About the book
There’s something primally awful yet fascinating about werewolves, isn’t there? Academics may suggest that the werewolf represents our true Id, the dark part of the human psyche that is bloodthirsty and violent, blah, blah, blah. I just think they’re kinda cool and scary. When Graveside Tales was looking for werewolf stories, I sent them “Lure of the Wolf” and it’s published in The Beast Within.
“Lure of the Wolf” is available from JMS Books as an e-story and is currently in The Beast Within, a print werewolf anthology from Graveside Tales.
An excerpt from the book
A four-step footbridge rose over the tiny stream that trickled through the property. Vivian plopped down on it with a sigh, then tugged off her shoes, her knees creaking. She rubbed her callused heels.
I’m getting old. Lugging those realpaper books around and being on my feet all day is killing me.
She dangled her toes in the foot-deep stream. The icy water helped soothe the ache in her pudgy feet. A soft breeze from the north pushed her gray hair off her forehead.
She counted the smooth stones at the bottom of the streambed. She’d learned it from a yoga teacher ten years before, back when she was still willing to get on the floor and do stretches in front of other people. Clear your mind, count something universal and eternal, let it all go…. At two hundred and thirty three, the dirty smell of rot made her look around.
The werewolf stood ten yards away from her, upwind, its nose buried deep in salmon-colored azaleas. It faced away from her, golden pelt looking rich and oily. Its shoulders were broad, the deep chest and wide back looking enormous. Nearly two meters tall, its clawed hands drew up a flower-loaded branch to its face. Vivian thought she heard it inhale deeply.
He likes the flowers, too.
The werewolf stood on broad wolf-paws, claws curled into the oak leaf mulch, its legs shifting a little to balance its enormous torso. Those long legs could run up to thirty miles per hour, according to the Xenospecies book she’d read long ago.
Vivian’s heart lurched like a jumping frog. She gasped.
The werewolf whirled around to face her. Shredded leaves and azalea flowers drifted to the ground. Vivian’s face and chest flushed—yes, clearly a male werewolf—and its large ears swiveled towards her. His mouth opened, long white canines gleaming in the moon’s light. He had orange eyes that stood out from his golden fur like volcanoes.
He can hear my heartbeat. He knows I’m scared.
Vivian heard his snuffle, saw his wet nose twitch. His red tongue lolled out of one side of his mouth—why Grandma what big teeth you have—then slurped to the other side. He gave a snarl, so low and vicious that Vivian’s entrails cramped.
She took a deep breath, torso shaking. “Do you like the flowers?” she asked.
The werewolf reared back as if she’d wielded a whip, bounded over a six-foot-high shrub with a graceful leap and was gone. Torn leaves drifted to the ground.
Vivian stayed on the footbridge for a bit. She pulled her numb feet from the cold water, grimacing as she stood up. She was halfway home before she realized that her pants were damp, warm with urine. She showered, changed into her flowered nightshirt and tugged her bed socks on, smiling to herself.
Buy Lure of the Wolf at JMS Books