WEREWOLF | Alejandro Romero

Alejandro hated full moons.

He was on edge all day long, even snappier than usual the day before one, too. But the day of was brutal—constant aches and pains in his joints, random bursts of anger, a constant need to be moving. He looked and felt like a fucking drug addict suffering through withdrawals.

And then night came, when the moon came out and glowed ominously in the dark, star littered sky. Alejandro retreated to the cabin his parents built for these days, hidden deep in the forest, difficult to be found by hunters or even other supernatural beings. It was the safest place he could be that wasn’t home.

“You’ll be fine,” his dad had told him before he left. He still gave Alejandro the same speech every month. “The woods are your playground on nights like these. You’re far enough away from the town. Just let go and stay safe, son.”

Alejandro repeated his father’s words in his head as he got as comfortable as he could on the floor of the cabin, grimacing and growling whenever his body jerked or shifted, bones moving like slightly off pieces of a puzzle, muscles tightening. Fuck, the shifting part was always so painful.

Fur grew slowly down his arms and legs, all over his body, canines sharpening and protruding from his gums painfully. It was like the dentist all over again.

He tried to focus on staying calm, because no matter how many times he went through this, it was still so overwhelming. His nails morphed into claws that he dug deep into the floorboards, creaking and splintering with the effort behind his motions.

And then—he smelled it. Something earthy, but unfamiliar.

Alejandro’s eyes snapped open, the usual brown having turned into a molten gold, flicking toward the covered windows where the barely there glow of a flashlight traced the curtains. His body tensed—werewolves could see just fine in the dark. There was only one explanation:

A hunter had found him.

mood: on edge thoughts: No fucking way. Fuck. Fuck! Love Level: 0% Hate Level: 15%