It hurts. A lot.
They never really get it right in the movies. They always scream and cry and things grow but the audience is just like, 'yeah, that looks like it hurts. Now get to the wolfy part."
But in reality, it hurts to much that you don't make any sound. It's loud squeaks. Its heavy breathing. And its waiting for the morning to come so you can run home and look for scars.
I watched the boy walk down the street. He may have been someone once but now his future was sealed.
"We all die alone!" he shouted as he passed.
He was stubborn little bastard though. He didn't know he would turn tonight. The self-loathing prick was my friend DaRosa. He was a genetic werewolf. Which meant, his parents had recessive lycan in them. They didn't know, he didn't know. I knew. I was bitten at eighteen by a rogue wolf. He hung around long enough to teach me what was going on, then a little while longer. He was a good guy, but not a native, and when your a wolf, your territory is very important. I wou