Hahah! Not even close to the final chapters. The storyline is just beginning. It is FARRRR from over Too bad, huh

Awe, why thank you!!! Without further ado, here's some more

Though he knew the scream could belong to anyone in particular, this was different. He could sense the change in atmosphere. He could smell the fear.
    He remained in the darkness of his car, his mind torn between helping the screaming victim and returning home to allow the shift. He could feel the ache in his bones as they screamed for the change, but a moral blockade was hindering such an action.
    Could he allow this woman, as he presumed, to be assaulted by the culprit? Could he bear the thought of allowing her to potentially die because of his inaction?
    His keen eyes swiftly scoured the black night and he saw a flash of movement in an alley ahead to his left. A woman was being forcefully dragged into the shadows where her fate was inevitable. The silhouette of a man was visible behind her and he could see the glint of a pistol in the man’s grasp, situated at her temple.
    Bile mounted in Alex’s chest. He could feel the anger within distorting his judgment and a fine cloud of darkness mist his vision. He struggled to suppress the shift and the beast obscuring his mind. If he allowed such, he might kill both criminal and victim with little hesitation. And though the beast desired for the change – to lunge for the man and rip out his throat, hear his garbled cries and feel him struggle vainly beneath three hundred and fifty pounds of rippling fury – he knew he must refrain.
    He exhaled sharply when he realized his breath had been caught in his throat. His fists were balled tightly at his side and his jaw was clenched with indecision. He would help the woman, but he refused to kill. The woman was elegantly attired, and he presumed her an unfortunate tourist who had gotten lost.
    He could see her struggling retreat deeper into the shadows and saw the greedy gleam in the thug’s eyes as he pulled her away from any means of escape. Alex noticed the man’s finger itching towards the trigger, prepared to take the woman’s life. She was sobbing, pleading with the man to spare her life, but he appeared to have taken no consideration as his young face remained untainted by emotion.
    Alex’s heart fluttered and he knew he had little time to react. Hastily, he noiselessly exited his vehicle, gathering his bearings before he slunk towards the darkness.
    He moved with immense stealth, his footfalls silent as he flitted across the street. He kept his breath steady, even as his heart thundered in his ears and his skin began to boil with the resistance needed to maintain control.
    Crouching, he strode furtively towards a building beside the alleyway. He glanced momentarily into the shadows, observing as the man had his back to Alex and dragging the woman alongside. She made no protest as the nozzle of the gun was pressed dangerously to her skull, she only whined slightly as her fate became evident.
    The hairs along Alex’s neck hackled as he planned his manoeuvre. He slammed his eyes shut for a brief moment to clear his hazy vision. Inhaling deeply, he emerged from behind the building and crept towards the oblivious man ten feet away. Though he walked with long strides, Alex easily kept pace with him, his luminous green eyes transfixed on his quarry.
    Each footfall was precisely planned, as not to disrupt his peaceful approach. He was nearing, only five feet from the man. His muscles stiffened as he prepared for the instantaneous assault.
    But the woman, unaware of the saviour in the shadows, realized her imminent demise and began struggling wildly in the man’s grasp. She continued to struggle, clawing at his face and emitting a shrill scream.
    Alex winced. ‘Don’t do that!’ He silently urged. ‘He’ll kill you for it!’
    Before he could react, the man hurled her against the cement ground and situated the nozzle of the gun to the writhing woman. He snarled like a rabid dog at the diagonal lacerations on his face as he pulled the trigger.
