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OPUS

_ Chapter 4: Bonds _

"Wait, what? I don't think I, er, caught that?"

"It's good, Penn," came the voice on the other end of the phone. Susanne sounded like she was in a static haze. "But I'm not really sure if the market's right for this now."

"Weren't you the one who told me to pump out a few chapters? Does 'the gays are HOT right now' ring a bell?!" I did my best at imitating Susanne's telltale rasp, but unfortunately I didn't have years of gargling white-hot cigarette water under my belt.

"I know, Penn. Hun, listen--here, one moment, let me call you right back. Someone just walked in here."

"I--Sue," a click, and all I heard was the repeated throb of a dial tone in my ear.

I paced in agitation. I'd wear a trench into John's carpet at this rate. My fists unfurled and I jammed my phone into my pocket. There was no doubt that Susanne would call back, but she was on her own schedule, and it didn't help that there was a three-hour difference between here and New York.

"If she just expects me to stand here and wait for her to call back, well..."

Well, I wasn't sure. I muttered under my breath, the words only half-formed. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. I peeled my eyes away from the floor and settled them somewhere else--walls, windows, furniture.

My brother's place was scantily decorated, although I wasn't even sure if "decorated" was the right word. He had bought the place within a year, after relocating from the mid-west. A few boxes were still sitting in the corner, not-so-cleverly obscured behind an armchair. It bore the look of an IKEA piece, and had something in the ballpark of five different jointed appendages.

"...Trouble in paradise, little bro?"

I flinched, the voice coming almost out of nowhere. I hadn't even registered the noise, but my brother John was shuffling down the staircase that led into the living room. My head turned automatically to greet him. People said that they saw a family resemblance, but I didn't quite believe them.

He was much more thickly-built than I was, even though I maintained a few inches of height (and hair) over him. His muddy blond mop had been buzzed down as far back as I could remember, but it was finally starting to thin away. He was getting a little paunchy too, and looked a bit rounder in the face. I was sure he could still totally kick my ass if he had to, though. We had the same eyes, so I could give The People that concession.

"Nah. It's fine. Sorry, I didn't mean to yell."

"All good," John said, hopping down the last three or so stairs. He stuck the landing and turned to face me with a grin. "Riley's not nappin' or anything."

"Mm," I nodded, glancing past him up the stairs. "You know, I've never really been much for kids, but I'd hate to wake her up or anything. She's one of the good ones."

"Yep. One of the few," he agreed, beaming. "You should see some of those other little shits in her class. First-graders are insane, bro."

I smiled. Something told me that John had been quite the troublemaker at that age. Being six or seven years apart, I couldn't really remember much before he was a teenager.

"Guess she landed on the good side of the gene pool like I did," I mused jokingly.

"Pfff, yeah we'll see. Maybe she'll start writing, huh?"

"She'll be better than me, that's for sure. Just keep her away from the booze." My brother's laugh was contagious, and I felt a chuckle escape me as well. "I was just uh, talking to my publisher. Getting a lot of mixed messages right now, I guess. It's frustrating."

"Oh yeah? This about your new book, right? The one about the uh, uhh..." he frowned, and rapped a finger on his dome like a jackhammer. "Fuck, I know you told me a million times."

"Did I?" I honestly wasn't offended that he'd forgotten, but made an effort to appreciate the guilt. "Maybe I mentioned it once or twice? Don't worry about it. Didn't think it'd be your cup of tea, really."

"Nah, not really. I'm all for the uh, gay guys and their rights, you know? But..." He paused, obviously realizing this was a pretty deep hole already. "Your first book was good though, so I'm sure this one will be, too."

"You ever get around to finishing it?" I jabbed, smirking.

"Pffffhaha, nah. Didn't have the time. Dad stuff comes first, right? It was good though, from what I read!"

"Well, I appreciate the two cents. Print's a dying media, and books are circling the drain. It's why I gotta buckle down and focus on getting this out. Make Susanne happy."

"I 'spose that's why you're heading off in a few days, huh?" he pointed a finger upstairs and nodded. "We've loved havin' you here though, little bro. Riley can't get enough of you."

"I know. Like I said, she's a great kid. I'll uh, definitely plan on staying in touch, though. And I _mean_it this time. Things are..."

"We're better," John stated. He had his burly arms crossed, obscuring the army logo on his chest. "Dad's gone, now. He was always just that thing keeping us apart, you know? We've uh, I dunno how to say this, really. I'm not good with words like you."

"Reconciled?" I offered.

"Sure," he nodded. "I mean, I guess. I never...said I was sorry, exactly. Bad with words and stuff."

"Believe me, your actions speak louder than you could," I commented. "You've let me bum around here for a week later than I intended. And, honestly, it was great. Seeing family, pretending like we don't hate each other for a month."

"We...don't though, do we?"

"No," I said decisively. "Poor choice of words. Drama for drama's sake."

"I just wanna say, I love you, little bro."

I flinched again. 'Little bro.' The term rattled around in my head like a coin in a an empty cash jar. It was impossible to put my finger on why exactly I was nettled when John referred to me in that way. His sincerity was unmistakable, but I couldn't help but dwell on it.

"Yeah, yeah," I brushed it off with a half-smile.

John grunted, and uncrossed his arms. They swung at his side in tune with his stance before his thumbs found hold in the pockets of his shorts. "Chuck. I'm serious, man. All the help you've given me while you've been here. I can do a little job-hunting on the side, go out on dates for once."

"It's been....yeah," I struggled. "Believe me, it's a symbiotic relationship. Somewhere to crash off of Susanne's dime helps get her off my back, y'know?"

He nodded, and smiled. It was a smile that was big, and genuine. Just like him. In a strange twist of fate, maybe his deadbeat wife dropping out of his life was the best thing that happened to my brother. I couldn't remember the last time I had seen him so happy.

"And uh, well shit. I just wanted to say, er, to apologize. For all that, you know..." He cringed. "I don't know what to say exactly. It's been...different around here. I've had a lot of time to think. Realized some things. Things that I said back when we were younger."

"Really, John, it's--"

"I'm sorry!" He blurted.

It was my turn to smile. I extended my smirk to twice its usual length. Maybe I'd never be able to get it as wide or welcoming as my brother, but I tried. Something to assuage his guilt.

"Like I said, you've done me more than enough. We've got a complicated history, John, but I think we're fine. We're family."

"That's...good to hear, man."

He went at me, arms spread. I anticipated the hug, and shied away with the elegance of a beaten dog. It was unintentional, really, but it didn't feel right. Hugs, family, there was just something off about it. In an attempt to smooth it over, I sidestepped John and put a hand on his closer shoulder.

"Sorry man. Just....reflex, I guess."

"It's cool," John sighed. He extended his hand. "I get it."

My own digits slid from his shoulder, and I met him for a handshake. I could feel my brother's calloused palms on mine, and met him with a firm grip. We made eye contact for a brief moment, before he let loose a chuckle.

"Heh. You've got somewhere to be tonight, right little bro?"

I nodded. There it was again. My hand returned to me, and I met John's goofy grin with my own brand of smirk. "You're right. I should probably be getting ready."

"Meeting your mysterious stranger for another interview, huh?" His eyes probed me. Was he looking for some kind of tell? I couldn't parse it.

"God willing."

"And tonight of all nights, huh?"

"What do you mean by that" I asked.

"Full moon!" John exclaimed.

I froze. Well, not exactly. A shiver ran down my spine. My feet remained rooted to the ground, and the cheeky half-smile was etched carelessly into my stone of a face. A bead of sweat dropped off of my forehead and splashed into my eye, causing me to wince and break composure.

'How in the world does he know?' I re-organized my thoughts. Now was not the time to freak out. It was the time to remain stoic, to play it cool. The gears were turning.

"HAHA, WHAT?!" I half-screamed.

"Dude, I just meant like...it's romantic?" John cocked an eyebrow at me and his cheeks swelled with stifled laughter.

"I, uh, oh," I came down from the rush of adrenaline. My joints greased themselves and I was able to breathe again. "Wait! What?!"

"Like for a date? Is that...?"

"No!" I yelled.

"Oh. You sure?"

"Yes!"

I fumed, and John finally belted loose a burst of laughter. I waved him aside with a gesture, and started walking upstairs. Despite the wild accusations, it was not a date. I was meeting up with Ian tonight for another spontaneous interview. Well, not exactly.

It was a full moon tonight.

Rounding the corner at the top of the stairs, I quieted my footsteps as I made it through the hallway to the guest room. John said that Riley wasn't asleep, but I had my doubts. Sometimes he had trouble pinpointing his daughter's circadian rhythms and schedules. She was an active, sneaky kid. A real stand-up kid, to be sure, but she knew when people didn't want her to listen in. That was when she got the most nosy. I tiptoed into the guest room that I had been occupying for the better part of a month.

