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Author's Note: This is the first public display of a work of this type for me. This chapter is clean with some simple cursing and violence. This chapter is pretty much PG-13, but if mild violence or cursing offends you, Use caution.

Also, I like plot twists in my writing, and this is written in a manner where there will be minor (and major) twists. Just keep this in mind while reading.

Suggestions and constructive criticisms are welcome. Destructive criticisms are not.

Edit - 4/14/12 - There is an in progress edit of this story, to be updated in the summer. I am trying to fill major plotholes as I go, but I'll add a journal for when I can clean it all up. Any thoughts or comments are always appreciated and taken into account

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"There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted long enough, and liked it, never really care for anything else."

Earnest Hemingway

Prologue

Thompson State Forest

New London, NH

December 2006

'Christ, they're gonna kill me. They're monsters'.

The middle age woman ran quickly down the thin dirt trail, already covered in a thin coat of early December snow, boots digging into the cold earth with each step. The bright, silver moon hung silently in the air above her, almost mocking her plight with its silent, leering grin, as her steps continued to push her toward the base of the trail. The growing growls echoing across the forest landscape starting to alert her to the rapid closure of her pursuers, but what else could she do?

The woman tried to run faster. The trail was well illuminated by the silvery light of the moon, allowing her to see the shadows of the vegetation around her and illuminating her jeans and dark jacket. She knew the park well, having grown up there, but that was the problem. She knew she was still too far in the park to receive a cellular signal, and it wouldn't make a damned difference. The ranger was dead. They had killed him. They had killed them all... even Thomas. Even the man who swore he would outlive her and protect her until her death. And now they were after her, for what?

'Those bastards,' She swore in her mind, no sound escaping her other than the pounding of her heart and the ragged sounds of her rapid breathing. 'They aren't human, killing for the sake of death. Maybe if I get out, I can get help... but who'll believe me...Werewolves?'

It had been a great evening; cool enough to see your breath in the air but dry, and nowhere near cold enough to require more than a good jacket; surprising for a New Hampshire winter. Mary had come to the park with Thomas to do some stargazing. There was a marvelous clearing at the peak of one of the small mountainous hills nearby which afforded an amazing view. The cold temperatures helped clear the sky and it was a December night, very much the same three decades earlier when Thomas had proposed to her under another beautiful sky with Lady Luna and the stars of the Milky Way playing witness to the act. Since then, they had come to this hill every December on the night of the full moon to remember and recommit to each other. And now it would be forever marred by the actions of this pack of animals. Monsters.

Thomas was dead, killed by this pack of killers. Their bonfire had been much too large and been destroying the beautiful night sky which Mary and her husband enjoyed so much. Thomas, badge at his hip and Smith and Wesson .357 at his side had walked over to advise the others to knock down the fire before the other rangers showed up. Apparently the group had other ideas and had done something that had startled him. Her husband, primary ranger for the park, a man who had previously faced down a, as he described it, 'very pissed off' brown bear without any trouble, had come running back toward the clearing, tearing into the truck and pulling out his rifle, an old M1 that had saved his father once or twice on Iwo, and calling another three rangers for what he would only describe as a 'situation'.

"Stay put." He advised, the fear and anger written across his face. "Something bad is going to go down."

With that final advice, Thomas and the three other rangers headed over to the bonfire. Something bad did go down.

Mary heard the ripple of gunfire and strange wet tearing coming from the direction of the bonfire, with a single, mournful howl preceding the final gunshot. Waiting for Thomas to return, she grew increasingly fearful as he did not. Slowly working up the courage, she followed his steps to the clearing where the bonfire stood and saw a sight which chilled her heart.

The bodies lay scattered across the land, crimson red blood staining the bright white snow covering the ground. The entire force of rangers had been decimated. She could not find one of them alive, with great tears and gashes in their chests and necks. They looked almost as if some great creature had chewed them and spat them out. She scanned across the bodies from her hiding spot at the edge of the woods, and saw what she feared, and ran.

She ran straight across the patchwork snow to where her husband lay crumpled, his throat almost torn from his neck, limply twitching in its final moments. The deep crimson stain of his life lay spreading across the gleaming snow. His throat had been cut, but with a blunt, jagged blade, almost as if someone had ripped it from his throat. She choked back her audible cries, but felt the hot tears raining down her cheeks. It was a day she knew would come, the day a loved one was killed, but it wasn't some chaplain and Navy blues coming to her door for her son, killed in some "training accident", but her husband, a simple park ranger brutally gutted lying in front of her. Why would they kill him?

