The Pack

by Jason Starr

Staring at the darkness in Michael’s eyes, Simon couldn’t help feeling intimidated. He knew he was overmatched, but he held his ground, refusing to show any weakness.

  “You say that now,” Michael said. “But wait till you experience the pleasure of killing for the first time. Then you will thank me.”

  “Actually I already know how it feels to kill,” Simon said, “and I know I hate it.”

  “You haven’t killed yet,” Michael said.

  “What do you mean? I killed my ex-boss, remember?”

  “I killed him,” Michael said.

  Simon felt as if all the blood in his body had instantly rushed to his brain. He said, “That’s impossible. I remember killing him.”

  “You fantasized about killing him. You wanted to be me.”

  “But I remember . . . being a wolf.”

  “When you were a temporary wolf, you couldn’t transform yet,” Michael said, “you didn’t have that gift. But after you drank the family beer, you told me about how your boss fired you and how you wanted him to die. So later my driver took us to New Jersey. We drew him out of the house and you watched me kill him. You wanted to kill him and I wanted to help you. I wanted you to join the pack. The others joined the pack right away, but you were more difficult. If I didn’t tell you you killed your boss, you might have never joined us. I did you a great favor.”

  Simon took a few moments to absorb all of this, then asked, “But how did I wind up naked?”

  “When people receive the blood of our family for the first time, they have unpredictable reactions,” Michael said. “Some die, some sleep, and some, like you, become euphoric. Perhaps it was because as a human you felt imprisoned by your life, and as a wolf for the first time you felt truly free.”

  It should have been a relief to find out he hadn’t killed Tom, but Simon wasn’t experiencing it this way. All he could think about was how believing he’d murdered Tom had almost ruined his marriage, and had made him contemplate suicide, and had led to his becoming a werewolf.

  “If I didn’t kill Tom, I can go to the police,” Simon said. “I could tell them you did it, and I could tell them about Alan Freedman and his wife too.”

  “I have your shoe,” Michael said.

  “Shoe?” Simon said, but he knew exactly what shoe Michael was referring to.

  Michael took out his cell phone and showed Simon an image of what was unquestionably the Rockport loafer he’d lost in New Jersey that night.

  “It has the victim’s blood on it,” Michael said. “You don’t want the police to have this.”

  If it really had Tom’s blood on it—and Simon had no reason to believe Michael was lying—Simon might as well have killed Tom because the police would never believe he was innocent.

  “Son of a bitch,” Simon said, and he charged Michael and tried to tackle him, but he was like a jockey trying to pick a fight with a middle linebacker. Michael was so strong Simon could barely budge him, and then Michael shook back and forth very quickly, like a horse shooing away an annoying fly, and Simon fell hard onto the ground.

  Simon came after Michael again from behind, wrapping his arms around his back and trying to tackle him. Michael struggled, trying to break free, but Simon, using all of his strength, wouldn’t let go. From his angle, Simon couldn’t see Michael’s face, but Charlie and Ramon were both looking right at Michael like . . . well, like they were looking at a monster. Simon was losing his grip, as Michael seemed to be gaining strength, and Michael’s neck was getting thicker and hairier. Then, with one violent shake, Michael knocked Simon hard onto the tar rooftop. When Simon looked up, he saw what had captivated the other guys—Michael had transformed. The thick white hair on his face contrasted with his dark eyes, and his nose was dark and wide and animal-like. As a werewolf, he looked more majestic than Olivia had, and much more menacing. He didn’t have to growl to intimidate; his mere presence created an aura of fear. His thick, hairy hands had long claws, much longer and more lethal-looking than Olivia’s claws, and as he breathed with his mouth open Simon could see his huge, very sharp-looking teeth.

  Simon felt like prey, as if Michael could pounce on him and tear him to shreds at any moment. But then Michael shifted his attention back to Ramon.

  “W—w—wait, h—hold up, man,” Ramon said.

  An instant later Michael had leaped onto Ramon and started to bite into his neck. At that same moment Simon felt pressure in his hands, feet, and gums, and his entire face was swelling. The pain was overwhelmed by a surge of confidence and strength. He knew what was happening, what he was becoming, yet he wasn’t afraid. The transformation felt natural, as if he’d been this way for a long time, maybe forever, and he let himself go.

