Where You Lead, I Will Follow Ch. 03

He'd stayed out too late and when he got back the night sky was grey. He was pretty proud of himself for resisting killing a man tonight, while the taste of deer blood was still in his maw and staining his fur in places. He would have to wash before he got into his shorts and back into bed with the first woman to take him like he was, willingly. For maybe another day. He knew he would have to leave her behind after today.

He almost hoped he would be called to testify against Dale Durbanks, who by now must be thinking he was crazy, hunted by a talking wolf (Ha!), he would have to come to town again.

He drank and cleaned himself in one of the streams as best he could, mindful of the wound to his shoulder that was already almost healed. He made it to his truck, and was about to morph when he realized she was sitting on the porch.

He just managed to stop himself. She could barely see in the pre-dawn light, but she called out to the grey shape she could just make out.

"Ben?" she asked softly.

And for a moment he thought she knew. She couldn't of course, but she expected Ben -- the human -- to be around the cabin somewhere. He stupidly didn't flee back into the woods like a normal wolf would, instead, he whined.

She froze in silence; he heard her breathing stop. He should flee. She started breathing again, unafraid, and the sun was starting to make him more and more visible.

"Oh, what a beautiful beast," she whispered softly.

The way she said that moved things within him and suddenly he wanted her to touch him. Unthinking, he moved towards her, head down, tail tucked away between his legs. He whined softly again.

"Look at you," she whispered again, her voice reverent, "Just like my dream."

Now she did something something stupid. She got up from where she sat and came down the steps to meet him, hand held out.

He was frozen in place. Was she sleepwalking? He had to hope so, and that she wouldn't remember their encounter, at least not until he could tell her... if ever.

She walked softly to him and placed her hand before his snout. He sniffed at it: it still had some aroma of their earlier lovemaking on it. He licked her fingers, then moved his head forward so she could run her hand over his head. He closed his eyes, berating himself silently.

She could see him better and better, and she ran her hand softly over his head and down the nape of his neck to his back, not quite petting him like a dog. Her touch was more of a... caress.

"Easy now," she murmured, then "oh, poor beast, you're hurt!" She'd found the wound in his shoulder. He turned his head and his snout bumped against her legs. She stood still, expecting.

What is she doing? He thought it strange she didn't move away, then he realized she considered him like any canine, and expected him to sniff at her crotch. So he did what any dog would do, and pushed his snout to sniff at her.

That was a mistake. She was still damp from earlier and the scent called to him to push further in. He breathed her in long huffs he let out forcefully and she let him, her body reacting to the stimulation.

Between them, a physical reaction was taking place, a feedback of hormones that wasn't supposed to happen between human and canine. She pet his head, murmuring "good boy, I know you know who that is. Is he coming back?"

He whined again, and then grunted. And then all was lost. He pushed the robe's fabric aside to discover she hadn't put anything on underneath. His snout found only short sandy curls to protect her.

So naturally, he gave her a lick.

In this form, his tongue was several inches long, made for snaking into hard to reach places, and extremely sensitive. He felt her flutter to his touch. She let out a little yelp, and now she did push him away.

"I can't," she said, moving back. "I'm not sure."

It was too late, he was becoming erect. He did the stupidest thing a werewolf could ever do.

He told her.

"Lana, it's me. It's Ben."

"I am dreaming," she whispered, and she let the robe fall open completely.

Ben knew women dreamed of beasts. Of monsters. He knew it was a way of letting some wildness live inside them, when the world held them to impossible standards of purity and restraint. The woman before him had had enough of restraint.

And so had he.

He moved forward to do what the werewolf could do: ravage her. He growled, and in the predawn, she laughed and sprinted towards the river, running softly in her trainers, robe fluttering behind her.

She knew the path and advanced unerringly until the midway point, where she stopped and let him come up to her, backing up against a tree.

He reached her and immediately began to lick her thighs, the smoothness of her skin and then the slick of her excitement tasting more than anything he had enjoyed before, the full strength of her pheromones hitting him like a freight train. It was like lapping up heaven. It was exactly like he had dreamed it would be. Even better. It was addictive.

