#meanwolves

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You buy the bouquet before you leave town. Pink roses, white lilies and baby’s breath, cloying in your passenger seat. You used to wait until you got all the way to Quail Creek. You’d stop at that florist on the corner and fidget by the register with all your awkward smiles and survivor’s guilt, never quite making eye contact, never quite able to ignore the small town gawking from the old folks and teenage part timers watching you pass through like a haunting on repeat. 

So now you buy it before you get there. Your car will smell soft and sad like a funeral for days after, but the pain stays private that way.

You get into Quail Creek late. Sunset smolders on the horizon and stretches shadows across a long, lonely road. Past the little diners and antique stores, the gas stations and highway ramps to other places, all the way out here at the very edge of town, there’s a memorial. The city never put up signs to help anyone find it but you know the way by heart. 

Turn left onto the dirt road that peels away from town into dense woodland, the one that warns NO OUTLET on a yellow sign. Take it as far as it goes. There’s a circular patch of dirt at the end meant for u-turns, and a willow tree growing at the roadside. You park in its dappled shadow. The rest of this journey is made on foot. The path you take is not paved but worn into the earth by countless footsteps before yours, but the wildflowers steadily overtake it year by year. With the bouquet in your hand, you march the fading trail deep into the forest. 

When the day comes that the forest swallows any trace of it, you’ll still know where to go. You remember what he said, exactly how he said it. Smiling softly, squeezing your hand, whispers in the dark:

“Follow the creek ‘till you see three big boulders all in a line. Go west from there, towards the evergreens. The trees are marked. You can feel them even if it’s too dark to see. Three slashes, diagonal, a small fourth slash on top. Eventually, you’ll get to the stepping stones and they’ll take you the rest of the way. Remember that, okay? You’ll reach the end of the stones and I’ll be there, waiting for you.”

The last light of day trickles between pine branches. The stepping stones are half-hidden in dry and dead leaves but you feel the difference between your shoes, spots of solid rock amongst grass and soil. The air is cool and the sky is dark by the time you reach the memorial. Echoes of things that used to be here linger, patches of flattened earth where buildings once stood and crops used to grow. In the middle of a clearing, a large stone juts from the ground. Unaltered from its natural, slightly rounded shape, it is etched with two sets of carvings. The same message, written twice.

On one side are runic symbols. Not Old Norse but something similar, a close cousin. On the other:

Here dwelt brave wolves and beloved ravens of the Yarrow Meadow pack. May ye frolick spring fields ever after.

Below that is a list of names.

You approach the stone with slow steps. Crouching beside it, you trail your fingers over the cold, bumpy surface. You have to use the light on your phone to find it, but it’s there. The left-most column. Bottom row. Luke is the name there, with the silhouette of a bird carved beside it. You trace the indents of the letters with your thumb.

“I’m here. I’m home,” you say, hoarse and quiet. You swallow hard, swiping your sleeve across your face. You told yourself you wouldn’t cry this time. “I know I’m late this year. Sorry. You know I’m good at finding excuses.” You tug the ribbon off the bouquet and dismantle it crudely, crumpling up the plastic and jamming it in your pocket. You place the flowers at the base of the stone. “I meant to come in the spring. Those rose bushes you told me about, they’re still here. They’re not blooming right now. It’s just a wall of thorns.” 

It’s so quiet. There’s no one here but you and little things rustling in the underbrush. A squirrel chitters quietly on its way up a tree, returning to its nest for the night. The moon peeks through the clouds and you can just barely see the treeline like the bars of a cage. 

“I can’t stay long. It’s dark and I don’t know these roads very well. Might need to sleep in the car for a few hours.” You don’t get up. You mean to. You try a few times but you never do, your hand still resting on the stone. “Why am I such a coward?” you whisper. “I don’t want to go back. But I will. I always do. It wouldn’t matter if I was brave now because it’s too late. I wish I’d…I wish…” You bite back a sob and scrub furiously at your burning, tear-filled eyes. 

A branch snaps behind you.

You lurch to your feet and whirl around, eyes scanning the woods. That wasn’t some tiny twig breaking. It’s big, whatever it is, a bristling shape loping closer at a steady pace. It’s not a bear, is it? Your pulse hammers in your chest. You fumble with your phone, angling the lights towards it in the hopes of scaring it off or blinding it. 

Open maw. Teeth bared. Glowing predator light for eyes. Your heart skips a beat. The thing makes an irritated noise, somewhere between a growl and a whine. Its ears flick back and it wrenches its eyes shut. No, that’s definitely not a bear but it’s almost as big. It’s a wolf, covered in jet black fur. If you hadn’t heard it coming, you definitely wouldn’t have spotted it in the dark.

It lets out a whiny bark, like a dog complaining about being stuck indoors. It shakes its head, swiping one of its front paws in front of its face. Then it does it again, growling. Annoyed, you think. It’s such a purposeful, distinctly human gesture, a wordless, “Turn that shit off.”

Not a regular wolf, you realize.

“Sorry!” you stammer, flicking the light off. Your stomach lurches in terror at the sudden darkness that fills your vision, the shadows seeming to squirm as your eyes adjust. You know the wolf is still there. It lets out a huff and pads closer, its movements suddenly obvious and easy to hear. You can just barely make out the shape of it, head raised and gait slow. Is it doing that on purpose, stepping on every single stick and crunching leaf so you know where it is? It comes very, very close, but it holds still when you flinch.  Its eyes unnerve you, indistinguishable from the feral gaze of a wolf except for an uncanny sense of familiarity. Thinking, assessing, judging the world not quite you do, not quite like an animal does, but in a way that bridges the two. 

“Are you…visiting the memorial?” you guess. It bobs its head emphatically in a nod. “I just finished. I’ll give you some privacy—” 

It veers into your path when you step away. You move to the left and it follows. You shift your weight to the right and it does the same, mirroring your movements. 

“Uh. Excuse me,” you say. You try to leave again. Your only warning is a growl before it lunges. 

It happens so fast. The scream gets caught in your throat as the wolf comes barreling right into you, knocking you off your feet. Your heart is in your throat expecting to hit the ground hard, to feel teeth in your throat, but instead you fall into soft warmth. That’s fur against your back and beneath your fingers, velvety smooth. Your brain is still struggling to make sense of what happened, how it moved so fast that it could both topple you and break your fall, when the wolf shimmies out from under you. It’s such a smooth, graceful movement, angling its body so you slide gently into the grass. Its size is frighteningly apparent like this, golden eyes and open, panting maw angled down to study your bewildered expression. Its paws are easily the size of your hands, maybe larger. If you were standing, it would be eye-level with your chest. 

Clearly, it doesn’t want you to leave so you stay put. You watch it snuffle around the base of the stone, snout nudging against the flowers you brought before it glances at you questioningly. You’re not sure what it wants or what it’s thinking, but suddenly it shivers and curls in on itself. It trembles, ears flat and tail tucked in, making choked sounds. Fur recedes unevenly. Limbs and digits lengthen with nauseating cracks as bone lurches and slides beneath rearranging muscle. 

You avert your eyes, terrified. Is shifting supposed to take so long and sound so awful? Quick, canine panting turns to longer, deeper breaths. Now there’s a man crouched beside you, running a clawed hand through dark, messy hair. His eyes are still bright yellow and glinting like an animal’s when he glances at you in his periphery. 

“Shouldn’t wander around here by yourself at night,” he says, hoarse and winded. 

“Oh,” you say awkwardly. You try not to stare. He rakes his fingers through the fur on the nape of his neck, untangling a knot and dislodging a prickly seed pod. When you shift your legs under you, nervous and unsure of what to say, his gaze flicks back to you with magnetic speed. That look feels like a warning. You avert your eyes and tilt your head away from him, showing him your neck. Luke taught you that. Said it’d fix everything if a wild wolf ever looked angry. 

To your shock and amazement, the man—the werewolf—relaxes the second you do it. For a moment, his eyes widen and his lips part in wordless surprise. All the tension and tautness in his posture evaporates. A soft, rhythmic rustling draws your gaze to the ground behind him where his tail has just started to wag slowly. Still, he’s looking at you a little too intently, his focus making you self-conscious. He looks like he’s waiting for something. 

“Is, uh. Is it dangerous?” you ask, trying to break the ice. “I heard there are bears in the area but I’ve never seen one.”

He grunts. “They’re here. More of them now since the pack disbanded.” You hear more rustling, in front of you this time. He’s doing something with the plants at the base of the memorial. Plucking blades of grass, weaving them together. He catches you staring, huffing in quiet amusement when you quickly look away. “I don’t bite.” He spares you from trying to think of a response, picking up one of the flowers from the bouquet. “You brought these?” 

“Yeah,” you say. 

He glances at you but doesn’t say anything for a while. His eyes move down and up again, back to your face. He’s frowning. Did you say something wrong? Move too much? You can’t tell if he’s angry or if that’s just how his face looks. Luke said wild wolves can come across as a little intense without meaning to. “Would you like to use it?” he asks, his voice considerably softer. 

