Hours later, Marisol found herself concealed behind the desolate expanse of an abandoned construction site. As a majestic she-beast, standing tall on her hind legs, she prowled silently behind a massive front-end loader. The sun’s feeble rays barely breached the horizon, casting a dusky golden glow upon her feminine form. Every sinew of her seductive muscles radiated power and prowess.

The reverse transformation wracked Marisol’s body with excruciating pain. Agony coursed through her muscles and nerves, causing her to emit harrowing screams that resonated with the horrifying crunch and grind of bones shifting within her. Her entire being felt ablaze, her trembling form an aria of fear and torment. Drops of sweat trickled down her fur, matting it against her skin.

The metamorphosis unfolded in slow, torturous seconds. Dozens of changes transpired simultaneously as her body contorted and compressed upon itself. Bones popped and realigned, blood condensed within a smaller vessel, and her flesh absorbed every droplet of sweat with a voracious thirst.

Marisol pleaded aloud, “Oh mi puta Mierda!” (Oh my fucking God!)

Bolts of agonizing torment surged through her legs, causing her to clutch desperately at them. The transformation offered no respite, a far cry from the ease of assuming her lupine form. Barely able to maintain her stance, another lightning bolt of pain jolted through her, arching her back in convulsions as the human transformation persisted.

Nude beneath the oppressive shadow of the heavy machinery, Marisol gasped for air, her strength faltering as she sank to her knees.

She whimpered, “Mierda!” (Fuck!) The torment caused her to quiver.

She remained on all fours, unable to contain the overwhelming agony. Surrendering the agonizing pain, she experienced metamorphosis with every ounce of suffering it entailed. Her flesh was undulated and rearranged, as if locked in a macabre dance of self-destruction and rebirth.

Marisol’s mouth and nose bleed away excess blood from being a larger creature, the crimson liquid flowing freely until it coagulates. Her face contorted from the elegant she-wolf back into a woman. Her jaw compressed, her lupine skull reshaping into its human form.

Her sharp claws retracted, merging back into her fingers. The guttural growls of the beast dissolved into anguished moans. Her claws retracted into her fingers. Her guttural growls change into moans. Her wolf padding becomes bare feet. She sits next to a massive wheel, catching her breath. The change wrecked her body. Becoming human is never easy.

When all is done, she’s saturated with virility, health, and strength. She’s eerily silent and stealthy.

Her breathing causes white clouds to eddy in front of her body as she falls to her knees. Her intimate femininity leaves no doubt about her ties to humanity. The largest difference is feeling rancid as a human, rather than true to her original wolf nature.

Parking her car at a surgical clinic, Dr. Tisha Hilson, a vibrant African American woman in her late thirties, reached for her purse in the passenger seat. The weariness of a long night lingered in her eyes, but a glimmer of happiness shone through. As she listened to the latest song by the American rapper, her head bobbed in sync with the infectious beats. Her mind was in a state of exhaustion from her activities with her lover.

Just as she was lost in the music, her phone rang with a hip-hop ringtone. She swiftly turned off the Bluetooth player and answered the call, noticing a faint indentation on her ring finger suggesting something was missing from her hand.

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Tisha spoke on the cell phone, “Hello… Yeah, just got here…You got to stop acting like that baby… It was amazing… no, we’re not doing that. My legs are still jelly. It’s not like that. You got me sore. Look, can we talk about this later? Yeah… You’re right. I am in love… You get me so fired up… Yeah… Yeah… My juice box has been yours since day one.”

She purred the last bit, her lips curling into a satisfied smile at the response she received, a response only she could hear.

“I will… after we talk… I promise… wet and tired. I gotta go. Stop… you aren’t making it any easier. I have to get to work, and you’re making me aroused… Yes, I’ll take care of your baby milkshake when I get back. Bye.”

Tisha’s attention was suddenly caught by a flicker of motion. Locking her car, she turned her gaze toward a specific house and scanned its backyard, where she spotted a naked Latina woman sneaking through.

Reacting swiftly and clutching her swinging purse and light jacket, Tisha approached Marisol, determined to offer her assistance.

Tisha calls out to Marisol, “Ms.! Miss!”

Marisol heard Tisha and froze in her steps. She’s confident in her stance. A set of bushes blocked almost all her nakedness. Tisha locked eyes as she approached her.

“Si?” Marisol asked as she internally fought the intense surge of hunger from her transformation. Physical exertion, coupled with the heightened metabolism of the werewolf’s form, contributed to her insatiable appetite. Her acute sense of smell detected a scent of prey, rejiggering a deep-seated desire to feed. It was more than just a physiological need for sustenance; it is an intrinsic part of her wild and instinctual nature. Seeing this lovely lady before her, Marisol’s carnivorous instinct surged her to satiate the overwhelming craving for fresh meat. Fresh meat of any source. Including this lady before her.

Tisha caught a flash of something in Marisol’s look. Something off-putting and dangerous. However, Tisha was a professional and truly held to her medical oath to help those in need. “Do you speak English?” she asked.

Marisol nodded negatively in response to Tisha’s question. She replied. Her voice was tinged with uncertainty, “Yo, no hablo ingles. Pero lo entiendo.” (I don’t speak English. But, I understand it.)

Tisha reassured her, “I don’t speak Spanish, but I understand some. Are you hurt? Where are your clothes?”

Marisol answered with a hint of distress, “Perdido.” (Lost.)

Tisha offered her assistance, gesturing towards her clinic, “Come with me. My clinic is over here.”

Grateful, Marisol replied, “Gracias.” (Thanks.)

Tisha quickly slipped to her, offered Marisol the jacket, and shielded Marisol with her own body from potential luring eyes. Tisha uses her key fob to lock her car.

“We’ll call the police when…”

“No. Mi familia se encargará de ello. (No. My family will take care of it.)”

“Family? Are they close, your family? We can call them.”

Marisol fell into silence, her senses heightened. She scanned her surroundings, her nostrils twitching as she caught a familiar scent in the air.

Her gaze shifted across the street, and her heart skipped a beat. There, standing proudly, was the regal wolf family. Clad in casual attire, Antonio and Candace met her eyes, nodding with a sense of purpose. As they turned to depart, Nia remained behind, her penetrating gaze locked onto Marisol. In a soft, almost imperceptible bark, Nia communicated a message that resonated deep within Marisol’s soul.

The sound echoed in Marisol’s ears, distinct and clear. It is a call, a beckoning of the royal lineage. Marisol’s mind swirled with confusion. For as long as she can remember, there have always been seven wolves, the original pack. Why now, out of all moments, has she been chosen to join their noble ranks?

Tisha snuck Marisol in past any prying eyes into her office. She quickly shuts the door. There’s no window in her office. She grabs her marbled shawl cardigan and drapes it over Marisol.

Tiisha said, “Let me look you over.” Her compassion and demeanor reflected the contentment she felt from the after glow from her lover’s activities the previous night.

Marisol shook her head no and backed away.

Tisha said, “Is there anyone I can contact?”

Marisol again nodded negatively. She stood there watching Tisha.

“Are you hungry?” Tisha asked with concern. “I have some snacks.”

Marisol nods yes. Her eyes light up devilishly when Tisha bends to get snacks from her drawer. She gazes at Tisha’s backside with hungry eyes. Her wolf nature had not subsided. She still saw the light spectrum give way to colored lines that merged and twined, as if seen through a feverish hallucination. Painted pictographs burned in her field of vision, almost hallucinogenic. Tisha was outlined in a vague, mottled image. The pale purple silhouette of her body darkened against the violet light given from the fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling. Her out-of-focus shape and color slowly resolved into clarity.