As Silver Is to the Moon

by R A Watt

  Up above, the almost-full moon cast a red glow through the smoke. My feet felt paralyzed now with the momentary lull in action, a deep fear rising in me as my mouth dried up. I glanced back at the house; Sybil stood on the porch wide-eyed and open-mouthed. But underneath she always also had this determined confidence and anger in her eyes, and she raised the gun up.

  “I’m gonna enjoy this, Annie. Especially you,” Bruno said, breathing heavily. “I mean, I enjoyed toying with Rachel and all, but you? I’ll be more . . . enthusiastic.”

  Sybil’s breathing quickened as he spoke. As he finished, she cocked the gun. This was not according to our plan.

  A malevolent smile stretched across his face in the red, tinted moonlight. “Oh no, Annie has a gun. What ever will I do?” he pleaded with a laugh.

  She shook her head slowly and pointed the gun straight at him. “You know who’s going to enjoy this? Me,” she hissed.

  Looking back, I could see Suzanne’s, Jermaine’s, and Mrs. Leclair’s faces all looking out through the broken window.

  Bruno laughed. “I suppose old Mrs. Leclair has put some so-called silver bullets in there? Did she mention that was nothing but a myth? Probably not, since she’s hiding inside,” he spat, looking up at her in disgust.

  A myth? Was he bluffing?

  “Silver or not, a bullet in your head will end things pretty quick,” Sybil answered.

  His fake smile waned. “Just try, Annie. Just try.”

  The two of them stared each other down, then Bruno suddenly growled and darted to his right, like he was coming for us. Just as quickly, he jumped back to the left.

  The piercing crack of the gun went off as Sybil fired where he should have been. The bullet whined past me and punctured the gravel, creating a hole the size of a softball.

  She cocked the gun quickly—shaking now—and leveled it at him again as he stood unflinching.

  Bruno whistled. “Nice try. But now you’re down to five bullets,” he taunted.

  If silver was a real defense, it was really only two.

  I was worried he would fake her out again and waste another bullet before he even changed. I stepped forward.

  He glowered at me. “You have something to say, Laurent? Or are you just gonna hide behind Annie and her gun all night? I’m here for you.”

  I nodded, hearing Sybil make her way down the steps and stand beside me. “I just want to know, how are we going to do this? How do you want to do this?”

  Bruno looked a little surprised. “Want? Weren’t you the ones with the plan? Well, I guess if I had my choice, I’d like to beat you senseless with my fists, and then finish you as a wolf. I’ll dispose of the rest of the witnesses once I’m done with you. And I’m just gonna assume you’ve told Rachel too much, so she’ll have to be dealt with as well,” he said with a snicker.

  Sybil sucked a breath in quickly and stepped forward to shoot again, but I stopped her this time, holding my hand up. “No,” I whispered, but her eyes never left his. He was getting to her.

  He was calm and in control. He had both of us upset and on edge.

  “Bruno, if silver bullets are just a myth, why did my grandpa put one in the back of your brother’s head? Remember your poor brother? The one rotting in the earth? Would this make him proud of you?” I asked.

  His eyes narrowed quickly and snapped to mine, his jaw clenched tight. “Don’t talk about my brother.”

  “I heard about how my grandfather put poor Grayson out of his misery. Sniveling like a rodent, begging for his life right to the very end.”

  Bruno gritted his teeth, his face twisted as he growled. “He did not!” His fists were balled up at his sides, and I could see the veins in his neck sticking out, throbbing and tight.

  It was working.

  Chapter 41

  “Bruno, I’d rather pulverize you as a wolf than your pathetic little boy form. That way you can join your brother in hell. Two rats burning in a fire,” I taunted.

  His face contorted, shaking now. I could almost see him fighting the transformation that begged to be let out. He looked up to the red moon as he let loose an uncontrolled howl that sent a wave of goosebumps through my flesh. Bruno’s arms were held up, fists tight, and his chest was expanding into his shirt as he groaned.

  Just twenty more seconds.