It too was sparsely-decorated, but most of that was intentional; I wasn't about to install anything that would make me feel more at home. I had been off the road for long enough, really. My computer hummed quietly on the nightstand, and several articles of clothing were strewn on the bed frame and floor. It wasn't much more different than a hotel room, really. My phone was plugged in and charging near an outlet in the corner. I glanced at the screen on my way over to the bathroom--no new messages.

"Figured he'd call me before showing up," I mumbled.

My fingers felt the wall and flicked on a light-switch. I greeted myself with a smirk in the mirror. Reaching across the small bathroom, I cranked the shower nozzle and listened to the steady pour of water against tile. I missed being on the road at times, seeing the cities and flitting over highways. However, being in one place for a while had its advantages. I was able to pick up running again, and a quick jog around the block every morning had quickly turned into a suburb-wide run and beyond.

Gazing into the slowly fogging mirror, I saw there was a bit more form to my body, and I couldn't deny enjoying it. It looked like my hair was fine, just needed some gel post-shower. Darken up those gray hairs. A shave wouldn't hurt either, but it seemed superfluous given my impending company.

I popped the tops off of a few bottles next to the sink, and then proceeded to swallow my daily concoction. Multivitamins, medication, all the modern miracles that were necessary to live an exorbitantly long life. I shucked my clothes and stole a few more glances at my body in the blurry mirror before hopping into the shower. Just a quick scrub to gather my thoughts. I had maybe a half hour before Ian was supposed to show up, and I was a little nervous. Not quite anxious, but...

"App-re-hen-sive," I played with the word and gargled on some water.

I had held my own around Ian, considering the circumstances. Some nights I still woke up in a cold sweat at dark o'clock and could swear that there were teeth at my throat. Everything still felt like it could be an elaborate hoax or fever dream. The totem would keep spinning, so to speak. Which is why, barreling through his protests, I harangued Ian into meeting me tonight.

Another full moon.

It had been about four weeks since our last encounter. Maybe a little more. I had to brush up on all of this Cycle stuff. Get a lunar calendar or something. Before we had gone our separate ways in Chicago, I had bought a burner phone for Ian. Teaching him how to use it was like trying to teach a Cro-Magnon how to do calculus, but eventually he seemed to figure the thing out. I was able to call him a few times for input regarding my chapters. He too, while at first hesitant, would call me out of the blue and tell me something he had left out of an old story. It was an effective if not distant and slightly ridiculous relationship.

However, maybe a week ago, I was beginning to have serious doubts. My writing wasn't shaping up to be what I wanted it to be. Drafting Ian's often disjointed and frantic memoir was difficult enough, but then revising everything to strike the word "werewolf" from the record impeded the process even more. It added this layer of insincerity to my work that I wasn't accustomed to. That's when I called up Ian, accidentally rousing him from some campsite slumber, to essentially demand a repeat performance of his, well, full moon fever.

I figured it would be a way to ease my mind. The last time it had happened, I was the victim of some serious circumstance, and it was mostly a blur. A visceral, terrifying blur. Completely out of my control and reality. To see it again with a clear head and some semblance of what I was going to walk into, well, it would do my restless brain some good.

Ian had been a little less-than-thrilled upon finding out he had groggily agreed to such a transaction. Some smooth-talking, and we had more or less reached an agreement. He didn't exactly demand an exchange of goods and services in so many words, but I was prepared to make him any number of friendly offers.

I cranked down the shower and stood there, sopping wet. A chill ran down my back. I gave myself a light smack on the face with the underside of two fingers. It had become almost a daily ritual, to remind myself that I wasn't dreaming. The damp jolt of pain jostled me out of any ethereal misconceptions. I was very much here, rooted to this reality, whether I liked it or not.

It didn't take me very long to get ready. From what I understood, Ian and I were going far away from any sort of SoCal suburbs. Easier said than done, I figured, but it was better to dress comfortably. I put on a throwaway gray button-down and tucked it into a pair of slightly-worn jeans. Plain white socks, nothing too fancy on the footwear front...I was ready to rock it at the local business-casual barbecue. Or see a giant, howling mess of a monster rip itself out of human skin. One of those.

I was downstairs not much later, anxiously waiting in the living room with John while my brother aimlessly flicked through the television channels. I began scrolling through my phone, getting several things in order. It was late-afternoon now, and according to the meteorological sites, the moon wouldn't even be creeping into the sky for another few hours. That gave Ian time to swoop in here, pick me up, and then we would get the hell out of Dodge.

"Computer?" John asked absently, motioning over to me.

"Oh, yeah," I said, jostled out of my own head. My computer bag was resting next to my side of the couch. "Need it for the interview. Writing to be done."

In reality, I had little intention of writing anything down. If memory served, it would be an insane and fast-paced few moments. Ian would then be incapable of answering any of my questions, whether he was in the right mind or not. Bringing the laptop with me would just sort of play into the illusion.

"Well, if you carry it around like that, you're probably gonna get jumped," He said matter-of-factly. "It sucks, but that's just the area sometimes. Let me get you one of my old packs."

"You don't have to--"

But he was gone. John hopped up from his place on the couch and strode over to a nearby closet, rummaging around. I heard him mumbling to himself, even cursing, before an avalanche of over-packed knickknacks and household trinkets came pouring down. I turned to look, and saw him pull out an old backpack-sized army camo bag with a triumphant hoot.

I followed suit and hopped up to help John shove his pile of domestic junk back into the criminally-undersized closet, but something grabbed my attention. A hard, repeated buzz at my hip. My phone.

"Hello?" I wedged it against my ear with my shoulder and mimed a shrug at John.

"Hey. Chuck! It's me, I'm...one sec."

There was a rattled puff of air on the other end of the line, and I could hear the sound of traffic. Good God, he wasn't trying to talk to me on his motorcycle, was he?

"Freeland, didn't you learn _anything_as a kid? Eyes on the road."

"What? No." His voice was a bit distant, but I felt a fumble on his end. Fingers accidentally rubbing over speakers. "I had to make a stop. Gassing up my bike. I just wanted to call before I showed up. I think I'm...ten minutes away? Maybe? I don't know. This area's confusing."

"Do you need the address?"

"Nah, I remember it. Plus, I think once I get close enough...I should be able to pick up your scent."

"Right," I chuckled dryly. "Stuff that makes no sense and should probably creep me out."

"Sorry," He sounded a little nervous. "It's...you know, THAT time. The end of a cycle. My senses are going crazy."

"Yeah, I understand. So I'll see you soon?" My eyes flitted to John. I didn't mean to look nervous, but I got the strange idea of Ian being overheard through the phone. Just had to act normal.

"Yup. I'm good here, and there's kind of a line of cars. People around here do NOT like to be kept waiting, I've realized..."

I heard something on his end of the phone. Yelling, maybe? It was indistinct, but the line soon went dead. A dull boop from within my own speaker signaled the end of the call. John tossed the pack to me, and I pocketed my phone just in time to catch it.

"Hey!"

"I was gonna say 'think fast!', but you did!" He smiled. "So what's the deal, then? Mysterious interview guy on his way?"

"Yeah," I confirmed. I wasn't really in the mood for anything even approaching twenty-questions, so I instead fetched my laptop bag and jammed it into John's pack. It fit, with room to spare. Perfect for my next assignment: infiltration of a local NRA convention.

"So, how's that usually work?"

"Huh?" I blanked, mentally-checking on other things I might need for tonight.

"Like what, you two get together, chat, go to some seedy bar? Whisper secrets over room-temperature whiskeys or whatever?" John was getting into this elaborate little scenario.

"That's...no, not exactly," I chuckled. Joking aside, my brother was spinning a tale much more theatrically than I ever could have given him credit for.

"So, what, brightly-lit coffee house?"

"No," I said curtly. 'But, honestly, he's not far-off.'

"Well, whatever."

"It's a lot of..." I tried to pick my words. In reality, this was only my second real meeting with Ian. The first two were kind of a huge blur, and now we had actually spent some time apart. "A lot of waiting. And being patient. Usually go somewhere remote, quiet. Discretion's kind of a big deal, you know?"

He nodded, and then looked at me knowingly. "Dude, I was in the military. I know a lot about being discrete."

"Alright," I cringed. "That's...awful, but I'm glad you get it."

John's lip slowly curled into a smile, and he began laughing. Infectious as I had found it recently, I had the unfortunate urge to resist. Aside from a low chuckle, I shuffled closer to the door and slung the pack tighter over my shoulder.

"It's been...something," I said. "Being here with you and Riley. I'll definitely miss it."

John nodded. "Try not to sound so grim, little bro. Not like you're heading out to 'Nam or nothin'!"

