Black Werewolf Saga

The sun rose over the City of Calgary, Alberta, and as usual, Hakim Winston rose with it. Shooting a disgusted look at the body lying next to his, he left his bed, and went to the nearby washroom. Looking in the mirror, he grimaced as he saw what looked back at him. A six-foot-tall, brawny and muscular young man with light brown skin, curly hair and lime-green eyes. Many would have called him handsome, but at the moment he couldn't see it. All he felt when looking at his reflection was anger, followed by greed and disgust. Once again his baser nature had gotten the best of him, and he didn't like it one bit.

Born of a Lebanese Christian mother and Jamaican father, he was used to his unique good looks attracting attention wherever he went. The youngest son of Toronto Police Service Constable Roderick Winston and Mississauga councilwoman Mira Hassan, he surprised his parents by opting to study at the University of Calgary instead of following his brother Wahid Winston to the University of Toronto. I'd rather die than live in my brother's shadow, he told his mom and dad after receiving the letter of acceptance and full academic scholarship confirmation from the University of Calgary civil engineering program.

I respect your decision son but Calgary isn't Toronto, his father had said. Looking at the tall, somewhat portly, dark-skinned man with the graying beard and shaved him who sired him, Hakim flashed him his fearless smile. I can handle the rednecks just fine Pops, Hakim smiled, knowing how much his dad hated being called pops. Mind your tone, his mother warned. Short, bronze-skinned, dark-haired and curvy, Mira Hassan had always been a strong, no-nonsense woman.

As the only successful Arab female politician in all of Canada, she was used to people opposing her everywhere she went. When she met her future husband, Jamaican-born immigrant Roderick Winston at the University of Toronto in 1980, they were both eighteen years and from radically different worlds. Good Arab girls, whether Christian or Muslim, don't date black men. Thus went the conventional wisdom of the Arab community. Mira Hassan and Roderick Winston began dating, and eventually fell in love.

The young couple's decision to marry stunned their families. Mira's parents, Joseph and Yasmina Hassan basically disowned her. I'd rather you marry one of those Muslim creeps who are destroying our beloved Lebanon than a black guy, her father had said. Fuck you dad, came Mira Hassan's reply. Teary-eyed, she left her parents house, never to return. She and Roderick moved in together, graduated from university, got married and had two sons. Considering their humble beginnings and the hardships they faced, they did surprisingly well for themselves. Mira Hassan got her MBA from the University of Toronto in 1985 but opted for a career in politics rather than business. And she'd been a member of Toronto's City Council, representing the Mississauga riding, for decades. Her husband fulfilled his lifelong dream of becoming a police officer by enrolling at the Ontario Police College right after earning his Canadian citizenship in 1986.

Mira Hassan and her family had weathered many storms, but the one thing the otherwise strong matriarch couldn't fathom was the sheer coldness she saw in her youngest son's eyes. Don't worry about me mother I'll be just fine, Hakim told her and with that, he left. They didn't hear from him until a month after he'd moved into the residence at the University of Calgary. What's wrong with this lad? Mira asked her husband, crossing herself. I just pray he doesn't lose himself to the Gift, Roderick said, gently pulling his wife into his arms.

If only they could see me now, Hakim smiled to himself. Once he finished shaving, he caressed his chin, leaving a tiny goatee. Much better, he told himself. A groan from his bedroom snapped him out of his narcissistic reverie. Hello lover, said Julian as he got up from the bed. Hakim turned and stared at the short, red-haired and green-eyed white guy he picked up at the Wild Rose tavern in Calgary's south end. Just another notch on his belt. He'd been banging a lot of queer rednecks lately. Apparently, lots of racist white guys craved black cock. Who knew? Last night was fun, Julian smiled, my ass is still sore. Good, Hakim said, tossing him a towel. What's that for? Julian asked dumbly. Shower and get the fuck out of my house, Hakim said with an angelic smile.

Half an hour later, Julian was gone. Hakim sat at the computer, and logged onto his WebCT account on the University of Calgary website. He checked his grades for his most recent assignment on his Ethics of Civil Engineering course. He smiled as he saw he got an A plus. Better and better, he told himself. He didn't much care for his professor, Liam O'Neill, and like most Albertans, the old white dude was politely bigoted. He wasn't used to having a brilliant and opinionated young man of color in his classroom. Even in the Age of Obama, it seemed that old white guys feared intelligent and ambitious black men more than ever.

