Among Wolves

Along the frosted ground his paws softly picked their way among the fallen leaves and twigs of early autumn. He'd hidden in the high mountains of the distant range for months living off of small game and the occasional wild goat to stumble down from the craggy peaks. But autumn had arrived unexpectedly, driving much of the wild game down into the low lands and he'd been without more than a rabbit for days.

While water flowed throughout the winter and the green slopes of the highlands rarely browned, he had only just returned to these lands after ages and not fattened himself accordingly to survive the harsh winter. In truth he had come here seeking less sustenance, the feeding always detracting from the thrill that was the hunt. The guilt always terrible, but lessened by killing only lesser beings; he a beast that did not whole heartedly accept the bestial life.

Now starved, ragged and desperate, he begrudgingly left the flowing hillocks of the high country for the dense woods below, ultimately wary. Twice he'd come upon human markings and twice turned further into the wood away from them. His resolution was simple: hunt, kill (a deer if possible) and then drag it up to higher ground. The further, the better. Yet there was a scent on the wind he could not resist.

Indescribable, it was a mix of cotton and flowers. From his palette, and the saliva gathering there, came a single thought: Food. His tongue snaked between sharpened teeth as he lifted his snout to the air, drowning it in the scent as if it had substance. The last signs of humans had been at least two leagues behind him, away from the heart of the dark woods. Here in the grizzled night of a hard frost was a smell lovelier than blood heated from the chase. It caressed his nose and infuriated his hunger driven senses.

Though he neither saw nor heard his prey, he knew it to be afraid. There was an acrid, acidy tinge to the smell in the air and it pulled him along. His great dark eyes beneath the ridge of bone and hair that was his brow seemed to dilate. His breathing became shallow and his body stretched out in the stalk. Each muscle along his legs and back tensed with each step, all thoughts on stealth and finding the source of the intoxicating scent.

Suddenly the woods opened to a moonlit glade. Since first visiting these woods and finding the interior too inhospitable, man had cleared such areas as paddocks for their livestock. Food aplenty for a time when many of his kind roamed these woods. Now, in the middle of a phalanx of trees, was a small clearing perhaps half an acre wide and bare save for a single rock lying in the clearing. The last remnant to a past colony which had no doubt moved to the lowlands when the wood had revealed its secret children.

Such areas were abundant the closer you moved to the lowlands, all advantageous growth ground to dirt either by man's hands or the mouths of their animals. Was it any wonder that the wood would had retaliated in kind? Sending forth beasts such as him to devour the animals which had offended her? Some faint memory tickled his mind, pulling his attention from the hunt, but it was lost as the smell's origin came to view and he was reminded of his hunger.

In the clearing sat a huddled figure of cloth upon the mossy rock. From the darkened edge of the wood he surveyed the mass, unsure of how to react when it suddenly shifted. It was alive. Sometimes wayward humans unable to care for the sick or elderly left those with no senses in the wood to be disposed of. His previous caution returned, yet he did not leave. Instead he hunkered closer to the ground and pawed his way around the ring of darkness.

Turning around the glen, the moonlight played off the folds of cloth, sometimes making the intruder seem large and other times small and slumped. And still the smell played with his nose, enticing him. This was not the smell of either the infirm or the decrepit. It was light and soft, of life, and of youth. And suddenly, peering from below the sweeping boughs of a fern, he found himself staring into the face of a young maiden.

She had not seen him creeping around the clearing's edge. She sat calmly as if casually waiting for someone. Raven dark hair framed a pretty, fair skinned face. The mound of cloth was actually an emerald green cape bunched around her, evidently too large for her. She was dressed plainly as one of the low land folk: a simple muslin skirt and blouse with goatskin moccasins upon her feet. In the dim light his keen eyes noted how her eyes widened at every sound of the night, her breath shuddering in her chest—her chest beneath the thin muslin shirt rising painfully at each twitter of a night bird. Her bosom swelling at each intake.

