that human speech had not returned to me. Luckily, my guttural response was all he needed to assume that I was simple, or deaf, and he now saw me as a charity case rather than a degenerate.

"Poor boy," the priest clucked. And he took me to his chambers, where he fitted me with some of his own clothes, and then gave me some bread and water and told me to sleep in his bed. Even tucked me in.

In the morning I helped the priest with some tasks around the church, then mumbled a garbled thank you and went on my way. The priest pressed some coins into my hand, and I stared at them. "For food," he said slowly.

I nodded, although that wasn't what had stopped me. It was a scent I recognized. I drifted out of the church and into the light.

"There you are!" said a familiar voice, and I looked up to see none other than Fallon Loupe.

"You know this boy?" asked the priest, who had followed me outside.

"He is my cousin." Fallon grinned, and clapped me on the back like we were old friends. I snarled at him.

"You'd best to keep an eye on him," the priest warned. "I've heard tell of a beast attacking young people out alone."

"No worries, Papa. We're part of the hunt." Fallon patted a wicked looking knife on his belt. "Georges sometimes wanders off. He's never come to any harm."

"Good that." The priest nodded and returned indoors. He did not see how Fallon gripped me by the arm and started marching me down the road. He was joined quickly by several of his brothers, who surrounded me. The stink of their Otherness made my skin crawl with the need to be wolf.

"You will remain human," Fallon hissed in my ear. His head jerked up, and he called out, "Hello, lady! Fine morning!" Then his breath hot on my neck. "If you turn now, everyone will see."

I struggled to keep my smooth human skin, and was relieved when the boys reached the door to an inn and shoved me inside and up a narrow flight of stairs to a cramped room – perhaps only cramped due to there being five strapping young men and myself, as well as the seated figure of Abelard.

The alpha in him stank of power, more so than my own father ever had. He was dressed in the fashion of the day, a ruffled shirt, a fitted coat with brass buttons, with his hair combed back. And yet he did not look like a dandy. The expression on his face had been carved out of stone.

"You dare remain in Gèvaudan after you were warned?" he asked me.

I cleared my throat to test my voice. Thankfully I could speak, though the tone was lower and more gravelly than I recalled. "I was told to leave the area. That is why I am here, and not still in Langogne."

Abelard's eyes narrowed. "After killing half a dozen in my backyard."

I shrugged.

Abelard stood. He was much larger than I had expected, towering half a foot over my head. "Do you have no sense of self-preservation? Do you not understand what will be done to someone of your nature?"

"Of our nature," I corrected him.

His brow hung low over his eyes. "Our nature," he conceded. "Pray tell, boy. Why do you roam so far from your pack?"

"I have no pack."

"I know your father. For what crimes did he disown you? There are few he has not committed himself."

"You knew my father. He is dead now." I leaned toward Abelard and smiled. "I killed him."

"Then are you not alpha of the Soissons pack?" He looked at me. "No. You are a lone wolf. They have cast you out rather than accept you as their leader."

My eyes narrowed.

"A wolf must have a pack," Abelard said. "Is this why you came to my territory? You wish to join my pack?"

If I said yes, would I then have to fight Abelard for dominance? And should I kill him, would his sons reject me as leader as my brothers had? Why, indeed, had I come down to Gèvaudan, their known territory, and watched them? Had my original intentions been to join them?

My mind felt clouded. I could not remember what my more human self had been thinking.

"No," I said.

"Then why?"

I want to snarl at him, to destroy him, to tell him my plan to destroy his pack and thereby earn respect from my kin. Rather I kept my mouth shut and glared. I could not think of another reason.

"He is insane," Abelard said to his sons. "Kill him."

I have had worse odds, but I spoke quickly to avoid a fight I might possibly lose.

"I am not insane," I said, even as I smelled the stink of wolf hair growing and felt claws piercing my arms where the Loupe brothers held me. "Please. I've not been taught how to conceal myself. I will go and not return this time, I swear it. Please."

These words of begging pained me more than any wound. Abelard regarded me. Perhaps he could smell the lie on my breath.

"You are young," he said finally. "You have not been taught. And you also do not know me. I make good on my promises. I promise this: if you do not leave my territory immediately, you will die."

"I will leave, I promise," I sputtered, playing the part.

"You will. If I should smell any trace of you, if I should hear of any more wild animal attacks, I will kill you."

"Yes, sir." I made my voice high and nervous, easy enough as I was near ready to laugh.

He regarded me again, then waved a hand.

"Bring him to the forest's edge," he commanded. For a long moment he looked around at his sons, then turned away.

The boys dragged me out. By now all the village had woken and the boys shoved at me as though we were playing a game. "Come along, drunkard," called Fallon. "Hold your liquor! Hold your liquor!"

"Drunk already?" called out one man carrying a hatchet over one shoulder. "You boys ought to be ashamed of yourselves!"

"Papa already gave him a whupping," said Lucien gaily.

"Good man."

Fallon leaned in and muttered, "You'd best play the part."

I allowed myself to stumble and weave even though the younger boys began jabbing at me with the butts of their rifles. I felt myself growing more and more outraged, the wolf straining at my skin. My wolf could kill all of them, I was certain of it.

Finally, the smell of pine and grass and moist dirt overtook the city smells of defecation and human odor.

"You will leave now," Fallon said. The boys at once released me. I shrugged off their hands and stepped forward.

"Good riddance," added Lucien.

"Are you going to stand there until I remove my clothes and turn?" I asked nastily. "You enjoy looking upon naked men?"

Fallon barked a laugh. "You are not a man. Now be gone."

But now they turned their backs.

And I leapt out of my clothes and ran.

#

# -10-

I did not go far.

By sense I knew I was being followed. Abelard must have instructed his sons to track me, to ensure that I left. If I went too far east, I smelled that stink of his marked territory. If I went too far west, I could hear a presence there that drove me back to due south. I slowed, and alternated hiding and running. Soon I began to hear the movements of others in the forest, not wolves. The humans pounded their instruments against the ground. They were trying to drive me out.

I tried to focus, to concentrate on the scents of the wolves, but the pounding destroyed my focus. I began to run.

Then I caught scent of a lovely young maid who smelled positively delicious. The pasture, full of sheep, was immediately in my path. What luck! I could have an audience as I devoured yet another victim, and Abelard had literally driven me to it.

I had only just emerged from the trees when a loud crack filled the air and I fell. Not ten paces from me were two men, one holding a smoking musket. There were others as well, peasants, watching with their pitchforks and hatchets and shovels.

Leaping to my feet, I noticed that one of my hind legs was not working quite as I'd expected, but I prepared to spring upon the hunters.

Another crack, this time in my side, and I could not spring to my feet. My breath had been stolen from my lungs. The men were standing now, getting ready to come toward me. With every ounce of strength I had, I dragged myself up and ran away, into the forest, away from the lovely girl, away from the hunters. I heard the rifle crack yet again, and felt a sting like that of a bee in my hindquarters.

Anger at these pesky humans filled me, and I spun to jump out of the forest again. I had not much experience with guns, as Papa tended to use snares and traps when he hunted. I knew, however, that guns had a limited number of bullets. Once they ran out of ammunition, they would have to reload, and I could kill them.

I was farther from them when I reemerged, but still the bullet found me. My body hit the ground and my head rang and I could not understand how it had come to this. They were going to kill me. Would my body remain a beast's after I died? I blinked at the sky that seemed to be turning black.

The crackle of many footsteps running through the tall grass snapped me out of my short misery. Escape, I had only to escape and I could heal. It had taken me all of a day to heal from the blasted bulls' attack, and I was much stronger now. I struggled to my feet and began running despite the throbbing in my leg and the painful cramp in my side where a bullet was lodged.

Behind me I heard the gasps of the peasants.

"It is not affected by the bullets!" called one man.

" _Loup-garou_!" called out another. "It is a werewolf!"

My wolf mouth smiled at this, and I ran faster. My legend had begun.

#

# -11-

All along it had been a trap. The boys had herded me straight toward the hunters, and waited for the hunters to do the work of killing me.

These realizations fueled me. Even as I ran, my leg began healing; I could feel the muscles and sinews knitting themselves together. Pure luck, the bullet had passed straight through. My ribs were another story. By the time I had outdistanced the hunters, crossed several streams to throw off the scent, and found a cave in which to hide, I could feel my body pushing the bullet out. When nightfall came, the wound still bled a little, but I had come up with a plan.

Under the light of the moon, I emerged from my cave. The air around me was cold and empty. No stink of enemies. The Loupe boys had not tracked me. I wondered if they had turned human again in order to make their appearance at the hunt, then not been able to turn wolf with so many witnesses. And hunters; the hunters would have killed any wolf, ignorant of whether or not the wolves were actually the Beast.

I stretched my tight, knotted muscles, testing the newly mended areas. Good enough.

My feet moved lightly over the crunchy fallen leaves, my nose constantly sniffing and my ears on high alert. It took most of the night to get back to Saint-Alban. I followed my own trail of blood, and emerged from the forest in the morning twilight, while the world was still blue. I turned human for a short while to pilfer some necessary supplies, then the wolf returned for the major part of the task.

The scent of the lovely maiden still lingered here, but I continued on to farther pastures, where I hid and waited.

