Wed Her to the Wolves

Though the time leading up to the wedding had seemed to draw out for arduous and frustrating weeks, Medalia finds the affair itself to be significantly less horrid than she'd braced for.

There is a tension in the air that even her practiced and professionally polite smile can't cut through, but she soothes herself with the knowledge that it will be left behind once the ceremony is completed. It isn't a fake smile, not exactly, though she does have to keep some of the spiteful sharpness out of it, dull its edges to something human and charmed. The humans—her family—are largely fooled and baffled in equal measures.

They do not expect her happiness.

"It's more a wake than anything else," her mother had whispered, the first time Medalia had seen a wolf bride—a man that time, draped in earth tones, red clay smeared over his face, smiling—paraded down the square towards his new pack.

Eliaima had taken her daughter by the face, when she was small and easily frightened, "Make no mistake. The wolves may not drag you screaming into the woods, but they are still animals. If you let them tempt you off the trail, be your blood on your own head."

The warning hadn't stuck any longer than the nervous tremors of her youth. Medalia could tell her mother, even today, was running over what she could've said differently to keep her from this point.

Medalia supposes it doesn't matter how much she softens her smile, the red that is about to be smeared across her mouth will make it blatantly obvious which side she has chosen.

The wolves don't admonish her for bearing her fangs, so she turns to them, as she always has.

Yaniel Westlayen stands proud at the head of the pack, head high and a menacing presence even in his formals. His enforcers—his betas, his dearest friends, his chosen bond brothers—Janus and Oggy stand at his sides unrepentantly beaming across the way at Medalia. Were they not in their human form, she knows their tails would be wagging uncontrollably.

But they are shuttered for this wedding, this performance so as not to alarm the fragile masses. She has never wanted a party to end more quickly than in the moment Yaniel meets her gaze, a flash of his true predatory nature cutting through the pleasant blandness on his face. His head dips slightly, though, a silent warning.

"Be at ease," his eyes say, "Nearly there."

And as feral as she may be compared to most humans, she defers to her Leader. She turns her head away, not shyly, but so that her neck stretches, angled to him.

She blinks slowly. Yes, Alpha.

It is a tease she will pay for, she can tell, or at least, Stars Above, she hopes she'll pay for it.

The Priest is a dogged old man who has seen many a hybrid wedding and is well past the age at which he would balk at it. When he calls them forth from their respective families, Medalia is held back from jogging only by the limping gait of her father as they make their way through the grass. Gareth's face is nowhere near as grim as her mother's is, as he is the one gaining territory out of this marriage.

"Feral child," he'd said of her when Yaniel had asked for her hand, more disgusted than shocked, "Should she to the wolves, let her." Eliaima hadn't seen the point in arguing.

And now Medalia stands on the precipice of wild, screaming freedom, something she'd never have a chance at trapped behind her mother's skirts.

They reach the dirt road separating the families and she turns to him, looks up and tries to find herself in her father's face. Gareth tugs the ribbon—white, pure, no longer to be—from her throat before she can. He's meant to keep it, but she knows him better than that.

Had he blessings to give, now would be the time.

"She was never meant for us," is all he says, derisively, as if he means it to hurt.

It doesn't, though, because no, no she wasn't; she was never meant for them.

Still, Medalia lifts her skirts as she curtsies for him, bows low as expected. She isn't thanking him exactly, but she is grateful he didn't make her draw blood for this. She isn't quite sure she would've shied from it, had he forced her hand.

The dirt is cool under her bare feet as she turns to face her beloved.

Yaniel's father had been proud to send his youngest son off to start his own pack, even a group found instead of born, held together by nothing more than their desire to be together. It took strength to lead that sort of family, and Durith had seen his son grow up with more than enough to manage it. Even now, he looks proud to see this pack growing, regardless of the species of its members.

"My son has grown into a fine man in my eyes," Durith states, though the way he pauses before he says 'man' is not lost on anyone. He smiles slightly when Medalia smiles at him. "Fitting, then, that he should choose a bride such as Medalia."

Yaniel takes a knee before him, easily humbled in the face of his hero, Janus and Oggy falling easily beside him. They don't stand until Durith pats his shoulder fondly, turning him to face his bride-to-be. The only tell of Yaniel's emotions is the way he sighs when his eyes land back on Medalia, like she's the most wondrous sight he's ever seen.

