The Bitch - 3 (Patreon)

At first, Jill thought the fur was just her imagination. A trick of the light. A stray thread from her socks or leggings. But no matter how many times she brushed it away, it was still there—a fine, dark line of hair growing along the scar on her calf.

She tried not to think about it. She threw herself into her routine, wiping sticky fingerprints from the windows, folding Ian’s dinosaur pajamas, chopping vegetables for dinner. But every time she passed a mirror, her eyes would drift to her reflection, searching for other changes.

By the third day, the fur had thickened. It wasn’t soft or downy like normal body hair—it was coarse and wiry, dark enough to stand out against her pale skin. She shaved it off once, her hand trembling as the razor glided over her skin, but it grew back faster than before. She told herself it was stress. Hormones. Anything but what she feared.

And then she noticed her teeth.

She was brushing her teeth one morning, bleary-eyed and exhausted, when something caught her attention. Her mouth didn’t look… right. Leaning closer to the mirror, she bared her teeth, and her stomach dropped. Her incisors were sharper, longer, catching the light like tiny daggers. She ran her tongue over them, wincing as the edges nicked the tip.

She stumbled back from the sink, her toothbrush clattering to the floor. Her heart pounded as she stared at her reflection, her breath fogging the mirror. The face looking back at her was still hers—but it wasn’t.

The itch around the scar had returned, stronger now, radiating up her leg and into her thigh. She clawed at it absently, her nails dragging over the skin. When she looked down, she saw that her nails had thickened, too—harder, almost claw-like. Her stomach churned, and she forced herself to look away.

“Mommy?” Ian’s voice broke the silence, and she turned quickly, pulling her robe tighter around her. He stood in the doorway, clutching his stuffed rabbit, his little face scrunched with confusion. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not, baby,” she said, her voice trembling as she knelt to hug him. “Everything’s fine.”

But everything wasn’t fine.

The loup-garou hadn’t just marked her. It was changing her, piece by piece, day by day. She could feel it now, a deep, unsettling pull in her bones, in her blood.

And the worst part? Some small, treacherous part of her didn’t mind.

Jill stood at the sink, washing the breakfast dishes while Ian played with his toy cars on the kitchen floor. The hum of the dishwasher filled the room, but her mind was elsewhere. Every day seemed to stretch longer than the last, the weight of their situation pressing down on her. Stephen still hadn’t caught the thing, and the longer it stayed out there, the more she feared it would come back.

When Stephen walked into the kitchen, she turned to face him, drying her hands on a dish towel. “Any luck?” she asked, trying to keep the edge of desperation out of her voice.

He shook his head, pulling out a chair at the table and sitting heavily. “It’s clever. Too clever. I thought I had its trail last night, but it vanished into the woods before I could get close.”

Jill leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. “What if…” she began, hesitating. “What if it’s human right now? What if it’s someone living a normal life during the day and stalking us at night?”

Stephen looked up at her, his face softening into a wry smile. “That’s not how it works.”

Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He leaned back in the chair, his arms resting on the table. “Werewolves don’t shift back and forth between human and wolf. That’s just a story. Once they change—once they become the wolf—they stay that way. Forever.”

Jill blinked, taken aback. “But… moonlight?”

“Another wives’ tale,” Stephen said, shaking his head. “The change isn’t triggered by the moon. It’s… something deeper. Primal. Once they give in to it, there’s no going back.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. Her mind was spinning. The thought of the loup-garou—trapped in its monstrous form, stalking through the shadows—made her stomach twist. “But you said they’re still intelligent.”

“They are,” he said grimly. “It’s what makes them so dangerous. They’re not just beasts—they remember who they were. They remember everything. And they learn.”

She shivered, gripping the counter behind her. “What about… the other stuff? Wolfsbane? Silver?”

“That part’s true,” Stephen said, his expression darkening. “Wolfsbane repels them. Burns them if they get too close. And silver is like poison to them. Even a scratch from it can kill them.”

Jill nodded faintly, but her thoughts were far away. The fur on her leg, the sharpness of her teeth—she could feel the change creeping over her, slow but undeniable.

“Jill?” Stephen’s voice cut through her haze, and she realized he was looking at her, concern etched on his face. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said quickly, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”

But as she turned back to the sink, her hand tightened around the dish towel, her knuckles white. She wasn’t fine. She wasn’t fine at all.

Because deep down, she wasn’t afraid of the loup-garou anymore.

She was afraid of herself.

The park was alive with the sounds of children laughing, swings creaking, and the occasional bark of a dog in the distance. Ian ran ahead, his tiny legs pumping furiously as he clambered up the slide. “Watch me, Mommy!” he called, his face glowing with delight.

Jill forced a smile, waving at him. “I see you, sweetheart. Great job.” Her voice sounded hollow, even to herself.

She sat on a bench, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The late morning sun felt good on her skin, but the warmth couldn’t chase away the chill running through her. Her eyes darted around the park, hyper-aware of every movement. She told herself it was because she was keeping an eye on Ian, but deep down, she knew the truth.

Her gaze snapped to a squirrel skittering across the grass. It froze for a moment, its tail flicking nervously, before darting up the trunk of a nearby tree. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from it, her heart pounding in her chest. Her mouth watered, and for a fleeting, horrifying moment, she imagined herself leaping after it, teeth bared, tasting its blood and fur on her tongue.

