The Banished Lycan, chapters 2

Chapter Two: Before and During My First Change

"She's been so different since it happened; I swear her eyes have changed color."— Sarah’s Housekeeper, Mrs. Everclear

Dressed in my Sunday best, I followed my father through the camp. The dress felt stiff and out of place in the dirty, rugged environment, but appearances mattered to him, even here. I glanced around at the men, laboring away on the railroad under the relentless sun. The walking bosses, with their commanding voices, barked orders at the workers, their sharp words cutting through the noise of hammers and saws.

The free men—former slaves who had been freed after the war—looked my way as I passed. These were men promised land and money in exchange for their labor, men who clung to the hope of a better future. Some of them nodded or cooed quietly as they watched me, their eyes lingering a little too long. My father ignored it, his usual response, acting as if their gaze didn’t matter.

Just as one of them let out a low whistle, one of the walking bosses snapped, his voice cutting through the air, “Boy, keep your eyes to yourself, that’s the big man’s daughter.” The sharp rebuke snapped the men back to their work.

The clamor of tools and voices resumed, but I could still feel the heat of their stares burning into my back as I walked past.

I kept my chin high, refusing to let it show that it bothered me. My father marched ahead, prideful as ever, more focused on today’s deal than on me. Today was just another opportunity for him to push his influence, to secure his place in this growing empire of iron and steam.

But as for me? I wasn’t sure where I fit in anymore.

I followed my father into the train car, which had been hastily set up as a makeshift meeting room. A large wooden table dominated the space, surrounded by chairs, giving the illusion of formality despite the cramped quarters. Seated across from us was an older man, his posture stiff with authority, exuding an unmistakable air of importance.

I paused, unsure of my place in the conversation. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll leave you and my father to talk business,” I said, turning to go.

But the older man’s voice stopped me in my tracks. His words dripped with something that made my skin crawl. “Why, darling, you are the business. And might I say, you're quite the good-looking business.”

A chill ran down my spine, the room suddenly feeling much smaller. I glanced at my father, hoping he’d shut the man down, but instead, he gestured for me to sit. The older man did the same, his eyes lingering on me far longer than I liked. My stomach churned with unease—I already knew I was going to hate this.

Reluctantly, I took the seat they offered, dreading whatever was coming next

The two men started talking, their voices low but every word making my stomach turn. The more I heard, the more I wanted to bolt for the hills. Something wasn’t right, and the knot in my chest tightened with every passing second.

Then my father, his voice unnervingly casual, spoke the words that made my blood run cold. “So, Sarah, meet your future husband,” he said, gesturing to the man across the table. “The owner of the Transcontinental Northern Railroad Company.”

I froze, my mind reeling. “What are you talking about, Father?” My voice shook, a mix of disbelief and rising panic.

The man—my supposed fiancé—leaned back in his chair, a smug smile creeping across his face. He was everything I imagined a snake in human form would look like. “Your father’s saying that you and I are to be wed,” he said, his eyes raking over me in a way that made my skin crawl. “And might I say, I’m very much looking forward to the honeymoon.”

He glanced at my father with a disgusting grin, then back at me. “Leeroy, your description of your daughter’s beauty... it didn’t do her justice.”

A wave of nausea hit me, but my father didn’t flinch, didn’t react, didn’t care. They were talking about me like I was a prize, an object to be traded. My heart pounded in my chest, but the room felt frozen, trapping me in this nightmare.

Then, beneath the sickening conversation, I swore I heard something else—a voice, low and feral, deep in my mind. It was like a beast, caged and clawing at the bars, desperate to be let out. My heart raced, and the words formed before I could stop them.

"You’re an older man," I said, my voice sharp, cutting through the disgusting air of the room. "You should know by now that otherworldly dreams like that are just that—dreams. High expectations like yours..." I paused, staring him down. "Let’s put it this way."

I stood a little taller, feeling the fire burn in my chest as the words spilled out. “I will die before I ever submit to this,” I said, my voice steady but laced with a deeper anger than I had ever known. “There isn’t a way, not in your dreams or anyone’s on this green earth, that I will ever let you touch me.”

The room froze, the tension thick and choking. The man's smirk faltered, and my father’s face darkened. But I didn’t care anymore. The beast in me had stirred, and there was no turning back.

I turned on my heels, the two men too dumbstruck to speak for a few moments. Their silence was satisfying. Without another word, I walked away, feeling the weight lift with each step. Reaching the door, I threw it open with more force than I even knew I had, the wood creaking as it slammed against the frame.

