A languid mornings’ start, we can finally screw our eyes shut against the mornings’ rays no longer. The caress of the plush pillow-top is rivaled only by our own embrace. Still worn from the nights’ activities, we revel in the knowledge that hours yet remain before we must check out and we sink deeper into both the white down comforter and each other’s arms. We chuckle as we recount our perspective ridiculous antics from the evening and congratulate ourselves again on making it back to the room.

During the lax moments we admire the view streaming in on the stray sunrays that managed to dart past the halfheartedly drawn curtains of the windows set in the breakfast nook beside the bed. The ocean appears a sun flared marbled floor leading to the feet of the snowcapped mountains that form a ring around the spit of land that the hotel resides on. The sight draws you from the bed for a closer look and I find myself torn between reluctance at relinquishing your touch and my desire to drink in your bare form.

I watch you pick your way around the bed and cannot help but stir at seeing you perk up as goose bumps change the topography of your skin in rebuke to the change in temperature

You toss your hair and grin at my arched eyebrow as the wave of pinpricks crawls its way across the faint lines of your abdomen and crashes into the medley of colors that make up the lily tattoo sprawling down your side. My appreciation for the late check out is renewed.

You choose a spot at the main window of the nook and settle on the cushion, turning half way to the window and gracing me with a side profile of your form. You glance back toward me, smiling at my obvious appreciation as a wayward ray of light collides with one of your hazel eyes, turning it into a molten pool of amber honey on impact.

Your smile gleams as brightly as the ring glinting in your lip and the brown and gold of your hair is set ablaze while you turn again to regard the splendor of the view beyond the walls of our temporary haven; I feel bad for you, as it turns out your view is only half as fine as my own. But I Keep it to myself out of greed and continue to watch you, casting my mind forward in anticipation of future escapes from the real world.

My heart crumbles as I remember the illusion is not to last. We’ve been playing at this game for a few weeks now, moonlighting together here, escaping for a weekend there, and scarcely speaking in between. The absence and time apart makes for more fervent nights together and in turn making each parting all the more painful. We both know we cannot carry on like this much longer, why do this to ourselves? But we’ve both unspokenly agreed to be sick and deluded a little longer yet.

You edge yourself from the seat at the window and devastate the value of the view and begin to make your way back across the room, perhaps towards the bathroom, I’m not certain and I don’t intend to find out as I’ve again buried my remorse and your path brings you into my orbit close enough to reach out and tug you back down to the bed beside me.

I assail your neck with a flurry of kisses as your lilting laugh rings out and I feel obligated to share my affections with your shoulders and chest; I notice your laughter has given way to subtle gasping breaths as I forgo my kisses in favor of teasing bites when I come to the swell of your breasts.

What tastes I’ve taken have only served to make me more ravenous and I continue to sample as I make my way down your abdomen. The goose bumps have returned and I find myself very appreciative of the diversity in texture due to my complex palette.

My gluttony has carried me to the mid of your thighs and I discover I’m no less hungry now then when I began and continue greedily taking soft bites, this time traversing upwards, reveling in your hushed gasps and breathless exhales. Soon I’ve reached the apex between your thighs and after a mischievous pause my consumptions resumes while you knot your fingers in my hair.

You taste of our laughter and our tears, our late nights and our early mornings. Hints of our adventure complimented by lethargy, I can taste our perspective annoyances peppered by our endearments; the sweet snap of our love and the bitter citrus of our resentments pair exquisitely with the creamy texture of our trust but is detracted by the greasy distraction of betrayal.

Finally I pull away, rising to hands and knees to post myself above you and I devour you as thoroughly with my eyes as I have with teeth and tongue. You’ve clenched your pierced lip between your teeth and my fractured heart throbs in rebellion even as I plunge into you with reckless abandon and despise myself for loving it so much. I loathe our kisses, the quick, coy pecks as well as the long fevered drinks. My Bites on your neck and shoulders, your nails, raking lines in my back readable even to the blind; all little lies we tell ourselves during our clandestine time together. Falsehoods we clutch to when no one is else is looking, self-medicating deceptions that we think will make the transition easier to handle like deluded trauma victims being handed a newly refilled prescription. Well, plenty of time to get healthy later. For now? I’ve got a late check out.

The true laughter ringing from your chest as you battled alongside your friends against hordes of goblins, orcs, giants, and other assorted beasts; the poor creatures doomed to failure as you were unassailable with the wooden or foam sword at your side, enchanted by the mind to such an extent that it had become Excalibur itself.

It was real once, just the same as the fiery pit that engulfed the expanse of floor between the sofa and the recliner that you had no choice but to leap. It was as tangible as the gun fashioned by your pointed fingers as you took down the robbers in your duty as the cop.