It was not uncommon that young pretty girls swayed by romantic tales of virgins met by unicorns in woods like these would often seek them out. Letting themselves to be led like children into the dark forbidden places of the world, assured of their safety and purity since Unicorns only appear to virgin maidens. Innocent beings led astray by the coaxing words of young suitors more intent on their lover's body than her heart. And how those hearts were broken when they find the mythical white-mane, one-horned beast replaced by a red blooded male with a single horn of his own...and that innocence is taken.

And sometimes the truly innocent found the courage to venture out and test the myths for themselves...alone.

Such was the picture of innocence in his eyes at that moment. Her lovely features were acutely defined by the pale light and the tinge of madness shrouding his eyes. Her lush, full, red lips seemed to hold so much promise. The cold air had chapped and reddened them, filling his thoughts with ideas of tender flesh...and blood. And how he ached—his whole being racked in pain by hunger, desperation, and the overwhelming smell coming from the young girl. The washed linens could not block the lilting scent of her skin, of her sweat and sweet breath—nothing else. There was no lingering stink marring her perfection; suggesting she had not come with anyone else. She was...alone.

Confident, blinded by need, the beast within him rose, overwhelming all senses, and he tensed to pounce. A soft growl slipped his lips and he surprised himself. Suddenly aware she was no longer alone; the maiden gasped and stared fixedly at his hiding spot. Thus exposed he no longer cared to stalk in stealth and quiet, he enjoyed watching the mix of emotions splay across her face as the he emerged, an enormous wolf, from beneath the ferns and shadows.

Both stood their ground, transfixed, one watching the other intently. Seeing her open fear, feeling her eyes upon him and seeing she knew him for what he was exhilarated him. A snarl exploded past his lips as his legs stretched out in front of him and propelled him forward. Rushing the young maiden, his eyes grew larger; his tooth studded mouth widening, he cared for nothing but sating his blood lust and silencing both the hunger and the raging monster within him.

And yet something was not right. The tickling at the back of his mind returned at double strength despite his blind charge towards his hapless victim. Powerful hind legs dug into the soft ground as he surged to launch himself into the air. It was as his back feet left the ground, his forelegs extended outwards; that he knew what was wrong.

Even through the adrenaline rushing through his veins and the hungry beast urging him on had dulled his senses, he knew something was not right about his prey. She stood her ground, her eyes screaming, and yet the corner of her mouth twitched...upward. She was afraid, but not entirely of him. In the last second he twisted his body away from her, a feat for all the mass behind his leap, and out of the corner of his eye he watched her arm, a blur of pink and silver; lash outwards in a sweep before his flank burst into agony.

Crazed or not, everything unfolded before his eyes as if in slow motion. In brushing past her, she had merely dealt him a scratch from the dagger she'd concealed within her cloak instead of impaling himself head on. She'd stood not out of reaction, not to run, but to brace herself for his attack. Throwing the cloak aside, she stood now, arms bared with the stiletto held in front of her ready should he lunge again. Yet no immediate retaliation was forthcoming.

Landing, he rolled his body along the ground to break the fall, transforming before his first foot hit the ground. He crouched low, his belly a whisper above the ground, toes bent, and the newly formed fingers digging into the dirt. With the change the wound in his side narrowed to a sliver of a mark but did not totally heal. Silver...

He slowly pushed himself upright into a squatting position, his eyes never leaving his challenger. The girl stood perhaps twenty feet from him, her legs locked in the same battle stance. But the looseness of her hips told him she would have no problem closing the distance and getting in a good swing before he'd have time to recover from the change. Such a quick metamorphosis sapped even the oldest and wisest of his kind, and should this young huntress grow brave he'd be completely at her mercy for the next few minutes.

She still held the silver dagger in front of her, but now she grasped her wrist with the other hand. A small tremor running down the lengths of both arms. A young Huntress. There used to be many more of her kind; always tracking and hunting his kind as his kindred stalked weaker humans. But that had been the Time Before and there were less of her kind as his kind had dwindled and nearly vanished. The faint trembling of her limbs, the wanton fear in her eyes; all belied the truth: she was young and inexperienced, this perhaps her first hunt; but she'd had the common sense to wait for autumn to bring the Lycanthrope down.

