The Bitch - 6

Jill's dreams hwere vivid, more real than anything she’d ever experienced. She was a canine—no, a dog—running through the woods on all fours. The scents around her were intoxicating: damp earth, wild animals, the metallic tang of blood. She felt free, powerful. When she howled at the moon, it wasn’t a cry of loneliness—it was a song of belonging.

But when she woke, the dream’s exhilaration was replaced with cold dread.

Stephen was gone. So was Ian. The house felt too quiet, the kind of silence that pressed on her ears and made her pulse quicken. She sat up slowly, her body stiff, her limbs feeling strange. Her hands… or paws… trembled as she rubbed at her face. She dragged herself to the mirror in the bathroom and stared.

Her face was nearly unrecognizable. Her nose had darkened further, her nostrils flaring wider than before. Her ears twitched, fully canine now, and her hairline was creeping back as fur covered her cheeks and jaw. Her beautiful chestnut hair was being replaced by short fur, lighter in color.

Her walk was more of a lurch now, her hips tilted awkwardly as if they weren’t meant for two-legged movement anymore. She couldn’t ignore it: her body was becoming something else.

She made her way to the kitchen, trying to focus on the small comforts of routine. Coffee. Breakfast. She reached for the coffee pot but fumbled the handle, her fingers refusing to grip. Frustrated, she tried again, but her hands weren’t cooperating—they were halfway to paws, the joints stiff, the nails sharp.

“Fine,” she muttered, her voice strange and thick.

Her frustration grew as she tried to open the fridge, her hands slipping uselessly against the handle. Finally, she hooked her right paw behind the door and yanked it open. The cold air hit her face, carrying the rich, tantalizing scent of raw meat. On the bottom shelf, several pieces of steak sat on a plate, their juices pooling beneath them.

Jill’s stomach growled loudly. She crouched, her knees bending awkwardly, and went down on all fours. Her teeth clamped onto one of the steaks, pulling it free. The fridge door slid shut just as another crunch echoed through the room. Pain shot through her hips, making her cry out.

She ignored the pain for the moment. The meat was glorious in her mouth and she chomped on it, swallowing. When that had run out, she reached for more, her right hand fumbling on the shelf. She attempted to hold the piece of meat, but she no longer had thumbs, just a tiny claw way up her foreleg that sorta jiggled and was quickly becoming numb. She caught the meat with her teeth, and attempted to pull it gently but heard a loud crack in her spine as she did so.

Then it happened. Another loud crack! as her hips shifted, her legs folding at a new angle. Her spine seized, her back arching painfully as her muscles realigned. “Oh, God!” she cried, her voice cracking. The sounds of her transformation filled the kitchen—crunch, crunch, crunch—as her body betrayed her further. She lowered her face to the floor, her chest heaving, and tore into the steak.

The taste was overwhelming. Raw, bloody, and perfect. She ate hungrily, forgetting everything else. The world faded as she gave in to the primal urge, her teeth ripping the meat apart, her tongue lapping up the juices.

“Jill, what are you doing?” Stephen’s voice cut through her haze.

She froze, her mostly human head jerking up to look at him. Her heart pounded as she saw him standing in the doorway, his expression a mix of horror and disbelief. She attempted to stand up.

“I… I wath hungry!” she said, her voice slurred. Her tongue felt thick, strange in her mouth, almost too big for it. She tried to stand but stumbled, her new hips and spine making it impossible to balance. She looked down at the remnants of the steak, her face burning with shame.

"Jill…can you stand?" he said coming behind her.

She attempted to use the bottom of the open fridge to prop herself up. Then the sides of the fridge as she tried to right herself. The problem was her hips. They wouldn't allow her to stay like that.

They weren't configured for bipedal stance any longer. She was a quadruped now.

"I can't do it!" she cried.

Stephen knelt down. Jill could feel something behind her again that moved, and distantly registered her tail was a bit wider.

"Let me help you," Stephen said.

Jill nodded, and watched as more of her brunette locks fell off her scalp around her. She put her…paws…on his shoulder as he stood up.

Halfway through she muttered : "This isn't working." And allowed herself to slip back down.

She couldn't wear shoes, and had struggled to put on pants at all. She wore a sweatshirt that was baggy around her form. From the openings around her pantleg and where her arms were, she saw long fur. She decided to attempt to crawl, using her arms and legs…well…front legs and hind legs, and was able to make her way around the corner and into the living room.

