Anne. Her name was Anne. I now knew her father’s scent and I could have easily killed him. As I curled up in another forest cave, far from human scents, I began to think about Anne’s sweet flesh. She would have tasted lovely.
I had tasted my father’s blood, but only briefly. I had expected great glory for his kill. I should have been alpha!
Were I to vanquish the Loupe family, I might have a chance at earning the respect and command of my brothers. The Loupes were already wary of being found out. It was uncommon, but men had been burned for werewolves before. Occasionally they were actual werewolves. The common people had no idea that being a werewolf was a family affliction.
The fools, they had written poems about how if one were to consort with the devil and use a belt made of a wolf’s pelt, or don a cape made of such, one could become a werewolf. As a hunter my own father courted accusations, but as he often killed wolves that pestered neighboring farms, he was not normally suspected.
Should the Loupe family be found with such a pelt in their possession, after a beast had wreaked havoc in the region, well...
There was the problem of the cattle. Vicious creatures. I must avoid them.
There were many young shepherdesses about, and it was a simple matter of finding one who tended sheep rather than bulls.
-7-
Sheep were the smelliest, foulest creatures, I had decided. I had been lying in wait upwind, knowing due to their stink that sheep were grazed on this hill, and all I had to do was wait until the innocent shepherdess arrived. I had thoroughly investigated the area and could smell her lovely odor throughout the grasses. Delicious. I was salivating.
And here she came on such a glorious morning, the hem of her skirt wet from the dew, the sun not yet hot. She stopped at the top of the hill, fanned herself with her hand, then stood gazing out over the landscape with her back to me. While the sheep bleated nervously, she stood still.
I darted in, and she had only managed to turn slightly with a surprised look on her face before I had knocked her down and ripped her throat out.
A spray of blood misted the blue sky with red until her arteries stopped pulsing out her life’s blood. I gulped down that sweet mouthful, and slashed at her dress with my claws for good measure. The flock had begun running, galloping down the hill toward home as fast as they could while they pressed against one another for comfort. I snatched up a small one at the back and carried it off to eat.
Though the girl’s blood had been sweet, sweeter than I could have imagined, I needed the townsfolk of Langogne to find her corpse and begin their witch hunt.
-8-
The little girl’s name had been Jeanne Boulet, and I listened as the villagers lamented the death of little Jeanne. My thoughts could not linger on this idle gossip - my mind had only two different tracks:
1. Find a true wolf and kill it, and somehow managed to get this pelt on the property of Abelard Loupe.
2. Kill kill kill
I fought for control. I needed to find a wolf, else my whole plan would be for naught. Moving north, I searched the forests high and low while my throat ached for blood. Animals were plenty and I killed and ate, yet this thirst would not be sated. Pretty little Jeanne’s face filled my thoughts. Her scent followed me. My distraction made for many missed opportunities. I began to realize that I was not hunting correctly - I had not been taught to hunt as a wolf, only as a human. How one walks to avoid making noise, how to sit downwind… it was as though I had forgotten the basic lessons Papa had taught me.
This was to prove to my brothers that I would be Papa’s equal - non, his superior - had they accepted me as alpha. I fought the thirst. I tracked for wolves. Perhaps the presence of the Loupe family had kept true wolves away, or perhaps wolves made themselves scarce in the summers. Whatever the reason, I could not find a single beast anywhere for miles. I roved through the forests, killing spontaneously when the blood lust became too much to bear. My body grew fat and big, so that when I returned late in the summer, and turned human for the first time in months, I could not fit into the stolen clothes I had left behind. The breeches were many inches too short, and the shirt was so tight across my shoulders that the seams ripped.
No wolf pelt. No clothing.
With more ease than I had ever experienced, I slid back into wolf form and headed south.
-9-
I stalked the edges of the forests, waiting until I caught just the right scent, some innocent victim alone and unawares. In Puylaurens, it was a girl just a year older than I, a sweet voluptuous thing whose corpse I used after I ate off her face. In a field near Langogne, I found a slender boy tending crops alone and ripped off his head. One woman I caught just before sunset, several feet from her front door. It had been one of her children with the delicious scent, but I ran off after the first taste, pausing only to be sure I had been seen. I killed again and again and again, yet my thirst could not be slaked.
By now I had been a wolf for a full month, and my thoughts had grown disordered. When the villagers gathered up their pitchforks and began crowding through the forest thrusting into the bushes, my wolf reacted in alarm and I ran off without thinking, without a plan.
I forced myself to turn human again with all the effort it takes to wake from a deep slumber. I groaned and felt the constraints of my skin. October in Gèvaudan was more temperate than the autumn season in Soissons, but I do not consider this the reason for my comfort in my own nudity. I found myself lifting a leg to piss on trees.
There was something I had forgotten in this time, and it was revenge. Slowly this memory returned to me, and under cover of darkness I made my way into the town of Saint-Chely. In the shop windows, illuminated by the moonlight, I startled myself with my own appearance. I had grown tall, and broad, and a scruff of hair covered the lower half of my face.
