Werewolf

Hunter's vision blurred and a terrible cramp seized his abdomen. He bent over in his chair, groaning with the pain of it, then fell to his knees. His body felt racked with spasms, and he started to claw at his shirt, suddenly **** to rid himself of his restrictive clothing.

His hands felt large and clumsy, hardly able to work the buttons, and in his impatience he tore the shirt open as he writhed on the ground. Frantically he tugged at his pants, breaking the zipper as he roughly pulled it down, tearing the fabric as he kicked them off.

He stared at his hands, watching the coarse hairs extruding from his skin, the nails lengthening into claws. His face was aching, stretching, and he felt his jaws aching.

Dunnigan had not lied, his brain told him furiously. It was happening. He was changing.

He began to feel a liquid surge of incredible energy flow through him, as though he had tapped some great source of power. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he was panting as he rolled and convulsed on the floor. Part of him wanted to surrender fully to what was happening to him, while another screamed at him to stop it, reverse it, to do anything before all vestiges of his humanity were stripped from him.