Torment (Primal Progeny Book 1)
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Authors: Stacey Mewse
Torment
S. L. Mewse
Copyright information
Copyright © 2015 S. L. Mewse
Cover design © 2015 S. L. Mewse
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means – except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews – without written permission from its publisher.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are entirely fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2015 S. L. Mewse
All rights reserved.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Hunter’s eyes fluttered open reluctantly, his pupils shrinking to mere dots at the sudden invasion of bright morning light. Groaning in protest he screwed them tight shut against the searing barrage of rays, concealing bright green irises from the unexpected intrusion. Wrinkling his nose and knotting his brows into an irritated frown, he turned his head until his cheek rested on the cold, hard ground and tried once more. It was a far cry from the soft bed he would rather have fallen asleep upon; but it was expected and the chill dirt was almost soothing to his aching muscles.
First he tentatively opened his left eye, followed slowly and reluctantly by his right. Another groan escaped his lips, god it was bright out. He wondered half-heartedly how late it was, digging at his eyes with his knuckles to clear the crust of sleep that had settled there. As his vision slowly cleared he craned his aching neck to get a look at his surroundings. He had known he was outside. Even though his tired brain only half remembered the fact it was by design; the feel of the cool grass crushed beneath his back, and the chill earth against his cheek had made that apparent.
Why did he always awake on his back? Perhaps it was his body’s attempt to stretch his aching muscles back into comfort? He supposed it was unimportant in the grand scheme of things, but it was a question that niggled at his mind whenever he awoke in those situations.
Looking around he found himself to be in the centre of a large clearing. At first he thought it may have been a park or playing field and panic flooded through him. Propping himself up onto his elbows he hurriedly rolled over; trying to ignore the sensation of the grass and leaves beneath him poking at the dull ache of his morning erection. You would think that night time traumas such as those he experienced would put a dampener on the bodies natural human overnight processes, but apparently not. No matter how much pain he was in or where he awoke, he was always inevitably accompanied by that familiar throbbing in his groin on his awakening. It was just the nature of the beast he supposed.
Having snapped into alertness Hunter’s clear green eyes flickered about, taking in his surroundings and finding him comfort in the fallen tree to his left. He was grateful for his instincts to find somewhere safe and concealed to complete his transformation back from wolf to man. At least the beast had a little sense.
Relaxing a little he let a half smile briefly grace his scarred features, he was not in as public a place as he had at first feared. Further inspection of the area proved him to be in a large clearing surrounded by dense woodland. The ground was soft and damp, and the grass patchy and withered in the places where sunlight was denied it in the tree line. There were no signs of human interference there and that gave him a great sense of comfort. He sighed loudly… Untouched nature, what a relief! Flaring his nostrils he could smell evidence of people in the distance. Humans and dogs, but the scent trails were at least twelve hours old. He knew where he was by then, concealed in woodland relatively local to his home… A little uncomfortably close to a school perhaps, but he knew he had not passed through its gates which was a mild comfort at least. He would have easily been able to smell the pungent scent of children on him if he had.
Rolling once again onto his back he stretched his aching limbs, his back arching from the ground and his toes curling. That first stretch after the change was always satisfying; he couldn’t help but lopsidedly smile at the feeling of his muscles uncoiling. Lying limply on the ground for a moment he let his smile linger. He could smell no human blood, nor could he taste its faint metallic taint lingering upon his tongue. He had won again, he had beaten it one more time… Something that had proved increasing hard to do since adolescence. The wolf in him wanted that prey, to hunt and to feed; but more than that it wanted land. It sought to carve out its territory and to do so it had to kill the others. The land on which he had bought his home was not part of any pack territory, but for some reason there were often other wolves there. Lone werewolves seemed to mistakenly view the area as a safe haven. Hunter’s wolf disliked that fact immensely, as far as it was concerned the land was his and no one else’s. He had clashed with other males only four times in his life, but each meeting had been a battle to the death and he always awoke feeling more distressed by the incident than he had been by its prequel.
For a while he had experimented with locking himself up at night in an attempt to prevent these meetings, but the wolf was determined. The slightest hint of a scent or sound of another werewolf within a five-mile radius had it flying into an uncontrollable rage. He had awoken with broken bones four months in a row. One morning he had even had to pop his jaw back into place where it had bitten at its restraints and the bars of its cage so savagely. After that incident he gave up on the idea and chose instead to venture deep into the countryside instead.
Each plan had its flaws and meeting other males was an inevitable part of his existence, but better that than the possibility of self induced broken neck. The beast would not survive that, he had seen that much first hand.
Snapping himself out of his train of thought he sat up slowly, he could waste time feeling triumphant once he was safely back at home.
