What’s an independent smartass to do when faced with a pack of violent, over-sexed werewolves?
Life as we knew it pretty much ended with the lightning fast spread of the plague. The media called it Werewolf Syndrome. Women got sick, many died. They were the lucky ones. Men got sick, too, but those who didn’t die… changed. A few immune men, like myself, joined the bands of refugees, scrounging for survival in the post-apocalyptic devastation.
I lived in a fortified compound with a couple dozen women, a bunch of kids and two asshole straight guys. Sounds like a man’s wet dream -- unless you happen to be the last gay man standing. At the time, risking my life scavenging in the city sounded like a fucking vacation.
I went out hunting supplies and found something else. Not a quick death, or even a slow, painful one at the hands of the beasts -- no such luck. Instead I find myself captive to the largest, most well organized gang of beast men ever. Their leader, Mace, wants more than just a generator -- he wants my body. Oddly, a certain part of me likes that idea. The other part – the part with working survival instincts -- insist I get the hell out of Dodge before my smart mouth gets the shit kicked out of me. Again. Tradeoffs…
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