Awakening The Alpha

The boat glided among the surface of the still water, leaving ripples dancing gently in its wake. Simon stuck a worm onto his hook and threw it in the water, awaiting a fish to take the bait. His breath steamed in the brisk Alaskan air as he waited. It took as long as it took. In his early days, he would stir and fidget, worried that a fish took his bait without getting caught on the hook.

But now Simon had learned to wait, to enjoy the calm silence, to love the process. Without letting his eyes wander away from the bobber for too long as he got lost in his thoughts, he lost himself in the surrounding nature. How peaceful it was here, on this calm lake, surrounded by tall, sharp, dark tress on all fronts. Cedar, Spruce, Hemlock and many more. An eagle soared high overhead, though the massive bird looked only like a small blip from the ground.

This is the life... he thought, never once regretting leaving the deafening noise and bright artificial colours of the city for this natural retreat, living mostly on his own sustenance. He frequently hunted game and fished for food, and foraged for what else when he could. For money, he took part-time jobs and helped the community to cover what little he needed. He tried his hardest to divorce himself from technology and live a simple life, but even he needed electricity the odd time. A consequence of the modern world.

The bobber dipped into the water, the line tugged, the rod jerked, and Simon yanked the hook out of the water. A lake trout, murky green and spotty, wriggled on the end of his line, the hook skewered through its lips.

"Gotcha," he said, reeling the squirming fish, its scales dripping with water onto his boat, where it kept wriggling as he yanked the hook out of its mouth. It was a good enough size for his supper tonight, so he decided he would leave it at that. Simon put the rod back into the boat and took the paddles, rowing himself back to the rocky shore.

His lodge sat not too far away from the lake, a climb up a mound, through a thick patch of woods, and he was there. His boots crunched on the frosty ground as he approached the house. The humble wooden structure sat almost hidden amidst the woods, given away only by the pelts hanging at the front of the door.

Simon made the preparations for a fire, lighting the tinders, and got to work on preparing the fish. Preparing a flat stone, he slapped the trout atop it, cutting it open from jaw to tail through the belly. He dug his fingers into the slimy carcass, ignoring the pungent fishy stink that invaded his nostrils, and scooped the guts out in one fell swoop, throwing them away for any birds or other animals that might want them. Though he had to keep a constant lookout for bears.

The fire grew slowly. Simon threw a couple more logs over it, letting the dancing flames rise. The smoke rose in faint grey spirals, the burning logs crackling within, their smoky scent hanging in the air. He held his hands over the fire, rubbing them together, chasing the chill from his bones.

A rustling sound caused his ear to twitch, and then a twig snapped behind him. He turned, dropping his hand toward his belt, grabbing the hilt of his knife. His heart dropped, and he shot to his feet in an instant.

A wolf waded through the thick hedges. Fur as black as midnight, with eyes shining silver as though lit with moonlight.

"Whoa," Simon gasped, taking a step back and unsheathing his knife. The wolf snarled at the sight of the weapon. He didn't want to startle the animal, but his natural instincts had kicked in. That fight or flight decision the body made in an instant without any conscious thought. And Simon tended to choose to fight. "Easy, girl..." Or boy? He did not know, but he tried to assume a calm, diplomatic tone. The wolf may not heed his words, but it understood that common language that all living beings, man and beast alike, shared.

The wolf now took a step back, growling, its eyes dropping toward the knife. It held its left paw off the ground, and moved with a limp as it circled the fire. Hm, could it be friendly, perhaps seeking solace, warmth, or food? Simon thought to himself, lowering the knife slightly as a show of peace, but never loosening his grip of the hilt.

He looked around the woods, checking for its pack, but the wolf appeared to be alone. Indeed, had there been a pack, they'd have all been surrounding him by now. "What do you want, ey?" he said, quieter and calmer.

The wolf cocked its head, limping forward a little, its nose twitching as it eyed the gutted fish on the stone slab. "You hungry?" he said now.

The wolf whimpered.

Still suspicious, Simon did not let go of the knife, but allowed his shoulders to loosen a little. If it wanted to attack him, it would be baring its teeth, poised to strike. This poor wolf was just wounded and without a pack. Maybe the pack had been killed or the wolf cast out.

