A voice so soft it could melt cement, whispered a hym and prayed aloud for not love, but for something equally as passionate. Hate, hate, hate.

Run from love and stay with hate.

Stay with me, the voice seemed to tell Charlie. Charlie the Wolf wouldn’t know, though. Human words lost their meanings long ago, and now, as an animal, they lost their edge. Everything sounded like rythym, like prayers and like music. Like blood pounding in your ears and sugar rushing through your veins.

Charlie crashed into her. She didn’t scream, just gasped, as if lightning had flashed an inch away from her pinky toe. Bright, bright light; so sweet it’ll draw you in and knock you out.

His claws dug into her back, easily tearing through her soft blue cotton dress, already frayed at the edges. Standing on the edge, Charlie the Wolf found he could become slightly human when in the company of passion. His thin pale human lips pressed into this woman’s and he licked the back of her front teeth.