Behind me, my father’s voice rang out, sharp and furious. “Get back here now, Sarah!” His voice turned venomous, spitting insults. “You ungrateful wretch! You think you can walk away from this? You’ll regret it!”

My feet sucked at the mud of the construction site as I turned back, shouting at him while he stood in the door of his train car, red-faced and fuming.

"NO! I will not! I’d rather die, you old codger!" I spat, making sure the insult hit where it hurt. The workers around us—his so-called employees—stopped what they were doing, glancing over with wide eyes.

"You think you can order me around like one of your hired hands?" I gestured to the men laboring in the mud, their heads low and avoiding my gaze. "You think your money and your name make you powerful? You’re just a scared old fool, hiding behind your wealth because that’s all you have! You control them, but you will never control me!"

I saw the flicker of rage and humiliation in his eyes as the men around us took in every word. His pride, so carefully built on his status and control, cracked in front of all of them. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out.

I turned on my heels, not giving him the satisfaction of a reply, and stormed off, leaving him to fester in his humiliation. The eyes of his workers still bore into his back, silently witnessing his fall from the pedestal he’d built for himself.

I stormed back to my room in the train car, slamming the door behind me. My mind raced with fury, my body trembling with the adrenaline that still surged through me. Every step away from that confrontation seemed to add fuel to the fire burning inside me. I could feel the anger festering, building like a storm, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Not long after, the door flew open again, and there he was—my father. His face was a mask of rage, his pride still wounded from the scene outside. I opened my mouth, ready to speak, to defend myself, but he moved faster than I expected. His hand came down hard across my face, the impact ringing in my ears. I stumbled back, shocked, as he struck me again without hesitation. The sting of the blow burned on my cheek, but I barely registered it. My mind was already somewhere else—filling with something darker.

He raised his hand a third time, the anger boiling over in his eyes, but this time, I didn’t just stand there. I fought back. My hand shot up, grabbing his wrist before it could land the next strike. Without thinking, without even knowing how, I squeezed—hard. His eyes widened in shock, and I felt it. The snap. The bone in his forearm breaking beneath my grip, as if it were nothing but a dry twig.

I stood there, stunned, staring down at my hand wrapped around his arm. I hadn’t even realized I was capable of that kind of strength. My father let out a howl of pain, his free hand clutching his broken arm, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I looked up at him, watching the fear slowly creep into his eyes—fear of me.

The weight of what I had done settled over me, but there was no guilt. Only the strange, unfamiliar realization that I was no longer the weak daughter he thought he could control. I had changed—whether he liked it or not.

As fast as he had burst into the room, fury and pain in his eyes, he stormed out just as quickly. The door slammed behind him, rattling the walls of the train car. His heavy footsteps faded, but the tension he left behind hung in the air like a thick cloud.

I stood there, my breath still uneven, staring at the spot where he had stood moments before. My hand trembled slightly, the memory of his broken arm still fresh in my mind. It was as if a storm had passed through, leaving everything unsettled and raw. But even with his retreat, I knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Part 2

"In the dark, I saw her with eyes that glowed like orbs of light, a beautiful shade of purple. But as soon as her father appeared, they would turn crimson. Su papá tiene razón en tener miedo de su hija, el diablo está tratando de llevarse a ese angelito."— Sarah’s Housekeeper, Mrs. Everclear

As I reflect, the memories of the moments leading up to my transformation rush back with vivid clarity. Despite the broken arm I had given him, my father still came to visit. He limped into the room, his face a mask of barely contained fury, refusing to show weakness even when it was written in every line of his body. I looked at him with simmering contempt, my hands trembling at my sides as I fought to keep the rage inside me from boiling over. Every fiber of my being screamed to lash out, but I held it back, barely. It was a feeling unlike anything I had ever experienced before—this raw, unchecked fury.

My father, the man who had always been so domineering, seemed smaller now, despite his bravado. His voice was sharp, his tone accusatory, but it only fanned the flames within me. I could feel the shift happening—something dark and primal rising inside, clawing to be set free.

The tension between us was unbearable, and it hung in the air like a storm waiting to break.

With every word he spoke, it felt as though he was metaphorically dragging me toward some unseen monstrosity, something darker and more sinister than I could yet understand. Each syllable chipped away at my resolve, pulling me further into the abyss of his control. But in that moment, I felt something awaken inside me—a beast, clawing desperately at the edges of my consciousness, demanding to be set free.

My head throbbed, a relentless pounding, as if my very mind was tearing itself apart. It was as though two parts of me were at war: the one who had always obeyed, and the one who was done being ruled by him. The more he spoke, the stronger the beast inside me grew, hungry for release.