It seems as if he's pulled when he moves forward, a mere step (and a pleasant, if world-weary, old priest) between them.

The words are largely unimportant, said on behalf of the townsfolk. Calls for blessings of the happy couple, praises for the continued peace between humans and magicals manifesting in such a loving manner. Nothing any of them haven't heard before, one way or another, but Medalia finds little meaning in them until the Priest addresses Yaniel directly.

"In taking her, do you swear to keep her?"

Yaniel has not once looked away from her. "So long as I shall live," he states, simple fact. Medalia warms, even as she bites her lip to keep from snapping at the next question.

"And in being taken, do you swear to be kept?"

It's never been clear to her what this means, but should she be kept by any man, she would chose no other. "So long as I shall live," she answers, and the glimmer of a smile that twitches across Yaniel's mouth is amusement and adoration in equal measures. Both make her want to bite him.

As it stands, she takes the pigment jar from the priest and upends it into Yaniel's palm.

Yaniel's hand is a familiar pressure over her mouth as he smears her red, the mark of monsters, making her ceremonially part of his pack, as legitimate as if bloodborn. If she kisses his callused palm, nobody will know save Janus and Oggy who are likely close enough to smell his arousal spike. She watches all their eyes blow dark.

Self-restraint sorely tested, Yaniel keeps his kiss brief, though his grip on her face is just shy of bruising. Janus and Oggy—now Medalia's sworn allies and protectors—kiss only her hands for the time being. They can sooth themselves knowing what is coming.

The wedding is for show, even with the permissible wolfish elements.

The bonding will happen when the moon rises, when Medalia is well into the woods, safely within Westlayen Pack territory.

Walking off with the pack, most cheering, has her chest tight with more emotion than the whole rest of the day. Yaniel takes her hand proudly, the beginnings of genuine relief and unfettered emotion creeping through his public veneer. She squeezes his fingers until they reach the edge of the woods and suddenly she's hefted up onto Janus' shoulders, the man shouting excitedly, near to barking.

The sun sets on their wedding party with her being passed from hug to hug, human smiles and the beginnings of fangs grinning in her face. She grins back, eating and dancing, singing and shouting, until she is finally drawn aside as the sun dips past the horizon.

Nearly there.

Yaniel is seated outside the Westlayen Manor, just a stack of wood beneath him, still managing to look like a throne as Oggy leads her back to him, Janus standing behind his shoulder.

Though he has no particularities towards tradition, it feels natural to sink to her knees before him, the earth brown of her skirt fanning out around her. She's close enough to feel the heat that flushes him at the sight. They are past the point where he feels the need to remind her she need not obey such rules.

Yaniel leans forward, sets his elbows on his knees to be closer to her. "You will be frightened," he tells her.

"I could never be frightened of you," Medalia replies calmly and he narrows his eyes at her. "I know who I belong to, Yaniel."

Yaniel cups her chin. "Beloved, you belong to no one, not so long as I should live."

"Very well, then I know who I belong with," she says, smiling brightly at the way his lip curls back. "Mean you to argue semantics with a silvertongue?"

Janus has a clanging, bright laugh and she looks past Yaniel to smile at him. "M'on, boss, you's acting so possessive earlier, don't yank her around," he says, ignoring Yaniel's warning growl.

Oggy drops down to wipe his sweaty brow on Medalia's back, before tucking his chin over her shoulder. "Sure smells like ours," he says, and she can't wait to be aware of their scents. "Ours, ours," he sings.

She tips her head towards his, looks directly up at Yaniel. "Yours."

Yaniel's hand trails from her chin to her hair. "I mean you will be frightened instinctually," he says, cocks an eyebrow at her. "I never meant to imply you would not trust me all the same."

That is fair enough she supposes, so she turns to kiss his wrist and doesn't argue. She also goes easily when he pulls her up to a proper kneel to kiss her soundly, promisingly.

"Come," he says and she scrambles to her feet. "It is time to begin."

Medalia is largely unchanged from earlier, only her outer shawl having been shed in the heat of the party. It's plenty warm, but she has to fight back the urge to wrap her arms around her bare shoulders. She stands, still barefoot, still in warm brown and smeared red, on the edge of the forest, facing her Alpha and his chosen ones.

