A Bitter Bite
an excerpt

You can't fight nature at least not forever. Eventually whatever is hiding inside, whatever beautiful vile thing that lies within will slither out into the world, look about and be pleased to be seen. I keep fighting. Trying to be this noble soldier and I'm just ordinary monster with ordinary needs.

Standing next to man in bar or in the street, I smell his sweat, hear his blood pump, his heart beat and it's all I can do not turn and pounce, ripping at his throat...perhaps I'll let him run. I love it when they run because when you catch them you can taste the fear...like sugar, thick in the blood and it makes you blissed and happy and little fucked in the head.

Yes, I'll let him run. For a little a bit.

But I've being good, taking my medicine like a good monster and pretending to be man.

They all think that I'm so strong and that I've lasted so long because I'm better than they are but they don't know what I've had to pay to be able to walk in the world. Drugs are my life. Injections, pills, patches...I've done it all. Even ODed twice, I'm pretty sure anyway but this damn metabolism always kicks in and I wake up in a body bag somewhere.

Scares the shit out of the ambulance drivers, I'll tell you that.

A double dose of Ketamine or Special K mixed with an basic barbiturate will usually keep me fairly calm for a few hours, it's good for groups when I have to stand among the rabbits and pretend I am not a wolf. Not me...I'm not the Big Bad in this story. Haaa or so I tell myself.

Yet, it's the females that spin me the hardest. The smooth lunge of the muscles under the skin, mmm...that sweet damp smell of arousal when you hold them down and shove your body in the giving cove of theirs. They squealing little sounds of pleasure, the grunts of flesh smacking flesh. My teeth ache in my jaw, wanting to burst out and sink deep, hard in their shoulder, holding her down, pleasuring myself and her.

I dream of her you know. Of this nameless, faceless female that wants me, that needs me, that meets claw for claw and tooth for tooth. In the misty moments of unconsciousness, we stain the sheets with blood and bodily fluids and no matter how much I take she wants more. She demands more.

She forces me under her, guiding my hand to her breasts, her fingernails digging in the flesh at the back of my hands, she bites her lips and then demands I pleasure her, hour after hour. Sweating, pumping I give her all of me, every thought, every ounce of flesh and seed and she revels in the animal she's mastered.

I live for these dreams anymore. I live for her, who ever she is. On some level, I know she a symptom of my particular disease. A sexual fantasy to fill those needs that I can't allow myself to fill. What human woman can hours of brutal use, biting and clawing from a 200 bound animal that strips it's language skills with it's clothes. So many broken bones lie down that path.

And females of his kind, well, they were warned against those of us that have lost ourselves in the wild. Those of us who just might eat them if they object when we hold them down and take what we want. I know I'm going mad. Know it, know it but I can't stop breathing.

I feel the moon sometimes crawling over me, a thousand bugs swarming in my ears, my nose, crawling across my soul. How peaceful it would be to throw my head back, howl my surrender and leap into the night, ripping what I want from any creature unlucky enough to cross my path. Yet, some part of me wants to right, wants to be the hero in this story.

Even when I scraped the blood of my best friend out from beneath my claws and wondered if I had killed him in my red rage, I still wanted to be better. Doesn't that count? Doesn't it count that I don't want to be like this. I want to be the good guy, I want to be the hero.

I want to serve my people like a good soldier.

Instead, I pump my vein full of burning chemicals and pray that the guy next to me, the guy smelling strongly of pork and sweaty salt doesn't decide to jog home. I don't think he'll get far.