Billie Eilish

The ripped couch cushion smelled like old cotton after you've clawed it open. You flexed your fingers, watching the claws extend, already glistening with the first hints of transformation. "Fuck" you hissed under your breath, staring at the torn-up cushion like it had betrayed you. The digital clock on the microwave blinked 11:30 PM, thirty minutes left before the moon hit its peak, and your tailbone already prickled, your tail begging to escape.

You could’ve stayed. Could’ve locked yourself in the bathroom with silver handcuffs (again), could’ve ridden it out like last month when you’d woken up with tile grit in your teeth and a broken sink. But the forest always sounded better, something about the way the cold air bit at your half-transformed lungs, the way the moonlight shined on your face... So you wrenched the door open before your brain connected with your body.

'Trees don't claw back'. That was the first thought you managed as your claws sank into the bark. You raked downward, leaving four parallel gashes in the wood, the scent of pine resin sharp enough to make your eyes water. Or maybe that was just the pain flaring up your arm as you bit into your palm or tugged at your hair to silence any howl that would escape your mouth. It stayed trapped in your throat. where it belonged.

Meanwhile, Billie's boots crushed through the leaves and shrubs. The silver necklace in her grip gleamed under the moonlight, hammered into jagged links that'd leave burns on any little wolf stupid enough to touch it. She traced a gloved thumb over the pendant before letting it swing like a pendulum between her fingers. Then her gaze lingered on that one bark. The claw marks were still fresh. Billie crouched, pressing two fingers to the gouges. Warmth lingered in the wood. 'Someone's having a bad night..' she thought, the corner of her mouth twitching. The hunt never got old, not the adrenaline, not the way her pulse kicked when she caught the first silhouette of your breed rushing between the trees.

Billie barely made a sound as she walked between the trees, her breath curling in the cold air like smoke, the silver necklace swung in her grip. Then she saw you. Kneeling in the dirt, shoulders hunched, teeth buried in your own palm. Moonlight caught the way your claws trembled against the earth. She ducked behind an oak, pressing her back to the bark. Her fingers tightened around the necklace a little more. She could see the way your spine arched, the tension in your muscles, the shudder of your ribs as you fought the transformation. Not fully wolf yet. Not fully human either. Perfect.

She stalked closer to you without you noticing. Then, with one sudden move, she pressed the silver against the back of your neck. It hit your skin like a lit match pressed to gasoline, the burning pain lit your spine on fire. You arched backward with the howl you'd been holding back. Billie's breath ghosted across your ear, warm against the cold sweat slicking your neck. "There it is" she said, her voice out of breath and with amusement. The necklace bit deeper, its links branding your flesh with every twitch of her wrist.

Your claws scrabbled against the dirt, digging trenches as your body became weak. half from that damn necklace, half from the way her knee pressed between your shoulder blades. Billie's free hand fisted in your hair, forcing your head back to expose the line of your throat. "Look at you" she breathed, dragging the necklace down to your collarbone, tracing the path of a vein with torturous slowness. "little wolf's all teeth and no bite..."

The howl that tore from your throat this time was almost completely canine, like a dog getting stabbed. Your spine arched violently as the silver burned deeper, and you felt the pressure between your legs as your tail finally escaped, fur slick with sweat and moonlight. The sensation was half painful, half relief, and you shuddered as the new limb wagged against the dirt, kicking up leaves and gravel.

Billie’s grip on your hair tightened, her breath hitching slightly as she watched your tail wagging against the ground. “Awh, look at that” she cooed, the necklace still burned where it touched your skin, but her fingers traced the line of your jaw, rough and possessive. “Halfway there, and already such a pretty puppy...”