    Alex lurched forward in a rush of adrenaline as the trigger compressed. The cold air lashed his face as he hurled toward the man at unfathomable speeds, feeling his shirt pressed tautly against his expanding body.
    In a viscous movement, he wrenched the gun free from the man’s hand as it fired with a deafening crackle into the night sky. He winced from the cacophonous scream of gunfire, but continued his assault as the gun clattered to the ground across the alleyway, sheathed in a blanket of darkness.
    Before the thief could comprehend what was happening, Alex’s fist collided with the man’s jaw. He grunted and reeled to the ground, his back striking the brick wall. He remained motionless and a small trickle of blood bubbled from his parted lips.
    Unconcerned with the man’s health, Alex whirled towards the frightened woman, watching as she remained in a terrified stupor, gazing with awe at her hasty saviour. 
    Alex extended a hand and helped her to her feet, quickly grasping her trembling shoulders to maintain her attention.
    “Run!â€� He instructed, “Phone the police and don’t look back. Keep running until you find somewhere safe to hide, okay?â€�
    The woman, silently weeping, nodded her stricken face, her lips trembling as she spoke. “Thank you,â€� she choked as she broke out in a fit of sobs and scurried away. Alex maintained his watchful gaze on her until he saw her flailing figure disappear down the street.
    As Alex revolved to face the unconscious man, he saw that the thief had regained his composure and had recovered his fallen pistol.
    The thug whirled around, wielding his lethal weapon and directing it at Alex’s chest.
    Alex withdrew from the man, not fearing what the gun would do to him, but what he would do to him. The moment the gun aimed at his chest, he felt an explosion of fury, but scarcely managed to contain it.
    The thief approached with steady footfalls, his gun held firmly in his grasp. His hands did not shake with telltale fear or uncertainty, and Alex knew from the hard gleam in his solemn eyes that he was well experienced in such scenarios.
    The man was young, no older than Alex. He was surprisingly well-attired and the slight stubble on his face was the only sign of neglect. His gaunt features were marred with anger at his escaped victim and the wound to his lip. Other than that, he appeared unhesitant.
    “You should not have done that,â€� he whispered hoarsely and he flicked his gun. “Now,â€� he said, a malicious smile returning to his lips. “You can give me the money...and your car.â€� He peered over at the car with lust-filled eyes.
    Alex maintained the hateful stare, seeing the shroud of darkness clawing at his vision, the beast threatening to overwhelm him. If the man fired, only to find the bullets did no harm, Alex would have no choice but to kill him. Nor could he flee and allow the criminal to escape. He was indecisive.
    The thug’s finger lightly squeezed the trigger as he urged Alex to surrender his belongings.     But Alex remained unhindered by the gesture and felt the flood of anger overcome him. He could no longer make logical decisions. The rage pulsed through his veins, unrestrained. The change was ascending upon him and he gave into the inevitable fate. “No,â€� he growled, his voice thick with malice.
    Two shrill screams of gunfire perforated the silent city. Sparks emitted from the nozzle of the gun, soon followed by plumes of smoke that billowed up into the atmosphere.
    Though the piercing crackles disturbed his sensitive ears, he could hear the two cartridges clatter to the ground as they ricochet off of his chest, tearing two uniform holes in his shirt.
    A small twinge of pain seared in his chest and when he peered down, he spotted two frayed, coin-sized holes in his work shirt. The bullets had scarcely penetrated the skin, resulting in two meagre surface wounds that would take moments to heal. Blood didn’t even have time to trickle from the shallow wounds before they closed flawlessly.
    Alex’s transfixed glance, peering down at his frayed shirt, flickered up to his quarry with an unfathomable expression.
   