I gasped for air, not physically, but metaphorically, as his words crashed down on me. My father stood over me, berating me for constantly defying him. "You’ve never listened, have you, Sarah?" he sneered. "Always going against me, always thinking you know better. You think you can just walk away from this? From me?"

He leaned in closer, his voice a low growl. "I’ve arranged a marriage for you. You’ll do what’s expected, or you’ll suffer the consequences." His eyes darkened, and with cold calculation, he added, "Do you want to end up like your mother? Hmm? She didn’t listen either." He let the threat hang in the air, heavy with menace.

His tone grew even more vile as he recounted, without a flicker of remorse, what he had done to her. "I let my men have her first," he said with a sickening casualness, "before I put her down like the sick animal she was. She thought she could defy me too."

I felt my blood run cold, the horror of his words settling in, but he wasn’t finished. He waved a gun in my face, the metal glinting in the dim light. "You think you’re special, girl? You’ll meet the same fate if you don’t fall in line."

As he loomed over me, my eyes drifted past his broad shoulder, and through the narrow gap, I caught sight of the full moon rising—its light casting an eerie, almost ethereal glow over the scene. In that moment, something stirred inside me—something deeper, darker, and far more dangerous than the fear he had planted within me.

The next part, I remember with strange, almost unnatural clarity—the rush of pleasure that surged through my body as my first transformation began. It was overwhelming, a strange mix of agony and ecstasy, though I didn’t understand it at the time. My father’s expression twisted, his usual mask of disgust and contempt replaced with something new—sheer, unfiltered shock—as he stared into my eyes. They burned, blazing a violent crimson, and I advanced on him, the beast inside me roaring to life.

Panic overtook him. He raised his gun, his hands trembling as he fired. The impact hit me like a mule’s kick, the force sending me crashing back. The searing pain radiated through my chest, knocking the wind from my lungs, and for a moment, everything went still. I struggled to rise, gasping as blood filled my mouth. But amidst the pain, realization dawned—he had orchestrated this. He had wanted this all along. Perhaps not this exact outcome, but something monstrous had been brewing, and now it was too late to stop it.

The fury inside me, once just a simmer, now boiled over, too powerful to contain. I let go—let the rage take control. A wolf’s howl echoed in my ears, not from outside, but from within, a primal call that I could no longer resist. I surrendered to it, feeling my bones crack and reshape as the transformation took hold. The pain was indescribable, but beneath it, there was a ferocious, liberating rage.

This man—this creature who had taken my mother’s life, who had tried to bend me to his will—would regret ever trying to control me. The boundaries of what I had known shattered. I could feel my body shifting, morphing, as my humanity was stripped away. But in its place, the wolf emerged, free, wild, and filled with an unrelenting need for vengeance.

As the last of the transformation settled, I stood before him, no longer the daughter he thought he could control, but something far more dangerous—something he could never hope to tame.

With everything I had, I let out my first roar—bloodthirsty, primal, and filled with all the hate I had suppressed for so long. My father stood before me, no longer the towering figure of dominance he once was. Now, he was just a man—a scared, trembling man. His eyes were wide with terror, and I could see it, smell it, taste it.

The dogs scattered in terror, their barking distant noise as I advanced. My father, scrambling for safety, tried desperately to slam the door shut. But it wouldn’t budge—something blocked it. I looked down and realized it was my own arm, covered in fur, clawed and monstrous. Panic tried to claw its way through me, but the beast inside was too powerful, too hungry.

I crashed through the door, ripping it clean off its hinges, sending it hurtling into my father. The impact knocked him to the ground, cutting him open. Blood spilled across the floor, and the scent hit me like a drug. My body responded before my mind could process it—the hunger, the need. His screams faded into nothing as I lunged forward, teeth sinking into his flesh.

He wasn’t my father anymore. He was food.

The taste of his blood, rich and metallic, filled my mouth, and I tore into him without hesitation. His cries—once the commands of a man who ruled my life—now nothing but pathetic whimpers. I savored every bite, every rip of flesh, the satisfying crack of bones beneath my jaws. His warmth faded under me, his life draining away as I devoured him, piece by piece.

I barely registered the sounds around me—the dogs, the bodyguards, the gunshots—none of it mattered. Nothing but the meal before me, nothing but the need to consume the man who had tried to own me, control me. The taste of his fear was intoxicating, each bite fueling a fire that had burned inside me for so long.

More figures rushed toward me, his bodyguards, trying to stop the slaughter. But I was far beyond their reach. Bullets tore through the air, some grazing my skin, but the pain only heightened the frenzy. I turned on them with blood still dripping from my mouth, tearing into them just as easily as I had my father.