Not like its the most unusual occurrence, a wolf approaching a man around a fire with food. That's what brought humanity pet dogs, after all.

Then his stomach grumbled... Simon was looking forward to that fish himself. It took a better part of the afternoon to catch it. He had extras in his freezer. Frozen venison sausages and other cuts. But they had to be thawed, and he'd just sat down now. He was hungry now.

But he looked into the wolf's silver eyes once more, they looked sad, as though pleading for him to help. "Oh, curse ye..." he grumbled, walking up to the fish with knife in hand. The wolf's shoulders arched, and it stepped back. He chopped the fish in half and threw the part with the head for the wolf. Better that way, he never ate the head, so no sense in letting it go to waste.

The half-fish carcass plopped onto the ground not far from the black wolf. It hesitated at first, still cautious, never taking its eyes off him, then edged closer to the fish. Its nostrils twitched over the scaly green skin, then it gave the fish a lick, and lapped it up in a few bites.

Simon chuckled. "Hope you enjoyed that, that's all yer getting." He took the flat stone slab and put it over the fire with the fish still on and waited for it until it started sizzling. The skin crumpled and dried, the oils making the fresh white meat glisten as the aroma of cooking fish filled his nose. It must have filled the wolf's nose too, because it circled to the opposite side of the fire, trying to get closer, looking at his half of the fish.

"No," Simon said, more serious now. "That's for me."

The wolf's eyes drooped, and it whimpered, but did not get closer.

They sat together in silence as he waited for the trout to cook. What else was he meant to say to a wolf? Still, the company wasn't bad, better than another person's company. Simon had come out to the wilderness to escape other people as much as possible, but he'd always been a lover of animals. He had brought a dog with him when he first moved here called Freddie, a big Karelian bear hound--to ward off bears, as the name of its breed suggested--but he died a year ago, and Simon did not have the heart to buy another dog just yet. He'd only get the same heartbreak after another 8 or 10 years, and he didn't think he'd have the strength for it.

But now the wolf limping next to him made him wonder.

"What's the matter with you?" he said to the wolf, pointing towards it's wounded foot. He tried to stick his hand out as a welcoming gesture, beckoning the wolf to come closer, but it remained in its place, safely out of his reach. He tried to inspect the leg from where he was sat, seeing if anything was lodged in the paw like a sharp twig or other debris, but he could see nothing obvious, he'd have to get a closer look.

It might have to be bribed with more food.

When his trout was sizzling and cooked, Simon gorged himself on it, sinking his teeth into the soft white flesh. He saved a few scraps and the skin for the wolf, but now it would have to earn the food.

He dangled the skin in front of those silver eyes, the wolf salivated at the sight, but when it did not move forward, he shook his head. "No, now you come to me, come on." He snapped his fingers, dangling the cooked trout skin in front of it.

It took its time, the wolf edged forward just a little, would retreat at the slightest sudden movement or sound, even if Simon himself did not make it. "Do you want it or not?" The fire had died to embers by now, glowing orange chunks pulsing heat. They'd been at this a while, but gaining the trust of a wild animal took time.

Eventually, the wolf's hunger bade it to approach, and it quickly lapped the skin out of Simon's hand. He tried to get a closer look at what might be bothering the wolf, but it ran away and snapped at him as soon as he tried to touch his leg.

"Have it your way, then," Simon said, going back into his home.

As twilight came, he noticed the wolf still paced around outside his house, looking at him through the windows. What unusual behaviour, he thought. Wild animals weren't like this, it seemed to act more like a stray cat or dog than a wolf.

Distant howling echoed through the night, the wolf's ears pricked up, and it looked around anxiously. Simon was all comfortable in his lodge, a warm fire crackling in the fireplace. The stuffed head of an elk illuminated above the fireplace, casting long shadows across the ceiling. He had been enjoying a good book but found himself constantly glancing toward the wolf pacing outside his house.

Clearly it was in need of care and wanted care. Judging by its calmness before, he deemed it safe enough to open the door. The brisk air howled into the lodge, making his hairs stand.

The wolf's gaze fell on him again, and it stepped back.

He knelt, holding his hand out in friendly gesture, snapping his fingers. "Come on, you want a place to stay for the night?" Anyone would have called him mad for letting a wolf into his home, but this one was wounded and without a pack. If it had wanted to attack him, it would have by now.