    The thief’s lower lip trembled as he gazed at the unscathed man before him. He watched with horror as the two bullets hit the ground, failing to do little more than scarcely pierce the man’s flesh.    
    “W-what the hell are you?â€� The thief stammered, fear choking out his words. ‘No man could endure a bullet without wounds.’ And when those hateful eyes flashed onto the thief, he gasped.
   
    Alex’s pallid eyes glimmered with incandescent fury, while the rest of his angered features remained sheathed in the darkness. Only the slightest indication of a warping face was visible in the deep shadows.
   
    The thief continued to gaze in those molten lava eyes, which mirrored his impending demise. He muttered incoherently, withdrawing and firing vainly at the horror in front of him until he heard the dull clicks of an empty gun. His dark eyes were agape with terror at what beheld him...a demon! And though his feet urged him to run as fast as he could from the monstrous being, his body remained in a terrified stupor, eyes transfixed on the amplifying being.
    It wasn’t until a feral snarl emitted from the beast’s throat that he fled in terror, darting down the street in hopes of reaching an occupied building before the creature could discover him.
    But even now his hopes were dim, and though adrenaline pulsed through his body, moving him faster than he thought possible, he knew his demise was imminent. He knew by looking into those horridly yellow eyes that his fate was sealed, and yet he continued to run.

    Alex felt the anger engulf him with such ferocity he had no time to prepare for it. Like the swift sweep of death, a dark film obscured his vision. His temples throbbed, but he remained erect, his chest heaving sporadically through the ripples that jolted through his body. And though he meagrely attempted to regain control, he was hastily plunged into the abyss of his subconscious.
    The beast’s spine writhed and bubbled under the olive-hued skin before it curved downward, forcing its stature into a slight hunch. The skeletal structure began to reconstruct itself into a superior being – a natural killer.
    Pain shot through the beast’s skull, though it only added to the manifesting rage until an inhuman roar escaped its lengthening muzzle. Its jaws protruded outward, creating a long, slender muzzle, adorned with glimmering knife-sized teeth.
    Rounded ears jutted from atop its head and razor-like talons slithered from its fingertips, replacing the dull, nubby fingernails.
    As the beast’s shoulders, chest, and torso amplified, the clothes that were pressed tautly against its skin were shredded beneath the rippling mass. Its bones crunched audibly in his legs as they lengthened and became enwrapped by thick bands of muscle. Shoes and pants fell away as muscles developed and a ruffed tail extended from its tailbone.
    Its hands became massive digit-grade paws and finally, chestnut fur exploded from every pore like shoots of grass sprouting from the earth. A thick, silver-speckled mane obscured the beast’s tree-trunk throat, flitting slightly in the cool breeze.
    The muscles along its chest and abdomen were prominent beneath the short, coarse fur, as with its arms. It stood, by far, taller than any man, stronger than any beast, and moved with surreptitious speed.
    The world around it became alive with vivid messages. No noise failed to escape its keen hearing and every decrepit scent flitted up its nostrils. Every shadow stood as though illuminated by the full fury of the blazing moon.
    The lycanthrope’s black lips curled into a menacing snarl, flaunting its oversized fangs. The silver fur bristled around its throat as its back legs coiled in a pulverizing lunge.
    Though the victim managed to scamper down the end of the street, the beast lurched from the shadows in hasty pursuit of its escaping victim. It moved like a blur through the night, its massive feet scarcely touching the pavement as it loped towards its whimpering prey.
    The twenty foot gap narrowed as the beast closed in, emitting deep snarls to further terrify its victim. The werewolf’s face twisted into a wicked smile as it lagged behind, and in one lunge, it could kill the fleeing man. But it continued in close pursuit as the man’s whimpers became futile screams.
    The beast could hear the wild hammering of the man’s heart and sense the fear rolling from his vulnerable body. It would take a mere squeeze of its frothing maw to end his life, and yet it abstained from doing so.

    He was running from the monstrous being pursing him. He could hear the torturous clicking of its curved talons striking the pavement and the husky breathing behind him.
    Although a searing stitch ripped through his side, he continued to run with eager desperation. He was panting and clutching his ribs, refusing to peer behind him into the pallid eyes that would consume him like wildfire. He refused to see his death in the beast’s eyes, as he knew he would.
    At that moment, as numerous thoughts flitted through his mind, he regretted the very decision of every choosing such a life path. He had always known the dangers of living amongst criminals – being like them, but he never imagined to meet such a fate. And now, he’d give it all up to remain alive.
    He pressed on, shrieking and fear coursing through his body. His muscles burned and screamed in protest, but he persisted through the darkened streets until he caught a glimpse of a faint glow up ahead. Light spilled from a window not fifty feet from him. Hope swelled through him, but it was soon diminished as a snarl rang out from behind him, and a cold wave of terror shot down his spine, nearly paralyzing him.
    But he was nearing the building, just yards from the front steps of potential safety. He risked a glance behind him and screamed in utter terror.

