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Thomasin is hungry. The kind of hunger that is insatiable, a tell-tale sign of what’s to come. It typically lasts three to five days and leaves her tossing and turning in the middle of the night, clutching at her stomach, desperately trying to ignore the sensation and keep herself from devouring the few items of food she has in her fridge and pantry.
Hunger, carefully rationing out her meals and snacks, is something with which she was deeply acquainted. Ever since she was a child of ten, carefully removing a few notes from her mother’s purse while she was in her drug-filled stupor and calculating and planning what she could buy and how to make it last for herself and her younger siblings until she could sneak more money later. She understood the clench of an angry stomach, the dizzying feeling of low blood sugar, the subtle weakness and trembling in her fingers.
But this–this was something else entirely. A desperate need for raw, bloodied meat and dripping organs. The smell of iron and warmth alongside the rancid notes of fear.
It comes to a head each month on the full moon, exactly as she had learned in her school’s mandatory Praeternaturalis Safety & Self-Defence Program. That’s when the change begins, and the urge to hunt and maim is no longer under her control – well, mostly. She’s been able to keep her sights on animals rather than humans, fortunately, though there have been some close calls when she hasn't been quite quick enough to get out of the city proper beforehand. She still remembers the smell of piss and sweat and saline emanating from that poor bus driver, not quite drowning out the potent and heady musk of fear that surrounded him when she had lashed out, barking and growling fiercely at him. Banging and clawing at the polycarb booth in which he sat, which the municipal government had installed for that very reason. She had just enough sense to pull away and run, jumping from the bus’s step and climbing easily over the stone wall that separated the culvert from the expansive wheat field where they had stopped. She had quickly divested herself of her clothing and took off into the forest that bordered the other side. Two roe deer were her victims that night, as a safeguard to ensure her trip home would be uneventful.
That was over a year ago, not long after her own attack, where she was–where she turned. That anger that was once uncontrollable has waned since then, but still eats at her, even at the darkest points of the lunar cycle, though she’s unsure if that’s the beast’s or her own. Thoughts of revenge swirl in her mind, keeping her from sleep. Violent thoughts infiltrate her mind without warning, about the men who catcall her and grab her ass while she serves them drinks – she’s gotten irritated with them before, obviously, but never to this extent. Not to the point of fantasizing about ripping out their throats with her teeth, about taking her claws and tearing their cock right off, eating it in front of them as they cry and writhe in pain and cover their hands with blood that she’d lick off. These thoughts are merely intrusive, however, and not anything that she’s unable to keep from becoming a horrifying reality. Something that quickly flits into her mind unbidden, that she doesn't necessarily need to act on. It’s the beast, and she has come to learn that she can leash it with some work. It helps that she’s always been good at hiding her inner thoughts and feelings – keeping her expression placid and cold in the face of needy and disrespectful customers.
She’s very practiced at controlling her personal feelings and has become much the same with the monthly routine. First, she checks the lunar phases and carefully plans her days off from work. Then, a few days beforehand, she packs her small, mud-stained tote with extra underwear, a water bottle, some electrolyte packs, and other necessities, like a first-aid kit, though any wounds will quickly heal on their own. On the day of the full moon, she catches the bus before dusk, so she can ensure she’ll get to her spot before any of the change begins. It’s a very similar routine to when she gets her period–she even stores both cycles on the same calendar (and part of her wonders whether or not it would be better if they both aligned so that she could get it all over with at once, but she thinks of the cramps alongside that empty ache in her stomach, plus the cravings and mood swings and blood, then decides it's for the best they stay separate. At least the change is somewhat fun).
This evening, everything is going as planned. Most everything. Thomasin takes her bus out to the edge of the city, alone save for an elderly woman who gets on a few stops after she does, then exits one before hers. Thomasin notes that the bus driver is new–she smelled the faint stretch of death covered by a spritz of some perfume as soon as the doors opened to let her inside. It came from a thin woman, pale, with frizzy blond hair that’s tied in a haphazard bun. She wore a long-sleeved uniform with a turtleneck, but Thomasin still noted the bluish tinge where her hands gripped the steering wheel. A vampire. They stared at each other for a moment, but then the woman’s sunken, sleepy eyes flit back to the road, uncaring, and Thomasin entered, paid her fare and sat. There wasn't much worry. Vampires and Werewolves, from what she has heard, mostly keep symbiotic relationships, if any, due to the hardiness of each – the wolf for bloodletting, and the vampire for violent sex. This woman was the first vampire she had ever met, and she seemed mostly indifferent to Thomasin’s presence, unlike the elderly woman, who stared unwaveringly at her for the entirety of her trip.
But that was of no matter either; Thomasin took care to be inconspicuous, always travelling in her thrifted hoodie and taking advantage of the post-pandemic era by wearing a medical mask over her nose and mouth (which had the added benefit of blocking some of the heightened smells). However, it was always best when the bus driver and other passengers paid her no mind.
She sits in the very back of the bus and exits through the back doors when it stops at the wheat field. It drives off on schedule and unassuming, leaving her to her business. As soon as it's out of sight, she rushes through the long grass in the culvert and climbs over the stone wall. It’s quickly becoming dark; only hues of orange and pink poke over the horizon as she undresses and packs her clothes into her tote. It’s only when she’s tucked the tote into the old rabbit burrow under the stone wall that she hears it. Chattering among the trees at the other end of the field, hurried and playful, not unlike the yipping of coyotes. Turning where she crouches, she stares at the trees, barely visible over the drying wheat. With some effort, she hones all of her attention to her nose, inhaling deeply as the crosswind rises. Not coyotes, werewolves, like her – a group. She can't tell how many; their scents are distinct and yet profoundly co-mingled. The beast in her arches its spine, hair standing on end and growls. It takes her a moment to realize her body has done the same – the trespassers are in her field, her territory. They must know that–it took her weeks to find a place out here that was not marked. She knew intrinsically not to trespass on another’s hunting ground, and they must as well.