  He grasped his face and fell to the ground on his knees, grunting and breathing heavily, almost talking to himself.

  He was utterly at our mercy, except he was not changing any more. It stopped and reversed. I considered grabbing the gun and ending it.

  But I couldn’t.

  He was just a boy on his knees.

  It wasn’t right.

  “Grayson deserved everything he got, Bruno. Just like you do,” I continued, hoping to spur him again.

  He held his head down, his hands on his face and on his ears. Then he stood slowly and warily, like he knew Sybil wouldn’t shoot him like this.

  “Nice try, Laurent. But we’re doing this my way,” he sneered as he took his hands away from his face. “Let’s say we settle this the country way?” He held up his fists and got in a boxer’s stance. “It’s really your only hope. I may be a so-called mutt werewolf from the south, but you are only half a pure blood. Though you have little chance of beating me fist to fist, there is no hope you can defeat me as a wolf.”

  As he began to dance around, fists up and ready, he leaned forward slightly and squinted, looking at my chest. His smiled turned foul again.

  “Where . . . where did you get that necklace?” he asked as he stopped moving, letting his guard down, and stood straight with a confused look. “You . . . shouldn’t have that. You have no right to—”

  I used the element of surprise and charged him before he could finish, or before I even knew what I was doing.

  Leaning forward, I rammed my shoulder into his gut and lifted him up, with more ease than I would have guessed. Running back with him held high, I smashed him into the hood of the pickup truck. A gasp of air escaped him as his head flopped against the metal.

  Bruno was lying on the hood, arching his back in pain, and I grabbed his foot and dragged him off. His head and torso landed on the gravel driveway with a thud.

  Beating him up as a human wasn’t part of the plan.

  I wasn’t really sure what to do now. It felt wrong to kick or do anything more to him while he was on the ground, but I needed to keep the momentum.

  Rachel flashed in my head: Her vibrant smile with stitches across her cheek.

  Reenergized, I drove my foot into his chest, lifting his body up off the ground and into the side of the truck. My temper flared at the victory so close.

  “Get up!” I growled as he flailed in the dusty gravel.

  Bruno looked at me, his mouth breaking into a bloody smile as he spat out liquid. “Nice one, Laurent. But you gotta do better than that!”

  Lightning quick, he was on his feet with his fists on my chest, grabbing and twisting my shirt before I had a chance to get my arms up. He pushed me back with such force and speed I stumbled a few feet before crashing into the steps.

  I leapt up and charged him again. We tumbled to the ground, rolling around in the gravel with fists flying back and forth. Our grunts and growls got louder, and I could smell the sweat coming out of his pores. And maybe even a little smell of fear.

  He hadn’t been expecting my strength to match his. Nor had I.

  Wrestling my way on top of him, I pinned his arms down as he writhed beneath, screaming at me. “Get off!”

  This time I smiled. The taste of violence felt good; there was something about it that I liked deep down. The urge to bash him into oblivion was getting stronger from within as I pounded his face with my fists. This time, I was on top.

  Blood came splashing out of his nose, and he used his free arm to shield himself.

  I hit him again, harder. His lip split open, and he wailed. I no longer cared about the plan or the silver bullets or anything. Spilling his blood
was my only thought. Finishing him with my bare hands seemed like a better idea.

  Bruno’s back arched up violently, almost knocking me off him, and he shrieked. But not from my fist this time.

  His jaw was shaking and throbbing, like his facial veins had just increased ten times in size. His mouth opened in another wail, and his growing teeth were visible, turning to sharp fangs.

  Bruno was changing. And fast.

  His left wrist was pulsing in my palm, and I tried to catch his right arm again to pin it down, but it was flying all over the place. I could feel his wrist getting bigger within my grasp as coarse black hair sprouted from every inch of his exposed skin.

  With his free hand, he grabbed my shirt and wrenched me off his chest in a powerful move that I was unable to match, sending me rolling to the side.

  Looking up, I saw Sybil, gun outstretched, with a horrified look in her eyes.