    In a whirl of fur, the beast lunged, easily closing the ten foot gap between itself and the boy.
    The werewolf’s eyes were blazing like an inferno as gold talons reached for its prey.
    The boy peered back and his eyes grew wider with horror. He stopped abruptly, throwing his hands in front of his face in a futile attempt to protect himself from approaching death.
    No one heard the man’s screams reverberate throughout the empty street as the beast engulfed him in a mass of snarling fur and muscle.
    The thief fell dead before he could usher another scream.

I can't speak for Punx but personally when I write I have a few major scenes, in addition to the overall idea/plot, that I know I want to put in and that I have a fairly good idea of the sequence for (how well developed my idea for the sequence is can vary, I usually write up very rough drafts of these scenes as soon as the flow of ideas slows down significantly). Then for the other scenes I usually make them as I go with the idea of building toward the major scenes in mind.

Yes I keep the major scenes and plot in mind, I include scenes that just have an important role as major ones and I know what order they will come in. The other scenes that go between them I usually just have a very general idea for that just comes to me beforehand, I don't know exactly how anything will play out or even how many scenes there will be. Also since there are more of these in between scenes than major ones I make slight adjustments to the world in which the story occurs as need be, and certain aspects of the world, such as geography, I just make up as they become relevant to the story.

but hijacking threads is so much fun

Edo wrote:

Ok, thanks.
I'm sorry to kind of hijack your thread, Punx. Perhaps I should have posted this in one of the stickies in this forum...

No worries, I don't mind

Aweee *Is so flattered* Well thank you SOOOO much for those astoundingly kind words. You don't know what they mean to me, really I had to read it aloud to my family, grinning the whole time. I know it's been a while since I posted, so I'll post some more just for you! And by the way, I'm sure your writing is astounding. I have so many errors in my story you'd be surprised. This segment is REALLLY long. Sorry.