Unthinking, she takes off in a sprint toward the forest. The half-dried wheat stalks whip her naked skin, the parched earth cutting into her soles, but she doesn't pay it mind, too overwhelmed with the beast’s anger to think of anything. The change happens as she runs, callouses thickening on hands and feet, thick, dark hair drawing a line down her back and up her groin to her belly. It caresses her arms and legs as the claws grow and jut from her fingers and toes. It hasn't come to the painful part yet, teeth that shift and a jaw that lengthens and strengthens enough to snap bone, because she tempers it. Once she realizes what she’s doing, she forces the beast back, just enough to reconsider her approach. There is more than one out there. As Thomasin comes to the edge of the woods, she inhales again, at least three, likely more. As the scent permeates, she feels the anger rush through her once again. She plugs her nose in a feeble attempt to calm down. Think, she tells herself, they’ll kill you before you even have a chance to do anything. But her feet stomp through the jutting roots, her free arm bends and snaps offending branches. A growl sits in her chest, pushing and pushing to free itself. Stop, she tells herself desperately, You need to stop.
A branch snaps ahead of her, and her eyes jump to the source. A woman, naked as she, with dark brown, shaggy hair that matches the fur, accentuating her soft, thick body. Thomasin lunges for her and tackles her down onto the unforgiving dirt. As she attacks, she watches deep brown eyes widen and a mouth open to reveal sharp teeth. They struggle against one another, mouths snapping and growling. The other is not as fast as Thomasin, but has more weight and denser muscle. Her enemy moves to push her off, and she bites into the flesh of her forearm, making her whine in pain before she lunges forward and gets her to the ground. Her jaw has returned to its more human state, but still snaps when Thomasin struggles. She calls out toward the dense trees, and suddenly, a group of five more women surround her. Thomasin struggles futilely against the woman’s more powerful hold.
“She’s feisty!” a blonde woman says, almost joyfully, before she takes one of Thomasin's arms into a grip that is deceptively strong for her lean body. Another dark-haired woman, this time with long black hair and thickly muscled, grabs the other. The first woman finally climbs off of her, but is quickly replaced by one with auburn hair tied into a sporty bun and the fittest body Thomasin’s ever laid eyes on. There are two more, a tall, modelesque woman with greying hair and a plain one with large breasts that is the sole member of the group that wears coverings, a blue spandex bra and matching boyshorts.
“She fucking bit me!” The first one cries to them.
“Just a flesh wound, Edie,” the grey-haired woman soothes, just on the side of teasing.
“Hey!”
Thomasin’s attention turns back to the woman sitting on her legs, and she realizes she’s still thrashing about. She stops, only because they outnumber her.
“It’s alright,” the woman says, holding her hand out, placating, “We’re not here to hurt you. I promise.”
Since she is so close, Thomasin can get a better hold of her scent and the scents of the two women that still latch onto her arms. This auburn-haired bombshell is earthy and green. The blonde has a pop of something sweetly citrus, and the black-haired one smells like a bubbling creek. But every scent mixes and drifts under her nose; she can get hints of the shaggy-haired woman, though, since she’s familiar now, woody and musky. The rest she can't quite tell apart yet. But they calm her. There is something about them that is not threatening, as the scents left behind on hunting grounds, like the one she knows she left behind, but welcoming. It calms the beast to a manageable level.
The auburn-haired woman seems to notice Thomasin’s understanding and smiles warmly. She’s conventionally pretty, her fur-lined jaw is squared and strong, and her eyes are an inviting green-blue.
“I’m Grace Gore,” she says. Grace Gore, Thomasin repeats in her mind. Typically, when learning someone’s name, she repeats it out loud. Something her father had taught her before he disappeared. Repeat it back. Shows you’re listening and that you care. She can't do it now; her jaw is still in its wolf state, unable to form words. But she nods, tongue lolling out to pant from her exertion and her agitation.
Grace smiles again, then begins to introduce the rest. Georgie Hodgson and Jamie Fairholme are holding her arms.
“Though she prefers Jim,” Grace explains, “and you met Edith Little.”
Thomasin looks at the shaggy-haired woman whose healing arm is covering her breasts. Her sad brown eyes flit up when she hears her name, and she waves awkwardly before bringing her hand back down to cover her groin shyly. Edith.
“Henrietta Tamara Dundas Le Vesconte is beside her.”
The greying woman, whose slim, naked body stands tall and proud, shakes her head, fixing a derisive smirk to Grace before she turns and winks at Thomasin, “Henrietta Le Vesconte is more than enough. My friends call me Dundy.”
Then she turns her attention to Edie, tossing an arm around her shoulders, “Well, most of my friends.”
Edie's only acknowledgement is her chin dipping even further. Thomasin feels her chest warm as she’s introduced, and finally, the beast quiets, her jaw resets painfully, and her tongue becomes controllable enough for her to speak.
“Henrietta Le Vesconte,” she slurs slightly, still reeling with the transformation, and nods.
“And I’m Jane Irving,” the last one says as she kneels next to Grace. Thomasin repeats it, keeping her eyes trained on the soft, thick curve of her lower lip and nowhere lower. Jane smells floral—like something sweet, matching her furry face.
“Thomasin Jopson,” she replies, dazed, “But my friends call me Tam.”
She doesn't have friends, but she likes to imagine that's what they'd call her, if she did.
“Tam,” Georgie says next to her, breathes it into her ear, “I like that! Musical, like a drum. Tam, Tam, Tam!”
Thomasin almost smiles before suppressing it, because she realizes that while they seem kind and haven't hurt her, they still trespassed on her territory, and have yet to explain or unhand her. She says as much, now very much not in the mind to play games with sirens.
“Right,” Grace says, hands coming to rest on her lap, “We’ll let you go, but if you attack us, any of us, again, we reserve the right to…handle it. Do you understand, Tam?”
Thomasin flits her eyes between the lot of them, then nods, “I will not attack you.”
“Please don’t run either, Tam Tam,” Georgie says, “We came specifically for you.”
Her arms are released, and Grace lifts herself up and off, reaching out a hand to help Thomasin stand as well.
“Me?” Thomasin asks. She brushes the dirt and leaves from her fur and skin meticulously, and Georgie crowds her in excitement.
“Yes!” she grins. Grace pulls on her arm to bring her away, though Thomasin is fairly used to having her personal space disregarded. She works in a bar and is female. Comes with the territory. Georgie doesn't seem phased either, though, taking Grace’s hand and holding it.
“We’re sorry for trespassing,” Edith says quietly, from beside them “It wasn't our intention.”
“Trespassing,” Henrietta says with a scoff. She takes the few steps to close the distance between herself and Thomasin and leans in, looking down her nose. Her scent is a dense, smoky amber, akin to an Islay single malt.
“Tell me, do you own the land you're hunting on? Have a license to do so?”
