Wolfs pain

         The trail of blood John followed certainly belonged to his wife. The creature which had brutally attacked her was a werewolf, and it was his job to kill werewolves. Normally, he would have his entire squad involved, but this time, it involved his wife and he feared the worst for her. John looked at his Badge-of-Honor and smiled bitterly as he realized he was now officially a ‘Nights Master’. The saying was that a member of the squad didn’t rise in the ranks unless they had lost someone dear to them and now John qualified for the title.

         The house on the hill belonged to John and his wife. It was actually better this way because the clean-up would be much easier than in a public place. There would definitely be need for clean-up because when he entered the house where the blood trail led him, he saw one of the house servants was torn asunder; her guts were strewn carelessly over the furniture and walls. Somehow Gina, his servant, was still alive and begging not to be. John slit her throat and walked on.

         In the kitchen, there was the body of a naked wolf-man whom John felt certain ‘was’ the werewolf who abducted his wife. His head was ripped clean off and was frying in the microwave. Oh, ya. She had turned all right. But how could she be so powerful, so quickly? This was an obvious show of power which was meant for him to think about. The blood trail ended here in the kitchen.

         A clanging noise in the basement brought his attention to the stairs. The basement was once a safe haven, but now it would become something he wouldn’t want to remember but dare not forget.

         His wife stood before him in all her canine glory. “I’m married to a real bitch,” he muttered to himself, but knew she would hear his words. Jenna uttered a deep, throaty growl which shook the basement floor and jarred John back to his purpose. Fire was the only sure way to rid the world of a werewolf’s presence. Anything else was iffy. Knocking them down and then firing the beast up was the way to do it. Pulling the pin on the grenade and tossing it, he ducked back out of the room and waited for the boom.

         John knew better than to leap in gunning, but this was his wife he was killing. He had forgotten about the sump holes in the basement and realized the grenade must have been kicked into one of them, but it was too late. Screw ups are rarely forgiven in this game.

         John awoke to a bloody wetness that was the back of his head. He couldn’t understand why it was he was alive. The pain wasn’t what he expected it should be for a head trauma. His clothes were piled in a corner and looked to be ripped to shreds. He felt sickness rise from his belly as he realized from the cuts all over his body, that he must be infected. His self pity was short lived when he notice his hips and loin area was completely covered in slime. He should have known. The bitch was in heat. That would explain the ‘hard on’ he experienced while following his wife’s trail.

         He never told anyone his wife might be infected because he thought he could handle this one on his own. His wife was the director of the ‘night master’ base here because she was brilliant and now he wondered for how long had she been a werewolf? Maybe being a ‘night master’ meant being a werewolf?

         Moments before, he had been wondering at the absence of pain, but now his body convulsed and blood oozed painfully through his pores. His bones were re-aligning and forcefully taking on a new shape. There was no wondering as to whether he was infected or not; he was rabidly infected. He was the new ‘Nights Master’.