She was able to angle herself up onto the ottoman, and fold her arms as best as she could. Her backside…the pants fell off, pooling around her canine ankles. She stepped out of them.

Would that be the last pair of pants she'd ever wear?

"We'll get through this, hon." Stephen said. He kissed her mouth gently. It was one of the few parts of her that didn't have fur yet.

Her elbows hurt. She winced, and straightened them. Something popped, and she felt something in her shoulder give way. "Ohhhh," she cried, feeling like she had a dozen charlie horses.

"What can I do to help?" Stephen said.

"My Thoulder…" she said.

He pulled her out of her shirt. Fur had sprouted all along her arms and torso. She couldn't concentrate on it, the pain was stealing all her concentration. "Oohhh, fuck!" she cried. She slipped off the ottoman, and lay on her side, closing her eyes against the pain.

"I'm right here, hon." Stephen rubbed her shoulders and she winced.

After awhile, the transformation paused. She needed to use the restroom.

“Let’s get you out back,” Stephen said, his voice calm but firm. Jill nodded, shakily, she stood up. Each movement felt foreign yet increasingly natural, as if her body knew how to navigate this new form before her mind did. The pain subsided in her hands and knees, the pressure surprisingly comfortable, even satisfying.

Stephen opened the back door, and Jill shuffled out into the yard. The cool air hit her, a cascade of scents flooding her heightened senses. The grass, the faint hint of gasoline from the shed, the lingering charcoal smell from last night’s grilling—it was overwhelming and oddly comforting.

Jill collapsed onto the lawn, her body wracked with spasms as the transformation surged through her again. She tried to cry out, but her voice was gone, replaced by shallow, rasping breaths. Her chest tightened, and for a terrifying moment, she couldn’t draw in any air. Panic surged as her lungs seemed to seize, refusing to function.

Her vision dimmed at the edges, blackness threatening to overtake her, when suddenly—whoosh. A deep, powerful breath filled her chest, her new lungs expanding and contracting as though they’d been there all along. The relief was fleeting, though, as a sharp pain spread through her chest. Her heart thudded unevenly, skipping beats, its rhythm stuttering like a faulty engine.

“Stephen,” she rasped, but the sound was barely human. Her heart stopped altogether for what felt like an eternity, silence roaring in her ears. Then, with a jarring thud, it restarted, stronger, faster, pounding in a gallop that shook her entire frame. She gasped, her body convulsing as new strength coursed through her.

Fur crept over her skin in waves, soft and thick, its spread accompanied by an almost pleasant tingling. Her arms and legs stretched, her spine twisting into an elegant arc. Her face pushed forward, her nose elongating, her jaw reshaping itself. She shook violently, her body both resisting and embracing the change.

Stephen watched silently, his hands gripping the back of a lawn chair. His expression was a mixture of awe, fear, and something almost like curiosity. When the transformation finally slowed, he approached cautiously, crouching down to study her.

“You don’t look like a loup-garou,” he said, his tone almost incredulous.

Jill blinked up at him, her newly reshaped muzzle quivering as she tried to speak. A faint whine escaped instead.

Stephen tilted his head, squinting. “In fact…” His lips twitched, barely holding back a laugh. “You look like a collie.”

Jill’s ears twitched, and she gave a sharp bark of protest, the sound startling even her. She turned her head to look at herself, her fur a golden brown with white patches. Her long tail wagged involuntarily, the motion both humiliating and strangely satisfying.

“A collie?” she finally managed to growl, her voice distorted but still carrying the sharpness of her irritation.

Stephen sat back on his heels, a small, rueful grin breaking through his serious demeanor. “Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.”

Jill huffed, a sharp exhalation that came out as a snort. She flopped onto her side, her legs sprawled awkwardly in the grass. “Gre—,” she muttered, her voice thick and slurred. “I famiwy dog.”

Stephen’s grin faded as he leaned forward, his expression sobering. “Jill, listen to me. We can still use this. You’ve changed, but you’re still you. That means we can draw the loup-garou out and end this.”

Jill stared at him, her golden eyes narrowing. “Then?” she said, her voice low. “After?”

Stephen didn’t answer. His silence said everything.

Jill lowered her head to the grass, closing her eyes. She wasn’t sure what scared her more—the thought of staying like this forever, or the part of her that didn’t mind the idea at all.