Waves of intention were palpable in the room.Tisha’s eyes met hers for a beat, a flicker of relief momentarily replacing the turmoil within. The doctor wore her professional mask well. Almost as well as Marisol wore the mask on her inner wolf.
Tisha reached into her purse and found a cheap diamond count wedding ring. Marisol cocked her head as she watched Tisha place the ring on her finger. Tisha wore a tight smile. Marisol, ever the observant one, couldn’t help but notice the way Tisha’s fingers traced the rim of her coffee mug, the way her hair escaped in wispy strands around her face. There was a restlessness in her movements, a tension that hummed beneath the surface.
[https://storage.googleapis.com/rocky-production/story_images/big_526102060e0abea13a989c22f5376782.jpg](Image credit: [Tisha] Gencraft AI prompt generated]
A cool, crisp radiance that danced across the room. Its presence was immediately evident, casting a vibrant, even glow, spilled into the room. The tubes hummed softly, emitting a soft buzz. A touch of artificiality bathed the office in a pale, bluish-white illumination, creating a sense of cleanliness and efficiency. It lacked the warmth and softness of natural light. A mixture of emotions reflected on Tisha as felt with the ring.
Tisha, her usual vibrant smile replaced by a tight line, sat behind her desk, scrolling through her phone with a distracted intensity. Marisol watched the way her fingers lingered on the screen, the way her brow furrowed as if carved from guilt. Marisol watched as Tisha’s gaze flickered past the chart, landing for a fleeting moment on the window before darting back to her. An odd flicker of desire danced in the doctor’s eyes, a shadow that quickly vanished as she plastered on a professional smile.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she held the ring. Her gaze lingered on the intricate band, memories of vows and promises flooding her mind. A hand dropped to under her belly button, as if replaying the sensation of intimacy she felt last night.
Marisol witnessed Tisha mentally and emotionally replaying her affair. She sank further into the crinkling leather of the chair, feeling tension radiating from across the desk. Tisha, usually unflappable in her crisp white coat, played with a pen, its silver click punctuating the silence.
"So," Tisha began, her voice a fraction too bright, ”Are you sure there's no one I can contact?"
Marisol shrugged, her gaze lingering on the faint smudge of dark brown mascara beneath Tisha’s left eye. It wasn’t smudged with grief, or the fatigue of late nights. It was the kind of smudge that spoke of stolen kisses, whispered secrets in hurried goodbyes. A scent, subtle but unmistakable, confirmed the suspicion – a trace of cologne, musky and expensive, clinging to Tisha’s blouse like a phantom limb.
Tisha’s eyes, usually focused and clear, darted away whenever a car honked outside, or the phone buzzed on her desk. Her fingers, tapping a nervous rhythm on the keyboard, betrayed the turmoil behind the professional facade. Marisol knew the feeling intimately – the thrill mixed with the gnawing guilt, the exhilarating dance on the edge of a precipice. She wasn’t here to judge, though. There was a reason doctors, even this one, couldn’t heal their own hearts. Sometimes, the deepest wounds were self-inflicted, fueled by desires that burned like wildfire.
Tisha, ever the professional, approached with a stethoscope, her smile a touch brittle. "Well, let me look you over, alright."
Marisol got up, locked the door, then turned back to Tisha. The air in the office was thick, not just the sterile hum of machinery, but with a palpable tension that prickled at Marisol’s skin. The scent of disinfectant mingled with the faint aroma of lavender hand sanitizer as she sniffed the air.
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Marisol ensured the door was locked. Tisha appeared quizzical as she observed Marisol locking the door. Her hand was outstretched with a Slim Jim meat stick and chocolate candy in her hand.
Tisha said, “No need to lock the door.” Her voice held a tremble of worry.
Marisol replied, “No me gusta que me interrumpan cuando como.” (I don’t like to be interrupted when I eat.) She slipped off the cardigan and jacket, moving to the doctor.
Marisol inhaled and exhaled, the whoosh of air echoing in the silent room. This, this was her own demon to wrestle, her own secrets to keep.