The youth have an innocent reek, powerful and tempting. Easily I could imagine why it was said that unicorns would only approach the innocent. They smell of sweeter times, carefree and energetic, a bud about to flower, an egg unhatched. I followed two such innocents deep into the fields, a brother and sister who held hands and spoke of the exciting events of the previous evening.

"They said the beast is dead," the girl said.

"They shot the monster but it still lives," the boy replied. They jumped in unison over a branch in the grass, alongside the sheep they herded. "The hunters did not find it. They said it must be a werewolf."

"Oh, you're just trying to scare me," the girl said.

I sprang upon them and had the boy by the throat before he could utter a sound. I shook him until he was dead and limp in my teeth. Then I looked upon the girl, who had fallen and watched with a pale face and wide eyes and open mouth.

Licking the blood from my jowls, my human side began to push forward. I let my face slide until my mouth could form words. She watched it all, disbelieving her own eyes.

"What pretty eyes you have," I growled in the guttural way my half-human throat could produce, then in a blink I was full wolf and I had my jaws around her skull. The bones popped like a grape, and her lovely blood flooded down my esophagus. Ecstasy. I crunched just to hear the sounds, before remembering my plan.

The field was remote enough that I could turn human without anyone to see, and I lifted the two bodies and carried them to where I had stowed a gunny sack. The two children fit inside, and then I carried them farther into the forest. As human, my scent would not alert any hunting dog. The Loupe family, however, would be able to recognize my handiwork.

Shame that I could not remain there to laugh at them: the poor peasant humans and confounded hunters horrified at my effigy, and the Loupe family, who had not yet realized who they were dealing with.

#

# -12-

My stunt had done what I had intended, and much more. By the time I next visited civilization all I heard was talk of the Beast. I begged for scraps in my ragged borrowed clothing and listened.

"The King Commander is sending in the dragoon captain to lead the hunts, Captain Duhamel..."

"...bringing soldiers, cavalry... finally, the government sees the terror we face every day!"

"After what happened in Lagogne?"

"I heard they shot the beast four times, point blank, and the bullets had no effect."

"Then they followed the injured creature, but could not find it before nightfall, and when they continued on the trail the following day, they found..."

"Oh, do not say, it is too horrible!"

"Children. It had killed children, and the body parts were assembled in a neat pile."

"Disgusting! It is not a simple beast then. It must be _loup-garou_. A man who is also a wolf."

"The way it can cast spells on the bullets, I must say that is witchcraft."

I grinned and laughed as I listened, earning only hard stares from the villagers who thought I was simple or insane or both.

The days passed and I waited for the Loupe family to come for me. The more time that passed, the more confident I became that they had finally learned to fear me, and respect me. And the less connected I became with reality.

I was there the day Captain Duhamel arrived, with fanfare and cavalry and entourage. I was there on the day Duhamel set off on his first hunt for the beast, one misty day in mid-November. And then I laughed and laughed and laughed, for the captain would not find his beast in the forest, and the Loupe boys would not find me either, traveling with the massive hunt. If only they had chosen to stay behind, they might have found me.

My throat ached and my stomach hurt from all my laughter.

#

# -13-

It was time to escalate my attacks.

An army was out hunting for me. I had to keep the legend of the beast alive.

To do that, I would need witnesses.

In Saint-Denis, I leapt at a man in the road, in full view of another approaching villager. I merely growled and puffed myself up so he could see that I was no ordinary wolf. I snapped my teeth at him and knocked him down, spilling his cart of grain, then took off into the woods.

Later I would hear the man describe a creature unlike any he had ever seen. "It had a long, long tail, which lashed out at me and knocked me down," he said after several liters of beer bought by the curious audience at the tavern. "Its neck was long, a foot long." He spread his hands apart to illustrate.

"Be gone," a voice said, and a boot pushed me out of the tavern's doorway.

Staggering, I merely grinned and stumbled away. I could still hear the man. "And its fur was striped..."

The following day I attacked several more people in the area, never killing them, nor even injuring them. I allowed them to see me in my full glory. Duhamel's first hunt had been unsuccessful, but now he was gathering for another and I wanted to play.

The entire forest was my playground. I led them deep in. When their guns went off, I feigned being shot, then jumped up and ran faster. I would slow to allow their hunting dogs to catch up, then leave the hounds in my dust.

I knew when Duhamel was not planning to go on a hunt, and those were the days when I would attack. Once, I allowed a man to fight me off with a stick, only to then feel so enraged by the encounter that I ran down an old woman and ripped her head off.

Decapitation became my preferred method of killing. I enjoyed the pop neck bones made as they separated, and the ensuing torrent of blood than ran down my throat. The method horrified the peasants, who knew as well as I that a normal wolf's jaws did not have the strength to rip a head from its shoulders, or crush a skull. The Beast of Gèvaudan was not an ordinary wolf.

"Perhaps it is a panther," suggested one of the hunters late one evening at a tavern in La Bessellade. I had sneaked inside, and using some coins I had stolen from one of my victims to purchase a bottle of wine. Though the barkeep glared at me, more for my stink than appearing too young for drink, I sit unobtrusively in a corner and drank and listened without causing any disturbance, and eventually his attentions drifted elsewhere. "Or a tiger. I have heard some say it is striped, or brindled."

"How would a tiger have arrived in France?" another asked. "The aristocrats may have such a beast in their menageries, but it would be known should one escape, _non_? Or do you suggest this tiger crossed the ocean from Africa, or travelled all the way from India?"

"The Romany have trained beasts," someone suggested.

"This is not the work of a bear," scoffed the first man. "Witnesses say striped coat, long tail and neck. Does this sound like a bear?"

The local priest arrived to give his opinion. "It cannot be a corporeal creature," he announced. "Bullets do not injure it. It has wiles more so than the smartest fox. Clearly, this beast is a man who has made a contract with Satan. Earthly weapons will not have any effect on such a monster."

"You believe this is the work of a werewolf, Father?"

"It is obvious."

"And how, pray tell, shall we rid our country of this werewolf?"

"There is a text, the Malleus Maleficarum, which indicates how to identify a witch, through marks upon his body..."

"Yes, Father, once the offender is in custody. But we have not caught it yet."

The priest interjected. "We must take notice of those in our own communities who do not attend Mass!"

The men laughed. "Father, such a hunt would find many a man here in Gèvaudan."

As the priest appeared perplexed, I finished off my wine and escaped the building. Even that short period of time in civilization was too much for me. I ran until I had passed all the houses with candlelight glowing from their windows, my bare feet crunching through the late November frost. Then, once the arms of the forest welcomed me, I tore off my clothing and put on my fur coat.

#

# -14-

With the onset of winter, I felt sluggish and wanting to sleep. Far off I found a cave where I allowed myself some solid rest. The rocky hills would protect me from the hunts. I slept through the new moon and did not wake for days.

When I did wake, I felt eyes upon me.

My nose detected nothing in my immediate surroundings. Animals had moved to hibernate now, and the world was icy and still with a slight blanket of snow covering all surfaces. In the quiet, my ears strained to perceive who watched me. As my senses failed me, I circled around the mouth of the cave, searching for the voyeur.

I imagined it could be the Loupes, that family with the unfortunate name which alone could lead them to becoming a suspect. My family had never taken a name. We had always been of Soissons, and used the simple surname 'de Soissons.' We, of course, were simple hunters, peasants, and no officials demanded anything of us. The Loupe family, however, had some dealings with the government. They had been chosen to aid Captain Duhamel in his hunts, and were well-known in the area as both hunters and as good businessmen, with their successful tavern and inn.

And yet, I did not believe this watcher had been sent by Abelard. I could find no trace of their pungent enemy scent that had served so well in helping me to evade the hunting parties. Though the Loupes certainly had good reason to hunt me down independent of Duhamel's beast, would even they have been able to escape public notice for long enough to find this spot?

For two days I searched, only to find no trace of any other creature.

My stomach complained, and with no evidence that this watcher had been anything more than my own paranoid imagination, I returned to civilization.

I killed the first human I saw: some middle-aged peasant woman, whose head I tore from her body. Ah, sweet _sang_! Red rivers watered my throat. Ecstasy.

#

# -15-

My drive toward revenge had been all but forgotten; it was a distant memory. Bloodlust was all I knew.

One morning in mid-December I caught scent of something so lovely, so delicious, I immediately began tracking it. A girl, a sweet package of ripe flesh – the first whiff was of an addictive perfume. The longer I traced it, the miles I travelled, the more my hunger grew, the need gnawing at my bones. I had to have her.

It took two days of tracking to find her. I was close, so close. Her scent enveloped me, teased me on the cold winter wind, confused me as it whipped past my nostrils. Alternatively I smelled that sweet, sweet nectar, and something else. Something familiar, but slightly foreign. I stopped, confused, waited, sniffed, smelled Her, that absolute loveliness, and I surged forward again. Then stopped. That odd scent.

I saw her. She was surrounded, others helping her. She and the odd scent were one and the same.

I remained hidden in the bushes, watching as the girl – picture of beauty, fresh and young skin, so creamy and mouth-watering – was escorted to her house. All night I watched, but she did not exit the home. The next day and the next – whenever she left, she was accompanied, usually by men carrying muskets or axes.

