The nights are getting longer and the forests a little darker. For the next few weeks I'm going to be bringing you what I like to call "Friday Night Bites" short stories, like Deluge, about being bitten by various creatures. Enjoy! Our first one takes aim at one of the most popular biters in monster mythology: the werewolf!

Two men sat in the smoke of a roadside bar, each with an empty shot glass. 

"King of the North American werewolves," said the shorter of the two, a young man red from a long day under the summer sun. He wore a dusty construction vest and beat blue jeans. As far as construction grunts went, he was a little too handsome for the job, the sort of wide-eyed kid who still had big dreams and ambitions, unlike his companion.

"A thousand warriors at his call," his friend agreed, rolling back his sleeves. He looked over the bright vest, dusty hair and twinkling eyes of the younger man and sighed. "You stink, Gav. Couldn't have hopped in the shower first?"

"Didn't want to miss the show," Gav replied, ignoring grunted disapproval. "Shame, King Mehki getting himself hunted down like that. Middle of a piss, I hear. Can you imagine, Al?"

Al shook his head. "Nothing's sacred no more."

"Now his son's in control. Eighteen years old. Little asshole gets born into wealth, and good folks like you and me are out here in the sun workin' ourselves into skin cancer."

Alan set his elbow on the dingy counter and twisted toward Gav. "Lower your voice," he said wearily. "'Fore he orders me to be killing you for insolence—"

"Don't think he knows that word. Probably hasn't gotten far enough through a high school English class," Gav hissed, turning his glass in his palm.

"You know well as I do that kid got private schooling. Even if he didn't know the word, what's it matter?"

"You're right," Gav said. "He doesn't need an education to bark orders at people."

Alan ran his hand over his face and hurriedly waved the bartender, a sprightly young woman named Beth, for another round. "All the same, he's come to see Emily's little girl, not you. You trying to ruin her chances at escaping this life?" 

"No," Gavin grumbled, downing another shot. He turned his glass upside down on the bartop and pushed himself around to face the door. "She won't be happy with him. She deserves someone willing to work his tail off to give her the world."

Alan raised his eyebrows. "I think you're in the wrong profession if you were planning on doing that."

"Why do you think I've missed the last few hunts, eh? I've been taking night classes." Gavin flashed a pearly smile and plucked the hem of his construction vest. "Gonna be a lawyer in a couple years. Gonna be sitting at bars a lot nicer than this one, with shirts a lot nicer than ours, I reckon. No offense, man."

"Just promise me you won't be doing anything stupid tonight, alright?"

"I promise," Gav mumbled, but Alan saw he was distracted.

The older man undid the top two buttons on his shirt and adjusted his sleeves. 'Dress nice for the new king' insisted his wife Wanda (bless her soul for putting up with a sorry dresser like himself for twenty years). The meeting was in a rundown bar for werewolves. Humans and other denizens of the night were welcome, but it was the sort of rundown, sketchy  establishment that you didn't visit unless you were invited. Alan, though a staple here, was the only one dressed like he was meeting royalty. He stuck out like a sore thumb in his pressed grey slacks and lavender button down.

The thing about men like Alan though, was that they were doomed to stick out wherever they went, no matter what they wore.

As far as pack duties were concerned, Alan was past his prime. He was the muscle you called upon to solve disputes, the kind with burly shoulders and a big enough beard that made the lesser wolves back off, whether they stood on two legs or four. And if they didn't, if they chose to be morons, well, then he'd have to intervene. Alan hated intervening, though it was never bad these days. Surviving all these years meant he had a good head on his shoulders, and a man of his stature and combat experience tended to know what a young whelp was fixing to do before the kid could think it.

He knew, for example, that Gavin was a hotblooded wolf who wanted more in life than he'd he'd been thus far able to sink his teeth into. He also knew that driven kids like Gavin always ended up one of two ways: wildly successful or dead in a ditch. Tonight, Alan strategically kept himself close to the young man, so in one easy motion he could jerk him back into his goddamn seat before he got himself killed. Gavin had been crushing on Emily's girl for years now. Seeing her marked by an alpha king wasn't going to go over well.

So Alan had grilled some burgers up for the kids, kissed his wife goodbye as she came home from her shift at the hospital, and come out to join in the festivities. He wasn't interested in meeting the new king, not really. Big positions like that never bothered retired betas in small town packs like his.  No,  he'd come to keep Gavin from shaking hands with the grim reaper.

Of course, back in the day Alan didn't try to prevent fights.

Used to be that he gave unruly werewolves a fast death, but after he'd settled down with Wanda and had a few pups of his own he'd imagine their little eyes watching him and he shifted to a life of nonviolence. Well, as non-violent as a peacekeeper among werewolves could be. Their children had no idea the kind of bite their jolly, barrel-chested daddy was packing. Needless to say, the forty-five year old automechanic who happened to be a werewolf was slowly losing his edge. Alan knew in about fifteen years his grandkids, and the pack's kids, would be sitting on his lap like he was some kind of Santa Paws.