The obligations we fulfilled as dutiful fathers and mothers in our roles in the play of house, the palpable casting of fire and ice from your hand or wand as you displayed your skill in the sorcerous ways; all as true as the vaguely gun shaped stick that turned into a deadly and accurate lazer in your grip. Just think back and you’ll remember, it was real once.

The bandits advanced slowly in the misty woods, their footfalls soft and purposeful. Their band of fourteen was nearing the cave that was tonight's objective and began to fan out to cover any escape that may be attempted.

This raid had been two weeks in the making, ever since whispers that the cave in question had become something of a trader's stash and caravan's reprieve began spreading, how could the bandits resist such an easy score?

When the cave came into view a hand rose into the air and the company came to a halt.

Vayne, the leader of the band of cutthroats, assessed all he could see, or, rather, couldn't. There was no glow of a camp fire flickering in the recess of the rock wall, nor the smell of smoke on the air from a recent one.

This, along with the lack of a caravan cart in sight made for a less than optimal situation for the bandits, no men carrying weapons, armor, or clothing that could be of use, no women or children to sell, and no fresh horses, alas if the rumors of a traders stash turned out to be true then tonight’s trip would be well worth the time and effort. Not to mention the cave would be the perfect place to lie in wait for the next group of travelers or traders to eventually happen along.

Vayne turned to give his second in command the signal to advance and realized the fog had become much denser, nearly erasing all the world beyond thirty yards. And then he noticed something else, his right hand man had taken up a defensive stance, knees bent, hand on the hilt of the sword at his side and eyes fixed on the mist in the direction from which they had come.

"Jasher!" In a hushed call, Vayne tried to capture his attention, but his comrade’s eyes would not leave the mist. "Dammit Jasher lookit' me!" but his efforts were for naught.

Giving up, Vayne swore and made his way quickly and quietly to Jashers' side. "What the hell is on with you!?" he growled at his friend before glancing about to check on his men that were still visible spread throughout the trees awaiting orders. "We've got business to attend t-"

"We're not alone here, Vayne" Jasher interrupted, eyes scanning the white wall that seemed to grow more solid by the minute.

"What makes you say such?" Vayne was becoming impatient as his men began fidgeting at their spots, clearly becoming agitated by the delay. "I sar it s'what makes me say such, and s'not the who what's got me concerned, it be the what. And that what, is big. And quiet... and fast"

At that moment Jasher whipped his head to the left to track a blur of motion twenty yards away blink into the mist, leaving an empty fog where moments before one of their men had been standing.

Swearing, Vayne threw up his hand "On me men! we've got compa-" a howl pierced the air cutting him off, its intensity forcing him to cover his ears as the outcry was taken up by another, and then another, and yet another still, until they were so consumed by the sound that it seemed that the fog itself must be made of it.

Freeing his sword from it's sheath, Vayne cast his eyes about, searching for his warriors to see that only four of his men were running toward him, less then half of his original number; and to think he had never even noticed something was amiss.

At that moment a massive blur of fur and claws came bounding from behind Vayne and Jasher, catching the latter in the middle of the back with such force that the impact itself resulted in a resounding snap made by Jasher's own spine as he was bolted off with into the white oblivion that was the surrounding fog.

As similar shapes simultaneously snatched, tackled, and smashed into his men who had been scrambling to reach him, Vayne could do naught but stand and watch, frozen in terror, as his world was torn, running and screaming, down around him.

As the cries of his men died out one by one, Vayne was approached from the direction his most devout was carried in by a beast the likes of which he had never encountered before; Until it had grown close enough to emerge fully from the mist he had assumed it was a bear, too massive and hairy to be anything else, but as it grew closer it rose off its forelegs and continued toward him with long inhuman strides and the terror that rooted Vayne in place only grew stronger as the beast’s features became clearer.

It's massive stature made it to tower over the bandit leader with ease, its fur did nothing to hide its rippling, efficient muscle; The long, powerful arms Vayne had initially taken for forelegs ended in impossibly large hands tipped with blackened, ferocious looking talons that may as well have been daggers and below its elongated snout were rows of vicious teeth, now dripping with the lifeblood of his fallen right hand, but it was the eyes, the eyes that glowed like yellow embers, that held him in place now.

In them he found the brightness of intelligence and brutality unmatched by any man or beast he had ever encountered, they were not the eyes of a dull creature killing out of hunger, but rather those of a seasoned warrior, butchering the last of a group of inferior enemies...

...And enjoying it.

No, this was nothing so unimposing as a bear, so trivial as a natural beast, this was a creature he had heard of in frightening tales as a child, and had seen only in his nightmares, he knew now, in his despair, that he was in the presence of Werewolves.