She pushed on his snout and he growled at her, refusing to stop this impossible pleasure, and she shivered with fear and he had a flash of worry things would go wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong.

What if she changed her mind? Would he have to kill her?

He couldn't think, only lave at that throbbing pussy that glowed pink in morning light, while she moaned and pushed at him, almost sobbing in pleasure, turning from him and running again, but not very fast, and he knew she wanted him to catch her. He loped beside her, lunged and caught her robe in his fangs and halted and she pulled on it only a second before letting it fall away. Now she had only her shoes on, running before him, naked and free and wild in the woods.

It was a hunt. A hunt like he had never done before. He had never killed a woman, he had never revealed himself to one in this form. He had never thought he would meet one who could accept him like this.

He bound around her excitedly, yipping and whining, nipping delicately at her flesh, licking her fingers when she pretended to push him away, telling him "down boy!" but laughing as she did so, and he followed her to a clearing in the woods less exposed than the riverbank. There she stood, glorious in her nakedness, awake yet in a kind of stoned stupor, and he understood now was the time to bring his prey down. He caught her ankle and she fell forward to lay in the soft moss, on her stomach and face turned away from him.

She surrendered to him. He padded over her, nuzzling at her, seeking more of her scent and taste, her armpits, her feet, her buttocks, her hair, everywhere. He growled as he circled her, occasionally seizing a limb in his dripping maw, and she reacted in ways he never imagined, breathing and moaning in excitement, fear and ecstasy roiling inside her and letting him know he could do with her as he pleased.

He howled, briefly, not a call, just an announcement he had found his prey. His kin would find him insufferable, bragging like that, but he couldn't help himself.

Then he turned back to the task of devouring her. She writhed and made to crawl away, but he held her firmly by one ankle with one half-hand, half-paw, licking up her leg to behind her knee and picking the line of sweat there, and then he continued up her thigh, his tongue cleaning whatever dirt she had picked up during the chase, and she panted like any bitch would, and the thought stuck in his mind. That he had found his bitch; maybe even his mate.

She continued to crawl forward, crushing moss under her knees and elbows and breasts, becoming covered in green forest smells and dark soil, as if she was becoming one with the earth.

Holding her thighs open with both claw-like hands, he continued to lavish her, his tongue reaching deeper into her than any man's tongue, and he finally wrestled her first orgasm from her. She silently hollered into the moss.

He was so excited by his success his pelvis was thrusting forward of its own volition. He was leaking a steady stream of lubrication onto the forest floor. He moved from between her spread legs and she turned to look at him then. Her eyes rounded in fright. She was awake now.

He sat. What had he done?

She was groggy but she lifted herself from the mossy ground, her front covered in green moss and bits of twigs and leaves stuck in her pubic hair and she looked like a mythical Sylph. He lay down and crouched before her, grunting and whining, human speech unable to express his feelings.

She leaned forward and reached for him, put her hand on his furry head and he breathed a sigh of relief. She looked at him closely, muttered a singular "It is you!"; then she turned from him and placed herself on all fours... to receive him.

Ben wanted to howl again.

*

It was an atavism that pushed her forward from action to action, each step deeper into a primordial pool of unconscious memory, reaching for that part we all carry within ourselves, mammals, animals, beings of Life and Light and Darkness. Here in the woods, he had transformed into the Wolf-Spirit, and she into the Forest Witch, and she felt him slide his jaw over her buttocks and push himself over her back, his now-furry chest following the groove of her ass until their hips collided. He licked her shoulder blade, careful not to bite her, while his wildly thrusting hips tried to find her swollen cunt. When that pointed tip found it, she felt him punch into her, and now by the familiarity of it she was certain it was him. It was Ben.

Like before, he drilled into her quickly for a minute, pounding the bulge against her core like a battering ram, and she felt each assault like it was breaking down a door that had kept her caged and obedient to society, to the city, to Dale and the family he represented; an order she had rejected -- to the surprise of peers and family alike.

The beast above her grunted and whined with a familiar voice, and growled with a possessiveness she welcomed from him, knowing the human was as soft as this creature was wild. She braced herself like she now knew how and he pushed the bulge into her and it filled her with pleasure.