  “Now!” I yelled, getting back up. I was out of her way, and he was flailing about.

  She pulled the trigger.

  CRACK!

  She was too far away or shaking too much. The bullet gouged out the ground right between his outstretched legs, but he didn’t even notice as he was in mid-transformation.

  There was only one silver bullet left.

  I scrambled over to her. “Give me it!” I hollered, grabbing for the gun. She let me take it, her eyes wide in terror and her mouth open.

  It was time to end this. End him.

  I cocked the pistol as she had and turned around.

  Bruno was standing on two legs, well over six feet tall. His black hair-covered body was much bigger and more menacing now. He looked awkward, almost like a dog standing on its hind legs, but more comfortable. His powerful chest heaved with each breath.

  His head was not Bruno’s. It wasn’t as pointy as a wolf’s, but more like a cross between a wolf’s and a grizzly bear’s head. His massive, exposed front teeth dripped saliva as he sucked in each breath.

  His transformation had been so fast.

  The sight of him caused me to stumble; I’d expected to have another minute. I suddenly felt weak, and my arms trembled as his eyes met mine.

  He let out a deafening roar.

  I turned back to Sybil, who stood behind me, frozen. “Run!”

  As I spun back around, my finger on the trigger, I knew I’d only have one chance.

  I squeezed the trigger just as his hulking form descended on me, and the recoil of the gun surprised me as the thunderous gunshot split the air.

  Chapter 42

  My body was heaved up high over the werewolf’s head. His hairy, sharp claws easily hoisted me up and dug into my skin, drawing blood as the gun dropped from my hands.

  The bullet missed.

  Bruno tossed me, and I was airborne for what seemed like forever until I went smashing into the wooden wall of Mrs. Leclair’s house. My body bounced and fell to the ground below into the shrubs with a painful thud as he let loose a roar of triumph.

  Rolling over onto my knees, I tried to scurry under the porch, but his powerful claw grabbed my ankle through the leaves and yanked me out. My skin scratched through all the branches and I twisted in agony as it felt like my ankle snapped.

  The Bruno-wolf dragged me across the yard, the gun just out of reach as I scraped my bloody fingers through the gravel to try to stop.

  I was no match for him, unable to even slow us as he pulled my limp ankle behind him, pain shooting down my leg.

  As his almost demonic form turned back to me, I used my right foot to kick him with everything I had.

  There was little effect as my shoe connected with his corded thigh. He grabbed that foot, and using both ankles, he swung me around like a rag doll into the side of the pickup.

  The last thing I saw was the wheel well of Mrs. Leclair’s old truck approaching my face at a blinding speed before it collided with my skull.

  Darkness.

  Change pain.

  Hunger.

  My eyes opened, and my whole body was hurting, but a different kind of hurt than had been inflicted upon me by the Bruno-wolf. I was half-changed, like him.

  The smell of the smoke was overwhelming.

  Bruno’s stench was worse. I knew it to be him before I even looked; it was everywhere. It was the smell of evil, of decay. Of rot.

  I jumped to my feet in my standing-wolf form, my heightened senses in overdrive. A yearning deep down tugged on me to keep changing, to go all the way.

  To go primal.

  Bruno stood at the house, on the porch. He was bashing the wooden supports holding the roof up over the porch in a blind fury. Things were coming back to me now. Sybil. The gun. Bruno.

  Our goal.

  I needed to hold on and resist the urge to change further. I focused on the Bruno-wolf, and thought of my sister inside, scared of him finding her.

  Sprinting across the yard, I leapt up onto the porch and grabbed Bruno from behind with my outstretched claws. We spun together and went crashing through all the furniture on the porch.

  He got to his feet and roared.

  I returned his angry howl, reaching for his massive head, wanting to twist it. To break it off. His arms met mine and we wrestled in front of the door. Eventually I was able to throw him from the porch. He spun in the air and landed in the gravel. I was already scaling down the steps and onto him again.

