This story belongs more on a site featuring horror stories, but I've been assured that its erotic elements are strong enough to post on this site. Feedback is greatly encouraged, even if it's negative. This short little piece is the conclusion to a lengthy period of online play between four characters. I doubt I'll ever write the whole thing, as that's already been done quite well... I just felt the story needed some closure.
A suddenly quiet room, the only audibly noise is the sound of a creaking board as it swings back and forth on the single nail anchoring it in place, and a softer creak of rope stretched and stressed. Smoke fills the air, choking it with the smell of cordite and scorched flesh, and dimming the lighting to diffuse glows in the smog. The room used to be a richly decorated, quiet and cozy basement den. Real oak paneling lines the walls, where giant bookshelves don't cover them, filled to overflowing with neatly organized books and texts. A soft dripping noise breaks the subdued silence, seeming dimmed by the smoke, as something liquid drips to the dark marble tiled floor.
Standing in the middle of the wreckage of his den stands a monster out of horror stories, evoking thoughts of childhood boogie men, and the darkness that makes grown men scared when in the woods alone. Eight feet tall, the deformed mix of man and wolf stands still as his wounds heal, ragged lines across his fur closing up slowly, and holes patching themselves as bullets fall to the floor from his body, with small tinkling noises. A once beautiful brown pelt is stained black, and it has an almost oily complexion, a thin sheen of something coating the hair, and making it stick in ragged clumps, and gnarls. Long, deep scars show through in sections with no fur growing from them, especially his face and neck, which are lined with them.
Giant hands sport long, curved claws, serrated with a file, and dripping a green ichor to the floor. This is the source of the dripping noise, and where the drops of...whatever it is hit the floor, the tile hisses and bubbles, small craters melting into the surface. Finally the last of the wounds closes up, dropping a fifth bullet to the floor, and the giant beast shakes itself, flicking a fine mist of sweat, blood, and oily fluid around the room. It used to be a beautiful place, with fine decorations and furniture, but it's wrecked beyond recognition now. Bullets have chewed books from their shelves and covers, a small explosion has ripped boards all along a wall, revealing the cinder blocks behind them. But worst are the bodies.
One lies near the doorway, cut nearly in half, lower body barely attached to his chest. Another is sticking out from the wall, kneeling on the floor, his head smashed through the wood paneling, and crushed on the cement beyond. The shredded section of wall contains bits of ichor and body parts, testament to the explosion having accomplishing something. A fifth body lies at the feet of the tainted werewolf, still moving weakly, a pool of blood spreading out to finally touch the claws on the garou's feet. That dripping hand is raised to poise over the shredded back of the large man lying there, until another drop collects along one black claw, and drops to land on his torn flesh, eliciting a weak cry of pain, and new writhings.
Snapping down suddenly, the man's groans cease as his neck cracks between powerful stained jaws, as the strong neck worries at the wound, until the man is assuredly dead. One body still moves in the room after that, as the wolf stays on one knee, worrying at the corpse, and eating his fill of the warm body. Wrists bound to a rope from the ceiling, the pink nude form of the cause of all this killing hangs unconscious, shock having delivered her from the end of the battle she missed. Discolored marks mar her perfect skin, and tears draw runnels down the dust that's settled on her cheeks, but somehow she managed to survive the violently pitched battle without a wound he hadn't already given her.
With a final rip of flesh, the dark creature stands up, muscles rippling all down it's body, evident even under the fur and scars, a shudder of pleasure, derived from feeding on the pure human at his feet. Turning, he strides over to the to the girl who's now the centerpiece to the room again, and pauses in front of her, breath causing blasts of smoke to drift around her beautiful face, peaceful again in sleep, though even there she's tortured by the memories... Lifting a clawed fist as big as her head, he lifts one claw to pull a strand of hair from her face, and collect a line of moisture from those tears on her face. Slowly licking his claw clean, he drops it again, and waits as his claws slink back into the pads of his fingers.
She awakes with a gasp of pain as he runs his hand down her side, and she jerks to the side while coming awake, trying to escape the burning touch that just follows her. Reaching her hip, the burning hand rests there, the touch scalding as she grits her teeth and dances at the outer edge of her tether, trying to escape it. Suddenly the touch is a healing salve, and he traces back up along the burned path, leaving a sudden cool touch of healed flesh, the girl sagging limply against the ropes again, staring down. "Pity... You had such delightful fight in you at the beginning. Such attitude..."
Suddenly he spins, and dropping to one knee, places a massive shaggy head against the bloody tile floor, both arms extended up and back, an awkward position of subservience. He doesn't move for a long moment, and then answers a voice none in the room can hear, most because they're dead, but all because they're mortal. "Yes master... The human you spoke of chased after his sister, just as you predicted. He, and the rest of his clan have been destroyed... as you ordered...."
His voice held such strength, and mocking power when he addressed her, though he's quietly subservient now, almost whiny. Another pause, and he's speaking again. "But why there, master... what could those people hold that..." His words are cut off as the long red ribbon braided into the fur on the back of his head yanks him up, and then smashes his face to the floor with a crunch, new blood spilling to melt at the tiles. "Yeth mathter..." he mutters, face healing almost as fast as it broke. "But what of her? And the amulet the boy carried?" He bows again, face touching the tile, his arms in that awkward sweeping motion once more, as he acknowledges the authority of his command. "It will be done..."
Turning suddenly as the presence leaves, he spins to face the girl again, walking back to her with thudding footsteps that speak of doom. One giant furred hand rises to cup her breast, eliciting a gasp of pain as he burns her with his touch again, the long snout dipping to kiss her as well it can, loooong tongue lapping far into her mouth, into that gasp, before he pulls his face back a few inches from hers, pulling her to him with a hand on her back, pressing that delicious form up against his furred one. "You apparently don't matter, and are to be disposed of..." he hisses, his voice rasping slightly, though filled with power again. "I ought to finish you now... but you're another piece of my legacy... Every night I will live in your mind, and every sound will bring back my touch. You'll live, so that I will with you."
Stepping away, he releases her to swing back, and turns to stride through the single fractured door, body shrinking slowly as he disappears out of sight, his mocking laughter echoing around the room, and swirling with the smoke, seeming to last until long after the medics, police, and coroners have come and gone. Smoke still lingers amongst the chalk lines and yellow tape, though his taint remains on the corrupted place, his laughter in the walls.