Chapter 4
    Crowell probed the colourless solution beneath the bright lamplight of his expansive office.
His icy blue eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the potent depths, as if clarifying whether the drug was up to par.
    ‘So many years...millions of dollars,’ he mused. ‘Reconstructing the contents of Codoxin, and now it’s finally ready for human testing!’ The consideration of such seemed too good to be true. He had endured so many failures over fifteen years and the exertion of his resources, he had begun to doubt whether it would ever be ready for human trials.
    But now as his transfixed gaze studied the vial, he knew it was all that he could have hoped for. It was completely safe for human testing, as he had been informed. If such was true, he could use the drug to aid military combatants and those willing to pay through the nose for it.
    ‘Humanity’s always been looking for ways to become immortal. And now I’ve found the solution.’ He felt a cold smile tug at the corner of his lips at the prospect that he had completed the project – the one project he had vowed to see through despite those vile mutts.
    He briefly contemplated failure as it gnawed at his mind. He could not tolerate anything to stand in his way. He had made errors in the past, but he knew if need be, he could rectify the situation.
    As he reflected on past errors, he cursed himself for allowing the boy to live. He was a potential danger to the company’s secret. If revealed, he knew that his empire would be destroyed, everything he had worked so hard to attain, gone in a few spoken words.
    The mangy beasts he had fought to eliminate would be reproducing by the hoards and the hunters would be overwhelmed. Without him – without the serum – the werewolves would wreak havoc against the civilized world.
    He continued his perturbed deliberations. ‘I could always have him killed,’ he mused. But he knew it wasn’t that straightforward. It was difficult to kill a werewolf. He had invested millions on shipments of silver bullets to equip his guards, as regular bullets did little harm, and even then, he was aware of a werewolf’s swiftness. They could dodge a bullet and strike like a viper. 
    However, the boy hadn’t – from his knowledge – informed anyone about what occurred. ‘And I want to keep it that way,’ he thought.
    Alex was a significant liability to the company, capable of destroying it. Could he wait until Alex chose revenge? Or would it be too late by then? ‘But who would believe him?’ He considered the notion. ‘He still has no evidence – only his word over mine.’
    Crowell sighed with indecision and placed the tonic on his cherry wood desk. He mulled several considerations through his mind, gazing vacantly into the fire that crackled ahead to his left.
    As he was deep in his musings, the door across the large, lavish room opened silently. A figure attired in a black SWAT-like uniform stepped hesitantly through the door. Since the main source of light was the fireplace, the soldier’s face was obscured in a blanket of darkness.
    Despite this, Crowell could sense the unease emanating from him and he knew at that moment that something had gone wrong. His fists clenched slightly and his cold stare was fixed on the approaching officer.
    Stanley, his lead officer, stepped from the shadows into a small sphere of firelight, which revealed his perturbed expression. His thick brows were furrowed as he cleared his throat unnecessarily.
    “Sir,â€� he responded in a concerned voice, “we have a minor dilemma.â€�
    Crowell snarled as his observations were correct. He didn’t attempt to keep the icy edge from his voice. “What is it?â€� He exhaled sharply; displeased that he had been torn from his contemplations.
    Stanley grimaced and readjusted the collar of his suit from around his throat before he spoke, and Crowell knew then it was worse that he had initially anticipated. “The shipment of Codoxin serum has been intercepted.â€�
    He winced and recoiled slightly as Crowell leapt from his chair and advanced toward Stanley.
    Crowell had a malevolent twinkle in his eyes, colder than that arctic seas and subzero winds, as though a frigid wind had hurtled through the room.
    Stanley attempted to regain his composure under the intense gaze and yet he felt as though those vast blue pools were stabbing right through him. He had endured this numerous times – for years – but it never became easier. If anything, Crowell’s anger seemed to accelerate with each coming year. Every visit had always been a trial of his frayed nerves and tested his mental strength.
    Crowell, a half a foot shorter that his husky guard, probed him with menacing eyes. “You couldn’t stop them, though you had your silver bullets?â€� He tested. A vain was twitching in his temple and his face flushed with colour.
    Stanley averted his eyes to the ground, unable to meet the blazing gaze. He solemnly shook his head. “We were blind-sighted. They attacked without warning...â€� He was cut off as Crowell’s smooth, vehement voice interrupted him.
    “What do I train you for?â€� Crowell snarled, flashing his teeth and nearing Stanley. “You had guns and weapons and yet you were unable to injure a single werewolf?â€�
    Stanley nodded his head in silent affirmation. ‘Why the hell did I have to be the messenger?’ He thought bitterly. He attempted to explain as to why he was unable to react. “Sir, the werewolves attacked in complete darkness. They ripped the doors off of the van and attacked before we could react. I don’t know why they didn’t kill me...â€� He trailed off for a brief moment before resuming, still in obvious awe at the close encounter. “I think if we drive the vehicles in the day time...â€� he suggested.
     Crowell’s voice cut across him, “darkness conceals any chance of being spotted by nosey reporters. Even with unmarked vans, they have remarkable methods in which they can unbury one’s deepest, darkest secrets.â€� He whispered the last few words, his large, hooked nose nearing Stanley’s and his eyes ablaze with compassion. “I’d much rather take my chances with a pack of mangy mutts than the shark-infested waters of the press. If they discover the truth behind the drug, my company’s better than dead; which is why I’ve put you in charge. You’re supposed to do something about it.â€� Crowell hissed.