As she sat, she saw the pad in her husband's hand, pulling it from his clenched fist and seeing the one word written on it, "werewolf??"

"Werewolf," she mused quietly, choking back tears with curiosity, "what the hell does that mean? Werewolves are myths. Fiction. Fantasy."

"Hey! Who's that," cried out a deep, male voice from behind her, the direction of her truck.

"I don't care. Kill them," replied another.

Knowing that they were referring to her, Mary grabbed her husband's badge and ran. She couldn't get back to the truck. It was too far through the open field to get back to the truck, so she ran straight, aiming at a small trail which she knew would wind down the mountain. She got to the trail, but could hear the low throaty growls filtering through the underbrush behind her as she was followed.

In her haste, she ran directly past the bonfire, but missed the part which had scared her husband so, the small skeleton at its apex. Three feet tall, blackened and burnt from the flames, but with the body still perfectly visible.

All of it. Arms, legs, muzzle and tail.

She had run. Run as fast as her still remarkable athletic body would take her on these thin trails, but she was starting to become resigned. The throaty growls continued to get closer, plotting to cut her off, while she was still at least thirty minutes away from the base of the trail, where she could get into the ranger station and call for help. She had no defense, not even a knife, much to her husband's dismay. Still, something was very wrong, and if there was even a chance of getting help, she had to take it.

She continued to power down the trail, getting to one of the more treacherous parts of the trail, where the drop-off stretched right along the side of the trail and took a hiker or two to their death every year. Thankfully, the silver moonlight illuminated the trail so that she could see and her boots provided sure footing as she ran down the trail. She chanced a glance over her shoulder and shuddered at the sight that greeted her.

A pair of glowing amber orbs floating down the trail, coming at her with such speed that she knew she wouldn't be able to avoid them. The growls coming from it were loud enough that she could almost taste them. Her eyes darted left and right, trying to find a way off the trail but the thick brush to her right was impenetrable while to her left was nothing but a 45° slope that fell 500 feet down toward a stand of evergreens, with more trees interspersed along the path. This was called the Widowmaker by locals, guides and rangers, and more than lived up to its name.

No one who had ever fallen down the Widowmaker had survived. Ever.

Those amber orbs came ever closer, the feral growls of her pursuer ringing in her ears. She tried to push herself to run faster, to evade her pursuer, but knew analytically that there was no chance. In those final seconds, she braced herself for the strike, knowing that she would be going to meet her husband in the afterlife.

'God, grant me your forgiveness for my trespasses and allow me entrance into your kingdom this night. Watch my son and give him your blessing,' she thought, in the last moments of this life, as she felt the powerful strike from behind her as her pursuer lunged forward.

The powerful lunge caught her in the flank, spinning her to the right, straight toward the edge if the cliff.

She felt the powerful hit from behind her, throwing her off balance and sending her over the side of the trail, directly down into the maw of the Widowmaker.

She felt the weightless sensation of falling as she went over the precipice and the horrid thud as she hit the frozen ground. She felt gravity take control as she rolled, waiting for the end of it all. She felt a snap and shooting pain course through her right ankle and leg, crying out in one of the most bloodcurdling screams that could be made by human larynx.

She was finally stopped by a large pine tree. The strike, directly at the small of her back, caused an indescribable pain to well up. The shooting pain from her leg was gone. Replaced by nothingness, and then a searing pain that ran the extent of her back. She gritted her teeth through it for a moment, but the blissful darkness soon encompassed her as her body and mind gave up.

Far above her, the silent moon looked on, its silvery light illuminating the forest and casting the body laying by the great pine tree in almost an otherworldly light, still silently leering, almost mocking the plight of the pitiful mortals below it.

Thompson State Forest

New London, NH

November 2011

"Hey Mike," a hunter called as I finished pulling my gear out of my truck. "Still carrying the antique, I see."

"Hey, I pull the trigger and it goes bang." I replied. Feeling mischievous and sarcastic I added, "I'm not you. I hit my target. I don't need a state of the art 30-06 that costs more than some cars."

"That hurts," He replied, although the small chuckle smile on his face belied his words. "See you around."

"Will do, Seamus. Tell Wendy I said hi."

