Asphalt Moon

The Chase

The v-twin motor of Avalon’s bike roared to life; its guttural rumble echoing through the damp alleyway. She kicked the bike’s stand up and twisted the throttle, the wind rushing through her raven hair as she sped out into the street. The lights flashed by in a blur, and she could barely hear the rumble from the bikes of Fizk and Nessa behind her. The Holy Rollers were supposed to be a biker gang no one messed with. That’s why Avalon had joined. Yet here she was, on her first job with them, being jumped by five Night Prowlers.

“Ave, behind us!” Avalon had just heard Nessa’s yell when her cheek began to sting. Warm droplets of blood trickled down her face before drifting off into the cool night air. Turning her head, she could see the Night Prowlers gaining fast. One kicked at Fizk’s bike, and he went careening off the pavement. “Can’t stop to check on him,” Ave muttered to herself. She pressed down on the foot brake and leaned hard. ‘Lose them in the curves. That’s the only way,” she thought. Avalon brought the bike drifting around to a side street, heel down hard on the shifter, and twisted the throttle full force. A shrill squeal. The smell of burning rubber. The bike lurched forward just as she heard Nessa scream from behind. Ave turned back to look. Nessa narrowly dodged a swipe from one of the Night prowlers. Avalon cursed under her breath. Two of her pursuers drew pistols and fired toward her. They howled into the night, taunting her as she weaved this way and that, trying desperately to throw off their aim.

Hot, sharp pain shot up Avalon’s leg, and her thighs instinctively squeezed the tank of her bike tighter. She looked back again to check on Nessa, and her eyes returned to the road ahead. Panicked, she grabbed the front brake. The dim light of her high beams revealed a sharp turn in the road and Avalon knew she’d made a mistake. She leaned over, shifting her hips in the saddle and throwing all her weight against the bike, but it was not enough. Steel screeched against asphalt, searing jagged pain wracked her sides and back, and the smell of gasoline and burnt rubber reached Avalon as she hit a light post and her bike skidded across the road without her. Moments later, Nessa yelled out as she failed to dodge the wreckage and sped head on into Avalon’s bike. Nessa flipped over the handlebars and hit the side rail of the road with a loud c***k, then slumped over motionless onto the asphalt. Ave could barely breathe and her head was throbbing with pain. Five Night Prowler bikes roared up to the two helpless women, and then the rumble of the engines faded as, one by one, they shut off the machines.

Avalon lay perfectly still. Perhaps if they thought she was dead, they’d move on. From the corner of her eye, she watched as the Night Prowlers stepped off of their bikes and removed their helmets. The first face she could see was a stark, pale-faced woman with scarlet red hair. As the moon struck her face, it began to twist and distort into an angry growl. Her eyes turned from brown to piercing yellow, and her leathers tore away to reveal matted red fur. Avalon lay motionless, stricken with unbelief. The Night Prowlers were werewolves. The red-furred she-wolf motioned to Nessa on the ground, “This one’s dead. No heartbeat. Warm she-flesh, delicious.” Her voice was cold and shrill like nails on chalkboard. One of the other riders, who had not yet removed his helmet, nodded at the she-wolf, who leaped onto Nessa. In a flurry of fur and blood, four of the Night Prowlers descended onto Avalon’s friend and ripped her apart.

The helmeted rider stood back, watching for a moment. Then he removed his helmet and as the moon struck him, he turned, back arching and limbs contorting. Avalon’s heart stopped. This wolf was larger than the rest, with silver fur that gleamed in the moonlight. His arms were thick and muscled, and his breast heaved as he recovered from the transformation. The wolf’s eyes met hers, and they were strikingly human. She felt as if he were looking into her very heart. As the wolf stepped closer, she could smell the musk of fresh pine. Never had Avalon seen a more beautiful creature, and never had she been more stricken with terror. As the silver-haired he-wolf crouched over her, Ave let out a ferocious kick. Her foot cracked against muscle like iron, and she grunted in pain before collecting herself. She tried to scramble out of his reach, but her leg gave out under her and the wolf lifted her easily off the ground. “Calm yourself. We do not eat the living,” spoke the wolf. His voice was deep and powerful. He pulled her to his chest and she could feel his hot, sticky breath on her as he licked away the blood from her neck.

As the other werewolves stood up from the bloodstained asphalt that used to be Nessa, the red-haired wolf snarled. “We cannot leave a witness, Kieran. Sink your teeth into her neck and be done with it.” Kieran, the silver-wolf, bared his teeth, revealing sharp polished fangs like ivory. Ave screamed in terror as the wolf let out a booming growl that reverberated through her body. “It is not our way, Zhere. Mind your place.” Zhere snarled in return and barked, “What then, Kieran? Shall we let her go? The hunters would be on our doorstep by morning.” “No,” Kieran answered, “she must be given a chance to bear the curse. Even that is better than death.” Zhere beat her chest and snapped her teeth at Kieran. Clearly displeased, but having no more to say, she clambered back onto her bike, sitting now somewhat awkwardly in the saddle. Before she could start the engine, Avalon caught the loud roar of more bikes speeding southbound toward them. “They come with reinforcements, Kieran!” one of the other wolves shouted. Kieran’s head whirled around to the headlights coming fast down the road. He stretched out his hand toward Ave, arching his rugged fingers so that black claws shot sharply out. He dragged a single claw down Avalon’s spine. Pain wracked her body and she screamed. Warm, wet blood dripped from the wound. Then the lights of the streetlamps seemed to shimmer, and the dark night swirled, and the world faded to black.

Avalon awoke to the strong, gentle hands of Conor wiping down her wounds. He brushed the hair from her face and dabbed at the place on her cheek where the bullet had grazed her. “Good, you’re awake. We were worried.” His voice was smooth and warm like bourbon. Conor smiled as he spoke and the charm of his crooked smile and bright eyes nearly made her forget the pine-musk and oaken arms of Kieran. Almost. “I can do that myself,” Avalon said as she sat up on the table. “But… thank you.” Conor squeezed her hand and smiled again. “I got you into this life,” he said, “I can’t let you leave it before I do. But now you know. You know what we’re up against. It’s not all about the adventure or the money. There are monsters in Vexwall.” “Yes,” she muttered weakly, “Monsters.” Ave furrowed her brow and stood, supporting herself on the wall. Are they monsters? She thought to herself. They were werewolves, creatures of nightmares and legend. They had torn Nessa, Ave’s friend, apart in seconds. Yet the silver-haired wolf made her feel something she had not expected. His soft fur and gentle (though incredibly strong) grip on her communicated a kindness somewhere deep within the monster. Avalon, however, quickly shook the thought out of her head as Conor helped her onto a sofa near the hearth.