    He turned away from Stanley and strode over to his desk, grazing his fingertips over the fine wood finish of the desk. “Has it all been stolen?â€� He questioned vacantly, as though elsewhere in his mind.
    Although Stanley could detect no anger in his words, he knew once the truth was told, Crowell would be unable to constrain his fury. He took a deep breath to steady himself in preparation for the explosion of rage to come. “All of it was taken. Some guards were captured and the driver was killed. There was over one million dollars of serum in the vehicle, and what they didn’t take with them was destroyed. There was no way to salvage it.â€� He winced as he awaited Crowell’s predictable reaction.
    Crowell snarled gutturally, grabbed his lamp and hurled it into the fireplace. Blue sparks of electricity spewed from the bulb as it shattered against the brick interior fireplace. For a moment, the crackling fire extinguished and the room was plunged into near darkness.
    Though Stanley could scarcely see, he could sense Crowell’s outrage and shivered, he could feel the cold atmosphere encircling him, impeding on him.
    Seconds later, the lamp was engulfed in a ball of fire and the room was once again illuminated in a rich glow.   
    Crowell was breathing rapidly, muttering curses under his breath as he clutched the side of his desk. ‘Of everything to go wrong, they just had to take the serum.’ It was in such short supply as it was. He rubbed his forehead and took a deep breath before he enquired. “Did anyone see it happen?â€�
    Stanley cringed, wishing to avoid this topic. “No one saw the werewolves,â€� he assured.
    “What about the vehicle and the body?â€� Crowell pressed, his unfaltering eyes meeting Stanley’s.
    “Yes,â€� Stanley replied, his shoulders tense with fear and anticipation. “Shortly after the attack, the police arrived. Someone must have tipped them off. There’s no way I could have foreseen this. I was busy trying to contact more reinforcements. They taped off the vehicle before I could return to it. It’s a crime scene now.â€�
    Crowell knew Stanley was trying to exonerate himself of the fault. ‘Coward,’ he mused as he probed Stanley briefly before dismissing him. “You can leave,â€� he said with a sweep of his hand, trying to conceal his overwhelming rage. “I want you to do whatever necessary to nail those bastards. I don’t care what you have to do to locate those mutts. I want them dead!â€� He growled as Stanley all too willingly ambled towards the oaken doors and retreated without a second glance.
    Crowell revolved to face his office desk, his smooth features marred with rage. Papers were askew and had flitted to the floor during his enraged outburst.
    Although he still felt compelled to smash his fist through the desk, he refrained from doing so. Instead, he sauntered over toward his chair and seated himself.
    The leather exterior squealed under his weight as he examined his desk. The serum was lying on its side from his sudden explosion of anger.
    He grasped the serum. It was simmering slightly as he studied it in the dim light from the fireplace. He smiled maliciously as he stowed it away in the desk drawer. ‘I may have my complications now, but shortly the world will beg me for the serum.’
    He reflected not on the riches he’d have or the security he’d obtain, but he focused on the peace he would experience once it was completed. He would finally find the consolation he sought after fifteen long years since the night his life ceased to matter.
    He would expose the lycanthropes once his drug became wide-spread. He would no longer need to hire the soldiers to pursue them, as humanity would fear these beings and do what they could to rid of them.
    Just as he was closing the drawer containing the serum, a picture seized his attention. His eyes flickered to the small visible space in the photo where junk had accumulated atop of it. He opened the desk drawer further, removed the picture and gazed at the dated photo.
    His hands cleared a thick shroud of dust that had obscured the photo before gazing at it. A smiled tugged at the corner of his lips. A smile he wasn’t even sure existed until that moment. It was a smile long forgotten.
    He peered at the photo of his wife and two children before they were killed. A beautiful blond woman with a wide grin stared back at him, her astonishing hazel eyes like two orbs of love.
    His daughter, Star, was clinging to her mother’s side, her serious blue eyes gazing vacantly back at him, as though he could reach out and caress his daughter’s gentle skin.
    And the reflection of himself was situated in the picture, only a younger version. The blue eyes were not icy, nor cold. They were warm and inviting, like a blue Caribbean sea. A sincere smile was stretched on his handsome features as he clutched his family affectionately.
    Angst twisted in his gut as he traced his finger delicately along the surface of the glass frame, hoping one more time he could console his two small children and kiss his loving wife. As the anguish was hastily replaced with anger, he discarded the photo back into the drawer, refusing to reflect anymore of his misfortunes, and retrieved one last object.
    A silver dagger was placed in a transparent bag. From the tip of the large dagger to the hilt, it was stained with crimson.
    Over the years he had managed to capture and kill hundreds of werewolves, but failed to apprehend the assassin of whom the blood belonged to – the beast that stole his daughters and wife from him.
    ‘I’ll have my revenge soon,’ he assured himself, ‘it’s only a matter of time before he slips up.’
    He relished in the thought when he could face the ravenous murderer and watch as he tortured the beast who had slaughtered his family. And though a smile twisted on his face, it was not the one he longed for.
                     ***

