Jerry awoke in his own bed that morning, not quite sure how he'd gotten there. All he seemed to remember was being at Queen Anne's Revenge one moment, and waking up at his place the next. Whatever happened in between was a total blur. What's more, he seemed to be wearing mens clothing that was not his own. Navy blue Adidas shorts and a bright yellow 'USC Banana Slugs' t-shirt adorned his body. He looked like...a dork.

The moment of Heather's greatest triumph had arrived at long last. Erin had progressed to daywalker status far more rapidly than her predecessor. A little more than one year after being turned, Erin now found herself able to force a shift during daylight hours. She couldn't hold it for very long, but more time and experience would allow Erin to hold her female form indefinitely. Heather knew she had to act before that happened.

She and Erin were alone in her home, sitting upon her bed and facing one another. Their eyes locked and Heather leaned in close for a kiss. As their lips locked and tongue's swirled, Heather felt Erin's gentle grip across her waist. Her wandering hands reached the top of Heather's dress and tugged gently on its shoulder straps freeing her wonderful breasts. Within seconds, the two women were naked in a tender embrace in the center of the bed. Erin began kissing her way down Heather's flat stomach, her lips destination was no mystery.

In her conversations with Emily, she revealed to Heather that Erin liked to give pleasure first before receiving it herself. This arrangement suited Heather fine. After-all, she'd been patient for so long a few more moments were hardly a bother. Besides, this would only tire her quarry, and the more thoroughly exhausted her prey the easier Heather's task would be. So she leaned back and enjoyed the erotic sensation of Erin's index fingers softly separating her outer lips, and the gentle brush of her companions nose against her engorged clitoris. This was followed by several intense minutes where Erin licked and slurped around her lover's tiny, pink button. Heather was on cloud nine, her breathy moans seemed to confirm that.

Soon their positions were reversed, Erin laying on her back, and Heather planting a trail of kisses down her torso. When she arrived at Erin's midsection, Heather employed her own technique for pleasuring a woman with her mouth. Extending her tongue fully, she began to trace the alphabet around the top of Erin's lightly furred opening. As she formed her invisible letters, Heather began to shake her head ever so slightly. Craning her neck left to right and back again, varying her speed seemed to delight her lover.

Erin was moaning loudly now, seeming to approve of her Heather's skillful manipulations. Her eyes were shut tightly as she wailed louder and louder in expectation of the coming orgasm. Heather knew that now was the perfect time to take what she needed from her soon to be daywalker companion. Her eyes traveled to Erin's inner thigh, easily detecting the femoral artery beneath her smooth, hairless and somewhat pale skin. Without further delay, Heather forced her small, sharp canine fangs to extend fully before biting into the skin just above the crucial blood vessel. Like a mosquito biting a human, Heather's fangs didn't inflict any pain upon her host.

Erin hardly seemed to notice Heather's fangs penetrating her skin, instead reacting to the sudden cessation of pleasure. Looking down, she saw Heather's face had moved to the left a couple inches, and her lips seemed to be glued to her inner thigh. Erin felt dizzy as she spoke, "Heather...what are you doing? Why did...why'd you.. stop?" She had only just finished her sentence when a growing darkness began to take hold. It started with her peripheral sight, and gradually consumed Erin's entire field of vision. "What...you...doing...to me?" Her strength sapped, Erin's head tilted back, landing softly on a pillow behind her.

The toxin injected by Heather's razor sharp fangs caused this side-effect. She hadn't bitten many people in her life as a werewoman, but the few she did all reacted the same way. First a wave of dizziness set in, this was followed quickly by the victim falling unconscious. She was relieved the bite had the same effect as before, as all her previous bite victims were non-were's. In the past Heather had bitten in self defense or to convert a new sister, tonight her bite was for a different purpose altogether. With her switchover from werewoman to daywalker nearly complete, drinking Erin's blood would transmit her condition to whomever drank it. Unfortunately for Erin, Heather needed to drink her dry to ensure this happened.

Heather continued to imbibe this bloody tonic in large gulps, revolted by the act itself and wanting it to be over quickly. She watched in horror as Erin's limp body seemed to pale visibly with each sip. The unconscious girl's pulse began to slow until there was hardly a trace of one at all. In a matter of moments, Heather was finished and she climbed off of Erin's ghost-white, lifeless body.

And not a moment too soon. The rising sun behind Heather quickly filled the window of her bedroom. This time, instead of causing her to revert back to Heath, the warm, glowing disk had no effect whatsoever. Her plan was successful!

Heath awoke with a start, his room filled with the light of the morning sun and his body covered in sweat. "A dream," he said aloud to an empty room, "it was only a dream." A strange mixture of relief and despair filled Heath, relief that he was not yet a murderer, despair that he would be in less than one year. Since becoming a werewoman, Heath's dreams had become a window onto the future. Everything he dreamed about seemed to come to pass in waking life. Although he desperately wanted to live as a woman full-time, Heath wasn't sure he wanted it bad enough to kill. But this vision seemed to confirm that he would.

