Page 151 of Such Sharp Teeth

I turn around. “Ian, please. Listen to me. Don’t follow me. Go back to the car. Lock the doors and drive away. Please. Please.”

“Rory, you’re freaking me out. I’m not going to leave you.”

I look up at the sky and see the faint brag of stars.

He means it when he says he isn’t going to leave me. At least, he means it in this moment. The last moment before he knows.

“Ian, listen to me. I wasn’t attacked by a bear. I was attacked by a werewolf. And now I am one. I know how that sounds, but if you don’t get the fuck back in the car, I’m probably going to kill you.”

I don’t wait for his reaction. I don’t have time. I keep running.

I don’t get far.

The moonlight hits me. A spotlight hot on the back of my neck.

I scream.

My hands go to the top of my head, where the skin splits as my skull warps. But now the moon is on my hands, and they break loudly.

“Rory?”

He’s here. He’s standing a few feet from me, watching. The look on his face. It annihilates me.

It’s impossible to form words. My screams will not bend.

My neck unfastens. It snaps back and I collapse, my limbs twitching as they contort.

I attempt to hide my face, turning away as my jaw detaches, as it begins to extend into a hideous snout. My nose is severed from me, rapidly elongating. My mouth ruptures, my lips now pulled thin and taut. I don’t want him to see me like this. No, no, no, no. I don’t want him to see this face, this form.

But it’s too late.

The pressure in my eyes. That’s how I know I’m almost gone.

“Ian! Run!”

The final scream expels my teeth. My blood roars in my ears, and then it’s the howl slicing through the night.

I blink.

I look down at hands that aren’t my hands. I close them into fists. Open them up again. I lift my palms, let them explore my snout. I discover coarse fur. A wet nose. Hot breath.

There’s a hunger raging in my gut. A slimy drip of saliva slowly descends from my gaping jaws. For a second, the hunger razes everything else. All thoughts. All sight. All sounds.

For a second, there’s only this. The space between my teeth.

“Rory?”

The hunger is a vice. It’s closing in, begging me forward. Begging me to feed. He’s in front of me, and I could feed on him easily. So easily. Rip him open.

But then my fingers find my neck. The leather cord. The medallion. With the expansion of my body, the silver now rests directly on my fur, at my heart. It shimmers in the moonlight, turns the fur beneath it metallic. I watch as it spreads, radiating, blooming over me.

Suddenly, the night is pearlescent. The air sweet with snow. My thoughts come back to me. I come back, like a memory. Like a good dream. My breathing slows. My hunger wanes. It’s in my control.

I am in control.

I give a whimper of relief.

“Rory?”