Ginger Snaps: The Feral Bond 2

Here’s another excerpt. In this scene, Brigitte is very close to her final change. Like Unleashed, she’s been imprisoned in a mental health facility. The psychiatric hospital she’s trapped has been isolated by a blizzard. She has the run of the whole facility here.

Meanwhile, the spirits that have been haunting the place are in their own frenzy. Like the werewolves, I’ve played with the concept of ghosts. Even the friendly ones are a little twisted. They’re perverse, gratified by death, and therefore, very fond of werewolves like Brigitte, who create a lot of it. The spirits also have certain unusual powers, usually benign. Unless they’re the supercharged ghosts haunting this particular hospital.

Read the story after the jump.

The heart was a delicacy, the best of the muscle meat. When [Brigitte] finished, everything behind the counter was splattered with blood. The throb in her gut chugged with the relentless energy of a locomotive. Her body had what it needed for the final change.

Now to get what I need.

The panicked yells from the other side of the counter segued into the echoing reverberation in the hallways. This died down into the background noise of heartbeats and forced breaths. Hushed tones sounded over those vital noises. “We gotta kill this thing.”

“How? You see those claws? You see how fast it moves?”

“It can’t take all of us at once.”

I can’t, can I? Sounds like a challenge.

She heard the specifics of a plan to waylay her.

“How do we even know it’ll even come down this way?”

Don’t worry. I will.

Footsteps shuffled and doors creaked shut. She licked her chin, cheeks, whiskers and then cleaned her paws so they’d be at maximum sharpness.

Two wraiths crawled through the counter with their limbs splayed out like reptiles, their tongues stretched out toward the corpse. She didn’t know what they were going to do, it just offended her. She rushed into the spirits and spun as though chasing her tail. Disrupted beyond re-coherence, they hissed like snakes and faded away.

She then stood upright and vaulted the counter. A ghost knelt by a boy who lay with his eyes open and blank, the spirit’s hand was in the boy’s forehead. This vexed her as much as the wraiths did, but ghosts were allies, and she feared their rage.

She walked by them on two legs—with a distinct, inhuman swing to her gait—down the hallway where the boys set their trap. Doors to the rooms were closed, but her nose and ears told her they were all occupied. She could see boys peek at her as she passed. They ducked when she gazed back. She heard every word of their frightened whispers.
“We can’t do this!” said one.

“Quit with the negativity!”

But only vital noises pulsed and sighed from the last two rooms in the hall. With hubris, she put her toe claws out to make them click against the floor, so they would make no mistake where she was. She drew closer to the trap. “Get ready” was whispered from the room back to the right; “She’s coming, she’s coming,” from the left.

Yeah, I’m coming all right, motherfuckers.

At two arms’ lengths from the T, somebody from around the near corner—to her left—shouted, “Get it!”

Two boys leaped out from that direction and one other attacked from the right side. On her flanks, four boys rushed her from rooms on either side of the hall, and three followed in a second wave. She didn’t foresee their numbers and coordination. Also to her surprise, they were armed with either furniture legs or kitchen knives. The leader, front-left, wielded a meat cleaver. Her body shot into action.

The boy raising the cleaver died first. She stomped down impaling his foot, while her flattened paw made a knife-strike with the claws retracted, skewering his throat.

He dropped the cleaver.

She extended her claws inside and yanked while. Her right claw swept outward and scored on another boy’s throat sending splatters of blood flying.

Her waist twisted clockwise with unnatural speed and flexibility, lending extra impetus to her right elbow. This clubbed the head of the closest boy behind her. Knocked out, he fell into her fourth assailant, who was ambushing her from the her back left.

Her upper body torqued to face the boys behind her; her left leg and arm snapped around. The flailing corpse on her claws crashed into the boy with the cut throat. Like a domino, his body then flew into her last frontal attacker, taking him down. She then retracted her claws, which unhooked and catapulted her first into two other boys, taking them down as well.

The cleaver hit the floor with a clang, and the fight was over, just as line of blood splattered against the wall.

To the human eye the slaughter looked like a weird, quiet explosion—bodies flying everywhere—with Brigitte contorting at its center. Instead of a bang, the grotesque crack of her joints and the sound of bone on bone was the dominant sound. Three boys were dead or mortally wounded, one was unconscious, and four had been knocked down. Out of ten only two boys still stood who hadn’t reached her yet. They halted, gasped, dropped their weapons and fled. She ignored them, cracked her back and shoulder, and spun her right leg back into joint with a loud pop. She swiftly pounced from one downed survivor to the other, mopping up.

But the last one she didn’t kill immediately. She sat on him, claws at his throat and reveled in the scent of his terror, which made him docile. He was blond and reminded her neither of Sam or Roy.

He’s perfect!

Brigitte leaned down over him and just let him breathe her scent as Ginger told her. Brigitte recalled how how long ago Ginger’s scent made her head spin. She imagined what effect it must have on human males. The spice of his terror passed away. The sweeter smell of pheromones and testosterone bloomed from him like flowers in the spring. She sat upright. His eyes were crossed. She laughed as he shook his head. His eyes straightened but didn’t go back into focus.

“Is my perfume a little too strong for you?” she taunted.

The hammer-like throb in her gut moved behind her vagina. The signal was now clear. She pulled his shirt open, sending the buttons flying. According to Ginger, orgasm would make the final change pleasurable rather than agonizing.

By touch, she confirmed his erection. “Aww! Do you think I’m beautiful?” And with a single yank, she tore open his pants and underwear.

Her fur tickled as it shifted all over her. She was amazed by his size. “Get prepared for the wildest fuck of your life, and enjoy it while you can, love, because we definitely won’t be doing it again.”

Not until she inserted him all the way did his eyes clear for a lucid moment. He screamed.

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