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She hates his guts!

"You're missing all the fine wine and witty banter downstairs. Or did you just come for the intellectual stimulation?"

She smiled and said, "I enjoyed your piece in last month's journal. What was it called ... Wolf's ... I have it here." She reached for her bag, took out a black eyeglass case and a copy of the institute's journal. After donning a stylish pair of graphite-gray specs, she began skimming through the magazine.

"Wolf's Bane," I said, trying to sound helpful as I walked toward her. I write infrequently for paranormal publications, mostly articles. But the work in question was my first attempt at fiction.

"Yes, yes, right here," she told the page when she found it. "I've read it many times. Very sorrowful, but very funny also."

Russian - not exactly Boris and Natasha Russian, more gentle and lilting. She took her eyes off the page and looked at me again, her eyes magnified by the lenses. 'Grandmother, what big eyes you have' came to mind, but I let it pass. Her glance held a hint of test, and I like to perform well on tests.

"Thanks ... er," I looked at her and tilted my head.

"Katerina, Katerina Vassilova. But you may call me Katya," she replied, putting the journal and glasses back in her bag. From my new vantage only a foot or so away I noted that her arms and splendid thighs were covered with fine, brown hair. Thick eyebrows, hairy arms and legs, a whisper of fleece above the lips - seemed logical to assume ...

"And you can call me Ray," I said, still forming a mental image of that sexy pelt. "I'm glad you liked it, Katya."

"Most werewolf stories are so steotypical," she stated firmly, almost angrily. The spark must have reflected in her eyes, but my gaze was wandering elsewhere. "They give us either the raging animal or the romantic beast," she continued. "That's why I found your piece so enjoyable, Ray. It is distinct, unique, in it's portrayal of the willing lycanthrope."

"Well, Katya, I have no interest in the terror behind the legends. What I was looking for ..."

"It's not in there," she said, quickly crossing her legs. I'd been caught, but wasn't sure I'd failed the first test. She never stopped smiling.

I returned the smile, tried to seem contrite. I sat down in a chair opposite hers, hoping to hide my burgeoning erection.

"Sorry. I was trying to show how even when the choice isn't yours, even when it's forced on you, it doesn't reflect an end. It's a beginning, the start of a new, more vital existence than anyone could ever imagine." I leaned forward, giving her time to respond. Now I'd see how badly I'd blown my opportunity.

"So, you are the wolf in the story?" she asked, uncrossing her legs and revealing a sliver of silver panties.

"It's based on actual events," I replied, keeping my eyes on her eyes this time. I'm no easy prey. "I was staying at a friend's house in the country. I was out walking her dog and was attacked by two wolves, owned by neighbors. I managed to save the dog, but they ripped my head and arm open. The wounds healed in a remarkably short span of time, left no, almost no scars, and since then ... well, you read the story."

"I like that, Ray. No, let us say, beating around the bush for you. No denials, hiding behind 'but it's only a story,' " she commented, laying one leg over the arm of the chair, giving full view of those panties and the hair that refused to be contained within.

"I figure, why hide? No one would take that sort of tale too seriously. No one, that is, except you Katya." I watched both her eyes and between her thighs, but knew we couldn't do anything in that room. There were still stragglers chatting downstairs. I had to get her to my office.

"You the wolf in your story?" I asked.

"My whole family, Ray. Full of cossacks and werewolves. We go back generations, before Peter the Great. Like anything else, the stigma is lessened by money and power. My family had, and still has, both. Those like us survive revolutions, wars and purges." She sat forward, ready to pounce.

"I love pups like you," she continued, "so full of yourselves

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