The Bitch - 5

As they left the hall, Jill kept her hood up and her head down, forcing a smile every time someone commented on her “costume.”

“Oh, Jill, what a fun idea!” one of the moms said, patting her on the arm—a touch that made Jill flinch. “You’re really getting into the holiday spirit!”

“Thanks,” Jill murmured, her voice tight, her hands shoved into her pockets. She didn’t dare let anyone see them. The fur had crept down her arms, soft and fine, but undeniable. Her fingers ached, the joints stiffening, the nails growing darker and sharper. She had to press her palms together to stop them from trembling.

By the time they reached the car, Ian was chattering happily about his performance, blissfully unaware of the tension radiating between his parents. Stephen had been quiet since the incident in the cafeteria, his jaw clenched, his eyes darting toward Jill every few seconds. She could feel his gaze, heavy and questioning, but she didn’t look back.

When they got home, Stephen opened the door for Ian and ruffled his hair. “Hey, champ, could you give Mommy and me a chance to talk?”

“Sure, Dad!” Ian said, bounding into the living room to turn on his favorite Christmas cartoon.

Stephen closed the front door and turned to Jill. “Come on,” he said quietly, leading her toward their bedroom. She hesitated, her heart pounding, but followed him.

Once inside, he pulled her into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind them. He crossed his arms and leaned against the sink, his expression grim.

“This isn’t a costume, is it?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

Jill froze, her back against the door. Her hands remained in her pockets, hiding the misshapen digits that were no longer entirely human. She couldn’t meet his gaze. Instead, she shook her head slowly, her hair falling over her face.

Stephen exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “I knew something was off,” he muttered. “The hood, the way you’ve been walking… Jill, why didn’t you tell me? What’s happening to you?”

She pressed her lips together, afraid to speak. Her voice had already betrayed her earlier, and she didn’t trust it now. Instead, she pulled her hands from her pockets, holding them out for him to see.

Stephen’s eyes widened as he took a step closer. Her fingers were elongated, the tips darkened, her palms covered in a fine layer of fur. The skin around her nails was splitting, reshaping itself into something less human with every passing moment.

“Jesus,” he whispered, reaching for her hands but stopping just short of touching them. “How long has this been happening?”

Jill opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her throat felt tight, her breathing shallow. She could feel her ears twitching under her hood, and the fur on her arms prickled as though it were alive. She shook her head again, this time more frantically, tears pooling in her eyes.

Stephen grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “Jill, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know,” she said, the words raw and broken. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

Her voice cracked at the end, a faint growl escaping her throat. Stephen’s grip tightened as his expression hardened. "This is the Loup-Garou

Jill nodded weakly, her tears spilling over. “I’m scared,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Stephen pulled her into a tight embrace, his hand resting protectively on the back of her head. “We’ll figure it out,” he said, his voice steady. “We’ll fix this. I promise.”

But even as he said the words, Jill could feel her body changing, the fur spreading, the hunger building. She had this deep seated instinct to show her affection and felt something for the first time in her pants. She knew it was coming. It buckled and strained under the fabric.

"Ohhh shit." she said.

"What's wrong?"

She pulled out of his grasp, and pulled down her pants. She looked in the mirror, turning to the side.

A whip thin piece of what looked like stringy hair sprouted out of the base of her spine. It had a mind of it's own, flipping this way and that. She found she could control it a bit as she took it in her altered hands. "My tail."

Stephen looked at her. "May I?" He held his hand over it, without touching.

Jill nodded.

Stephen took her tail in his hand. He gave a gentle tug and she felt it anchored at the base of her spine. "Werewolves don't have tails," he said in a confused voice.

"Maybe I'm not a werewolf?" Jill said.

"What else could you be? I mean you got bitten by the Loup Garou."

"This fur…" she said, her voice thick and her mouth had too many teeth. "It's…softer than a Wolf's."

Stephen stepped back, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “Let’s see the damage,” he said quietly.

Jill hesitated, her hands trembling as she reached for the hem of her hoodie. Slowly, she pulled it over her head, her pointed ears springing free. Her shirt followed, leaving her in her underwear. She didn’t dare look at Stephen yet; instead, she turned to the mirror above the sink.

The reflection staring back at her didn’t feel like her own. Her body was about fifty percent canine now, the fur creeping up her arms, spreading across her shoulders and chest. Her right leg was fully transformed, the powerful muscles of her haunch visible beneath the sleek fur. From the paw at the bottom to where it met her torso, it was unmistakably animal.

Her left leg, though still mostly human, was catching up fast. The backward joint had begun to form, and patches of fur were spreading along her thigh. Her hands—half-paws now—trembled as they hung at her sides. Even her face was changing; her nose was darker, her nostrils flaring slightly as she caught the scent of herself in the small, enclosed space.

Her tail flickered back and forth a bit, then fell straight down. She felt ashamed under his gaze.

Stephen stood behind her, his jaw tight as he took it all in. “Did the loup-garou bite you?” he asked finally.

Jill nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “My leg. The night you shot it.”

Stephen’s expression didn’t change, but he nodded once, as if confirming something to himself. “That explains it. It must have infected you with… whatever it has.”

She turned to face him, tears welling in her eyes. “Stephen, what’s happening to me? Am I… becoming one of them?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes scanned her body, lingering on the places where her human form was losing the battle. Finally, he met her gaze. “We can use this,” he said firmly.

Her brow furrowed. “Use this? What do you mean?”

“You can draw it out,” he said, his tone steady and determined. “The loup-garou. It marked you, infected you. It wants you. If you go out there, it’ll come to you.”

Jill stared at him, her heart pounding. “And then what?” she asked, her voice cracking. “What happens when it comes for me?”

“I’ll capture it,” Stephen said, his grip tightening on her arms. “We’ll force it to tell us how to reverse this.”

She blinked, her mind reeling. “And if it doesn’t know? Or if it won’t talk?”

“Then we make it talk,” he said, his voice hard. “This thing did this to you. It has to know how to fix it.”

Jill turned back to the mirror, staring at her reflection. Her chest felt tight, her heart splitting under the weight of her fear and desperation. “You’re asking me to be bait,” she whispered.

Stephen stepped closer, his hands resting on her shoulders. “I’m asking you to fight,” he said. “For yourself. For Ian. For our family.”

Her gaze flicked to his in the mirror. She wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe they could stop this, that there was a way to turn back. But deep down, a part of her wasn’t sure she wanted to. The fur, the strength, the heightened senses—it wasn’t just terrifying. It was intoxicating.

She nodded slowly, her throat tight. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

But as she looked at her reflection one last time, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered: What if I don’t want to go back?