“Use it?” 

“Come.” He beckons you to him with a sharp nod. Reluctantly, you inch closer. “It’s what we do when we talk to the departed. You take pollen, or you grind up some petals, and you put it on their name. It honors them.” 

Your chest feels tight. You come a little closer, kneeling right beside him. Your knees bump into his, an apology getting stuck in your throat when he stops you from pulling back with a hand on your thigh. It’s such a quick, automatic gesture, done without any shame or hesitation. He only lifts his hand when you stop squirming, watching you through his shaggy bangs. “Could you show me?” you ask. “It’s Luke. His name’s all the way on the left, down at the bottom.” 

He’s giving you that look again. Brows furrowed, mouth pursed like he tasted something sour. His gaze rakes up and down again and you wonder what he’s looking for. After a moment, he nods. You watch him take the lily, rubbing the stamens between his fingers until they’re coated in fine, dark dust. He doesn’t need to look for Luke’s name, you notice. He knows right where it is, barely glancing at the stone before he rubs the spot once, twice, a third time, pressing the pad of his thumb into each letter.

“There,” he says. He rises gracefully to his feet, towering over you. He’s got long limbs, legs that bend a bit like a wolf’s, scars all over his body and—

You look away quickly. Yep, definitely naked. He walks around to the other side of the memorial and you hear him repeat the process. Crinkling petals, fingers whispering over stone. You stare at Luke’s name until your vision blurs with tears. The werewolf whispers something with hushed solemnity of a prayer. You hear him sigh softly and then he stands again, returning to your side. He sits in the grass beside you, staring again, not saying a word. 

“Sorry, just…give me a minute,” you say. 

“There’s no rush,” he assures you. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Sawyer.” He shifts closer. The fur on his arms is soft.

You sniffle, giving him your name. “Did you know somebody who lived here?” What a stupid question, you scold yourself. Obviously he did or he wouldn’t be here. But he just nods. Something moves across the forest floor right behind you and you jump, frightened until you realize it’s just his tail again. “I’ve never actually seen anyone else out here. I’m glad I’m not the only one. Some people—humans, anyway—they think it’s embarrassing. Knowing someone who joined a pack. Parents especially, they take it as some kind of judgement on their parenting. Sometimes it is.” 

His frown deepens. “There’s nothing wrong with becoming a pack human.” 

You laugh, which seems to startle him. His ears, still furred at the ends and more pointed than they should be, twitch. “Of course you’d say that.” 

“I say that because it’s the truth. It’s not easy, and it’s not something just anyone can do. Pack humans are exceptional. Selfless and hardworking, stronger than any packless human could ever understand—”

“I know,” you interrupt gently. He looks almost embarrassed, sheepishly turning his gaze elsewhere. “You don’t have to convince me. I was never embarrassed of Luke. I actually…I’d promised him…” Your voice wavers. You clear your throat. “It doesn’t matter.” 

Sawyer hums in acknowledgement. He reaches out, stroking the names at the bottom of the memorial. “You blame yourself for something you never could have prevented,” he says.

You shrug. “What makes you say that?” 

“Because I did. For years.” He gets to his feet with that same eerie grace as before, a single fluid motion, and then he offers his hand. You hesitate to take it but he waits, unmoving and patient. When you finally reach for him, he makes a chuffing sound. Dog with a bone, you can’t help but think, a satisfied noise. “Let me walk you wherever you’re going.” 

“I drove here,” you tell him, a little flustered. He’s still holding your hand. 

“Do you live in Quail Creek?” When you shake your head, he huffs. “It’s late. You need rest.” 

You tug your hand out of his grip. You’re torn between being touched by his concern and irritated at being lectured. “I won’t drive all night.” 

“No, you won’t. Show me where you parked. Come.” 

“I’m not a dog,” you complain.

He walks a few steps ahead of you before he suddenly drops down on all fours and shifts back into a wolf. It’s a much faster change this time and doesn’t leave him panting. He huffs, shakes his body, and looks back at you. He barks impatiently when you don’t start moving and trots back, shoving his cold nose into your knees. 

“Alright, alright!” you sigh. Is this what sheep feel like when a herding dog snaps at their heels? Sawyer stays close the whole walk back, either behind you or right beside you. He growls at something in the dark twice, the sound making goosebumps rise on your arms, and hurries you along more insistently. “Well,” you tell him, fishing out your keys, “thank you for the escort. It was nice meeting you—” 

He leaps inside the moment you open the door. You stare in disbelief at the sight of him padding around in a circle in your passenger seat, sniffing everything as he goes. 

“Uh. Do you need a ride?” The only answer you get is a pawing motion. You don’t know what else to do, so you get in and start the car with a werewolf sitting next to you. You keep waiting for him to turn back and tell you where he’s going but he never does. He gets comfortable, sitting upright and tilting his head in a cute, dog-like way, examining whatever grabs his attention.

As strange as it is, it’s a quiet and peaceful drive. You turn on the radio very quietly, humming along under your breath. Sawyer is good company even when he doesn’t say a word. It’s reassuring to have someone with you and he’s endearing in wolf form, physically affectionate. He likes to rest his snout in your lap and lick your face at stoplights. 

It doesn’t stop the trip from weighing on you. You get quieter, smile less, taking deep breaths as reality sinks in again. “You’re right. I do blame myself,” you say. Then you laugh, shaking your head. “Sorry, you don’t even know me and I’m just…”

Sawyer nudges against your shoulder. “Go on,” he seems to say. 

“You can’t even talk back, I’m not—” 

He does it again, nuzzling against you with the side of his face. He’s soft and warm, and his eyes are so big and sad, and the tears are coming all over again. 

“We started talking about it all the way back in high school. We didn’t really get it back then. It was just a fantasy. LIfe was so painful. Anything, anywhere would’ve been better than where we were. We held out because of that stupid fantasy. Promised ourselves and each other we’d find a pack someday, one that would take both of us.” The streetlights turn to smears of light through your tears and you quickly wipe your eyes. “We grew up. Things changed, and they didn’t. I gave up on the whole pack thing but Luke never did. And then one day, he was gone. Stopped answering messages, calls, everything. Worst week of my life. Then the first letter came.” 

You smile sadly just thinking about it: a musty, yellowed envelope, an antique that’d been collecting dust in some kind of pack storage building, wrapped with twine and labeled with a Quail Creek PO box for a return address. You only knew Quail Creek as a name you sometimes saw on a highway sign.

“Yarrow Meadow had picked him. I think he sent me seven whole pages, just talking about the commune and how it was everything we’d ever wanted and more. The wolves loved him. He said it’s rare that you get to write letters that early, or even at all, and he sent a lot of them. It took a few months before they let him visit because he was job training, basically. He was called a ‘hrefn.’ It sounded like a big deal. The next time I saw him, he was…”

Your throat constricts. He’d been so happy, smiling and misty-eyed like a newlywed, everything about him joyous and unburdened. You had always clung to each other so desperately but now he held you, steady and strong. He had shown you all of his marks like each was a trophy, bites and hickeys and suggestive scratches down his back. They were not like his old scars, the marks he always hid in high school with long sleeves and bulky clothes. He had asked for these. Had even begged, he whispered. He bore them proudly. 

That day, like every day he visited, you laid together in a heap of sweaty, tangled limbs and he whispered in your ear. Follow the creek. West from the boulders. Into the evergreens. I’ll wait for you at the end of the stones. He told you Yarrow Meadow was growing, that they wanted—needed—more pack humans. He’d gone wandering into those very woods where the memorial stands now, had sought them out and been welcomed with open arms. He had already told them all about you. All you needed to do was walk the same path. 

“I never went.” Your voice is a thin whisper. It hurts to admit. “I was so scared of being rejected. If they turned me away, then what would Luke do? Would he ruin everything for himself, just because of some stupid promise we made as kids? Would they even let him? Or would he stay, and I’d be all alone? I got cold feet every time I thought about it. Luke kept visiting. Kept telling me it’d be fine, it’d all be fine. I just had to go. I had to try. And I couldn’t. And the years went by, and the next thing I know, Quail Creek’s all over the news because the commune burned to the fucking ground, and Luke, he’s…”

His name was Samson Albinson. Twenty-four years old. Software engineer. Infiltrator-hunter. Every article and news show ran the same photo for a month straight of him being ushered into a police vehicle still covered in blood and ash. The trial had been excruciatingly long and highly publicized due to Albinson claiming membership with a prominent vigilante werewolf hunting group—a group which quickly denied any association, insisting he acted alone. To this day, you have no idea whether he was lying in the hopes of appearing righteous or if the hunters were just trying to save face. It doesn’t really matter. 

You’d gotten sick just listening to a journalist summarize his simpering argument in court, insisting he had gone to Yarrow Meadow to “inspire a revolution.” He’d waited until a busy festival night when the wolves were occupied, sharing his daring plan of escape with the pack hrefn in the hopes of rallying all of the pack humans, but the hrefn refused. There had been an argument. He hadn’t meant to kill anyone. It had been an accident. 

