Apollo Wilde
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- May 13, 2003
- Posts
- 3,077
Oh, this was bad.
This was really bad.
But, to be fair, how was she supposed to know that this whole thing was going to go sideways? It started simply enough: she’d gotten a tip from a “trustworthy” source that a Loupes Garou was going to make his appearance tonight. Made sense – even if she did question the use of the French term instead of just “werewolf.”
It was a night of a full moon – and not just any moon, but one of those super moons she’d read about. Big deal, right? It just meant the moon was going to appear larger; not that it actually got bigger or closer. Or WAS it actually closer? Hadn’t Carl Sagan said that everything essentially wobbled on its own ellipses around the sun, because technically the planets didn’t move in perfect circles? Man; that was a good documentary. She should rewatch it soon -
“GROWR!” A massive hand, armed with five glittering claws, raked down her chest. The claws came away with scraps of her shirt; she’d been incredibly lucky –or maybe she was just that good- that it hadn’t come away with a good portion of her chest with it. As it was, she was now standing several feet away, grasping the tattered remains of her shirt and her bra with one hand, the other holding a yellowed piece of paper. Mumbling beneath her breath, the paper began to glow, yellow at first, then brightening to white as she continued to channel power into it. With a final utterance, she tossed it at the creature. Lumbering in front of her, it seemed to grow bigger with each moment. Silhouetted against the supernaturally large moon, his fangs and claws glittered, his eyes sickly amber with malice. As the glowing paper landed at its feet, it merely raised its dark lips along its muzzle in a parody of a grin. If she hadn’t been so distracted by thoughts of “Billions and billions” Carl Sagan, she’d almost be scared.
How had she gotten to this point from an otherwise pretty standard hunt?
He’d discovered her first, turning his grotesque - still human, at the time- nose up in the air, giving a few exaggerated sniffs. “Mmm…milk and roses,” he growled, slowly turning to face her. She’d thought she had the upper hand. Though by all appearances, it would seem that she had tailed him, but the truth of the matter was that for the past few hours, she’d been steadily driving him to an abandoned park near the outskirts of town. This far out, there’d be no innocents around to get caught up in whatever was going to happen next. That was automatically a win for her: she wouldn’t have to exert any additional magic wiping minds and diffusing situations and doing all sorts of “back end” clean up. She abhorred sloppy work; more than once she’d gone after other hunters for leaving blatant calling cards with paper thin excuses behind. Oh, the sewer was blown up? Someone dropped a match down there. Just one match, huh? One match to level an entire city block because of sewer gas. Right. It was because of sloppy hunters that people believed in such silly things like unicorns and fairies in the day of Facebook and Twitter.
He turned to face her. An ugly grin crossed an even uglier face, and she sighed. He couldn’t be one of the hunky werewolves. He had to be the whole horrid man, horrid nature werewolf from the 1800s. She wasn’t sure what to make of his appearance. He was hideous, yes – eyes too close together, a nose that had been broken several times and hadn’t ever healed properly, nasty lip curling scar on his right cheek- but then, he was so bizarrely modern in his dress that she had to do a double take. Skinny jeans and flannel, several tattoos on his neck and forearms. The tip on the iceberg was the clearly well-taken care of mustache with the tips curled up with wax.
“Huh,” she muttered, knowing there was no need to hide. He was calling her out. “I thought I’d seen everything. But a hipster werewolf? That’s all kinds of gross.”
“Milk and Roses,” he snarled at her, like it was her name. “Smelling that sweet, I thought’d you’d be milky pale and so, so pink. Delicious pink, delicious like you smell,” he ran a long tongue along his lips. “But you’re just a black wench. Dark and ugly.” He looked at her then, sizing her up. Stepped closer. “Never had a black one. You pink where it counts? I bet so, after I scrape off all that nasty black. Make you scream.”
She fought the urge to shudder, because, wow, gross. “The mouth on you.”
Bizarre racism still happened among magical creatures. Even after being in the business this long, she still didn’t get it. Not like the racism was all that bad – it was the thought of him literally salivating as he undressed her with his eyes that made her want to hurl.
“Milk and Roses, milk and roses, let me see, let me see, how pink, how pink, even an ugly black girl can be,” he sang, moving closer. She held her ground, watching. He’d attack first, be sloppy. And then she’d put a ward on him before he could change, effectively trapping him, give him a good talking to and boot him out of town, and then she’d be home in time for a late night pizza. Done.
And then the mistakes started.
Mistake number one: Not being proactive.
