The Wolf

“Get away from him.”


The boy they called Moley flicked his cigarette at the boy, catching him on the forehead.


“I said, get away from him.”


“What you been saying about my boy Mitchell?”


He growled, baring his sharp canines.


“Nothing. What do you mean?”


He picked up one boy by the scruff of his neck and tossed him aside like an errant puppy.  


“You been sayin’ you got off with him”


He threw another aside, and another, wading into the fray as if it were nothing more obstructive than sapling branches.


“So what?” The boy let out a spurt of defiance before he could quell it. “It’s none of your business.”


“I said,” the Wolf cried. “GET OFF!” The words tore from a throat barely human in a wild, bellowing growl. The fighting stopped.


“I’ll break your fucking kneecaps if I hear a fucking peep out of you again, gottit?”


The Wolf tore his way to the centre of the crowd, to the boy huddled on the floor under the onslaught of fists and feet. He placed his own body between the boy and his assailants.

“Look at his hands,” someone whispered. Claws tipped his fingers.

The Wolf snarled.

“Tell your friend to keep his fucking dick in his pants if you don’t like him playing with other boys.”

The Wolf lunged at the nearest boy, snapping his teeth. The boy jumped back, knocking another boy to the floor.

“Now fuck off.”







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