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Detective William Miller arrived on the scene of the abandoned construction zone known as The Projects shortly after the first call to paramedics reached Miami's 911 call center in the Overtown district, a notorious 20-block area south of downtown known for its murder-a-night, drug-infested and gang-filled streets. As he pulled up to one of the broken, empty buildings, he spotted four police officers in a group, looking at one another morosely.

He sighed as he stopped the cruiser and jumped out, taking a swig of coffee from a traveling mug as he walked up to them. This was a bad one, he knew. He could read it in their eyes. Homicides were nothing new to the 45-year-old father of two, but every so often he got a case that just simply didn't make sense, no matter what. He looked around. The Projects was Overtown's eyesore. At least 30 years ago, there had been plans to create housing and thriving small businesses here, but funding was never realized and plans were scrapped. Investors felt their money would go further helping the city of Miami. The hollowed-out, crumbling buildings were never finished.

"First on scene?" he asked the group, still sipping his coffee. They pulled away from one another and looked around before pointing over their shoulders to a young officer sitting down on a large concrete block near one of the buildings. Miller looked at the man almost kindly and then smiled his winning smile that had gotten him through police academy, 12 years in the force, and 10 more as a detective. "Relax, boys. It's Miller time..."

That got a soft chuckle out of them and they nodded. Miller had solved, in his rather illustrious tenure in Homicide, no less than 250 murders, more than three-fourths of them in the Overtown District alone. More than 90% of them had ended with convictions and very stiff prison-time. "You're gonna probably want a few in there with you this time, detective," one of the officers spoke up. "I mean...I've seriously seen nothing like this. N-not...ever..." His face started to drain of color and he excused himself quickly, stopping a considerable difference away from the others, taking a low bow and vomiting helplessly, spattering across the rocks.

Miller shrugged and walked over to the young officer they had pointed out earlier, who was still looking around dazedly at the spread-out Overtown neighborhood, with its spatter-painted one-stories, trailer-homes, and dilapidated apartment complexes, as if thinking to himself how in the hell could he ever get assigned such a rough beat being so new to the force.

"You're Stinson, right? Heard great things about you." Miller immediately tried to earn his respect. "You okay?" Miller waited while the officer got unsteadily to his feet and pulled a small notepad from his shirt pocket. "What do we got?"

"We got death," he said grimly, reading his notes. "26-year-old male Carl Bolton, 22-year-old male Jeffrey Lewis, 19-year-old male Brian Hoyton and...a 16-year-old boy, Carl's brother, I think, Scott." He wet his lips at the last part and then continued in a softer voice. "We only assume this because two of them were reported missing, and we recognized Carl's tattoos on what was left of his...arms. Someone didn't just want them dead. I mean, Jesus..." He wiped his mouth and Miller saw the wild look in his eyes.

"Officer Stinson," he said gently, reminding him of his duties, "Why don't you walk me through this, okay? Can you do that for me? Now, you were first on the scene. What did you see?"

The officer slowly nodded and then swallowed down a bit of bile, going back to his notes. "The 911 caller was Mrs. Abby Winters. She's the auntie to the boy. Says she was on her way up to Brenigan's on the corner over there, picking up some milk, and she smelled something really bad coming from here. She didn't go in, thank God for that, and called from her cellphone. Said she had a feeling something was wrong. Her nephew called her every night like clockwork since the parents died. Anyway, I...go in and...they're all spread out on the ground just inside the door. They've got a TV in there, hooked up with a power supply. The TV's on, showing an episode of "Sesame Street" if you can believe that, God I used to watch that show when I was a kid, it was the most amazing thing, so innocent and..." He shook his head, slapped the notepad into Miller's hands and walked away. "Taking a walk, Miller. Your mess now."

The detective sighed and steeled himself before walking over the crumbled concrete and through the door-sized hole of the complex, his keen eyes already looking for any footprints. As he walked in to the stench-filled room, he didn't look at the bodies at first, and instead trained his gaze around the interior, noticing immediately the splashes of blood across the walls and the ragged furniture, and in several pools.

It was bad. The worst. Miller took a long, frightened moment to stare at the tableau of broken humanity. It reminded him of something he used to do as a child growing up. He'd take two or three sets of puzzle pieces, place them together in a box, mix them up, and then spread them out on the table and try to put each of the puzzles back together again.

The killer or killers in this case simply didn't want to do that. The three adults and child lay scattered across the living room floor in several chunks of flesh. It was impossible to tell, through the blood and gore, which piece belonged to whom. The first officer on scene had been right about one thing so far. Someone didn't just want these people dead. Miller suddenly realized he was staring at the mess a little too long and shook his head hard enough to brain-shake.

"Not what you expected for a Wednesday night, huh amigo?"

He heard Detective John Gomez' voice behind him and shook his head. "Man, I do not want to be forensics right now."

The shorter Cuban man grinned and moved past him. "I keep telling you, boss, Key West is looking better and better." He squatted down near the remains and inspected one of the larger pieces. "Well, look here, Bill. These guys weren't cut up. See how the marks are on the skin, they're more serrated, and...hmm, a few look like they've been hacked to the bone. You don't suppose a gator wandered up in here, do you?"

"Now why the fuck would a gator come charging into-"

"Well, something animal got at these people, all I'm saying. I've seen enough carcasses in the woods while hunting to know when something's been eaten. I don't see any knives or saws laying around either. Score one for me."

"Could've taken them with maybe." Miller stood over one of the more intact torsos, which was small. "This is the boy, I think. Um..." He read from the notepad. "Scott Bolton."

"No witnesses at all?"

"Not a word from anyone. But we know the Boltons are part of East End, so maybe this was gang-related."

"Well, they surely pissed someone off...this wasn't just a killing, this was a fucking message."

"Yeah? I wonder for whom..."