"I guess you're right. But, uh, I think my ride's going to be pulling up here in a few. I think I'll..."

"Get out of my hair?" John suggested.

"What's left of it, yeah."

He socked me playfully on the shoulder, but the jab had a little bit of power behind it. I stumbled a bit, and met my brother's smiling gaze. It was weird, how far our relationship had come in such a seemingly short amount of time. There were still some things I'd need to work on, things to push aside. I wasn't much for letting go, but maybe this was one of those things that "adults" just sort of had to do.

"Later, little bro," He said.

This time, I didn't wince. Maybe I could get used to the term.

I waved, and calmly saw myself out for the night. The door closed behind me, and I felt the late afternoon sun splash onto my shoulders. It wasn't exactly hot, but it was sunny. Brutally temperate, if there was any way to describe the climate in this area. No call for rain tonight, and it wasn't going to be terribly cold. Who knows where I'd end up, though, and I had stuffed a jacket into the bag now that I had more space to work with.

Soon, a cigarette was pinched between my lips. I stuffed the lighter back into my pocket, and waited for the sounds of motorcycle on the suburban horizon. It was impossible to deny that I was nervous. Almost a month had passed since Ian and I had last seen each other. Sure, we had chatted on the phone, exchanged brief messages and well-wishes, but this was different. I had almost forgotten what he looked like, that face framed solemnly in a shag of black hair and beard. His expressive, often sloping shoulders. Even the way he smelled; unwashed, but not reeking of anything foul.

A strange feeling, I guess. I looked up and behind me, pivoting on a heel. There was a noise, and then the slow_whoosh_-ing of blinds in a window. Riley must have been awake, because they were coming from what should have been her room.

'So my quiet little niece is spying on me? Keeping tabs?' I shook my head. That was needlessly grim, and not giving the kid enough credit; she was just worried.

I tried not to think about it as I heard the low rumble of a motor, and wheels slowly treading within the localized speed limit. Nearly spitting the cigarette out of my mouth, I ground it under the heel of my shoe and hustled down the few steps from the stoop to the sidewalk.

'We've got a big night ahead of us,' I thought as Ian rounded the corner.

~~

I was awake.

I was breathing.

And it wasn't all a dream. It wasn't even close.

The first thing I noticed was that I was naked. It was kind of hard to ignore, really. Grains of sand scratched against my back, stones against my shoulders, and sharp little pieces of wood and detritus against my bare ass and thighs. It filled me with a rush of fear. Sounds of running water to my right side churned my thoughts. I shot up into a sitting position, and felt the stuck sand roll off of my back. My teeth chattered; it was cold.

Eyes open, and a hammer beat against the inside of my skull. It was cloudless, and dull morning light creeped over the riverbank. I furrowed my brow and shielded my eyes with a crusted-over hand. It made me cringe in disgust. A knot of nausea coiled in my gut. Whatever had stained my hand, it smelled like absolute death. Sand was shellacked into the dried film as well. I tried not to dwell on it, and allowed my eyes to adjust to the light.

"Okay, I'm fine. I'm alive. It....was all_real_," I mumbled to myself. My voice was strained.

'It's all real' had become a sort of personal mantra of mine. I had gotten through the full moon of my first Cycle, and I was still here. Still real. Too real.

The smell on my hand became almost unbearable. It made me sick. I pulled it away, let it fall to the ground. Dried blood and guts covered my hand. Not just one, but both. Upon realizing what exactly it was, images came flooding back into my mind all at once. Not in any particular order, but snippets of action. Jumping. Slashing. Grabbing. Choking. Killing. Feeding. An uncomfortable fullness made itself present, firmly lodged as a brick in my stomach. The scent on me was faint by now, but it seemed to drip off of my fingertips and onto the ground. I could feel the gritty blood underneath my nails, and matting the hair on my forearms.

"A deer," I said. The scent was of the forest, of hair and grass. Trees. Bone and blood. A big animal, but lower on the food-chain. Its strength could be turned against it once a leg had been compromised. All of this given to me in a mental mosaic by one smell.

Another smell. It was human, and familiar. Earthy, and masculine. A hint of smoke.

'Hunter,' It came to me. I struggled to my feet, and swayed unsteadily. There were vices in my legs, squeezing against my muscles. Walking was now a chore, but I probably just had to loosen up. I was sort of used to _one_uncooperative leg, after all.

I followed the scent up the river bank. Apparently I had fallen asleep on some sand bar on the edge of the woods. The river was now behind me, cold water churning and bubbling. Still stark naked, I hoped and prayed that an early-morning school of eager-eyed kayakers wouldn't drift by. The sand created a sort of makeshift trail further up the bank, and so I pounded my legs into it and hopped up a small ridge. Sore, but not helpless. Dirt and organic matter mingled with the sand as I went further in. I shivered as errant leaves and branches raked across my skin, made sensitive by sand and cold.

A sudden movement in the underbrush made me freeze. My nose didn't lie, though. Through the folded-over ferns and leaves, I could see a head of blond hair. Unmoving, I watched Hunter stir himself awake. He too was naked, and brushed foliage away from his more sensitive areas. He sat facing away from me, but I saw his head slowly raise, nose pointed slightly upwards.

"Ian," he greeted, voice hoarse.

"Hunter," I returned.

It was difficult to describe the emotions that coursed through me as I watched him stand up and stretch. On the one hand, I found myself irrevocably attracted to him. His hands were covered in blood and grime, much like my own, and he looked haggard. But as I'd come to realize, his body was like a sculpture. Carved from bronze and shined by cold sweat. His broad shoulders tapered down to a taut torso, with muscle rippling underneath his olive skin. Wisps of hazel hair danced across his chest and arms, and the blond hair on his head nearly fell over his shoulders now.

"...What?" He demanded, turning towards me and meeting my eyes.

I looked down at the ground and frowned. Sure, I was attracted to him, but I was also terrified. I had just lost an entire night of my life. Images and memories were slowly pulling themselves together, forming a loose picture, but I was largely in the dark. It was like blacking out, only instead of losing myself to my own predictable inhibitions, my body had been transfigured into a monster beyond my wildest dreams. Capable of killing and destroying whatever it sought fit. I could almost feel the presence in the back of my mind threatening to take over again. Push itself to the surface, twist my body apart and build it into something else entirely. Something to suit its needs.

And it was all Hunter's fault.

"...Nothing," I said. It would be better to stay quiet, play it safe. I wanted to scream at him, to yell and run away as fast as my spent legs would take me.

"Yeah? Oh, come the hell on, Ian," he growled. Hunter stepped forward, and cleared the space between us in a long stride. His hand shot down to my crotch, and his fingers danced over what was now a very erect dick.

"I..." I gasped, wordless. My body betrayed me. I hadn't even realize at how horny I had been. I looked down and blushed, ashamed at Hunter's stained fingers culling my rebellion.

"Heh," He chuckled. "It'd be fun, but_now's_ not really the time, big guy. Control yourself."

He relented, hand leaving my personal bubble. His eyes instead roved me over, taking in every detail. I felt embarrassingly out of shape and pathetic compared to him, shivering and afraid. Confused. Revolted. My stomach gurgled, threatening to force its contents up.

"You look good," Hunter commented. "One Cycle. One moon, and already it's cutting into you, sculpting you into a real man."

I kept shivering, but he was right. The fog was fading from my mind and muscles, and I was feeling slightly more invigorated. My body, instead of giving into the elements and starting to shut down, was instead drawing sustenance from within. Possessed of something, I traced over an arm with my opposite hand. It seemed thicker, stronger. Looking down, I also felt as if my gut had been shaved down slightly.

"So this is...?"

"A side-effect, yeah," Hunter instructed. "Say goodbye to the baby fat. A couple more cycles, and you'll probably look like an Olympian."

"Huh," I said absently. I realized a thought that I always had in the back of my mind during these last few weeks. My legs hurt now, but they hurt evenly, and it was a muscle soreness. Not the sharp spasms of bone pain that I had grown accustomed to. "My leg. Do you think...?"

Hunter nodded. "It probably fixed that, too. Your uh, your inner wolf. Being Turned, see, some consider it a curse. The force within you, dangerous as it is, needs its host to be a powerful vessel. Able-bodied, and able to Turn others."

"Oh."

I should have been excited, right? All of those months lamenting my fate as a cripple. It just seemed hollow, though. I hadn't earned the fix through physical therapy, or being patient. Taking care of myself. It was all some side-effect of this waking nightmare. My expression must have glazed over, revealing my anxiety. Hunter smiled. It was only slightly more reassuring than his usual moody frown.

"Let's get out of here," He said.

"Okay," I agreed. It was more of a command than a suggestion, but I wasn't in the mood to argue. I wanted to go home.

