1965.
"What's your name again?" The males voice cut through the air like diamonds do to glass. His blood would have taste nice on her lips, but one quick thought about those piercing screams and she fights back the wolf that keeps beckoning to come out. She hadn't gotten the control that she was told she could attain yet, but she was improving in becoming herself again. Or at least some version.
"Violet." She answered. Her eyes kept firmly on the man at hand as his drifted towards her bare legs. The past few months had shown her that her parents had been wrong about men and their intentions, not all of them saw something unclothed and assumed it was an invitation, but this man seemed to be the poster boy for their cause. Older, alone, leering. There were times when Violet wished she was able to tell the wolf which human beings to kill. She hated herself for that.
"Violet. Matches the color of your eyes." It doesn't. "Please sit, I'll go get my camera."
She had been desperate enough for cash that she had accepted the man's offer to photograph her in exchange for a couple of bucks. It was well paid, easy work without strings or commitments. Though she doubted the conditions of such a job had been fully expressed. She wouldn't say yes to him, and if he forced himself upon her then he would be paying out more than his wealth, but it didn't stop the nervousness that came from such an encounter from rising into her throat.
She sat on the chair, one that looked like it had been taken from a movie set. Violet couldn't afford such a luxury of a day at the theater but she had fawned over the pictures that she saw plastered on the newspapers. Bridget Bardot and her feline flicks and shameless shoulders; if Violet were still Violet she would have looked at an actress like that and not felt any jealousy, but at this moment she felt it seethe between her pores.
She could hear the man's footsteps patter towards her as she straightened herself out. Her hair was loose, her face smothered in make up that she had stolen from one of those fancy department stores. Nothing Violet ever did could make her look beautiful, but she knew that men like this one disagreed. She was the object of desire as he was for her wolf. Knowing which one was the true monster was one of the rare times Violet couldn't place all her belief in the pure evilness of the demon within.
"So Violet, have you ever had your photo taken before?"
"Yes."
"So you know to expect a very bright flash?"
She huffed as she replied, annoyed at his condescending tone. "Yes."
"Alright then. Smile."
She didn't do as much as raise the corners of her lips when the light flashed. He doesn't notice, his gaze grazed over her body rather than focusing on her face. He stroked her heel with one gentle sweep. It must have taken a lot of energy for him to keep his tongue from rolling out of his mouth and drooling all over her. Then he said something surprising.
"Wolf, right?" Violet almost threw up from the shock. "Wha- excuse me?" She wrapped her arms around her body, feeling the claws as they begged to be released. Threats were always around her. Packs she didn't belong to stalked her every move, hunters traced her steps and drunken men tried to lay their hands upon her breasts only to be greeted by a howling creature and a bloody end. This man, whoever he was, didn't fall into any of the categories, making her heart beat with anticipation of something cruel, as surprises so often were.
"You're a shapeshifter. Don't act coy with me, I can smell the blood on your bones beneath your skin. So... unless you are some other brutal form of animal, I'm guessing you're just a common werewolf." He smiles the deadliest of smiles. The kind that make you forgive a man before he's even hurt you. "Though you Violet are not so common. You almost had me fooled for a while there."
If Vi's eyes truly could turn violet, they would have at that moment; violet for a lust for violence. Her skin turned cold, the hairs on her neck pricking upwards, she tried to contain her fear in the huge lump that was emerging in her throat. The one that came when she most desperately wanted to scream.
"What do you want?" She asked. Bluntly. "I want? Nothing. Well, some company I guess. Someone to talk to. It can be hard to find a decent shapeshifter these days and humans aren't exactly the most understanding of people." He places his camera on the side, keeping it upright to make sure it doesn't fall the way Violet's dignity feels like it's descending. "I'm sure you get that too. How different we've become. Lone wolves, if you pardon my pun." He laughs but Violet doesn't find him amusing. "What are you?" She realised she hadn't moved from the chair, glued to it in a terror stricken incapacity. Her situation needed to change. She needed to change - stop being so trusting of humans when she can't be sure that's what they are.
"A shapeshifter like you. I can change into a hawk, hence why I have such an eye for beautiful things. Things like you." Violet released her disgust into the air, clasping her hand to her mouth as she tried to capture the sound. She wasn't sure if it was his incessant need to flirt with her, or his reference to her as a 'thing', though it would fit her monstrosity well under different circumstances, as if she was some object to be toyed with. She found the strength to move and sped out of the building before the wolf decided to make his appearance. Without mastering the art of transformation, there was no telling when her demon would overtake and slay whoever came into her path. No innocent blood would be spilled tonight, not tonight. Not on the day her human self was born. She was home quicker than usual, running till her feet had become numb to the blistering pain that consumed them. She coward up to her kitchen corner, forming herself into a small ball and breathed with staggered injections of oxygen that she couldn't get enough of. The hawk landed on her window exactly an hour later carrying a small note. Violet, Do you believe that people can change your life? Terrence. She couldn't answer, or she didn't want to, but somehow he knew. Whether it was from the small glance of desperation she gave him as she looked up from reading the note, or the way she folded over the corners with such precision whilst sitting in untidiness, she didn't need to believe. She just needed to be given a small slither of a chance that she could trust someone. Anyone.