A fourteen stab wound, blunt force trauma to the head accident. A fire started in the main cabin’s den room accident. Six pack humans burned alive because the doors were blocked from the outside accident. Nine dead wolves ambushed from behind while trying to save them accident. Two more with intense facial trauma and defensive wounds on their hands and arms but no blood beneath their claws, as if they had been too shocked to fight back. An accident. 

Albinson fled from the commune in the commotion. He wasn’t familiar with the trail or how to get back into town, but one of the pack’s wolves found him. They might’ve been in shock, he recounted, or they might genuinely not have known he was responsible for what happened. Regardless, they fell back on instinct and guided him all the way to the road, staying at his side until emergency services arrived. He claims the wolf became aggressive when a police officer approached to take a statement. A paramedic at the scene disputed this. 

The wolf had been frantic but nonviolent, she said, until Albinson announced to everyone present that he was an infiltrator-hunter. She suspects he said this in the hopes of eliciting a response that would cause the police on scene to shoot the wolf. 

“Take the next exit,” Sawyer says. You jolt, startled by the sound of his voice. He’s in mostly-human form again, sitting tense and straight-backed in the passenger seat. He’s staring at the road ahead, lit by your headlights. “The sign said there’s a motel,” he clarifies, still not looking at you. “We’re going to stay there tonight.” 

“If I sleep in the car, I won’t have to pay—”

“I’ll pay,” he insists. 

You’re too tired, physically and emotionally, to argue. Sawyer doesn’t say anything as you pull off the highway and follow the glowing lights until you find a place to stay. He gets out of the car the second you kill the ignition and walks slightly ahead of you into the lobby. It only occurs to you that he’s not wearing anything when you’re under harsh fluorescent lights, staring at his toned legs and firm backside while he scowls at the front desk. The woman who comes scurrying out of a back room freezes mid-stride, stammering and wide-eyed until Sawyer clears his throat. 

“Region 12-A. Hoarfrost Falls,” he says. She nods stiffly and hides behind her computer. Sawyer looks back as if to make sure you’re still there, nodding sharply for you to come closer. You let out a sight and stand next to him. He strokes your head. Petting you, like a dog. 

You try not to think too hard about the weirdly pleasant feeling that gives you. 

“How are you paying for this?” you ask. 

He nods towards the computer. “Pack account. There’s a database with every registered pack listed. My alpha will get a notification and approve the charge.” His hand smooths down the back of your head and settles on your nape.

“And how many, uh, beds…?” the woman behind the counter trails off, avoiding Sawyer’s steely gaze.

“One,” he says. You have no idea how but he knows exactly when you’re about to argue and that’s when he squeezes, applying firm but gentle pressure to the back of your neck. You’re so startled that you lose your train of thought entirely. 

Sawyer takes the keycard and guides you to the room you’ll be sharing for the night. You don’t put up much of a fight when he steers you towards the bed, kicking off your shoes and collapsing without complaint. You watch with curious amusement as he inspects everything, pacing back and forth, sniffing the furniture, sticking his head into the closet like he seriously expects something threatening to be in there. “What are you doing?” you ask. 

“Making sure this is a safe place to sleep.” You hear him in the bathroom, footsteps echoing on the tile floor. He pulls back the shower curtain and opens all of the drawers. “Acceptable,” he mutters after a while. Seemingly satisfied, he comes back out and turns out the lights. The mattress dips beneath his weight. His eyes glint in the dark above you. He’s not laying down. 

“You’re not going to stand guard all night, are you?” you ask, hoping you don’t sound as apprehensive as you feel. 

He doesn’t answer. You hear the slide of his fingers over the sheets, see his claws arch before he clutches his hand into a fist. Like he wanted to touch you, and then thought better of it. No louder than a whisper, Sawyer speaks your name in the dark. “I know who you are,” he says, hoarse like a confession. “I knew before you introduced yourself.” 

You sit up slowly. Sawyer watches you, gaze rising to follow your face, his expression solemn and unreadable. “What do you mean?” you ask. 

“Luke.” The way he says that name, the warmth and fondness and love he manages to convey in a single syllable, makes your heart ache all over again. “He told us all about you. All the things you survived together, all the mischief you got into together. What made you sad and what made you laugh. You were like a pair of doves, the way he told it. Inseparable.” Sawyer reaches out to cup your cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb so gently you don’t even feel his claw. “I promised him that the moment you set foot in our woods, you would be ours. We didn’t have the influence to hunt beyond our territory or I would have gone to get you myself.” 

He sees the guilt and misery start to bubble over, a sob tearing from your throat. He takes one of your hands and places it on his chest. You’re startled by the stiff, leathery texture of his skin, scars in streaks and patches that leave him hairless in spots along the shoulders and down his sides. He guides your touch across his old wounds, pressing your palm into every dip and ridge and bumpy spot, over his collarbones, down his arms, across his knuckles. You think of Yarrow Meadows and the night everything turned to ashes. You think about that werewolf who led Albinson all the way to safety, shielding him from blowing embers and burning branches, how it must have felt at the end to look him in the eye when he smiled with all that blood on his hands.

“You need to forgive yourself,” Sawyer says, each word spoken slowly, with solemn weight. He pulls you closer and you don’t fight, needing something solid and unyielding to keep you from falling to pieces. His arms wrap around you, your head cradled against his chest. You sob into his soft fur and scars. Sawyer says nothing but he makes soft, soothing noises, cooing and wordless whispers, his hand stroking up and down your back. You cry until you’re certain you have no tears left, wrung out and raw like an open scab. You can’t remember lying down but he’s wrapped around you, keeping you warm and protected.

“Sawyer?” you say, your voice reduced to a sad croak. 

He hums quietly, stroking your shoulder. What about tomorrow? you want to ask, but you never get the words out. You don’t want to think about it. Tomorrow, you go back home. But it’s not home, is it? It hasn’t been for a long time. “Get some rest,” he says. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

“Promise?” You’re embarrassed by how needy you sound, but Sawyer kisses your cheek and hums again like it was the right thing to say. 

“Promise. I need to give you my alpha’s number. You’re going to text him, answer his questions.” Something dangerously close to hope quickens your pulse. Sawyer huffs and nuzzles his face into your hair. “In the morning,” he insists. “Time for bed.” 

But you push. You can’t help it. You need to know if this is real. “Why am I going to text your alpha? ” you ask.

“Because I have a promise to keep.” He pulls back so he can see your face, wiping the lingering dampness from your cheeks and pressing his lips to your forehead. The way he looks at you makes you feel delicate, like something truly precious.

But even now, doubt starts to creep in. Hesitation. Fear. Can you do this? After everything, all this time and all this hurt, can you still do this? Are they going to want you? “Where…where will—?” 

Your first proper kiss is heartstopping and over too quickly. Sawyer’s lips move against yours like he’s been waiting years to taste you, coaxing you to match his hunger. He pulls away with a teasing nip at your lower lip, just hard enough to let you feel the sharp points of his teeth. You hear him inhale sharply. He rests his forehead against yours and drinks you in, sight and sound and your breath with his saliva on your tongue. It both steadies him and ignites even more wanting in his gaze. 

“Things are different now. I hunt where I please.” The next kiss is chaste, a quick peck at the corner of your mouth, but you hear something like a growl rumble in his throat. You look into his eyes and you see everything you used to dream about, all the love and desire you and Luke swore you would have someday. 

You cling to him, afraid he’ll vanish if you let go. Part of you is still afraid of this, afraid of how badly you want it, certain you don’t deserve it. Sawyer holds you like he knows, firm but gentle, keeping you against his chest so you can hear the steady certainty of his heartbeat. 

You had noted the lack of mycology groups in Summitville online, so you figured that the dense woods in the area would be perfect for foraging in. You enjoyed the mushrooms and wild berries that grew in this region, so you hopped into your car early that morning with more than enough time before the storm blowing in to hit.

It had been pleasant at first, streams of sunlight filtering through the clouds and offered a cool veil of mist while you searched. But hours before you had expected the worst of the weather to start the sky had darkened, sheets of rain piercing through the forest canopy and soaking you within minutes.

You rubbed your arms and pushed forward, hoping to find a trail marker, a water-logged path, anything to use as a landmark. You only had the few snacks and the handful of edible berries and mushrooms you had managed to find, the thin blanket you had brought to sit on draped over your head and shoulders. Thankfully, your canteen had stayed full thanks to the weather but by the end of the night you had more than enough of your fill of water.

You counted two sunrises before you sat down against a tree in a thicket at the base of the mountain. A patch of wildflowers spread a blanket of pale yellow blooms toward you in invitation as you lay down, your eyelids weighed down with exhaustion. It was only for a second. It felt peaceful. You weren’t scared anymore, just tired.

