She stood in front of me and I could see her right boot tapping softly, a habit she had when she was getting impatient. I opened one eye and tried to control my breathing.

“I know you are awake, Cub. I can hear your heart. Get up.”

Her voice had that cold edge that got me moving.  If I didn’t, she would make me move. Those boots had broken my ribs, nose, jaw and other bones. I knew that when she had them on, she meant business. In those boots was a pair of pale, long, muscular legs. Out of habit I followed them up to see what she wore today. Good, she had on a very short black dress that clung to her like a second skin. She loved that dress and would hate to get blood, my blood, on it. As usual, she was braless, she had small firm breasts which I liked. My youth had been spent in the “bigger is better” thought process, but now, I simply wanted hers. Her name was Valda and she owned me.

I sat up and looked up to her face through my messy hair.  If Valhalla sent down a Valkyrie to see over me and break me, this was she. Her face was long, beautiful without a touch of makeup and flawless skin. Her eyes were a blue that reminded me of the sky in January, dark and cold. They slightly elongated by the tight ponytail she wore, her hair almost white it was so blonde, flowing down to her lower back.  She wasn’t exactly scowling, but she sure as Hell wasn’t holding a plate of cookies in her hand either. Thank God, an S and M version of June Cleaver is not what anyone needs.

“How are you tonight, Mistress?” The slight emphasis I put on “Mistress” was a far cry from the days I would use the “ss” to make it a hiss passing through my teeth, a curse. She even let me get away with the slight emphasis these days, usually.

“I am well Cub. Now get up, I have a lesson for you.”

She held out her hand for me and I paused. She never helped me off my bed, a small mattress at the foot of her bed. She also said she had a lesson for me. In the past she always told me, “You must be taught a lesson”. The curriculum was almost always some sort of abuse, physical usually, sometimes it was worse.

I took her hand and felt how cool it was, a vampire only was warm after feeding, and stood to face her. I was a little taller than her even when she wore those boots but I made sure to keep my eyes lowered. I didn’t fear her enthralling me, as a werewolf I was immune, I feared her wrath if she thought I was being defiant. She allowed me to look into her eyes sometimes, during sex or when she wanted to make certain the lesson she taught me, or errand that she gave me sunk in.

I pulled the hair back from my neck and shoulders and turned my head so she could feed. I was her favorite she said, she lived for centuries but I tasted best. I bet that’s what she told all the boys, yet I hoped it was true. The sting of her bite didn’t come, instead her cool hand pulled on my chin so I was looking her square in the eyes.

“I will feed later Benjamin. Right now I want to show you something.” Her voice was calm, almost gentle.

She turned and started to walk away and when she saw I hesitated, I could not remember her ever calling me Benjamin. She held out her hand and beckoned again.

* * *

My name is Benjamin Watts. I stand six foot three and I am built like an NFL linebacker. I have long brown hair and once a month, whether I like it or not, the full moon takes over and I change into a beast. I am a werewolf and have been since I was twenty-three.

It happened late that summer. September brought coolness to the evenings and the days were getting short. Deer hunting, bow season to be exact, was in a week and I decided to scout a wood near my home and if it looked like a good spot, I would ask Mr. Early, the owner, if I could hunt there.

Like always, I got a late start and after finding quite a few paths leading into a nearby field of corn, I decided to head back to my truck before it was too dark. The sun already slipped below the Western horizon and the rising full moon, orange and distorted was giving chase.

I started to pick up my pace a bit, I forgotten my flashlight. The light was fading fast and several times I had to double back after taking a wrong turn. I wanted to get back to my truck and home. However the night was closing fast on me and so were the mosquitoes, once again I would be scratching at the welts on my arms and neck, my hair was short back in those days.

Using the pale blue light of the moon, now higher and less distorted, I finally could see the edge of the wood. I should have been paying more attention to my feet, not the moonlight peeking through the trees because I tripped over something in the trail and landed hard on my shoulder.

It took me a few moments to get the cobwebs out. Shaking my head seemed to help a bit. I reached back at the mound on the trail and could see it was a dog or deer, well it used to be, in the pale light I could see the light fur under its face, a deer. The doe was probably only a year old, and it looked like her throat was gone. I pulled on her neck to see better and felt blood. It looked black on my fingers in that light and it was still warm. Fresh kill.

I got to my feet and felt panic sink in. Coyotes were plentiful in the farmland of north central Ohio, but coyotes usually only preyed on fawns less than three months old. No bears had been seen here in over a century, neither had mountain lions nor wolves. I began to go through the preternatural possibilities and my gut went cold. Just because my part of the world was monster-free didn’t mean they didn’t exist. I started to run, my truck was only a hundred yards off, when the moonlight was eclipsed for a moment and I felt a bone-crushing impact. My breath was knocked from me and I felt a sharp pain in my left shoulder. My head was swimming and I now had my own blood on my hand when I checked my scalp.

Try as I might, I couldn’t get up and the effort just made things worse. The world around me was spinning out of control. Unconsciousness crept up on me and I couldn’t stop it. The last thing I remember was the sound of footsteps and a familiar voice say, “Oh for Christ’s sake Gary! That’s Margie Watts’ boy, Ben!”