The hunger caused Marisol to surge with heightened strength and agility. She slipped into a casual swiftness look face-to-face. It's a moment of total confusion, eyes wide with panic and hyperventilating as she’s terrified out of her wits. Tisha couldn’t scream as Marisol gripped her throat with a smooth arm movement. A chilling fear coursed through Tisha’s body and soul. Her pheromone signature flared into a rebellious cowardness.
Marisol growled furiously and threw her clean-up into the ceiling. Tisha landed against the support beam. The sound of her spine breaking crystal clear in the confined room. As her body smacked the carpet with a wet smack. The once vibrant woman, who had entered the clinic with the remnants of a night of passion etched on her skin, now lay sprawled on the floor, a mere shell of her former self.
Tisha’s labored moans intermingled with the guttural growls emanating from Marisol. Marisol noted Tisha's furtive movements as she tried to survive.
Marisol knelt to the moaning woman. With one hand, she yanked Tisha’s head back by her hair, exposing her throat and chest. The doctor’s eyes, wide with terror, met Marisol’s feral gaze. A shiver ran down Tisha’s spine, looking into the impossible woman before her eyes.
With a soft purr, Marisol struck her arm from the back. Tearing through flesh and bone, Tisha’s body cavity erupted outward in a horrible rent, eviscerated. Tisha shrieked from the violence, clinging to life.
The vivid scarlet arterial substance glowed with a burning phosphorescence in Marisol’s ultra-violet vision. Her body slipped easily, and swiftly, to her dominant wolf self. Her long hair was in shades of black and brown, and fell in loose waves, farming her face as she stared directly at Tisha. Tisha was stricken in frozen fear as Marisol’s face morphed into her natural state of a werewolf.
Her once smooth, and graceful, face underwent a metamorphosis. Blood and skin dripped as her muzzle elongated, dripping with a mixture of saliva and Tisha’s lifeblood. Marisol’s formidable teeth grew quickly, as if they were hidden like switchblades within her gums. Her canines lengthened into menacing fangs, perfectly adapted to rent, tear, and bite prey.
Her delicate features contorted and shifted as subtle ripples coursed under her skin. Her bones lengthened and muscles expanded, generating a thermal rise in temperature and hunger. Hunger to replenish the caloric energy spent in the transformation. The soft contours of her body became more angular, her cheekbones sharpened and her jawline elongated. A layer of downy, dark fur sprouted from her skin, spreading across her cheeks and down her neck in a wild, untamed fashion. Her nose took on a snout-like shape, its tip moistening and gulping deep breaths.
Her hair smoothly flew out from her skin into a thick pelt of fur. Her eyes, a moment ago, full of warmth, sharpened into a wolf’s contour and intensity. The vibrant hues of her irises shifted to see more than a normal human. A primal hunger and tranquil glimmer mixed within Marisol. Despite the transformation, a sense of pleasure radiated through her nerves and body. The unparalleled euphoria matched her connection to untamed nature.
Tisha mewled as Marisol’s aggression provoked an uncontrollable fear. Marisol's eyes locked onto the writhing form beneath her.
In one continuous motion, Marisol stood in her lycanthropic glory, and then stomped once on Tisha’s head, obliterating her skull into a pulpy mess.
The office resounded with the pleasure of her feeding. Her normal human teeth and jaw were not built for this consumption, yet she burst through Tisha’s skin, muscle, and hair. Once the werewolf consumed her fill, the hunger momentarily subsided, leaving the beast temporarily contented.
The room hung heavy with a coppery tang of fresh blood. Marisol, now fully transformed into her lycanthropic form, stood over the mangled remains of Dr. Tisha Hilson. The once-vibrant woman was now a broken, lifeless heap against the wall. Marisol’s wolfish eyes gleamed with primal satisfaction as she reveled in the aftermath of her gruesome feast. The remnants of Tisha’s skull marked the macabre conclusion of the doctor’s life. Marisol’s elongated fangs and snout, still coated in Tisha’s gore, spoke of the brutal efficiency with which she had torn through flesh and bone. The room itself seemed to shudder, bearing witness to the grotesque event that occurred within the walls.