Then on the third day, I heard horses clattering down the road. By this time I was starved and half-mad: I could not understand why she smelled so delicious and yet also smelled of something strange, all I wanted was to devour her whole.

I knew who the rider was before he arrived. He had his entourage with him, a collection of men armed with muskets and bayonets and knives. They clattered up to the girl's home and went inside.

Captain Duhamel remained inside for most of the day. I could hear some of the conversation: the girl spoke of being attacked by the beast. Pacing, I tried to recall the past days. Bloodlust had clouded my thinking, but I did not believe I had attacked the girl. I had barely seen her

gleaming auburn curls

never mind been able to taste her. Had I come close enough I might not have been able to restrain myself.

With the captain's men guarding the house and occasionally patrolling, peering into the trees, I had no opportunity to hear Duhamel's interview or receive any more clues as to the girl's testimony.

Nearing the early sunset of the winter solstice, Duhamel emerged from the house and he and his men mounted and rode off. I had been lightly napping and awoke at the clatter of hooves. Stealthily, I followed the men, staying in the forest as best I could, and waiting until the men were out of eyesight when they reached a part of road through open fields. Not earshot, as my sensitive ears could hear the racket from miles away. The men were never so far that I felt concerned that I would lose them.

They had reached an inn in the center of Civergot soon enough, and I was forced to depart to find clothing and turn human. At this time of year, few people hung out their wash, making it much more difficult to abscond with fresh, clean clothing. It was not long before I came across a house with darkened windows and only the faintest smell of humans; peering into the windows, I could see the home was still furnished. The owners must have gone away for the winter, or perhaps had to travel to visit family. Whatever the reason, they had locked their house up and gone, and it was little trouble to smash a window and allow myself access to their dresser drawers. The clothes were ill-fitting, but on the loose side, and there were warm knit socks and boots and a thick sweater to keep off the cold.

Curiously, this family also owned a mirror, a luxury not often seen in many homes. I peered into the dimly reflective surface. I hardly looked a boy of near-fifteen years; my facial hair had grown in and my shoulders were broad from a life of constant exercise and good meals. I had no scissors to neaten my appearance. One drawer yielded a small purse of _livres_ , and I helped myself and made my way down to the inn.

"A room for the night, if you please," I asked of the innkeep, who pretended not to notice my unkempt appearance after I pulled out the purse. He called for his daughter to show me to a room.

The girl had all the makings of a spinster. Homely face, hair that wisped about her head, a frumpy dress that did little to flatter her. And yet my nose detected something sweet about her, so I made some kind words before she parted, and she seemed to appreciate my smile.

I waited until I heard the other patrons moving down to the dining hall for supper before I left my room. Inhaling deeply, I tracked down what I thought might be Duhamel's chamber. The door was unlocked. I stole inside and looked around, my gaze landing on freshly inked parchment. I snatched up the papers and glanced over the words.

In the letter Duhamel had given a description straight from the lips of the sweet girl. She described the Beast as being the size of a young bull, with white neck and white belly, but red fur overall with a black stripe along its back. I knew not what color my wolf pelt was. I had always assumed I was a solid gray, that being the color of my paws and tail. I read on.

Duhamel spent much time on her description of the Beast's six long talons on each paw. "It is not a hyena as theorized," he wrote. "For I have been told that hyenas have but four stubby toes." Six talons? I could not say how many talons I had. Five, like the number of fingers?

I nearly dropped the papers. My brother Martin had an extra finger on each hand. Grandfather had also had six fingers.

The girl had apparently been attacked by this beast and fended off the creature with the use of an axe. She claimed to have split the muzzle of the beast with the blade.

I nearly dropped the papers.

Martin, could he be here? My immediate conclusion was that Martin had been sent by Jean-Pierre to kill me. That would not, however, explain why he had attacked the girl.

Too long I had lingered in Duhamel's chamber. I hurried out silently and joined the supper already in progress. "Master Jean," said the innkeep's daughter, blushing. "I have saved a seat for you."

I smiled at her, eying the empty chair beside her, but my thoughts lay elsewhere. Little did I realize this behavior would keep her attentions. As I chewed thoroughly cooked beef in a stew of vegetables - all the while wishing it were raw - the girl chattered away.

"Where do you hail from, Master Jean?" she asked.

"North," I said. Duhamel sat farther down the long table, speaking loudly of the beast. "Six talons," he repeated several times.

"But the coloring, it is similar to the hyena," one of his men said.

"Which province?" the girl persisted.

I had half a mind to tell her to shut her trap, but I kept a civil tongue. "Soissons," I said, not even looking at her.

"Have you experienced any wolf attacks in the north?" asked one of the Duhamel's men sitting near. "You have heard of the terrible beast which roams the forests of Gèvaudan?"

"I have heard tell, sir," I said. "I am thankful Soissons has not seen such madness."

"Lucky, indeed. There have been nearly fifty attacks from this beast."

"You are certain it is the same creature?" I asked, for I could not help myself.

"Two beasts? Captain, we have considered this theory, have we not?"

Captain Duhamel looked up and gazed down the table at me. "Certainly we have. Not two beasts, but a man and a beast."

"A trained hyena," insisted the man at Duhamel's right.

The captain appeared annoyed. "As I said, Thomas, the beast has six talons, not four. It is not a hyena."

"You believe the testimony of a hysterical girl?" Thomas said.

Duhamel slapped his hand on the table. "She was quite composed when I spoke to her, and she handled the attack better than many men, I would say."

"Perhaps you have found a potential mate." The men laughed at that.

"A hyena?" I asked, playing the part of a simpleton. "What sort of beast is this hyena?"

"One would find them largely in Africa and Asia," Duhamel explained. "Although some aristocrats would almost certainly have one in their menagerie."

"And you believe one has escaped?"

"No, I do not," Duhamel said, wiping his mouth with his napkin. "Good night, gentlemen. Keep in mind that we shall depart early for our hunt tomorrow."

He stood and left.

"Look at what you've done, Thomas," said the man near me. "Your hyena theory has been disproven. Stop angering the captain."

"The girl's testimony means nothing. As though she could recall how many toes the beast had as she fought it off."

"A hyena is a wild beast. You believe it is trained, as well?"

"A trained beast, attacked who its owner pleases."

"Thus we have a killer, and not the random attacks of a beast."

I spoke up. "This sounds absurd. A man with an agenda, killing his victims with a trained hyena?" I shake my head. "I could believe two beasts, simply because of the number of attacks and the area the beast would have to cover." I did not mention that I could travel those distances easily. Any wolf could, really, but a wild creature would not have a reason to do so. "But a man?"

"There have been several instances which have far too much cunning to rule out human involvement."

"Cunning?" I gave a little smile, though I wanted to grin and laugh and beat my chest and say, "I did this!"

"There was an incident in Langogne," Thomas began, only to be interrupted by another man.

"Come now, Thomas, you doubt the girl's word, but you trust that of any other peasants?"

"There was more than one witness," Thomas said, his voice rising. "The witnesses saw the beast take four bullets. The witnesses tried to track the beast down. And the following day, all of the witnesses saw the pile of children's corpses and body parts stacked like firewood! Tell me, which beast stacks its victims but man?"

"What men do you know who do such a thing?" I stood and scraped my chair from the table. "Excuse me."

I did not care if these men would believe me to have a weak stomach. The talk of hyenas bored me. I had only one desire: to track down this second beast. My brother.

#

# -16-

The trail that would have led me straight to Martin was as cold as the air around me. My fur coat warmed me more than the meager clothing I'd worn as a human, however, and I was glad to be free of the stink of humans. My room being paid for in advance, I'd not worried about disappearing in the night; it saved me from the possibility of the innkeep's daughter sniffing around as well.

I went straightaway to the place where the attack was said to have occurred. If the maid had indeed split Martin's face with an axe, surely there would be blood and I could reacquaint myself with his scent.

The moonlight illuminated some evidence of a struggle: broken stalks of grass and shrubbery, scuffles in the dirt and snow. I sniffed the ground. This scent I had smelled before, a brief hint on the wind as I moved from place to place hunting. I had assumed it was memory, but now I realized I had been crossing paths with my own brother. The pine trees of Soissons, smoke and the boiled offal used to tan a hide, and blood.

Likely Martin would be miles away by now. Three days had passed since the attack and Duhamel's arrival.

The scent was faint, and I lost it after less than half a mile. He hadn't been running off in a straight line. How badly had he been injured? The blood trail stopped and I was at a loss. A howl ripped out of me before I could think about it. I called for him, my brother, my lost family, he who had shown his respect for me and his loyalty to my leadership by his actions.

I trotted along, hoping I might smell him again. Then, my ears twitched. Was that...?

An answering howl.

#

# -17-

I smelled him before I saw him.

His fur was a reddish color, with black points and black stripe along the ridge of his back. I recognized him mostly from the girl's descriptions, though now that I saw him, I recognized his coloring from the fateful night when I had my first turning. It had been dark then, and so much of my focus had been on Papa and Allain's attacks, and Martin had always blended in with the middle of our pack.

He smelled me shortly thereafter, and his ears perked my way.

(Georges!)

My legs stiffened, and I slid a few inches in the snow as I stopped. His voice was in my head.

(yes, stupid. Hello!)

I shook my head. Then tested it out.

(Martin?)

(yes, yes, hello brother!)