The wolf lowered its head a little, stepping forward, then came no closer. He sighed. "Fine." And retreated into his home, shutting the door behind him. He went to the freezer and dug out one of the venison sausages, jabbing a stick through it and holding it over the fire for a while so it would thaw. He didn't know if it was cooked or not, but so long as it wasn't frozen, he was sure the wolf would have it. He could tell it was ready when he smelled the roasting meat and regretted that he hadn't taken one out for himself. But this was for the wolf, and Simon wasn't greedy.

He went back to the door, opened it, and put the sausage down by the doorway. The wolf sniffed at the air, immediately homing in on the sausage. "Yes, that's for you." Simon smiled. "Come on."

Slowly, it crept towards him, bringing its snout closer and closer, as if it was trying to stretch its neck out so that it didn't have to walk so close to him. When the wolf got close enough, it nabbed the sausage up and ran back off the porch, eating it in the safety of the night.

"Tsk," Simon said, shaking his head. "You can come in, you know?" But the wolf just ate.

This continued for three days. The wolf never left sight of the house.

He would leave the sausage closer and closer to the door, eventually putting it inside the house so the wolf had to come inside and nab it.

On the fourth day, the wolf finally felt comfortable enough to eat the sausage in the house, but then it would limp out. On the fifth day, it got far enough inside for Simon to slowly shut the door behind it. He had managed to stroke it on the head a few times and got close enough to finally realise the wolf was indeed a she-wolf.

She first responded harshly to his touch, trying to snap when he'd touch her, but then she warmed up to him, letting him scratch her on the head. "You need a bath, don't you?" He wasn't sure she would let him bathe her, but her fur felt coarse and rough. He did manage to inspect the wound, though. A deep bite mark across her front leg, once he got his fingers deep under the fur, the red gashes in the soft skin were clear as day.

Definitely the bite of another beast. Another wolf perhaps? Maybe she was a runt or rejected from her pack for some ambiguous reasons. "We best get that cleaned up," he said, leaving the wolf in the hall. She curled up close to the fire, and for the first time he'd seen her look somewhat at peace. It felt good that he could do that for her, it was the same feeling one got as helping another person. Animals deserved all the same care and affection. They're loyal beasts, to be fair to them.

As he went into his storage room, he fished about for some first aid supplies. Bandages, some herbal remedies, and other medicines. Giving human medicine to a dog was likely a bad idea, so he took a half-drunk bottle of whiskey instead. She wouldn't like that, but the wound must be cleaned.

"Here girl," Simon said, coming back into the hall. The wolf pricked her ears up at his approach, but he was relieved that she didn't immediately stand up and try to flee, instead lying on the bear skin rug right by the fire. Comfortable.

He gently lifted her leg, just where the wound was. "Now..." He took the lid off the whiskey. "This will hurt, but don't worry. Ah, why am I even saying this? You can't understand me anyway." The wolf just stared at him with those oddly calm silver eyes.

"Ready?" He poured the whiskey over the bite marks, expecting the dog to bite his arm, cry out, and run away scratching at the door.

But she did none of that. She snarled a little but let him get on with it. This shocked him the most. Could she possibly trust him so much already? This was most unusual. He'd known stray cats who remained wary for weeks before trusting another person.

No, there was something strange about this black she-wolf indeed...

Either way, satisfied the wound was clean, he wrapped it up in a bandage and then went to sleep, leaving the wolf shut in the hall in case she got ideas about wondering to his larder and eating all his food.

Simon's suspicions would only increase the next day, when he checked on the wound, and it had fully healed. Furrows formed over his brow, and he looked into the wolf's eyes. "My god, that healed quick. How is that possible?" He asked as though he suspected an answer, then thought to himself. Look at me, talking to the wolf, asking it serious questions.

Maybe he had been on his own for too long. Maybe he was losing touch with reality sometimes. It could feel that way, despite how his isolation from humanity seemed such a great idea at the start. Nowadays he found himself talking more than he ever did around people. He talked to himself, to the stuffed elk head above his hearth, to the fish, to the wolf.

Simon brushed his fingers over the now clean wound, unable to believe his eyes, and then the strangest thing happened.

