Riding the Wolf Ch. 02

Hunter Jones's intense blue eyes followed the werewolf's trail as it led from the suburbs and into the woods leading into the mountains. Hunter sighed, running his hand through his shaggy, light blond hair. This was the perfect place for a rogue. The town was not large but it was full of transients: college kids, vacationers, people who weren't going to be recognized, or missed. The ringing howls of the wolf had reached him nearly 10 miles away. Normally a wolf's howl traveled about 6 miles, but werewolves were larger, and resultantly louder. Plus, Hunter's hearing was rather better than most. The feral, viscous triumph he heard in the wolf's voice told him that the beast had found his prey.

Hunter hated rogues. He had no problem with werewolves, and was, in fact, trailing this one at the behest of the Philly pack leader. The rogue had marked all over their territory and killed a rancher and his family. It was not the thing most werewolves did, and it was why they live in packs. Any wolf that had violent tendencies was easily subdued by the other, more balanced pack members, and if not, the Alpha would simply take the wolf out before he could go rogue. Occasionally, though, they weren't fast enough. The Philly Alpha didn't know where this rogue had come from, but any werewolf that killed indiscriminately was instantly pegged for death, and bounty hunters were called in. Most didn't know why the rogues were different from the other werewolves, but Hunter had asked one rogue while he lay dying at Hunter's feet. The rogue had laughed and said it was because he was still human.

At first that made no sense. Most werewolves didn't think of themselves as human, but he supposed it was true there was a part of them that still was. Then the reality of it hit him, and Hunter felt like a fool as the rogue continued to explain. For most werewolves, the influence of their wolf was calming. Wolves had very simple emotions and motivations, and the often complicated ones of their human counter ids were usually met with confusion from the beast. Wolves didn't understand jealousy, hatred or shame. When met with these emotions, the wolf usually responded to its confusion with fear. This would force the human to buckle down on their own feelings in order to soothe their secondary psyche, giving werewolves a much calmer disposition as they learned to control themselves. The only exception was when the feelings of the human were shared by the wolf. Happiness and love were easy, and the wolf reveled in the strong emotions of the human. But fear and anger, these emotions always caused problems, which is why the Alpha became so important. When fight or flight kicked in, for a werewolf, flight was always the choice when humans were involved. If there was a supernatural creature, it would depend on the situation. Too many werewolves felt the need to stand their ground, no matter what, and it was the primary issue in packs, which the Alpha was always striving to control. But with rogues, most of them felt the fear trigger and went wild. These rogues could often be brought back into a pack, but many couldn't and now Hunter was beginning to understand why. If a human's emotions were too strong, too violent, the animal would often become so frightened it would simply retreat into the back of their conjoined psyche to escape its secondary self. This gave the human full control over the wolf's powers, but without any animal instincts, just the twisted, sociopathic desires of the human. It was a frightening concept, and Hunter thought he recognized it in the howl of this werewolf.

Hunter began to panic. He knew that if the werewolf was howling in manic joy, he was probably too late, but he ditched his bike anyhow and began to run in a bee line towards the sound. It took him nearly an hour before he came upon the whitewashed cabin in the woods, and the sun was high in the sky. A werewolf that attacked in broad daylight set his teeth on edge. Most attacked at night, when they had the advantage of better senses than their prey. If this wolf was more human, however, it made sense, since the wolf would be weaker in the daylight with the moon's influence dampened.

Hunter approached cautiously, his ears straining to hear any signs that the werewolf was still present. The only thing he heard was sobbing and someone praying in Spanish. It seemed that this wolf had left its victims alive. Hunter wasn't sure if that was a good thing, or bad. He bounded up the three steps to the porch with one leap and knocked gently on the door. When the door opened to reveal the face of a handsome older woman who stared at him with grief stricken eyes, he was thankful for his forethought in dealing with humans, and flashed the shiny silver star.

"I'm Deputy Jones, US Marshals. I've been tracking an escaped convict, and would like to ask you a few questions."