You slept in fits and starts, but you dreamed. Watercolor dreams of your body, of skin pale and bloated, eyes wide and unblinking and unseeing of the sky above you. Dreams colored in shades of dawn, of endless rain, faces calling out to you in the dark.

Something warm pressed against your throat, your chest. More warmth wrapped about you, a soft breath strangling itself past your lips.

The world suddenly tilted and swayed, your body going limp from the exhaustion weighing down your limbs. You recalled being lifted, being moved as the warmth held you close, voices rising around you. Voices that sang in discordant melody about the things you already knew; the storm, the cold.

Something else that should have made more sense to you but you were too delirious to care:

“I found a human.”

Your shoes were sucked off with socks stiffened with mud, clothing peeled from you like a second skin. Warm, big hands gently held yours still as you whimpered and tried to cover yourself.

You whined, shying away from tendrils of steam on your face as your lips were gently plied open. Your tongue, hardened to stone in your mouth barely registered the liquid being washed over it, your throat stinging. The sensation of something oil-like being smoothed over your skin, low whispers above you; you tried to open your eyes and found that your lids chose not to obey you, your face swollen and numb. The balm that had been smoothed over your skin was wrapped with fabric to let raw, chafed flesh heal. You felt like you were in a cocoon, dark and merciful, and you relished in it for the time being.

You awoke again later, more retching sounding from your throat followed by whispers sounding in alarm around you. Your body felt like it was wreathed in flames. Cool liquid was poured once more through your lips and you mercifully drank as warm, plush fabric was draped around you. Your fingers carded through the fur of the blanket, something deep and rumbling lulling you back into dreamless sleep.

What little senses granted back to you were brief and came slowly. What you did realize though was that each moment you were coherent was washed over in a plethora of scents: Smells that pulled you into your childhood, your mother’s garden. Afternoons soothing freshly cut aloe over your cuts when you were trying too hard to roughhouse with the older neighborhood kids to impress them, chamomile tea to soothe you into sleep afterward. Lavender dreams that grew in thick and full hedges that ringed the garden, lemon balm salve to keep away the persistent bugs as you played in the woods in the summertime- but never too deep, and never too far away from your mother’s calling once the fireflies began to light their mirthful lanterns in the burgeoning dark.

When you finally were able to open your eyes enough to gain an understanding of your surroundings, you found that your vision was still watery and unfocused. You came to as a large figure ran gentle hands over your form, undoing bandages. If they had noticed your waking they made no indication, humming softly to themselves in a deep, warming tone as they worked.

You clung to them and whimpered as they knelt and dipped your body into warm, tea-smelling liquid, shushing you gently. Your limbs went limp as palms smoothed over your skin, gently scrubbing at your scalp to loosen hair matted with sweat and mud. Carefully, the hands lifted you from the tub to carry you back over to the bed to dry you off, smoothing more fragrant balm over you and wrapping you up in warm fur again.

You licked your lips. The sticky substance on them tasted slightly herbal and sweet. “Th..ank you…”

The only reply was the deep rumbling again, warm and strong on your back. 

One day, the darkness broke and you opened your eyes, truly awake for the first time.

You were tucked into a bundle of blankets and quilts on a simple wire-framed bed. The walls were laid with broad pieces of well-worn lumber. Bug bites were sprinkled here and there along your arms, your skin still fragrant with the sweet-smelling salve you had been covered in.

A little wood-burning stove sat in one corner, the fire lit with an enameled camping kettle, burnished with use, sitting on top. It began to sputter and hiss with steam as several moments later the door to the room opened. The biggest man you’d ever seen in your life stalked into the room trailing sunlight, steps heavy as his body eclipsed the door frame.

“Linden, the kettl- oh.” The gigantic man crossed arms covered with an impressive array of tattoos winding up from his wrists to beneath the sleeves of his rolled-up flannel. The look that he gave you made the hair on the back of your neck raise. Of course, you also happened to realize that you were completely naked beneath the blankets around you and you pulled up more of the fabric to cover yourself.    

He smirked, though you felt it was not at your expense. “I’ll let the pack know you’re awake, they’ll be relieved. Linden, especially.”

Wait. Pack? The word bounced around in your mind until it finally made the proper connection. It was confirmed as you took in the edges of his teeth as he smiled down at you, not to mention that the man was herculean in stature.

“You’re…. you’re a Wolf, aren’t you?” You breathed in amazement, enchanted. It could have been your imagination but he seemed to puff himself up at your excitement. “I don’t think I’ve actually ever known a Wolf before.”

You had met city Wolves briefly in passing, though you could barely tell the difference between them or any other person you had met. Sometimes they had a penchant for standing too close, or would sniff you as a means of familiarizing themselves with you, but nothing more.

In the fantasy stories you had read, true werewolves were great, majestic creatures that let maidens sit astride their fur as they sprinted and sang under the moonlight with their howling. You supposed the same could still be true of the person standing before you, but at the moment you were so awestruck by the look of him you could barely speak.

His tone was pleased. “Indeed I am, little human.” He smiled, showing the full breadth of his teeth. “I am Vanagandr.”

You stumbled several times over the pronunciation of his name and he chuckled good-naturedly at your effort. It was a decidedly warm sound, and you offered him a smile despite your embarrassment. “Thank you. For helping me.”

The door opened and closed again and another man, considerably shorter than the former but still massive walked toward you. Vanagandr smiled, clapping the newcomer on the shoulder warmly with an outstretched palm. “He’s the one you should be thanking. This is our hum-“ Something sharp passed in his eyes and you felt your heart began to race. “…Humble medic, Linden.” He nodded.

A tense silence followed afterward- the one named Linden had walked to stand just beside the bed and seemed content for the moment to take in the wide-eyed look on your face, gracing them over your arms as you held the blanket closer to your body. He hummed briefly in thought before reaching out a hesitant hand, testing you as if you were a stray animal he wanted to approach. His knuckles ran over your cheek with an unexpected tenderness and he smiled.

“You’re finally awake. How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” you croaked, honestly. “Were you taking care of me?” Again, he nodded. He then took your hand within his, turning your arm this way and that.

“How long have I been here?”

“Four days.” Linden offered as he gently fingered the bandages on your arm, moving to linger over one on your back. “One of our shepherds found you at the base of the mountain just at the edge of our grounds. You were breathing but it was obvious that you were suffering from exposure, then the fever set in…”

His voice trailed off. You couldn’t see his expression from behind you but the way Vanagandr frowned made the seriousness of the situation all the more obvious. Luckily you hadn’t twisted an ankle or broken any bones, but they explained to you that you had been very sick. 

“You saved my life. I don’t even know how to repay you.” You bowed your head toward the bedspread and you felt breath, heated and sure, on the back of your throat. The brief, warm touch of the tip of his nose, you were sure of it.

“We checked your belongings to see who we could contact for help,” He began again, slowly. “Your phone was completely ruined from the rain and the closest hospital is still several hours away. But,” He moved to sit directly in front of you, smoothing his massive hands on your arms up onto your shoulders.  “You’re still not fully recovered. So, how about this: Spend one more night resting here and we can call someone in the morning. Okay?”

Though you had taken your keys, you had left your wallet in the glove compartment of your car at the edge of the forest. All you had really taken with you in your backpack were a small notebook and your foraging kit, along with the snacks and water you had completely depleted while you were lost.

Craning your neck to look up at him, his heat smothering over you, you could only manage a timid nod. “I don’t want to be any more trouble or to disturb your… pack.” The word felt thick in your mouth, foreign. “Won’t everyone be uncomfortable with a stranger here?”

Vanagandr exchanged a look between both of you, and Linden was the first to offer a smile. “We can pick up on certain things… scents, changes in posture, or if someone is truly trying to challenge us. Try showing your throat.”

You did so as if you were attempting to display your chin, head tilted upward and looking up at the ceiling and both of them laughed gently at your attempt. 

“Here, like this,” the medic gently took your chin within his fingers. He turned your head to the side and pointed your face upward to reveal the skin of your throat. “If you’re ever scared or don’t know what to say to someone here, move your head just like this.”

You nodded and his fingers trailed away from your skin, his tone satisfied. “Good. And we’ll be watching over you.”

“Which also reminds me,” Vanagandr knelt beside the bed to take your hand to lift toward his face, and for a brief, terrifying second you thought he was going to kiss it. Instead, he turned it around, baring the underside of your wrist and lifted it to his nose. “Just a formality, so everyone knows you are welcome here.”

Your hiking clothes were dingy, but clean; you gratefully pulled them over yourself all the same while still in bed, tugging the sleeves of your frayed red hoodie over your arms. The two had left the room to give you some privacy; you had given them a helpless look as they stood expectantly once Linden gave you back your clothes. It must be different for Wolves, maybe they weren’t so caught up in the taboo of nudity as you were. They had already seen you when they were treating you, but you were sick. That was different.. right?