(how is this happening)

(I don't know. It just happens)

Martin made his way to me, and cautiously I moved toward him.

(how did you find me?)

(why did you find me?)

(It wasn't difficult. You are famous. Infamous. Maman was enraged when she first heard about the attacks.)

(you knew it was me right away?)

(First we thought it might be the Loupe pack, but it didn't make sense. This is their territory, has been for centuries. Jean-Pierre thought the inbreeding might have finally led them all into insanity, but Maman said she had met Abelard Loupe, and the man rules his pack with an iron fist.)

Martin and I were finally face to face, or muzzle to muzzle. I could see crusted blood marring his face, which didn't seem to align correctly. Yet it appeared to be fully healed.

At this moment, I had no idea what to do. How were alphas supposed to greet their pack? Martin made this easy for me. He threw himself down onto his back, presenting his stomach to me. I nodded, and he stood again.

(so they figured it was me?)

(We'd not heard of any other lone wolves. We could all feel it, as well. It is not so easy to sever pack ties.)

(you did not reject my leadership?)

(I made a mistake, brother. I am here to serve you and atone for that sin. I know this to be true: We are powerful creatures, and humans should live in fear of us. You have helped me to see this.)

My chest puffed up at this. I was powerful, and the people did fear me. If Martin could see this, so then could other werewolves. I could amass a pack, and we could rule the world.

(yes yes yes)

(I have killed twelve for you, alpha.)

Martin did a little bow, bending one forepaw and lowering his upper body to the ground.

Twelve? He knew the exact number? My kills were numerous, but I had not kept track of them all. I had spent a lot of time in the red.

(It is a happy time, brother. Christmastide is near, and we can be together with family on this good day)

(let us feast)

# -18-

Captain Duhamel went forth with his men, but they would not find either of us. We had split up, gone in different directions, and killed. All the better to confuse him.

In my head I could not yet feel Martin's presence more than as a faint shadow; Martin told me later that he had killed a toddler, snatching the little boy up in his teeth and shaking him until the neck snapped, all while the mother watched. For my part I had scented something delicious, which turned out to be an effeminate young lad, the foppish sort I imagined would be plentiful among the aristocracy. I ripped his head from his body and drank the fresh blood that coursed down my throat. Several days later, Martin and I hunted again in a similar manner. This time I managed to find a tasty morsel, once I tore through her thick woolen clothes; Martin made several attacks but was unsuccessful. Two small children, protected by their parents.

The intense cold made our wolves sleepy and wanting hibernation, and we laid low for near a week before crawling up out of the snow and approaching the world again. I had a very clear idea of how I wanted to proceed. People would not fear us if we attacked their defenseless children, especially if they could fight us off.

(this time we attack grown women)

Martin did not seem pleased with this.

(What if the women have small children with them? Can I kill the children then?)

I hoped Martin could not feel my disgust.

(Yes. But kill the woman first.)

We split up. I had been practicing in close proximity, and now I was fully able to feel what Martin felt as he raced through the trees. It was a trick necessary to making sure Martin was following my orders.

I found a woman out in her fields, collecting kindling, and took her out swiftly. It had become so much easier since my first attempt, with the cattle. With each victim, I could either rip out the throat or I could fully sink my teeth into their necks and SNAP – off with their heads. This time I let her bleed out. Her blood winked bright red on the fresh snow.

It was after midday. Already the sun was sinking and the tree shadows grown long. After escaping a safe distance from the town, I sought out the bond which connected me to Martin.

He was stalking, searching. He desperately wanted children. He prowled homes out near the forests, sniffing out babies. He'd been doing this for hours – picking up a scent, hunting it down, finding the children indoors. Here was a woman, with three young babes safely behind doors, while she fed the chickens. If he did not kill her now, he would miss his opportunity and have to find another victim.

(Martin, stop searching. Kill now.)

He sighed, sending a yearning thought toward the closed door to the woman's home. Then he did as ordered and lunged at her.

Instead of simply attacking, perhaps eating a bit, Martin killed her slowly. He used his claws to gash her face, her arms, her stomach. After the first minute, the blood loss diminished her screams. Then, to my horror, Martin mounted the woman and rutted her as her life bled out onto the ground.

(They will fear us now, brother)

He called his out to me in his mind, throwing his head back in ecstasy.

(We will rule the world)

#

# -19-

In early January of 1765, as Martin's presence rankled, we were treated to a welcome reprieve: Captain Duhamel's new strategy.

The frost had crusted over the snow fallen earlier in the week, and a large, brutish creature paced back and forth wearing a dress and wig. Scattered through the field were many soldiers of Duhamel's dragoon, "hiding" themselves by wearing sheepskins or other disguises. For hunters, these men were surely stupid. My nose could detect male from female, human from sheep.

For days Martin and I watched this charade go on, laughing and making jokes via the strange communication in our minds.

(they are truly desperate now)

Eventually the men had to give up; the weather conditions were too severe for a man to survive the cold in a gown. The day Duhamel and his men left, I ordered Martin to venture down and make an attack. On this I was testing him.

(attack a child. but do not kill him)

Martin did as asked, and we turned human simply to hear the men discuss the attack later that evening. We laughed and played the part of drunks. Largely we toasted ourselves on what we considered a victory.

The following day, we attacked men. We took turns; this way the witness reports would vary wildly – some describing Martin's coloring, other's describing mine. On January twelfth, I decided that we would split up, and attack in different areas at the same time. Martin went to Chanaleilles, while I headed to Mazel-de-Grezes.

Finally free of my brother and my concern over his choice of victims, I tracked down a sweet girl about a year younger than me. She was ripe as a plump strawberry in the middle of June, and I tore into her, gulping down hunks of her juicy flesh, shuddering with the pleasure. As I made my way back to the caves where Martin and I had agreed to meet, I reflected on this truly perfect day.

I should have known better. I had not bothered to check on Martin through our bond at all, and when he returned to the cave, many hours after I had arrived, his fur was matted with blood. Moreover, he appeared defeated and angry and hungry.

We had stashed some supplies in our cave: clothing, water, matches, firewood, and some hunting tools, stolen from victims or from abandoned homes. I had changed to human and built up a fire, largely because I wanted to revel in my memories of the girl as a human.

"What has happened?" I demanded of Martin, as he came into the cave and collapsed by the fire.

He turned his face away.

"You are not seriously harmed?"

Again, he did not respond, and so I resorted to another method.

(brother, what has happened)

In response he flicked an ear, then turned human. Naked and shivering, and covering in many welts and bruises, he crawled to the pile of clothing and pulled on some woolens and then covered himself in a blanket.

"Martin, why do you not speak to me?"

"You will find out soon enough," Martin muttered, then curled up under the blanket.

Once he was asleep, I stood and shed my own clothing. As wolf I made my way down to Chanaleilles, but by this time it was the middle of night and even the drunkards had made their way home from the taverns. The entire town was eerie and silent and foreboding.

#

# -20-

With Martin not speaking to me, I decided it would be best to part ways. "We can return here at any point, but I feel like roaming the countryside," I tried to explain. "I think perhaps we've become too... predictable? I want to return to that beast who simply wandered and killed what he liked."

Martin's injuries had healed, but he remained cocooned in his blanket. "Fine."

Being away from Martin was a simple way to avoid a problem that I couldn't quite articulate. My immediate thought was that Martin's killing children was wrong. It made me angry. My parents had never given us much by way of morals. Each Sunday we had accompanied them to church, and learned what civilization taught of morals. Thou shalt not kill, thou shalt honor thy mother and father, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife... Yet, it is natural for God's creatures to kill one another. Wolves will fight for territory and leadership, and kill for it. Likewise, men are inclined to war, and killing for the same reasons as wolves. Men killing men, that was natural. Men killing children was wrong.

And yet, I myself had killed children. It was the most heinous crime I knew, until I had seen Martin fucking a corpse. The children, why had the children bothered me so?

I considered this as I killed again and again, and even bit the head off a toddler just to understand. No, it was not the killing of children that bothered me...

Approximately two weeks after Martin's injuries, I turned human and ventured into a town. Martin had said I would find out soon enough. I vowed to gather what knowledge I could about that night.

In Saint-Poncy I visited an inn, and as I inquired about rooms, I asked the innkeep, "Have you had many attacks here?"

"Only a few," the man said. "And no deaths. Some travelers reported being attacked on the road into town, but they managed to fend off the beast."

It was a struggle not to smile. I had attacked those men, and left them so they could continue on their way. Instead, I feigned some trepidation.

"So the beast is close then?"

"Ah, I am not so worried about this great Beast," the innkeep said. "Have you not heard the tale of Portefraix?"

"The name does not ring a bell," I said.

"He's a young boy, lives in Chanaleilles. There was a group of children that day, and the beast attacked the youngest, boy of eight years, dragged him off into the bog. Well, most of the other children were afraid and wanted to run away and leave the little child to his fate. But Portefraix rallied them, and with their work tools they chased the beast and beat the creature until it released the little boy."

"Oh, my," I said. So this was Martin's story. He had attacked children, again, and they had fought him off.

"The beast is not so fearsome as some believe, if a group of children can fend it off. Honestly, it makes me wonder about this captain and his army who cannot find trace of the beast."

"He does seem to be somewhat incompetent." _Like my brother_ , I wanted to add.

