Changes in the night

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Chapter 3

At this point I think I just sat and stared, open mouthed. I'd had plenty of clues of course, but little chance to put the pieces together. To me and, I thought, everyone else on the planet, werewolves were stuff of horror movies.

"Its the shift you see, its such a drain on the body's reserves. Leaves one rather drained. I have to make up the energy debt."

"Are you hungry now?" I asked.

"Of course!", came the unhesitating reply.

"Ice cream?"

"Yes please!"

And so she carried on, spooning in mouthfuls of raspberry ripple between sentences. "I've just a few days to build up reserves for the change back to human form. Its actually possible to die in the shift if you can't command the energy to complete the process. One of the biggest killers of were-folk." She carried on, explaining more about her extraordinary metabolism.

"The victims are usually found naked in woods and fields. Its usually diagnosed as hypothermia - which in a sense it is. Without fur, and with no energy to keep warm its pretty much inevitable."

"Why aren't any found in ... well, in wolf form?" I asked, half aware that I was trying to be rational about this.

"The human form isn't really set up to gain a lot of weight quickly. I have to do that in wolf form, which means over a four or five day period. Its one of the few things that is recorded correctly in the legends: we are ravening monsters! Which reminds me of the question of where my next meal is going to come from!" And with this she ran her long tongue around the inside of the tub, and set the empty two litre container down beside her.

I gathered my wits about me and set off for the shops. When I returned about three quarters of an hour later, arms weighed down with taut shopping bags, there was another empty ice cream carton by the sink. She was in the lounge making short work of a black forest gateau that had been in the freezer.

"Great, you got plenty, I was a little concerned that there wouldn't be much left in the shops on a Sunday afternoon."

"Well, there is a small problem," I made an attempt to shrug my shoulders against the weight in the bags, "most of this stuff is frozen, I'll have to defrost and cook it for you".

"Oh", she said, turning away from me. There was no hiding her disappointment though. Her tail and ears drooped. I wasn't sure of exactly what was wrong and thought of going to comfort her, but decided it best to get some of the food on the go.

Within a few minutes I had a load of pork chops defrosting in the microwave, some beef searing nicely in the griddle, mince and onion browning in a large pan, and was busy trying to cut a partly frozen chicken breast into slices when she came into the kitchen.

"Smells damn good", she said, reaching into the griddle with one beclawed hand. "I like mine rare." With that she lifted a steak still dripping with juices to her mouth and tore into it. A second mouthful and the thing was gone. I added a good measure of red wine to the griddle and it briefly steamed and flamed.

"I'm sorry for getting upset earlier" she spoke quietly into my ear "its just that I've always been alone at this time. I thought you would be able to get me my food, and then leave me alone to ... eat. I've never had to share this moment with anyone before. It has always been a private thing. Hidden. It made me feel a little panicky."

"Don't worry about it. I am partly responsible for this mess. I just want to make sure its no worse than it has to be."

"Thank you". With this she put her hand around my waist. I could feel her belly and her breasts touching my back. She leaned forward, pressing me against the kitchen unit, and licked me two or three times under the chin. With her other hand she reached for another steak, savouring it before embracing me. I turned to face her, still holding the wine bottle. She smiled, incidentally displaying her impressive dentition.

I sat her down with the two remaining steaks, threw some cubed beef into the griddle, and poured two glasses of wine. The steaks were gone before I managed to get some Cumberland sausages and mashed potato laced with butter and cream onto her plate. Two grilled pork chops, a bottle of wine, and a pan full of spaghetti bolognese later she was beginning to slow down. It would of been hard to keep up the pace with us both laughing so at her struggle to eat the pasta: the long strands became caught around her fangs, and she was quite unable to suck them up.

I had eventually managed to prepare food faster than she could eat, keeping it warm in and on the hostess trolley in the lounge. The upright kitchen chair was clearly getting uncomfortable for her too, so I suggest we move to the sofa, and put on a film. She flopped down, threw back her head, and ran a hand across her belly, groaning. "You sure know how to treat a wolfess" she sighed.

I sat down beside her and offered a plate of honey roast chicken. "Your tired out aren't you", she observed. "And you've done all this for me. I really appreciate it, I've always been, well, ashamed of this. Your society's values rub off even on my kind, and I've been taught that binging like this is bad, even though its a natural part of my existence. I've locked myself away, usually in the cellar, and regarded these times as something base, to be hidden from the world. I can't express how much I've enjoyed your help and companionship Thank you." and with this she embraced me.

"Lie down and rest" she commanded, turning me round on the sofa and resting my head in her lap. I don't think I could have resisted even if I had wanted to. Her thigh was soft and warm, the foreshortened perspective emphasised the impressive curve of her belly.

She lazily picked up a plate of honey and mustard coated chicken, and started eating. Between mouthfuls she would offer me a piece as well. I hadn't realised how hungry I was, all the activity in the kitchen having suppressed my initial appetite.

"What can I call you?" I asked, finally getting the courage to ask her name.

"You can still call me Jo, its not like I am a different person just because I've gained a little weight."

"I meant the, ... fur" I said, realising immediately from her broad grin that she knew that all along. I guess she was making a deeper point too: we all change, growing, aging, balding, getting fat, going grey, having children, dealing with loss. We are still the same individual. You have to savour the journey, not look at the destination. Maybe she had learnt that quicker than most.

I was about to ask an intelligent question to further this philosophical hypothesis when she put some more chicken in my mouth. Sleep began to get the better of me, and I dozed off between her offerings. Occasionally the rattle of an empty plate would pierce my slumber.