You stumbled over your feet as you tried to hop from the bed- too fast -and in an instant there were two pairs of strong arms to help you stay upright. You had definitely lost some weight and your legs were sore, your feet decidedly taking newborn steps, shaking and unsure. They flanked you until you were able to stand more confidently, though Linden kept an arm hovering about your waist to steady you if need be.

“Easy now, little fawn,” he coached from behind you.

They led you to a door closest to the only window, leading outside. The forest, no longer your captor, spread out in a verdant array from the commune, the base of the mountain not too far off beyond it. Tufts of wildflowers grew in unruly patches all along the ground, painting the earth in a riot of color all around you. Without a storm and exhaustion clouding your senses, you had to admit it was gorgeous.

“It’s so beautiful here. I feel like I’m in a fairy tale.” The Wolf beside you chuckled, and you felt your face heat in embarrassment.

“A fairy tale, hmm?” You were suddenly aware of Lindens’ body heat against you, an arm cradled into the small of your back. “Do you enjoy such things?”

“I mean, maybe more than most, I guess?” You turned to smile sheepishly at him. “Though I don’t think you’d share the same sentiment. Wolves aren’t portrayed very fairly in most of them.”

His voice was low and he searched your face again. “Are they not?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy and cold. You began to fret at the intensity of his gaze.

“I’m sure you don’t go after lost humans in the woods to eat them,” you offered slowly. “But think about it: I go into the forest to look for mushrooms and berries; I get lost in a storm and fall into a deep sleep. When I wake up, I find that I’ve been saved by friendly Wolves who nurse me back to health with tinctures and herbs in the middle of a village at the base of a mountain. If that is not a fairy tale, then I don’t know what is.” You laughed, feeling silly.

Linden was still looking at you. “How do you think the story should end?”

Ahead of you Vanagandr had stopped walking, staring ahead and crossing his arms over his chest.

You stopped as well, looking about at the commune as more wolves materialized as they went about their lives: Several were mildly bickering over something, their tones genial and light. The rhythmic sounds of wood being chopped arose in the distance, accompanying the smell of a lit hearth nearby. You noticed a hutch of rabbits under the shade of a wooden lean-to, nibbling and whuffing gently with their noses at the hands that fed them, palms open and gentle.

“I don’t know,” you said, decidedly. “But I think it would make for a very nice story.”

“Perhaps,” the grin lacing into Vanagandr’s voice was obvious, suddenly coy. “Someone ought to have kissed you awake.”

You were about to laugh shyly in agreement when a sinking feeling, a strange prickling on your arms surfaced over your skin.

As you were gawking at the mountainside and talking, observing the goings-on of the commune around you, you slowly began to notice that the the community of Wolves had stopped themselves to point a million eyes at you to where you stood in the clearing. Vanagandr cleared his throat and made a gesture with his hand that you did not recognize; everyone went back to their business, and that rising, dreadful feeling began to settle down from your throat.

“Everyone is just curious,” He had offered, turning around and waving his hand. “Its been a long time since we’ve had a human come to us.” He began to laugh again, deep and rumbling, and your fear shrank further back into your being. “Come, I’ll give you a tour. It seems Sawyer has seen fit to join us.”

In your fright, you had not noticed that Linden had managed to wander away somewhere. In his stead, a man.. no, a wolf…?

You fought to keep your composure as the one called Sawyer walked up to you, watching you closely.   

Scarred, fanged, clawed; His fur was thick and black, strokes of ink punctuated by the pieces of human skin that seemed too stubborn to turn with the rest of him. Long, dark hair swept around a decidedly human face that followed into the good majority of his torso, to the almost pendulous swing of-

Well. You must have been right about Wolves not having much reservation about being naked. You blushed, your eyes shooting back up to his face.

You noticed that his ears were a good mix of the same indecision to shift that seemed to have taken ahold of him, human and still furred. His eyes were a crisp, exotic gold that passed over and burned through you, your lips falling open with the uncertainty of what to say.

“You were very sick,” he mumbled, eyes bright and knowing. “I am glad to see you up and about.” A tail surfaced to flick out from behind his back, as dark and sharp as the rest of him.

“I.. I was. Thank you. All of you.” Tense silence passed between you, and you felt your chin slowly inching upward as he stared, exposing your throat as if on cue. Vanagandr said nothing from behind you, but soon Sawyer brushed past you to mumble something lowly into his ear. You couldn’t deduce much from what they said but one snippet before Sawyer straightened himself and stalked off:  “He’s afraid.”

 After he had gone, you found your voice again. “Do you have a specific role in your pack, Vanagandr?”

His form sauntered up to you, and you craned your neck to look up at him. “As a matter of fact, I’m the Alpha.” You gasped, unsure of what kind of respect you should be showing and he looked practically giddy as you began to fret.

“You’re our guest. You are more than welcome to call me that too, if you wanted.”

“Okay,” you tried, lashes lowered. “Okay, Alpha.”

You felt like a specimen on display for the rest of the morning.

Everywhere you walked- past the large pile of firewood being packed into a shed, beside rows of raised planters with seasonal vegetables flanked by a compost heap, between baskets of clothing waiting to be laundered beside a rumbling washing machine by the main clearing -everyone you walked by had stopped to watch you. While Vanagandr was too busy walking and pointing out the various landmarks of the commune, you were quick to offer a shy smile or a brief wave but you were sure you reeked of anxiety by the time you were led back to the main cabin.

You were mercifully allowed to eat your lunch by yourself in your room before bundling yourself back into bed for a nap. You were woken up as the last rays of sunlight spread in streaks of scarlet through the window, Linden’s face hovering over you.

The thought of going back out amongst so many strangers made you stomach seize again. “Do you know many humans?” You suddenly blurted out, unable to help yourself.

He hummed in thought. “Quite a few, actually. We sell and buy lots of things in local farmer’s markets, and we trade with several trusted farms further down the mountain for things that are more difficult for us to get. Textiles, harder to cultivate produce, livestock, stuff like that.” He moved back as you sat up, watching your lips as you softly yawned.

“You should start selling the things you have been using for me, it all smells so good. I can’t remember the last time my skin felt this smooth.” He raised his brows, saying nothing but seemed pleased by your praise all the same. “..Okay, except for that bitter stuff. But, maybe, some of the granola types would go for something like that.”

He laughed lightly and offered you his hand as he helped you out of bed. Hesitating, he then raised your hand to his face much like Vanagandr had done before. His breath ran warmly over your knuckles and though you didn’t understand the implication it seemed… intimate. You blushed.

“Come,” he returned your hand to your side. “Everyone is waiting for us.”

Everyone?

He led you through a door on the other side of the room into the main cabin proper, a rush of warmth and noise and heat blanketing over you.

The main hall resembled something you’d imagine a rustic summer camp would look like, the walls and floors wooden and worn with thick, patterned rugs strewn underfoot. The smell of the forest permeated the space, rivaled only by the grand fireplace that crackled with a mirthful glow on the other side of the room; even if you were to spread your arms from side to side it would not reach the full width of it. An array of couches and cushions were arranged all about the room and the effect of it all was definitely cozy. It was like a large family room, and you supposed it was one.

…Especially since there were people lounging on every single surface, even the rugs had a cluster of people roughing about or laughing on them. You had an inkling at the number of them all when wandering the commune earlier, but this confirmed it: The pack was huge. 

That small spike of panic panged through you again; You hoped you were just being paranoid, but if something were to happen this confirmed that you were desperately outnumbered.

Linden broke you from your thoughts, leading you to a card table where Vanagandr sat howling- literally -with laughter with several other seated Wolves. He pulled a seat out for you before sitting on the other side of the table across from you, beside his Alpha.

“Took you long enough! Trying to enchant our guest without us, hmm?”

Linden’s gaze was far away. “They asked me if I knew any other humans.”  

A thoughtful silence descended over the table. From what you had gathered, the subject seemed far more complex than you had initially realized.

“Humans are… special to us,” the Alpha began, his voice thick with some emotion that you couldn’t place. “It is interesting for us to share the world together, seeing the same things but the way we  experience them are rarely the same.”

His voice was so wistful, so hopeful that you wished that you could see it, too. “I could only imagine the kinds of things that you can see.” You licked your lips and you flushed as everyone’s eyes settled onto you from the action. “I mean.. it must be so amazing, to run like you can. See and feel the world as you can.” You turned where the two Wolves who were tumbling on the rug had shifted, your eyes wide in awe. “It must be so beautiful.”

“More inspiration from your fairy tales, hmm?” A rich, resonant laugh sounded from the other end of the table- you were shocked to see that Linden, who had seemed so sullen and wary at your presence before, was the source. “Yes, if only.” His eyes, filled with a mirth you had yet to see from him before, settled onto you.

“Think of it like this: The wolves inside us never truly sleep; even as we step into the skins of men it is still there. And it waits. It’s-“ His gaze never wavered from you, and you could not tear your eyes away from him, entranced. “Its almost romantic, in a way: The waiting, the release of the embrace when you can finally let go.” His voice filled with passion. The chatter and side conversations about the room began to die down and everyone was now looking at him as he continued, listening intently.