He slowed then, and made a rumbling noise that reverberated in her chest, and stretched as she was, she reached climax again, a violent shudder that bucked against him and made her cry. He joined her soon after that.

Before he knotted into her, she twisted and turned onto her back. Now he had to lay over her, like a proper lover. The knot swelled and pulled them tightly together; she felt him continue to pump his seed into her.

She looked into the wolf's face, and found his eyes that were now visible as the sun had breached the horizon. He licked her face so she reached a hand to still him. Yes, Ben, I know it's you, she told him silently, it could only be you.

He relaxed and lay down over her, careful to distribute his weight off her as much as he could. She pet him, and he huffed over her, content. As they lay together, he started to change back. It was a fascinating transformation, one that had him softly whine in pain, but he remained positioned over her where she wanted him to stay.

She caressed and kissed his face as it returned to normal, the ears and nose and teeth all receding to their normal size. The hair that covered him withdrew back under his pale skin. His limbs and digits popped back into their human configuration.

When it was done he was exhausted. The knot softened and she let him roll off her to spoon her, to sleep.

*****

He woke up with a pounding migraine and a blanket to cover his still naked form -- his human form. She was sitting a few feet away, a notebook in her lap, writing.

When he moved she offered him some water from the canteen.

She didn't look at him when she asked: "Do you have others? Other... bitches, like me?"

He lowered the canteen. What had happened? How could it have happened? Did she regret it? "No. No, I-- I can't believe..." he trailed off, at a loss for words.

She nodded. "Will I see you again?"

His heart bound in his chest and he almost barked. "Lana! Are you sure?"

She nodded, "I am sure. Being with you like that... It's like I always knew. It was always part of me. It wasn't luck that brought you back to me."

For a moment he said nothing. Lana Granstone was not like the other girls. Never had been.

"Can you make me a Lycan?" she asked earnestly.

He blinked. Could I--

Suddenly he jumped over to her and she squeaked in surprise while he checked every inch of her skin, tugging her clothes off to inspect he had not bitten and broken the skin anywhere. When he released her she looked a bit disappointed, but now she waited for his answer.

There were a few scrapes and scratches he was unsure of. He tied the blanket around himself, pulled her up.

"I could," he answered, "but you wouldn't want that life."

"Yes I would--" she argued, but he shook his head.

"Lana, wolves are hunted everywhere. I just hope I--" he cut off, terrified of the possibility he had contaminated her.

She looked at him then nodded, understanding there were too many things she didn't know, and then her eyes rounded in fright as she in turn understood that maybe she wouldn't get to decide.

"Did you wash? With soap?"

"Yes, especially the cuts, to avoid infection." She fell silent for a moment. Then she took a deep breath: "How long?"

"I had that terrible fever for a week. I turned on the next full moon after that." He looked at the waning gibbous moon still visible in the morning sky. It had happened at the worst possible moment in the cycle. He took her hand and pulled her to the cabin: he would make a second, closer inspection of her wounds. He would scrub and disinfect them with boiled water and bleach to make sure, he would...

"Lana," he sobbed, "I'm sorry, I don't know what I was thinking, I--"

"Ben," she squeezed his hand, "You didn't force me. If it happens... stay with me?"

"Lana, yes," he assured her. "We are mated now, I think." He would have to find the old witch again, ask her more questions about mating. Had the werewolf that had made him been her son? Her husband?

"We'll have to take a trip to Mexico," he added, "So you know more. Both of us, learn more."

"I'd like to know more as well," called a deep voice from the driveway.

**

Sheriff Karley walked towards them, hand on his holstered gun. Lana looked worriedly at Ben, who took a deep breath but continued towards the cabin, holding the blanket wrapped around his naked body.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?"

"Do you mind if I get dressed, or do you want me to answer questions while in the buff?" Ben answered, letting the blanket unwrap from his hips to push his point, barely keeping his cock covered.

Karley looked away; the man was tall and muscular, and Karley knew he had not been keeping as fit as he should have. He looked at Lana, who was ogling her lover with undisguised admiration.

"Go on, then. I'll start with Lana, here. Lana... eyes on me."