The parish there was easy to break into; the doors were unlocked to welcome worshippers and offer sanctuary. I could smell the priest asleep in his chambers. An old man, sleeping soundly, for I could also hear his long and steady breaths. Using the holy water, I scrubbed my face and body clean, then wrapped myself in one of the many altar cloths and fell asleep.
Upon the morn the priest found me there. “Young man, have you no respect for God?” he asked me with disapproval in his eyes.
This was when I discovered that human speech had not returned to me. Luckily, my guttural response was all he needed to assume that I was simple, or deaf, and he now saw me as a charity case rather than a degenerate.
“Poor boy,” the priest clucked. And he took me to his chambers, where he fitted me with some of his own clothes, and then gave me some bread and water and told me to sleep in his bed. Even tucked me in.
In the morning I helped the priest with some tasks around the church, then mumbled a garbled thank you and went on my way. The priest pressed some coins into my hand, and I stared at them. “For food,” he said slowly.
I nodded, although that wasn’t what had stopped me. It was a scent I recognized. I drifted out of the church and into the light.
“There you are!” said a familiar voice, and I looked up to see none other than Fallon Loupe.
“You know this boy?” asked the priest, who had followed me outside.
“He is my cousin.” Fallon grinned, and clapped me on the back like we were old friends. I snarled at him.
“You’d best to keep an eye on him,” the priest warned. “I’ve heard tell of a beast attacking young people out alone.”
“No worries, Papa. We’re part of the hunt.” Fallon patted a wicked looking knife on his belt. “Georges sometimes wanders off. He’s never come to any harm.”
“Good that.” The priest nodded and returned indoors. He did not see how Fallon gripped me by the arm and started marching me down the road. He was joined quickly by several of his brothers, who surrounded me. The stink of their Otherness made my skin crawl with the need to be wol
f.
“You will remain human,” Fallon hissed in my ear. His head jerked up, and he called out, “Hello, lady! Fine morning!” Then his breath hot on my neck. “If you turn now, everyone will see.”
I struggled to keep my smooth human skin, and was relieved when the boys reached the door to an inn and shoved me inside and up a narrow flight of stairs to a cramped room – perhaps only cramped due to there being five strapping young men and myself, as well as the seated figure of Abelard.
The alpha in him stank of power, more so than my own father ever had. He was dressed in the fashion of the day, a ruffled shirt, a fitted coat with brass buttons, with his hair combed back. And yet he did not look like a dandy. The expression on his face had been carved out of stone.
“You dare remain in Gèvaudan after you were warned?” he asked me.
I cleared my throat to test my voice. Thankfully I could speak, though the tone was lower and more gravelly than I recalled. “I was told to leave the area. That is why I am here, and not still in Langogne.”
Abelard’s eyes narrowed. “After killing half a dozen in my backyard.”
I shrugged.
Abelard stood. He was much larger than I had expected, towering half a foot over my head. “Do you have no sense of self-preservation? Do you not understand what will be done to someone of your nature?”
“Of our nature,” I corrected him.
His brow hung low over his eyes. “Our nature,” he conceded. “Pray tell, boy. Why do you roam so far from your pack?”
“I have no pack.”
“I know your father. For what crimes did he disown you? There are few he has not committed himself.”
“You knew my father. He is dead now.” I leaned toward Abelard and smiled. “I killed him.”
“Then are you not alpha of the Soissons pack?” He looked at me. “No. You are a lone wolf. They have cast you out rather than accept you as their leader.”
My eyes narrowed.
“A wolf must have a pack,” Abelard said. “Is this why you came to my territory? You wish to join my pack?”
If I said yes, would I then have to fight Abelard for dominance? And should I kill him, would his sons reject me as leader as my brothers had? Why, indeed, had I come down to Gèvaudan, their known territory, and watched them? Had my original intentions been to join them?
My mind felt clouded. I could not remember what my more human self had been thinking.
“No,” I said.
“Then why?”
I want to snarl at him, to destroy him, to tell him my plan to destroy his pack and thereby earn respect from my kin. Rather I kept my mouth shut and glared. I could not think of another reason.
“He is insane,” Abelard said to his sons. “Kill him.”
I have had worse odds, but I spoke quickly to avoid a fight I might possibly lose.
“I am not insane,” I said, even as I smelled the stink of wolf hair growing and felt claws piercing my arms where the Loupe brothers held me. “Please. I’ve not been taught how to conceal myself. I will go and not return this time, I swear it. Please.”
These words of begging pained me more than any wound. Abelard regarded me. Perhaps he could smell the lie on my breath.
“You are young,” he said finally. “You have not been taught. And you also do not know me. I make good on my promises. I promise this: if you do not leave my territory immediately, you will die.”
“I will leave, I promise,” I sputtered, playing the part.
“You will. If I should smell any trace of you, if I should hear of any more wild animal attacks, I will kill you.”
“Yes, sir.” I made my voice high and nervous, easy enough as I was near ready to laugh.
He regarded me again, then waved a hand.
“Bring him to the forest’s edge,” he commanded. For a long moment he looked around at his sons, then turned away.
The boys dragged me out. By now all the village had woken and the boys shoved at me as though we were playing a game. “Come along, drunkard,” called Fallon. “Hold your liquor! Hold your liquor!”