But it was his taste that lingered, his blood that sated the beast within. He was no longer the man who had ruled my life with an iron fist. He was nothing more than prey—food for the creature I had become.

Amidst the chaos, I heard another howl—close, powerful, and it resonated deep within me. I answered instinctively, my voice joining the chorus of the night. I moved closer, but more prey stood in my way, too foolish to understand their place. My claws sliced through them, flesh and bone yielding to my fury. I was unstoppable.

The workers rushed in, drawn by the noise—the screams, the gunfire, the sounds of bodies hitting the ground. Their eyes widened at the carnage, and they skidded to a halt when they saw me. At first, they couldn’t comprehend what stood before them—me, towering above the wreckage, my white-gray fur bristling, glowing purple eyes scanning the scene. They exchanged nervous glances, unsure of whether to confront the beast they thought they were seeing.

My muscles tensed beneath my fur, the primal urge to fight tugging at me, but I held back. They had no idea how easily I could tear them apart—how quickly I could turn this into a massacre. I snarled, a low, menacing growl that stopped them in their tracks. They were predators in their minds, but I was the real danger here.

"God above… what the hell is that?" one of them whispered, clutching a rusted shovel like it might actually protect him.

More workers gathered, weapons in hand, but their confidence was thin. They had no idea what they were up against, no clue that my restraint was the only thing keeping them alive. I didn’t want to kill them—not unless they forced my hand.

"That’s no bear," one muttered, eyes wide with fear. "We’re dealing with the devil himself!"

I could feel the tension rising, their uncertainty growing with each passing second. They were ready to lash out, to defend themselves against something they didn’t understand. But I wasn’t their enemy—not yet.

They were scared, but I could see it in their eyes—they were preparing to act. The clink of hammers and crowbars echoed around me as more men gathered, their numbers growing, their weapons glinting in the dim light. My muscles tensed, a deep growl rumbling in my chest, a warning.

But they didn’t back off. Instead, they spread out, trying to circle me like wolves themselves. I could feel their fear, smell it on the air, but their desperation was driving them toward me. They didn’t understand—I wasn’t the one they needed to fight.

"Surround it!" one of them shouted, waving his crowbar. "Don’t let it get away!"

They moved in closer, attempting to trap me. A man to my left swung first, his hammer aimed clumsily at my head. I sidestepped easily, grabbing the handle with one hand and twisting it out of his grip, sending him stumbling back into the mud.

Another worker lunged at me with a rusted pitchfork, but I swatted it away, sending him sprawling. My growl deepened as more of them closed in.

"Get it! It’s just one beast!" someone yelled, but his voice was shaking with fear.

I could hear them, feel their hatred and panic, but I held back. I didn’t want to kill them. Not unless they forced me. Another man charged at me from behind, trying to drive a broken piece of wood into my side. I spun, slashing it from his hands with my claws. He fell to the ground, scrambling away.

As they circled me, my eyes darted from face to face, scanning the crowd, searching for a way out. They tightened their grip on their makeshift weapons—crowbars, hammers, anything they could find. The scent of fear hung thick in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood. I didn’t want to kill these men. They were workers, innocents in the grander scheme of things. But if they forced my hand... I would defend myself. I had no choice.

My muscles tensed under my fur, every instinct screaming to strike, but I held back. My glowing purple eyes flickered, scanning for an opening. I snarled, my teeth bared, hoping they’d back off. But they didn’t. They were desperate, terrified, and that made them dangerous.

"Surround it!" one of them shouted, pushing the others forward.

Another worker swung a crowbar at my side, but I dodged, twisting out of his reach. The crowd pressed in, tightening the circle around me. A low growl rumbled from my chest, warning them off, but they kept coming. They thought they could take me down, but they had no idea what they were up against.

"She’s cornered! Keep it pinned!" another voice called from the back.

I shifted my weight, readying myself for whatever came next. "I don’t want to hurt you," I thought, but I couldn’t say it. The only sounds that came out were feral growls and snarls. They wouldn’t understand, and they weren’t backing down.

One of them lunged at me with a broken piece of wood, aiming for my chest. I caught it mid-swing, snapping it in two like it was nothing. He stumbled back, fear flashing in his eyes. Others wavered, their courage faltering, but still, they didn’t retreat.

I roared, loud and deep, making the ground beneath me vibrate, hoping the sheer force would push them back. But they still held their ground, circling closer.

