The night air over Jackson, Mississippi, carried the hum of cicadas and the faint echo of distant traffic. Deborah Moore leaned back in the passenger seat of a white Mercedes, still glowing from the dinner she and her husband had just left.

  Deborah was one of the most successful accident attorneys in the state, polished, persuasive, a storm in heels. Her husband, Hal, a project manager for a construction firm, was her perfect complement: calm, grounded, loyal. Together, they built a life of fine wine, weekend getaways, and an endless chase for success.

  “I just love hanging out with the Millers,” Deborah said with a laugh, her voice still carrying the warmth of champagne. “You just know you’re in for a few laughs.”

  Hal nodded. “Yeah, that double date was long overdue. Between your clients and my projects, I forgot what it’s like to breathe.”

  “Exactly. We’ve been working nonstop,” Deborah said. “Sometimes you’ve just got to cut off the world for a minute. Touch some grass.”

  Hal chuckled. “You sound like one of those self-help podcasts you hate.”

  “Maybe I’m converting,” she teased. “Hey, since we’re both off the next few days, let’s go out to the lake tonight.”

  “Hudson Lake? Now?” Hal asked, surprised but smiling.

  “Why not?” she said. “No phones, no clients. Just us.”

  Thirty minutes later, their sedan rolled up to the quiet edge of Hudson Lake, the headlights cutting through a mist that hovered over the water. Deborah steered the car off the main road, down a narrow dirt path that disappeared into the treeline.

  “Where are we going?” Hal asked, half laughing.

  “Just trust me,” she said.

  They stepped into the woods, the ground soft with moss and pine needles. The night air was damp and heavy. Hal’s breath came out in short puffs, but Deborah’s grew louder, strained.

  “Hey, you okay?” he asked.

  She stopped, her back to him. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice steady but deeper somehow. “Let’s stop here.”

  Hal frowned. “Deborah, you’re scaring me.”

  She didn’t respond. She just looked up at the moon, breathing heavier now, almost growling between each inhale. The shadows swallowed her outline.

  “What’s going on?” Hal asked, a tremor in his voice.

  Deborah’s tone softened, almost affectionate. “Hal, I wanted to bring you here so I could show you something.”

  “Show me what?” he asked nervously.

  “My gifts.”

  She turned around.

  Her eyes blazed gold. The veins under her skin pulsed with movement. Her lips curled, her jaw extending forward as bone snapped and reshaped. The scream that followed wasn’t from pain. It was release.

  Her hoodie split apart at the seams, her jeans tore, fabric shredding as muscle and fur pushed outward. Her hands cracked and lengthened into claws.

  Hal stumbled backward. “Oh my God, Deborah!”

  The creature that stood before him, towering, black-furred, and gleaming with moonlight, was no longer his wife.

  Hal ran. He crashed through branches and brambles, tripping over roots, lungs burning. He could hear her behind him, the rhythmic thuds of something that moved like a four-legged hurricane.

  “Deborah, please!” he screamed.

  The werewolf leapt, one movement, effortless, lethal. She slammed into his back and sent him sprawling into the dirt. Hal tried to crawl, but claws sank into his shoulders, pinning him in place.

  The snout lowered to his neck.

  A low growl rumbled in his ear.

  Then came the bite.

  Her jaws locked onto his throat and ripped sideways, tearing through muscle and cartilage. Blood sprayed across the leaves in dark ribbons. Hal’s body convulsed once, twice, then went still. The forest fell silent again, save for the crunch of bone and the low purr of satisfaction that followed.

  Moments later, Deborah, no, the thing that was Deborah, rose to her feet under the moonlight. Her form shifted, shrinking back down to human shape. She stood naked, her skin painted in blood and shadow.

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  She looked up at the moon one last time and smiled faintly.

  The virus had crossed the border.

  Bayou Mounds was no longer the epicenter.

  Now, the infection was spreading state by state, host by host, through those who were chosen to receive the gift.

  When Deborah reverted to human form, she dragged Hal’s lifeless body deep into the woods and left him for the elements. The plan to drive there that night had been a setup all along, an irresistible whisper from the hive urging her to kill him. She knew what she’d done. She knew every crack, every scream, every shudder of his body beneath her claws.

  But remorse never came.

  Only calm.

  Driving back toward Jackson, the white Mercedes hummed quietly across the empty highway. Deborah tapped her phone and placed a call.

  “Hello,” Monica answered.

  “I’ve got good news,” Deborah said.

  “I’m listening.”

  “I killed Hal,” Deborah replied, her tone light, almost playful. “It was quick. When I appeared as the wolf, he was terrified. I’ve had some nice kills since I crossed over, but this one was different. There’s a rush when you hear bones crack. It’s satisfying.”

  “You sound like you were hungry tonight,” Monica said, a smirk in her voice.

  “Maybe I was.”

  “Well, I’m glad you called,” Monica said. “We’re meeting soon. Everyone. You’ll want to be there.”

  The next morning, Derek met Olivia at the precinct. Both looked worn down but focused.