"Even the king thinks so. He has proclaimed that the French state will help to hunt down the beast."

"Excellent," I said, though I felt quite the opposite. I went to the little room I had rented and sat upon the bed, thinking.

Here was the problem: it was not that Martin attacked children, but more that he could not always kill them. Children were easy kills, as were the young, and usually women were easy as well – especially when not guarded by cattle. That moment still shamed me. I liked to believe I was more skilled now, a better hunter, and that first time was a mere fluke. After all, if I left a victim alive, it was for my own reasons. Martin, on the other hand, seemed to have difficulty. And this story, that of Portefraix, now had the populace believing the beast was not fearsome, but rather a nuisance.

I sighed and flopped back on the mattress, looking up at the timbers in the ceiling. I had begun this rampage as a means to incriminate the Loupe family – a plan which had never truly begun, as I had never procured a wolf pelt to hide among their possessions. I had been so naive then, it was hard to believe it was less than a year before that I had believed the townspeople would go marching onto Abelard's property and find the wolf pelt and convict the whole lot of witchcraft. How could I have even managed to cast suspicion on Abelard or his sons in order to warrant a search? Abelard was careful. His pack followed rules. They did not prey on humans, and they did not mate with outsiders. His participation in the hunts only meant that he was present and accounted for, and above suspicion.

Unless...

Imagine if Abelard were to shoot his own son while on the hunt. Even if another hunter shot Abelard's son, Abelard would have to react. If I could perhaps befriend the Loupe boys, perhaps go to them with my problem of Martin... I could earn their trust. We could hunt Martin together, but in the end I could betray them. And perhaps I would solve my problem of Martin along the way.

I had no idea if a wolf, once shot, returned to his human form. If that was the case, this plan would work splendidly.

# -21-

I made my way back to Langogne. This time I would be direct: I would walk up to the Loupe's front door. Abelard would still be away, with several of his sons, but not all of them. For the past two days I had managed to remain human, and had even taken a razor to my hair. I was the most civilized I had been since that first night I turned wolf.

"Who are you?"

I had not even reached the vicinity of the house when I heard the voice from the thick foliage surrounding the place. Had someone been hiding out, watching for me? My hands shaking, I raised them up, showing I had no weapons. "Please, I know I was forbidden to return, but I need Abelard's help."

A boy came from the bushes. He was roughly my age, though slighter and shorter than me. "You are Georges de Soissons, then."

"Yes. Please, I need to speak with Abelard. He is your father, yes?"

"Abelard is not here. You must go."

"Please, I need help. Might I speak with someone else? Fallon, or Lucien?"

"You could speak with my mother."

A woman? No. "Perhaps you could... help me?"

The boy folded his arms. "Papa wants you dead. Honestly, you have the nerve to come here, after all you've done?"

"He has the wrong idea about me," I pleaded. "He believes I am to blame for all of these attacks. I did make some... mistakes... when I first turned wolf. I had no one to teach me. But after your father told me to leave, I did." Hopefully this son hadn't heard too many details about the incident last fall. I had purposely left my scent there for Abelard's sons to find. "I went south. Then I heard of all these attacks, and I returned to figure out who this beast could be. And I found him."

The boy cocked his head. "You found the beast? Did you perhaps look in a mirror?"

I sighed. "Listen... what is your name?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"You know my name."

The boy hesitated. I had a feeling he had been instructed to kill me on sight, but given that he was alone and not calling for help meant that he wasn't sure he could kill me. And he wasn't sure I wasn't telling the truth.

"I am called Gregoire."

"Hear me, Gregoire. I am just as appalled as you. Children murdered, so many attacks, some victims even ravaged – I met with Captain Duhamel, the man who–"

Gregoire looked bored. "I am well aware of who he is."

"It was shortly after an attack on a young woman who claimed to have split the beast's muzzle with an axe." I pointed to my own face. "Do you see a scar?"

"We don't get scars," Gregoire retorted.

"My brother Martin has a scar now," I said, tracing a line across my face. "A thin line, where his fur does not grow. Furthermore, the description Duhamel gathered from the young lady was of a beast with my brother's markings. In particular, she insisted that the beast had six talons on each paw." I held up my hand. "Martin has six fingers on his hands."

Gregoire did not appear bored any longer.

"You found your brother, then, after the attack?" he asked.

"Yes. I followed the trail of his blood. He was thrilled to see me. He wanted me to join him on his killing spree. I had to lie and tell him I would go kill on my own and meet up with him later. Instead I came here."

Gregoire gestured for me to follow him into his house. "Come. It is too cold to stand outside talking without our wolfskins on."

He opened the door and called out. "Maman! We have a visitor."

Maman Loupe stepped into the room with a musket on her shoulder aimed at me. "No need to shout, Gregoire. You know how senstive my ears are." She cocked the gun. "And my nose."

Once again I raised my hands in surrender.

"Maman, Georges has come to us for help –"

"Shh. You, boy. You say you came straight here after your brother demanded you join him?"

I swallowed. "Yes."

"I can smell when you lie," she said. "That girl was attacked in the middle of December. You know what month we are in?"

"February," I mumbled.

"Exactly. It is the first of February. This is why I do not trust you to be in my home. You have done your fair share of killing, have you not?"

I put as much feeling as I could into my words, and tried not to let the fear of Maman Loupe's musket affect me. "Please, madame, I have not killed... much. I admit I did allow my brother to bully me into helping him. But finally now I was able to escape his immediate influence. He is much more dangerous than I am. Older, more skilled. Moreover, he enjoys killing babies and small children. We must stop him before it is too late."

"And you are so weak you cannot kill him yourself?"

"I have tried and failed," I said.

"Maman, we can help him! Papa would like nothing more than to kill the beast. Georges says he has a plan to meet up with his brother again. All we would need to do is lie in wait."

Finally Maman Loupe lowered her gun. "Your father will need to decide. He will be home tomorrow."

In the meantime, Maman Loupe told me I could eat supper with them and sleep in the barn. "I will be barring the doors to the house," she told me, shoving some scratchy, stinky blankets into my arms. "My husband is on his way. If he should find that you have harmed any of us, or even one feather on any of our chickens, he will kill you."

Abelard had not followed through with his previous threat. He must have known I was still in Gèvaudan, and yet he, like Duhamel, had not killed the Beast. But I nodded meekly, and accepted their charity, and in the night I pulled out the piece of wolf pelt and hid it in their barn. I hadn't been able to find a single wolf all summer. On my trek to the Loupe farm, I had come across one's path. Easy kill – it was half-starved from the winter.

The night cold chilled me to the bone, and thoughts of facing Abelard again made my mind race, so once the moon had risen into the stars, I removed my clothing and turned wolf and slept in furs.

I heard Abelard coming long before he arrived. As human I broke through the thin layer of ice in the trough for the one cow and scrubbed the sleep from my face. He was still on the road, in a cart driven by a skittish horse. When he suddenly urged the horse faster, I knew he had smelled me.

I composed myself, made sure I was dressed and civilized looking, then sat on one of the milking stools and waited.

He blew past Maman Loupe and Gregoire and nearly tore the barn door off its hinges. "How dare you!" he roared, and then he was on me. His hands closed around my throat.

do not fight do not fight

My wolf had been tightly controlled yesterday, but this physical assault was more than my wolf could bear silently. He growled in my throat. I clenched my teeth and kept my balled fists at my side. Abelard would not simply kill me. Gregoire and his mother would stop him before that happened. I refused to fight.

"You dare come into my home, you filthy murderer," Abelard spat, shaking me, then letting me go long enough to allow me to gasp in a lungful of air before he punched me in the face. An explosion went off in my suddenly black vision. When it cleared I was down in the hay, reeling.

When my hearing returned, I could hear Maman Loupe speaking rapidly to Abelard. "...is another wolf who is killing children..."

Abelard looked down on me, then reached down. I made sure to flinch as he grabbed a fistful of my shirt and hauled me to standing.

"Another wolf? Your brother?"

"Yes," I gasped. That part was not an act. "His name is Martin."

"And would he perhaps be the red and black wolf who has been seen?"

I nodded.

"I have long suspected you had an accomplice. After all, my sons told me your wolf is a burnished gray. Might have been that some could call your fur red, but not likely. Not with the black markings too."

"Please, he forced me to—"

Abelard casually smacked me in the face. This time my wolf was harder to force down.

"Save your breath," he said. "He didn't force you to do anything. You killed Jean de Soissons, a man-wolf who has ruled that territory for over eighty years. He was extremely powerful, and you, a thirteen-year-old pipsqueak, killed him like it was child's play. Your brother Martin, who did not kill your father, and would submit to you as his alpha, could not possibly force you to follow his orders."

I did not know what to say to that, so I kept quiet. Part of me got stuck on the words "eighty years." Papa had never mentioned that werewolves lived so long. Nor that he himself had lived so long.

"But, you wish him to be killed. I wish this also. I don't care if this is because you are such a weak alpha you cannot control him, or if this is some kind of revenge for your family, but I will help you in this."

"You will?" Could Abelard possibly be so stupid?

"Why is that so surprising? We want to kill the beast who endangers all of us who can turn wolf." Abelard's black eyes bored into me. "Is that not also your goal?"