The door opened. Cool night air rushed into the sticky atmosphere of a crowded dive. Several heads, all belonging to members of the Striker Valley Pack, turned.

"Well if it isn't the woman of the hour!" came the call from a drunk patron, echoed by the rest.

"And her mother!" Emily shouted, hustling in after her daughter.

Emily was a tall, shapely woman with kind eyes and frizzy hair. While Alan wasn't the sort to be too judgmental, Em, even in her youth, had never been one of the scantily clad women in his dreams. She wasn't the sort of woman who looked capable of having a beautiful young woman like Jasmine—for that matter, neither did the girl's father.  You could've counted Paul's teeth on one hand. He'd died a few years back, and Emily, a beautician after she gave up a lifetime of crime, had done a good job raising their daughter, Jasmine.

"Em, how're ya?" Alan asked, cracking a smile. Em may not have been pretty, and she may've had a record longer than his kids' Christmas lists, but she was a woman. Real, hardworking, nose to the grindstone kinda gal. He admired her.

"Nervouser than a turkey the day before Thanksgiving," she said, running a hand over her daughter's black hair. The girl, Jasmine, was a dark dove, a little slip of a thing. More shadow than wolf, he thought, looking into her brown soft eyes. She looked away immediately, no doubt coached on being demure and elegant.

Alan glanced over his shoulder at Gavin. The man had his eyes glued on Jasmine. He was frowning,  walled up inside with a sadness Alan understood. He'd been brokenhearted before, heck, he was Wanda's second husband, but Alan knew that sorrow in Gavin was going to eat him alive as soon as the front door popped open and their new king stepped through.

For her part, Jasmine fidgeted in her little black dress, pulling the lace bottom down over her knees. Gavin and Alan surrendered their stools to the pair of ladies. A flighty smile touched upon Jasmine's face when Gavin complimented her attire, but it turned into a soft gasp when Emily elbowed her.

"Eyes on the prize, sweetheart," she said. "You were chosen to be an alpha's mate. Do you know how special that is?"

"Yes, mum," Jasmine replied, lowering her dainty chin. "Sorry."

Em tucked her daughter's hair behind her ear and kissed her exposed forehead. "You'll be alright. I wish you had a choice like the rest of us, sweetheart, but it's not meant to be. I hear our new king is very handsome."

"What good is a handsome asshole?" Gavin couldn't help himself, could he? Alan rumbled off a low warning, but there was no stopping the young wolf. He gathered Jasmine's fragile hands into his own. The girl blushed. "You've got to get away," he said. "Please, Jaz, listen to me."

"I can't," she said, removing her hands.

Gavin looked to her mother. "You can't give her to him. I know you've heard the rumors. He's violent. He's cruel. He's not going to change for her. He's going to abuse her. How could you stand for that?"

"Well now," purred a voice in chilled amusement. The room went still. In the rush of silence Alan felt the night air brush against his cheek. "I know word travels, but it also gets distorted. Haven't you ever played Telephone in elementary school?"

Gavin's chest rose. Across the room stood a tall gentlemen in a black suit and tie. He looked a lot older than nineteen, but he was handsome: stunning, even. Dark hair, emerald eyes, high cheekbones and enough muscle to warrant the front page of a men's health magazine. When the king of North American werewolves walked into the bar every soul in it knew this man breathed a different kind of air than the rest of them.

Problem was, Gavin thought he breathed the same stuff.

"Those are a lot of assumptions to make about someone you've never met," the man in the suit observed, smiling pleasantly as he strolled forward. Behind him trailed three well-dressed men. Bodyguards, thought Alan, and too many of 'em.

"King Apollo," the mechanic said quickly, grabbing Gavin's head and forcing him into a bow. When he let Gavin lift his head, the young werewolf 's eyes were shining in the dim lighting.

"You must be Jasmine," the king announced, stopping before the quiet girl. He offered her a hand to help her down from the stool. She didn't seem prepared for that, even though Alan knew Em had told her everything to expect. Jasmine didn't like the attention, hated having all those eyes on her, which had gotten worse as she matured into something sweet and beautiful. She was a rose growing wild in the middle of the mountainside, and oh did she wish folks wouldn't come along trying to pick her! Alan felt bad for her. Once she'd blossomed she never got much of a chance to do anything on her own.

"Good evening," Jasmine began in a trembling voice, tucking her straightened bangs behind her ear again. She lifted the edge of her dress and dropped into a little curtsy. "King Apollo."

"Apollo," he rumbled in a deep tone, something dark and something sexy that made a couple of the other young females in the bar perk up their ears. "My queen need not call me anything else." Sparkling green eyes flicked onto the pursed-lipped Emily. "And you must be her mother. It's an honor, Mrs. Washington."

"Honors all mine," she exclaimed, blushing when Apollo kissed the back of her hand.

There came a faint crack. Alan turned his head.

Blood dripped from Gavin's hand. Shards of the shot glass lay crushed in a clawed hand. Alan gripped the man's shoulder tight. "Don't," he whispered. "Don't you dare transform and get yourself killed. I will personally rip your testosterone-soaked brain from your spine."

