CAN’T BE IT

 

‘Steady.’

Closing an eye to put all focused aim on the other, the neophyte slowed his breathing, his trigger finger ever-ready to fire his revolver.

From there he stood, he could hear the weakened whimpering and yelping from the silhouette he focused on. With help from the moon, he was able to recognize animal ears on it. There was no doubt this was a therian. A beast.

Inhale and exhale he went. Then in his mind, he shouted, ‘Now!’

The instant before he could pull the trigger, the bushes rustled and the shadow from a considerable distance sharply moved to cover, right behind the tree it rested under. Unwilling to give away stealth, he figured to get a closer, different angle as firing from where he was proved to be a tough shot now.

Hajime trotted as silently as he could, hoping the sound of the grass he stepped on was nowhere near audible. By some amazing luck, even with the therian’s sharp sense of hearing, he was able to reach the other side of the huge tree trunk his target used for cover.

Dark clouds soon blanketed the moon. His vision became dimmer. Bravely, he inched closer and closer, until he was nearly standing right next to his sitting, whimpering and unknowing target. He marveled at himself for being able to get this close to a dangerous but trembling prey. Judging by its frame alone, he could tell this was indeed an adult werewolf. Somewhat of a buff build with a hint of inward curvatures on the waist. He estimated it to be 8 or 9 feet tall. Below average for typical male werewolves. He couldn’t make out other details of the beast’s appearance but was still able to note that it had gone weak for sure, incomparable to the creatures of night he was raised and trained to be wary of.

It was struggling to hush itself from making its sad, animalistic yelps. Panting heavily, sputtering blood as some of the full moon’s light shone through the clouds, it closed its eyes as if to surrender to the embrace of a much needed rest. The hunter, who now foolishly stood beside this beast, inspected the blood gushing from its wolfish maw and the smoke coming from the gunshot on its arm. Doubtless he was that a silver bullet went through it. Clean, quick, not enough to take it down yet the pain was unbearable for it, he assured himself. Silver, after all, was one of the very few things in the world that could cause the darkening and eventual burning of the tissue around the werewolf’s bleeding arm.

He then realized that the blood trail he followed wasn’t due to the wound on its arm, as his sight was startled by the gleaming of the pool of blood beside the creature, and the luster of a smoking poisonous silver stake driven to its thigh.

‘Now that explains why it’s been reduced to this state. Good job to the hunter who staked it,’ he commented.

‘Is it its own? Or is it a victim’s?’ He narrowed his eyes on the blood on its mouth, ‘Did it just come from a massacre? Because if that’s so, Miss Rika was telling the whole truth.’ Tightening his grip on his gun, he mustered his determination, ‘This is a monster I have to kill.’

In his heart, he felt it was wrong of him to finish off the monster alone when he, the greenhorn, took the job with his experienced partner. However, the opportunity presented itself and he shouldn’t pass it up. ‘It can’t be helped.’

His mind wandered to the events that would come after slaying the target – him hailed as the hero of his client’s village, the reward money granting him the chance to try out all the premium coffee blends in the world… and the dark-haired beauty that was Rika Hiyama fulfilling a promise which he would politely reject. Though, he did entertain for a moment the possibility of winning her love the gentlemanly way, acknowledging that his critical stares on her mostly served to conceal his attraction to the young woman.

Oh, right then he just admitted to himself that there was a small part of him that thought Rika’s promise was worth taking. ‘What red-blooded man wouldn’t think so?’ he reasoned.

Slowly, the clouds up in the night sky moved. Slowly, more of the beast’s features were revealed to the lone hunter. Its hide was gray, its chest covered in more fur than the typical werewolves he had encountered and heard of.

He held up his firearm as it nestled some form of mass on its other arm. Eyes still closed, the softly whimpering creature drew its snout toward whatever it was that it held close, licking it lovingly. He couldn’t make out what it was.

He could only guess, ‘An artifact? Food? Human meat?’

A hum came from it. A soft but high-pitched hum that jolted the hunter soon as he realized what it was. A gray wolf cub, about a month old, waking from its peaceful nap. ‘The monster has a little one!’

The moon, now completely rid of the clouds that blanketed it, shone down its light on the beast. With it, Hajime would have been able to see the creature and its young in their beastly glory, if not for the puff of fog that consumed the parent thanks to the silver stake.

Swoosh.

Silence.

His mouth agape in awe and embarrassment.

When the fog dissipated, what he laid his mortal eyes on was no longer a werewolf… but a sleeping, naked young woman around his client’s age and height. Fair, her long golden locks of hair with a tinge of crimson on its ends tastefully covered her breasts. Her pup – her baby – rested on her lap, covering her “area”. With arms and legs sleek and delicate, she had a voluptuous frame like a statue carved from ice.