He cursed himself and his luck—he'd not indulged in humans since his first change and awareness of what he'd become. Since the end of the Time Before. He'd avoided most of humanity since, he'd lost track of time. He'd not even seen another of his kind in years, not that he cared. Most relished their existence while he simply wished to live, not having the courage to end his own life. He allowed himself a small mirthless grin at the irony, a treat since the Wolf's muzzle never offered such pliancy.

At this the girl took a sharp breath, shocked at the malevolence she no doubt felt in his gaze though he did not intend so. Still crouching, he lifted his fingers gingerly off the ground and flexed them. Invisible spiders scrambled the lengths of the long, thing digits—so unlike the stubby clawed talons that usually stood in their stead. He could not remember the last time he'd assumed the shape of his human side.

Watching him her eyes wavered, first from his fingers to his grin before focusing on his eyes below the tussled brown locks draping across his forehead. Her mouth was a straight line, pursed so tightly the blood seemingly drained from them. And yet her arms still shook just so slightly. She still looked so young despite her obvious determination and the faint red haze along the tip of the proffered dagger.

Bemused, he lifted one hand to his head and ran his dirty fingers through his tangled hair, waiting for her reaction. When she merely held her breath he grew disappointed. He would surely die here, having neither the will power to take her life nor the strength to change again and escape. The least he could do was find some entertainment in losing his life to such beauty. He had regained enough strength to stand and did so, slowly and carefully; mindful of the protesting muscles in his haunches. He'd taken to walking on all fours for so long that at first he had to shift his weight from one leg to the other to avoid falling down.

This at least produced some response from the maiden as she took a step back unsure of his actions. From this vantage he had a whole new perspective—she was nearly as tall as he, full in limb, and with a buxom figure. Her porcelain face framed with its dark hair flowed to a blithe neck and shoulders, spreading to the comely bare arms she held aloft with their deadly silver dagger. Her ample chest rose and fell heavily, if he were in his Wolf form, he'd no doubt hear her heart thundering. His eyes wandered down her length to the narrow waist and shapely hips. This was closest he'd been to a woman since the Time Before and her beauty pleased the man within him.

Seeing the thin material of her skirt cling to her legs in the damp, chill air, he was suddenly aware of his nudity. Even with the knowledge that this wondrous image would be his killer, he'd already been excited by the stalk—seeing this woman as only a man can see a woman intensified and changed his need of food to a need for something else. Unabashedly, he drew himself to his full height and turned to face her completely. He did not need to look down to see the throbbing erection sprouting from his hairy thighs.

The only sign the maiden gave that she'd noticed his arousal was a soft gasp between parted lips. Her eyes were now locked on his, and even in the dim light with his weaker human eyes, saw the tinge of blue to their coloration. He slowly started to walk around her, one step at a time should she decide to rush him. As he turned first one way, then another; she stood fixed to the ground.

Neither spoke; indeed, the whole world had gone silent. Not even a cricket chirped from the meadow's edge, their breathing the only sound. He paused and gave her another toothy grin. This time the maiden did not show any signs of fear, she was still frightened, yes, but straightened her back and dropped one arm to her side. The hand holding the silver blade lowered slightly, but still held out, a look of righteous indignation upon her angelic face...the message clear.

The grin dropped from his face as he dropped his eyes to the ground. He let his head hang as he gazed at the ground, he slumped inwardly. He would have to go to her...and again a buried memory strained against the years forgotten. Lifting his eyes to hers he found himself resolved as had been before he lunged. This time he chose as a man and tensed to lunge.

His mind blank, feeling a burning from within not caused by hunger, he darted forward. He was not as agile as his Wolf form, but he was swifter than any normal man. He was upon her in a breath, and she, ready; let fly with her gilded weapon. Again memory screamed at his consciousness and instinct took hold. At the last possible second he feinted with his left and let his right leg go out from under him. Her blade streaked past his neck, the intended target, and slipped past his left shoulder, nicking him slightly.