"Thank you, sir," said the smooth alpha before Gav could spit a response. He pulled off his tie and loosened his collar. In a moment he'd folded his suit coat over one arm, and passed it to one of the men behind him. "That won't be necessary. If what's-his-name here has a problem with me, we can work it out like gentlemen. I'm happy to correct any misconceptions."

"Won't be necessary," Alan repeated, patting Gavin's dusty shoulder. "Just been a long day. Gav here needs a drink. Don't we all?" He nodded back at the bartender. "Round on me, Beth, please."

"Let's try not to make it a short night for you, Gav, eh?" Apollo agreed, massaging his palm over Jasmine's neck. Gav stiffened. Alan's hand on his shoulder tensed. "I've got plans for Jasmine here, and I think it'd be rather traumatic for her if I were to be, say, wearing your intestines around my neck while we—"

Gavin exploded forward. Anticipating this, Alan grabbed the man by his bulging, growing muscles and wrenched him back toward the bar.

But it was too late. Both Gavin and Apollo transformed. The two massive wolves smashed Jasmine between them. Alan grabbed Emily just in time, pulling her away as Apollo's fangs snapped inches from her fingertips. When he had the chance, he dragged the groaning Jasmine beside her mother.

Apollo's men stood back, same as the pack, pushed toward the exit by the fighting wolves. Blood and cheap liquor splattered the floor as the black wolves tumbled, tearing into each other with vicious screams and snarls. They were a blur of darkness, striking each other so hard and fast Alan's old eyes couldn't tell the two apart.

Finally, one of the wolves slammed the other into the end of the bar. The injured wolf yelped and crumpled to the ground, bleeding from its head. Within seconds it'd transformed back into a naked, bleeding Gavin. Apollo snarled, lunging forward with open jaws.

Alan's elbow struck the alpha in the throat. Stunned, the wolf jumped back.

"That's enough," Alan roared, crouching beside Gavin, checking his pulse.  The kid's pulse was quick, but present.  Behind the bar, he heard Jasmine and Emily sobbing against each other.

But it wasn't enough for Apollo. The wolf cocked his head to one side, fur bristled along his  spine.

"Alan," Emily warned, voice teetering on a scream.  Her head rose above the counter. "Gavin chose his fate."

"Can't do that, Em," Alan said. He felt dizzy. His chest was pounding. He was too old for this. The wolf advanced. Alan held out his hands to slow the wolf's approach. Those dripping fangs were within striking distance now, and it'd be easy, so easy to take out an old man like him. He took a deep breath, counted his blessings and said, "Kid's a damn fool in love. Let him be, Apollo. It's goddamn over. You won. Don't prove him right. Don't let the first thing your mate sees be this."

The wolf's ears flattened. Dark eyes glanced briefly over Jasmine, and then Apollo set another paw forward. His snout was so close to Alan now that the wolf's exhales steamed against his fingertips.

"Alan!" Em shrieked, throwing a beer bottle between them. The glass shattered at Gavin's side, scattering beer and crystalline shards between the two standing males.

"He's just a dumb buck. Let 'em live," Alan insisted, but he knew Apollo's long, flattened ears had stopped listening. Swallowing hard, he flexed his knuckles and braced for impact.

The alpha struck fast and hard, crushing the bone in Alan's forearm, but as those jaws clenched around his nerves a wolf emerged in Alan's eyes. He fell, screaming, clutching his arm in pain, eyes hidden from the others, directed down at the floor. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Apollo, a nightmarish shadow at his back, turning to focus his attention on disemboweling Gavin.

Pain burned through Alan's elbow, but he knew what he had to do. With Apollo's back turned Alan's transformation was seamless. The crowd gasped. When Alan shook his fur, on all fours now, he saw Apollo lifting Gavin by his waist. The young man was jerked screaming into consciousness.

Alan, a grizzled timber wolf going white around the snout, shot forward. He crashed against Apollo, brought his jaws down hard on the young alpha's neck and flung him onto the ground.  Gavin hit the tables with an ugly cry, but Apollo, he kicked beneath Alan, struggled to get free from the old wolf's weight. His claws scraped desperately against Alan's aching, broken leg, but the grizzled wolf hung on in dogged determination, powerful fangs sinking deeper into his king's neck until the whelp whined and coughed.

Alan stopped then, unclenched his jaw and let the kid's chin hit the ground proper. Panting, in too much pain to keep his focus as a wolf, he became human once more. He dragged himself straight using an upended table, and stared down at the wolf. The great animal collected its breath in tremendous, shuddering pants.

"So you were born with power," he gasped, barely able to find the words. He cradled his broken arm. "So was I."

Apollo twisted and snapped. Alan punched the wolf square in the nose. Apollo shifted into a dazed, human figure and screamed at his guards to attack.

But the crowd wasn't looking at Apollo anymore.

They were looking at Alan.

They were waiting on him.

The end.

Next Friday, we take on vampires. :K