Free The Ultimate Werewolf by Byron Preiss (ed)

was not holding the skin, it clung like a living thing to his back.
    The moonlight beams, pale catalytic arrows, pierced him. His blood thumpthumped. The great artery of his neck jumped like a fox caught in a bag. He reeled, and he fell through a cloud of shining silvery smokepuffs. His head and neck hairs rose; the curly pubic hair straightened out. An exquisitely pleasureful sensation rippled through him. He swelled like the throat sac of a marsh bullfrog. His nose ran; the fluid oozed over his lips, which were puffing outward.
    Without his will, his arms lifted and straightened. His legs expanded as if blood had poured through the skin. His bowels contracted and expelled his feces with the sound of an angry cat spitting. He emptied his blade in a mighty arc. Then his penis became enormous and lifted toward the moon until it had almost touched his belly and seemed to his darkening senses to howl shrilly.
    Howling deeply with his mouth, he fell hard backwards on the ground. The wolf skin was still fastened to him as if it were a giant bloodsucking bat. He felt forces shooting through the ground and then through him like saw-topped oscillograph waves, chaotic at first then organizing themselves into parallel but curving lines. They shook his body until he had to claw deep into the dirt with his outstretched hands to keep from falling off the planet.
    He shot out his spermatic fluid, again and again, as if he were mating with Mother Earth Herself. His human spermatozoa were gone, and his glands were already pouring Wolf fluid into his ducts.
    After that, he knew nothing as Man.
    Only the moon saw his hair and skin melt until he looked like a mass of jelly that had been formed into the figure of a man. After a minute or so, the jelly quivered, and it kept on quivering for some time. It shone as pale and semisolid as lemon jello. Or as some primeval slug that had crawled out of the earth and was dying.
    But it lived. The furious metabolic fires in that jelly had already devoured some of the fat that Varglik had accumulated so swiftly. The fires would eat up all of it and then attack some of the normal fat before the process was completed. In the dawn of Varglik's awareness of what he was heir to, he had tried to diet. He reasoned that if he lacked the fat, he would lack the energy needed to carry out the metamorphosis. But the sleeping Wolf in him had defeated him. Varglik could no more stop eating great quantities of food than he could stop sweating.
    The jelly darkened as it changed shape. The arms and legs shrank. The head became long and narrow, and newly formed teeth shone like steel spears. The buttocks dwindled, and from the incipient spine, now a dark line in the mass, a tentacle extruded. This would become the tail, smooth at first, then hairy. Other darknesses appeared in his head, trunk, legs, and arms. These were at first swirling, the cells shifting as they were reformed by the magnetic lines generated by the Wolf in him.
    The wolf did not become conscious until the change was completed. The wolf skin had become a living part of the living jelly and then of the metamorphosis. That completed, what had fallen as two-legs rose as four-legs. He shook himself as if he had just emerged from swimming.
    He sat down on his lurry haunches and howled. Then he prowled around, sniffing at the feces and the fluids. He investigated the car despite its repulsive and overpowering stench of gasoline and oil.
    A moment later, he was running through the woods. He ran and ran. He loped through a world that had no time. He saw the bushes and trees and rocks he passed as living beings which moved. He saw the moon as an orb that had not existed until then. He had no concept of a changeless moon rising from above the Earth in its orbit. It was a new thing. It had been born with him.
    But the wolf knew what it wanted. Flesh and blood. And, being a werewolf, it desired human flesh above all flesh. Yet, like all creatures two-legged or