Hmm, good point. I didn't really think about that. I'd say more warm, but the moment his behaviour changes so does the room? If that makes sense.

Ah, Ze Motive, it comes to life. Fantastic, I love your ability to create characters that actually live within the writing. Just as before Phenomenal.

More!!!

***
    The overpowering odour of blood filled his nostrils, rousing him from his hazy slumber. Alex’s nose wrinkled in distaste as the putrid smell repulsed him.
    He kept his eyes closed, afraid to experience the horror that beheld him. He could feel crusted blood saturate his face and chest, even pieces of flesh wedged uncomfortably beneath his fingernails.
    He listened to the steady drumming of his heart and the whoosh of air in and out of his lungs. He felt his cheek pressed against hardwood floors and could smell the lemon detergent used to clean it.
    With much reluctance, Alex forced his weary golden eyes to slither open. He immediately squinted under the blare of light that sliced through the window of his condo.
    He motioned to shield the blazing sunlight from his eyes, but his arms felt heavy and his muscles refused to cooperate, as though lead weights held them securely fastened to the floor.
    He groaned as he struggled to his feet, grasping the sofa for stability. His legs quivered with weakness, threatening to give way. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, peering around the room. His amber eyes resumed their luminous green hue as they adjusted to the piercing light. His skull throbbed and his tongue chaffed against his parched throat, which reminded him of a hangover. And since he no longer suffered from the effects of alcohol, he knew it could only be one other cause.
    As he examined his surroundings he furrowed his brows. He was in the living room, with a vague recollection of the previous night’s events. The room was spacious, adorned with a flat screen television along the wall, the sofa opposite from it, and a cherry wood antique cabinet on the wall adjacent to the television.
    The walls were deep, rich colours, as far from white as he could get. The colour had always seemed so alien and sterile to him that he refused to have any walls remain white.
    His calico cat, Ginger, was curled up on the leather sofa, apparently unaware to the current predicament.
    Alex’s perplexed glance scoured the room for any anomalies or indication as to how he got there. It wasn’t until his sceptical gaze flickered downward where he was once lying.
    His stomach plummeted. A pool of concealed blood stained the hardwood floors and the tope wall near the window was smeared with bloody paw prints. They crystalline window was shattered and the floors were scored – he assumed from his talons slicing into the wood. His eyes unwillingly followed the path where the trail of bloody footprints ended and where the blood pool began. The crystal shards of glistening glass were spewed across the floor, reflecting the vast array of the light spectrum. Some was stained pink as it intermingled with the blood.
    The overwhelming consideration struck him. ‘I killed someone!’ He came to that conclusion and none other, as no other explanation was apparent. Although he had no recollection of the recent night – besides frantically trying to get home before the shift consumed him – he was certain that he had killed someone.
    He wasn’t even sure who he had murdered, but whenever he did lose control, it resulted in someone else’s demise.
    A dizzying wave of grief struck Alex and he clutched the sofa tightly to prevent himself from staggering. His mind buzzed with thought while his heart began to scurry in his chest.
    Alex brought his human hands in front of his face. They were smeared with the horrid crimson. He peered at his hands as thought they were not connected to his body – as if they were an alien object.
    With his head reeling and repulsion twisting in his gut, Alex whirled around, ignoring the fact that he was stark naked, and darted through the large kitchen. He entered a narrow hallway and took the first door to his left into the lavish bathroom.
    His feet slapped noisily against the porcelain tile floor as he slammed the door behind him, pressing his back firmly against wooden barrier. He could not dare to glance back at the grotesque mess he made. But was it really him? Or was it something deeper, darker, and more sinister?
    He strode over to the mirror above the sink and gazed at his own reflection. Amongst the mess of blood, he could see his olive-hued skin shimmering with sweat. His gaze ascended up the thick bands of muscle on his bare chest, which was sprayed with blood, up to his face.
