Ms. Santiago,

Am I then to be relieved of your nightly assault upon my person?

I shall find accommodations in the lower floors - I am certain that there is a vacancy I can fill from the HeLa residence level.

What would be your ideal state of reparation? Dinner, chocolate covered strawberries, and an expensive bottle of wine?

I am unused to apologetic gestures as I am rarely so boorish in my behavior.

Sincerely,

Dr. Malcolm Book

The third night was the same.

Sinews shifted, an odd pressure coming from within, breaking his body down from a bipedal form to the quadruped of his beast. Whatever physics that allowed the shifting of his mass on a molecular level twisted meat around bone, and split bone into more pieces to create a tail. 

The man retreated from the form, hiding from the bestial nature of his once monthly change, and took no responsibility for anything that happened. After all, he was just a wild animal at that point. The men who hunted him had the assistance of small, off-road vehicles the men called Rollbacks; they were a two man ultra-light reconnaissance vehicle with a modified titanium roll-cage for the top. The design had saved more than a few of the men from the beasts’ jaws.

Rain soaked the earth, each paw print filling with water as he stalked his prey. The pounding of water on the soil affected his hearing, but a broken branch still pierced the night. There.

The massive beast took off at a lope, clearing one of the machines in a single leap. Six deer scattered when he hit the small herd. The lead stag squealed when fangs sank into his flank. It was a horrific sound, only known to those few that hunted their own meat.

It was music to his ears, and set off a rumble in his belly.

With a twist of his neck, he slung the body into a tree, and was on the creature in an instant. The light left its eyes, and the wolf feasted on the meat. Steam rose from the entrails for a brief moment before the heat dispersed. While he ate, he listened. The machines were near, two creeping along his position. They made a small, nearly inaudible whine that lived in the range of a dog whistle.

Once he’d had his fill, he leapt away from the odd sound, to seek out The Huntsman. His odor was not in the wind. The beast ran until he caught a whiff of the scent and stopped, narrowing down the direction.

He knew, deep down with a certainty that shouldn’t exist, that he would one day kill The Huntsman under Luna’s third blessing of light. The first two nights were for gaining insight to their tactics, so he could get close enough for the kill on the final night.

Voices came through the odd boxes the men carried, through the earpieces they wore…but he could still hear them. Slowly, he crept forward through the brush, honing in on The Huntsman’s scent. Even through the pounding rain, he could hear the thump of the man's heart. Steady, calm, like the hunter he was.

There he was, crouched, his weapon facing to his left. This was perfect. Just a leap and he would be dead.

A small, insignificant pain pierced his neck, and he leapt with a growl, hoping to land the killing blow before inevitable darkness consumed him, just like every pregnant moon. His unconscious form missed the Huntsman by inches, sliding across the ground before slamming into one of the machines.

Malcolm woke up with a groan, the axes chipping away at his skull working in full force. It was a side effect of the overdose of lupityrodone from the dart, which was the only thing that he knew could instantly take out a werewolf. He knew because he’d created the sedative himself. In lower doses, it acted as a great painkiller, brief though its effects were. Slowly, he pushed himself up, digging the heel of his right hand into his eye in a futile effort to suppress the agony. It would pass in about thirty minutes, when his body fully metabolized and broke down the drug and flushed it through his kidneys.

A glass of water sat next to him, along with an apple and the after action report of his nights as a wolf. He glanced at the report, and saw that Mackenzie had landed the winning dart. He'd also won quite a sum of money. Malcolm was certain that each of his security had taken him down at least once, and the fact he held no ill will about such an occurrence bred a modicum of respect. If he were to consider it, he would know it was the same as having a go in a pub and grabbing a few pints together afterwards.

He had other things on his mind.

Soraya Santiago, for one.

What was he going to do about that vexing witch and her spell of seduction?

He groaned as he pushed himself out of the king-sized bed, and made his way to the shower, thoughts turning over regarding the collar, Soraya Santiago, and his clandestine research that was ongoing in the bowels of the building. He had not been able to check in on anything there for weeks now, but he knew that it was in good hands. Theophania knew the import of their work, and how vital it was to ensure the world did not remain the dismal place that it was.

Before long, he was back in the library, but this time in the corner that held his most precious memories. To remind him of why. Four finely  depicted Royal Marines in their parade dress offered their encouragement from their solemn portraits. Above them, in a prominently placed piece of pine, the name Emmaline was etched; the calligraphy was breathtaking. Next to that was a picture of he and his brother, River, before Malcolm left to be a doctor at Uni. All beloved, dead and gone, but not forgotten. 

It was here, in this sanctuary, that Malcolm found a well-hidden and fantastically engineered port cover for a data connection on the collar. It was a success he'd desperately needed that fueled hope for his situation. He'd nearly given up, his thoughts turning back over to that damned Soraya Santiago and all her distracting features. Now that he had discovered the means to program the device, perhaps Codes could help him decrypt the bloody thing and do a little programming of their own.

By the time he was in the car, Malcolm had determined that Soraya Santiago had to think she had won. Which meant portraying the complete deference and obedience she expected.

He’d not received a response from her by the time the car pulled into the underground garage. Malcolm noted the increase in his pulse, apparent anticipation. It was simply due to his getting back to work. It had nothing to do with her.

The collar burned on his neck, but it was no longer bothersome. Freshly shaved and dressed in a blue three-piece suit with a white kerchief and a red tie, he stepped onto the lift and rode silently with his two guards towards the Penthouse.

He was convinced he could control himself around her now. After all, he had a plan, and once everything was set in motion, Soraya’s attention solely on him was absolutely necessary.