For a quick second, he asked himself who was the prettier one between this woman and his client. The she-werewolf hadn’t even opened her eyes, so he wondered what color they were. Curious? No. He was beguiled already. So he willed himself to turn away, his embarrassment growing, his libido causing his manly instincts to run wild.

‘Am I really going to do this? Am I?’

Coming back from a pause, he cursed at himself, ‘Damn it!’ His gun now laid on the ground, harmless. ‘Damn it all!’ Blushing, he quickly stripped himself.

 

…

 

After one hard blink to clear her vision, the werewolf in her maiden form woke to the sight of a handsome man whose careful, gloved hand was on her shoulder. He had only just finished covering her nakedness with his own cloak. In frozen surprise, she and her pup on her side watched the gentleman inch away cautiously, his cheeks beet red. Almost as red as his hair.

Her radiant emerald eyes locked with his blue gaze.

“Easy there, Miss Wolf. I’m not going to hurt you,” he assured her.

‘Mortal.’ She couldn’t utter anything. Couldn’t move. Her whimpering was replaced by one big question, ‘What is he doing?’ Confused, she directed her stare at his belt and pouches that reeked of anti-werewolf gear. She knew then that he was one of the hunters sent out to off her. ‘But… why?’

“Do you understand the common tongue? Here, let me help you with that stake.” With a low whisper, he gave her a concerned look that she was scared to think it was genuine, “Just don’t scream. Hunters nearby might hear you.”

‘Seriously, what…’ Miss Wolf questioned again, ‘…is this mortal doing?’ Involuntary, quiet sobs escaped her throat. Tears started welling in her green eyes. ‘Stop this… foolishness.’

Preparing to pull out the silver weapon from her thigh which he knew would be an excruciating act for her, he exhaled heavily, “This will sting a lot but I’ll be quick.”

And with a speedy yank, the hunter took out the stake. She didn’t scream, just like he asked. She only sobbed at his kindness, “Why?”

“Why not?” Throwing the bloodstained stake far away as hard as he could, the redheaded man spoke to her, “There. With help from the full moon, your wound will heal soon, right?”

She cast her sight downward. Her sobs grew slightly louder. She strived to hold herself back, the physical pain measuring nothing against her mental anguish, “They’re coming for us. Please… leave. Do not involve yourself with us.” With her tears running down her face, she used her curly crimson fringes to hide them.

He wore a winsome smile, “You can talk. A werewolf that can talk.” His amazement was palpable, “That makes things so much easier.”

Deep down was a paradox of emotions. She wanted the kind gent to stay with her and protect her son, but knew it was an inappropriate request… one she came up with in desperation. The terror of her pursuers haunted her, so she desired for nothing but her young’s safety. She was already too hopeless to even wish for a better fate for herself. But she was a werewolf and he was a mortal man. To him, she thought, she was a beast to be hunted and killed. A threat to peace whatever she did or tried to do to reverse such impression. A threat, nothing more.

The hunter gently picked up her son who was in his cub form. She stared in awe and silence as he carefully inspected him for any injuries. Her son was not the least bit afraid of him. His tail even did occasional wags, unable to pick up any sign of malice. The man gave the youngling some pats and immediately, he started drifting back to sleep.

He dropped his guard down before her. This mortal was no longer his hunter self.

“I half-expected you or your pup to be a bit more… well, wild.” He remarked, continuing to pat her son’s head, “I’m surprised you didn’t hurt me at all. If I didn’t witness your morphing, I’d never suspect you to be a werewolf.”

He placed her son on her appropriately covered lap. The cub curled into a ball, almost purring like a cat. “You both are awfully tame. You can’t be it.”

A sigh, one of relief, she heaved. Wide-eyed, she couldn’t believe the comment the man had made. ‘Just when I thought it was all for nothing…’ she trailed off in her thoughts when he gave her son one last pat. As he did, his face inched toward hers.

Close. Maybe too close that, past the smell of blood, he caught such a sweet scent from her hair and skin.

Had she succumbed to her animalistic nature on how exactly her kind expressed gratitude, or how they would submit themselves to peace, she would have captured his mouth with her own. Would have given his tongue a light touch using her own, her fangs rendering the moment dangerously hot…

…or at least that was what he thought.

He inched back, half-disappointed that nothing happened. Then he realized what he just expected the still-confused damsel to do. He wanted to punch himself. ‘You’re the worst, Hajime.’

He breathed, getting his head back to the matter at hand, “You don’t qualify as the monster we’re looking for. You’re not a threat—”

With what little strength she had, she pulled him to her.

 

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