“Drunk already?” called out one man carrying a hatchet over one shoulder. “You boys ought to be ashamed of yourselves!”
“Papa already gave him a whupping,” said Lucien gaily.
“Good man.”
Fallon leaned in and muttered, “You’d best play the part.”
I allowed myself to stumble and weave even though the younger boys began jabbing at me with the butts of their rifles. I felt myself growing more and more outraged, the wolf straining at my skin. My wolf could kill all of them, I was certain of it.
Finally, the smell of pine and grass and moist dirt overtook the city smells of defecation and human odor.
“You will leave now,” Fallon said. The boys at once released me. I shrugged off their hands and stepped forward.
“Good riddance,” added Lucien.
“Are you going to stand there until I remove my clothes and turn?” I asked nastily. “You enjoy looking upon naked men?”
Fallon barked a laugh. “You are not a man. Now be gone.”
But now they turned their backs.
And I leapt out of my clothes and ran.
-10-
I did not go far.
By sense I knew I was being followed. Abelard must have instructed his sons to track me, to ensure that I left. If I went too far east, I smelled that stink of his marked territory. If I went too far west, I could hear a presence there that drove me back to due south. I slowed, and alternated hiding and running. Soon I began to hear the movements of others in the forest, not wolves. The humans pounded their instruments against the ground. They were trying to drive me out.
I tried to focus, to concentrate on the scents of the wolves, but the pounding destroyed my focus. I began to run.
Then I caught scent of a lovely young maid who smelled positively delicious. The pasture, full of sheep, was immediately in my path. What luck! I could have an audience as I devoured yet another victim, and Abelard had literally driven me to it.
I had only just emerged from the trees when a loud crack filled the air and I fell. Not ten paces from me were two men, one holding a smoking musket. There were others as well, peasants, watching with their pitchforks and hatchets and shovels.
Leaping to my feet, I noticed that one of my hind legs was not working quite as I’d expected, but I prepared to spring upon the hunters.
Another crack, this time in my side, and I could not spring to my feet. My breath had been stolen from my lungs. The men were standing now, getting ready to come toward me. With every ounce of strength I had, I dragged myself up and ran away, into the forest, away from the lovely girl, away from the hunters. I heard the rifle crack yet again, and felt a sting like that of a bee in my hindquarters.
Anger at these pesky humans filled me, and I spun to jump out of the forest again. I had not much experience with guns, as Papa tended to use snares and traps when he hunted. I knew, however, that guns had a limited number of bullets. Once they ran out of ammunition, they would have to reload, and I could kill them.
I was farther from them when I reemerged, but still the bullet found me. My body hit the ground and my head rang and I could not understand how it had come to this. They were going to kill me. Would my body remain a beast’s after I died? I blinked at the sky that seemed to be turning black.
The crackle of many footsteps running through the tall grass snapped me out of my short misery. Escape, I had only to escape and I could heal. It had taken me all of a day to heal from the blasted bulls’ attack, and I was much stronger now. I struggled to my feet and began running despite the throbbing in my leg and the painful cramp in my side where a bullet was lodged.
Behind me I heard the gasps of the peasants.
“It is not affected by the bullets!” called one man.
“Loup-garou!” called out another. “It is a werewolf!”
My wolf m
outh smiled at this, and I ran faster. My legend had begun.
-11-
All along it had been a trap. The boys had herded me straight toward the hunters, and waited for the hunters to do the work of killing me.
These realizations fueled me. Even as I ran, my leg began healing; I could feel the muscles and sinews knitting themselves together. Pure luck, the bullet had passed straight through. My ribs were another story. By the time I had outdistanced the hunters, crossed several streams to throw off the scent, and found a cave in which to hide, I could feel my body pushing the bullet out. When nightfall came, the wound still bled a little, but I had come up with a plan.
Under the light of the moon, I emerged from my cave. The air around me was cold and empty. No stink of enemies. The Loupe boys had not tracked me. I wondered if they had turned human again in order to make their appearance at the hunt, then not been able to turn wolf with so many witnesses. And hunters; the hunters would have killed any wolf, ignorant of whether or not the wolves were actually the Beast.
I stretched my tight, knotted muscles, testing the newly mended areas. Good enough.
My feet moved lightly over the crunchy fallen leaves, my nose constantly sniffing and my ears on high alert. It took most of the night to get back to Saint-Alban. I followed my own trail of blood, and emerged from the forest in the morning twilight, while the world was still blue. I turned human for a short while to pilfer some necessary supplies, then the wolf returned for the major part of the task.
The scent of the lovely maiden still lingered here, but I continued on to farther pastures, where I hid and waited.
The youth have an innocent reek, powerful and tempting. Easily I could imagine why it was said that unicorns would only approach the innocent. They smell of sweeter times, carefree and energetic, a bud about to flower, an egg unhatched. I followed two such innocents deep into the fields, a brother and sister who held hands and spoke of the exciting events of the previous evening.
“They said the beast is dead,” the girl said.
“They shot the monster but it still lives,” the boy replied. They jumped in unison over a branch in the grass, alongside the sheep they herded. “The hunters did not find it. They said it must be a werewolf.”