"You recognize this place, right?"

I shrugged.

"We used to come down here all the time in the summer," Hunter said. "Remember? To swim and hang out. Goof off. Throw sticks in the river for your dog until he was too tired to move."

He was right. It did look kind of familiar, but it had been so long. Almost a year since I had last seen this riverbank. Back when things were normal. Safe. Everything now took on a new face of danger. All of these leaves and sharp branches would brush against my body. There were probably groves of poison ivy at my feet. Whatever deer I had taken down the night prior was probably festering somewhere nearby, birds picking at its eyes. I shuddered.

Hunter turned his nose up and took a deep breath. He then pointed up the steep incline of the ridge. I followed his arm and saw the flat riverside give way to a nearly-vertical hill. It was tough to see, but there was a zigzagging trail of clipped branches and stamped down earth that lead up to the top of the ridge. It was our old trail.

"We'll just follow that," The more experienced Turned stated, and he started walking towards the point that the trail touched down.

"What if someone comes down there?" I asked, not particularly wanting to be seen.

"I don't smell anyone," Was Hunter's reply, with a shrug. "And even if they do, whatever. People should know better than to ask questions."

A stupid answer. What was I expecting, though? In truth, I knew that he was probably right. We were usually the only ones who ever trafficked this trail. Other neighbors that lived up the ridge usually didn't bother coming down to the river, or had their own preferred routes. Must have been some redneck pride sort of thing, to not use someone else's trail.

"Alright," I said, and followed him.

"Ian, just trust me. I'm your sire now, I wouldn't let anything bad happen to you."

I just absent-mindedly nodded, and let him lead the way. I stayed back several generously-spaced paces. It gave me some breathing room, as well as prevented Hunter from smacking my exposed body with a branch that he pushed out of the way. Additionally, it might let me make an escape. If I needed to. I still wasn't entirely sure that I could trust him.

My feet eventually touched down to the gravelly, cleared-away path. I started scaling the ridge-side after Hunter, no longer bothered by leaves and vines sliding across my junk. Instead, I was distracted by just how painful not having any shoes was.

"You said that, uh, you were my 'sire'," I piped up, trying to ignore the stones digging into the soles of my feet. I also felt a hunger for answers. "What does that mean? I remember you saying it once before..."

"Heh," Hunter chuckled. "Just some of the lingo we use. A sire is the Turned that bit you, made you what you are now. A sire and his turned have a unique bond. Kind of like a father and son."

"Ew," I blurted. It unsettled me to think that Hunter might have thought he had such a role over me.

"Hmph," he scoffed. "It's different, though. A mental thing. While it's true that I turned you, and that a part of my wolf also formed yours, it's not like we're _actually_related or anything."

I nodded, but didn't say anymore. It was a weird concept to digest.

"You should be thankful," he added sharply. "I haven't even met my sire. Whoever bit me just walked off the fucking face of the earth."

"Hmm," I said. Thankful wasn't exactly the term that I would have used.

"It's an unbreakable bond. I know you won't admit it, Ian, but you have feelings for me. Feelings you can't explain. Maybe they're totally new...or maybe not."

I didn't know. The memory of when Hunter bit and Turned me had become much more clear in these last few days. I remembered the two of us walking down into the woods, and Hunter making a move on me. Before he had even turned me, fucked with my brain and emotions, I could definitely remember feeling _something_for him. Whether it was romantic, or just a purely sexual urge, it was hard to say. Regardless, it was confusing. I opted to stay quiet.

"And this probably doesn't come as a shock anymore, but," he stopped walking, and turned to look down at me. There was a glow in his eyes, something I had only seen briefly before. "I love you. I think I've loved you for a long time, but...being Turned, well, it made me realize that."

"I...yeah, alright," I replied, a real poetic sort of response.

Hunter shrugged. "Whatever. I think you feel the same way, but you haven't come to terms with it yet. And even if you didn't, it wouldn't change anything. I'd still protect you."

"...You keep saying that," I felt an anger bubbling within me. "But what do I need to be protected from? What I've seen, seems like I was doing just fine before you decided to sink your teeth into me."

He grunted. A growl, really. I felt myself get weaker, knees shaking for but a second.

"You weren't fine, you were pathetic," he stated, matter-of-factly. "You were wasting away, fucked over by your own shitty attitude. You were acting like a loser. A fat, pathetic shell of a little man."

"Aw, fuck you!" I spat.

"Think whatever you want," Hunter fumed. "But you know I'm right. Maybe you don't agree with the means I took to fix you, but it happened. This is you, now," he flexed his arms, muscles bulging underneath his sun-kissed skin. "And you'll grow to accept it. To love it like I have."

I didn't know what to say. So I said nothing. Hunter turned back around and continued scaling the ridge, and I followed behind him. Part of me still thought that this was an incredibly lucid dream. I could be jostled out of it at any moment. The other part of me, the overwhelming majority of a part, knew that I was holding onto some fake thread of hope. I'd never wake up. Never be the same. This was it.

"So, this is my life now?" I grumbled. "Following around some asshole that turned me into a werewolf, while also being a werewolf. And I have to deal with this."

"Hmph. Yeah, sure, that basically covers it," Hunter met my tone. "Whine about it all you want. It's one night every month. I think you can handle that."

"Right. With you protecting me, too," I quipped, pushing a branch out of my way. I was starting to warm up, teeth no longer chattering. The brisk pace of the hike was helping.

" I will be, yeah. You don't understand it yet, Ian."

I rolled my eyes. We reached the top of the ridge, but Hunter put his hand out to stop me from getting any closer. My brow instinctively furrowed, but I obeyed. He rounded the crest of the forested hill, spent some time looking around, and then waved me on to follow.

"We're clear," he nodded. "No one else. See, Ian? This is what it's gonna be like. I'll watch out for you. Make sure nothing bad happens to you."

"Whatever. Like anyone else even comes down here, man. Especially when it's this cold."

"Maybe not our neighbors, but....there are Others."

"What do you mean?" I asked in an increasingly exasperated tone. "Others?!"

"People. Those that are like us, and those who aren't. I'm more worried about those that aren't." He looked me dead in the eyes, and I sensed something. A fear, maybe? "They'll kill us, you idiot. Believe it or not, Turned, we...we aren't exactly welcome in most places. People will hunt us. Stalk us down and drive a silver stake through your fucking skull."

"That's..." I took a sharp breath. "Illegal?"

Hunter fumed, and turned around. I sighed.That's all I could come up with? I guess, despite it all, my friend was actively trying to take care of me. He was leading me on our naked infiltration through the woods and back to our houses. I could crawl into bed, lie down, and sleep away any of these thoughts that perturbed me. Pretend that this didn't exist, that I was still normal. At least for another few weeks.

We kept walking, and I tried to distract myself. As Hunter and I traced the top of the ridge, I looked up and tried to gauge what time of the day it was. No school today, thankfully. It was early, but probably not _even-parents-asleep_early. I couldn't tell. A scent soon wafted into my nose, and I picked up on it as Hunter began descending the side of the hill again.

"Where are we going?" I asked. "If we stay up here, we'll get home faster."

"But we'll have houses and yards to contend with, maybe," Came his response. "Plus, we have to make a detour."

I frowned, but followed. Going down was much easier, as it was possible to slide down the side of the hill, leaves frothing out from underneath your feet. The earth was soft and kind of warm, insulated by all of the decaying brush. It reminded me of a lesson I learned on some survival television show; if you were ever stuck in the woods overnight, bury yourself in some leaves. It would keep you warm, creepy-crawlies be damned.

We seemed to be moving towards the curious scent, and I began picking it apart. It smelled, well, like me. A soft, sort of soapy scent. I detected a hint of fear, a slight sourness to it all. As we got closer, I recognized the area: it was the creek bed and pond where Hunter and I had turned the night before. A sense of fear overtook me, and images filled my head. Violent, vivid flashes of claws and teeth, tearing through clothes and feeling hair press through my skin. A furious rush of energy. A musky scent of sex, and...

"Last night..."

"Yeah?" Hunter acknowledged me as he splashed through the creek.

"We..." I looked for the right words. "_Did_it? Like...had sex?"

"You fucked me," He grinned. "Hard."

A scent of arousal. Memories of the act came pouring in. Thrusting into Hunter, the feeling of my own hot dick inside of him. My hands--claws--on his back. Feeling the pulse of our hearts, sniffing the blood and musk. I shivered, and looked down to see my member at full attention yet again.

"Why...?" I asked, trying to ignore it. "Why did we do it? Is that just...?"

"I'll break it down for you, Freeland, because you can't seem to get it through your fucking thick head: we're gay."

"Uhhh, I mean--" I tried to interject.