Anticipation is already making her heart kick up in her chest as she watches moonlight creep across their faces as they strip before her. It is nothing they haven't allowed her to see before, but she still finds herself staring, throat tight with desire.

They are gorgeous. They are hers.

Janus and Oggy begin to shift immediately, as do the others she can't see. But oh, she can hear them, can feel the howls of the rest of the pack as surely as if they'd happened in her own chest. They are calling to her, looking for her and her heart rabbits out of control. She finds herself taking a step back as she watches their bodies bend out of shape. Instinct.

Yaniel doesn't fight it exactly, but his change slows as though he is dragging it out, the rippling shifting of his muscles jerking between shapes. His eyes are flashing Alpha Red when she looks back up to meet the gaze he never for a moment took off her. "Run, little human," he growls and his voice is not human, not anymore. Tonight is not a night for falsities.

Medalia turns and runs.

Though she had known what was coming, she finds Yaniel to be right. Logically, she knows she is safe; she is surrounded by her pack on their territory, they are coming to her. No harm will come of her, not truly. But she is barefoot and it is dark as she tears through the woods, heaving for breath and hot, too hot, and her legs are burning as she leaps over fallen logs knowing even with a head start, she will soon be overtaken. Her skirt tears to tatters and she rips at it frantically when it snags in the brush, tripping her. She returns to her feet with scrapes stinging up her thighs. This is what she asked for, what she'd been warned of.

In her heart, she knows she is safe.

The rest of her body has not caught on.

After what seems like too soon, Yaniel's howl sounds over all the rest, echoing in her ears, twisting her stomach, and Medalia knows it's nearly over. It doesn't matter how far or fast she runs, Yaniel will always find her.

That is, she believes, at least partly the point of this exercise.

Instinct has her shying away from the worst of the baying, turning abruptly and breaking through the tree line. Running blind, she barely has time to keep track of her own feet, the only thought on her mind to keep moving forward because her Alpha said to run and, afraid or no, she will trust and obey.

Medalia comes up to a creek and has a moment of indecision. She knows this place, knows that even the other side is safe territory for her—a Westlayen bride—but for some reason when her feet reach the muddy bank, she hesitates. It's that momentary hesitation, the second where she slows before she jumps, that makes the difference.

Something hits her from the side and she goes sprawling in the damp dirt, crying out in shock.

Even shifted, she recognizes him immediately, his eyes and the chaotic movement of his body as he pounces on her, paws on her shoulders as he barks in her face. She is confused even through her panic, because Oggy is smaller than the rest, generally slower, but then it hits her that he'd marked her earlier, the bastard, he'd rubbed his own scent—

"You cheat!" Medalia shrieks, shoving at him as one of the straps on her dress comes loose. He rolls off of her easily, but continues to jump at her, yipping delightedly, she suddenly knows what it's like to be hunted for sport. She couldn't have pushed him off if he'd not wanted to go, he could have her back on the ground in less than a second, but instead he lets her up and nips at her heels, tears at the remains of her clothes, urging her to run faster, run, little human.

She is, apparently, not exhausted enough to stop playing with yet.

And so she runs, adrenaline surging every time she feels his claws or teeth graze her skin.

Janus at least gives her warning, his low howl sounding from beside her seconds before he barrels in and knocks her legs out from under her. She'd been braced for it enough that she rolls to her knees, but he's on her again before she can get to her feet.

Dragging her by the back of her dress as she flails, panicked and cursing, clawing at the ground. When her shoulder catches a jagged rock, digging into her skin, she grabs for it. It's quite telling that she doesn't even think to use it on Janus, instead shredding the rest of her dress loose and flinging herself forward again. Janus, even as a wolf, sounds as though he's laughing at her.

The goosebumps on her bare skin are more from nerves than the chill, she's still so hot she feels she could burst into flames this very moment. Something tells her this is not all in her head. Nights like this are rife with all manner of magic.

Suddenly, she finds herself facing a small ledge and dread—unnecessary, foolish dread—soaks the inside of her ribs. Still, with Oggy and Janus right behind her, she can't do anything but jump for it, hands grasping the mossy dirt just over her head and heaving herself upwards.