A commotion came from behind them and both men jumped, startled, as a CSI team walked inside, already snapping pictures. "Well, the cavalry's arrived. Can you guys make positive ID as soon as possible? I know I'm asking for a miracle here."

One of the CSIs nodded, looking ill already and Gomez stood back up. "Looks like this is the primary scene. I don't see much apart from the blood to indicate otherwise. Samples and DNA will tell us more, I'm guessing." He looked above at the rotted rafters and then along the crimson-splashed walls. "How big a room you figure this is? 30 by 30?"

"About that. Might have been a future office at one time. Why?"

Gomez gestured around them. "Everything's concentrated in this room. It's like they were all in here when it happened and...well, no one tried to get away, seems like."

Miller nodded and watched the ashen-faced CSI as they started examining the carnage more closely. "So they knew whoever it was that did this. If this was a drug deal, it went horribly wrong."

"I'm still going with the gator theory, Bill."

Miller had to laugh. "They wouldn't let a gator in. And even if one just happened to come in, do you really believe they'd all get taken apart like this, without doing anything about it? One might get attacked, but the others would hear screams and come running. No, these folks were taken by complete surprise. Everything's focused here, like you said. No one tried to run or anything."

He paused and looked down closely at the couch, then called for one of the CSIs. "Gomez, did anyone see a dog come in or out of here?"

"I dunno, they might have."

"Let's take this hair sample, okay?" Miller spoke to the CSI who nodded. "In fact, there's a little of this hair over here too, by the table."

"What's it look like, boss?" Gomez picked up one of the samples with a pair of clippers and examined it. "Long, thick...coyotes maybe?"

"Coyotes, bears, wolves, could be anything. I'm starting to go with your animal assessment there, John. Maybe something got in and...did all this."

Gomez frowned. "Same rules still apply, boss. If one got attacked, wouldn't the others run...?"

Miller looked at his partner for a long moment. "Yeah...they would..."

**

"Stick 'em, Tyrone. Come on, man, you straight or what?"

The lanky 16-year-old swallowed hard, keeping his eyes focused on the much older man crumpled on the ground before them. It had been a clean hit, with plenty of grip, enough for the new shoes he needed if he was going to compete with the rest of the boys at the court. He held up the switchblade menacingly, if a bit shakily, nearly dropping it.

"Aw man, he ain't got it in 'em. He's done. He's no Roller."

"Shut the fuck up, Drain. Give 'em time." One of the boys near Tyrone put an arm around him and squeezed his shoulder. "Ty, you look at me." The boy turned his head and looked into his older brother's face, staring into cold, dark eyes. "You wanna be a Reed Street Roller?"

"Yeah..." he said, and his eyes darted back down at the man. "He's just...he's so scared, man. I...do I gotta...?"

His brother grinned. "Just stick 'em once. It don't have to kill 'em. He ain't gonna say shit to nobody no way, ain't that right?" He glared at the man who quickly nodded, wiping his eyes. "Now...go on and let's do it. Be midnight soon and Momma's gonna be worried I ain't got you home yet."

Drain snickered and the brother was quick to rebuke him. "You see somethin' funny 'bout the way I take care of my blood, bro?"

He quickly stopped laughing and then looked down, shaking his head. He knew how it was. Tyrone and Jim Curry were as thick as thieves in the night and pretty much all that was left of the Curry household after a double-murder and prostate cancer claimed their sisters and father. He'd grown up with "Slam", Jim's street name, and had known him since they were both wide-eyed, innocent boys in the ratty, unpainted stench of Nathanial Lewis Elementary.

"Now go on, bro," Slam said softly to the boy. "Do it..."

Tyrone nodded and then closed his eyes, baring his teeth and jabbing the knife forward. The blade ripped through the man's shirt near the shoulder and the boy felt the weak flesh give way to steel as it dug in. The man let out a howl of pain and immediately clawed at his shoulder, trying to get the switchblade out.

"You fuck!" he yelled, spitting at them, "Mother fuck, Mo-"

A sharp crack of a pistol stopped the rest of his words as Drain calmly shot him in the head.

"Hoo! Dat's how we do it on Reed Street, yo!" one of the other boys whooped and they crowded around Tyrone, thumping him on the back and congratulating him.

"Bro, you so straight, you a fuckin' arrow, man!" Drain grinned, slapping the kid's shoulder the hardest and looking at Slam almost apologetically. "What d'ya think? Arrow?"

Slam considered it thoughtfully. "Not really a b-ball name though. Rollers gotta stick together, and that means street names too." He caught Tyrone's look and then grinned. "Oh, what the fuck. You Arrow now, bro."

Everyone came up one at a time, the six of them, shaking Arrow's hand and then hugging him tightly. Slam enfolded his brother in his arms and kissed his cheek before letting him go. "Aight, let's GTFO. Drain, you got it handled?" He gestured to the dead man lying spread-eagled on the ground.

"I got it covered. Dumb fuck shouldn't've been around our 'hood anyway."

"Aight, I'm out. Let's go, Arrow. Momma's gonna be waitin'." He picked up the dead man's wallet and placed it in his brother's hands almost ceremoniously. "You know the drill. Don't use no cards in the clear, just cash and online shit only."

"I know, bro, I-" Arrow started to protest.

"Hey, don't you be sassin' me. This your first, you gonna learn the rules just like everyone. You get caught, you get dead for reals. Now let's go." He poked his head out from the alleyway to look around, but it was dead quiet. The streets were always like that. Everyone saw and heard everything, but no one would ever say a damned thing. He reached for Arrow's hand and yanked him forward, and the two headed for home.

Drain and the rest of the boys quickly knelt down, taking off the man's shoes and trousers, and quickly going through his pockets for any additional haul other than the wallet.

**

"You cool with me, bro?" Arrow said quietly as they walked home, casually keeping out of the streetlight beams. The image of the man's face when Drain's bullet went through his head would keep him up for quite a while. He'd seen death before, but not so close.