"For whatever reason, this is how it works," he motioned to my hard-on, and then gestured to his own crotch. Hunter was erect too, and the sight of his member made me salivate. "I don't fully get it either. You become Turned, and you're only into fucking men. Fucking other Turned, which all seem to happen to be men."

"Psh. Kind of ironic, right?"

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"When we were kids. Making fun of each other, calling each other fags or whatever. Fuck, I mean, you were_still_ calling me one. And now..."

"Right," he said grimly. "I can't apologize for the past. It's shitty. It's not even...whatever! This is different."

He shook his head, and then pointed to something on the ground. It was some weird color, unlike any foliage or leaf-litter. I half-recognized it as looking like my old pair of beat-up sweat-pants.

"Help me pick all this shit up," he said.

It was. That explained the smell. When Hunter and I transformed, we had torn through our clothes and left them strewn about the creek-side. I immediately went to go grab whatever I could. A torn up hoodie, pieces of pants and boxers. Shredded socks. I lingered on a stray piece of fabric for a moment. A clump of dark, coarse hair was matted to it.

"My hair," I commented, plucking the hairball and holding it in my hand. It was different, not like the hair on my head. It was my wolf's hair. "Fuck, that's weird to see. So it...damn."

"We'll have to be smarter next time," Hunter said, gathering his leavings as well. "Stow away a change of clothes for afterwards. It's only gonna get colder. And we can't just leave this stuff lying around."

"Yeah," I agreed. "Kinda suspicious."

Hunter nodded. "Werewolf hunters, Bloodhounds--we call 'em _Bloods--_they know what sort of signs to look for. If one of them were traveling through, and they just stumbled upon stuff like this...we'd be in a heap of trouble."

"Hmm."

"They're evil, Ian. I mean, I get why_people would want to put us down. But it's not necessary. We can control ourselves, stay out of people's' way. Live a good life. A_free life."

"I dunno," I said hollowly, trying to smile. "I just want to get through this. I don't care about being 'free' or whatever."

"Fine!'" Hunter growled. I honestly hadn't intended to rib him. "It's a gift. That's what I think. And it's what the other Turned taught me, too."

"...Right. There are more? Of...of us?" I ventured.

"Of course. Probably more than I could know about," Hunter said. "But there's this uh, this small community. This pack. I went there during the summer. I was _drawn_there, really, and taken in. They taught me a lot. I'd like to take you there, too."

He put a hand on my shoulder, the other cradling his mess of tattered clothing. I flinched, but permitted. It actually felt somewhat reassuring, and I eased into the feeling of having Hunter there for me. Sure, he had gotten me into this mess, but...

"We'll see about that," I forced a smile. "For now, I want to get home. Be in bed. Not have to think for a little while."

He nodded. That was that, and Hunter turned around to keep walking. As he left, and his body heat with it. I suddenly realized how chilly it was out here, and how, well, _exposed_we both were. It was motivating, to say the least. I picked up the pace and only lagged a few steps behind Hunter.

We crossed through the creek again, and I shivered as the water lapped at my ankles. The path winded through the creek bed, which Hunter didn't seem to mind, but I did my best to avoid it. No sense in making a cold walk even colder. I hopped up onto a higher path, and pushed some tree branches out of the way.

As we got closer to our respective houses, the two paths got even closer to the hill behind my house. I took a deep breath and prepared myself for a potentially-awkward situation. How in the world was I going to sneak inside and get back into my room, all while being bare-assed naked?

"Come on," Hunter said.

I looked down to him from my slight vantage on the elevated creek bank. He moved his head to the side, in a quick gesture further down the path.

"Dude, I...I just wanna get home!" I protested.

"My house," he instructed. "It's not much farther, right? We'll make a pit stop there, get you into some actual clothes and on your way."

"A-alright," I shuddered. "Your Dad though. Isn't he...?"

"He should be home, yeah," Hunter said with a dark look on his face. "But odds are pretty good he's still passed out. Just his thing."

"I guess that's...sure," I relented. No sense arguing. As uncomfortable it would be to encounter my own parents like this, Hunter's dad would likely be ten-times less forgiving. He wasn't a laid-back kind of guy, and was _always_a few beers deep. Additionally, I suspected he wouldn't draw any fair conclusions if he saw his son coming home with another naked guy.

Still, I followed. I set down my pile of ruined clothes on the edge of the bank and looked down. The higher path had gotten a little too hands-on; brambles and bare branches were poking me at every slight movement, and so I gritted my teeth and slid down the bank after Hunter. Rocks and grit crunched under my feet, and dipping into the ice-cold water sent a shiver up my spine. I turned back for a moment to grab my fistful of clothes, but fumbled one of the socks and it noiselessly splashed into the creek and started to drift away.

'Oh well. Not gonna worry about it,' I thought with a shake of my head, and followed Hunter.

We stayed quiet, and it was just the splashing of water and gentle patter of leaves that filled my ears. It was kind of nice, I realized. My new "condition" must have been helping me with the cold, because my feet had managed to quickly adjust to the water. Additionally, I felt as if the average person walking around down here without any clothes would be at a serious risk for hypothermia. But I was fine. Not comfortable, exactly, but fine.

I saw Hunter hop out of the creek up ahead. One swift jump had him staring down at me, and I followed suit not a few seconds later. Well, hardly as graceful, and I almost managed to drop another sock into the water, but it would do. I looked up to the ridge that stood tall before us; it certainly had been a long time since I saw this end of the property. The dull red of Hunter's house was visible through the tree branches, perched on top of the hill. There wasn't any sort of maintained trail or clear way to go, but I followed him to the best of my ability, only stumbling on the odd sharp rock or twig.

"Damn," I muttered. "Next time, I'm gonna remember to stow away a pair of shoes."

"Yeah," Hunter said. "You get used to it. Sorry, I uh...I guess I should have brought something for you, since this is your first time."

"I mean, worry about yourself first. Just one in what I'm sure is gonna be a long list of lessons."

"Nah. I kinda like it," he said with a smile. "The leaves on my feet. No clothes. Just feels...right."

"Maybe it'll grow on me," I said with little sincerity. "But right now I just keep thinking of a nice, hot shower."

"Heh. I'll join ya," Hunter laughed, glancing back at me.

I blushed, and tried to ignore him. I felt myself thinking about Hunter in certain ways, sure. It didn't help that I was mostly walking right behind him, seeing those strong legs pump him effortlessly up the hill. But I had to remind myself that now, aside from one night every month, I was mostly normal. No more of this hooking-up-with-my-former-friend nonsense. Whatever kept the wolf satiated during its time was all I needed to manage.

In another minute or two, I could see the back of Hunter's house as we rounded the top of the hill. It was in a few states of disrepair, ivy crawling up the back walls and dirt worked into the visible layers of brick foundation. The house was _ancient._Hunter's dad had apparently lived there since even he was a kid. It was nice, in a very rustic kind of way, but the old lawnmower and beer cans littering the backyard did little to ease my mind. Any sort of encounter with Hunter's dad would probably involve a lot of yelling. They didn't exactly get along anymore.

...Not that I could blame Hunter, really. You can only deal with an abusive, drunk asshole for so long before you lose any semblance of respect. Now, instead of a home, it was mostly just a place to fall asleep in.

"Wait here," Hunter quietly instructed. He set his pile of shredded clothes down and crouched, walking with barely a sound across the weed-laden yard. Overgrown grass brushed at his heels as he made his way to the back door. Jiggling the jittery aluminum handle, the door swung open and he gestured me to follow inside.

I did just that, and scooped up whatever clothes of ours I could fit in both arms. Avoiding the odd can of corona or two, I felt the grass lick at my legs and suppressed my breath. An agonizing minute later, I stepped up the two creaking wooden stairs that lead into the back of his kitchen. I was ushered through, and immediately greeted by the smell of stale bread and what I assumed was beer.

Several piles of dishes were stacked in the sink, some with more food splatter than others. I spied dents in a lot of the plates, even the plastic ones, and a thin layer of grimy water obscured the single sink basin. I quietly retched, my nose scrunching up at the assault of aromas. It seemed as if my new heightened senses would come at a price.

Hunter seemed to shrug. Guess it was just business as usual for him. I continued to follow, leaving the kitchen behind and rounding a small nook to emerge into the small living room. It was cluttered with knick-knacks, mostly scattered movies and newspapers. There were more plates, too. A new buffet of scents bombarded my nose, making themselves known: mildew, dampness, a bitter scent that I again ascribed the cans of beer on the floor, and a burning sensation of cigarettes. I paused, breathless, as the source of a few of those pungent odors made itself known.