She asks as though she already knows the answer, and she likely does, seeing as they all know enough to find her here. Thomasin feels her chin dip, but she keeps her gaze on steely grey eyes.
“I don't own the land, no. But I do have a hunting license. And a shotgun.”
She doesn't, but they can’t know that much. Henrietta’s eyes widen as does her grin, she turns to Georgie, “Oh, she is feisty! I can see why you like her so much.”
The last comment is directed to Edith, whose deep red flush shows through her brown fur. As Henrietta steps back to tease her further, Thomasin turns her attention back to Grace, who she’s beginning to think is the unofficial leader of this group. Grace stands confident and laid back, her hand resting on her hip as she eyes Thomasin.
“We don't really do that territory thing,” Grace explains gently, “We hunt where we want to. It’s mostly just those wannabe alpha male wolves who do it. The rest just leave each other be.”
Thomasin suddenly feels very stupid, but she keeps her chin up, “I didn't know. I only followed what I’d found.”
“I figured. You’re a young pup, navigating a change that isn't really explained or thought much about among Sapiens,” Grace says, “Our Jim was the same way.”
“I’m surprised you’re so comfortable without clothes already!” Georgie interjects. She steps over to Jane and snaps her bra strap, making her yelp in surprise, “Ten years for this one and still wearing these dreadful sets.”
“I can't just let them…” Jane starts, hand waving around her chest, her cheeks reddening, “You know it hurts my back to just have them…out.”
Though she herself is only a C-cup, Thomasin can see Jane’s point. She often finds her own breasts aching after she’s been running for hours on end. A high-impact sports bra sounds like it would be a good idea if she didn't appreciate the freedom of nudity.
Jane’s face then twists severely, “And I’m not like you harlots. I’m honouring God the best I can in our situation. If I could, I would be fully clothed, but this beast–this demon inside of me–”
“God’s not here, Jane,” Henrietta drawls with an eye roll, “Left us to the demons–”
Jane stares at her, mouth drawn in a thin line.
“He is!” she barks, her eyes beginning to glisten, “He wouldn’t do that!”
“Dundy,” Grace says, a warning clear in her tone.
“God’s here, Janie,” Georgie murmurs to her, “He’s still right here.”
She places a hand over Jane’s heart and takes one of Jane’s to place over her own. It seems to calm her, though she also looks uncomfortable touching Georgie's naked chest. Thomasin wonders at her history, how she came to be this way. She wonders if it was as how she herself was turned, and feels a tug in her heart for her.
Grace is still levelling Henrietta with a stern look, her expression taught. Thomasin glances over at Henrietta and notices Edith standing still and tense beside her, her eyes frantically darting between the others.
“We’d like you to join our pack,” she blurts suddenly, awkwardly trying to distract, “If you’d like. No pressure.”
“Your–” Thomasin begins, feeling like she’s a baseball being slugged into left field, “Where did you–How did you even find me? Know where to look?”
Edith gapes at her, then her eyes search the others before she closes her mouth and swallows visibly, “Um, you know our boss.”
She gestures between herself, Georgie and Jane.
“Frances Crozier,” she explains, “We caught your scent on her a few times, and found out it was you during a corporate lunch. Georgie has smelled it around here before. Two and two, you know?”
Thomasin feels heat in her cheeks at the mention of Frances Crozier, who likes her whisky neat, and will lay an appraising glance over Thomasin’s body when she drops off another glass. She realizes this is why she doesn't remember having any lady wolves in her bar: she was likely very distracted, honing her nose to the handsome butch’s musky scent and trying to gain Crozier’s attention while serving the table. And I left my scent on her? God, I'm so stupid.
She clears her throat, “Alright, but why me?”
All eyes land on Edith, but she remains silent. After a few seconds, Jane pipes up. Thomasin notes that she is clinging to Georgie's hand.
“You're young,” she answers, voice strong where it was distraught only moments ago, “A young pup needs a guiding hand. A shepherd to show them the–”
“Ugh,” Henrietta interrupts. Jane shoots her a glare.
“It’s more fun being a wolf with friends!” Georgie says and nudges Jane’s shoulder playfully. It’s an answer to which Grace nods.
“Let’s say a bit of both, hm?” she says to them, then turns to Thomasin, “The first few years are hard. And you’ve done a lot better than most, but it's easier when you have someone there to show you the ropes. The anger you feel, those violent thoughts, the desperation and hunger – it’s all completely controllable. It all is. We can show you how. And as Georgie said, it's a lot more fun doing this together.”
She winks at her then. Thomasin glances around at the group, settling on Jim, who gazes back stoically. She’s very quiet, hasn’t said a word the whole time, but it seems to be her own choice rather than imposed upon her. Thomasin wonders if she had any friends before this group took her in – Thomasin would very much like a friend, and now she’s been presented with the opportunity to have six. Six beautiful women who have sought her out on their own accord to get to know her, to teach her. Her very own pack. As much as she is nervous at the prospect, the beast in her whines, aching to share her scent.
“Okay,” she says finally. The corner of Jim’s lip turns up as Georgie yelps in delight.
“Oh, frabjous day!” she calls and rushes to throw her warm, skinny body into Thomasin, covering her in that bright citrus. Thomasin finds she can’t help herself and tilts her chin to rub her cheek over Georgie’s, where it rests.
“You smell like oolong tea!” Georgie says, and brings her cheek to Thomasin’s neck, “Like a toasty, dark oolong, mmm.”
Her body presses closer as she drags her face back, her golden hair glinting bright in the moonlight, small breasts only just poking hard nipples to Thomasin’s own. Thomasin feels a tingling flow into her lower stomach and down to her cunt as she takes in more of Georgie’s scent. She wraps her arms around her tightly and brings her nose to brush over the fur on her cheek, making Georgie hum contentedly once again.
“Alright, alright,” she vaguely hears Grace say from somewhere nearby. Georgie gets pulled away, and Thomasin comes back to herself, feeling the swelling in her folds and heat in her face. She glances over to where Henrietta has wrapped herself around Edith from behind, who watches on in a daze, her hand caressing the piercing on Edith’s left nipple. Thomasin feels her eyebrows furrow – what happened?
“The hunt first,” Grace says, “Three deer should suffice, maybe a snack or two for our dear Dundy.”