"You did good, Ty," Slam replied and put his arm around his shoulder. "You gotta relax tho. Grip's just the one part of this. Wait'll you get into the drug trade. Got big plans for you. For us. Me and you's gonna be able to take care of Momma forever. She ain't never gonna have a thing to worry about. Now that you're a Roller, the doors are just gonna fly open." He grinned and looked down at him, nearly a foot taller. "I'm so proud I could bust. You stick with me, you stick to the Rollers, and you're good. Ain't no one gonna mess with you again."

The younger boy nodded slowly. He was tired of the bullying at school, tired of the fights he was getting into, and most of all sick and tired of the teachers trying to explain to him why he needed to know about American History, or math, or science. Why he needed any of this, when all that mattered was making a living and supporting your family any way you could. The Rollers was his ticket, he knew that. It made sense. Stay in school and learn useless shit, or be out on the streets making five figures a week.

Do the fucking math, he thought bitterly, and started to laugh.

"Somethin' funny?" Tyrone nudged him and Arrow quickly straightened up. "Ain't nothin' funny about what happened tonight, bro. A man died. We gotta pray for him tonight."

"But...we killed him, right? Why would-"

"Because he don't deserve it." They approached the link fence that separated the alley from their back yard and Slam started climbing over it. "No one deserves to die. You remember that. People die cuz they need to, that's all it is. They just need to..." Arrow followed him over the fence, panting a little. "Yo bro, I want you out at the hoops tomorrow, gettin' in shape. You gonna have to run fast one day, and God knows you can't do that the way you is now."

Arrow flushed noticeably in the darkness. "Aw, fuck, I ain't that bad."

Before they went inside, Slam stopped him again, hands on the boy's shoulders. "Now you listen to me. Momma asks, we went out to Burger King, got some shakes, then went bowlin'. You beat me first game, but I kicked your ass the second, then we hit the arcades for a while and time got away from us. Say it back." He listened carefully as the boy repeated the message then nodded. "Good, that's somethin' else you gotta learn, how to tell a story and keep it straight."

They went inside and when their mother asked where the hell they had been for so many hours, the young boy was quick with the answer, and it was just right.

Slam couldn't have been more proud.

That night, they prayed for the soul of the man they'd killed, that God wouldn't judge him and let him walk into a paradise.

**

Miller grabbed the jangling phone at his desk and listened to the coroner's remarks, jotting down a few notes in bad script before thanking her and hanging up. "Gomez? That was the county. Positive ID on the Boltons, Carl and Scott, Brian Hoyton and Jeffrey Lewis."

The Hispanic came over with a bear claw in one hand and a morning coffee in the other. "Well, that was fast, it just got over there last night."

"Yeah, I suppose they're treating this one special. Here's the thing though. We're off the case. Death by misadventure."

Gomez' eyes widened. "Oh you gotta be fucking kidding me."

Miller shrugged. "No weapons, no forced entry, no burglary, just that weird fur we found. They examined bite marks on everyone, and saliva's being tested. We'll probably get that back in a few weeks. Meantime, no suspects. This wasn't a known drug house, and the Boltons actually kept pretty clean. No records on them in the database, not even a parking ticket." He sighed and tossed his pen down. "I guess you were right, about it being some animal anyway."

His partner grinned. "I knew it had to be. People just aren't that brutal, man." He walked over to a large pressboard filled with grid lines and picked up a magic marker, putting an "X" through the words Boltons, et. al. "So what happens next? What's the media gonna say?"

"Probably tell people to keep on the lookout for some wild beast roaming around. They got some animal specialists coming by to sort through everything, and find out what kinda animal we're dealing with. I'm guessing it was a coyote or wolf, because you hear about them coming out from all over the country lately, due to the early spring we had."

Gomez sighed and took a sip. "Did you call the zoo? Find out if any of their furry citizens decided to bust out and see the sights?"

"I'm homicide, John, and so are you. We've got no business getting in this now. We've still got a shooting from last night to go over. What was his name?"

Gomez quickly checked his desk. "Um, Frank Booth. 49-year-old shot in the head and dumped in a field out near Brown Avenue. He was robbed, no wallet, but his wife made positive ID at the morgue when he failed to show up home last night with ice cream. Waiting on some feedback but earlier reports said he was stabbed too, once in the shoulder."

"Probably to disarm him, or incapacitate him enough for the kill shot."

"That's what they're thinking, yeah." His eyes met Miller's. "Reed Street?"

Miller nodded. "Yeah, I think so. Not to be too cliché, but we need to round up the usual suspects."

**

Federal Agent Maurice Simone listened quietly, taking notes as one of the workers at Miami Metropolitan Zoo explained how it was next to impossible for one of their more ferocious exhibits to slink out in the night, travel more than 20 miles to Overtown, slaughter four people and then hurry back before the morning meal to wash off.

"These spaces are well-designed, Mr. Simone," the pretty, blonde zoo-keeper kept her tight, assuring smile as she walked with the much taller agent along the touring path close to the wolves. "We stopped using steel cages some time ago actually. Now we just have these thick steel poles that come out of the ground and surround the area. They can actually run quite free. We've had, to my knowledge, only one escape, a tiger from the Jungle Zoo, but he was immediately caught because every one of our friends here are also tagged."

"So you can track them?"

"Yes, sir. And record their movements, if necessary. And I can assure you, none of our animals left home for a night." She heard a low growl and waved to one of the wolves sitting on a large rock inside its space. "Aw, I know you're hungry, sweetie. Ten minutes, okay?"

The agent chuckled. "Do you think they understand you?"

The woman smiled, and it seemed warmer this time. "Of course. They know the schedule for food. It's all about repetition, Mr. Simone, same as humans. Do it enough times, and we become creatures of habit. Jessica just likes to remind us sometimes."