So, about not being proactive – by standing her ground (and being overconfident), her “prey” had stepped forward into the moonlight. And he transformed, with a great racket of howling and the ripping of clothing and folding over and all of that other werewolf transformation goodness. He’d transformed so quick and caught her off guard that she hadn’t been able to fill a ward with power to throw at him. No problem, though. She was a clever girl and could think on her feet. The ward would keep him at a “manageable” size, unable to access his full power. It was sort of cheating – but, realistically, a human versus a werewolf wasn’t really a fair match to begin with. Ward in hand, she began to channel her power into it -
Mistake number two / three? IT WAS A LEGITIMATE SURPRISE THAT MOST HUNTERS WOULD HAVE MISSED:
Bing directly in the moonlight meant that apparently it was a bigger boost to his power – and realistically, how the hell was she supposed to know that because literally the moon had no specific power on werewolves but apparently it did and no one thought to write that down! To her absolute dismay, his transformation didn’t stop once he’d reached the “average” size. No, not at all. He went from being a werewolf to a literal fanged and clawed monster that towered above her, each massive forearm about a foot across. The girth of his thighs alone had to be two feet. In a panic-induced flashback, she suddenly recalled a museum visit as a child, standing in front of the massive height and size of a wooly mammoth.
She was a big enough woman to admit when she made mistakes. And if she made it out of this one alive, she would make sure to add in her magical creatures 101 that apparently Loupes Garou, long thought to just be a fancy name for werewolves, were actually some sort of sub-species that, depending on the phase of the moon, could transform at will and also get big as fuck. She’d never seen such a transformation in a regular werewolf, and it was now all too apparent that the second ward she’d been working on wouldn’t do more to him than produce a warm breeze. She’d been working on putting more power into it when he finally attacked.
Finally snapped out of her Carl Sagan revelries (to be fair, that was the anxiety / fear. The day that she ran into a hunter without fear / some sort of coping mechanism was the day she either ran across a zombie or a sociopath. Out of the two, she would prefer the company of the former), her focus was pulled back into the battle in front of her. Before her brain could succumb to fight or flight, her body kicked in, jumping, twisting in motions that had been drilled into her for years. To an outsider, it would be a surreal midnight acrobatic show. No longer bothering to hide her chest, she nimbly dodged one sinister claw swipe after another, dancing closer to the barrier of the trees. It was a calculated move - in the midst of the trees, there would be less room for him to move.
Also less moonlight.
But before she could finish, she realized what her biggest mistake was.
She hadn’t thrown up any wards to keep them in a barrier. A barrier wasn’t so much as a pocket of “non-space” as it was a sort of two way mirror of the world around them. People walking by would only see a reflection of the park. Those that were magically inclined, and if their skill was on the level of hers, would see a woman and a massive beast facing off under the moonlight. She figured they were far enough out that the slight magical trace he was giving off now would be non-existent.
Apparently that wasn’t the case.
This was really bad.
But, to be fair, how was she supposed to know that this whole thing was going to go sideways? It started simply enough: she’d gotten a tip from a “trustworthy” source that a Loupes Garou was going to make his appearance tonight. Made sense – even if she did question the use of the French term instead of just “werewolf.”
It was a night of a full moon – and not just any moon, but one of those super moons she’d read about. Big deal, right? It just meant the moon was going to appear larger; not that it actually got bigger or closer. Or WAS it actually closer? Hadn’t Carl Sagan said that everything essentially wobbled on its own ellipses around the sun, because technically the planets didn’t move in perfect circles? Man; that was a good documentary. She should rewatch it soon -
“GROWR!” A massive hand, armed with five glittering claws, raked down her chest. The claws came away with scraps of her shirt; she’d been incredibly lucky –or maybe she was just that good- that it hadn’t come away with a good portion of her chest with it. As it was, she was now standing several feet away, grasping the tattered remains of her shirt and her bra with one hand, the other holding a yellowed piece of paper. Mumbling beneath her breath, the paper began to glow, yellow at first, then brightening to white as she continued to channel power into it. With a final utterance, she tossed it at the creature. Lumbering in front of her, it seemed to grow bigger with each moment. Silhouetted against the supernaturally large moon, his fangs and claws glittered, his eyes sickly amber with malice. As the glowing paper landed at its feet, it merely raised its dark lips along its muzzle in a parody of a grin. If she hadn’t been so distracted by thoughts of “Billions and billions” Carl Sagan, she’d almost be scared.
How had she gotten to this point from an otherwise pretty standard hunt?
He’d discovered her first, turning his grotesque - still human, at the time- nose up in the air, giving a few exaggerated sniffs. “Mmm…milk and roses,” he growled, slowly turning to face her. She’d thought she had the upper hand. Though by all appearances, it would seem that she had tailed him, but the truth of the matter was that for the past few hours, she’d been steadily driving him to an abandoned park near the outskirts of town. This far out, there’d be no innocents around to get caught up in whatever was going to happen next. That was automatically a win for her: she wouldn’t have to exert any additional magic wiping minds and diffusing situations and doing all sorts of “back end” clean up. She abhorred sloppy work; more than once she’d gone after other hunters for leaving blatant calling cards with paper thin excuses behind. Oh, the sewer was blown up? Someone dropped a match down there. Just one match, huh? One match to level an entire city block because of sewer gas. Right. It was because of sloppy hunters that people believed in such silly things like unicorns and fairies in the day of Facebook and Twitter.