The woman nodded mutely, and he was thankful she understood English. His Spanish was rusty, as was his Mandarin and Arabic. He'd taken a lot of language classes, but the amount that stuck was limited to basic conversations. She led him inside and there was a young girl lying on the couch, the side tables, coffee table and sofa table surrounding it were filled with lit candles. It looked almost as if they had been performing some strange exorcism. He noticed both the women were still damp from a shower, wrapped in bathrobes, and their tan skin looked just a little too pink, like they'd gone overboard with the loofah. The floor was freshly scrubbed with a strong, lemon scented cleaner, but he could still make out the tangy taste of blood in the air. The werewolf had obviously been here, and shed blood, yet the two women were both whole and seemingly unharmed. The young woman on the couch suddenly stopped sobbing and he noticed her staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. He smiled tentatively and she scrambled to a sitting position. The older woman didn't seem to notice the young one's reaction and sat down in a chair she had pulled next to the couch, beginning to pray again. Watching the young woman tremble and stare at him with such anxiety, while the older woman was numbly staring into the candle flames, he deduced that they had obviously suffered some trauma. He'd seen people react with grief from the loss of a loved one with the reactions of the grandmother, but the granddaughter's reaction didn't fit grief. When he realized what it reminded him of he was nearly sick. The over scrubbed appearance, the uncontrollable sobbing, and the irrational fear of a strange man in her house: the werewolf had raped them. On top of the brutality of being raped in the first place, the triumphant howls he'd heard made him certain that he'd not done the act as a man.

Hunter clenched his fists tightly and lowered his gaze to the floor, taking deep even breaths, trying to calm his raging fury. He didn't want the women to know how angry he was, it might frighten them, but he could barely contain himself. He'd never seen a case like this, but he'd heard of it once. The girl involved had not simply been raped once, but again and again as the werewolf stalked her over the course of several weeks. She'd been committed to an insane asylum eventually because no one believed her ravings of the horrible monster who was abusing her, and they could never find evidence of an attacker. They had assumed her wounds were self inflicted and locked her away for her protection. It was in the early 20th century, and the only reason anyone even knew was because another inmate, who had been put into the ward for strange behavior, had escaped when the moon was full. She later told her pack of the horror the girl had described to her, but in the many years since, most werewolves thought it an urban legend.

When Hunter finally felt he could speak without bursting into an angry rant, he raised his gaze to look at the young girl again, not meeting her eyes directly, but observing her inadvertently, while staring beyond her shoulder. So much time spent with werewolves made him want to treat her like a young pack member, avoiding a challenging stare, not confronting her directly. When he approached her, he didn't walk straight to her, but instead moved sideways to stand at the back of the sofa. He could sense her relaxing, and as the fear of him drained away, it was replaced by something he didn't expect. Her voice trembled, still choked with her earlier sobs.

"You don't act like a cop. You know, don't you?"

Briefly he flicked his eyes to meet her hopeful gaze. Nodding his head, he found that the grandmother had stopped her chanting to listen to the conversation.

"You can protect us? It said it would come again..."

Now the prayers made more sense. They were trying to invoke protection, not exorcism. It was the other case all over again, the werewolf involved would certainly return. Hunter smiled gently at the girl, not trusting his voice yet and nodded again. If the wolf returned, it made his job easier. He would simply need to wait, and then take him down. Hunter noticed the grandmother glowering at him. He was surprised by her sudden anger.

"How can you protect us? It was a demon who came, no mortal man would stand a chance against such a creature."

Although he knew it wasn't the wisest thing to do, he met the grandmother's stare.

"Ma'am, I am no mortal man."

The grandmother dropped her gaze, shuddering with sudden apprehension. He knew he'd frightened her, but he needed their cooperation, and by the looks of the house, it belonged to the older woman, not the girl. Suddenly Hunter was nearly barreled over as the young girl crashed into him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug, sobbing into his chest. Slowly, Hunter wrapped his arms around the girl and rubbed her back gently, murmuring soothing words and swearing again and again that he would protect them both. Finally her sobs broke into violent tremors and he lifted her in his arms, carrying her towards the bedroom he could see through an open door. When the girl saw where they were going, she began screaming and kicking in fear. He realized that the bastard must have raped them in the bedroom, and immediately turned around, whispering assurances and reminding her she was safe now. When she had calmed somewhat, he laid her down gently on the couch again, moving the coffee table so he could hold her hand. Finally she seemed to wear herself out and began to nod off to sleep.