"Oh, so she's a she-wolf, huh?"

"Hah, she certainly is. Do you know much about wolves, Agent?"

"Not especially. We're not exactly trained for it." He was enjoying the young woman's company a lot, truth be told. He looked for a ring on her finger but didn't see one.

"Do you know why some women are referred to as she-wolves?"

The agent grinned. "Are you trying to tell me you're one of those, Ms. Foster?"

She giggled, "Jen is fine...and no, not like Jessica anyway." She turned a bit serious and faced the wolf exhibit, where Jessica still sat growling. "You see, some alpha-female wolves act as decoys, in a way. They come up to a small pack of male wolves, and give off their pheromones to them, to let them know they are in season. Then she lures these unfortunate wolves back to where her own pack is - and that pack immediately attacks the other, killing them all for food."

"Oh my God, seriously?!"

Jen nodded. "Seriously. You have to be really careful if you're a horny wolf in the forest."

Maurice couldn't help himself. "What if I'm a horny wolf in the zoo, and...I'd like to ask the she-wolf out for dinner?" He tried in vain to ease the growing erection in his black trousers.

Jen blushed furiously and caressed one of her generous breasts slowly through the shirt. "I'd say...yes?"

**

"Foul!"

"Aw fuck dat, he ain't do nothin'!"

"I'm tellin' you it was a fuckin' foul, man. He hacked my arm!"

"Drain, shit we ain't gonna win anyway, why the fuck you need to cheat?"

Drain sighed and looked at Slam steadily. "Man, you know he fouled." He tossed the basketball back to one of the other boys and sat down on the bench, catching his breath and wiping sweat from his forehead. It was another hot summer late-afternoon in Overtown and the basketball court at the local park was in full use. Along the black asphalt court were several stone benches, covered with graffiti and gang signs. The one Drain sat on faced away from the court and towards Broadway Avenue, the busiest street in the small suburban neighborhood, and a haven for everything from a dime-bag of cocaine to a blowjob.

He preferred this bench as he could keep a close eye on the street. While the murder was now several weeks old, the man took no chances. Confidential informants teemed through Overtown, and at any moment he expected an unmarked car to pay him a visit. As he watched the street intently, scoping from the right and back to the left, he noticed there was no immediate danger. No police, no rival gang members, nothing that was unusual. In fact, it was inconceivable for anyone really to come by the courtyards while it was in use by any of the gangs. It was the only level playing field allowed. If a gang member wanted to play, he had to have more than three or four people in his group, and a basketball. If not, they had to leave immediately or face a possibly lethal confrontation.

He looked suddenly back to his right and his eyes widened. Yes, it was inconceivable to see anyone else while they were playing their games. But he could see someone walking up to them now.

She was maybe 5'5", a short, very pretty girl of about sixteen, he figured, with long black hair tied in a ponytail that bobbed as she walked. The white shorts she wore cut her thighs quite high, showing off smooth, shapely dark legs carried by pink and blue flipflops. The only thing she wore above the waist was a light blue baby-doll t-shirt and no bra. Large aroused nipples easily poked through the flimsy fabric, seeming to push the shirt up even further and allow the tiniest peek at the bottom of full breasts above a trim, perfect stomach. As she drew closer to the group, he could smell her. He didn't recognize the perfume brand, but it was tainted with some of his favorites: vanilla, lavender, honeysuckle, and a few other flowers.

Drain slowly got up from the bench, his lusty gaze crawling over her shirt back and forth, imagining his large hands squeezing her breasts, and met her just as she was about to reach the end of the sidewalk that connected the court to the street. "Scuse me, girlfriend...we got a game here." But he was smiling.

The girl looked up at him and her deep brown eyes twinkled with mirth. "Oh yeah? Can I watch?"

"Aw, you don't wanna watch us, we suck."

She giggled, "Well, I suck too...but very well..." She ran her tongue across powder-pink lips, and her eyes never left his face. "Want me to show you?"

Drain's mouth literally dropped open. "Damn girl, you getting' me all hard now..." And she was. He tried unsuccessfully to control a raging erection in his jeans. "I...guess you could watch...I mean...if you wanna..."

"Drain! What the fuck, you playin' or not?!" Slam wandered over and noticed the girl for the first time. He made quick eye contact with her, then caught her scent. "My bro causin' you problems, pretty girl?"

She smiled. "It's Allana, and no he's not. I think it's actually the other way around."

Drain gaped at her then laughed, shaking his head. "She wants to watch us play, and I done told her we suck so then she says she sucks too, and wanna show us..."

Slam nodded. "She can watch, I guess." Then he looked at her steadily. "Don' think we met yet. You new to Overtown?"

Allana smiled wider and the twinkle in her eyes seemed to change briefly. "Just arrived a few weeks ago from out West. I like it here very much."

By now the other boys were coming off the court to meet the new girl in town. Arrow brought up the rear, cinching up his shorts and trying to look more presentable. Like the others, he looked totally smitten.

Slam grinned and clapped Arrow's shoulder as he joined the group. "This here's Arrow, 'cuz he's as straight as they come. He just became a member of the Reed Street Rollers. That's us."

Allana nodded and looked over the small group. "Just the seven of you? Not much of a gang yet, are you?"

Slam grinned widely, unfazed by her candidness. "We'll get there. Got some good scores comin' up." He heard a few mothers in the area calling for their children to come in and noticed the full moon rising low on the horizon, big and bright yellow, sending a streak of shadows across the asphalt. "Be night soon. You best get on your way, Allana. You don' wanna be round here."

The girl looked around her intently then gazed fondly back at the group, her eyes focused on the youngest, Arrow. "Well, maybe one of you guys could see me home? Well, actually my...parents...are away for a few days. I was gonna have a little party with some other girlfriends at this old building we found. Ya'll want to come? Plenty of food."

