Banished To Earth Book One (23)

Chase dismissed everything, this idiot was sputtering, except the part about Grant knowing about the change and the fall since he was a boy. But it was too late for that now, still the other Hunters would have a distinct advantage, a lifetime to prepare for a future he had only just learned about…

Chase had not noticed any people on the beach earlier. There weren’t many to notice, only an old guy surf fishing off to his left about fifty feet. There was also a little boy and his father trying to keep a kite aloft in the sputtering sea breeze. They were standing on a small sand dune a good distance behind them, off to the right. And a woman jogging away from them toward the setting sun.

All of them were close enough to get hurt if he and Grant started fighting. He was just about to suggest they shift to a more secluded location when Stayner spat on the ground, turned and walked away.

Slack with shock and relief, he watched the big Hunter saunter down the beach until he was nothing more than a black dot in the distance. Satisfied that his first encounter with another Hunter was over and done, he expelled a sigh of relief, turned and sprinted back toward his beach house and ran right into Stayner’s fist.  nHHhH

It slammed into Chase’s nose, rocking his head back and knocking him back on his heels. Stayner had shifted right in front of him. The fight was on.

More angered than dazed, Chase spun to the ground, sweeping his right leg into Stayner's left knee.  It buckled on impact. He shrieked in agony and outrage and fell face-first in the sand.

But he was not about to let this puny Hunter best him. He shot his right hand out, grabbed Chase’s ankle and snatched his left foot from under him. He toppled to the ground, a split second before Stayner jumped up, regained his footing and stomped at his chest. Chase rolled away, missing Stayner’s heavy boot by inches.

“You’re an idiot, little man.” He yelled down at him as he tried again to stomp him like a roach. “I said I was going to kill you, and you just stood there waiting, for what, your chance to kill me, to just slip away. “Gonna, have to do better than that, well, not giving you a chance to learn.” He said as he drew his right foot back and slammed the toe of his steel-toed right boot into Chase’s rib cage.

Wincing in pain, but not seriously injured, Chase rolled away, hopped to his feet, dodged a kick, and weaved back, fainted to his left and drove a right upper cut straight into Stayner’s

exposed chin. The big man’s head jerked back, a bone in his thick neck popped, but did not break.

“You can’t kill my wife,” Chase screamed, “I'll kill you first!” He noticed the father and son gawking at them. His mouth dropped open. He was about to tell them to run away when

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Stayner’s left fist slammed into his face, busting Chase’s lip and scraping his knuckles on his teeth.

A streak of mixed blood sailed through the air and into Chase’s mouth. The big man’s blood ran down his incisors, dribbled onto his tongue and ignited an ancient feral fire in his memory.

His concern for the father and son lent him just enough clarity to shrug off his forgotten Phasternarian past, grab Stayner's left arm, and snatch him off his feet.

The man and boy were headed toward them. “Run!” Chase growled with a voice he had never heard before.

They did not. Having no other options, Chase started spinning around like a top. Stayner was airborne and helpless.

He glanced around, picked a distant spot far offshore and flung the big fool far out to sea.

“Get out of here,” He roared at the hapless couple. The agony of morphing flesh and bone ripped his mind away. He was changing right in front of them, changing into what? He did not know. His last thought was about their safety and his threat. He dropped to his knees, screaming, twisting and wrenching, morphing into something this world had never seen, a warrel werewolf. The father and son finally took the hint and got the heck outta there.

Moments passed like hours, but finally his transformation from man to beast was complete. He galloped toward the surf and leapt forty feet over the waves.

Hitting the water like a missile, he spun toward Stayner- a monstrous torpedo.

   Chapter 16

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The cold Atlantic Ocean swallowed him. Killing Stayner to save Pry, was no longer a mere thought or desire. It was an irresistible animalistic lust that would not be satiated until Stayner’s lifeless flesh was digesting in his stomach.

Chase was warrel, half warrel anyway. In short, he was a werewolf. And Stayner, werewolf food and imminent threat. Nothing more.   

All human thought and reasoning were lost to him. He ploughed through the water, guided and compelled by the taste of Grant’s blood. It stained the sea, making it impossible for him to escape.

Something deep inside welcomed the change. Had Chase been able to see himself, that would not have been the case. But Chase was no longer in control, something Stayner was about to learn in the most horrific way possible…

Grant, sloshing around in the heaving brine, struggling to regain his bearings, saw something big, dark and hairy swimming right at him.

“Chase?” he said, summoning up his courage to meet the challenge, “Hadn’t had enough. Huh?”

The new creature slid near, reared up like a porpoise breaking free from the ocean just long enough to fully reveal the beast he had become, draining every bit of bravado from the horribly outmatched Hunter. He spun away, but not fast enough to escape the werewolf’s slashing claws.  

They hooked into his right calf, ripping it open and gouging into bone, turning the sea red. Stayner shrieked, struggling to kick away. The werewolf dragged him in, bit deep and ripped a bloody chunk of meat from Grant’s inner thigh.

He smacked and chewed, swallowed and went in for another bite when something stirred within him. He was not alone. Something, no, more than one thing, was drawing near, invading his kill site. Sharks!

The word bore through his animal brain and sparked his latent human intellect. Which, of course was not snuffed out, only suppressed.

The blood drew them, several of them. They were encircling him, drawing the noose tighter. Blood lust gave way to fear. Too many to fend off. He must abandon his feed. Let them have his kill.  

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  His stomach was slowly digesting a nice, sweet chunk of Stayner. He would have