Running his hand through his long greying hair he yawned widely. Slowly he forced his tender muscles to move him to his feet. Hesitating for a moment he stretched once more, looking around for the point at which he had entered the clearing. It was easily found, he had knocked over a small sapling and the claw marks in the soft earth were deep and obvious.
Rolling his shoulders to comfort the aching, he moved slowly towards the tree line. His first few paces were stiff and awkward as they always were after the change; but he forced himself onwards despite his body’s complaints and the stiffness began to ease relatively swiftly. It was easy to follow his path, as the stench of him was strong and foul to his human nostrils. Besides which there was thick, black, greying fur snagged in the foliage here and there; and his paw prints were deeply imprinted in the earth underfoot.
He toyed with the idea of finding his clothes for a moment, the chill morning air caressing his muscular body in places that sent a sudden jolt of a shiver down his spine. However he decided against retrieving his garments after just a second’s consideration. He had been wearing only a tattered old pair of jeans and a cheap t-shirt the previous evening, nothing worth saving. He had not bothered with shoes, something that had become a habit over time. He had found them to be too expensive to replace so often. Besides which, his feet were hardened and more resilient due to the nature of his condition. No, he was close enough to home that he would rather head straight back without the distraction of a scavenger hunt. He was desperate for a hot, soothing bath.
Despite having apparently not successfully hunted, he was nonetheless splattered with mud and he could smell the pungent scent of wet dog seeping out of his pores. The desire to wash away the night’s events was far greater than the need to find old clothes that could easily be replaced. He could practically feel the hot water around him as he thought of it, absent-mindedly picking at the dirt dried into his chest hair as he smiled at the thought of his impending bath.
Picking up his pace a little he followed his nose home through the sun dappled shadows beneath the trees; his nostrils flaring to catch the familiar scents of his cabin. It struck him as he moved how strange he would look should anybody stumble upon him, but he brushed the thought away/ There was no one around for miles. Even if there had been they certainly wouldn’t have noticed the delicate flaring of his nose; his nakedness was sure to be the first thing to catch their attention in this theoretical meeting. He smirked to himself at the thought. That was the last thing he needed, to be arrested for streaking!
It did not take him long to reach his destination, his movements being naturally faster than a normal man’s when he was unobserved and could tap into the benefits of his so called curse. His home was isolated and small, nothing more than a slightly battered wooden cabin at the border of the woods, with no neighbors for miles around. He had bought it from an ageing gamekeeper who had reminded him somewhat of his late father. The man had been on the cusp of retirement and the small sum Hunter had offered him had been snapped up gratefully and without question. It was easily enough to set him up for a comfortable retirement he had said. Hunter had smiled and shaken his hand firmly, wondering sadly how little the poor fellow had been paid all his life. He had not had any more to offer him at the time or he would have done so.
Of course there had been a lot of work to do on the place. Re-wiring, painting, and a lot of general cleaning; not to mention the addition of a few basic ‘modern’ appliances. The previous owner had lived without even a fridge! There had been game hanging from so many spots in and around the place when Hunter had made the purchase, that there was a perpetual smell of blood and meat lingering in the woodwork. He knew that only he and others like him could detect it however, as guests never commented on it or wrinkled their noses. Though during the run up to the full moon, and when his emotions were running high he could smell it more strongly. Then the scent seemed to draw the beast out of him more easily. Had he been living near others perhaps it would have been a problem, but as he lived alone and isolated it served only as an irritation at times.
As well as a fridge and freezer he had also fitted a television although it was not something that he watched often. He did however find it useful for keeping track of local news and making his home seem more normal to guests. He would often switch it on in the evenings and let it run as he went about his chores. Always keeping half an ear out for any news that would directly affect him, but never paying any real attention. It had taken him a long time to get the place suitable for relatively modern living, and he was proud of it no matter how meager his existence might seem to others. Yes it may have been missing the comfortable touches that most town houses contained. There were no cushions on the sofa and the floorboards were bare, but it was home and it was just how he liked it.
Hunter entered his cabin quickly and through the back entrance, very cautious of how close he was to the nearby main road. He hopped over the garden gate instead of opening it and was up the path and through the door in moments. Closing it quietly behind himself he stopped and stood silent for a moment, checking that everything was in order and just as he had left it. On one occasion he had returned after the change to find the place in tatters. He had found another of his kind lying dead on the floor beside the shattered remains of his old television set. The intruder had been a young man no older than twenty. The scent of him proved him to have been only recently turned, there was fear and pain seeping out of his carcass and clinging to his skin. This was something that changed over time, the more times the change occurred the less it frightened the individual behind the wolf. Thankfully the pain also became less and less with each full moon as the body became accustomed to the sifting. The man who had lain on his floor had reeked of inexperience; and even if he had not, the manner of his death betrayed his very recent introduction to lycanthropy. The young male had bitten the television cables in the midst of his destroying Hunter’s home, and had been killed by the massive electric shock that resulted.