Slam looked at the other confused expressions, getting their silent feedback, then nodded to the girl. "I s'pose we could eat. Where this at?"

Allana smiled and started to walk away. "It's not far. I'll show you."

"Hey, wait up," Slam and the others quickly started walking after her to catch up, watching her ponytail bob and her taut asscheeks flex with every step.

**

Detective Miller shut off the computer screen and rubbed his eyes blearily, taking a quick look outside his third-floor office at the moon coming up through wisps of retreating clouds. "Gomez?" he called out to the adjoining cubicle. "Calling it a night, okay? I just can't do this anymore." He set down a folder filled with gruesome crime scene photos from the Bolton massacre. Except that it was no longer a crime, which still got to him.

"You wanna go grab something for the road, Will?" His partner walked up to the desk and added another large folder to the stack of papers strewn across it.

Miller yawned widely. "I just don't get it, John. I try to place one call to the Feds, and I get some bullshit about jurisdiction, or it's not my field of expertise, or the standby "just let us handle it." Fuck, what the hell are we doing here? We've got four kids dead, the streets are calling for pay-back blood, pointing fingers at rivals like they're part of some crazy-ass witch hunt, and to top it off, we can't even get a lead on the Booth murder. Nothing from the CIs, nothing from the streets, it's like this poor guy didn't matter to no one but the wife and three kids he left behind."

Gomez shrugged, looking hopeful. "Well, if ballistics can tell us soon about the gun used, maybe we can trace it back to Reed Street and put a net around the whole lot of the scumbags."

Miller licked his lips. "That's one "if" and one "maybe" too many for my comfort."

The Cuban couldn't help but grin. "Can't solve 'em all, amigo. Come on, Rosie's Diner, and my treat this time. Hell, you can even have that bacon-filled crap of cholesterol you call a sandwich, if you like."

Miller started to get up when the phone rang. He looked at his partner who shook his head and clapped the lead detective's back. "You're off the clock, Will. Come on...voice mail will get it."

**

The man on the corner of Broadway Avenue and Reed Street shuffled his feet nervously, listening to the steady ring of the telephone on the other end of the line, then sighed irritably as it went to a robotic, female voice. "Beer Man," he said quietly, cupping his hand over the cellphone to hide his mouth. "It's Teach. The Rollers. I seen 'em. You want Drain. Check your database for the bro, he there." He gave a brief description of what Drain was wearing then added, "I just seen him too. Walkin' off with the gang with some girl. They're headed for the Projects..."

**

"Here we go, this is the place," Allana stepped over a big chuck of concrete, showing remarkable agility in her flipflops, and led the group of boys to one of the crumbling abandoned buildings in the short distance, still obscured by a low mist of fog, seeming like aged and ghostly relics in the night. "It's right in here...the party..."

Slam took the lead, nearly tripping over a pile of old mortar and stubbing his toe on his high-tops. "Damn, woman!" He caught his balance as Allana passed by him, her perfume almost overpowering now. "Where the fuck is this?"

She didn't turn to look behind her. "Here, come on, hurry." She stepped casually over more broken pieces that could have once been large apartment complexes in another era and arrived at one of the more intact buildings. She knelt prettily by a large boarded window on the ground floor and pushed it open. "Watch your step, boys. There's stairs right here but..." Everyone watched her crawl feet-first into the opening, and her shirt lifted way up, exposing much more of her breasts. "You have to get your foot just right, or you could fall."

"Man, I can't get through that..." one of the larger boys said and spat defiantly on the ground.

"Bro, there ain't nothin' to it. You gonna let that bitch up you like that?" Drain laughed and walked past Slam and the others, following the girl inside the same way they had seen, and soon the others followed. Arrow took one last look around them, then squirmed his way through as well.

The stairwell was as crumbling as the house but otherwise safe enough to take one at a time. There was a loud click in front of them. Allana had turned on a flashlight. The beam trailed across moldy, torn plaster walls and unfinished rafters above them before it trained on the steps again.

"Almost there," she called out, and her voice echoed through the stairwell, seeming hollow and distant.

"Girl, where you takin' us?" Drain demanded, nearly bumping into Slam in the dark.

"It's right here...the party..."

"I don' hear no fuckin' party..."

Allana stammered. "W-we're probably just early. Come on!" She sounded insistent now. Soon the long stairwell ended and the boys found themselves in the sub-basement. As the stairs ended, a soft fluorescent yellow light could be seen hanging from above, illuminating enough of the large room to see a few tables and folding chairs. At one table was an old boombox, surrounded by paper plates and cups. As the boys looked around them, Allana hurried over to the music player and switched it on. "I found it here...years old, but it still works. Listen." She grinned, picking up a cassette and putting it into the player. Soon the room was filled with the steady beat of old, weathered disco.

"Aw man, ain't no one like that shit anymore," Drain complained. But he was chuckling. Allana had started to dance for them, moving her arms up over her head, allowing her shirt to bunch up around the generous swell of her breasts as she shook her hips seductively to the Bee Gees.

"Come on," she said, nearly breathless as she looked at Drain, "Dance with me..."

The tall, built man suddenly flushed a bit and the other boys punched him good-naturedly, egging him on. Drain finally relented and came forward, starting to do a similar dance with Allana, a few feet apart.

"Y-you can get closer..." she said, "I won't bite..."

Drain laughed then and pulled his body in to hers, until he was grinding an uncomfortable erection up against her stomach. "Man, you are hot, girl..." he said softly, sliding his arms around her shoulders. He was immediately thrilled to feel her bump right back, slamming her stomach in against his groin, mashing his hard flesh into his jeans and started a trickle of pre-cum flowing.

"You like that?" She replied, watching him wince with pleasure, and hooked her arms around his back to hold, grinding faster, her scent filling his nostrils. "Mmm...you're nice, Drain...I could just...drain you dry..." She giggled and brought her head up until she could nip at his chin.