    Though his current shape rendered him human, he gazed beyond the facade and saw the shadowed silhouette of the beast looming overhead, its hackled muzzle snarling and those penetrating yellow orbs blazing with unrestrained fury.
    Alex glanced away, unwilling to see the beast that dwelled in the dark recesses of his mind – the very being that had killed someone last night and an innocent couple three years ago. Even now the pang of guilt never eased. It always remained raw and throbbing, like a festering wound. 
    He rubbed his temples to ease the grotesque flashing images of the victims he had claimed. He feared to close his eyes, for he might witness the horrific scene of the previous night play in his mind. He feared to strain his ears, for he might hear the victim’s reoccurring screams ring in his head.
    Confused and disgruntled, Alex grazed his fingers along his blood encrusted arms, repulsion once again dominating.
    He turned to the shower and stepped inside, needing to wash the blood from his hands before he could commence any further. He needed to clear his foggy mind and regain his composure.    
    Even as he turned on the shower, he didn’t wince from the sudden blast of cold that shot from the shower. Instead, he embraced the cold beads of water rolling down his skin to ease his feverish body. The cool water removed the blood from his skin and he saw at his feet the blood plume through the water like a blot of ink.
    He combed his fingers through his drenched chestnut hair, feeling the blood separate the mats in his hair. He slammed his eyes shut, the horrid memories from three years ago returning him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
    He had gotten in a quarrel that got out of hand. Alex tried to avoid conflict, but he could feel the anger creeping through him, surfacing before the enraged victim’s verbal assaults overwhelmed him.
    The man’s wife had been in the car as he changed and by the time he killed her husband, she hadn’t enough time to escape the vehicle. And trapped as she was, she was slaughtered in her own vehicle, the carnage spilling onto the streets where bystanders were not present.
‘All because of a minor car accident,’ Alex reflected with disrepute.
    He had heard on the news of people dying from such roadside skirmishes, but never with such a bleak outcome as they had had. No one stood a chance against his fury, and that’s what perturbed him the most. He was dangerous – absolutely and irrevocably lethal, which made the situation all that more complicated.
    As he washed the remnants of blood from his body, he ended the brief shower, eager to clean the carnage from the floor and any visible signs of the murder. Not only was it imperative to maintaining his secret, but perhaps it would help him forget about the terrible crime he committed?
    No amount of soap would wash away the sin he committed, he knew, but it was as close as he could get.
    With little thought, he hastily slipped on a grey shirt, some jeans and towel-dried his hair as he made his way towards the living room.
    He wasted no time removing the blood from the walls and floor.
    He brought his arm to his nose as he scrubbed, the coppery scent overwhelming him. Though the stains disappeared from the walls, he could still see with great lucidity where they once were, an indication of his hideous crime. He wringed out his pink-stained sponge, the visible signs of blood had vanished.
    Just as he contemplated why the beast had returned to his condo instead of running amok in the city, a knock sounded at his front door.
    Alex’s heart leapt in his throat and for a moment, he froze, his face twisted in a grimace. As realization struck him, he frantically grasped the bucket of red water, scurried over to the sink and disposed of it.
    Another thunderous knock emitted from his door, only more urgent.
    “I’ll be right there,â€� Alex called, hoping to conceal the panic from his voice. He swiftly obscured the bucket beneath the sink and wiped the accumulating sweat from his brow.
    He took a deep breath and headed towards the door, uncertain as to whether he should be terrified.
    He quickly gave the room one last sweeping glance before he approached the door. He spotted no anomalies, besides a few shards of glass on the floor and a broken window.
    Reluctantly, the door swung open and Alex’s heart plummeted.

EEEEEEEEEEEEE! Thanks so much!! 
And you'll be sure to find out....
....tomorrow

THanks, I'll have more up soon. How many people are still reading it?

I am!