The Bitch - 10

Jill sat on her haunches in the living room, her golden eyes narrowing as Stephen approached with the collar and leash in his hands. His expression was serious, tinged with something she could only interpret as regret.

“A leash? Really?” she tried to say, but her words dissolved into sharp barks and frustrated yaps. The sound grated on her nerves, a constant reminder of the body she now inhabited. Her ears flattened against her head, and she huffed in annoyance.

“I know, I know,” Stephen said, his tone calm, almost apologetic, as he fastened the collar around her neck. The cool metal ring jingled softly as he clipped the leash to it. “But if the police see us without it… well, they’ll have questions. We can’t risk that.”

She growled softly, low in her throat, but didn’t resist. Resistance wouldn’t change anything. The leash wasn’t just practical—it was symbolic, a daily reminder of what she had lost, of how little control she had over her own body and life now.

“Ready?” Stephen asked, giving the leash a gentle tug.

Jill blinked, trying to process the words. Of course, she understood they were going for a walk, but the simple verbal commands still eluded her. Yesterday had been a disaster, and she knew this walk wasn’t entirely about her. Stephen’s frustration had reached a boiling point when he came home to find the chaos she’d caused: shredded bedsheets, overturned furniture, gnawed chair legs, and, inexplicably, sticks spread out across the laundry room floor alongside spilled detergent. He’d been furious, locking her outside as he cleaned up the wreckage. No amount of barking or whining had convinced him to let her back in until he was done.

Now, she trotted behind him as he opened the front door, the cool evening air brushing against her fur. She inhaled deeply, the rich tapestry of smells hitting her all at once: motor oil lingering from the driveway, the earthy scent of fallen leaves, and the faint aroma of steaks grilling somewhere down the street.

As they started down the sidewalk, Jill matched Stephen’s pace effortlessly. Her four legs moved with a grace she still hadn’t fully adjusted to, the rhythmic sound of her paws hitting the pavement oddly soothing. For a brief moment, she could almost pretend this was normal. Just a jog with her husband, like they’d done so many times before.

But then the leash tugged gently at her neck, pulling her back to the harsh reality she couldn’t escape.

She noticed everything now in ways she hadn’t before. The sway of her tail in place of her old ponytail. The soft flap of her ears, the constant stream of scents washing over her, each one layered with meaning. The vibrations of the pavement beneath her paws were clearer than any sensation she’d felt as a human.

Her vision was shades of gray now, but her other senses more than compensated. Sounds were sharp and vivid, carrying details she hadn’t imagined possible, while smells told stories her human mind would never have understood. Running was effortless—she could easily outpace Stephen if she wanted to. The challenge wasn’t speeding up; it was holding herself back, resisting the urge to sprint away and let the leash pull taut.

As they rounded a corner, Stephen spoke, his voice low. “We’re sticking to the route we mapped out. If the loup-garou is nearby, this should draw it out.”

Jill glanced up at him, her ears twitching at the sound of his voice. The meaning of his words was just beyond her grasp, like an itch she couldn’t scratch. She couldn’t reply, couldn’t even bark in acknowledgment. It wasn’t that she didn’t care—she did—but the gap between his world and hers now felt impossibly wide.

The streets were quiet, bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. The occasional rustle of a squirrel or the distant hum of a car reached her ears, sharpening her focus as they moved further from the house.

For the first time in days, Jill felt a flicker of hope. If they could find the loup-garou, maybe—just maybe—this nightmare could end.

But as she trotted beside Stephen, the leash slack between them, another thought whispered in the back of her mind, dark and unsettling: What if I don’t want to go back?

The sense of something came to her after about fifteen minutes of jogging. She paused each twitching. "What is it, Jill?" Stephen said, but Jill didn't respond.

It wasn't far, just ahead.

It was watching them. She turned to Stephen, and stared up at him. She needed him to allow her to do this, to confront whatever it was, to regain her life.

"Is it up there?" Stephen said. All Jill could detect was the change in vocal pattern and new it was a question. I need to do this. Please let me she attempted to send the message with her eyes. Stephen had a gun with him, but he coontinued to let it hang.

"You want to do this, don't you."

Jill again didn't answer, just looked up at him. She held up one paw.

Stephen sighed. "Alright." He unclipped her leash. "But I'll be waiting right here with a shotgun in case things go sideways.

Jill patiently waited for him to unclip her leash. Then she gave him a lick, a doggie kiss, and streaked silently off into the night.

"Good luck, baby," he said softly he said to her retreating form.

He knew she was going ot need it.

The Loup-Garou waited for her under a street lamp. It watched her patiently approach. Jill stalked toward it, every hair standing up on end. A low growl came from her throat.

Rest easy sister.

Jill whined sharply at his words. She understood him!

I know you can understand me. I can also understand you.

Confused, she turned her head. He could? How was she supposed to communicate? She gave some soft barks and a couple of yaps.

He sighed. Don't attempt to speak. It's annoying. You don't speak any longer.

Jill stopped yapping. How was she supposed to communicate then?

You just did.

What? she thought. Wait am I speaking to you now?

Yes, child.

Who are you?

He chuckled at that. It came through their link as a dry laugh, low and long. What's in a name? You had a name when you lived among the Candida. Now you live among us. My name, your name, has all been erased in the mists of transformation. I was once known as Thomas Langtree. I lived among the Candida. But now I am Canine, as are you.

Candida?

You would call them human.

How long have you been…Canine?

Again, useless question. A year, ten years, twenty. A hundred. A thousand. What does time matter? All we have are now, and in the future, which will then be now. There is no then. I live as a Canine. You. live as a Canine. Nothing else matters.

What do you want from me?

It chuckled at that, long and low. I think that would be obvious.

Tell me.

Silence greeted her mind. I have. lived a long. long time. Alone. I desire to have a companion.

But you have made me a Dog! I am not a Wolf like you!

Ahhh, she heard amusement in his voice. You have yet to taste the blood of a Candida. That will change if you join me.

She felt a thrill in her veins that caused her to shiver. She twisted around, then sat back on her haunches.

Join you?

Mhmm. Become my companion. My mate. We will travel the Ways together. We will watch the moon on a thousand nights, and howl and feel our blood rise as we hunt Candida, or Reptilia, or Avia. Nothing will hurt you, not teeth, or lead, or silver, or any other Candida made implement. Join and you shall be free.

For a moment, she considered it. She thought it would be fun to follow this person, a companion she could understand. She would become a wolf like him, hunt, like him…

…and in exchange she only has to taste human blood.

And if I refuse?

He sighed. Then you will stay as you are. Living in the house of Candida as a pet.

She didn't really need to think about it. Ian made the decision easy. The feel of his arms around her neck, his breath on her face, smelling like cookies, or cheese nips, or apple juice. She needed to be here for him. And for Stephen her former mate.

Is there any way to regain my former life as a Candida?

No.

It was said flatly, sealing her fate. She'd be a canine forever.

Well? he stood up, and she could see his glowing red eyes.

She gave a series of short loud barks.

From the shadows, Stephen fired, directly into his head which vaporized, the body of the great Wolf fell onto its side, giving one final gasp of breath.

She watched it as it died. She urinated where its head would have been, marking it as her kill. Others might pass this way, and would know the Canine, now known as Molly had killed one of the greats. Her piss mixed with blood as it ran down into the sewer.