"Damn, Drain, save some of that for the rest of us!" one of the other gang members cajoled him and then they all whooped loudly as the dancing couple kissed deeply.

Drain felt himself wanting to cum into his jeans. The kiss was so wet, and hot and passionate. Like... Immediately he started to kiss her more feverishly, groping for her breasts through her shirt, pushing her across the floor.

"Drain!" Slam laughed, "You hot, man, you is HOT!"

Allana mewled softly as she was pushed up against the table, and wrapped her legs around the large man, holding the kiss, locking her arms around his shoulders. "Wait...w-wait...not...not now..." But Drain was already jamming down his jeans and undershorts, then wrapping his hands around her shorts, trying to rip them down. Her eyes lost a little of their glow as she felt her panties being pulled down next, exposing bare nethers, and then Drain's powerful hands grabbed her asscheeks, hiking her up.

"Oh shit, Drain's gonna fuck her, holy shit!"

The man grunted with lust and positioned the struggling girl until her body could drop over his hard cock. Allana's eyes widened and she let out a cry of pain as hard, hot flesh rammed upwards and deep into her tight sex, forcing the muscles inside her to immediately clench around the intrusion, forming a slick barrier of her juices and scent. Her legs kicked a few times, burying Drain's cock even deeper into her, and then she stopped moving, her eyes glazed over. Drain lowered her down to the ground, still inside of her, and started to ram against her, fucking her wildly, closing his eyes and moaning.

The rest of the gang watched in intense fascination, some stroking themselves, as Drain continued to move against the girl. His hands came up to squeeze her breasts and Allana cried out again, begging him to stop, clawing at his back. Soon Drain could feel himself about to let go of his release and arched his back, penetrating her as deeply as he could, where her womb would take his seed. He felt her walls grab him once more shockingly hard, as though strangling his cock in her warmth, and then he came, long, hard shooting spurts of release spattering over her walls. She suddenly shrieked, her eyes as big as saucers.

He finally opened his eyes and looked down at her, smiling coldly, then pulled out of her, his limp, wet cock dangling, still dripping cum. "Oh damn...oh damn...that was the best fuck, you the best fuck, girl, you the best..."

Slam couldn't take it anymore. He pushed past Drain as he stood up unsteadily and pulled back up his pants. "Let's see what you got for me, girl..." He said, undoing his own jeans and letting out an even larger cock, at least nine inches and quite thick. Allana still lay on her back, shaking and sobbing, her legs still spread. Like a butterfly ready to be mounted, Arrow thought, sickeningly. He didn't watch as his older brother took his turn, forcing the girl's legs to stay open as he rammed his cock home, mashing his full 250 pounds down on her body and covering her mouth with a hand, stopping her fire-bell screams.

By the time he was done cumming inside of her, the rest of the boys were already nude from the waist down, stroking their hard, ready cocks, nearly salivating. All except for Arrow, who stood away in a corner of the room, trying not to retch. He'd seen his new gang partake in more than a few crimes and his mind still reeled from the killing he'd been a part of last month. But this...something just seemed wrong. He caught her expression once, her big brown eyes pleading, looking at him with hope. Could he really sit back and do nothing?

When the boys finally finished with her, Allana was past screaming, curled up into a tight fetal position on the ground, shaking violently and uncontrollably, as if having a seizure. Every now and then, a sharp sob would come from her, and then she would go back to sniffling and coughing.

"Damn..." Drain marveled as the last boy jumped off of her, still holding his erection. "Damn, damn damn...what the fuck did we do. She saw all of us, man..."

"Shut your fuckin' mouth, Drain," Slam glowered at him, then looked down at the girl on the ground. "She not gonna say a damned thing, and you know it..."

"Yeah, bro? I might..." Arrow growled softly and stepped forward, pushing past the others and kneeling beside the bruised girl, putting a small blanket he had found around her. "Just leave her alone. All of you..." He looked at Slam the longest, his eyes filled with hate. "What the fuck, man?"

Slam's eyes lost their intensity and he wiped at them, avoiding tears and looking away. "Man, it ain't like that, Tyrone. Listen, she..."

"She what?" Arrow retorted with sudden vehemence and got to his feet. The rest of the gang bristled and stepped away from the two, fearing a fight.

"Easy, Arrow," Drain said, almost conversationally. "The bitch was asking for it, we gave it to her, it's done. Ain't no one gotta tell nothin'. You straight, right?"

Arrow looked at him sullenly, then helped Allana get to her feet. "I'm takin' her out of here. Right now. I think she might need a fuckin' doctor or somethin', man."

Surprisingly, Allana replied quietly. "I'm...I'm fine...I'll be alright. It just...takes some getting used to sometimes..." She pulled away from Arrow's arms and seemed to relax, sighing deeply. "That was fun..." she added through bleeding lips, and formed a strange smile. "You were all...perfect..."

The yellow fluorescent light above them flickered and then went out entirely, suddenly bathing them in black. Drain immediately stumbled in the pitch dark and fell over a chair, slamming his head on the floor hard enough to see stars. "The fuck?!" Drain rubbed his head and struggled to sit up. And then something slammed into him hard enough to smash his ribs and cave in his chest. "AUGH!" He screamed, and the last thing he felt was something sharp slicing across his throat. Drain's neatly- detached head went rolling across the floor and came to a stop by the stairwell.

Slam and the other gang members heard the scream cut off and then tried to scramble towards the stairwell in a mad rush, yelling and crying out. Slam felt something claw into his back and sink deep into his flesh. He howled in pain and tried in vain to turn around and face his attacker, before he was plowed head-first into the concrete floor, snapping his neck like a twig. A few other men tried to run away but became hopelessly entangled in the chairs, stumbling around them or tripping over them, until more unseen attackers fell upon them.