She raises a brow at Henrietta, who levels her with a heated smirk before she fully transforms. It doesn't seem to hurt her as it does Thomasin, despite her longer jaw and teeth. Her tongue flops out, overgrown as well, and she licks a long stripe over Edith’s cheek before she’s off, quick as though she were a cheetah instead. The rest follow, taking off in different directions in their full wolf forms, yowling and yipping excitedly. Thomasin takes her first steps, but hesitates – thinks about the pain of transformation, about whether the anger will return, if she’ll try to hurt her new friends.
A hand brushes her shoulder. She turns back and sees Edith behind her, her dark eyes warm, but lined with anxiety.
“Do you want to go together?” she asks after a brief hesitation.
Thomasin watches her, thinking, before she admits, “I don’t want to hurt you again.”
Edith smiles and shakes her head. She brings her wrist to drag it over Thomasin’s cheek and neck, filling Thomasin’s senses with her warm, mahogany scent. Then she does the same with Thomasin’s wrist.
“Georgie’s right, like a nice tea,” she mutters before explaining, “Your scent is on me, that makes me safe. And mine and Georgie’s are on you, which should guide you to the rest as well, if we’re separated.”
Thomasin nods, though she still feels nervous. Edith grabs her hand, “We won't get separated, I’m a very slow hunter.”
Then she transforms, squeezing their hands until Thomasin does the same. It’s still painful, and she grunts as her bones crack and grow, and she feels terribly for grasping so strongly at Edith’s hand, but the responding grip never falters. Once they’re in full wolf form, they cannot speak; their bones and lips and tongues do not allow it, so they only meet each other’s gazes. Thomasin notices the new familiarity between them as Edith’s scent mixes with her own. She also notes the citrus from Georgie, which in turn comforts her. She nods at Edith, who nods back before taking off in a slow jog, and Thomasin follows.
This forest is particularly dense, the ground covered in twisting roots and mossy rocks, but Thomasin is familiar with each part, knows where to smell for deer markings on the trees, where to look for their prints in the dirt, and when to turn her pointed ears to the sounds of their hooved feet. She knows how to sniff out rabbit dens and where the trees are the easiest to climb to pick sleeping birds off branches. Sometimes she’ll kill stoats or badgers, but only if she is desperate and can handle the fight they’ll put up. Tonight, she follows Edith, but she is baffled by her hunting style – Edith focuses on scent, more so than sound or sight. She’ll stick her nose into the roots and dirt and crawl through them, not unlike a hound on a fox hunt. Thomasin likes to use all of her senses and likes to experience what she usually cannot. On a typical day, she knows she can smell and taste and hear better than the average human, better than she ever has before, but leading up to and during the change, it’s like she’s experiencing a completely different planet, overwhelmingly full and beautiful. Now, she steps back from herself, and follows and watches, keeping a keen ear listening to what Edith may not notice.
It’s a few more moments before Edith holds a clawed hand out, stopping Thomasin in her tracks. Then she brings a finger to her snout to indicate quiet and motions for her to follow between the thick bushes ahead of them. They are as quiet as they can be in the branches, and when they come to the other side, there’s an opening, the light of the full moon glinting off dewy grass and silver stone, and standing in the centre is a large red deer with broad antlers that glimmer when it lifts its regal head. If Thomasin were on her own, she would leave it – it’s far too large for her to take down by herself. But now she is with Edith, who is short but broad and clearly much stronger than she, so she allows the excitement of a kill to flow through her.
She wonders how this will play out. They can't communicate verbally, so she keeps her eyes on Edith as the other woman assesses the scene before them. She lowers her nose to the ground to sniff a bit more, though Thomasin isn't sure why. The deer hasn't noticed them, it hasn't run, and there is no fear permeating the air. Then Edith touches her arm. She makes a few signals that Thomasin vaguely understands from her days working at the veterans centre in the hospital. Signs that told her when to hold position, where Edith would attack from, and where Thomasin was to corner their victim.
Edith looks at her, then holds a thumbs-up. Thomasin nods – she will fall back, round toward the right, while Edith goes left to take the rear. They split up and take position. As Edith creeps up from behind, Thomasin waits in the wings for her moment. Then a branch snaps. Edith drops behind the large rocks that protrude, but the deer turns its head quickly enough to spot her. Fuck it, Thomasin thinks, and not a moment too soon, while the deer’s attention still focuses on Edith, its feet begin to move to run, so she runs out, fast and stealthy, and tears into its neck. It cries out in pain and rears back, hooves coming up to kick at Thomasin’s head. She’s able to dodge the first, and before the second can even strike out, Edith uses her compact strength to shoulder it in its side. Its hooves catch on the uneven ground, and it stumbles and falls. It’s almost sad when it scrambles to stand, getting to its feet before its leg buckles and it falls once more. The blood loss weakens it, and Thomasin takes the opportunity to deepen the cut as it throws its head back. Make the death quicker to quiet its screaming, to keep them from being kicked or gored by antlers. Edith then moves to its head, grabbing the antlers and pulling them back farther, opening the gash deeper so the blood pools on the ground. The commotion is short-lived. It's the fastest hunt Thomasin has ever completed, and for food that will be more than enough to satiate her. She kneels next to the deer and sticks her snout to the cooling blood on its neck. Edith steps away and begins to howl. One long, and two short. Another signal. Then she returns to Thomasin’s side and grabs her shoulders, pulling her back from the deer’s corpse. She holds up a finger – wait.
Thomasin licks the blood clean from her wet nose with an even wetter tongue and eyes the treeline. It's not long before Georgie pops through, light on her feet, tongue lolling out of her mouth, and carrying four dead rabbits by the ears. Jim and Jane follow, with a small roe deer hanging between them – how did they get so strong? Thomasin thinks to herself. She can barely lift a goat by herself. Then lastly, Grace and Henrietta stomp through the brush with, speak of the devil itself, a billy goat hanging over Grace’s shoulders. Edith stares at it when it's thrown into the pile, then at Henrietta, who only shrugs. Grace points to the large deer, then at Edith and Thomasin with her hairy brow raised. Edith gives a quick nod and a high five when Grace requests it, though she almost misses.