I hiked into the dense woods, seeing the freshly fallen snow, silently mocking the deaths that had occurred here. It looked so peaceful, but it had seen so much death, even in my short 35 years. One of the most deadly state parks in the country, and for what? Animal sociopathology? And now I would be adding to it, but I would be doing it for a purpose, to feed my family. I shouldered my M1, one of the few heirlooms I had from my parents who had disappeared and died in these very woods.

My parents had disappeared one cold December night five years ago, while I was still in that hellhole overseas. I didn't even find out they were missing for a year. They found my father's truck parked in a park clearing, but never found any bodies. "Wolves probably got them," they had theorized.

Heh. They have no idea, I thought, one hand instinctively sitting on the Springfield Armory iron I had holstered inside my jacket.

I hiked 45 minutes into the woods, away from civilization and toward my preferred blind. There were usually a couple deer in this area, and it got me away from a lot of the other hunters. For all of the bluster, most of them were pussies, not wandering far from the trail and carrying for bear, never mind their loadout. I swear I saw one with an elephant gun once.

Reaching my blind, I tossed out my ground cover and looked out over the expanse in front of me. Brilliant white snow was interspersed with dark brown tree trunks and the dark green needles on the pine trees. It was beautiful, and one of the reasons I was glad I was able to come back up here after being away for five years after the incident here with my parents.

I saw the buck as it strode quietly into the clearing directly ahead of me. It was huge, maybe ten hands at the shoulder. It should definitely provide enough meat for everyone. I hoped. They may be my new family, but they ate like animals. Part of me doubted this would even be an appetizer.

I hefted my M1 and looked down the barrel, seeing the sights line up perfectly just behind the buck's shoulderblades.

Breathe in... out...and squeeze. My index finger caressed the trigger, squeezing it smoothly, and setting off a whole other chain reaction.

Crack.

The shot went off, dropping the once proud buck where it stood. I stood, intending to go inspect my prize when I heard the growl.

Crap.

I quickly whipped around, rifle at my waist height, prepared to fight it out with some bear who wanted my prize. All I saw was a mass of dark brown flying at me and swatting the rifle out of my hands as I was tackled to the ground.

I saw stars, and swear I saw a small birdie circling my head as I hit the frozen ground.

This huge mass of muscle and brown fur was sitting directly atop me, holding my legs in place with its weight. My right arm was pinned by this monster, but my left was free. The problem was that my knife and gun were both on my right side. I struck quickly, hitting the abdomen of the creature with two quick jabs from my left hand. The creature recoiled and I was able to muscle myself on top of it. I finally got a chance to look at it.

It was magnificent, majestic, marvelous, and a whole load of other words I could not pull out. She was about 6 foot high, as tall as I was, and covered in thick, brown fur. Her chest was emblazoned with a lighter, cream colored fur from her chin to her groin. She was well built, with powerful muscles that easily outmatched anything I could throw at her. Powerful, thick arms ended in paws...hands...pawhands? Hell, they were paws, complete with canid pads, with humanoid fingers and opposable thumbs. Digits tipped with sharp, black, lethal looking claws. Her right forearm had a fabric sleeve around the end, but what it was not really noticeable. It was definitely a she with noticeable breasts, not obscenely large, but still there and, I was almost ashamed to admit when I first saw them, attractive. The powerful digitigrades legs were also tipped with those sharp, lethal looking claws. The powerful musk that drifted up from her body was wild, almost inviting and arousing, calling to some animal being within myself.

My reverie was broke as she grabbed my arms and rolled me onto my back. Her lupine head loomed in my vision, amber eyes captivating mine. Her warm breath washed over my face, causing me to try to recoil in surprise as I looked into a strong lupine muzzle, full of gleaming white canines.

"Well, I've got my prey." She almost cooed as she leered at me, if her low feminine voice could coo. "And look, I even got a deer out of it too. A pretty big one by the looks of it."

"Are...Are you going to eat me?" I asked, trying to put a note or three of fear into my voice.

"Yes. Yes I am." She replied back, leering hungrily up and down my body, amber eyes focusing on my abdomen, warm, wet saliva almost dripping from her maw as much as false kindness dripped from her words.

'Great' I thought. She sounds really eager

How the hell did I get here?

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To be continued. Please comment and give me at least some feedback. This is all just setup for the main story, which will hopefully be closer to what people on this site are used to.

Edited for clarity - 9/12/11 - AAcid