Hakim checked Yahoo news, and what he saw pleased him immeasurably. Three more bodies found savaged in the woods, read the headline from the Calgary Herald newspaper. The police suspect a wild animal, read the report from newswoman Nicole Randall. Not the work of an animal, Hakim laughed. There was a full moon in a couple of days and he'd go hunting again. Hakim smiled, and then got up and left. Time to get to class. While walking through the hallways, something caught his attention. A tall, fine-looking, dark-skinned chick with a thick, round ass. Hello beautiful, he said with a wry grin.

The young woman looked at him, their eyes met and for a moment, Hakim froze. Hello Winston, she said. Hi Wendy, Hakim smiled. She looked him up and down, smiled and cocked an eyebrow. Ready to get your ass handed to you in the tutorial? she asked. Hakim inwardly bristled as he recalled his lackluster performance in a classroom debate on ethics last week. Sympathizing with the masses will get you nowhere, Hakim said. Cooperation is sometimes better than competition, Wendy countered. Hakim shook his head. Only Wendy Jean-Renaud, the fine-looking Haitian chick with the genius-level IQ ( and biting sarcasm ) could make him lose his cool and smile at the same time.

Let's get to class, Wendy said, linking her arm with his. You got it milady, Hakim said in a mock British accent. The tutorial was held in a classroom within the engineering building, with about thirty students in attendance and Norman Gunther Lee the T.A. was already writing on the board. Mister Winston and Wendy welcome, the middle-aged balding Asian guy said. Hi Norman, Wendy said. Hey, Hakim said. They sat in the first row. Hakim cracked open his book, and began taking notes. While working, he caught himself stealing glances at Wendy. Although he considered himself bisexual, Wendy wasn't really his type. He didn't usually go for black women when he bothered with females at all. Growing up as a mixed guy in a mostly minority area of Mississauga, he used to get teased by other students for being half this and half that. The Arab students didn't like him because his father was black and his mother was Lebanese. Apparently there was some unwritten rule in the Arab world against Arab women dating or marrying men of other races. Arab men were free to date and marry women of any color or background of course. The black students didn't show Hakim any love either. To them, he wasn't black enough. He said a big fuck you to both sides and only hung out with Marcello Lopez and Ivan Marshall. Like him they were mixed, born to black fathers and non-black mothers. They were in the same boat. They dubbed themselves Team Half Breed or T.H.B. and formed their own clique.

Things changed when Hakim got in high school. He grew taller and cuter, and all of a sudden, young women of all colors flocked to him. He had his way with quite a few young ladies, and he also explored some manly fun with the guys since he didn't believe in limiting himself. His deeply Catholic parents, especially his homophobic conservative Jamaican-Canadian father didn't approve of his emerging bisexuality but he could care less what they thought. They never bothered to understand him anyway. Hakim was especially disappointed in his father, the authoritative Roderick Winston. For they were of the same kind. They both had the Gift.

Hakim still remembered the night the Change came over him. He'd been playing basketball in the schoolyard with Ivan and Marcello when he suddenly felt...strange. Like he was burning inside. When he fell on the floor, twisting in pain, the sound that came out of his mouth wasn't a cry of pain but a roar of rage and fury. He'd never forget the frightened looks on the faces of Ivan and Marcello, the two young men who'd been more like brothers to him than his do-gooder and ever-distant older brother Wahid. He rushed home, and when his father saw him, he told him the time had come. Time for you to know what you are, Roderick Winston said somberly.

The elder Winston sat his youngest son down and explained their disturbing genetic heritage to him. Lycanthropy runs in our family, Roderick said. Your brother and I have it, he said. What about mom? Hakim asked. Roderick smiled at the thought of his wife, who was still at work at City Hall. Your mom is only human unlike us but she understood, he said. I can't believe this shit, Hakim said. His father tried to hug him but Hakim shoved past him. The young man rushed outside and with speed that surprised even himself, he ran to the park where he'd played as a lad. He didn't return home until nightfall. Once he came back, another speech, this time from his mom, dad AND brother. They kept going on and on about responsibility and secrecy, blah stuff like that. It's my power and I'll use it how I want to, Hakim told them. Lad it doesn't work that way, his father warned. Just watch me, Hakim countered.