Grace then circles the pile as the rest wait patiently, watching her. Thomasin watches and waits, too, part of her somehow understanding that she must, though the hunger stretches her stomach, claws at her from the inside. Grace steps to the pool of blood and toes at it slightly before she bends and drags a hand through, collecting enough to coat it fully, then sits in front of Thomasin, their snouts close enough for her to smell her breath as she pants. Then she takes Thomasin’s jaw in her hand and brushes their cheeks together, then noses at her neck. Thomasin takes her cue and does the same. The bloodied hand comes to rest at her chest, over her left breast, and then Grace is gone, replaced by Edith, who mimics the ritual exactly. It continues for the rest, Henrietta, who gropes her tit instead, Georgie, who yips playfully in her ear, Jim, who presses their noses to each other after, and lastly Jane, whose hand is hesitant before it rests near her collarbone, until the initiation is complete. The beast in her preens and yearns to show its belly, wants them all to bite into it and mark her as theirs, but she remains still as Jane stands back.
Once the ritual is complete, Grace runs her hand over Thomasin’s hair, then looks to the rest, pausing a moment, then waving out her hand to the feast before them. It’s an open invitation to begin the slaughter, and they do so instantly – claws tear open the stomachs of the deer and goat, spilling steaming organs onto the dirt and grass. Edith and Jim focus on the large deer first, Jim grabbing one side of the long gash at its stomach, Edith grabbing the other, and both pulling and pulling until its ribs crack and split, and the lungs and intestines push up and out, displaying them like a grotesque bouquet. The goat is prepared similarly, then pushed to the ass end of the deer, before they dig in. Grace walks over and grabs the goat’s heart, biting into it with her gaping maw like an apple. Guts are pulled out like long, thick pasta and cleaned of their blood before teeth tear into the delicate flesh. Jane sits near the head of the deer and dissects a rabbit, pulling off a leg and sucking on it, as the old men at the bar do with chicken wings. They yip and bark as they happily eat, passing pieces back and forth, their noises chattering together in a way that reminds Thomasin of Thursday paint nights.
Thomasin feels the hunger as she’s never felt it before; the ferrous smell of blood is tantalizing, the bodies glimmer in the moonlight – their victims and the women who have made her theirs, fur and hair becoming soaked in blood and gore as they eat. That tingling begins again deep in her core, and intensifies when Edith meets her gaze and beckons her forward to join them. Soon the smell of the bodies surrounds her – blood, earth, wood, water, citrus, smoke, flowers. All encompassed by her own oolong. She brings her hands to the deer as Edith watches on, and slides them inside, the slickness lukewarm against her skin and fur. She grabs at the first thing she feels – the liver, she sees when she removes it. It’s bitter and earthy, with a smooth texture that slips easily between her teeth. When she’s halfway through, she glances up and finds Edith still watching her, eyes lidded and warm, tongue hanging out as she pants lazily. Georgie sits beside her, licking her cheek and pointed ear clean. Thomasin swallows thickly and moves her eyes to the rest. Grace and Henrietta crouch over the goat, which is massacred beyond recognition, and mouth playfully at each other, dark red coating their biting teeth and lips, while Grace’s hand curls softly around Henrietta’s throat. Jim has moved next to Jane now, and they pick the meat off the rabbits' bones, feeding it to each other when they get good, large bits. Their long tongues wrap around claws and fingers to draw as much of the gore and taste into their mouths.
Suddenly, a hand is at her chin, long, thin fingers that pull her gaze back in front of her. The hand belongs to Georgie, who grins at her, her face reverted to a more human state. Her eyes are narrow in their half-wolf state, but still large, and her nose is flattened and pointed. The fur on her arms and body is thinner than the rest, finer and sparser, showing more now that the blood slicks it back.
“Come, come, my dear,” she says, “Sit with us. Closer. Let us feed you. Share our feast with our newest pup.”
Thomasin can't help but comply, dragging herself through the cooling body in front of her, coating herself further in the mess, until she is on the other side, curled between Georgie and Edith comfortably. Georgie grins prettily and giggles as she shifts closer. She snaps a piece of the ribs from the body and holds it out in front of Thomasin’s still wolfed-out jaw.
“Eat!” she says, “I want to see you snap these with your lovely teeth.”
Thomasin gazes at the bones and glistening threads of muscle, then snaps her jaw around it, cracking each bone in three parts. To her credit, Georgie doesn't jump and quickly gets her hands out of the way. She claps them together as Thomasin chews around the pieces in her mouth. Edith, on the other hand, does jump, but only slightly. When Thomasin turns to her, she sees she has also reverted to humanesque form, her lips parted, tongue flicking to wet them as she gazes heavily at Thomasin’s mouth. Henrietta is lazing behind her, her head resting gently on her shoulder as she nuzzles her wolf nose to her cheek with small licks.
“Strong teeth already,” Grace comments from the other side of their food, gaze also heady, “They’ll get even stronger. I bet you’d be able to snap a femur with those.”
There’s shuffling from the other side, where Jim and Jane sit, and Thomasin turns just in time to see the rabbit foot Jim tosses at her, catching it with another powerful snap. Jane’s gaze is wide in her half-human face as she swallows thickly.
“Fast, too!” Georgie pipes up, “Maybe faster than Dundy.”
“I doubt it,” Henrietta drawls now that she has also reverted, “Not one of you is faster than me.”
“Maybe we’ll have to see,” Grace retorts, “Organize a race. Wouldn't that be fun?”
“I don't race,” Henrietta argues, “I’m not a child.”
“You don't do much of anything,” Grace replies with a grin, then turns to the rest, “Anyone want to hazard a guess at who got the goat?”
Henrietta sits up from her perch on Edith, her chin tilted in offence. Edith murmurs beside her, “I think we all figured it out already.”
She keeps her gaze on the cooling meat in her hand as Henrietta leans in to snap, “You are such a bitch.”
“Well, you never help!” Edith snaps back, her attention still away from the woman behind her, “That's why we never hunt together anymore!”
“No, we never hunt together anymore because you're too damn slow!” Henrietta argues, “Sticking your nose into the dirt like it’s some other wolf's asshole.”
Edith huffs, teeth clacking shut before she replies, “You have to be slow with deer; they run at any noise.”
“Well, you don't need to be with goats. They’re familiar with humans.”
At this, Edith finally turns to address Henrietta head-on, as well as Grace.
“That’s another thing,” she says, angry, though her voice is not strong, “I thought we had agreed not to take from farms again. Those are someone’s livelihood."
“Maybe we should revisit that,” Henrietta says, leaning back on her arms, baring her stomach, “You’d be more successful hunting something slower and friendlier.”
Then she tilts her head again, her half-human eyes mean, and picks her words deliberately, “Like a big, fat cow.”