Then, just when the tension reached its peak, I felt it—a presence behind me, a shift in the air. I turned and saw him. He was enormous, even larger than me, his brown-and-gray fur bristling, his eyes glowing with command. He moved toward me with an effortless power, stepping into the circle as if he had always belonged there.

The workers froze at the sight of him. Fear now mixed with confusion. "Another one?" someone whispered, the disbelief evident in his voice.

The great wolf let out a low, authoritative growl, his presence alone enough to send the men stumbling back, their courage shattered. One by one, they dropped their weapons and fled, scrambling into the trees, eager to escape whatever nightmare they’d just encountered.

He turned his gaze to me, and without a word, I knew. He didn’t want to kill these men either—at least, not unless he had to. His objective, like mine, was to stop the bloodshed, but the difference was clear: if they were foolish enough to attack him, he wouldn’t hesitate to end them. I could see it in his eyes—he valued survival over mercy.

The workers didn’t know what they were facing. Fear drove them as they circled us, weapons clutched tight. Their terror clouded any sense of self-preservation they might have had. And when one of them, perhaps the bravest or the most desperate, swung a crowbar at Long Fang, I knew it was a death sentence.

The strike never landed. In an instant, Long Fang’s massive form lunged forward, his brown-and-gray fur a blur of motion. His claws slashed through the air with deadly precision, tearing into the man before he could even register what had happened. Blood sprayed, and the worker collapsed, lifeless, into the mud. The others froze, stunned by the brutal efficiency of the kill.

But the momentary shock didn’t last long. Another worker, his hands trembling, charged at me, wielding a broken shovel. I deflected his swing, twisting the weapon from his grip and tossing him aside. He landed hard but still alive, gasping for breath.

Long Fang’s growl cut through the air, low and menacing. His patience was thinning. One of the remaining workers, still shaking from the sight of his dead companion, stupidly decided to rush him, a rusted hammer raised high. It was over in a heartbeat. Long Fang’s powerful jaws clamped down on the man’s throat, snapping it with a sickening crack. The worker’s body went limp as it fell to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.

The rest of the workers hesitated now, their courage faltering as they realized the cost of their attack. They weren’t dealing with an ordinary predator. They were facing a force of nature. One by one, they began to back away, their eyes wide with terror.

“Fall back!” one of them yelled, his voice breaking. The others didn’t need convincing. They dropped their weapons and ran, scrambling into the trees, desperate to escape the nightmare they’d stumbled into.

Long Fang stood tall amidst the bodies, his fur matted with blood, his eyes cold and calculating. He didn’t chase after the fleeing men. He didn’t need to. His dominance had been made clear. Anyone foolish enough to challenge him had paid the ultimate price.

He turned his gaze to me again, and I could see it in his eyes—there was no remorse, no hesitation. He had done what was necessary. And though I valued the lives of these men more than he did, I couldn’t argue with his methods. They had forced his hand, and he had responded with lethal efficiency.

With a flick of his head, he motioned for me to follow, and together, we fled into the woods. The chaos of the camp faded behind us as we ran deeper into the night. The scent of blood lingered, but the taste of survival was stronger. We had escaped, and that was all that mattered now.

Together, our clawed hands and feet padded silently against the earth, and as we ran, adrenaline surged through me, pushing me to speeds I’d never imagined. The darkness posed no obstacle; I could see every detail as if it were daylight. My senses were heightened beyond belief. I could smell every scent, hear every distant sound, and feel every vibration in the earth beneath my paws. I was no longer just a girl—I was a creature of power, something wild and untamed.

The remnants of my old life—the railroad, my father, the carnage I had caused—were far behind us, and as we tore through the night, I felt a raw exhilaration, an energy that coursed through my veins like fire. Every stride we took, side by side, deepened that connection to my new self. We were no longer simply fleeing; we were moving toward something.

We ran together all night, our steps in perfect sync, until we arrived at a hidden mountain cave, tucked away from the prying eyes of the world. Inside, the cool stone walls and shadows offered a sense of calm I hadn’t felt in years. Here, there were no chains of expectation or fear. The cave was more than a shelter; it was a sanctuary—a place where the outside world couldn’t reach us.

The great wolf, my silent guide, stayed close, his presence grounding me in this strange new reality. I could feel the bond forming between us, something ancient and powerful, woven through the very fabric of this night. As we rested, the soft light filtered through the cracks in the rock, and for the first time since everything had changed, I felt a sense of belonging.

I had left behind the girl who once feared the world, and in her place stood a creature ready to embrace what lay ahead. I had found my home, my purpose, and the bond that would guide me through this new life. The wild, untamed part of me that had always lingered beneath the surface had finally come to life—and there was no turning back.