From that moment on, Hakim grew more and more distant from his family. His father and brother saw the Change as a disease, something to feel ashamed of. Hakim briefly thought of his lycanthropic heritage as a curse, until he realized that it made him stronger and faster than any human being could ever be. Also, he healed quickly from any injury. He didn't feel cursed. He felt blessed. He just had to leave Toronto and the stifling influence of his so-called family. Once in Alberta, he could finally be himself. He was strong and powerful, designed by mother nature herself to be the ultimate predator. Whenever the full moon rose, he went to the woods and shape-shifted into the seven-foot-tall, vaguely humanoid wolf-like entity that he was born to be. And he hunted, as was his right as a super predator. At first he hunted deer, and other animals. Then he came across a trio of humans, gun-toting rednecks who sat around a fire. The three bozos sat there, talking about how much they loved hunting and how much they hated the fact that so many blacks, towel heads and other minorities were invading Calgary. Bad enough that the Mayor is a damn Muslim, one of them said.

Even in his transformed state, Hakim bristled at their racist words. He'd put up with bigots his entire life. Even in racially diverse Toronto, he'd been taunted and teased because of his skin colour. Well, now he had the power to do something about it. With a roar that would cower a pride of lions, the gigantic wolf-man leapt out of the darkness and into the camp. He made short work of the three men, savagely tearing them to pieces. Hakim left the camp, and prowled for the rest of the night. When dawn came, he shape-shifted back into human form, picked up his clothes where he'd hidden them and went back to campus. He felt like a million bucks.

Hakim? came Wendy's voice, snapping him out of yet another reverie. Hakim looked at her, and saw concern in her beautiful face. Are you alright? she asked him. I'm fine, he said. Wendy shook her dreadlocked head. No you're not, she said, gently touching his arm. I'm stressed these days, Hakim admitted. You need a pick-me-up, the young Haitian woman said with a grin. Hakim shrugged and nodded. Let's go catch a movie, Wendy said. Good idea, Hakim heard himself reply. After class, the two of them left campus and hopped on the bus to the Globe Cinema. They went to see Lee Daniels's critically acclaimed movie The Butler. After the movie, they went to the nearby pizza parlor and grabbed a few slices of pepperoni and coke.

So tell me about yourself mystery man, Wendy said, once again touching Hakim's arm. Hakim looked at her hand on his arm, and took a deep breath. Normally he couldn't stand to be touched by anyone, male or female. His parents weren't the most affectionate. Dad was always busy with work, and so was mom. And his brother didn't feel like hanging out with him because, like any good Jamaican ( or half Jamaican in this case ) Wahid Winston was homophobic with a capital H. Never mind that Hakim liked women better.

Wendy looked at his hand, then at him and excused herself. I'm sorry for touching you, she said, a sad look obscuring her pretty face. No it's okay, Hakim said. The next thing he did surprised them both. Impulsively he grabbed her hand, then brought it to his lips. What was that for? Wendy asked with a grin. Hakim flashed her his trademark fearless smile. Because you're hot, he laughed. Wendy appeared to be considering this. That's a very good answer Mr. Winston, she said. Arm in arm, they left the pizza parlor an hour later. I had fun, Hakim said. He moved to give her a handshake. He wasn't the tactile type with women or men but something about Wendy appealed to him. Wendy batted his hand away and planted a soft kiss on his lips. I had fun too, she said, grinning. If lightning had struck Hakim Winston in that instant, he wouldn't have been more shocked.

Wendy I have to tell you something, Hakim began. The young Haitian woman looked at him. I know you're bisexual and I don't care, she retorted, hands on her hips. Hakim looked at her, shaking his head in amazement. Wow, was all he could say. For the first time in ages, Hakim was actually baffled. The cocky grin he almost always wore was gone. Never in his wildest dreams could he ever imagine that there were women out there who liked bisexual men. He'd grown up hearing his father bandying the words "batty man" around. After seeing bikini posters of Serena Williams, Beyonce Knowles, Alicia Keys, Lucy Liu, Hope Solo AND half-naked posters of Idris Elba, Hayden Christensen and David Beckham on his son Hakim's bedroom wall, Roderick Winston realized that his worst fears were confirmed, his youngest son was a switch-hitter. Among other things this forever damaged their relationship, and Hakim felt tainted because of it.