  Olivia was dying to bite Diane. She’d been so close, her teeth had been almost through her skin, when that guy had pulled her away. The guy had tasted pretty good himself, but she was still craving Diane’s flesh.

  She hung out on the roof of Diane’s building for a while until that guy left her apartment. She didn’t have to see him leave; she could smell him leave. Then she tried to get back into the apartment through the window, but Diane had locked the gate. Olivia knew she could’ve broken the gate with one good pull, but the neighbors would probably hear it. She was going to get into the building the same way she had earlier—through the door on the roof leading to the stairwell—when she heard a police siren. It was far away, but she could still hear it clearly. Then she went to the ledge and saw the swirling lights of a police car, maybe ten blocks away, heading along Avenue B. Sure enough the car turned onto Diane’s block and stopped in front of her apartment building. Well, so much for biting her best friend—at least for tonight. Olivia jumped from building to building until she reached the top of the building at the end of the block. Then she went down the fire escape and dropped onto East Fourth Street.

  Olivia immediately detected the guy’s scent. It was definitely his; it was unmistakable. Biting his neck had seriously whetted her appetite; now she wanted to finish her meal. She trailed the odor down the block, then downtown on Avenue A. She pulled off her boots and dropped them in a garbage can and continued barefoot. She started jogging, then running, then all-out sprinting downtown. Weaving through the city streets, she didn’t know where she was going, but she knew that as long as she could smell the guy she was going in the right direction. It was as if she were a rat in a maze, except that at the end of the maze there wouldn’t be a measly piece of cheese—her reward would be a wonderful feast of raw human flesh.

  The trail led her downtown, over the Brooklyn Bridge. The farther she went, the hungrier she got. She’d been to Brooklyn only a few times in her life, when she was dating that lawyer guy in Williamsburg. She went through DUMBO into an industrial area in God knows what part of the borough. She turned down a dark street—the streetlamp had burned out—but she was following the scent, and if she had been blind she would’ve known exactly where to go. The scent was the strongest in front of a decrepit industrial-like building. Could this really be where he had gone? Then she saw the words engraved above the entrance:HARTMAN BREWERY

  Didn’t Michael once mention that he owned a brewery in Brooklyn? Why had the guy from Diane’s come here?

  The door had been broken open. Olivia entered the dark lobby, saying, “Hello? Anybody home?” but getting no response. The guy’s scent was still very intense, and she tracked it to a dark stairwell. She said, “I know you’re here, and I’m gonna find you no matter what, so there’s no use hiding from me.” Then she detected Michael’s scent as well, and was that the scent of the Latino guy, Ramon, Diane had been dating? Yeah, it was definitely Ramon—she could tell him anywhere—and there was another strong male scent she didn’t recognize.

  In the pitch-dark of the stairwell, she knew exactly where she was going. She remembered being in the car with Michael, when he was driving with no headlights, and now she understood how he’d pulled that off. After she’d climbed a couple of flights the scents were more powerfu
l, so she knew she was heading in the right direction. She could also hear sounds—animal-like growling and human screams—intensifying her desires for sex and blood. She exited into a large area that was surprisingly clean and well furnished, and then went past a pool table to another stairwell. As she went up, the sounds were getting louder and the odors of the virile men were intoxicating.

  She emerged onto the roof and saw a powerful werewolf—by his smell, she knew he was Michael—with grayish hair, wrestling with a smaller, darker werewolf who she knew, by his scent, was the guy she’d been trailing. Michael was definitely getting the best of the battle—he was on top of the smaller werewolf, biting and clawing him—but then the smaller werewolf managed to free himself and swing his arm, like an awkward backhand in tennis, against Michael’s face. Michael stumbled backward slightly, then regained his balance and charged again.

  Watching the two werewolves was arousing for Olivia. She felt like they were fighting for her and she couldn’t wait to screw or kill whoever won. Then she noticed the two men off to the side—Ramon and a big guy she’d never seen before but who also smelled incredible.