She's only gotten her elbow over the ridge when she looks up and sees Yaniel standing less than a foot from her face, growling low in his chest in a way that makes her freeze up.

Janus' teeth don't close down nearly as hard as they could, but Medalia still yelps—mostly shock, but still a bit of pain—when he grabs her by the ankle and yanks her down from the ledge. She lands hard at his feet, he and Oggy circling her, barking in triumph.

Yaniel lands heavily before her and her heart leaps into her throat as he stalks forward.

Were she anyone else, perhaps she would try to gather her breath to beg; for mercy, for her life, for a chance, so on, crying and pleading.

But Medalia has never been just anyone, and now, tonight, is officially a Westlayen.

She looks up at the wolf stalking towards her, the red eyes and bared fangs, sleek fur shimmering over bulging muscles and doesn't feel the need to run or beg. She is frozen in awe, she may very well cry, but not of fear, because, oh, she aches to be closer.

Her Alpha is here and she longs for him.

The heat she has been feeling suddenly melts her, leaves her hot and slick between her legs. They can smell it, she knows, from the way Janus' steps stumble, Oggy whimpering behind her.

Yaniel barks and instantly, they leave her to come to his side. Tossing his head back, Yaniel howls and the others are bounding for them, howling back. Once his head lowers, he starts to shift again, this time backwards, towards something more human shaped, but not nearly enough to be confused for a mere man. Oggy and Janus, loyal as ever, follow his lead.

If she meant to make a break for it, now would be as good a time as any. She wouldn't make it far, not even completely to her feet likely, but she could try.

Yet she feels no such urge, only rolls so she is propped up on one hip, both hands on the ground, feeling no more grounded that when she'd been sprawled on her back. She can't breathe and the heat of her core is very nearly making her dizzy.

They tower over her, half shifted and still huge, naked as the day they were born. Oggy is already half hard for her and she wants them, feels them steal her already faint breath.

"Is this is far as you can run, little human?" Yaniel asks and his voice is a mess, guttural, mostly growl and Medalia gets wetter at the very sound.

Medalia is trembling where she's slumped on the forest floor. She could run, perhaps, if desperate enough, but... "As far as I shall run," she pants unsteadily, "for I am desperate only for that which pursues me."

That, it seems, is the right thing to say, because Yaniel falls on her instantly, hand around her throat. She smells blood, one of his claws digging painfully into her collar bone. "We could kill you," he snarls at her.

"You would not," Medalia gasps, covering his hand with her much smaller one, "for I am yours."

Yaniel's breath is hot on her skin when he bends to sniff her neck, down her chest, following the trail of hair down her stomach only to stop just shy of her arousal. She manages to keep her eyes open, narrowly, only for the look on Oggy and Janus' faces, their near-feral desire. "One of ours, are you?" he says lowly. "Then should you not bear my scent?"

Medalia shivers, arching her body towards him. "Would that you would mark me," she replies breathlessly, "for yourself and those you deem fit."

"Those I deem fit," Yaniel parrots, something in his tone making his betas stand straighter, tense with repressed motion. The circle is closing now, the rest of the pack in the trees around them, up on the ledge gazing down at them. Even with the warmth of their family closing around them, it seems to take some effort on Yaniel's part to leave her bereft of his touch, but he grazes her jaw with his teeth before he stands.

"Og, Janus," he calls and they nearly fall over their feet moving towards her. Her heart flutters in her chest with love for them, even Yaniel looking less annoyed than he might've at that sort of display elsewhere. "Well?"

"Yes, Alpha," Oggy answers quickly shaking himself, claws in his own thigh as he visibly wills himself soft. He moves behind her and she makes herself stay still, even as she wants to follow. She finds herself in Janus shadow as he steps close enough that her leg is stretched between his feet.

"Alpha," he answers, "should you will her to us, we accept her gratefully."

They'd already known, they'd all already known for ages now, but Medalia is so happy she could burst. She swallows when Yaniel steps ever closer to her, the length of his cock mere inches from her face. "Alpha, please..." She knows what she is begging for, can recognize the indoctrinated shame and disgust the villagers would want her to feel, the horror with which they would regard her if they knew. But they do not know, could never understand should she ever even want them to.