Edith growls and launches herself forward, tackling Henrietta to the dirt. They transform quickly, quicker than Thomasin had thought possible, and snap their jaws at each other, wrestling harshly in the bloodied dirt. Their growls are harsh and frantic, cut off here and there with whimpers when one lands a strike. Thomasin watches, caught off guard by the sudden change in their dynamic. She leans away from them, their scents becoming harsh with anger, and back into Georgie's waiting arms.
Grace barely spares the two a glance before she’s climbing over the carcasses to Thomasin’s side. She reaches out and brushes a piece of hair behind Thomasin’s pointed ear.
“Don't worry about them, they’ll sort it out. They always do,” Grace says, her calm voice juxtaposed against the violence behind her. Then she trails her clawed fingers down Thomasin’s cheek to gently handle her chin, “Why don't you calm yourself, dearie? I’d like to see you. Talk, if you’d like.”
They’ve all reverted to their more human forms, likely to chat for a while before they eat again, but Thomasin hesitates. It still hurts her greatly to shift back and forth, so she usually only does it twice–to wolf in the beginning of the evening, and to human at dawn–she doesn't understand how they can do it so often and so quickly, without even a flinch.
Georgie's hand drifts over her side and hip, soothing, as Grace smiles in understanding.
“It’s alright, Tam,” she says, then moves her fingers to press into the muscle at the joints in her cheeks, encouraging, “The more you do it, the more your body becomes used to it.”
Georgie grabs her hand and allows her to squeeze it roughly as she changes. It doesn't hurt as much now, Grace’s massage helping her through the worst of it.
“Thank you,” Thomasin breathes after. Grace only continues to smile, now letting her fingers drift softly over the fur on her neck. If she were in full human form, her skin would break out into goose pimples; now, however, she only feels her nipples harden and that ache between her legs. Grace’s scent encompasses her nose, along with that prickly citrus behind her, heady and thick.
“You have such striking eyes,” Grace murmurs. Georgie giggles behind her.
“All the better to see you with,” she whispers playfully. Thomasin shudders as her breath tickles her ear. She’s suddenly aware of the quiet now, and darts her eyes behind Grace to where Edith and Henrietta fight–were fighting. She’s unsure now. Edith has Henrietta pinned underneath her thicker form, but Henrietta’s wolf mouth is at her throat. Even so, Edith does not submit. She doesn't quite fight back either. Her hands grip Henrietta’s thin arms tightly, holding them to her chest, and her hips shift over Henrietta’s thigh, minute but noticeable once given attention.
Grace’s dancing fingers, along with Georgie’s gentle lick on Thomasin’s neck, draw her attention to the women with her. Georgie’s hand slides across her stomach to cup at the small curve under her belly button, then up and up to her breast, squeezing gently. Her slender fingers tease Thomasin’s nipple, and she finally decides to latch onto the delicate skin under her jaw with her mouth. Thomasin sighs and tilts her head to present more of her neck, and watches Grace’s eyes trail down the line of it. Her touch follows, tickling down Thomasin’s chest, through the handprints that mark her, before dipping into her belly button, then her hand flips, and she slides her palm down, just until her fingers are millimetres from their goal.
“Okay?” she asks in a purr. Thomasin doesn't answer verbally, only circles Grace’s wrist and guides her to her folds, letting out a small moan when they slide through easily. She’s so wet now, but Grace’s fingers are also still covered in blood. For a moment, she tenses, thinking about how unhygienic this is, her discomfort from it overshadowing the fact that Grace doesn't seem to have her claws anymore. Thomasin gasps then, expecting the sharpness of them before realizing her hand has transformed back into something more human. It’s all so much–too much at once, and she’s desperate for a distraction. She meets Grace’s heated and lidded gaze and reaches for her, cupping the back of her head and parting her lips in a request that Grace happily obliges. Grace’s tongue tastes metallic and bitter when it slides over Thomasin’s, her fingers confident and skilled where she pleases her. Georgie whimpers from Thomasin’s neck, licking and biting playfully while she pinches and pulls at her nipple, making Thomasin gasp and moan. Grace pulls her mouth away, shifting so she’s closer, her large breasts coming to press against Thomasin’s own. They’re full and perky comparatively, and Georgie’s, where she moves to curl around her back, are small, sweet. Thomasin wishes to take one into her mouth and suck. Whose, she isn't quite sure yet.
Instead, she allows herself to be all but mauled by both women, tilting her head up and spreading her legs for them to do as they please. Grace slides her fingers further, teasing at Thomasin’s hole, who moans her agreement and gasps when they slide inside. Oh, she thinks, I should have brought those sanitizer wipes.
Stop that, she scolds herself, and bites her lip as Georgie’s hand joins Grace’s at her cunt, clawless now as well, taking care of her now neglected clit as Grace curls her fingers in and out. They both mouth and bite and suck at different parts of her–her neck, her tits, her spine, wetting the fur and mixing the gore with their drool. She opens her eyes to watch them, but finds her gaze caught by the scene unfolding nearby.
Jane sits as she was before, legs folded and curled to the side, and watches in open awe of Thomasin and her mates. Her hands rest, twitchy but steadfastly on her lap, her fat thighs squeezing and unsqueezing, her nipples poking through the spandex of her bra. Thomasin wants it off of her, immediately; she wants to see them in all their glory. She darts her eyes to Jim, pressed close to Jane's shoulder, watching her with her dark eyes and dragging her fingers over her furred arm, but can't find her voice enough to ask her to do something about it. Something tells her Jim wouldn't listen anyway. She watches as Jim settles her chin to Jane’s shoulder–Jane almost instinctively tilts her chin towards her–and whispers in her ear, making Jane shudder, her lashes fluttering.
Grace curls her fingers just so, drawing a cry from Thomasin, making her throw her head back. Then there are wolf teeth at her neck. She opens her eyes and finds Georgie smiling at her, cooing softly, “Submit, Tam.”
Thomasin’s eyes roll with the earthy scent that overwhelms her. She whimpers as Grace’s fingers pick up speed.
“Have I not…already?” she is only just able to ask.
“Let it happen,” is Georgie’s only reply.