Once the wolf was close enough to reach out with its long arm and tear his face off the beast stopped to consider him, it drew great loud sniffs through its nostrils, seeming to relish in the reek of blood and the stink of fear that saturated the air as thickly as had the surrounding mist.

After this, it crouched down to face level whilst throwing its arms back and released a bellowing roar that finally broke the spell of fear that held Vayne in place.

He turned on the spot, the sword in hand forgotten, and sprinted toward the cave for no other reason than to distance himself from the murderous creature.

As soon as the roar died out he heard his terror made flesh give chase, bounding toward him with speed unmatched by the swiftest of horses.

Vayne continued to pump his legs even as he closed his eyes, resigning himself to his fate. The bounding grew, each loping bound shuddering through the ground and into his legs until he knew the beast was upon him, he all but felt its hot breath on his back, could practically feel the beast leaping to make its kill as he took his last breath.

"Klane!"

A voice thundered out from the blackness of the cave before the fleeing man and with the sound of a tree crashing to the floor the enormous wolf skidded to a halt on the earth immediately behind the fleeing man, violently throwing Vayne to the ground with it's impact.

A growl like two boulders scraping together rumbled from the caves mouth and Vayne's would-be murderer stepped over him and advanced to sit next to the cave's yawning mouth, it's eyes never leaving the bandit's.

Vayne scrambled up onto his knees and was preparing to bolt again before a roar to his left stopped him in his tracks.

Another of the hulking wolves was staring pointedly at him, seeming to strongly suggest he stay as he was. Glancing about, Vayne found himself surrounded by by the monstrosities, each of thier claws and teeth dripping ichorous rubies harvested from his men. A gasping sob escaped the defeated man as he hung his head.

"I was beginning to wonder..." the voice that had staved of Vayne's death floated to him from the darkness and he looked up to see a man stepping into view, "... Just how long it would take for Vile Vayne and his band of cutthroats to come looking for this little hole.” Of medium build and a handsome complexion, the dark haired newcomer was clearly more than he seemed, that was made plain by the eyes; though not glowing per say, the intelligence and fierceness alight behind them betrayed the wolf within.

“ I was starting to think that the rumors weren't reaching you." the man stopped his advance next to the wolf that had torn his second in command apart.

"W-what are you talking about? Who are you?" Vayne managed to stammer.

"Who am I?" the man paused to consider the question as though he hadn't been expecting it, "Well I suppose it's only fair that you know my name, as I know yours,”

“ I, am called Typhen, Alpha of the Shadow Wolves" he said while extending his arms, referencing the circle of glowering beasts.

"I believe you've already met my Beta, Klane," he inclined his head to the wolf at his side. "As for the rest of my brothers, I really don't think it's of any consequence to you, as you'll be departing shortly...

Now stand, your too pitiful to look at as you are."

Scrambling to his feet Vayne stuttered out "y-you- your all monsters!"

"Monsters!?" Typhens' face contorted in rage as he spat the word out in disgust.

Klane growled and started forward before Typhen reached out and caught his shoulder, staying his advance.

Composure returned, the man went on, "Monsters you say?" he chuckled to the bandit, as though he had told a joke.

"Humans are always so quick to judge, so hasty to persecute and fear what they do not understand. It is in their nature. What is not white must be black and therefore be feared. “

“They are not aware of the gray in between, they are not aware of us, the shadows, watching, and if need be, acting, intervening as it were.” He paused at this, before hardening his gaze upon Vayne, lip curling in obvious disgust,

“ But you, you are not human, you who would steal, kill, and destroy for personal gain, devastating the lives of countless others if need be so long as you get ahead.” The sneer deepened, "You and the worthless scum you command... Well, commanded, at any rate" he laughed out.

Finally, At he belittling of his fallen men Vaynes' grip on his sword tightened and he charged forward with a cry he knew to be his last,

"Surprisingly bold" Typhen said nonchalantly as he caught the mans swinging wrist and wrenched it back as easily as he would a child's, resulting in the sword falling to the ground.

At this, Vayne loosed a kick at his captors side in an attempt to escape and with incredible speed, Typhen released the bandit's wrist, caught, and then clamped the leg to his side with his arm, resting his opposite hand on his attackers calf he paused a moment, assuring he held the bandit’s eyes with his own before digging his fingers into the man’s flesh, first breaking the skin as though it were wet paper, then tearing the muscle and tendon away from the bone entirely and tossing the meat aside like a lump of trash before shoving the man down to the ground, screaming in agony.

After a moment of uninterrupted outcry Typhen knelt down and covered the mans mouth, muffling the shrieks andlooking into the fallen cutthroat’s eyes before he spoke.