Arrow screamed and tried to run, reaching out to clutch Allana's hand to save her, then felt another of the attackers fall on top of him. He saw in the darkness a large, blood-soaked paw come up, dripping drops of crimson onto his cheek, and then it came down against his head and he didn't see or feel anything else.

**

When he opened his eyes again, the first thing he noticed was the light. It was nearly blinding in its intensity, stabbing his eyes. When he finally had to lift an arm to shield his face, he grimaced as he felt pain shoot through it and quickly held it to his bare chest, closing his eyes again.

"It's just a sprain but you should be alright." He heard a soft, gentle female voice he recognized immediately.

"All...Allana...?" Arrow opened his eyes slowly, expecting to see the girl's face close to his, smiling, her beautiful brown eyes looking warm and kind, filled with gratitude. What he saw instead caused him to startle, instinctively jerking up his arms to ward off, and he cried out in pain and fear.

Kneeling before him on a large bed was an animal, and yet not quite an animal. The pointed ears, and the sloping muzzle with its sharp teeth at first made him think of a dog, but there was something much more to it. It had the arms and legs of a human, ending in large paws and footpaws, laced with sharp claws. It had plenty of muscle, bulky, almost like an offensive lineman for a football team, and yet still had the supple contours of a female form, with a slender throat, generous breasts and flaring hips. Thick, matted black fur covered its body, except close to the breasts, where a pair of dark and defined areolas and nipples were easily seen. When Arrow tried to squirm around in the bed, it leaned forward and one of its strong paws laid down on his bare chest, stopping him.

"Rest," it said again in Allana's voice. "You've had a busy day. I'm afraid Razor was a little tougher on you than I would want. I'll deal with him another time." It turned its head to look at the closed door behind and growled lowly. To Arrow, it sounded like doom warmed over. "Well, he's still new to the gang. I suppose I can forgive him this time."

Arrow looked at the beast's paw timidly, and now found the courage to speak up. "G-gang? Allana? What the fuck...what happened? And...what are you?"

Allana smiled but to Arrow it looked like a Halloween death-mask. "Do you like the new look?" She rose on her knees and arched her form, and Arrow saw the same flowing black hair cascade down her back. Then she put her paws on her breasts and squeezed them, pinching the nipples into firm, ripe points. "Mmm...I'm glad you weren't too badly hurt, Arrow...really." She leaned forward and Arrow gasped as the paw came down squarely over his groin on top of the sheet. Despite everything, he felt himself getting hard as a rock. He was naked under the sheet. "Ohh, good. This still works..."

Arrow closed his eyes as the paw massaged firmly over his shaft, filled with a mixture of revulsion and ecstasy as the thick digits grabbed, and squeezed and then finally pulled just the right way. In only a few moments, he came heavily enough to show beads of his semen through the sheets, and he was panting heavily from the effort.

"Ohhh, that's good, Arrow. That's quite a lot. It's just as I hoped." She leaned down against him, her muzzle pressing to the wet, sticky spot on the sheet and licking at it. His spent cock soon felt the warmth through the sheet and started rising to the occasion once more. "Ohhh...oh you're not done yet, are you, you bad boy..."

"I...I...God..."

Allana smiled as she climbed atop of him carefully, nearly two feet taller than she had been before, and yanked away the sheet, exposing his erection. "Your god can't help you..." she whisper-growled and ran a long, pink tongue over her canines. She braced her paws on his chest, and positioned her fur-covered crotch over his cock. Arrow closed his eyes tightly, felt his arms being jerked painfully to his sides, and then the weight of her body nearly crushing him as she lowered herself onto him.

His cock was immediately coated in silky, furry heat, tight, so tight and wet, like a vise. He moaned out loudly as the creature mounted him, rocking him hard into the mattress as she pleasured herself, stroking her breasts, then dipping a paw down to tickle at her folds. His cock would come close to full gorge but then she would stop bouncing on him, prolonging the aching need to release by strangling his cock deep inside of her.

"No...not yet..." She whimpered and arched, tilting her head far back and closing her eyes, slowing down her movements, and then jerking herself off of him and mmming, her sex now coated with the overpowering scent he'd smelled earlier. She got to all-fours and crawled over him until she was nestled against his side, spooning him, her powerful arms wrapped around his chest. "We are called The Night..." she said softly into his ear. She tucked a paw down, grabbing his cock and pulling it upwards and then down, stuffing it back into her heat and causing her to moan again. "Mmm... We are...and have always been...around you humans. For as long as there has been time on this world..."

Arrow closed his eyes, weeping bitterly, past the urge to struggle now. "I don'...I don't wanna...where's my bro? Allana?"

"Your friends are dead," she said simply, gripping his chest tighter, to the point her could barely breathe. "When the great wolf goddess Direa first angered the gods by attacking one of your kind, her punishment was that she become that which she hated so much. But Direa was wise, and sought out a witch who cured her curse, at least to a point. As long as lust was in her heart, she could remain her half-wolf self, but the moment she was sated or did not feel her need...she would stay human. In her rage, Direa formed legions from that time onward, mating with every wolf that she could, until a new breed rose up. One that would strike at the humans she hated, and destroy them all."

"No...no...my friends...my brother...Jim..."

"Shhhh," the creature stroked his chest gently, brushing over his nipples, as he started to cry. "You are safe. Be thankful. I could have allowed Razor to destroy you like the others, but...I wanted you to live. You are needed, Arrow."

"Needed f-f-for what?"

Allana pressed her nose to his neck and traced the boy's skin with her teeth, dribbling saliva. "Why, my gang, child. We are in need of humans like you, to form our armies. As Direa has done for millennia. She has chosen alpha-wolves to lead them, hundreds and thousands of them. She walks your world still today, gathering her forces. And when the moon runs red, when the harvest moon hangs low in the autumn sky..."