Thomasin huffs, concentrating on the feeling building inside her from both their skilled hands. Her head falls to the side now, propped by Georgie’s thin shoulder and the jaw that still remains around her neck, and she opens her eyes. They fall on Edith and Henrietta now, still lying as they had been before, but now Edith’s half-human face is focused on her. Henrietta is still pinned underneath her body, but she whispers frantically in her ear, leg folded to press where Edith rides it roughly. Thomasin watches her strong hips kick, back and forth, and that’s it for her. She whines, loud, from deep within her, and comes over Grace’s fingers. It rocks her to her core and lasts longer than any orgasm she’s ever experienced. Grace bites down just hard enough to leave indents, but not break skin, and when Thomasin calms, moves back.
She places a light kiss on her lips after and gives her fingers to Georgie to lick. They are still lightly furred, but without callouses and with human nails. Thomasin gapes at them in wonder.
“Good girl,” Grace praises, then looks to Henrietta and Edith, giving them a nod.
Suddenly, Georgie is gone from Thomasin’s back and replaced by Edith, who pants heavily into her ear. Henrietta kneels between her legs, a devilish grin on her dog-like mouth.
“Have one more in you, darling?” she slurs around her long tongue before she lowers herself to her stomach and puts her nose to Thomasin’s cunt. Thomasin jumps and tilts her hips away with a gasp, but then Edith’s hand rests gently on her chest, right under her neck, and she shushes her.
“Henri, wait,” she says. Reluctantly, Henrietta lifts her head. She rests her cheek on Thomasin’s thigh and patiently lets Edith continue.
“Thomasin–Tam,” Edith murmurs to her. The nickname sounds awkward on her tongue, “It’s part of–do you wish to continue?”
Thomasin turns to her, eyes searching her warm brown gaze. Her face has reverted almost to full human, save for the smattering of fur, her eyebrows tilted up in a sorrowful way that seems to be a permanent fixture on her face. Her scent is soothing–almost paper-like now, reminiscent of a quiet, quaint library.
“You’ll be here?” Thomasin asks softly. Edith’s eyes widen, and she nods.
“Yes, right here,” Edith says, “I’ll mark you, as Grace has.”
Thomasin nods and leans back into her hold. She glances down at Henrietta, who looks back up at her with faux-innocence.
“You make me feel useless down here,” she says with a put-upon frown.
“Then make yourself of use,” Thomasin bites back, reaching to the back of her head and pushing her face back between her legs. Henrietta goes happily, opening her mouth to run her tongue languidly along Thomasin’s already dripping lips.
Thomasin clenches her legs around Henrietta’s head, making her moan into her cunt and dip her tongue along her opening. Edith pants heavily behind her, in her wolf form, before she begins licking along Thomasin’s neck and cheek.
“Can you–” Thomasin breathes to her, “My tits–lick there? Please.”
Immediately, Edith is lying her down on the soft earth and crawling over her, licking over her hard nipples, then nipping softly with her wolf teeth. Henrietta’s long tongue prods her hole and enters, just a little, just enough to make Thomasin whimper in delight. She feels a wet nose press on her tit. Edith inhales deeply, then does so again at her sternum. Thomasin brings her arms to wrap around her, combing her fingers through her hair as she watches her bloodied face mouth at her chest.
She thinks of how filthy Henrietta’s mouth is after eating that farm animal and has to keep herself from pushing her away–the skilful flick and prod of her tongue is enough to temper that urge. Her long fingers grip Thomasin’s hips and ass, still clawed, cutting past the fur and piercing the skin and making her cry out. She notices movement over Edith’s shoulder and sees the remaining members of the pack reaching their own pleasure. Grace brings Jim to climax with her clever fingers, and Jim, in turn, breathes encouragement to Jane as she has her hand buried in her underwear. Georgie lies by herself, draped in parts of the animals, fingering her clit and nipples.
This, along with Henrietta and Edith’s tongues all over her, raises that intense feeling once more. Edith glances up from her chest and moves to clamp her jaw around Thomasin’s neck. The dig of her teeth into skin gets Thomasin to the edge and spilling over–this orgasm is almost as intense as the first, but so close to the last that it’s almost uncomfortable. Her eyes still roll back into her skull, appreciating the pain along with the pleasure. When she comes to, she feels dampness on her lower belly, where Edith’s hips sit. The other woman has let go, her face reverted to its more human form as she gasps.
“Easy Edie,” Henrietta comments through heavy breaths.
“Shut…the fuck…up,” Edith breathes back to her before she lifts off of Thomasin, slow and languid to roll onto her back.
“I haven’t come yet,” Henrietta gripes at her.
Edith pants, “Grace?”
“Busy,” Grace replies, breathless. Thomasin turns her head to find her grinding her hips down onto Jim’s face. She pushes herself up to her elbows to find Henrietta pouting at her lap.
“Lie back,” she tells her. Henrietta perks up and moves quickly to oblige. Thomasin follows like she’s being offered scraps from the dinner table, climbing over her and pressing her arms to the ground above her head. Henrietta’s smoky, amber scent is reminiscent of the whisky Thomasin slings to Frances Crozier, and is intoxicating. She sticks her nose to Henrietta’s jaw and inhales deeply.
Henrietta scoffs and mutters to her, “Just like Edie. You’re definitely a better top, though. You have a strap along with that shotgun?”
“Yeah,” Thomasin replies, allowing her natural accent to bleed through, “If you’re good, maybe I’ll show you.”
Henrietta arches into her, her beaded nipples prominent on her small breasts, brushing against Thomasin’s fur.
“I can be good,” she purrs, with a look that tells otherwise.
Grace scoffs from beside them, “No, she can’t. You want good, you want Edie.”
Thomasin glances at her and finds her lying alongside Jim, smiling, cocky, at the woman in question. Edith, now snacking on the meat lying over Georgie’s splayed form, blushes, but doesn’t argue.
“Excuse me,” Henrietta snaps in her ear, “I’m not going to wait all day, darling.”
Thomasin turns back to her, pushes her further down into the dirt, and shows her–shows them all–how good of a top she can be.
–
By the early morning hours, the animals' bones have all but been picked clean. Afterwards, Grace ponders at how they will clean up, and Thomasin leads them to the small stream nearby. She runs to grab her things afterwards, at Georgie’s request, so they can dress and head back to the city together. Henrietta has a car, which doesn’t quite fit all of them, but they make it work. Thomasin sits on Edith’s lap and revels in the blush that coats her now fully human cheeks. She ducks with Georgie and shares giggles as they drive through the city streets to Henrietta’s parking spot.
