Something Funky Was Going On

Knowing what was happening didn’t make the fact that her very human body was becoming something very much not human any less alarming. To put it mildly. And the pain was still an epic force holding her firmly it its thrall. But at least if she died she went out knowing what got her; her own greed and, well let’s face it, obsession. She always knew in the back of her mind she purposely lived a very dangerous life. The odds of her dying of natural causes had always been slim but she never thought it would be this painful. She felt like she was being ripped apart and stitched up the wrong way. She’d always imagined it would be something quick: a slit throat, a gunshot, a stab wound. Or, if it wasn’t fast, she’d simply go up in flames - literally - so she didn’t suffer. Only she couldn’t do that now when there was a very real possibility she was going to come out of this relatively okay. And that self-preservation instinct really sucked.

When her shoulder and hip joints began to pull she realized she had to get into a better position before the Change ripped something from a socket. Scrambling awkwardly because something funky was going on with her knees, she managed to rise up on all fours, head down between her shoulder blades.

Sweat poured off her face and her stomach rolled. Looking down she saw her fingers shortening and wrists thinning. Her gorge rose but she forced herself not to spew all over the nice hardwood floors. The *****, knotted balls of flesh that were her hands rippled with that pins and needles sensation and honey-coloured fur sprouted. It was like watching grass grow in fast forward. She shivered, fascinated, revolted and still experiencing a whole lot of ouch as things shifted on an internal level. It felt like her intestines were tying themselves into bows and, as her ears began to crawl up the side of her head, she realized the agonized moan filling the room was coming from her.

Tayla’s eyes watered as the bones in her face shifted, stretched. She went cross eyed when her jaws began to elongate. Her teeth throbbed and tears streamed down her cheeks.

Was it ever going to end? She wasn’t a stranger to pain but torture was new. And that’s what this was. Not one single type of pain that she could adapt and react to but hit after hit of new and unfamiliar sensations.

She sucked in a breath through her nose, newly black and damp, and caught the scent of…cinnamon? Yeah, cinnamon. And it was mixed with the musky scent of something undeniably male and living. She latched onto that, a mystery to distract from the pain. Her head felt awkward but she managed to turn it toward the source of the cinnamon smell. Black pants concealing long legs. They were bent at the knees, the person balancing on the balls of their booted feet. She followed those legs up to a torso and then to a face. She focused on the electric blue eyes watching her and felt recognition and vague sense of wariness. Noise came to her and it seemed oddly loud.

“That’s it, you’re doing great… There. I think it’s over… Tayla? You okay?” His voice was soothing and, as he said the words, she realized that is was, in fact, over. She was a werewolf and she hadn’t died. Phew.

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