“The wind at your sides, the endless sky above, the earth, solid beneath your feet as you run as far as you would dare.” He suddenly looked sheepish. “I just realized that I never asked you for your name.”

It tumbled from your lips in an instant, as if bound by a spell. His eyes were still focused on you as it left his lips in turn, savoring it over his tongue as if committing it to memory. Vanagandr made a sound low in his throat and there was a beat of stunned silence.

“If you were a Wolf,” he rumbled, deep and richly in his throat, “You could truly see the world; Bright and resonant and whole, as it was meant to be. You can see everything, feel, touch, and taste everything. It is why so many of us yearn to live out here, away in nature from the scents and noise of the city. From so many unnatural things.”

You bit your lip. “Taste?” You made a small, curious noise. “I wonder what it is that you could taste that I cannot.” Several chuckles sounded around the table and you looked down at your lap. You opened your mouth to elaborate but were stilled by a gentle hand on your forearm. It stroked along your sleeve as if to placate you and you let the words die down in your throat.

“Linden. Could you help me with something, out back?” Vanagandr stood from his chair, his voice light but there was some kind of undertone to it, something beneath your human understanding that made Linden immediately go stiff at his words. The two Wolves stood from the table as chatter started up again, taking their leave down a hallway just beside the table.

A million questions filled your head, but you didn’t want to intrude or seem too forward by asking them. Luckily, the group assembled around the table seemed content to ask you questions, inquiring about what you did, things you liked, what you thought about the commune.  

Suddenly there was a shout, the sound of fierce snarling as two men quickly stood from one of the couches, angrily shedding their clothes to shift into two impressive wolves, teeth bared and hackles raised. A large, black wolf with bright golden eyes bounded into the room and barked, the sound so sharp that it made your ears ring. It quickly circled around the two to herd them out the door. The room erupted into laughter, but your heart had stopped from the display. You became aware of the smiles tipped with sharp incisors and canines around you; big, muscled arms thick with sinew, hands with claws to gouge and tear.

All the better to eat you with.

Was that the taste you would never know?

These creatures, barely restrained by their shells of clothing and mortal skin began to truly frighten you. You could sense the gazes that lingered just beyond your notice, heads turning as you flicked your gaze to regard them, always seconds too late. The room began to quiet down, the crackling of the fresh firewood filling the silence.  Could they smell your growing apprehension, the sudden shift of your blood as your heart began to speed up?

Your mind wandered back to the rabbits you saw earlier, docile and unknowing in their hutch.

Your tummy began doing flip-flops that you tried to convince yourself were related to your recent illness. You suddenly stood up from your seat, wincing as you knocked your knee underneath the table in your haste. The sound rang out like a shot and everyone turned to look at the clumsy human. “Bathroom,” you mumbled then practically fled from the room, down a random hallway.

“Absolutely not.”

A familiar voice carried from past the turn in the corridor, heated, from a crack in the door. You immediately halted. It was Linden, swearing something from under his breath.

A sigh sounded, definitely from Vanagandr: “They’re already here, practically settled right into our laps. I don’t understand why you keep doing this.”

You were certain they were talking about you.

“This isn’t like before,” Linden’s voice was low, cold. “I can’t do that again. None of us can. I’m doing what’s best for us. Why can’t you do the same?”

Vanagandr’s voice lowered into a tone that you did not know he possessed, almost making you cower where you stood. It carried into the hall and gave you goosebumps with the stark authority in it. “The pack needs a human. There is no way around it and today has proven it. It should have been more than proven to you. I haven’t seen you like this in years. Years, Linden. That has to mean something.”  

 A human, for what? You gasped despite yourself and his next words were immediately bit off.

In several seconds they had walked into the hallway, attention snapping over to you where you were frozen like a frightened deer in the hall several feet away, eyes wide.

Your hands began to shake. “I-I… uh, need the b-bathroom?”

Linden pointed to a door and you scurried off toward it as fast as you could.

You flung yourself through the door and slammed it behind you, locking it. Pushing a shower curtain aside, you sighed in relief as pale moonlight flooded into the room from a window. It was small, but desperation tremulously held your hands as you managed to slide it open, shoving yourself through until you fell unceremoniously to the other side with an undignified grunt.

You stood, then broke into a dead sprint ahead of you. You didn’t care where you were going as you crossed into the treeline back into the treacherous, beckoning wood but you knew you couldn’t stay here; the something that had settled deep and cold into your gut was screaming for you to get away from the commune, to find help.  

They needed a human. You didn’t want to sit around to figure out why.

Unruly branches snapped into your face as you ran past. You ran until your lungs began to burn, though not with as much strength or conviction as you had hoped. You were still weak from your recovery and your body quickly began to scream in protest, joints aching.

A call sounded not too far away.

Another, and another: Harmonious and sweet, howling alit the scattered moonlight around you. Two more answered several kilometers ahead and another, off to the side.

You stopped immediately and whirled around, knowing they had already gained ground on you; you tensed, waiting for a blow to send you to the ground. Should you hide? You eyed the unforgiving bark of the trees around you with no helpful branches to gain foothold on to climb.

So you ran. Stumbling over forest bracken and tree roots, you stopped immediately as a sudden wind rushed by your side, followed by silence. You started to cry, looking every which way into a silent, unforgiving forest.

“You can’t keep me here!” You screamed into the night, seeing nobody but knew they had all caught up to you and were listening. “I don’t belong here!” You backed away from nothing, from everything; you went still as something firm and warm pressed against your back, casting a shadow over you in the moonlight filtering through the trees. 

You suddenly remembered the conversation you had with Linden about lost humans in the woods and your stomach dropped in fear. Your voice comes out smaller than you’d hoped, defeated:

“Are.. are you going to eat me?”

A chorus of raucous laughter sounded around you, piercing through the trees.

Everything within you was trembling with livid fear as you tried to imagine what they could possibly want from you, a frail human. As if sensing this, the shadow spoke above you, voice low.

“My bloodline traces back to the old country, and with it the honored tradition of selecting and nurturing humans, only a special few.” The pride in his voice was undeniable. “My forebears have followed this tradition, to those who braved the wind and the seas, forging forward here in the forests and mountains; now, little human, it falls upon you.” You jumped as a hand clad down like iron onto your shoulder, swallowing it within his grasp. “Do you accept?”

There was a rustling of foliage as Linden stepped from the dark of the woods, his eyes searching yours. He was naked. “You will never be lost, or cold, or fearful, ever again.” He stood upright, looking to the face of his Alpha behind you, then back toward you. “You will never be alone.”

The forest fell into silent witness around you, the rustling of the leaves above the only sounds you could hear. Nobody knew where you were. Nobody would ever know.

Linden walked closer, gauging your every reaction, until he stood just before you. The heat of the two bodies you stood between did little to smooth the gooseflesh from your arms, a deep rumbling sound enveloping you from both sides. Linden gently tested fingers at the hem of your hoodie, beneath your shirt, and you wordlessly raised your arms to allow him to lift the fabric over your head.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He breathed into your hair. “The moon, the woods, your wolves?” Linden swallowed, voice husky. “A fairy tale.”

Strong arms encircled you from behind to finger the button on your shorts.

“Little fawn,” Vanagandr’s voice rose again from the night, dark and heady with lust. “Do you wish to see how this story ends?”

You tensed as the button on your shorts was undone, the fabric smoothed down your legs to where you were literally lifted out of them as they pooled onto the ground. Your undergarments followed quickly afterward.

“I do.” You whispered, barely hearing yourself over the sounds of the forest. But it was enough.

Their intentions were made clear when you were lowered to the ground, your face gently pushed downward as your hips were guided up with steady hands. ‘Lordosis’ you had heard it called in one of your high school biology classes, causing the room to erupt into a chorus of jeers and shouts.

By the look of him, you would have been very surprised if Vanagandr wasn’t…. sized proportionately, but as you turned to look up at his naked form you felt yourself suddenly become scared. His brows furrowed at your hesitation, your lashes flicking toward his groin and then away.  “It.. it won’t fit…” you murmured meekly.  

He lowered himself to kneel behind you, a twitch of muscle against your thigh. “I promise you, it will.” Your voice rose into a frightened wail as you felt him quickly pump his cock several times before the tip kissed at your entrance. “I won’t hurt you.” You flailed and thrashed, Vanagandr shushing you patiently and pressed you back down into a presenting position with ease. You cried out his name and in one last desperate attempt, pleaded for your Alpha to not hurt you.

It was the worst mistake you could have made in that moment.

The moment ‘Alpha’ had left your lips, he snarled as if in triumph, pushing into your body and making you tense with a sharp cry. He ran hands over your back, smoothing over your spine, his face tilted up to the sky as he groaned at the sensation of your walls clutching at him and crooned at you to relax.