"Yes," I said slowly. "Yes, of course. Martin is sloppy and careless and if we do not stop him, he will—"

"Shut up," Abelard commanded, and I felt something strange in me then, something I had not felt since I had killed Papa.

kill him

I jerked backward and took several steps away from Abelard. It was all I could do not to lunge out of my skin and sink my fangs into him.

The man gazed at me with a small, knowing smile. "Yes, you are an alpha, aren't you."

#

# -22-

Captain Duhamel was planning a large hunt in just a few days. "Enormous," Abelard said, spreading out a map of the region. "He has called for all able hands in over 100 villages. There will be thousands out searching for the beast. Most of these will only have pickaxes and shovels, but there will be a few gunmen... myself included. It is likely your brother may be caught no matter if I help or no."

"Bullets don't seem to hurt him," I said. When Abelard raised an eyebrow, I amended, "Me. I heal very quickly. Wouldn't that be the same for Martin?"

"I am certain you are a good deal stronger than he. Bullets are the best weapon we have, although in close quarters a knife or axe or sword is even better. A wolf can die of blood loss if he sustains grievous wounds... but in any case, it is wise to decapitate the creature to insure its death."

I pointed out the location of the cave where Martin and I had planned to meet. From the bond I knew Martin had not killed since we had parted ways. Perhaps he was ashamed still of his loss against a band of children. He should have been, anyway.

We came up with a plan. I would go with Abelard and his sons to the area near the Truyere River. There, I would use the bond to call to Martin for help. The hunters would lie in wait there, and once the wolf emerged, it would be simple as shooting fish in a barrel.

For the days in between, however, I was forced to sleep in the barn and share space with the Loupe clan. By the day of the hunt, I was ready to jump out of my skin, and had in fact spent several hours each night running as wolf and hunting small game. Creatures like muskrat, raccoon, and wild boar were far more difficult kills than humans, and I found that I enjoyed honing my skills, even if I disliked the taste.

The sky was dark when we awoke on the morning of the hunt. Snow fell gently as we loaded our weapons and gear into the wagon. It was not overly cold; in fact I was sweating by the time Abelard slapped the reins against the horse's back. Then I found myself shivering as I sat idle in the wagon.

The cave was far from the beaten path. Not difficult for wolf legs, but for humans struggling through the snow and burdened with supplies, it was nearly a days' trek.

I found this natural setting much more amenable than the Loupe's territory. Not as much stink, though I was still surrounded by then. Abelard and all five of his sons, sniffing occasionally and looking at me suspiciously, especially Fallon and Lucien. I had a feeling they knew more than Abelard what I had done after I had promised to leave. How much had they told their father? In turn I felt my nerves humming, waiting for a betrayal. It didn't help that the forest was crawling with other hunters as well, small groups of eight or ten, beating the tree trunks they passed with their sabers and hoes. The noise was driving me crazy – as it was intended.

Around noon the snow stopped and we decided to have lunch. Maman Loupe had packed all of us sausage and bread and cheese.

"How much farther?" asked one of the younger boys, Roland.

"About half a day's hike," Abelard replied.

Lucien made a face. "I'm not looking forward to sleeping outside in this weather."

"With any luck we'll be far enough from the other hunters that we can turn," Abelard said.

I hid a smile. I could only imagine what havoc would occur should a human stumble upon a pack of wolves surrounded by clothing.

The afternoon was quiet. We hiked in a tighter group now that a fog had risen from the snow. Men had lit lanterns that looked like floating orbs among the trees. I could not see the men, but heard and smelled them.

We heard the water long before we would reach the river. By now we had outdistanced most of the other hunting groups. Abelard called for a halt. "You should turn now, and we will pretend to chase you," he told me.

"Turn?" I asked. That had not been part of the plan.

"Yes. You think your brother will not be able to figure out that you are not in danger if you are still human? You must play the part of the wolf who is about to be killed."

"I'm not sure it works that way," I said. "I've never been able to 'see' what he does. I can only hear his thoughts."

"You do not know anything about being a wolf," Abelard said with contempt.

"How do I know you won't try anything?" I asked him. "Once you have my clothes, I will have to stay a wolf, or risk all of these hunters seeing me turn. Or seeing my nakedness and coming to the conclusion that I am a werewolf."

Abelard cocked his head and smiled. "You will have to trust us."

I narrowed my eyes and considered my options.

My plan had been much safer, for me. I had imagined I would simply call Martin, and Martin would arrive looking for me. Instead of finding me, he would find the hunters who would kill him while I watched from a safe hiding place.

This plan of Abelard's, however, might still work, especially if he was correct in Martin being able to see or feel that I was not wolf. When he arrived, he would see that I was truly in danger and he could help. And yet, this plan was risky for me. If any other hunters came along, they might believe I was the beast and try to kill me instead. I would not be able to turn until I was alone, and even then, I would need to be alone and with the Loupe family so that I could have my clothes.

A large part of me did not trust Abelard. What was I to do now? He and his sons had muskets. I had an axe. They could kill me easily for refusing to go along with this plan.

I sighed, exhaling a plume of steam into the air.

"All right."

#

# -23-

The moment I removed my clothing, my skin beaded up with moisture. With the eyes of the Loupe pack on me, I folded each article and laid it in a neat pile at the base of a tree, where there was a little crook that might hide it from casual observers. I let them look at my naked body, at the muscles I had built up over the past year. I hoped Fallon and Lucien could see how much I had grown since they had last seen me in this state.

I made my turning swift. There were no other hunters within a mile – this I knew from smell alone – and yet I did not wish to chance anyone seeing. As I turned toward them, between one breath and the next, I became wolf. From the way Fallon blinked at me, I knew it had impressed him.

As per the plan, I attempted to reach Martin through the bond.

(Martin—)

Abelard raised his gun. A click snapped through the air as he cocked it.

I stood still, waiting, my ears twitching and senses on high alert.

He drew in a breath, and the finger of his leather glove squeaked slightly.

I sprang out of the way just as a bullet hit the snow.

The chase was on.

The bond between Martin and I snapped tight and I felt him thrumming inside my brain.

(Martin, help me)

I ran toward the river. Yes, it was part of the plan. I was supposed to run toward the river and get trapped. As if a wolf could not swim! I did not have the time to consider another option.

My wolf was faster than the Loupe pack on foot, and if I could get closer to another group of hunters, they would be prevented from turning and chasing me down as wolves. Granted, this plan was hatched as I dodged (and didn't dodge) their bullets, but keep in mind that guns in those days could hold only one or two rounds, and were not as accurate as they are today. I knew that I would not die from a bullet unless it hit my heart. So I continued running even when I felt the sting of bullets in my hide.

(MARTIN)

I hit the river full force. The icy cold, thankfully, took away any sting of the wounds I had sustained. My paws churned the water with a heavy numbness.

(Georges, I am coming)

The current pushed me under; I clawed my way to the surface, choking. Dimly I could hear voices that were unfamiliar.

"...heard shots..."

Then Abelard's voice, "We spotted a wolf. It has escaped into the river."

"There should be a group on the other side."

The river carried me farther and farther away from the voices. I had not realized the Truyere River was quite so wide, or was it simply that cold had set in and confused my mind? Finally, my paws touched the rocky bottom of the opposite shore, and I dragged myself out.

Everything felt heavy and numb and I wanted to sink into the snow and sleep. A group of hunters was supposedly waiting for me on this side – Abelard's safe guard, I assumed – and yet I could not force myself to care.

(Brother, I am coming)

His voice was the loudest thing in my head. With one last heave, I got my hind end out of the water and I crawled into the bushes on the side of the river. Good enough cover as any.

In my head I could hear his footfalls pounding on the forest floor, vibrating like they carried through the ground, loud as hoofbeats. And still my eyes slipped closed.

#

# -24-

I awoke with a start, what seemed like mere minutes later. Footsteps crashing through the trees. I collected my legs beneath me and, after a long moment where I wasn't sure I could do it, I bolted from the bushes and ran.

There were humans around, hunters, yet through the fog I could not see them. Their calls echoed oddly in the mist and confused me, but I kept north and headed straight for the cave.

(Brother, help me)

I nearly stopped dead in my tracks. Martin was in trouble now? Or could Abelard somehow have turned my own plan around on me?

Determining that I was momentarily safe by the lack of scent around me – this apart from an odd decaying scent that I feared came from our cave – I focused all of my energy into the bond. I pushed my consciousness through it. Abelard had told me it was possible to see through another's eyes in the bond... I would uncover whether or not he had lied to me. If he had, he would pay for making me a fool.

Eyes closed, all I saw was darkness. I heard Martin calling again

(help me they mean to kill me)

I felt a sharp sting in my side, and I opened my eyes to look. No mark. I closed my eyes again, and concentrated.

A thrumming shuddered throughout my body, and my muscles had this feel of running – similar to if I were dreaming of running and woke up suddenly. No images. Nothing but a wince of pain in my side and twitchy muscles.

I opened my eyes and, feeling the tug of where my brother was being attacked, ran.

All I saw was red.

#

# -25-

Despite my anger, I did not reach the hunting party and rip Abelard to shreds. I met Martin first, arriving with all the urgency that proved this brother's loyalty. Martin slowed when he saw me, sides heaving. His fur was matted with blood, though from what I'd seen, it did not affect his running much.