Hunter's dad, Bo LeGrand, was resting askew on the recliner plopped near the front door. A dull murmur of voices on the old tube tv mingled with a triad of gruff snores. Hunter put his hand to my chest, instructing me to stay still, and then slowly stalked towards his father. He deftly wove between discarded cans of beer, and crept close enough to his quarry to slowly wave a hand in front of the old man's face.

"He's out," Hunter said, perhaps too loudly.

I allowed myself to breathe, and shuffled closer as well. It permitted me a closer and more personal look at the older LeGrand, who I hadn't seen in well over a year. He was Hunter's dad alright. They bore the same general face shape and shared a lot of features. I spied his sharp nose and blond hair on his dad's beard, though Bo's had been washed out with gray. He wore little more than a pair of oversized basketball shorts and _woefully_undersized white wifebeater. A beer gut hung out of the latter, and I cocked my head as I noticed the still-lit cigarette in his mouth. Like father, like son.

"You don't gotta be so quiet, Ian," Hunter said flatly. "Like I said, he's out. Nothing's gonna wake him up."

To demonstrate, Hunter gave his father a firm smack on the top of his head, where the white-washed hair was prominently fading. I winced, but nothing came of it. LeGrand senior barely even twitched, just mumbled something unintelligible, the cig slightly flinching in his cracked lips.

I didn't know what to say, or make of it really. Somehow 'I'm sorry, dude' seemed really hollow, so I just stood there and shook my head. I knew that Hunter's dad had hit the sauce pretty hard, so to speak. It wasn't a well-disguised fact that he liked to drink, but I assumed that both the death of his wife and his daughter skipping town didn't help to curb the habit.

Hunter huffed, and then beckoned me to follow again. This time, he took little precaution and kicked a few cans as he strode to the opposite hallway. As usual, I followed. The other hall ran adjacent to the living room on one side, and Hunter's room was closest. The door was already halfway open, so it didn't matter as Hunter carelessly shoved it further.

He threw his armful of clothes into the room. Half slid onto his unmade bed, and the rest just slumped to the floor with everything else. I looked around, briefly, and noticed that it didn't look much different than anywhere else in the house. Random articles of clothing dotted the furniture and floor, and several old magazines and video game boxes were shoved between books and old, empty picture frames. I remembered that Hunter had a rock collection at one point, but could only see the tail-end of a geode sticking out from underneath his bed. There was a fan turned onto low, propped open in the window, and what was left of the shades allowed the room to be half-soaked in dim morning light.

"Here, put this on," Hunter said gruffly, before reaching down and tossing me a pair of black sweatpants.

I caught them, thankfully, as I wasn't sure it would be safe for them to make contact with my face. Some sort of biohazard, probably. I nodded thanks and began to get dressed. I set down my old pile of clothes and nearly jumped into the pants. Only upon pulling them up did I realize they were far too tight, snugly gripping my legs and crotch in all the wrong places.

"Uhh...shit," I said dumbly.

Hunter eyed me. He still had an angry look and body language to him, but he smirked. "Right. Forgot that you were a bigger guy." His hand shot to my crotch, as if he was plucking a fish from just below the water's surface. "Bigger everywhere."

"H-Hunter," I gasped. He stroked my dick a few times, and it was now hard. Blood hurried, and I felt it pressed to my thigh, the throbbing erection snaking down one of the tight pantlegs.

"I know it's not perfect, Ian," He stepped closer and whispered to me lustily. "Nothing about this is. Not me. Not my house. Not my fucking father..."

I flinched at the mention of his dad, who I still had a clear line of sight to in the living room. The guy didn't budge an inch. But I did. I bit my lower lip, and tried to resist the warmth of my rigid member against my leg.

"...And, not what I did to you," he finished, still massaging my dick through the fabric. "I know that, and I know you know that. But I'm going to fix it. Make it the best thing that's ever happened to you."

"Dude, I...I just need to get home. Sleep a little. Uhhh..." I couldn't resist, and a moan escaped my lips. "...Fuck."

"Let's get you out of these fucking pants," my friend growled. He pulled down the waistband, fighting it over the jutting erection, and immediately wrapped his lips around the exposed member as pants hit the floor. His tongue danced over my sensitive head, and I heard him gag as he strained himself further forward.

I was off-balance, and my mind was reeling. I had only just barely recovered from waking up after a night of horrible, otherworldly debauchery. Then there was the almost hour-long trek through the woods. Naked. And now I was supposed to wrap my mind around my "sire" giving me head in his old room, within eyesight of his passed-out father?

"Mmmmmm," I moaned, and I fell back a few inches until my butt rested on Hunter's bed. One of my hands found its way to the back of his head. I combed through his blond hair as he hungrily worked my rod.

'Maybe it's just...better not to think.'

Hunter snarled and slurped, and eventually pulled himself off of my dick in a coughing, drooling mess. He looked up and made eye contact with me, and then gave me another playful stroke, the prize slick with his saliva. He stood up and turned around, taking in a lungful of air, and then sat with his hole spread.

"Ffffffuck," He growled. "Damn did I need this."

I was breathless. He took my full length inside of his ass without a second thought. Hunter arched his back and gasped again as our balls nested together. My hands reflexively grabbed the curve of his waist and began pulling him down even further, driving the spear as deep as it could go.

"So fucking big," he said breathily. "And...fuck...guess I'm still loose from last night, huh?"

"Mm," I grunted in agreement.

It was true. There was hardly any resistance as Hunter accepted my cock. But as he adjusted, I felt his walls move to accommodate the invader. There was just that right amount of resistance to coax me further, to make me buck my hips and have Hunter respond by bouncing to my fervent rhythm. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth.

"This isn't..." I moaned. "Your dad's...ahhh..."

Hunter ignored me. He grabbed my wrists, which were still on his posterior, and used them as leverage to drive himself up and down further. He hammered at me with his ass, a voracious recipient for my cock.

A part of me was resisting this, too completely burned out from the previous night. I wanted to go home, to get into my own clothes and my own bed, and just sleep it all off. Pretend like none of this existed for another month. Go back to school, back to normalcy. See Meredith again, and talk to her. Laugh. I could treat Hunter like a friend again, and not some sort of bizarre lover-slash-enemy-slash-stranger.

"...Ffffuck!" I yelled.

"Hell yeah, there we go," Hunter said, his words a smooth silk in my ears.

But there was another part. It was similar to the presence that I had experienced in the time leading up to my first transformation. An "other" personality within me, that_was_ me, that was slowly gnawing on my sense of self, worming its way into my waking mind. It wanted this, reveled in the taboo nature of penetrating Hunter in front of his own father. A domination of mind and body, that worked both ways. While I forced myself inside of Hunter, in and out, stroking and probing at his bowels, he meanwhile exerted a control over me. My sire wanted me to fuck him, and so I could only oblige.

I shoved into him, hard, and then felt the pleasure broil in my buried member. I erupted, a spray of hot seed into Hunter as he clamped down on me. I put one hand on his chest and pulled him closer to my body. My teeth found a mark around his ear, and I nibbled in a playful hunger as I spent myself inside of him. A growl escaped my lips, and Hunter joined me.

We were beasts wearing human skin.

My thrusts continued as I emptied myself into my sire, mind numb from the pleasure of the orgasm. A few minutes passed, and Hunter lifted himself off of me with a sigh and a wet slopping sound. Fluid flowed out of his unpuckered hole, and I was lost in the lust of it all. I fell backwards, and closed my eyes. I felt him grab my legs, and was abruptly lifted up as Hunter pulled the sweatpants onto my lower-half. He closed the door, and my last waking moment was him slowly sidling up next to me on the messy bed and holding me close.

~~

We had arrived.

The motor dulled beneath me, and I no longer felt like my skeleton was being liquefied. My grip loosened from Ian's back, and I hopped off of the bike. I removed the helmet and stretched out my legs, which had become locked up in the hour or so tandem motorcycle ride that we had just taken.

"Sorry about the bumpy ride," Ian said rather too loudly.

I brushed it off. The sound of the bike had dulled my hearing as well, but it was probably exponentially worse for someone with heightened senses. I watched him get off of the bike and remove his helmet as well.

"S'fine," I said, rolling my head back and forth. "Despite how emasculating it was to hold onto you the entire time, you're...well, a good driver."

"Heh. Can't say the same for your fellow L.A.-ites," he chuckled, and popped the kick-stand.

I offered a laugh, too, and then just watched him haul everything off of his bike. Ian was currently wearing a leather jacket, which coupled with the finger-less gloves, certainly did wonders for the biker aesthetic. He proceeded to unbuckle a few harnesses from the back of the bike. My brother's camo bag slumped to the ground, followed by one of Ian's own traveling satchels.

"So, where are we exactly?" I ventured.