It’s interesting to her to see them all as they are during the day. To see Grace’s freckles and Georgie’s flamboyant style. Jim’s pale skin, Jane’s modest clothing and Henrietta’s high cheek-bones. Edith’s many piercings and lovely, thick lashes. Under the passing street lights, they seem like the average group of friends–or how Thomasin imagines the average friend group. She thinks to invite them to the following Thursday’s paint night, and does, when they spill out into the car park.
“Thrilling,” Henrietta says, disinterested. Grace smacks her in the arm.
“Get over yourself,” she says, then turns to Thomasin, “We’d love to, Tam.”
“Lots of wine to be had,” Thomasin says, though she’s not entirely sure why she wants to cater to Henrietta’s whims. But it does seem to pique her interest, which oddly makes Thomasin feel better.
“It sounds wonderful!” Georgie sighs, “I always wanted to try it! You know, when I was young, I wanted to be an artist. After my pianist phase, which was after my nun phase. I took so many classes, but the instructors always–”
“We’ll be there,” Jane interrupts, “Georgie, we’re going to miss our bus.”
Georgie pouts, but she turns her silly grin to Thomasin, “I’m so happy you’re part of us now, Tam Tam.”
She throws her arms around Thomasin, covering her in citrus, and kisses her cheek, “Get my number from Edie. Jane’s too. Text me when you get home.”
Jane hugs her as well, leaving her floral notes, before they head off down the street.
“We should get home as well, yeah?” Grace says to the rest. Jim tosses her cigarette and nods. They say their goodbyes, and Grace hugs Thomasin as well, Jim following, their smells mingling and reminding her of the stream where she often bathes. When Jim pulls back, she gently pushes their noses together.
“Rest well,” she says, her voice low and rough. She steps back and motions for Henrietta to take her turn, who pauses first, sizing Thomasin up like she’s just met her, before she steps over. Her long arms surround Thomasin, her height allowing for Thomasin’s cheek to rest on her shoulder. Her scent wafts over Thomasin’s nose, sharp like fine whisky that makes her think of Frances. She pushes it from her mind when she feels Henrietta’s nose along her hair. Then Henrietta steps away and turns to Edith, grasping her face in her large hands and kissing her deeply. She whispers into her cheek, staring intensely at her after until she nods.
The three take off the opposite way from Georgie and Jane, towards their shared flat. When Thomasin turns back to Edith, she finds her staring at a far off point. Thomasin shifts the tote bag over her shoulder, making Edith jolt from her thoughts.
“Would you–”
She pauses, biting her lip.
“Would you want to–um…?”
“I should get home,” Thomasin says, tired, “I need to scrub myself raw.”
Edith's mouth drops open before it twists down in something like despair.
“Oh,” she says quietly, “I thought you wanted–I’m sorry we should have waited.”
Suddenly, Thomasin realizes her error. She’s never felt more mortified–how rude of her. Though she doesn't allow it to show on her face, she can feel the heat of embarrassment colour her cheeks. Her skin is so pale, Edith must see the pink. She purses her lips, then tries for an apologetic smile.
“I didn't mean that,” she explains quickly, “I did want–I only meant the…mess. The creek water helped a bit, but I'm a bit of a germophobe.”
Understatement of the century. Though Thomasin was thorough when the group cleaned up, she could still feel her skin thrum with bacteria. She desperately wants to wash her cunt, inside and out–she’ll apply some clotrimazole as well, just in case. She’s bouncing on her feet, ready to rush home to run a hot shower.
“Oh!” Edith replies, “Of course. I’ll need to do the same.”
She huffs an awkward laugh. There’s no way she was going to wash again, Thomasin thinks, at least not right away. Her bed will smell entirely of their night, her sheets becoming embedded with it. Part of Thomasin is green with envy.
“Will it come off?” she asks, “If I wash again?”
Edith’s lips purse, “Not entirely. It will be much less strong and fade over time, though. We typically try to get together once a week to…replenish. Two weeks is the longest they’ll go before showing up at someone’s door.”
The pronoun usage isn't lost on Thomasin. They, not we. She wonders at it, but sets the thought aside for later.
“Let's get you home, then. To clean up,” Edith says, “I’ll walk you.”
Thomasin dips her chin, “I’ll have to take the bus, then the tram. I live–well, I'm not in the area.”
She doesn't mention where she actually lives–it’s a tiny space in a tall building with barely enough room for just herself, located in the seediest part of the city. Edith, while she has tattoos and piercings, doesn't seem the type to be able to handle the prowling men and obvious drug houses. Her handsome face drops even more somehow (Thomasin didn't think it was possible to look any more like a kicked dog).
“You can walk me to my stop? Wait with me?” Thomasin offers and holds out her arm for Edith to take.
Edith seems to jump at the opportunity, quickly coming to her side and threading their arms together, “Of course! Wouldn't want you out there by yourself.”
Thomasin smiles and doesn't bother mentioning the switchblade in her pocket, or the fact that, once she’s on her bus, both will be alone. She has quite a walk from the tram, but she can take care of herself. She briefly hopes the same can be said for Edith, then remembers her strength and realizes she has nothing to worry about.
“You also need to give me your number,” Thomasin says as they begin to walk.
Edith smiles, though she doesn't meet Thomasin’s gaze, “Yes. And the rest. Georgie will be on me all night if she doesn't hear from you. I almost don't want to give it to you.”
Thomasin hums, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
Edith scoffs. It's the first offhand reaction from her all night, made even more charming when she says, “It won't. I love her to death, but sometimes she can go on forever about absolutely nothing.”
“Oh yeah?” Thomasin replies with genuine interest, “Not like Jim, then?”
Edith laughs, unthinking, when she pulls Thomasin closer with it, “With Jim, you’ll be lucky to get any response that isn't just a thumbs up!”
Thomasin prods her on the rest, wanting to know more about this group she’s gotten herself involved in–and Edith, though she speaks with an unmistakable fondness in her voice, is open to complaining about them. It's enough to distract Thomasin from her buzzing skin, and almost makes her miss her bus while she’s going on a tangent about rowdy bar patrons.
She gives Edith a long hug before she boards, and waves from the window afterwards. As she travels home, her heart races. She lifts the front of her sweater to cover her nose and inhales those mingling scents and doesn't think about how tired she’ll be the next day. Instead, she revels in satiation–how that cagey beast now purrs happily within her, with its full stomach and satisfied lust–and wonders at the promise of Thursday paint nights.