Hunter turned to the grandmother, who watched him suspiciously from her chair. He still didn't know their names, and figured this was as good a time as any to ask. Taking out a digital voice recorder, he clicked play and introduced himself again.

"I'm Deputy Marshall Jones, Ma'am. I've tracked an escaped convict to this area, and I get the feeling he has been here. I can protect you and your granddaughter, but I need to know what happened. I know you haven't contacted the police, yet. If you want, I can submit my report to them for you."

The old woman snorted, and Hunter sighed with agreement.

"Your case, it may not be well received by the local sheriff, I know. That does not mean you will not get justice. I have no other cases, just this one, and I can protect you..."

"How? You said you are no mortal man, but this demon, this creature, it is... it is..."

The grandmother was at a loss for words.

"What is your name, ma'am?"

"Regina."

"Regina. The creature, it is a werewolf."

Regina gasped, and covered herself with her hands, as if protectively. A wild light in her eyes told him far more than words.

"It bit you?"

She nodded mutely.

"Scratches?"

Again, the nod.

"What about your granddaughter...?"

"Rosita..."

The old woman whispered the sleeping girl's name, but shook her head. Hunter thought it strange that the werewolf hadn't harmed the girl. He needed to get Regina to tell him exactly what happened. He reached into a pouch on his belt and took out a silver vial.

"I have something I can give you to make sure you don't turn into a werewolf, but I don't think it will be necessary. The moon wasn't full and it was daylight. A werewolf tends only to transfer the condition if it is out of control. The fact that you are both alive..."

Hunter's voice trailed off, and Regina nodded, but held her hand out for the vial anyhow. He handed it to her and she opened the cap and downed the contents. She made a grimace at the terrible taste, but was otherwise unaffected. As he'd suspected, she was not turned. Feeling a little calmer, Regina finally began to talk about the attack, numbly giving Hunter details he wished she hadn't. The werewolf had done everything in his power to terrify the two women without permanently damaging them. The fact that he had used the grandmother to coerce Rosita into participating in her own rape, Hunter began to again feel his rage building. This was why he did this job. There weren't many supernatural creatures that lost control. There were safety nets in place. There were enough of them, however, that the small group of bounty hunters like him turned out a nice profit. Especially since the packs and families that ordered the hits were old and well established, with money.

Hunter listened attentively, not asking any questions. When Regina finished, she sat numbly for a minute, then looked up to meet his gaze, her eyes seeming to have grown more confident with releasing the burden of her story.

"How are you going to protect us, Marshall Jones? Do you carry silver bullets in your revolver?"

Hunter chuckled. He did have silver bullets, and pepper spray with wolfs bane, silver nitrate, and a few other strange ingredients. But these protections were for emergencies. They were for if he were caught off guard. And of course, they were for the benefit of the clients, who never seemed to have enough confidence in the man who had successfully taken down 30 creatures in his short 8 years of work. Also, when the locals figured out what was going on, it was better to play mortal hunter, rather than reveal himself. A few times the witch hunt had expanded to the huntsman.

"Among other things, Regina. I promise, I am well equipped to protect you and Rosita from the werewolf, as well as stop him from hurting anyone else. I will need your help, though."

Regina scowled and Hunter hurried to reassure her.

"I will not be putting your or your granddaughter in harm's way, but I believe that the creature will come back here, and I want your permission to be here when he does."

"Can't you go out and get it?"

"I could, but there is no telling where he'd be when I found him. And if the werewolf is human at the time, I will be dragged off to jail for murder, which I don't wish to happen. There's a right way to hunt down a werewolf, and then there's the better way to hunt down a werewolf. The moon will be full in just one more day, and he will probably come here."

Hunter took out his phone and showed her the moon phase app that was his background.

"It will be full at 11:25 am. I will be looking for him, spying, you could say, until then, but before the moon is full, I will return and wait for him. I need you and Rosita to be here waiting as well. Otherwise he will wait until another time. Werewolves are at their strongest when the moon is full, but they are also at their most vulnerable, because their control is lessened."

