The pack picked up my trail in the late evening, near a Starbucks.

There were three of them, lounging around the small pedestrian mall in the red light of the setting sun, while a chill breeze chased dry leaves across the pavement. They were young; in these skins, they seemed no more than thirteen or fourteen. Their clothing was torn and dirty, but they seemed well-fed and alert. And hungry.

Two of them were alike enough to be brothers, both lean and lanky, with dirty-blond hair; one was a few inches shorter than the other. The third was small and compact, with sandy red hair and crooked teeth. As I walked past them, they glanced at each other, and casually — oh, very casually — got to their feet and began to stroll after me.

I cut across the parking lot of some large chain grocery store, my shadow looming tall and gangly in front of me. Sunset in half an hour, I estimated. And the moon was full tonight. I shrugged my coat a little closer and picked up the pace.

The street lights were starting to come on when we hit the suburban streets, heading towards the edge of town. Tall-Brother and Bad-Teeth peeled off from my trail and began to parallel my course on side streets, running to get ahead of me and then lurking in the shadows of ragged hedges to watch me pass. Short-Brother stayed behind me, a block or two back, keeping mostly out of sight, but never too far behind.

Foolish, foolish cubs. They probably thought they were being subtle. An experienced pack would have stayed completely out of sight, downwind from me, and tracked me entirely by scent; or by the marks of my feet on the pavement, or by anticipation of my movements, or by the mere instinct of my presence in the evening.

But then, an experienced pack would have had some idea what they were hunting.

The sun was touching the horizon, and the first faint hints of stars were showing in the dusky sky in the east, as the four of us reached the edge of town; an ill-defined border of cheaper houses and vacant lots. The pack had drawn a little closer as the sun went down, getting bolder, showing themselves in front of me occasionally, loitering against telephone poles or crouching on top of fire hydrants. They couldn't possibly think I hadn't realized they were chasing me; but the full moon, still below the horizon, was already singing in their blood, and the thrill of the hunt was making them intoxicated and careless.

I had been keeping an eye on them, to see if any of them would go to fetch others of their pack — if there were others — but they had stuck faithfully to me since they found me. Good; only three of them, three cubs, were nothing. I'd give them a spanking and send them home. And up ahead I saw that the road ended at a gate in a chain link fence, surrounding a junkyard; a perfect place for administering a spanking.

Then the wind shifted, and I caught their scent.

Not the three behind me; but there were more, many more, in front of me, waiting in the junkyard. Two dozen, perhaps. The cubs had not been as foolish as I'd thought; but I still didn't see how they'd summoned the rest of their pack without leaving my trail. Then I glanced behind me, and saw a blue-green glow in Short-Brother's hand, as he closed something and put it in his pocket.

Goddamn cellphones. I keep forgetting that you can do that these days. Jesu Christe. Standing at the gate, in the gathering darkness, I touched the rosary wrapped around my left wrist. Mary, help me. Sweet Jesus, please.

But there was no help for it; three behind me, twenty or more in front. If I ran, they'd be on me within a hundred yards. No choice but to face them, whatever happened. I broke the padlock on the gate and walked in.

The first, faint, pearly light of the rising moon touched the eastern sky as I came into a clear space in the center of the junkyard. The pack was there, waiting, restless, eager. Hungry. Most of them were young, nearly as young as the cubs who had found me, none very much older. A young pack, inexperienced, but strong in numbers. More than strong enough. I stepped forward, into the center of the ring, and waited while they looked me over.

These cubs were still young enough to need the moon, but already their other skins, their true skins, were beginning to show through; hair was sprouting on their arms, and some of them were already dropping to all fours as they paced back and forth between the heaps of old tires. It would not be long now; but time enough to show them what it was they faced. Although maddened as they were by the moon, there was little hope that they would retreat.

I threw off my coat, and showed them my true skin.

The pack backed away, as well they might. I have half-breed cousins on the island of Kodiak who stand ten feet tall on their hind legs, and weigh upwards of three quarters of a ton; and they are nothing compared to me. These pups and I might be distantly of the same blood; but I was older than they, and stronger, much stronger.

The moon rose.

The pack moaned, then howled, as their skins came over them; they began to circle me, still hesitating, but the moon was burning in their veins, maddening them, and it would be soon, soon now. The moon spoke to me also, although I have long outgrown the need of her, and I roared at the sky. The scent of the pack was all around me, a thousand times stronger in my true skin, rank and powerful; and then I felt a tearing at my heel as the first one darted in behind me, and two more leapt on my back, and the copper tang of my own blood was in my nostrils as the rest of the pack came in swift and low, and the night became red, red, red.

It was morning when I woke, a dull grey day with rain coming. I was in my human skin again, weary and sore, and I struggled slowly to my feet. The stench of blood and death was everywhere; much of the blood was mine, but my wounds were already mending. There were huddled masses of bone and flesh scattered all around; one or two of them were stirring also, for we of the Blood die very hard. But it would be long and long before this pack hunted again; at least three quarters of them were dead. Dead, at my hand; killed by my claws and teeth, by my rage. Jesu.

I found my coat, which I had thrown off before I changed, and slowly pulled it on. Ignoring the whimpers around me, and the stench of my guilt, I hunted through the wreckage until I found the rosary that had been around my wrist. It had broken when I put on my skin; patiently, I twisted the small chain links together again. It made a small, twisted lump of wire, but it held.

Ave Maria...

Slowly, limping, I began to walk away from the slaughter.

Sancta Maria, Mater Dei...

The worn wooden beads passed through my fingers; and then a small knot of wire. Then another, and another, and another.

...et in hora mortis nostrae.

Telling the marks of my sin, I walked away under the leaden sky.

Amen.