Author's Notes- Just a little fic set in the film, although deviating from the plot. I'm unsure whether I'll bother continuing this.

Disclaimer- I don't own the characters or concept.

Ginger is changing.

It's not too much now. She has to shave more, big deal. Her canines are a little sharper. All the better to bite you with, my dear. A few white streaks growing in amongst the red. Good, she always hated being a redhead anyway. Even if it did match her fiery personality. Being a cliche is just not Ginger.

Of course, it's not just physical. There's something else stirring inside Ginger, a monster wrapped in pale girl skin. Sometimes she just wanted to snap, she didn't want to scuttle around with her head down like meek little Brigette. There was always that slow-burning fire inside Ginger, a temper she had always managed to control somehow. Not a good girl, not a sweet girl. She was sugar AND spice and all things nice, and sometimes she didn't want to play nicely when the girls put her down and the boys undressed her with her eyes.

Now she just doesn't care any more. Her new canines tingle as she remembers the feeling of heated heartblood welling against them as she tears out her dog's throat, as she bites into a boy's shoulder and writhes above him. It empowers her. Whether she was ripping out a jugular with a life between her teeth, or riding above a boy with her hips holding him sway, and her eyes glazing over with ecstacy. It's like being reborn. All the power of a wolf- and all the power of a woman. But aren't they almost the same thing? The wolf bays at the moon, the woman is affected by that distant cold orb too. Ginger dimly remembers being told that female inmates in prison and mental institutions are always more violent around a full moon. But only dimly. Dull humans facts are beginning to fade from her mind now.

Her dreams are tinged red, bloody, violent. They aren't the jumble of human thoughts, the result of neurones randomly firing during the night. In her dreams, she's always out to kill, running long and low through forests, seeing the world in shades of red and black. She knows the thrum of blood and adrenaline as she bears down on prey. She knows the tribal drumbeat of her paws on soft forest earth. She knows how a corpse looks when you're buried to the teeth in it, all red and ragged like torn Christmas tissue paper. Unconsciously, she shifts and twitches in her sleep like a dog, as she relives great kills of the past like long forgotten memories transmitted by the virus that turned her. A slight snarl in the back of her throat, and Brigette sleeping with a baseball bat again.

Ginger dresses and slips out the house silently and feels the tiny hairs prickle up and down her ridged spine, her eyes slanting as she breathes cool night air and thinks of escaping. Brigette. She can't leave her sister alone, in the suburban hell they resent so much. But she doesn't know what else to do. The wolf in her wants to run, baby, run out to the forests or mountains or anywhere she can race all day and never see a building or a road. She wants the peppery hot spice of blood in her throat, and her world reduced to the predator, the prey and a dance between them as old as time.

Take your sister

She considers it, shifting uneasily in the cool night air, jogging round the deserted roads. Perhaps. Ginger doesn't think she is strong enough to drag a protesting Brigette away, and keep her away long enough until the virus multiplying in her blood has a strong enough hold over the pitiful human side. And Brigette is working on a cure. Sam. She has to eliminate Sam.

Ginger lopes silently through the streets towards the room Sam mostly lives in. The greenhouse is silent and scented with a warm green scent. She pushes open the door, catching it before it squeaks. He's a vague shape under a blanket.

"Evening, Sam," She breathes. There's a husky tone in her voice, a voicebox made for snarling not pillow talk. He wakes slowly, dazed, confusion in his eyes. She will kill him. But first she has.. other needs.

Her top falls silently to the floor, useless human creation of spun threads. He's definitely interested. The skirt slips over her narrow hips, her flat stomach bared. And she's on the bed, crawling towards him.

"Brigette.." He murmurs.

"You don't want her," She assures him, yellow eyes crazed. "She's a monster. And I am grateful for you trying to help her- so grateful.." Her hand steals under the blanket. "It was very.. nice of you," Her voice is uncertain. The animal is taking over, and its language is so much more simple. "I want you to be my very first, Sam," She tells him, unsure. He likes virgins, so she's heard.

"I'm not your first," He says, confused, half-asleep. "Everyone knows you were sleeping with-"

A growl forces its way out her throat as she realises. He told. He told everyone. He told everyone because he's a fucking man, and she's the weaker sex and while he's being congratulated, her reputation will go down the drain. Not a nice girl, no more sugar for Ginger, just spice as she's downgraded to 'slut' or 'whore' material, an object of lust but not a girl you can respect. Ginger puts out first time! Never mind that he did the same fucking thing, men always do the same thing, this man between her thighs would have done the same fucking thing to her sister..

Ginger snarls and lunges forward, catching Sam's chin with one hand and forcing his head back into pillow softness, baring the throat. He flails beneath her, she bats his hands away easily and sinks towards the irresistable scent of warm human skin, the thrum of blood pulsing that only she can hear.

Sam writhes and pulls away, yelling, hitting her back uselessly. Her teeth sink in too low, into shoulder and not neck. But her jaws are full of warm blood and crushable bone and a hot glow lights Ginger up like an ember. Her back arches and she can feel the wolf trying to tear out. His knee between her thighs as he shrieks, struggles, and she welcomes the pressure, grinding down against him shamelessly. Then he goes for her eyes, clawing at her like a fucking girl. She pulls back, catches his hand and crushes it effortlessly, claws aching to be sheathed in human flesh. His shoulder is a bloody ruin, and Ginger pulls back the covers, exposing his bare chest. He sits up and tries to wriggle out of bed, but she shoves him back down easily. His eyes are wet and dark and breath comes in sharp pants. As her hand shoots up under his ribcage to grab that pulsing heart and rip it out, her teeth close on the soft throatflesh just below his jaw. The last shriek is cut off and strangled as her eyes roll back and Ginger reaches orgasm, one hand buried in pulsing organs and the other between her thighs.

Dawn finds Ginger unsteady, mostly human again and cleaning the bloodstained sheets from Sam's room. Most of the corpse is gone, and with her new strength, it doesn't take too long to dispose of the rest in a deep grave under cement flagstones. No more Sam and his quaint little cures stolen from fairy tales. No one to help Brigette now. No one left to turn to.. except Ginger. Together in life, together in suicide.. and together, the wolves will run as a pack.