  Olivia strutted toward them, swinging her hips and eyeing them seductively, “Hope you guys don’t have other plans this evening,” she said. “If you do, I have a hunch you’ll be canceling.”

  “Who the hell are you?” the big guy asked.

  “She’s Michael’s girlfriend,” Ramon said. “The one who bit Simon.”

  “His name’s Simon, huh?” Olivia said, watching Simon as a werewolf digging his claws into Michael’s face. Some blood spurted and Olivia rushed over and licked it off the tar. She savored the taste, but it only whetted her appetite for a much larger meal.

  As Simon and Michael continued to fight, Olivia got to her feet and eyed Ramon and the big guy. Ramon was sexier, but the big guy would be more satisfying, so she lunged at him, easily tackling him to the ground. He tried to get free, but his fighting back was just more of a turn-on. Despite his size, he was no match for her. She was about to sink her teeth into his face when she was knocked off him by something hard. She recovered fast and saw Ramon standing over her, holding a metal chair, about to hit her again. But this time she was ready and dodged it easily. Meanwhile she felt the change happening—the pain, but also the rush of confidence, and the feeling that nothing could ever hurt her, especially not some mere man.

  Fully transformed, she glared at Ramon, loving how terrorized he looked and how powerful she felt. Knowing that she could pounce on this man, destroy him whenever she wanted to, was the most invigorating feeling she’d ever experienced, and she didn’t want it to end. But her craving for flesh had intensified, becoming almost unbearable, so she lifted up the screaming and terrified little man, easily tossed him out of her way, and then went after the larger meal.

  The big guy tried to flee toward the stairwell, but she grabbed him from behind. She tackled him and pinned him down and bit off a chunk of his cheek. His screaming was even more of a turn-on. She chewed on the tough, salty flesh, but it barely satisfied her. She wanted to eat his entire face, then work her way down to that big meaty chest and devour his whole body. She was going in for another bite when she felt a sharp pain in her back, claws tearing into her.

  Simon saw Olivia attack Charlie, but Michael had him pinned to the ground and he couldn’t get free. Simon was fighting Michael the best he could, but he was overmatched; besides Michael’s advantage of strength and size, he had the major advantage of experience. Michael had been a werewolf all his life and had total control of his body, but Simon felt tentative in his werewolf body, as if he were driving a car he’d never driven before. His movements were awkward and he was afraid to take risks. When he tried to scratch and bite Michael, he mostly missed or stumbled, or just swiped at him gently. Meanwhile, Michael seemed to be toying with him, knowing he could put his adversary away at any time.

  Still, the shock of seeing that Olivia had transformed into a werewolf and, oh Jesus, that she’d just taken a bite out of Charlie’s face, gave Simon a surge of strength. He managed to free himself from Michael’s grasp and went after Olivia, getting her attention when he clawed her back. She turned angrily and bit his shoulder. She had a wild, ravenous look and blood was dripping from her mouth. Simon groaned in agony while she resumed the attack on Charlie, biting off a chunk of his arm.

  As Simon struggled to get to his feet, he wondered why Michael had given up on him, and then he saw why. Michael had pinned Ramon down in the corner of the roof and was biting into his neck. It was probably too late to save Ramon from becoming a werewolf, but Simon could still save Charlie.

  From a crouched position Simon tried to leap onto Olivia’s back. But he misjudged the leap, using too much strength, and went soaring toward the ledge of the building. He actually fell off the side, but at the last moment he managed to grab on with one clawed hand. It didn’t matter, though—his grip was loosening. In a few seconds he’d fall ten stories. He tried to say, “Help me,” but couldn’t form the words. Besides, no one was going to save him.

  He saw Olivia, baring her ugly teeth almost gleefully. He could tell she was milking this moment, enjoying his fear. She glared at him for a few seconds, then pounced on Charlie, biting his neck.

  Simon’s grip was slipping. He was about to just let go and end it all when he imagined he heard Jeremy say, “Daddy, don’t,” and fueled by the desires to live and fight and survive that he didn’t know he had, he managed to hoist himself up with one hand.