His thrusts were shallow at first, slowly letting your body welcome the invasion of his overwhelming cock, stealing into you inch by inch with each downward stroke. Still, it was uncomfortable and you felt your breath hitch as his hips slowly came closer to yours. Fresh tears brimmed over your eyes to run down your cheeks, pattering into the dirt. You tried to pull away again, your struggles rewarded with hands tightening onto your hips and a grunt as you felt a burning ache creep more within you.  

You sensed that he was attempting to mount you slowly for your sake, though it did little to ease how incredibly full you felt as he sheathed himself to the hilt, balls tapping against you as you gasped. Your eyes squeezed shut, lashes clumped together with tears as your hands tightened into fists beside where your head was bowed onto your arms.

You glanced up with effort, Linden swimming into your vision through your tears. He was staring directly at you.

Vanagandr began fucking into you in earnest, pulling at your hips to meet his thrusts and your body began to naturally respond. Your small groans and yips of pain became moans and soft keens of pleasure as you tried to hold them back, ashamed. His hand moved down to play at your neck, gently gripping your throat as if commanding you to release them. You obeyed.

You were both groaning and panting with effort, your skin shining with sweat as you began to sway and moan. The Alpha sheltered himself over your back, sharing his warmth as your dampened skin evaporated with the cool night air, making you shiver.   

Before you could even register that he had moved, he had nuzzled your head to the side to expose more of your neck, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh of your throat. Adrenaline fired through your body, a heightened crescendo before you orgasmed. You cried out and fluttered around him, his voice sultry as it rose into a rough bellow over you as he staked his claim and a rush of sudden heat filled you to the brim. A strange pressure filled your core; You tried to pull away from the uncomfortable sensation before a calloused hand smoothed over your back, pressing you down to halt your struggles as he panted. “Knot,” he managed to ground out, then, “Wait.”

You turned to look at over your shoulder at Vanagandr, your eyes shining with tears and face flushed with heat. The question in your eyes grew as Sawyer materialized from the woods and stalked over to stand behind the Alpha, saying nothing. Vanagandr had a deep, satisfied rumble within his chest over you as his body held you securely in place, running soothing hands over your back. “There is so much to teach you,” His eyes never left yours, his gaze heavy-lidded. “So much for you to learn. We can go slow. We can be patient.”

Vanagandr straightened himself and turned his gaze forward, then. “Linden.”

By the time Linden came to stand over you in the moonlight, The Alpha had slowed his breathing and the fullness within you had gone down. Several minutes later he pulled away from you with a grunt, hands releasing from your hips as a thick liquid oozed over your thighs. Linden took his place between your legs, repositioning you to lay you onto your side as he moved behind you, covering you in his warmth. His chest pressed into your back as his lips played over the shell of your ear, teasing the flesh with his teeth.

A plush, throaty gasp escaped your throat at his first push inside you, the senses of your body still heightened from orgasm, his hand gripping beneath your thigh to keep you open. He trembled, sighing into you as if finding relief after a long journey. Hands that tended to your wounds, fed you, now gently cradled your chin to pull you into a kiss as you keened and cried. The action was just so human that you moaned softly against him, pressing a light kiss into his throat in turn.

His eyes closed, the look on his face almost pained, as if he had just remembered something in that moment; Something long lost, longed for, almost forgotten. He began to eagerly thrust into you, rhythmic strokes that left you panting and arching your back. You grabbed at the earth as he moved you into the dirt with each thrust.

His lids lowered in lust, voice thick with need. “Stay with us, fawn.”

You gasped softly as he withdrew from you, quickly rolling you onto your back before he pressed his chest protectively against yours and delved his cock back into you. You could see where Vanagandr stood, staring at you and Linden with an unreadable expression on his face with Sawyer pacing beside him. Into the trees beyond, more shapes came forward from the dark, man and beast, eyes glinting in the moonlight and awaiting your submission.

Linden’s hand smoothed over your sides and hips as he began thrusting into you with a vengeance, his palms practiced over the landscape of your form. You could do little to stop the helpless animal noises that tore from your throat, which only seemed to further spur him on. He was soon snarling as he snapped his hips into yours, another wave of a climax beginning to crest through you, clear and sharp. He found a spot within you that left you crying with each pass, your body writhing beneath him as you began to beg him for release.  

You were whining, legs tightening around him as your back arched and you cried out into the woods, thighs shaking. He quickly followed, raising himself onto his elbow and caressing a palm over your face as his release flooded into you, the growl of his completion settling deep within your mind. Panting, he held you close, nosing into the space opposite where Vanagandr had bitten you, your blood smeared over his chest.

You had tears dried on your cheeks, your body now muddy and cold and soreness began to fill your limbs once again; your mind wandered back to memories of a warm bath, gentle hands, fur blankets. You realized then that it probably wasn’t just blankets that had kept you warm at night.

“Yes,” you whispered into the night, voice carried over the breeze and as gentle as the rustling of leaves. “I’ll stay.”

Vanagandr knelt beside you, scooping you up into his arms and murmuring gently to you about going back to the cabin, getting you cleaned and warmed up and then ready for dinner, his voice tender. It felt like heaven, to be so fondly cradled against him. It felt like home.

You felt the earth on your skin, the warmth of the bodies that fell in line around you. Looking up, Vanagandr was looking down at you as the moon hung heavy and full as if to watch over all of you right above him.  

.

.

.

It starts so soft and faraway. 

A whisper. A warble, like the song of a bird. But it grows and it strengthens, becoming clearer. Louder. Closer. “No,” you hear over rustling grass and snapping branches. “No!” over the heavy, thrashing drag of something fighting for its life. “No! No!” sobbed and shrieked and ignored. Dead leaves crunch beneath a scuffle, a quick, futile struggle. Growls and laughter. Cloth shredding. Belt buckles clinking and zippers hissing. “No! No! NO! NO NO NO NO!” 

The alpha holds your gaze. He sits on the big sectional sofa in the den, legs spread apart, an arm slung over the backrest. There’s nothing genetic about leading a pack but he matches the stereotype with his broad, muscular shoulders and thick arms, looming somehow even when he’s sitting down. He watches every quivering move you make, every wince and fidget and nervous glance around the room while a woman screams right outside. You hear her get loose; the shocked, tremulous gasp of unexpected freedom, her racing footfalls down the dirt path. And then the wheeze, the frustrated cry when she’s caught again and dragged back over the rough, gritty ground and tossed at the pack’s feet where they jeer and howl in delight. 

They’ll keep doing it, over and over again. Hold her down with a weak, clumsy grip that just begs to be broken, and then catch her before she’s gone ten steps. They’ll do it until she learns or she can’t run anymore.

“What am I going to do with you?” the alpha drawls. His hand drums along the back of the couch, the rhythm crisp and loud from his thick fingers and sharp nails. He’s scowling and it tugs at the scars on the side of his face—on his chin and the corner of his mouth, crooked across the bridge of nose, curling around one eye. The woman tries to run again. Gets caught again. Screams in fear and rage and helplessness, again. His stare is constant. Scrutinizing. Searching for something. “What happened?” he asks. 

You stare at the floor. At the dappled fur rug. At wooden table legs. He’s still wearing his work boots, brown leather and black rubber soles with dirt flecking the toes. “I…” You swallow hard. Your voice is hoarse and shaky. “Um. I don’t…I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know,” he repeats, his flat tone telling you that was the wrong answer.

“I should’ve been watching her,” you say quickly. “I didn’t. And that was wrong. And it’s my fault.” 

The alpha glances pointedly at the backpack on the table between you, gray and waterproof with all the compartments unzipped. There’s enough food in there for several days with careful rationing. A change of clothes. A water bottle. A pocket knife. “How long, exactly, were you not watching her?” he asks. 

Your face heats and your pace quickens. His voice is the usual deep, quiet rumble. His posture is loose, sprawled and relaxed. But his gaze is piercing. His eyes are a bright, frosty blue like a frozen lake, tracking even the smallest moves you make. He would lunge if you turned your back to him right now. “She might’ve been sneaking out,” you admit. 

“Might’ve?” he echoes with dry amusement. “That’s Clive’s bag.”

“No,” you hear, soft and broken. There’s a snarl. A rumbling growl. A howl and then a chorus of them. And then the sound you were dreading most, wet and crunching, the shrill screech of unthinking agony. He keeps you pinned under his gaze as the sickening sounds outside swell to a terrifying cacophony of frenzied beasts and squealing prey. Claws rake through flesh and teeth sink into soft tissue. Blood spills across the grass. You can hear them biting and chewing and tearing her apart one red, oozing mouthful at a time. Pleasured grunts and slick, rhythmic slapping tell you they’re in the thick of hunting lust, fucking their fists and rubbing their stiff, knot-engorged cocks against any wound they can reach. 