(you're hurt)

He sniffed the air.

(I'll live)

(I will kill them)

Martin cocked his head.

(They are coming. We can easily outrun them... there are too many for the two of us to kill)

He began running, and with a glance back in the direction of the hunters, I followed.

That night, I began to have the distinct feeling that Martin knew... something. He paced the cave and watched me when he thought I wasn't looking. As for myself, I thought only of revenge. I wanted to rip out Abelard's throat and watch his choke on his own blood while his wife and sons watched. I wanted him to live just long enough to see his precious family become part of my pack.

That revenge so consumed my thoughts that I barely noticed when Martin left the cave. He went out during the day, and returned at night, until one day when he went out and did not return.

#

# -26-

I followed his trail. It led directly north, which made me instantly suspicious. He had stayed to the forest, with a few forays out which I avoided. Rather I stayed on the direct path, knowing and dreading that this path led home, to Soissons.

When I tried to feel Martin through the bond, I heard but a curious emptiness. It was as if I could feel his presence, feel that he was alive, but could not go beyond that. A wall. He had walled me off from his thoughts. I had no wish to speak to him, given that he had run off, and run toward home.

Over a year had passed since I had made this journey. It had seemed like I had come so far, when I had ended up in Gèvaudan; now, running with stronger muscles used to being a wolf, I made the journey in only two days.

The smells hit me before I even saw our home. Familiar scents, pine and fur and smoked meat. I looked down on our little cabin from the forest. How strange that once I lived in such a small space with eight others. The wind had changed, and now the stink of them was overpowering.

Martin, I could smell, had reached home.

I approached the house as wolf. I heard not a voice within. When I reached the windows, still hearing no voices, I put my paws up on the wall and peered inside.

Five faces looked back at me. I dropped down, blinking. My mother, my brothers, all there? All waiting... for me?

"Turn human and come inside, Georges," Maman said. She had not raised her voice, but my sensitive wolf ears heard it all the same.

Shame inflamed my body. I did as she asked, automatically, a reflex from so many years of youth and not even time on my own. Then I entered the house through the back door.

They sat around the dining table, three brothers on one bench, three brothers on the other, and Maman at one head of the table. All eyes followed me as I entered and took the seat at the other end of the table. The worn wood where my father sat for twenty years every night felt warm against my bare legs.

Martin sat to Maman's left. He glared at me with red-rimmed eyes.

My rage gathered up beneath me. Martin believed I had betrayed him. The others, they saw me as an enemy. And what had I done? I had done things in the natural order, and they had turned me into a villain.

It was Jean-Pierre who spoke, seated at Maman's right. "It has become clear that we made a very poor decision in allowing you to leave," he said.

"Perhaps if you were a real alpha wolf, who won his position by being the strongest fighter and wisest leader, it never should have happened," I retorted. "I am only happy you have finally realized that I am your true alpha."

Jean-Pierre slammed his fist on the table. "You are no one's alpha!"

"I am your true alpha," I said quietly. "I killed Papa. You belong to me. The fact that you chose to deny this," I looked around at all the faces, "that ALL of you chose to deny this, shows how cowardly you all are."

"You are not any true alpha." Maman's voice was quieter even than mine.

I stared at her.

As she stood, many thoughts crossed through my mind, most about how I had killed her husband. I had killed her mate. I deserved her scorn.

"Your father was not the alpha of this pack," she said. "A fact which you might have known had you allowed him to live." Upon seeing the blank look on my face, she added, "Do you know who the alpha is now?"

I recalled my brothers begging me to spare Papa's life. How they had told me it was not necessary. I had known so little about what it meant to be alpha, or the ranking of wolves in a pack. I knew so little still.

"You are the alpha," I said to my mother.

She dipped her head. "I am."

I rose to my feet and gazed at her across the table, she in her brown work dress and apron, and I wearing nothing but skin. "Then you are who I need to kill."

#

# -27-

Jean-Pierre jumped to his feet, along with Etienne and my third-eldest brother, Jean-Baptiste. "You will do no such thing," Jean-Pierre growled. Etienne and Jean-Baptiste simply began unbuttoning their shirts.

"Did you know, Maman, that Papa begged me to kill him?" I asked her. Her eyebrows widened in surprise. "Yes. He told me he could not live with this shame. Was it the shame of one of his sons finally defeating him?" I cocked my head. "Or was it the shame of being second to a woman?"

Maman's mouth tightened. "You are ignorant," she spat. "You know nothing of history. You call upon the backwards customs of humans and think they apply to us?" She laughed, cruelly. "You are a spoiled, stupid child."

"And you are an old woman," I managed to say before my mouth widened and lengthened and became incapable of speech.

In a flash I was beast, the Beast, and I ripped out the throat of my brother Etienne, who had not even begun to turn. Next it was Bernard's blood I spilled across our dinner table. By the time I reached Jean-Baptiste, my vision had turned red. Three brothers remained to fight me and protect Maman.

Jean-Pierre sank his teeth into my back as I lunged at Jean-Baptiste. With my teeth in one brother's throat, I used my claws to slash at Jean-Pierre. One ear tore loose, causing Jean-Pierre to howl in agony – and release me in the process.

I pulled out Jean-Baptiste's trachea, his blood trickling down my throat. I imagined his blood lending me strength, and I darted behind his falling body, using it as a shield.

Martin finally stood before me.

Martin's red fur, his red-tinged eyes, his six toes: I hated him. He was the betrayer, not me. He was the child killer and the rapist. But he was also weak.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jean-Pierre rising to his feet, the side of his head matted with blood. Then Maman appeared behind those two, looming like a great silver ghost. Her wolf was enormous, a behemoth.

For a long moment they allowed me to realize that the odds were not in my favor. Three to one, and I was the youngest and least experienced of them all.

Then I leapt at Maman.

She reared up and caught me in her paws. Fang to fang, we danced, until Martin and Jean-Pierre began attacking my sides and back. Luckily, my vulnerable belly was safe against Maman's. She snapped her teeth at my muzzle, most likely aiming for my neck just as I twisted my head to get at hers.

I got my mouthful of the ruff of her neck. She had a hold on mine as well, but she didn't have the wall at her back. Using my hind legs, I pushed off the wall and then used my full body weight to pull her down. Jean-Pierre was crushed under me, and I rolled and dragged Maman around so that she knocked Martin off of me, his teeth slipping from my fur though his claws still dug into me.

In a frenzy I twisted and fought and got a choke hold on Maman's neck. She raked my chest with her claws. Martin's teeth sank deep into my thigh but I refused to cry out in pain and release Maman, whose frantic movements told me she could not breathe. I swatted Jean-Pierre away, feeling a soft squelching as I gouged out one of his eyes.

Then Maman's claw found a weakness, and with her dying breath she ripped open my belly.

My stomach plummeted - queasiness overcame me as my stomach literally fell. I would not release her. I pressed one paw to the gelatinous mass of offal bulging from my belly, and with the strength of pure adrenaline, I pulled with my teeth.

Maman's neck ripped open. The kitchen where I had grown up and taken meals with my family was showered with her life blood.

Martin howled and released my leg to attack my face. The adrenaline and the shock of my own sudden blood loss had crystallized my vision. I saw him coming as if in slow motion, and I simply pulled back my paw and sliced his neck open.

Behind me, Jean-Pierre was gathering himself again. Clearly, so clearly, I saw the sledgehammer leaning against the wall, the one Papa once used to crack open animal skulls in order to remove the brains for cooking. I needed a human hand, and in amazement, my paw became my hand as I reached for the weapon. Grasping it, I was already swinging it toward Jean-Pierre, who could not see what I was doing. The heavy head of the instrument blasted through his skull and knocked it off his spinal column so it bent at an unnatural angle.

Now fully human, I staggered to my feet, one arm still curled around my stomach, containing that which should remain inside. Martin. Where was Martin? I could not smell him over the scent of so much death. Then I saw the back door open. Of course. The coward would run from me.

I lay down on the floor, allowing gravity to pull my inner organs back to their places. My fingers, slippery with blood, pushed at the edges of the skin until they met again.

Our house was not so large, and Maman's sewing basket was nearly within my grasp. Growling in agony, I forced the fingernails on one hand to grow into claws and dug them deep into my skin, holding the wound closed. With my other arm, I rose to my elbow and pushed with my feet to slide closer.

Yes. Needle and thread, needle already threaded. My head fell back as I silently thanked whatever god there was.

The sewing hurt less than the wound and the claws holding my skin together, but the task was made difficult by the blackness creeping in at the edges of my vision. Soon it began pulsing in and out in the rhythm of my heartbeat. As I pushed the needle through for the final stitches, an odd sensation began deep inside of me.

My stomach was _growling_.

#

# -28-

Jean-Pierre's leg sprawled closest to me, and I pulled it -and the rest of him - toward me. Meat. He smelled like delicious meat. I craved it. And I did not allow myself to think anything more. My body writhed and shuddered and twisted into something half-man and half-wolf, with sharp teeth and an insatiable appetite. I stripped my brother's leg to the bone, and then, feeling better and hungry still, I crawled to his torso and tore into that soft tissue. He could not stop his innards from spilling to the floor. The rich, dense tissue of his kidneys and pancreas and liver slid down my throat in a delectable stew with a thick broth of blood.