  “Listen,” Olivia began, lowering her voice. “Outside of the werewolf story, I believe you, to a point. However, we need to proceed with caution now. We don’t know who’s watching. Hell, there could be people inside this building tracking our every move.”

  “You’re carrying, right?”

  “Always,” Derek said, patting his jacket.

  “Good. Just stay sharp,” Olivia said. “We can’t afford mistakes.”

  By noon, the two shared a rare moment of normalcy, enjoying pizza in the break room.

  “So, Army, huh?” Olivia asked.

  “Four years. Two tours in the Middle East, infantry,” Derek said. “You?”

  “Six years Marine Corps, MP. Then back home to Bayou Mounds.”

  “No kidding. The city’s changed a lot.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “When I left for the Corps, this place was nothing but swamp and mosquitoes. Now look at it.”

  For a moment, the two soldiers smiled, swapping war stories between the chaos.

  “All right,” Olivia said, tossing her napkin. “This was nice. But remember what we talked about. Stay alert.”

  “I will. You do the same.”

  “Let’s link up Thursday.”

  “Sounds good.”

  They walked out to the parking lot together. Olivia climbed into her cruiser, and Derek headed to his truck. They went their separate ways just after one in the afternoon.

  Derek spent the rest of the day running errands, trying to keep his mind occupied. He grabbed groceries, filled up on gas, and stopped by the gun range to burn through a few magazines. But no matter what he did, his mind kept circling back to Karen. The way she’d looked at him the last time they spoke. Cold. Detached. Not his cousin anymore.

  By the time he got back to his apartment, the sun was already dipping below the horizon. He tossed his keys on the counter and grabbed a beer from the fridge. The television flickered to life, some news report about another incident in the bayou, but he wasn’t really listening.

  He sat down on the couch and pulled out his phone. Stared at it for a moment. Then dialed Olivia’s number.

  It rang four times before going to voicemail.

  He hung up and tried again.

  Voicemail.

  Derek set the phone down on the coffee table and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. She was probably just busy. Probably nothing. But his gut was telling him otherwise, the same instinct that kept him alive overseas when patrols went sideways.

  He tried calling one more time.

  Voicemail.

  Derek grabbed his jacket and keys and headed for the door.

  Olivia’s home was quiet when she pulled into her driveway just after seven. She’d stopped by the grocery store on the way back, picked up a bottle of wine, and something quick for dinner. Inside, she locked the door behind her and tossed her keys on the counter. The television flickered to life as she flipped through the news channels, half-listening to a report on the Bayou Mounds incidents.

  She poured herself a glass of wine and settled onto the couch, finally letting herself breathe.

  The first knock startled her.

  Then came another, louder.

  By the third, the door exploded inward, wood splintering off the hinges and scattering across the living room floor.

  Karen stepped through the wreckage, calm and predatory.

  “Who the hell are you?” Olivia demanded, gun drawn.

  “I’m Karen. Derek’s cousin. I’m just here to eliminate a threat.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Karen took a slow step forward, nails extending like blades.

  “Get back!” Olivia shouted.

  “Go ahead,” Karen taunted, grinning. “Shoot me.”

  Olivia fired. The round struck Karen’s forehead, snapping her head back. A line of blood ran down her face.

  She laughed, a deep, guttural sound that turned into a growl. Her eyes ignited yellow, her teeth elongated into serrated fangs.

  Karen’s black shirt split at the seams as her frame expanded, muscles swelling and tendons snapping. Her snout pushed forward, no longer human.

  Olivia emptied two more rounds, but the bullets barely slowed her. Karen swiped the gun from her hand with one violent motion and grabbed her by the throat, lifting her off the ground. Olivia clawed at Karen’s wrist, gasping for air.

  Karen slammed her into the wall. Drywall cracked behind Olivia’s back. She crumpled to the floor, coughing, vision blurring.

  Before she could recover, Karen grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her across the living room. Olivia kicked with her free leg, but it was like kicking steel. Karen swung her in a wide arc and hurled her into the dining table. Wood exploded beneath her body, splinters raining down as Olivia rolled onto her side, groaning.

  Karen stalked forward, claws scraping against the floor. She grabbed Olivia by the hair and yanked her upright, forcing her to look into those glowing yellow eyes.

  “You should’ve stayed out of it.”

  She threw Olivia across the room. Olivia’s body crashed through the coffee table, glass shattering beneath her. Blood ran from a cut above her eyebrow. Her ribs screamed with every breath.

  Karen crouched low, muscles coiling, preparing to lunge for the kill.

  A deafening roar of gunfire erupted behind them.

  Derek burst through the back door, carrying an automatic squad weapon.

  Karen turned just as Derek unleashed a barrage of rounds. The bullets tore through Karen’s chest and abdomen, throwing her backward into the wall. She collapsed, motionless, steam rising from her wounds.

  Derek rushed to Olivia, helping her to her feet. “We need to go now.”

  The two stumbled out the front door and into the night as Karen’s body twitched behind them, the faint rumble of her growl fading into silence.