"Uh, well, I don't know exactly," he replied, "But we're on the southern edge of the Angeles National Forest. A bit past Pasadena, and, well that's all I can tell." Suddenly, he lifted his nose into the air and sniffed--a _Turned_mannerism that was becoming increasingly more familiar to me. "Pretty far from the nearest pit stop though. Can't smell any humans."

"Other humans, right?"

"Right. 'Cept for you and me, Chuck. Sorry, I...I dunno. Don't really consider myself human in the traditional sense anymore."

"Kind of gets beaten out of you, doesn't it?"

He nodded. Ian unzipped his jacket, and threw it to the ground. I could see that he was sweating, and wasn't wearing little more than a wifebeater underneath. It was pretty warm out, I noticed, also shucking my jacket. I was glad that I had brought it after all. Turns out that being on a bike could be pretty damn chilly, and you were exposed to all of the elements.

"I think I passed through here once before, but it was a long time ago," Ian narrated. "I remember thinking there was no way I could find somewhere so secluded and remote, so close to the city."

I nodded. Looking around, it became apparent to me how quiet it was. Well, relatively. The sun was starting to set now, which meant that the nocturnal critters were coming out. Already I could hear the far-off buzzing of crickets and frogs. The dinky little two-laner that we had been driving on wound through the woods like a tar-black stream. With the bike parked in a little roadside gravel flat, I was truly starting to feel the weight of the situation. Isolation.

"So this is what it's like for you, huh?" I turned to my writing partner and looked him over.

He nodded, innately understanding my phrasing. "It's lonely, I guess. Honestly, I...well, I never really felt it until recently. After meeting you, reconnecting with the world of the living, so to speak, it uh...really just started to dawn on me. I've got no one. It's just me and the bike."

I started pacing at the opposite end of the flat, peeking into the brush and the trees that surrounded us. I was listening to Ian, of course, nodding along as he spoke. Should I have been writing it down? I was feeling somewhat distracted.

"...But now I've got you," he chuckled, and flashed me a grin. His teeth were a bit off-white, and his canines were probably sharper than they had any right to be in a human mouth. He reached into his pocket and produced a comical-looking flip phone. Even the newest models looked positively ancient. "And this! I try not to call a lot. Not like I ever have much to say. But, I wanted to tell you, that...uh, it's been...nice. Feels like someone is there with me on the road."

"I'm glad," was all I could say. As pleasant as it was, the mantra was still _'don't get attached.'_Cold, but effective.

"Sorry! Uh, enough about me. I'm just, kind of, nervous right now. On edge. It's just what happens before the full moon," there were beads of sweat on his forehead. Ian rapped his fingers against his temple, and I could only imagine him fending off that presence that I had wrote about. "H-how's the book going?"

"Fine!" Now it was my turn to sweat a little. "I've been writing a lot. You gave me plenty of material to work with, almost enough for a full book already. Susanne, my publisher, she read a few of my draft chapters."

"...And she liked 'em?"

"I haven't heard back from her yet," the lie came quick. "She's pretty hard to get a hold of this time of year. Summer's a big time for publishers. Lots of new hires. Kids wanting to intern. That kind of shit."

"This is the woman you published your two other books with, right?" He asked.

"Yeah, she's...something, to be sure. Brutally honest, but she knows what sells." I said, wistfully reminded of my second book. A personal triumph, but critical failure. Stuff like that just sort of happened, though. It was a tough market to predict.

"You think this will? Our story?" Ian tested the waters. I sort of got the feeling that he didn't entirely believe me that Susanne hadn't corresponded.

"Your story," I reminded him. "And I think so. But it's better to not think if something's gonna sell. Don't write for other people. That's my advice for you tonight," I said in a pseudo-lecturing voice.

"Heh. I'll remember that."

"But first things first," came my reminder, "We're here for a reason. The clock is ticking, right?"

"Yeah," He said. A shiver seemed to go down his spine, and Ian's whole body was wracked in a flutter of muscle spasms. "Soon."

I looked skyward. It was getting dark here. Darker than in the suburbs, and especially in the city. By my poor approximation, we probably had much less than an hour until sunset. Until moonrise? I wasn't really sure. Something I had to read up on.

"You're sure you want to do this, Chuck?"

I nodded. No question. "I have to see it again. Experience it, get a bit of a mind for it. Knock out any sort of notion I'm clinging onto that this is all a fake. Some sort of, well, elaborate dream ruse."

"...I understand," Ian said grimly. "I don't like it, but I get it."

"I mean, really, what's to worry about?" I exaggerated a shrug for comedic value, but it didn't seem to please Ian.

"There's always a risk. Over the years, I've grown comfortable with it, with my presence." He put his hand to his meaty chest. I imagined what it must be like, heart racing and body on the first inklings of betrayal. "But it has a mind of its own. I can make peace with it, guide it and control it to a degree. But I think there will always be that fine line separating me from the beast. And it could be crossed in a moment."

Not exactly reassuring, but that's why I was here. This was the kind of thing a good writer just had to do_sometimes. Put their life on the line. Then dangle that line over a cliff. Walk on the wild side. If journalists were willing to drive through an Iraqi minefield in pursuit of a story, then I felt like this was the same thing. Risks were everywhere. Risk was _life.

"I can handle myself," came my almost juvenile response.

Ian smiled. Maybe that won him over, or maybe he was already won over. I had gazed into the abyss once, so to speak. A second time couldn't hurt.

"Alright then. Well, get whatever you need. We're going to roll out."

"I...thought we were here already?" A dumb question, now that I realized it. Something told me that they would keep spilling out as the night progressed.

"Nah," Ian said bemusedly. "We've gotta go deeper in there. Far enough to muffle the howls."

"But not far enough to get lost, I assume?"

"We'll be fine come morning."

"M-morning. Right," I may have forgotten to tell John that I wasn't going to be home tonight. Not that he was my keeper, or anything like that. Probably wouldn't even care.

Ian seemed to sense my hesitation. "Sorry. I thought I told you that this would most likely be an all-nighter?"

"You did. Nevermind. I just need to grab my stuff."

Without missing a beat, went to the bike and grabbed the camo bag from the pile of Ian's disheveled carry-ons. I used the moment to take a deep breath, and clear my head. Inside the bag, I knew I'd have supplies to last me the night. My laptop, with a portable battery, phone, wallet, flask--all the necessities. What I didn't have was a way to sleep, but I wasn't particularly worried about it.

"See that rolled-up bundle clipped onto the back of my bike?" Ian gestured from the other end of the flat.

I did, and untied the rope holding it onto the back of its mount. A sleeping pad unfurled like a long, black tongue, and I hurried to pluck it from the ground as I hefted my pack onto my shoulder.

"Don't go camping often?" He asked with a wry laugh.

"Not since I was ten," I replied, rolling the sleeping bag back up and tucking it under my arm. "But you're just putting me in a ton of new situations tonight. First the bike ride, and now camping?"

"And the whole...turned thing," Ian whispered.

"Old news, honestly. But lead the way. You're the expert, and if you don't want to dawdle, who am I to say otherwise?"

"Mm. Well, follow me then." He rolled the sleeping bag back up and clipped it in a single quick, decisive motion, before thrusting it towards me.

I stuffed the tightly-coiled sleeping pad under my arm and took a deep breath. The thought occurred to me that if things didn't go how they were supposed to, these could be some of my final moments. It would be one of the biggest cruelties that I could manage, if John and Riley were to find out about my mangled corpse in the next few days. Somehow strewn around the SoCal forest. Discovered happenstance by some terrified park ranger. Best not to think about it, though.

"You don't have to do this, Chuck."

I ignored him. Ian could likely sense my fear and anxiousness, "smell" it on me or whatever horseshit he was able to do. It didn't matter, because as nervous as I was, and as unwilling as he seemed, my mysterious friend kept leading me deeper into the woods.

There wasn't exactly a path to follow, but it felt like Ian knew where he was going. At times, I felt as if we were circling back over ourselves, but maybe all of the trees were just sort of starting to blend together as darkness crept over the woods. It worked its way around the trees, around us, and I was definitely starting to lose my bearings. A feeling of dread began to creep into me. As Ian stopped walking, my breath was cut short.

"I didn't want to have to do this..." He whispered again, though his voice was much more strained now. Almost as if he was holding back tears.

I flinched and backed away as he made a motion for his pocket. Why, I wasn't sure. If he was making moves towards a concealed firearm, I figured there were other, more readily-available ways to kill me. The moon was close to rising, after all.

But nothing happened. No lunging, no blood. I instead watched Ian quickly pull a sheathed knife from his pocket. He flipped it around in his palm, and then turned to face me, presenting the handle.

"Here," Ian said, and thrust the weapon into my fumbling hands.

"What...?"