  But it may have been too late. Olivia was biting and clawing at Charlie, and Charlie was so out of it he was barely fighting back anymore. It was like Charlie had given in and was accepting his fate.

  Simon charged Olivia, tackling her from behind. Olivia was able to use her strong wolflike legs to flip Simon off her, over her head. Simon landed on his knees, got to his feet quickly and turned, squaring off against her. Her face was covered in warm blood now and she growled, spraying saliva, trying to intimidate him with her prowess, but Simon, refusing to back down, growled even louder. When Olivia attacked him again he was ready. He went right for her head, managing to get both of his claws into her mouth. With his left claw he grabbed her upper jaw, digging into her gums, and with his right hand he grabbed her lower jaw, and then he pulled in opposite directions. Olivia roared with fury and tried to free herself, but Simon was determined and wouldn’t let go. Telling himself he had to do this, that it was kill or be killed, he continued to tear Olivia’s jaw apart until there was a loud crack. Olivia continued to fight back, choking on blood, but Simon refused to let go. Finally, after one last gargle, Olivia’s body went limp.

  The roof was suddenly quiet. Ramon was in the corner, holding his bitten neck, and Michael was still crouched over Charlie, his teeth deep in the other man’s throat. Olivia was definitely dead, a dark pool of blood spreading around her.

  Simon tilted his head up toward the giant moon and howled in despair.

  THIRTY

  “So let me get this straight,” Officer Anthony Sanchez, a young NYPD cop with a freckled face, said to Diane. “You say you saw your best friend turn into a werewolf this evening.”

  Diane hated the way Sanchez was smirking, as if he were treating all of this as a big joke. Sanchez’s partner, a stocky blonde named Cheryl Mullen, was also clearly getting a kick out of it.

  “Look, I know it’s hard to believe,” Diane said, “it’s hard for me to believe too, okay? But it happened—I saw it with my own eyes and I’m not crazy. Ask anybody. Ask my neighbors. Go ahead, ring their doorbells, and they’ll tell you what they heard in here. Or bring some DNA people in. There must be DNA from her somewhere in here. Test the DNA, and then you won’t be laughing anymore.”

  Diane realized that the more she denied she was crazy, the crazier she sounded, which definitely wasn’t helping her cause.

  “No one’s laughing at you, ma’am,” Sanchez said, straight-faced, but Diane could tell that underneath he was still sm
irking.

  “Have you been using any drugs tonight?” Mullen asked.

  “Of course not,” Diane said. “Is that what you really think? That I’m on drugs?”

  Mullen and Sanchez exchanged looks.

  “Just talk to the guy next door,” Diane said.

  “We talked to him already,” Mullen said.

  “Great,” Diane said. “And?”

  “He said he heard some arguing and screaming from your apartment,” Sanchez said, “but he didn’t see a woman leave. He said he saw a guy leave.”

  “That’s the guy I was telling you about,” Diane said.

  “The one who saved you who might be a werewolf now too,” Sanchez said.

  “Right,” Diane said. “He went out the door, but she ran out onto the fire escape. But she wasn’t a werewolf anymore when she ran away; she’d turned back into a human being again.”

  Mullen and Sanchez were looking at her deadpan, obviously not believing any of this.

  “You think I’m lying to you, don’t you?” Diane said. “You think that’s what I do, how I get my kicks. I call cops and tell them lies about werewolves in my apartment. You think I have nothing better to do with my time. How come you won’t look for evidence? There must be little hairs somewhere on the floor. Or there must be saliva or, wait, look at those spots on the floor, that’s blood. Not her blood, his blood, but there must be more evidence somewhere if you’d just look.”

  The cops had moved toward the door.

  “We’re gonna have to go now,” Sanchez said.

  “You can’t leave me here alone,” Diane said frantically. “What if she comes back? What if she tries to break the door down? She’s crazy. She wants to kill me. Or what if the others come after me? There’s her boyfriend, Michael, he’s the one who started it all. I knew he was trouble at that bar, but she went home with him anyway.”

  “If someone attempts to break into your apartment, you can call 911,” Mullen said.