She clenched her fists, shaking her head violently as if to dislodge the thought. “No,” she muttered under her breath. “No, no, no.”

Ian slid down the slide with a triumphant yell, completely oblivious to her struggle. Jill dug her nails into her calf, trying to ground herself, but the itch there was relentless. The fur had grown thicker, creeping up past her ankle and almost to her knee. She could feel it even now under her jeans—soft, warm, and alien.

The left ankle wasn’t as bad yet, but the fur was starting to sprout there too, a faint shadow of what her right leg had become. She scratched absently at the fabric of her jeans, pretending to adjust them when a mom pushing her toddler on the swings glanced her way.

Her ears twitched at the sound of laughter—actually twitched. She smoothed her hair self-consciously, pulling the strands tighter over her head. She’d started combing her hair up and over the tiny, pointed ears that had begun to emerge. When Stephen had commented on her new hairstyle, she’d laughed it off, claiming she was “experimenting with a new look.” He didn’t seem to notice the way her voice wavered or how she’d refused to meet his eyes.

“Mommy, are you okay?” Ian’s voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. He was standing in front of her now, his brow furrowed with concern.

Jill plastered on a smile, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “I’m fine, baby. Just thinking about what we’ll have for lunch.”

Ian beamed, satisfied, and ran back to the slide. Jill watched him, her chest tightening. She wasn’t fine. The changes were getting harder to hide, harder to control. The fur, the teeth, the ears—those were bad enough. But the hunger? The way her senses seemed to sharpen, the way she caught herself salivating at things that should disgust her?

That terrified her most of all.

Jill tied her hair up with a scrunchie, her hands moving automatically as she adjusted her earbuds. The pointed tips of her ears brushed against her fingers, and she hesitated for a moment before smoothing her hair back down over them. Stephen had barely glanced at her when she said she was going for a run—he’d mumbled something about grilling steaks for dinner and retreated to the backyard. Ian was playing on the living room floor, his cars scattered everywhere.

It was her favorite time of the evening: just after sunset, when the world still hummed with life but the shadows stretched long. The air was crisp, and the road ahead beckoned. She started her jog, syncing her steps to the rhythm of the music pumping in her ears.

At first, it felt like every other run. The familiar pounding of her feet against the pavement, the steady rise and fall of her breath. But tonight was different. She could feel it—something just out of sight, just beyond her senses. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. She glanced toward the woods lining the road, where shadows shifted between the trees.

A rustling sound made her slow, and then she saw them—feral yellow eyes, watching her from the underbrush. They gleamed briefly before vanishing, the figure darting deeper into the trees. Jill’s lips twitched into a small smile. The loup-garou.

But it wasn’t fear she felt anymore. No, it was something else entirely. Something deeper.

She reached the park and slowed to a walk, her feet crunching softly against the gravel path. It was fully dark now, but her vision was sharper than it should have been. She could see every tree, every bush, as if lit by some unseen light. Her other senses, too, seemed heightened. She caught the faint scent of damp earth and rotting leaves, the distant murmur of a stream. And then she felt it—him.

From behind a tree, the loup-garou stepped into view. Its hulking form blocked the path, its golden eyes locked on hers. It didn’t snarl, didn’t growl. It simply stood there, watching her. She tilted her head and gave a soft laugh.

“I see you,” she said.

The creature sniffed the air, its snout lifting as it caught her scent. She felt the breeze and knew she was standing upwind. Her smile widened. “Like what you see?” she teased.

The loup-garou froze for a moment, then lunged. Jill didn’t run immediately—she turned with a delighted giggle before dashing down the path, dodging between trees as its heavy footfalls thundered behind her. It was gaining on her fast, and she could feel the heat of its breath as it closed the gap.

Then she stopped abruptly, spinning to face it. She dropped to the ground, rolling onto her back with her arms and legs in the air. The creature slowed, whining softly as it loomed over her. Its massive jaws clamped around the nape of her neck—not biting, just holding her in place. She tilted her head slightly, her body going limp, and smiled.

The loup-garou lingered for a moment, its breath hot against her skin, before it released her and bounded off into the woods. It disappeared in a flurry of shadows, leaving no sound, no scent. Jill lay there for a few moments, her heart racing, before she got to her feet and started back toward home.

Everything was fine—unremarkable, even—until she reached the front steps. She took them two at a time, eager to get inside, but something snapped in her right ankle. A sharp, sickening crack! made her moan softly as she stumbled, catching herself on the railing. Pain shot up her leg as she limped to the door.

“How was your run?” Stephen asked, glancing at her briefly as he came inside.

“Just fine,” Jill said quickly, her voice tight. “Gonna take a shower.”

Stephen mumbled something as she shut herself in the bathroom, locking the door. She kicked off her running shoes and pulled down her pants, gasping at what she saw.

Her left leg was fine, save for patches of soft fur creeping up from her ankle. But her right leg…

Her right leg was no longer human. The fur was thick, covering it entirely, and her calf had changed into a second, backward joint. Her heel had migrated upward, forming a new knee. Her toes were longer, narrower, tipped with claws, and her foot had transformed into a paw.

Jill stared at it in the harsh bathroom light, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She reached down to touch it, her hand trembling as she ran her fingers over the soft fur and powerful new muscles. Her lips quirked into a faint, eerie smile.

“Looks like I’m not running away anymore,” she whispered to herself.