Heath spent decades reading and re-reading his copy of the New Werewoman Handbook: A Manual for the Newly Transgendered in an attempt to find another way forward, but there was none. Naturally Heath edited the copies distributed to new sisters, he didn't want them gaining knowledge of some of their more advanced powers. Only Vanessa had access to Heather's so-called 'Alpha Edition', and only because her loyalty was beyond reproach.

The smell of bacon frying in the pan wafted through the gap at the bottom of Heath's door jamb, distracting him from his thoughts. Vance was making breakfast for them both, tonight they had a pack meeting to run and they'd need their energy.

Two comfortably dressed women sat on opposite ends of a couch.

Emily and Erin resolved themselves to a quiet evening at home for the second night of the October moonset. Most of last night, and all afternoon before Aaron succumbed to the power of the full moon, they discussed Heather's strange behavior. Neither of them could figure out what was meant by her barely audible, 'Dance puppets, dance.' remark. But both women agreed that whatever Heather had planned, she was counting on the two of them fighting. Or at least being mistrustful of one another. They sat together on Erin's couch, watching rented copy of He's Just Not That Into You but barely paying attention to the action on screen.

"But what if...nevermind." Emily looked thoughtful for a second.

"No please, go on." I encouraged my new BFF. I was much more interested in what she had to say than I was in the crummy movie I'd rented. It's ironic, but even as a woman in body, mind and soul I didn't much care for 'chick flicks.'

"What if... just maybe... Heather intended for us to hear the remark?" Emiy asked. "If that's the case, we might be playing right into her hands..."

I hadn't even considered the possibility until now. Reasoning quickly, I said, "Either way, we should present a united front at the pack meeting tomorrow, and keep our eyes and ears on her and Vanessa."

Emily nodded in agreement.

"We'll see how they react to us getting along, and plan our next move from there." I said, scootching closer to Emily's position on the couch. "Getting along should be an easy sell, it won't require much acting on our part." as I explained I wrapped my arm around Emily's waist and pulled her closer. I could feel her unrestrained breasts, covered only by a thin tank-top, heaving against my forearm. My own lovely pair pressed gently into her warm, firm shoulders.

Emily giggled giddily upon feeling my embrace. "That's for sure." she concurred, turning to face me and planting a tender kiss square in the center of my forehead. Her attention then returned the the movie in progress, and we assumed a spooning position on my couch.

I was in the 'male' position, her rear pressed firmly against my flat pelvis. When we awoke the next morning, we were laying in the same position, Aaron's 'morning wood' poking into Emily's soft, womanly rear.

Jerry awoke in his own bed that morning, not quite sure how he'd gotten there. All he seemed to remember was being at Queen Anne's Revenge one moment, and waking up at his place the next. Whatever happened in between was a total blur. What's more, he seemed to be wearing mens clothing that was not his own. Navy blue Adidas shorts and a bright yellow 'USC Banana Slugs' t-shirt adorned his body. He looked like...a dork.

Horrified by the strange foreign clothes, he bolted out to his living room where he found a cardboard box awaiting him. Opening the lid, Jerry found all of Jenny's gear from the previous night neatly packed inside, everything except her purse, and shoes. He was visibly relieved to have found these prized possessions, but mystified about how they ended up there. Upon closer examination, there was a note beneath his breast-forms.

Jerry thought hard about the meaning of the note. 'Sloppy' Nessa said, that was very uncommon for Jerry or Jenny. Both had a well established track record of drinking in moderation. In fact, he distinctly remembered having two drinks like a lady, doing some dancing and then switching to water.

Whatever Nessa meant by 'after we finished up at my place' was also distressing. Did Jerry have a gay experience last night? He was an enlightened man of the 21st century and realized there was nothing wrong with that whatsoever, but it was never something that he desired and so it seemed strange.

And not needing his 'Jenny things' much longer, what could Nessa have meant by that? Jerry had no intention of giving up his Jenny time, to even suggest that was blasphemy to him. Sure, once upon a time he'd felt the sting of being different. Being a cross-dresser was no picnic, but hadn't felt ashamed of his dressing since high-school. What had he said to inspire that comment?

The only rational explanation Jerry could muster was that he'd been drugged. Perhaps by Nessa at the club, perhaps by a random patron. Memory loss, acting drunk, doing strange things with strange people and making wild declarations like, 'I don't need my Jenny clothes anymore' all pointed towards someone slipping him a Mickey. But there was no headache, no body-ache or any of the physical symptoms known to accompany the ingestion of a date-rape drug.

Jerry was puzzled and very afraid that he'd made a mistake, or perhaps several.