A few.

"Let's say for the moment that I accept everything you've told me as fact. Why did you pick me? And if transferring this curse or affliction or whatever it is will result in your ****, why would you do it at all?"

"Fair questions Mr. Collins. I chose you because after looking into your character and history I see a man of integrity and will. One who will not easily surrender to the base temptations of power. One who will not, if I am any judge, turn to evil. Oh, I'm not calling you a saint sir. I know you are not. You have lusts and wants and weaknesses as we all do, but they do not control you. There are those who would take this power and use it in foul and wicked ways. There are those who have."

"There are others?" Hunter asked with a frown.

"Oh my yes. Many. A minute fraction when compared to all of humanity, but a sizeable number none the less. There is at least one other in this city. Fortunately, the legend that any bite can infect is utterly incorrect or humankind would likely have been wiped off the planet long ago. You see Mr. Collins, most of those who are afflicted have tried to be responsible, to restrain themselves from abusing their abilities, and to pass them on only to someone that looked capable of managing them. There are, unfortunately, those who are nothing more than brigands and murderers, killing for the sake of killing."

"You didn't answer the question of why you would give this up if it meant your ****."

"I told you that the affliction slows the ageing process, but it does not stop it. Eventually, one gets older and more tired, and less able to control the base impulses of the animal. I have been afflicted a long time Mr. Collins, and I grow weary. It is time for me to go."

"How long have you been...afflicted," Hunter asked.

"I was transformed when I was 27 years old. On an April evening on a battlefield in Tennessee. It was 1862." Dunnigan smiled politely at Hunter's expression.

"You're trying to tell me that you're almost 200 years old?" Hunter asked incredulously.

"One hundred and eighty two years old, to be precise. Allow me to reminisce a bit. I was born near Ponchatoula Louisiana in 1835. I became a logger, like many able bodied men of that area, and when the Civil War began I joined up and was sent to Camp Moore, some miles north of Ponchatoula. I was assigned to the 13th Louisiana Infantry regiment, and in 1862 we marched north to join the army under the command of Albert Sidney Johnston."

"On April 6 of that year we attacked Federal forces in southern Tennessee. It was a terrible, confusing brawl, and both sides took horrific casualties. You've possibly heard of it. The Battle of Shiloh? I see you have." He paused and took another sip of water before continuing.

"My regiment was part of an **** on a Federal position near the centre of their line. They were well placed, and we had to charge them uphill through undergrowth. They shot us down by the dozen. I was struck in the hip by a musket ball and lay where I fell, barely conscious. As the afternoon turned into evening and the tide of battle turned away, I was left behind, together with the other dead and badly wounded. As night fell, the scavengers arrived. Even half delirious with pain and fever I could hear the foxes and feral hogs dining on the dead. I expected to be served the same."

"When the wolf appeared and looked down on my fevered face I was sure my end had come, but it licked me, it's tongue somehow comforting me. It sat beside me for some time, snarling to ward off scavengers. Sometime after that, it bit me. A careful bite, as if cautious of doing more damage, but a bite that made me fear being devoured nonetheless. I looked at its bloody gaping maw expecting ****, but instead saw something I could scarce believe. Before my eyes the wolf transformed, its body bending and contorting and shifting until beside me sat an ancient black man, his face grizzled."

"He told me much the same things I have told you, although he was not an educated man and much of what he said had the ring of folklore. And some of it was. But most of it was true. Over the decades I have learned much more, and now I pass it on to you."

"What happened then?" Hunter asked, fascinated by the story.

"I had begun to heal with the transference of the affliction. He died as he was telling me his story, and I found myself transforming, turning to animal form. I tore my uniform from my body as I changed, snarling and writhing on the ground until I became were. Within moments of changing I was healed. I fled the field in madness and terror, afraid of what I had become. It took me several years before I could control it."

He sipped his water again, then put the glass on the desk.

"Now Mr. Collins, here is what I have not told you. You have two forms as a lycanthrope. The first is pure wolf, almost indistinguishable from the real thing. The other is a humanised version of the animal. Imagine the kind of creature that Hollywood portrays as a werewolf and you will have some idea of what I mean. You can choose which form you take, by stopping the transformation at the appropriate spot. In either form you have the powers and abilities I described earlier."

"Secondly, you will have hungers. You will have a need to kill. It must be satisfied. You can suppress it for only so long before it breaks out and consumes you. You must find ways to relieve it that do not cause you to run amok through the populace. I took pains to find...prey that were no loss to anyone, and whose **** removed a blight from the community. Degenerates, molesters, and similar scum. You must find your own path."

"Thirdly, you will be able to sense others of your kind when you are in their presence. Similarly, they will be able to sense you. Be wary. Some are honourable, within the limits of their ability, while others are merciless predators."

Dunnigan stood up slowly, and Hunter thought that the man had aged in the time that they had been speaking. The old man put out his hand and Hunter took it.

"I must bid you adieu, Mr. Collins. My time grows short. What I have told you and some other things can be found on that drive," he paused, still clasping Hunter's hand. "I see that you are still doubtful. I can hardly blame you. I have done my best for you Mr. Collins. Good luck and God speed."

With a courtly smile he turned to the door, before looking back with a grin that was suddenly impish.

"And let me thank you for letting me share the young lady. It was very fine to have a last taste before I depart this world. Farewell Mr. Collins. I can find my way out."