I had not eaten on my journey from Gèvaudan to Soissons, and now I gorged myself. All those choice cuts of meat I often did not eat while growing up because my parents and brothers took them before me, I ate those from my brothers and my mother. The innards followed, and from Jean-Pierre I devoured pure brain matter. I ate until I became concerned that my stitches would burst, then I flopped down on the floor and slept.

I know not how long sleep took me. I only know that I awoke at morning's first light, my belly sore and a thick worm of a scar grown beneath the stitches. Sitting up, I felt little pain.

Martin's scent became clearer when I exited the house. He had been bleeding, and that helped. It only occurred to me after a mile of walking that I was fully naked and covered in blood. I laughed.

Then I turned wolf.

I followed the trail down to Septmont, moving a quick trotting run. My brain caught snatches of Martin's thoughts, as if he tried to hide them from me but could not. Once I reached the outskirts of Septmont I saw why. He had attacked a pregnant woman, whose corpse lay upon the ground amidst a crowd of people. I could smell the ripeness of her. There was so much blood that I nearly could not believe my coward of a brother had actually killed a woman in this way. Then I saw that one of the men was a priest, and in their hands they held a tiny, bloody baby, and they were baptizing it.

As I watched the drama unfold, I saw Martin race out of trees nearby and attempt to attack a boy standing near his mother, not three hundred feet from the first victim.

(Fool)

I watched as Martin registered my presence. The surprise allowed the woman and her boy to easily deflect his attack. By the time Martin would figure out where I was, I had disappeared from view.

For the rest of that day, and the following, I watched as a ghost while Martin blindly attacked. His thoughts were disordered. I could not begin to know what had been the turning point for him; I only knew that whether it was the indignity of young Portefaix, or my betrayal, or watching his family be murdered, Martin had gone mad. He attacked men who easily fought him off, two young boys together whom he only managed to wound. He moved from Septmont to Courcelles to Bazoches, where the villagers began to see the urgency of the situation and set up ambush. One girl wounded ran screaming for help. He fought a chained dog, who broke the chain and chased Martin into a barn where he killed a cow and a servant therein. He nearly ripped a girl's head off.

I knew not where he was running to, though I began to surmise that he ran from me. He could sense me coming for him and he had panicked. The villagers believed him to be a rabid wolf. Finally, one man cornered Martin in a narrow lane with only a pitchfork. Martin sprang at him, but the man stepped aside then pinned my brother's head to the ground. My own throat constricted, feeling the ache of pain that surely must have been fiery agony to Martin.

This man waited an agonizing fifteen minutes before the villagers arrived to help him kill the beast. The whole time Martin struggled to stand, a pitchfork tine piercing straight through his neck into the ground. The whole time, he could see me watching him from the forest.

I left before they killed him, but I knew the moment he died.

It felt like a splinter being removed.

#

# -29-

Now freed from Martin and the shackles of my family, I returned to Gèvaudan. Along the way, I killed here and there, for I found that I felt weak if I did not. I killed violently and without mercy.

As I neared Longogne, my pace slowed. My ears constantly twitched, scanning for sounds of an enemy, my nose close to the ground to pick up any stray scent that might warn me of danger. I knew there was a new captain of the hunt, a Captain D'Enneval. And I knew Abelard Loupe could still be looking for me.

In a river I turned human long enough to scrub off most of the blood that still clung to my skin. Two miles later, I stole clothes drying on a line outside.

Then I made my way into town.

The spring evening was unusually warm, and the townspeople were enjoying the good weather. The streets were full of men and women who had spent the long winter cooped up and shivering. They laughed and the sound brayed in my sensitive ears.

Abelard's tavern was full of happy drunks sloshing their beer around in steins and pulling long draughts from wine bottles. When I walked through the door, the volume became muffled. Abelard had seen me, or smelled me, instantly.

Heads turned to look.

I knew Abelard had somehow influenced them. Rage boiled over from his person and infected all in its path. He slammed the beer glass he was washing down on the counter, but with his eyes bulging and veins throbbing in his neck, he was incapable of speech.

I raised my arm and pointed at the bartender. "This man," I announced, "attacked me!"

Pulling at the hem of my shirt, I revealed the grievous wounds which were now scars painted with drying blood.

The crowd had gone completely silent. A few patrons turned and looked at Abelard questioningly.

"He did not attack me as a man!" I continued. "But as a beast! This man is the Beast of Gèvaudan!"

That set the crowd to talking again. Some shrugged and returned to their liquor. Others whispered the words "werewolf" and "beast" and squinted their eyes at Abelard.

"Clearly those are old wounds," Abelard said, not bothering to raise his voice. "Look, they are nearly healed!"

"When did this attack happen?" someone asked.

I ignored the question.

"If you look in his barn, you will find the evidence. He wears a belt made of wolfskin to turn into the beast. His sons help him."

Fallon emerged from the kitchen. "What are you doing, Georges?" he asked.

"You had best leave now," Abelard said. "You are clearly drunk and speaking lies."

"Look in his barn," I said to the people as I backed out. "Look and you will find it."

#

# -30-

From far up the hill I watched as Abelard and his family searched the barn. They found the offending pelt and burned it. While the flames roared, I left for other parts of Gèvaudan to ravage.

Months later, I would return to the Loupe farm, and find it deserted. A neighbor told me they had gone to the new country of America. "Why?" I asked. The neighbor did not know.

With the Loupes gone, and my own family gone, I had free reign over the countryside. Captain D'Enneval was little threat to me. On a fine spring day I came upon a festival and killed several people before the villagers could muster up a defense. Oh, had I human mouth at the time I might have laughed as young Jacques Denis, a partner in D'Enneval's hunts, came at me with a bayonet. I did not back down, and watched the horror grow in his eyes as my wounds healed nearly as fast as they were created. Only when more hunters and dogs arrived did I run off. Scarcely a month later, D'Enneval was gone, replaced by Francois Antoine, the king's personal gun bearer.

By this time, however, I was bored. Bored of how easy it was to kill, and tired of this chase. The New World held much glamour, especially in the light of the political situation in France, which in a few years would lead to a revolution. In France there was no place for a young man with no education or money or status to go. America, however, was full of ambitious people. If one could survive in America, one could move up in social status.

I did not relish the idea of spending months on a cramped boat, unable to turn wolf, but options were limited. I made my way to the seacoast and found work aboard a cargo ship.

Six weeks of nothing but sea and salt and sweaty bodies. My throat thirsted for more than the beer we drank after the water went sour. Once land was sighted, I could hardly keep from turning wolf and jumping overboard. Instead I shuffled off the ship along with the others, and kept shuffling until I reached the forest, and then I shuffled off my clothes and disappeared.

#

# -31-

I heard, years later from gossipy French Canadian trappers, that Antoine killed a number of large wolves in Gèvaudan, but the wolf attacks continued until a hunter by the name of Chastel took down a beast with a prayer and a silver bullet. These hunters spoke of the Beast of Gèvaudan as if he were a legend, maybe real, maybe not.

"My _grand-père_ , he was there," one of the trappers said. "He saw the beast with his own eyes."

"Surely these tales have been exaggerated," said another. "They say it killed hundreds. _C'est impossible_."

However impossible, the silver bullet myth meant that when locals did suspect a werewolf in their midst, they shot at me with bullets that barely pierced my thick skin. Marvelous.

America had plenty of lovely young things, tasty morsels to devour, and the rampant wilderness allowed me to feed at will, without consequence. Decades passed, I traveled constantly, not caring to settle down, and it wasn't until the mid-1800s that I began to notice civilization creeping in on me. I had been wolf for years, never turning human, and it wasn't until I did turn human again that I was able to think and realize how lonely I was. I still appeared as a younger man of perhaps thirty years, though I was much, much older.

I traveled south, for hunting and avoidance of people had led me far north, into Canada. And now my nose caught scent of something familiar. There, in the wilds of a barely settled, not-yet-a-state Montana, I discovered the Loupe family.

So many years had passed that I imagined the Loupes who had threatened me and hunted me were long dead, and boldly I crept close to their little settlement, a collection of cabins lodged deep in the mountains. The scent was so familiar I began to worry that perhaps Abelard was still alive somehow, in the same manner that I still lived.

This settlement housed not only the Loupes, but a handful of other families as well. I watched as they farmed, and hunted, and traded. My presence gave them minor alarm. I could not tell if they had ever scented another werewolf before. Night after night I crept close to the house where the Loupe family slept, peering through the windows, seeking the source of that familiar scent. There were two young girls in the family, but too young for my tastes. No, this was the scent of one I had met before... a century before.

Finally the eldest son, a boy of thirteen or so called Paul, must have reported my scent to his father, because the following night, as I loped along my usual path to the Loupe cabin, a lone wolf sat in my path.

His was the scent I remembered.

His fur was gray, but had once been a different color. He was an old wolf.

He and I looked at one another for a long time.

In the blink of an eye he had become a man standing before me, naked and old yet still virulent and strong. His hair fell to his shoulders in white waves.

"Hello, Georges," said Fallon Loupe.

TO BE CONTINUED...

# About the Author

Kate Spofford lives in New Hampshire and works as a young adult librarian. In her spare time she writes novels and trains for the circus. For more information, visit her online at http://www.katespofford.wordpress.com.

