Inspiration for a Winter Day

Look for Wolfsbane in March from Amber Quill Press.

Here's a short unedited excerpt:

Then [Daniel] heard the beast’s panting breath, like a file rasping against dry stone. There in the deepest shadow beneath an overhang of mossy granite, [he] saw movement. The beast turned to look at him, its bile-yellow eyes aglow. A set of snow-white fangs gleamed as it drew back dark lips to howl at him in frustration.

“I know,” he said. “You can’t climb those rocks. You can’t get out of here and run free, can you?”

The beast swayed from one clawed foot to the other, gauging its enemy. A low growl rumbled in its chest.

“Come on. Let’s get this over with.” Daniel slowly uncoiled the chain from his fist. The sound it made drew the beast’s jaundiced gaze and another growl rattled deep in its throat.

“Yeah, that’s right. I’ve got your leash here. Are you going to be a good pup and let me put it on?”

The beast snarled its reply.

“That’s right, get mad. Come on…” Daniel dangled the chain, swung it in a slow circle and took one measured step forward. How close could he get before the creature lunged for him? He took another step, then one more.

Like the legendary Spring-Heeled Jack, the beast launched itself up and over the lily pond. When its feet hit the ground, claws raking against the cement pathway, Daniel struck. Double fisted, he whacked his quarry squarely in the side of its elongated jaw. Silver links bit into the flesh of its snout and it yelped like an injured dog. The sound startled Daniel, but didn’t stop him. While the creature reeled away, stunned by the blow, he flung the chain around its neck. It swiped its claws at him and one razor tip caught the nylon strap of Daniel’s backpack, tearing it. The pack dropped from one of Daniel’s shoulders and dangled against his back as he lunged forward and closed the silver circle around the beast’s throat.

“Sorry. This might hurt,” he said as he pulled the chain tight, twisting the links against each other where they fused thanks to the spell he’d borrowed from an old book he’d vowed a dozen times to throw away.

Caught in the thrall of its natural weakness, the beast staggered back. It clawed at its throat and let loose a scream of agony and betrayal that rattled Daniel’s bones.

Panting, he sank back against the nearest sycamore and pulled the damaged backpack off his shoulder. The beast turned in a circle, dazed now. As Daniel watched, it fell to its knees, whimpering.

Finally, the werewolf sank to the path that circled the pond and lay whining on the ground. One clawed hand held the chain and the other grasped at empty air. Its eyes bored into Daniel’s and finally its tongue lolled out between jagged teeth.

With a final growl, it fell asleep.

Daniel let out a long breath as he unzipped the backpack. He pulled out a black trench coat and shook it free of wrinkles.

He dropped the backpack and approached the beast. His shadow fell across the misshapen face. Just to be certain, he nudged the creature’s outstretched hand with the toe of his Nikes. Nothing happened.

With a sigh, he dropped the trench coat over the creature’s hairy body, then sank to the path and leaned his back against the low concrete wall that bordered the pond. He dropped his head into his hands and ruffled his hair, rubbed his tired eyes and stretched his aching muscles. He looked at the abomination now sleeping peacefully at his feet.

“Sorry, bro. I didn’t have time to pack underwear. You’ll have to go commando on the trip home.”