*

Once inside Ben dropped the blanket, found his bag and dressed. How much did the man hear? Did he pick up Dale and now he's wondering what happened in Mexico? What did they put in that report? Lana had told him the report said he killed a man, but she obviously didn't believe it. I should have checked that report when I went down two years ago. I killed a wolf, who turned out to be a werewolf. There's no way I can make it make sense for the sheriff.

He remembered how Kyle's family had puzzled over the report as well; between bad Spanish and bad English, no one had been quite clear on the events. The only thing irrefutable was that wolves had attacked them and killed Kyle.

And wolves had attacked and killed that bum on Saturday. And wolves had chased and attacked Dale last night. And Lana knew he was a wolf.

He would simply have to outsmart the sheriff, and hope Lana wouldn't give the game away. Before he went out, he focused his hyper-developed hearing on the conversation happening outside.

*

"Mexico, eh? What's in Mexico?" Karley asked.

"A vacation for me, and apparently some answers for Ben."

"About what?"

"About that report you told me about. Not very professional of you I might add," she reproached him, "Now Ben is wondering what kind of fuckery you cops made to have it in his file that he killed a man."

Right to the point! She's bold, that one, thought Ben.

The Sheriff was just as impressed. "Now Lana, it was the Durbanks that asked me about his anteced--"

"And you just..." she shook her head, "Dale fires a gun at me and you investigate the guy who saved my life?"

"Well Lana, the Durbanks are only looking out for you. They really like you alot, you know."

Lana just stood there, gaping. Was Karley telling her to reconsider her relationship with the Durbanks?

"And we found Dale early this morning, wandering on the interstate. He said he'd been chased by wolves for half the night."

"And they didn't kill him?" Lana snarked, then caught herself, "is he okay?"

"He's delirious." That last statement sounded like a closing argument, and Lana took the hint and shut up.

Ben came out just then.

"What would you like to know, Officer?"

"Where were you last night and this morning, Ben Striker?" The Sheriff looked somewhat deflated.

"Here, with Lana Granstone. Keeping an eye on her." His tone said a few other things; how he had postponed leaving because the local police had let slip a 'Very Important Son'.

The sheriff gulped, feeling the unspoken reproach. "Well, you can leave now. Dale will be at the county jail for a while. Unless he's gone crazy."

"What do you mean?" piped up Lana, immediately regretting not letting it go.

"He said one of the wolves talked to him."

She laughed. Both Ben and Karley heaved a relieved sigh at that, thought not for the same reason.

"He must have eaten one of those hallucinogenic mushrooms." Lana added by way of explanation, "my sister says they get a couple cases every year at the hospital. He must have gotten hungry, out in the woods like that."

"That must be it," agreed Ben, chuckling.

"He's lucky they didn't kill him." Karley said. "There was a deadly wolf attack late last week. Ian Tully. Nasty beasts. "

Lana stopped laughing suddenly. Her face turned grim.

"What is it?" the sheriff asked her, suspicious.

"Nothing. Just that Dale is damn lucky to be alive, then," she schooled her face then looked at the older man; "If you're done here, Sheriff?"

*

They watched the sheriff drive away, and all tension went out of Ben's shoulder and back. He looked at Lana. She wasn't relaxed.

"That's a lot of wolf attacks in a short time. We barely have any wolves around here anymore."

Ben stood before her, silent. The truth was there, hanging between them.

"I knew the Tully girls." Lana's voice was soft. "We went to grade school together before they moved over to your town. The oldest was in my class. Clara."

"Well now Clara and her sister can sleep at night," Ben said.

"Tell me you have control over this... condition."

"I do now."

She clasped his hand.

"Let's look at that wound on your shoulder."

*

It was mostly healed already, though Lana insisted on washing it out and covering it with some bandage and then checking him over for other wounds and before he knew it he was naked with her again, this time in a proper bed.

She was all tenderness with him, and her encounter with him as the wolf seemed almost a fever dream. She played in his hair (it was due for a cut now) and kissed his nose and eyes and lips (making him feel attractive again) and palmed his strange cock and balls and when the knot started she pulled him in in a way -- her body heaving under him to take it all -- that was everything he had ever hoped for.