There comes a time on Halloween night when you don’t want to be out after dark, and the four young men had entered that witching hour without realizing it. Coming home from the gay bar, they were cutting through a back alley on their way to the apartments where they lived, when a lightening bolt thundered through the clear sky overhead, struck the pavement, and a hulking, eight foot man, clad all in leather, stood in front of them.
“I am the Master of the Hunt” the man said, “And I need a pack.”
Before any of the young men could do anything about it, three collars attached to leads shot out from his hands and wrapped their away around the throats of three of them, the men struggling with them even as they began changing, their clothes disappearing, fur sprouting over their bodies. They remained human, but the collars grew up over their head into leather dog muzzles, and they all crawled over the their new master, and growled at the one man left standing.
“What…what about me?” the man whimpered.
“You? Why you are the prey,” the Hunter said, and cackled. The man turned and scrambled away, the baying and howling of the pack nipping at his heels, and he prayed that he might survive the night.