“Strip,” the alpha orders. Your hands are shaking but you obey without hesitation, shirt and pants and everything discarded on the floor. It makes the leather collar around your neck feel especially noticeable, like a brand on your skin. You stand there trembling, wishing desperately for silence. All you can hear is the wretched, gurgling moans of an animal dying and the pack, ravenous in every way. Grunts and snarls and the awful ripping-tearing of meat caught between two maws, bestial groans and the slap of skin on skin. 

The alpha’s eyes rake up and down your body. He tugs down the zipper of his pants and frees his hardening cock, stroking it slowly.

“Come,” he says. You lower your gaze when you get closer, standing between his open legs. Another mistake. One of his large hands grips your face, squeezing your jaw. He makes you look him in the eye. “What do you think you deserve?” 

“Punishment,” you whisper. 

“Punishment?” He turns your face towards the window beside him. You can’t see anything but a mass of shadows shifting, contorting, rutting. You hear a strangled whine. “Like that? Huh? That kind of punishment?” 

“No, alpha,” you whimper. “No, no, no, not that, I’m sorry, I’ll do better, I’m sorry—” 

“This is your mess,” the alpha says, dangerously calm and quiet. “She was your responsibility.”

“I’m sorry!” You’re sobbing. You can’t stop yourself. “I’m sorry, alpha, I’m sorry!” 

The corner of his lips twitch, a snarl barely suppressed. He can smell the tang of your fear and the sharp salt of your tears. It makes him stroke himself faster, his cock jutting thick and hard in his fist. “You make this hard, hrefn,” he murmurs. “You’re my favorite. Always have been. But this is about the worst thing you could’ve done, short of making a run for it yourself.” His thumb strokes your cheek, catching a tear as it slips from the corner of your eye. “I’m not sure I can just let this go.” 

You both hear the footsteps coming but the alpha hears them first. His head cocks to the side, gaze wandering as he follows something moving outside. A shape darts past the windows. A four-legged gait lightens to two, creaking up the cabin steps. The front door squeals open and slams shut. Someone ambles down the hall, humming under their breath. A sharp knock at the door to the den makes you flinch. 

“Did you start without me?” It’s Maddox, your beta. Your breathing gets faster and shakier. The alpha rests a hand between your neck and shoulder, squeezing hard in warning. He looks you in the eye again and you might as well be shackled to the spot.

“Come in,” he says. You hear the door open and then a soft, amused exhale. The door shuts. Locks. Footsteps cross the room and stop right behind you. “The others?” 

“Where they’re supposed to be,” Maddox says. He must’ve checked on the other pack humans. That’s his job, after all. Some packs would refer to his role as “head shepherd.” 

Your pack calls him a “bitch-breaker.”

“Did they know anything?” the alpha asks.

“No, I don’t think so. Although they didn’t seem all that surprised, either. May I?” 

The alpha grunts and lets you go. You’re tapped on the shoulder from behind, urged to turn around. You don’t want to but the longer you stall, the worse this will be. Hesitantly, you look away from the alpha. Maddox has just shifted, naked from head to toe with all of his curling, runic tattoos on display around his arms and legs. Shaggy brown hair hangs over his shoulders and claw marks, healed pale and jagged, slash across his chest. One of his old wounds is not like the others. It’s a starburst in one of his pectorals. A knife wound, small and unremarkable in the mass of his other battle scars.

That was you, what feels like a lifetime ago. That was your last act of defiance.

“Hello, hrefn,” he says, smiling wryly. You nod meekly. He chuckles, stroking your head in soft pets. “You poor thing. Has alpha asked you lots of questions?” 

“Hardly,” the alpha mutters. “Didn’t get much further than what happened. Said they weren’t watching close enough.” 

Maddox hums in acknowledgement. “Is that true? You weren’t watching the new pack human?” 

“I…” You whimper. “I tried—”

“Sit,” he snaps. 

You drop to your knees on the floor. He closes what little distance remains between you, putting you eye-level with his soft cock. Maddox grips himself by the base with one hand, pumping leisurely. His other hand grabs the back of your head. You open your mouth without being told. 

“I won’t pretend to be shocked,” Maddox says quietly, speaking to the alpha over your head. “Any human Heath picks is always trouble. Just getting her to follow simple commands was like pulling teeth.” He drags his fingers over your scalp as a reward for easy submission, how eagerly you lick and suck his hardening flesh. 

“How do you feel about training another hrefn?” the alpha asks. 

You whimper around Maddox’s cock, peering up at him pleadingly. You massage his thighs and take all of him into your mouth, running your tongue along the underside of his shaft. “I’d rather not,” he admits. “You need just the right human for it. None of the others are a good fit, and it’d take some time even if they were. And besides, this one’s new. Barely had a chance to even settle into the role.” He glances down at you, thrusting slowly into your mouth. You moan around him and he smiles. He suddenly snags a fistful of your hair and drags you off of his cock, pulling hard enough to make you arch your back and crane your neck at an uncomfortable angle. “Do you deserve another chance?” he asks.

“Yes,” you say, quick and desperate. “I do.” 

Maddox tilts his head. “Really? It doesn’t seem like you do.” 

“I do,” you insist, your voice pitched with terror. “Please—” 

He forces you back down. Now fully hard, he slams into the back of your throat and your fingers dig into his hips as you try not to choke. He doesn’t thrust. He just holds you there, face buried in curls of pubic hair and his firm abdomen, mouth full of his cock, until you stop fighting and steady your breathing through your nose. Just as you start to relax again, he grabs your head with both hands and fucks your mouth with hard, fast thrusts that make your jaw ache.

“If you had to guess,” the alpha says, “what happened here?” 

Maddox makes a wolf sound, a feral growling noise that nearly ignites your fight-or-flight. He shoves his whole length down your throat and holds you still again making slight, grinding motions with his hips that mercilessly tease your gag reflex. “They’re tired, probably,” he says. “I caught them being a little too lenient right after the new one got here so we’ve had some remedial lessons. Might’ve gotten a little overeager, kept them up too late.” 

“You? Overeager?” the alpha drawls. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He pulls out, glistening strings of saliva and sticky precum connecting his cock to your lips and tongue. “And you were too scared to tell me, weren’t you? You thought it would sound like a bad excuse.” You nod weakly, your face slick with tears. 

The alpha lets out an amused huff. “So this is partially your fault.”

“Maybe a little. But it’s a good lesson for everyone, isn’t it?” Maddox slips a hand beneath your chin, wiping your swollen, slick lips with his thumb. “Next time, tell me,” he says sternly. “I need to know if you’re nodding off at midday. Managing pack humans is my job, too.” You nod again, sagging with relief. Maddox smiles again and taps your cheek. “Open.” 

You wrap your hand around the twitching bulge of his knot while his fist pumps his cock in short, quick strokes. He never takes his eyes off of you while he pleasures himself. With the threat of death lifted, you find yourself squeezing your thighs together, wanting desperately to touch yourself. Maddox has made sure that the mere sight of a werewolf knot is enough to send blood rushing between your legs. The weight of it against your palm is even more arousing. All you can think about is how satisfying it would feel inside you. 

“Good,” Maddox growls when he cums. He covers your face in it, pumping thick, white spurts over your cheeks and into your waiting mouth. “Good hrefn. Fuck, you’re so good.” He doesn’t have to ask you to suck his tip and lick up the last few drops. The alpha finishes on your back with a muted grunt. You squirm when he smears it into your skin with his hands, callused palms massaging his scent into your neck and shoulders. “Look at you. You want it so bad you’re shaking,” Maddox purrs. He wipes a glob of cum out of your eyelashes with a chuckle. “You can have my knot later since you’ll be staying with me tonight. I think we need another remedial lesson.” 

“Don’t let this happen again,” the alpha warns him.

Maddox laughs and promises it won’t. He helps you stand, cooing at the way you wobble with your knees sore and stinging. He tells you to get your clothes but not to get dressed. You won’t be needing them for the rest of the night. The alpha dismisses you both with a curt nod and Maddox’s arm slings over your shoulder, guiding you out of the den.

He steers you to the side rather than straight down the path. Your stomach lurches. You know where you’re going when you see bits of torn clothing and blood on the floor. The pack has scattered; all that remains are their leftovers. You wouldn’t recognize her if someone asked you who she was. There’s just not enough left, all the bits and pieces scattered across the ground. All the bones are covered in stringy, fleshy bits, saliva and teeth marks. 

“It’s funny,” he says, keeping his voice low. “Clive’s pretty careful with his bag. She’d have to have broken a window or busted down the door to get it. Or known someone with a key.”

Your heart sinks. Maddox bends slightly so you’re closer to eye level, leaning in beside you. He smiles, squeezing your shoulder.

“If you ever do something like this again,” he whispers, “I won’t let the pack have you. I’ll take you out here myself. I’ll knot your fucking throat and break your jaw, and then I’ll snap your femurs. I’ll eat you alive, hrefn, but not like they do. I’ll make it last until sunrise. Do you understand?” You nod quickly. Maddox scoffs, unconvinced, but pets you a few times. “You’re lucky you’re my favorite,” he says.