This time his home was untouched but the memory of the intrusion lingered with him for a moment. He had never heard of another tearing at wiring… He supposed it had been a combination of the boy’s recent introduction to the condition, and his desire to mark the house as his own. Hunter shook his head and made his way to the bathroom. Rubbing at the stubble on his jaw with one hand, he swung open the door with the other. That had been awkward to cover up; he had been dead for hours and had fully changed back into his human form. In the end he had been forced to simply leave the body in the woods. It had not been the ideal solution but there was nothing else he could have done. He just wished that his wolf had not found the carcass at the next full moon… The thought was enough to make him gag, and he tried desperately not to think about it. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts he crossed the bathroom and twisted the taps that loomed over the roll topped porcelain bathtub. Then, turning back he crossed to the towel rail and looked into the mirror above it as he grabbed the towel, then tossed it to the floor beside the bath.
The face that stared back at him was familiar and unchanged from yesterday to ten years ago. He did not know if he was grateful for the slow ageing of his kind or not. There were plenty of times when all it seemed to do was make his life that little bit harder. He had to remember his true age for the sake of his own sanity and keep track of the age that seemed appropriate to his appearance. It could be a nuisance sometimes, but was just one of many necessary little irritations in life.
Hunter liked to think that he was at least relatively handsome despite his flaws. His face was masculine and his jaw flecked with stubble. His lips wide and a little full, his smile broad and his teeth neat. His nose was small but strong, and his eyes a bright piercing shade of green which glittered below thick but not untidy brows. He was slender in the face as well, despite the relative bulk to his body. He had always been well muscled, and the curse had put extra thickness in his arms and thighs, as well as toning his stomach to an easily maintained six-pack beneath his pecks. Sculpted without being too slim is how he liked to think about it. His chest and stomach had a light coating of hair that had nothing to do with his condition. This was something that did not bother him in the slightest but seemed to have irked all of his past lovers. He had lost count of how many times it had been requested of him to wax or shave it off, but he never had and did not see why he should.
His hair had been the same for a good few years, longer than most men would style their tresses but not truly long. It was styled and neat, parted in the middle and thick and healthy… Just like all of him. Hunter had not been sick or unwell in more years than he cared to think of thanks to the wolf in him.
He did have plenty of physical flaws despite all his good points however. He had begun going grey at 15 and having reached 89 (but pulling off and easy 26) his hair was heavily peppered with grey. Strangely enough his beard still grew through black, as did the rest of his body hair, which baffled him whenever he gave thought to it. What puzzled him most was that he knew his wolfs pelt to be mostly grey despite the significant amount of black hair on his body. He chuckled to himself at the idea that his wolf was feeling his age more than he was.
Besides his hair colour, by way of flaws he was also in possession of more than a few scars. He was not disfigured by them by any means, but there were plenty of them and they would perhaps have ruined the looks of a less naturally attractive man. His head, torso and arms were worst affected, though he also had a few on his thighs but those were nowhere near as deep. The back of his neck also sported three thick scar lines, but these were carefully hidden by his hair.
His face was worst affected on the right hand side. A thick scar cut downwards through his eyebrow and crept down past the outer corner of his right eye, curving outwards to stop at the base of his ear. Another ran parallel to the first one, cutting across the bridge of his nose and running down to just below the corner of his lip. Two puncture scars nestled hidden beneath his jaw line, with two more corresponding ones hidden beneath his thick head of hair.
Hunter’s most hated scar of them all however was his right ear, the top of which was entirely missing due to having been bitten clean off. He easily concealed this with the length of his hair, but it bothered him nonetheless.
All these scars had been gained at the mouth and claws of another wolf. It had raked his back and chest and his left arm was dotted with puncture marks where it had rabidly shaken him and changed its grip. He almost winced at the memory. Turning away from his then frowning mirror image, he slipped gratefully into the steaming bath water.
Leaning forwards he turned off the taps before settling back to enjoy the water enveloping his filthy figure. As he submerged up to the neck, his troubled mind drifted back to the day he had received his scars. It was all so clear in his mind that it could have been yesterday… Naturally had his wounds occurred since his turning they would not have scarred… No, this had been his beginning, the attack that had changed it all.
He had only been an infant when the attack had happened. Barely four years old…