He turned to face her. An ugly grin crossed an even uglier face, and she sighed. He couldn’t be one of the hunky werewolves. He had to be the whole horrid man, horrid nature werewolf from the 1800s. She wasn’t sure what to make of his appearance. He was hideous, yes – eyes too close together, a nose that had been broken several times and hadn’t ever healed properly, nasty lip curling scar on his right cheek- but then, he was so bizarrely modern in his dress that she had to do a double take. Skinny jeans and flannel, several tattoos on his neck and forearms. The tip on the iceberg was the clearly well-taken care of mustache with the tips curled up with wax.
“Huh,” she muttered, knowing there was no need to hide. He was calling her out. “I thought I’d seen everything. But a hipster werewolf? That’s all kinds of gross.”
“Milk and Roses,” he snarled at her, like it was her name. “Smelling that sweet, I thought’d you’d be milky pale and so, so pink. Delicious pink, delicious like you smell,” he ran a long tongue along his lips. “But you’re just a black wench. Dark and ugly.” He looked at her then, sizing her up. Stepped closer. “Never had a black one. You pink where it counts? I bet so, after I scrape off all that nasty black. Make you scream.”
She fought the urge to shudder, because, wow, gross. “The mouth on you.”
Bizarre racism still happened among magical creatures. Even after being in the business this long, she still didn’t get it. Not like the racism was all that bad – it was the thought of him literally salivating as he undressed her with his eyes that made her want to hurl.
“Milk and Roses, milk and roses, let me see, let me see, how pink, how pink, even an ugly black girl can be,” he sang, moving closer. She held her ground, watching. He’d attack first, be sloppy. And then she’d put a ward on him before he could change, effectively trapping him, give him a good talking to and boot him out of town, and then she’d be home in time for a late night pizza. Done.
And then the mistakes started.
Mistake number one: Not being proactive.
So, about not being proactive – by standing her ground (and being overconfident), her “prey” had stepped forward into the moonlight. And he transformed, with a great racket of howling and the ripping of clothing and folding over and all of that other werewolf transformation goodness. He’d transformed so quick and caught her off guard that she hadn’t been able to fill a ward with power to throw at him. No problem, though. She was a clever girl and could think on her feet. The ward would keep him at a “manageable” size, unable to access his full power. It was sort of cheating – but, realistically, a human versus a werewolf wasn’t really a fair match to begin with. Ward in hand, she began to channel her power into it -
Mistake number two / three? IT WAS A LEGITIMATE SURPRISE THAT MOST HUNTERS WOULD HAVE MISSED:
Bing directly in the moonlight meant that apparently it was a bigger boost to his power – and realistically, how the hell was she supposed to know that because literally the moon had no specific power on werewolves but apparently it did and no one thought to write that down! To her absolute dismay, his transformation didn’t stop once he’d reached the “average” size. No, not at all. He went from being a werewolf to a literal fanged and clawed monster that towered above her, each massive forearm about a foot across. The girth of his thighs alone had to be two feet. In a panic-induced flashback, she suddenly recalled a museum visit as a child, standing in front of the massive height and size of a wooly mammoth.
She was a big enough woman to admit when she made mistakes. And if she made it out of this one alive, she would make sure to add in her magical creatures 101 that apparently Loupes Garou, long thought to just be a fancy name for werewolves, were actually some sort of sub-species that, depending on the phase of the moon, could transform at will and also get big as fuck. She’d never seen such a transformation in a regular werewolf, and it was now all too apparent that the second ward she’d been working on wouldn’t do more to him than produce a warm breeze. She’d been working on putting more power into it when he finally attacked.
Finally snapped out of her Carl Sagan revelries (to be fair, that was the anxiety / fear. The day that she ran into a hunter without fear / some sort of coping mechanism was the day she either ran across a zombie or a sociopath. Out of the two, she would prefer the company of the former), her focus was pulled back into the battle in front of her. Before her brain could succumb to fight or flight, her body kicked in, jumping, twisting in motions that had been drilled into her for years. To an outsider, it would be a surreal midnight acrobatic show. No longer bothering to hide her chest, she nimbly dodged one sinister claw swipe after another, dancing closer to the barrier of the trees. It was a calculated move - in the midst of the trees, there would be less room for him to move.
Also less moonlight.
But before she could finish, she realized what her biggest mistake was.
She hadn’t thrown up any wards to keep them in a barrier. A barrier wasn’t so much as a pocket of “non-space” as it was a sort of two way mirror of the world around them. People walking by would only see a reflection of the park. Those that were magically inclined, and if their skill was on the level of hers, would see a woman and a massive beast facing off under the moonlight. She figured they were far enough out that the slight magical trace he was giving off now would be non-existent.
Apparently that wasn’t the case.