‘CLAW’ – A ‘BITE’ Short Story

Set during a time known as ‘The Nocturnal Wars’, a female leader feels the beast within start to take over when a brood of bloodsuckers moves in on her tribal land, and she becomes the werewolf clan’s answer to Boudicca…

 

This is the second short story I have written spawned from a competition on my Instagram page, and the winner this time is two-time finalist and BerryBurstBooks superfan Jess Barnsley (who has signed copies of all my books!). The idea was: ‘female lead, and just the internal monlogue and how it changes from calm to rage’, and took a landslide victory in a poll put to my followers. It was an interesting idea and something I really wanted to do: looking at a werewolf through a lens I hadn’t really done before, a first-person narrative that shows the mental, rather than the physical, transformation.

However, I was also able to do something even more exciting with the story: with BITES (the sequel to BITE) approaching, I have linked the story to the sequel in order to make it a sort of spoiler-free taster for the book.

Step into the past, before unfortunate schoolboy Kevin Baxter was the victim of a BITE, and have some light shed on what the future holds in BITES…

 

 

CLAW: A ‘BITE’ Short Story

By Keelan Berry

 

The bright light of the full moon won’t be shining high above the trees tonight.

But that won’t stop me.

If I need to use it, I will, but I hope that won’t be necessary.

The brutes have been barbarically pushing their way across the island territories for weeks; storming towns and terrorising small villages, mercilessly pillaging. I have never seen warriors like these, they are built as strong and as sturdy as the ships they sailed here on. Clad from head to toe in battle gear; metal helmets (not that they need them – so tough are these men that the bushy blonde beards and flowing locks look like enough protection all by themselves), heavy tunics and various animal skins draped around their shoulders. Not to mention the shields, the swords, the daggers, the axes and the spears. These men have to be built the way they are just to carry all that weaponry.

And yet, thus far, they have been wise enough to stay away from the land of my tribe. Tribe. An archaic term these days amongst these territories, an archaic concept for that matter, but tradition will die hard in this community. Even the nobility – the barons, the earls and the dukes – know not to touch this land. Oh, don’t think me a fool; they want it, I know they do, and these are men not battle-shy, they relish the thrill of the fight. But to fight this tribe would be to do battle with the natural world, and nature is a cruel mother; something I have come to know all too well.

No doubt these invaders have heard the stories of me, just as I have heard the stories about them. There’s more going on than just an invasion; there’s a war taking place, one that goes beyond land-taking and village-pillaging, and it’s happening in the shadows. These invaders… there is more to their brutishness, for they harbour a power within their souls, a power not all too different from my own. There is talk of ungodly acts, the transferal of bodily fluids to exchange powers and strength, and then… feeding off others to further enhance their supernatural abilities.

These creatures, whatever they are, want to be the only surviving race: they wish for all else to perish so they can control everything. They want to plunder every territory there is to plunder, and they are willing to cross the seas to do so. So, yes, they must be staying away from me and my tribe because they’ve heard the stories, but if the stories I have heard about them are true, then we are far from safe. In fact, we are more at risk. These nocturnal monsters – no better than leeches – are just waiting for their opportune moment.

Every town and village surrounding our tribal land has either been raided, razed or absorbed into this new barbarian empire. They still have not come. No full moon tonight. But I will not be stopped, I will not be contained, I will do what I must…

I keep the beast right beneath the surface; risky, but necessary. The matriarchs of this tribe, going back to the beginning of time itself, protect their own with this gift. The role of the matriarch is not coveted, it is bestowed upon the most fiercely loyal warrior, who must then spend the remainder of their days defending the pack. Tribe. Tribe. Tribe, not paaaaaaaaaa-

Just a little, then. To satiate the desire. My body is crying out for it. Because it’s not just a gift, it’s a curse, and it consumes you little by little. It may be the greatest, most powerful magic that exists – more than enough to take on an entire brood of the bloodsucking barbarians – but it comes at a great cost.

I move outside at haste, and search the sky for the moon. Even though it is not full and fat and beautiful, it still beckons. Its power, its pull, is unbearable. My loyalty is to my tribe, but these brutes… they have been trying to wipe out the pack. It was something I told myself I would not get involved in, but if all us shapeshifters are at risk…

Just one small change. Not whole. God, no, not whole.

Protect the pack.

Not whole. The tribe. Focus on the tribe.

Pillaging the villages why because they want the pack they’re searching for the pack they want the pack to kill the pack-

ENOUGH!

Nowhere near a full moon, and it is running wild inside my head. The beast. It wants to come out.

How many transformations do I have left? How many before I am taken completely by the beast? Every matriarch before me befell the same fate… If it is my fate, then so be it, but I will die defending the pa-tribe-ck.

I hold my hand up to the moon. Yes, just a small change. And if they’re watching – the bloodsuckers – then they will see.

So attuned is my mind and body to the change that it takes minimal thought, and only a slight physical effort: my nails lengthen, pushing upwards from the skin, becoming thick and sharp. Swords all by themselves. Thick, brown fur sprouts from out of my skin, completely covering the pinkness with animal fur akin to what the invading warriors wear. And there it is, a weapon of my own: a claw. Natural. From within me. The claw of something not human. The claw of a wolf.

The transformation used to end here – slightly lengthened nails and a sprouting of fur – but so far along is the process now that more has started happening… I’ve started to grow. Even just my hand. My bones creak and snap as they contort and grow, my muscles expand, and the paw I hold in front of me is probably enough to take a firm grasp of my own human head.

HU…MAN…

“HUUUUUUU…” I clasp the paw to my mouth, silencing the cry. But it’s too late, my body cannot resist that beautiful, shining orb in the sky and the promises contained within.

All I have to do is KILL THE INVADERS KILL THE OUTSIDERS DEFEND THE PACK.

Their blood will spill from a swipe of my claw. Their innards will explode from a bite of my fangs. Their race will DIEDIEDIE before ours.

The beast is out. The beast is me. The moon is my friend, my ever-present companion, and it wants me to defend its children.

We are its children, and we are the supreme nocturnal beings, not the leeches.

They will suffer. They will be slain. They will surrender to us.

They will take the claw, and they will bow before the claw, those who do not…

Will die before the claw.

 

July, 2020