Vanilla's Notebook

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"I need your location, Roger. What's your coordinates?"

But Roger Redd couldn't risk responding. The werewolf was in dangerously close proximity to his cover; any small sound could alert it to his whereabouts. And--thought Roger, catching a glimpse of its glinting claws--that was a fate he certainly did not want to greet. He gave an obligatory glance down at his shoulder. It was bandaged, but the wound was far from clean. Roger gritted his teeth with a shake of his head.

"God, it could cut me to ribbons with one fell swoop," he shivered, his heart a war drum pummeling in his chest. The battered man analyzed his surroundings, creating a scenario for attack in his head.

Cold fear doused him when he realized that there was no way to catch the beast off-guard in enough time without it ripping him to bloody shreds. The only possible option that remained was to wait for it to come to him.

"Shit."

"C'mon, Redd. I need--" Roger frantically palmed at his receiver until he found the volume dial, and muted it. Although it was on an earpiece, these monsters were capable of picking up vibrations with their acute sense of hearing. Carvers' loud mouth had gotten him in trouble before, and he didn't want it to become the death of him too.

The gargantuan canine swung its head from side to side, its mouth opened slightly. Only when Roger heard a deep snort did he realize that it was trying to pick up a scent.

His scent.

Although Roger was sheltered behind a knoll, there was a strong possibility that it wasn't large enough to prevent something with a sensitive nose from detecting his location. Especially if this something was upwind and was now staring into his direction.

Its chest began to rise and collapse as if hyperventilating. The lurching sound that followed was horrifying; it sounded like many different noises overlayed over top of one another. Roger could make out the snarl of a panther, the pecking of a woodpecker, and the screeching of an eagle in midflight, all being made by one fearsome beast. It dared to take a step towards Roger, and when he reflexively crawled backwards, the sound intensified.

It was laughing at him.

The wolfs' blazing, flaxen eyes shone like glassy orbs in the night. The sinister grin it mustered as it approached was far too close to being human. "Heh, hee, haaaah," it wheezed, heaps of hungry saliva dripping from its open maw.

Despite the circumstances, Redd remained stonefaced, although a single bead of nervous sweat threatened to well on his brow. "This one's...God, it's sentient," was his exasperated thought as his finger rested on the trigger. With bated breath, he waited.

Each minute that passed was excruciating. The wolf raised its forepaws, attempting to adjust to a bipedal form before falling back to its feet and hissing in frustration. It still had a teasing gleam in its eye; it knew that Roger couldn't outrun it, so it was taking its time to approach, torturing its prey.

Roger tightened his quaking grip on his pistol. Just a few more steps...

"R...R...Reeeeh....Redd..." It was above him; its hot breath on his exposed hands. It sat atop the knoll, licking his claws beneath the milky light of the moon.

"Silver."

It had always astonished Roger that a gunshot sounded a lot less dynamic than what people typically envisioned, just a loud 'pop' that sounded more like a balloon bursting than a lethal weapon. But here it was, sending the wolf stumbling backwards with an unholy screech. It compressed its forehead with frantic paws in a wild attempt to dull the pain.

Roger took this opportunity to leap out of his cover, ( a searing pain shooting down the length of his injured arm as he did so), brandishing his trusty firearm with a seasoned warcry. The butt of his weapon connected with the soft spot on the stunned lycanthropes head, its shrieks escalating as it landed with a dull thud.

Roger sighed, swiping the back of his hand over his perspiry head. His hand immediately found its way to his receiver. "Redd...I need..."

"I got him already. He's down," Redd replied casually, shooting an icy glare down at the twitching beast.

Silence reigned for a few moments, before Carver chortled from the other side, "You sneaky bastard."

A smirk crept up Rogers face. "I try my best."