She sleeps all day, and comes out when the moon is high. Big and bad, with sharp claws, long teeth, black tongue, and bloodshot eyes, she lingers carefully close to home so the mob won’t see her. She spots a pretty young thing walking opposite her, she could smell their sugary scent from a mile away. Her lips curl and glisten, imagining the sticky sugar sweetness of their flesh. She knows she has to stand way off before her instincts kick in. Their skin looks so soft and tender, a dangerous quality to possess in the presence of a wolf. She’d never, she wouldn’t, she couldn’t, but she could never be sure.
When you’re told by the angry mob that you’re a danger to others, a monster, you don’t believe it at first. But then you see the way people look at you, the way they avert their eyes, the fear and loathing. When you’re told something enough, you believe it. You think you deserve it, because you were born to crave the flesh others, no matter the sex. No one is safe from you. You’re not entirely a wolf, but you’re definitely not human. The wolf is all they see in you. The hunger is natural right? You always tell yourself that. God, no silver bullet could cure this sinful craving.
But she knew, she always knew. The mob told her awful things about me, but she believed in me somehow. She saw the curious look in my eyes. What I believed to a penetrative gaze, she saw puppy love. A mere human, a friend rather than a lover, chose to not perceive my wolfish eyes and mind. I lay with her, and she lets me wrap my arms around her. She ignores my claws and teeth, my quickening heart and breath, and presses herself against my body. She sighs with comfort, safe as could be. I slowly and cautiously accept this new feeling. Maybe I’m not as bad as people say.