The grandmother nodded thoughtfully before giving her answer.

"If we do not stop this creature now, it will harm more people."

Hunter nodded.

"Then it is our responsibility to rid the world of its evil. We will be here."

"Thank you, Regina. I promise I will keep you both safe. You have my word."

Regina leaned back in the armchair and closed her eyes. She looked exhausted. When Hunter heard her soft snores humming in tandem with that of her granddaughter's, he stood. Placing one of the afghans over her body, he quietly left the two women to their rest and went to make his battle plan.

*****************************************************

Raoul wanted to celebrate, so he went and got drunk. He stopped by to grab Gina first, because he'd found out that she was a slut when he was drunk and he felt like humiliating someone. Three generations in one day! Surely it had to be some kind of record! As Gina drank her fifth beer, she began to wobble while she danced to the 80's music booming from the bar's speakers. A couple of the older men in the bar were eyeing her speculatively, and Raoul felt the need to claim his territory. Sidling up behind Gina, he began to stroke her body until he'd pulled her miniskirt up high enough to show off her barely there g-string. She giggled nervously and slapped his hand away. He did the same thing to her tube top until her lacy bra was peeking out. The other men were practically salivating, but Gina wasn't far enough gone yet, so he encouraged her to take another beer, chanting.

"Gulp! Gulp! Gulp!"

Not wanting to disappoint her attentive new lover, Gina downed the beer and nearly fell over as she tipped the glass back, sloshing the last ounce down her neck and into her cleavage. Raoul began licking the beer from her skin, not stopping when he reached the valley of her breasts, but sliding the bra and top right down to her stomach. The bar owner quickly drew the shades and turned the open sign off. He loved these crazy college kids, and he knew that Gina's reputation meant that the men in the bar were about to get a show. Gina's face grew red as Raoul began licking and sucking her nipples in front of everyone. She tried to tell him to stop, but her speech was too slurred and she was dizzy. When she stumbled again, Raul lifted her and lay her down on the pool table, thrusting her skirt up and yanking her panties off in one swift move. Gina's head lolled off one side of the table while her legs dangled from the other and Raoul quickly knelt between her thighs and began to lick her salty cunt. She screamed in surprise and began writhing and moaning on the table. Catching the bar tender's eye, he paused briefly.

"Two tripples of your strongest stuff, my good man! We're celebrating!"

The man quickly brought him two shot glasses full of clear liquid and instead of drinking them himself, he pulled Gina to a sitting position and told her to drink one. She downed it without question, panting and desperate for him to continue. He took a small sip of the second, holding the liquid in his mouth before giving the rest of the glass to her, which she drank, falling backwards as she did. Raoul went back between her legs and dribbled the nearly tasteless vodka onto her throbbing pussy before licking it all up again. Gina's pussy was on fire, tingling from the alcohol and Raoul's hot tongue. When she began to cum, he pulled his cock out and slammed it into her quivering hole. She screamed and gripped the pool table with her hands, her breasts thrusting upwards, bouncing with every rapid thrust. She was beyond caring that the other men had all freed their rods from their pants and were watching her fuck as they beat their cocks.

Raoul noticed that her eyes were squeezed shut, reveling in the pleasure, and with all the alcohol she'd drank, he figured she'd have blurry vision by now anyway. He was about to cum, and gestured to the closest man to come closer. The burly trucker was only too thrilled to step behind Raoul and wait for him to shoot his load into Gina. With barely a pause, the two switched places and the trucker began fucking Gina vigorously. She never opened her eyes, just continued moaning and holding the table for the ride. Raoul took out his phone and stealthily began to record her whoring. As the trucker began to grunt in readiness, another of the 8 men in the bar stepped forward, stroking his cock in anticipation. After her fifth orgasm, and fourth man, Gina finally opened her eyes to stare in disbelief. No man had this kind of stamina! Raoul had been growing excited again, and when he saw the confusion and then the fear tinting Gina's gaze, he grabbed her face and began to slide his cock into her mumbling mouth. She could do nothing to stop him, her arms waving drunkenly as he fucked her face and the remaining men, including the bartender and owner, all unloaded their jizz into her stretched pussy.