  With his back on the ground, his hind legs sprang into my chest as I approached, and they sent me reeling back.

  The urge to change further was still tugging at me. To change and leave here. To fulfill my hungers.

  But somewhere else, a voice told me to hold on, to not let go, and to finish this animal off.

  Standing up, I could see Bruno was ready for me this time. The taste of blood for both of us was so close. His anger was thick, its smell overpowering.

  Mine probably was, too.

  He ran to the corner of the house and around the back. I chased him, rounding the corner, but he wasn’t there.

  I could still smell him and howled in frustration.

  He was gone, and his scent went no further.

  It went up.

  He was on the roof. I heard a window smash from above. He was trying to get in the house.

  Stepping back a few feet, I sprinted and jumped. My feet easily made it to the first floor roof over the surrounding porch.

  Bruno was crawling into a window as I grabbed his leg and sank my teeth into his calf, chomping as hard as I could.

  The leg kicked at me, but his skin broke, and the fiery taste of copper filled my mouth. It almost, but not quite, sated my pangs of hunger. It felt wrong; I knew that somehow.

  I spat out a piece of meat and yanked Bruno back out of the window’s frame. Bruno was snarling and howling in pain as he tried to stand, but his ripped leg was not providing enough support on the slanted roof tiles.

  I charged him, once again grabbing his massive head and pushing his dangerous jaws up to leave his throat exposed.

  My vise-like jaw instinctively snapped shut on his throat, and I kept pushing him across the rooftop until halted by the stone chimney jutting out from below. Bruno’s wolf skull cracked through the stone, sending pieces of the chimney everywhere.

  His claws had been on my head, grabbing at my ears, before the impact of the chimney, and I could feel the jolt weaken his grip.

  I bit his throat harder, blood once again filling my mouth. His pained bark echoed into the night. Using my hind legs and forepaws, I pushed his body away from me while trying to hold his throat in my jaw, to rip it from his neck. He did his best to hold me close to prevent it. His body was arched over the broken chimney, and we slipped, still holding each other tight, and rolled off the roof, through the air, and back onto the ground with a thud.

  With my jaw, I could feel his neck veins pulsing as he struggled. He continued to hold me tight, effectively keeping his throat in place. If only I could pull it . . .

  A boy’s war cry cut the night
air, and Bruno’s body shuddered. His grip loosened just enough for me to pull free with my jaw still clamped on its target.

  His body convulsed, and his lupine eyes rolled to the back of his head.

  His defenses were down and I wanted more.

  Chapter 43

  I drove my snout into his neck again to finish him off. But something was wrong. His taste was off now; it was rancid. The blood was coagulating, drying up and rotting. In the distance, someone was yelling. “Teavan!”

  That was me.

  Pulling my head away from Bruno in disgust, I saw Suzanne standing at the top of the steps, frantically waving her arms and calling my name. I growled at her intrusion, but sensed a new form of danger. Bruno’s body still convulsed, but his arms were down low; he was completely defenseless.

  I turned the other way, and someone was standing behind Bruno’s body.

  Jermaine.

  He was staring at me, backing up slowly, his eyes nervously flickering between me and Bruno.

  My hunger was killing me. He looked . . .

  I shook my head. No.

  Bruno’s breathing stopped and his heart was still.

  Inhaling deeply, desperate for oxygen, I watched as his body changed back to its human form.

  “Teavan!” Suzanne called out again, but my ears were ringing. I was still in attack mode, nervous with people hovering.

  Mrs. Leclair came down the steps holding her hands up, her eyes bulging and unblinking. “Calm down, Teavan. Deep breaths, it’s over.”

  Looking from Mrs. Leclair, to Jermaine to Suzanne, I tried to breathe, to let the anger go. It slowly dissipated, and I slumped to the ground in exhaustion.

  Deep inside, the desire to fully transform tugged at my senses, taunting me with freedom, with food nearby to satiate the hunger. It would be so easy.

  But also, the light. Suzanne’s voice, begging to come back to her.