You can be yourself around me, Wendy said. Hakim smiled, and gently pulled her into his arms. Then he kissed her full and deep. Wendy kissed him back with a passion that surprised them both. Hakim had always thought that women were gentle kissers while men were forceful. He hadn't kissed a lot of people, male or female, but none had ever kissed him like Wendy. The young woman gave his ass a smack, and that jolted him. I like you, he said, pressing his forehead against hers. Wendy laughed. So ask me out already, she teased. Hakim opened his mouth to reply, and she put her finger to his lips. Yes, she said. Then they began the kisses again. Hand in hand, they returned to campus.

Hakim lay on his bed that night, smiling. He browsed through Wendy's Facebook profile on his iPhone, growing more fascinated with her by the minute. The gal had a lot of interesting pictures. Shots of herself at the beach, showing off that curvy body and amazing round ass in a white bikini. Shots of her at a bar with her girlfriends. Hakim was surprised by his reaction to a picture of Wendy with a white dude. A bisexual mixed man who regularly sodomized white queers, he didn't think he'd care if a black woman was with a white dude. He usually preferred fucking guys, not that women weren't fun in the bedroom but they were complicated and asked too many questions. He wasn't a fan of closeness. And yet, he was relieved when his inspection of Wendy's white male friend, Duncan something or other, revealed that the dude had a blonde wife. Phew, Hakim thought, as relief flooded through him. I think I actually like that chick, Hakim told himself.

His mind kept going back to the afternoon's events. After leaving the pizza parlor, Hakim and Wendy had a long talk. He frankly told her about himself, his family dynamics and why he came to Calgary. He left out the part about being a werewolf because that was just too much. Still, he was impressed by her. Five-foot-eleven, curvy, smart, sexy, educated and open-minded. A beautiful black woman who was interested in him, an openly bisexual mixed guy. Wow. Let's do paintball this weekend, he told her. Nothing like competition to spice things up, Wendy laughed. Little Miss Cooperation sees the light at last, Hakim grinned. He walked her to her dorm and kissed her goodnight. And he honestly couldn't wait to see her this weekend.

At the thought of the weekend, a shudder went through Hakim. Shit, the full moon. He'd completely forgotten about it. He'd planned on going out, and maybe kill a few rednecks. Their bullets couldn't do jack to him. The only method of killing a werewolf was using silver bullets. Mother nature engineered his species to be strong, fast, ruthless and exceptionally durable. He could regenerate at a rate that would impress the X-Men's Wolverine, if he were real. So, um, yeah. The weekend was coming. He couldn't pull out of his plans with Wendy. She'd be crushed, and he couldn't have that. Because...he actually cared about how she felt. Weird but true.

Groaning, Hakim went through his belongings, and found the silver necklace his father had given him. Wear this on the night of the full moon and you won't transform, the old man promised. At the time, Hakim had laughed, for he couldn't imagine not wanting to assume his werewolf form and going hunting. He tentatively put the silver necklace on. Instantly he felt drained, as if his energy and vitality was gone. Silver didn't burn a werewolf's skin the way holy water burned a vampire's flesh in the movies and novels.

Silver simply sapped a werewolf's power, rendering him completely human while in contact with him or her. I guess it works, Hakim told himself. Cool. He'd wear it that night and skip the hunt. He didn't want to skip the last night of the full moon but there was always next month. Wendy on the other hand wouldn't be around forever...if he wanted to be with her, he had to move fast. A buzz from his phone snapped him out of his reverie. It was Salim, a married Somali guy whom Hakim fucked on occasion. The dude wanted another taste of Hakim's long and thick magic stick. Never mind that Hakim was uncircumcised and a Christian and Salim's religion, Islam, forbade man to man sex. Not interested, Hakim texted back. Rather than fuck Salim, he'd hold out for Wendy. He had a feeling she and that hot body of hers were worth waiting for. The things we do for the women in our lives, Hakim laughed as he went to sleep.

A few blocks away, on the other side of the University of Calgary campus, Wendy sat in her bed, clad in her bra and panties, and talked to her roommate Mariel Hennessy about her oh so wonderful date with Hakim. He's simply dreamy, the young Haitian woman said for the tenth time. Her roommate, a short young white woman with brown hair and blue eyes, sighed. Invite me to the wedding, Mariel said, reading through her copy of Fifty Shades of Grey. I just might, Wendy giggled. A buzz on her phone caught her attention. She thought it might be Hakim sending her a late-night text but it wasn't. She frowned when she saw who it was. Quebec area code. Her father, Montreal Police Service Constable Leon Jean-Renaud. There's a prowler in town and it's in the local woods, the old man said. We're going to hunt it this weekend so be ready, the text message notified her.