It sounded like cracking at first, like the crack of a bone when he would twist his spine or crack his fingers, then the wolf twitched, fell to the floor, convulsing and twisting on the bear skin rug in front of the fireplace.

Simon stepped back, a sudden jolt in his heart, feeling like he may have harmed the she wolf. But what could he have done? He could only sit and watch, it looked like it was having some kind of seizure.

The wolf whimpered and cried, the cracking of its bones intensified, the limbs changed shape, the bones expanding, elongating, twisting and turning. "What the hell?" Simon gasped, stepping back, wondering if he should run and get his shotgun, yet he found himself so transfixed, so paralysed by the display that it was all he could do but watch. The black fur receded, revealing blotchy flesh beneath. Pale in some areas, with tanned, brown patches growing wider and wider. The only place the black fur did not recede was on the head, where instead it grew longer, almost like the hair of a horse. The digits on the paw got wider, expanding until they looked like human hands. The snout receded, it's face became rounder, the fur retreating still, the teeth becoming squarer rather than fangs. Its tail got shorter until it was a stub on the back.

And before Simon knew it, before him, on his bear fur rug, lay a naked woman curled up into a foetal position, her arms covering her breasts, her knees touching her elbows.

"Am I dreaming?" He slapped himself, not realising how his jaw hung open, and then the wolf-woman stared at him with a strange look on her face. She retained those brilliant silver eyes and the midnight-black hair. There was nothing wolf-like about the rest of her though. Smooth, red skin, a small nose, perky breasts--or so they looked, pressed up behind her arm--a beautiful face, and plump lips. She looked well built, too, not skinny or frail looking. But strong. Perhaps due to all the time spent in the wild?

"H-Hello?" she spoke, unfurling herself from her foetal position, using her hands to push her self up against the sofa, in a half-crawling, half-standing pose. Now Simon's jaw-dropped face was not one of fear or shock, but rather a little entranced. After all, a beautiful naked woman stood before him without a care in the world, and she wan't trying to be seductive or flirty, she was just standing there as though she were fully clothed.

Now he noticed her wide hips, the black hair over her pussy, the big dark nipples on her tear-drop shaped breasts, how obvious it would be that he's looking, checking her out, the stupid look on his face. Was he sweating, getting hot in here? "Oh," Simon blurted out, snapping himself out of it with a little shake of his head. "I... uh..."

The wolf-girl tilted her head. "I'm sorry," she spoke at last. A soft, calm voice. A pleasant voice.

Simon had to pinch himself. "Y-You talk. God, ah... what--sorry, who are you? Do you want any clothes, or some food maybe? Do you have a name?"

The woman smiled, climbing up onto the couch as if she were in her own home, and lying flat on her belly, much like a dog. "I have scared you. Forgive me." Her black hair fell over her shoulder, and his eyes glazed over the curve of her ass as her legs swung back and forth in the air.

"Sacred is... ah..." He had no idea what to say, his face went red. It wasn't just that she was a shapeshifting wolf, like in werewolf folklore, but rather that she was another person. Simon felt he was as much a stranger to human company by now than he was to magic. "Surprised, I think is the word I'm looking for. Yes, surprised."

She rested her chin on the palm of her hand, flashing those lovely white teeth. "Many are when we reveal ourselves, though I have not been in this shape for a long time."

"Y-You must be hungry," Simon said, composing himself more now. "Come, please, the kitchen is just through here." He walked past the wood walls, through the door. The woman followed, first she tried crawling on all fours, then stumbled to her feet. Her body shifted and swayed, her arms extended as she tried to find balance on her new feet.

"Just sit here," he said, pulling out the only chair pushed under the oaken table he had crafted himself. He would stand and eat. He turned on his old electric stove, went and fetched a few eggs from his larder. Once his cast iron pan heated up, he threw in some butter and cracked three eggs, letting the gooey clear liquid plop in, followed by the soft yoke. He mixed them all up until they were scrambled, seasoning with salt and pepper. The naked woman waited in silence as she watched him.

Simon then took out his only plate and his only knife and fork, putting them on the table in front of her. "I'll have to clean them after you're done with your food. Not used to having company here, as you can probably tell."

"You don't have to," she said as Simon poured the steaming, rubbery scrambled eggs onto her plate. Ignoring the cutlery, she dug into her breakfast with her hands, gorging on it as feral as ever.