"We do not kill fathers, brothers, and sons for their purses or belongings, we do not enslave and sell mothers, wives, daughters and children to a life of torment as you so relish in doing...”

“No, you are not human. Here, we are the ones killing monsters."

With that he stood and turned his back on the bawling man, "Klane," he said on his way back into the cave

"...I don't want to hear his voice anymore."

Then he began to whistle, the notes echoing eerily from the cave mouth and mingling in the air with the sounds of first howling and screaming, then gurgling, the tearing flesh and finally... silence

-III

The first time I got high was outside of a bar called Taproot. A collection of bearded musicians and a wooden dance floor that seemed to attract older men like my date, trying to impress impressionable young women, like I used to be. There were many pairs of us, but somehow I felt elite, sitting next to my brooding companion. We were by far the handsomest, of that I was smugly certain.

It was winter, but the hipster-local-who-cares-cocktails I had consumed kept me warm when we went outside - snowing though it was. A jacket would cover the appeal of my outfit - my trap for his eyes. His eyes never needed much ensnaring, they flittered around recklessly even then.

His Chevrolet truck - with the covered back where he kept the dogs he walked for a living - was open at the driver’s side. I was soon against the door - swooning under whiskey lips and feeling heady from the thrill of being desired. He pulled back - lids heavy, and produced a joint from his flannel breast pocket. I was delighted by every cliché. I fell for his jungle colors, his peacock spread.

I was a novice then, and so his taste for my lips and my lack of knowledge lead to an exchange. He blew the smoke within me - again and again - watched me expel it into the night air. The fiddle that played in the background of our embraces called my attention now - as did the gaze of the door guard. A full figured man - he peered at our exchange,  and I supposed he had watched many couples in this manner - too drunk to notice his leer. Fresh from the country, every detail of this shoddy part of town enthralled me - made me feel like a bold city girl.

My date noticed the fat man’s observation, and pulled me to him again. It was a performance - I couldn’t recognize then that this display was more for the guard’s benefit than mine. It was this night that I went home with him, the night of my surrender - exchange of flesh. A step more severe for me than for him, of that I was aware.

We were woken the next morning by a knock - followed without much pause by an open door - for which his roommate seemed embarrassed. I covered myself, blushing. My lips were swollen from kissing, I felt them with my fingertips as my date cursed his roommate. The roommate, a shy boy - was just short of writhing in his discomfort.

“I’m sorry man, she just came in.”

From behind him, a woman stepped forth, closer to my date’s age than mine. I stared back defiantly from his bed on the floor, though my date began to sputter and collect himself. I’m embarrassed for that stare now. She said nothing, but my boxer-clad companion followed her out the door.

In my naivety I allowed him to embrace me again when he returned, no questions asked or answered. Foolish men thrive on foolish girls.

Foolish girls let foolish men tell them to ignore their intuition, ignore their observations.

I did not stop being a foolish girl until I found myself at his door, peering in at him and a face that didn’t belong to me - who stared back at me with a familiar rosy defiance.

“Cross God one time, and you will be depicted forever as a bloodied goat man - but I’m the evil one.”

       She crossed and uncrossed her legs.

       Indeed, the young woman across from me was not unpleasant to look at. She was plain looking, mousy even.

       If I had been told that the devil were a woman, my mind would have filled with a vision of a Delilah temptress, forked tongue slipping in my ear while I quivered with waning resistance.

       Alas - no swirling smoke, no hopping henchmen. Dressed in crimson satin, a woman devil of my imagination would convince me to do vile things with whimsy.

       The woman across from me was buttoned down, no cleavage or flitting eyelashes. She looks like a mom. I try to keep my suspicion, any fool could guess that this was naught but a trick. Blue blouse and khakis did not an innocent make.

“Oh, this isn’t my normal form, this is a rental especially for you.”

       A wink, there it was - the trickster was out to play. Ignoring that Lucifer was reading my unexpressed thoughts - I was filled with disgust. This woman possessed, to be used and discarded like some puppet.

“Don’t you recognize me?”

       Staccato laughter burst from her, drawing the attention of the tables around us. It was that laugh that began the chill, which poured over my skin like oil.

“This is my fault, I tend to indulge in theatrics.”

       She began to change. Sallow shrinking greying meat - half of her face ripped up with a violence, showing bloodless flesh - she laughed again, the laughter strange sounding from behind flapping skin. It was then that I saw the tire marks, which crawled up across her chest before me.

“Remember me now?”

       I had tried to forget. Spread on pavement in the dark - I hadn’t gotten a good look. Besides, I had been very drunk.

Everything pours out of me,

sand in an arthritic hand -

but nothing is poured in you see,

'cept weed and wine and vanity.

little more...

Just one more sip -

I'm almost done, don't give me lip.