Brooklyn, New York
July 11, 2009
8:37 P.M.

    The werewolf was very determined to escape the confines of the cage.  Adrian Bronson scowled at the struggling beast.  He understood why the beast wanted to escape.  He just didn’t understand why the beast, his grandson, Andre, was such a gently caressing monster.  When a werewolf turns for the first few times, it has carnal, animal instincts.
    New werewolves only have the instinct of survival.  They feel the speed, strength, and power coursing through their veins.  Those feelings usually kill a young werewolf in its first few weeks.  When they turn, there is nothing human about them.  They lack a human mind or soul.  Adrian understood the feeling.  He’d felt the feelings when he was much younger.  He felt the same feelings now as he stared into the red and golden pitted eyes of his grandson. 
    A cold shiver crawled up his spine as he stepped back and slammed the cell door shut.  He leaned his forehead on the cold steel bars.  Hot breath blew over his head, down to the back of his neck.  Jerking his head up, he looked into the werewolf’s jaws.  Hot breath, reeking of decomposing bodies hit Adrian in the face.  Snarling, he reeled back on the balls of his feet.  The werewolf grinned and licked its black lips.
    The werewolf standing in front of him was truly something to behold.  In the moonlight, Andre’s black fur gleamed from sweat and grease.  The coarse hair was short on its snout.  Magnificent yellow fangs dripped thick globs of milky saliva onto the concrete floor.  It was standing on long, thick muscular legs, knees bending slightly.  The werewolf’s arms reached down to below its waist.  Blade-like, black talons tipped the end of each finger and toe.
    “Let me out,â€� the werewolf demanded in a gruff voice.  Each word was like a growl, but clear.
    Adrian shook his head, “gently caress no, just so you can kill more humans?â€�
    “I didn’t kill them,â€� it growled slowly in a threatening tone, crouching to Adrian’s height.
    “Andre, your scent is lingering over every mutilated body lying around the city.â€� he shook his head again.  “Eight people slaughtered in a week.  If you don’t stop killing people, I’m going to do the humans job,â€� he paused.  “I’m going to tear your gently caressing head off myself!â€� he raised his voice, jabbed a finger into the werewolf’s chest.
    “I didn’t kill them!â€� it snarled.  The werewolf towered over him.
    “Yes you…â€� he was cut off.
    The werewolf roared, lifting its head to the ceiling, raising its arms to strike.  Before the werewolf could swing its arm, Adrian skirted to the side, jumping back from the claws.  In a blur, he grabbed the werewolf’s thick wrist and snapped it back.  Bones tore and cut through the flesh, pinning the back of the clawed hand to its arm.  Blood squirted from around the bone cutting through its wrist.  The werewolf’s piercing howl nearly split Adrian’s eardrums. He brought his hands over his ears, wincing.