Wicked Hungry

Two howls join my call, and next to me a black cat growls. Maybe it’s the fight we had in his room, maybe it’s the common enemy we seem to have across from us, but my wolf finally feels at ease with his jaguar.

Above us in the air a red fox looks down, circling.

In one leap I’m on top of Frumberg, my paws and claws on his chest, growling at the other wolves. They won’t have him. It’s hard to remember why, but he’s mine.

Stanley? Can you hear me?

I look up for a moment. It’s Jonathan. I can feel his thoughts.

But that’s all it takes: a moment’s distraction.

A huge white wolf jumps on top of me, knocking me off of Frumberg. Connor’s teeth are at my throat.

“Had enough, pup?” Connor growls at me.

But a red fox dives down, biting him behind the ear.

Connor pulls back, growling in rage, trying to snap. But Jonathan is already back in the air.

There’s a high feline growl and a hiss. Enrique is facing off with Blaine, a great gray wolf.

Connor leaps up in the air, trying to reach Jonathan, who is floating above us.

Is anything worth this? We’re all going to die — I can feel it now. We’re going to be eaten, either by werewolves, by the ghouls in the cemetery, or by some vampire out in the woods. And all for Gary Frumberg, who is going to get eaten, too, by Blaine, Connor, or Rewsin—wherever he is.

But suddenly there are voices behind me.

“Enrique? Stanley? Jonathan?”

Reinforcements have arrived.

It’s Andres, and he’s not alone. He and the brothers are carrying torches, real wood torches, not just the plastic and metal flashlights. I snarl at them, feeling the silver in their hands, on the tips of their crossbow bolts.

Blaine and Connor turn to face them, but the brothers have fanned out and have their silver weapons at the ready. They look scared, but prepared.

It takes me a moment to realize that they’re scared of me, too. Jonathan lands next to them, turning back into a naked fifteen-year-old boy.

“Jonathan,” his brother, Carver, asks. “Is that you?”

“Dude, yeah, Carver. And the jaguar is Enrique and the small wolf there is Stanley. Boy, are we glad to see you,” he says, speaking quickly and loudly, all the while covering his privates.

“Move back so we have a clear shot,” Andres says.

Enrique leaps away from the wolves, turning as he changes back into his human form.

“Stanley,” Andres says. “Back away from them!”

Why am I frozen like a deer staring into the headlights of an oncoming car? It’s the silver, maybe, because Blaine and Connor are also standing motionless, staring at it.

Jonathan is getting dressed from his backpack, and Enrique has pants on and has his figurine out, which he holds up. It glows hot again in the night as he moves it around.

Finally I jump away, leaving the brothers a clear shot. Two bolts fly out from their crossbows as my body reverts to human form, my face rearranging, my bones shrinking, my claws retracting and turning back into nails and fingers. The pain makes me miss what’s happening for a moment, but only for a moment.

Both of the bolts have hit home.

Blaine and Connor rapidly turn back to human, Blaine with a silver-tipped bolt in his shoulder and Connor with one in his leg. They pull them out, staring at their hands in obvious shock.

“Drop them,” Carver says. He’s got a