As he fell, he twisted, turning his back to the ground. His right arm grabbed her about the waist and pulled her with him. Thus unbalanced, they fell together with him landing on top of her. The sudden pull shocked her and she hit the ground hard beneath him, driving the air out of her lungs. Her arms struck the ground above her head, stretched out; and he desperately climbed his way up her as the dagger skittered out of reach.

Dazed, the maiden Huntress was slow to react and he grabbed both of her wrists. Stretched out atop of her while she struggled to regain her breath, she writhed beneath him. He clamped his thighs around hers to keep her from kicking. Her desperate breaths tickled his cheek and his ear as he buried his face between her neck and shoulder.

He had not totally gone unscathed in the fall himself, his head glancing off the hard packed dirt floor of the glen. His ears ringing and the sound of his own heart beat pounding in his ears; he thought he heard a soft mumbling. Within moments he realized it was neither mumbling nor the sound of his heart he was hearing. It was the blood rushing through her veins. Her heart resounding in his ears.

He was disoriented. Confused. Feeling her move against him only drew forth a curious burning in his loins. He could feel her heavy breasts, unfettered within their cotton prison slide against his bare chest. She pulled against his arms and rolled her hips trying to get out from underneath him. The sensation of her hot hips digging against his already swollen member aroused him further. Blood swelled, its length lay sandwiched between them, an iron rod.

He moaned softly into her hair as his own hips rocked against hers, the bulbous head of his erect phallus catching against her mound through the flimsy skirt. Suddenly she leaned her head forward and bit at his right shoulder. Instead of shock, he relished the pain. With the burning in his shoulders and side, the coursing fire made everything he was feeling intensify. Again he moaned.

Feeling her release her teeth from his shoulder, he bolted upright and suddenly kissed her. His lips crushed against hers, he let he hands fall from her wrists to clasp the side of her face. Without warning, her right hand snatched a small dirk from a leather bracer she wore on her left wrist. He deftly caught her wrist before the blade penetrated his chest over his heart. By the dull color he saw it was steel, and true; its tip did not burn with the intensity of her silver dagger as it barely pierced his skin.

His mind swarming and confused, he knew her. He knew his need. And to prove it to her, he guided her hand holding the tiny knife across his chest. They held like that—he straddling her waist, his prominent, proud erection sticking straight out, her eyes glued to their hands as he made an arching cut up the left side of his chest. She stared mystified by the rich, crimson blood that seeped from the shallow wound, a solitary tear running down his defined chest.

Now complacent beneath him, he plucked the small dagger from her hand and brought it down to her neck line before she could react. Tracing the back of the edge along the curve of her neck, she lay frozen. Her eyes fearfully locked on his, her arms limp at her side.

A dense fog encroached upon the glen and cast a blue haze over everything. Within the damp mist he brought the single edge of the maiden's knife under the hemline of the girl's blouse and slowly dragged it down. As the fabric gently ripped away, the girl's breathing became shallow. She grew aware of the cold ground beneath her and the fiery vision laying across her...most noticeably the glowing ember that stretched the length of his groin to just below her navel.

As he parted the flaps of her divided shirt, exposing the soft, pale, succulent globes of her breasts to the sullen, wet air; she twisted her hips against him and the heat she felt between his legs. Again he locked eyes with her, a curious look upon his face as if lost, far removed from the animal that had crept upon her in the glen. And again, she wriggled her hips softly beneath his pressing legs even as he raised the knife a second time.

She was only aware of the damp and heat between her own thighs as she watched him bring the edge of the dirk between her breasts. Holding her breath in anticipation, he traced a lined with the back of the tip from between her breasts down to her exposed navel. Her nipples stuck out tersely in the cold air. And she did not make a sound as he deftly, gently cut her along the inside curve of her right breast.

It was not until she saw the trickle of blood and his head craning down upon the red line along her pale breast, that she uttered a soft moan. She gasped frantically as his tongue traced the small cut, lapping at the blood that flowed. Moving his mouth around, he clamped his lips around her nipple, sucking it deeply into his mouth and swirling the tip with his tongue. Releasing it to the cold air, he returned it quickly to softly nibble at the erect nipple, sucking in his breath as he did so.