She paused and licked the tears running down the boy's cheek. "Ohh...do not cry, young Arrow. The Night will not harm you, and soon...you will be a true warrior."

"I don'...wanna be like that. I don' wanna be a fucking freak like you! I wanna go home to my Momma, please, please can I go home?"

Allana ignored his pleas. "Come, Arrow. In your culture, is there not an initiation to become a warrior for your street gangs? We have this as well. Are we really so different?" She clamped down on his cock again and felt his body jerk. "You see, Arrow? You cannot hide your lust from me..."

Arrow said nothing, burying his face into the mattress and snuffling. He remained hard and fully engorged inside of her, and a tiny bit of him was filled with pleasure at the grinding and massaging Allana's sex was giving him, spurring him closer to orgasm.

She sensed his basic need and started to move against him, mashing her breasts against his back as she bucked and jerked on his cock. "Ohh...mmm...yes, my child. Give to me. I seek...the young, the fresh. They are the most eager, the most devoted and loyal. They are out to prove themselves at all costs, that they matter, that they can do anything. They are filled with promise." She stepped up her pace, thrusting her hips harder and faster, raping the young boy as she built up towards her own release. "In time..." she whispered, "You will know...our ways..."

With a loud growl, she clamped her sex tightly over his cock and came hugely, spurting out several gushings of her heat and scent until it soaked him. Arrow had never felt anything like it. Without thinking, he tensed and held onto her arm as he came in a wild, dazed frenzy, pumping his cum hot and deep inside of her. Allana quickly reached down, slapping her paw over his balls and squeezing, milking his load until he would come over and over, streams of his seed filling her and then finally dripping from her.

By the time he was done cumming, and Allana had wrapped a leg around his own, Arrow felt something peculiar in his chest. His heart was no longer beating.

"Allana...?" he whispered.

"Rest..." he heard her whisper, and then closed his eyes again.

**

Detectives Miller and Gomez looked dazedly at the steaming carnage around the large room. Everywhere there was blood. It painted the walls and the high rafters. It pooled over the concrete floor and ran in rivulets down one of the storm drains, still dripping. By the stairwell lay Drain's head, still frozen in an expression of shock. Amid the folding chairs, bits and pieces of bodies, tattooed arms and legs, half-torsos, and fingers and toes lay like scattered ancient burial ruins.

"Jesus, Miller," Gomez whispered, "What the fuck is going on?"

Miller just shook his head slowly, then nod-gestured to Drain's head. "That's Drain, right? And if I miss my guess...those tats are Reed Street. This might be the whole gang..." He grimaced and turned away before he got sick. "Get CSI here. And God-dammit this time, we're investigating...this is no animal bullshit. This is...something else..." He looked off, lost in thought.

"Will?" Gomez looked worriedly at him.

"Nothing...I...I was just thinking of something my mother told me, when I was a kid and growing up." He started walking towards the stairwell, carefully avoiding Drain's head. "I'd seen news on TV, about a multiple-homicide, really bloody and messy, kinda like this one. I asked Mom why this happened and she just shrugged and said, "This is the way the night moves..."

Gomez chuckled uneasily, "What does that mean?"

"How the hell should I know. Maybe she was just saying most of this shit happens at night, and I should accept it, or something like that."

They went up the stairs and noticed bits of fur, stooping down to take samples with them. Gomez sighed as he opened a small plastic bag and put them inside. "My mom told me, "Qualquer má ação um demônio poderia fazer, já fizemosem Miami."

"Is that Spanish?"

"No, it's Porteguese. It means, "Any evil deed a demon could do, we have already done in Miami."

Miller looked at him, frowning, not saying anything, then he and Gomez left the sub-basement.

**

"At the top of the news at this hour, police in Phoenix are still baffled over the mysterious death and mutilation of a group of teenagers-"

The truck driver tapped on the radio and dialed instead to a classic rock station, listening to Bob Segar and the Silver Bullet Band belt out "Night Moves". He grinned and sang along:

"I woke last night to the sound of thunder, How far off I sat and wondered, Started humming a song from 1962, Ain't it funny how the night moves, When you just don't seem to have as much to lose, Strange how the night moves, With autumn closing in..."

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the acoustic guitar. Looking ahead, he spotted through the rain-streaked windshield a lone figure by the side of the road, cowering from the lightning under a torn poncho. He slowed down and pulled over, quickly opening his truck's passenger-side door.

He watched in the rear-view as the figure sprinted towards him and climbed inside, shaking off water.

"Oh my God, thank you, thank you so much!" The young woman smiled as she settled in. She quickly removed her drenched poncho and long, silky black hair spilled down her shoulders. "I can't thank you enough!"

"Not a problem," the driver laughed, instantly drawn to her soaked t-shirt and the huge breasts showing through. "You broke down?"

She grinned. "Nah, just was out walking in the desert and got caught in the rain."

"Out here?! Lady, there's not a house within 10 or 20 miles. Hell, you know how big Texas is."

"I know, I know..." she giggled and crossed shapely, dripping-wet legs. "So where are you headed?"

"Mexico, picking up some feedstock. The name's Randy. I can let you off at the nearest gas-up, if that's alright?"

"That's just fine, Randy, thank you. Oh, I'm Direa. Direa Wolfe." She chuckled, looking out the window at the forks of lightning lighting up the night sky. "Give me your address and I'll send you a check for your service, my genteel knight."

Randy chuckled, "Aw, hell, you don't need to go paying me, Direa. It's my pleasure. Wolf, huh? So you're a she-wolf, are you?"

Direa's nearly black eyes bore into his as the truck pulled away from the shoulder and back to the road. Her smile widened. "Oh, I'm sure you'll find out soon..."

They laughed together in the darkness as the thunder rolled through massing storm clouds, and drove onwards through the sheets of rain into the distance.

END