I turned it over in my hand, eyeing the sheath. From my (admittedly-limited) point of view, it seemed to be a normal knife. Maybe something that would come in handy if you were caught unawares with a busted tire on the side of the road, and needed to whittle a log to pass the time while waiting for a tow truck. A tow truck that you called on your modern-day cell phone. Regardless, I flipped a little lock on the knife's base and then pulled it about a quarter of the way out. It glinted off of the fading sunlight, and possessed a sheen that I only vaguely registered as not your standard knife-blade.

"It's a silver knife," Ian quickly explained. "I can't actually handle it without the sheath."

"Silver? So like from the movies?" I clicked it closed, and caught Ian's watchful eyes gaze nervously at the blade. "You guys, er...Turned. You can't handle silver?"

"I can't act like I fully understand it. Why it burns our skin. Why the cuts never fully heal. Maybe there is some sort of...sacred property to it, or something."

"Was never the religious type," I scoffed.

"Me neither. Who knows. The point is, if push comes to shove, don't hesitate to use it."

I nodded grimly. And then, a thought hit me.

"But, wait. If silver fucks you up, then why exactly are you keeping a silver dagger on hand? Something I should, uh, know about?"

"It's...painful to talk about, but..." Ian's shoulders sagged inwards. He took a deep breath, and they rose again, expanding his frame and allowing him to loom before me as a long shadow was cast over us. "I got it a few years ago. I told myself it was for protection. But, if we're being honest here, I think I liked the idea of being able to just end it, if I needed to. If my changes started growing more unruly. Or, maybe, if I just got tired of it all..."

That certainly caught me off-guard. I tried to not let it show, though. "I get it. Don't worry, I'll hold onto it. Keep it out of your hair for tonight." I pocketed the dagger. Somehow, the weight of it felt a little reassuring.

"Thanks, Chuck." He forced a smile. The grizzled man, veteran of so many moons, turned his eyes skyward. "I didn't think I'd have to give it to you. But, things have been_different_ lately."

I could barely make out the sky from our flat little point in the woods, but the inky blue of night was starting to stain the sky. I figured we didn't have much more time left. Ian wasn't making any moves to trek deeper into the woods, so I deemed this our destination. I tossed the sleeping bag to the ground. It was growing sort of cumbersome tucked under my arm.

"'Different' like how?" I dared to ask, not sure if I really wanted an answer.

"I don't know. It's--the _presence--_getting harder to control lately. I feel it pushing in on me harder. Like it wants something, or is trying to communicate with me, outside of our usual night. It's more aggressive. The Turn seems to hit earlier. Even now, I can feel it happening, and the sun isn't even down. The moon, we have time, but...hrrgh!" He growled, and clenched his hands. I could see muscles straining and swelling underneath his clothing.

"K-kind of a bad time to tell me about this," I half-joked. "But I remember you telling me that, er, last time. The reason things got so out of control when we met. I can remember you yelling that it was 'too soon.'"

"Yeah," he huffed. I could see sweat dripping off of Ian's forehead. "I don't know why it's happening. Why the Turn is so premature. M-maybe it's Hunter. He's--AHHHH. Oh, fuck. Sorry. It's happening, Chuck, I can feel it. Y-you need to stay back."

'He doesn't have to tell me twice,' I thought, backing up a fair few paces.

The woods darkened. I could see a speckling of stars in the navy sky. The moon? Who knew. Tree cover around here was pretty dense. I waded through a tangled thicket of underbrush and almost tripped back on my ass. Reasoning it was as good of a space as any, I knelt with one knee on the ground and stationed myself at what I could only describe as a comfortable-enough distance to view the transformation.

My heart was starting to race, adrenaline pumping as I watched Ian. Guttural growls were bellowing from his mouth. I saw him quickly shuck his jacket and undershirt, exposing his muscular torso towards me. Sweat glistened on his body, making his body hair adhere tightly to his skin like a vast black cobweb. I caught sight of his tattoo again, but the strange wolfshead compass disappeared from view as more hair seemed to creep into the picture, obscuring his wet skin.

Ian hunched forward, and seemed to dry-heave. Spit and blood flew from his mouth, and I could make out the silhouette of his extended canines, shivering in new growth as the bones in his face began to push forward.

"HRRRAAAAAAAAGH!!" He roared, standing upright and pointing his flesh-colored snout skyward. "F-f-fuuuck. It HURTS!" Ian groaned. His words were slurred, but I could make them out well enough through the churning muscle and bone. "Haven't....felt it like this. F-for a long...LONG time! Ahhhh..."

His chest, now saturated with black hair, began swelling. My eyes widened as I saw the muscle fill out, inflating the man's frame to almost twice his usual girth. His arms, too, flexed and rippled along with the change. Hair was branded down towards his wrists, and I watched as Ian struggled with his shifting hands at the crotch of his pants. It seemed like he was trying to unbutton them, take the things off in time. But struggle as he could, his fingers betrayed him: sharp, dark claws burst forth from underneath his human fingernails, and he began wildly tugging and ripping at the denim as muscle strained against them from within.

I, meanwhile, was feeling lightheaded. My brain began swimming in a thick fog, unable to fully process what I was watching. I understood it on a purely visual level--but, logically, it just shouldn't have been. Although I had never much been of a scientific mind, I knew that all of that mass, that bulk and hair and fangs, it had to all be coming from somewhere. For the human body to undergo such a drastic change, I couldn't imagine the sheer toll a few moments of that physical stress would do to a person.

On a more personal level, I felt myself flashing back to that fateful night in the Chicago hotel room. The confusion, the terror. A haze of alcohol and sexual energy that had allowed me to block it all out up until the last few, critical moments. Waking up full of raw fear, and playing that video on my phone, over and over again. Playing it almost every single night before I went to sleep, or when I found my mind wandering in visceral curiosity.

Without realizing it, I had stopped breathing. My lungs screamed for air, and I obeyed them in a coughing fit as I regained awareness of the situation. The noise caught the attention of Ian, who seemed to be nearing the final stages of his Turn. I saw him throw away a discarded mess of jeans and underwear, now standing nude in the moonlight. Head to toe, he rippled with muscle. It churned and contracted underneath of his hair and his gently tanned skin, which was now reddened from heat and from strain.

He leaned forward, and his nostrils flared, taking in the breadth of scents around him. Surely mine was in the mix. Hunching down towards the ground, the hair on his back bristled. He walked towards me, more wolf than man. His four limbs plodded powerfully against the earth, and his eyes met mine in the darkness of the woods. Two ice-blue embers of primal energy.

As he approached me, I became very aware of the silver dagger still in my pocket. I tensed, readying for the moment that I might need to pull it out and start madly slashing away. The hulking monster before me seemed to sense my fear. It could read my scent, and pick up on body language, I reminded myself. Well, assuming Ian wasn't fully in the driver's seat tonight. I still needed to figure out the rules for this kind of thing.

I took a short breath, and stood up. Trying to hide would get me nowhere, and I couldn't fathom getting more than a few steps if I tried to run.

Ian saw this, and he relaxed. The bristled hair on his upper body went limp, and he traded his loping quadruped gait for a more bipedal, hunched over stomp. He stopped several meters in front of me, body heaving as he took great huffs of breath. I could just barely make out his familiar features: a barely-visible tattoo, a faded line of red scar on the crux of his neck, and a massively dangling piece of meat between his legs. Gingerly, with both of my palms up and visible, I stepped forward.

"S-so...you're good?" I asked with my surest of faces. Something snagged at my leg, and I felt myself stumble blindly over a wiry tree branch. "Fuck!"

I heard a series of low, gruff rumbles from Ian. If I didn't know any better, it sounded like he was laughing at me. A good sign. I'd take it. My feet guided me forward, and I felt the shadows close in as Ian's Turned form towered over me.

"Whoo, boy. This is, uh, d-definitely not a dream. Right? No Ashton Kutcher-looking fool is going to hop out of those bushes now? Reveal that you're just some kind of elaborate Jim Henson murder-muppet? I'm rambling, I realize. Just trying to keep myself sane. Get a dialogue going."

He cocked his head down at me.

"Which is kind of hard to do, big guy, since you uh, can't exactly talk when you look like that. R-right?" I felt my hands fidgeting at my sides. I wished I had something to hold onto, to distract me. It was times like this that I had no delusions of kicking habits. However, I didn't possess foresight enough to bring cigarettes, and my flask was packed away in what was likely the furthest corner of my bag.

Ian snatched my hand and pulled it towards his body, and me with it. I yelped, and watched powerlessly. Instead of ripping the limb out of my socket, or throwing me to the ground, Ian put the palm of my hand on his wolf's chest. His own hand dwarfed my own, and he pressed in.

"...Shhhhuuuuu-uuuuhhhckkk," he growled noisily, mashing his jowels together in the best approximation of human speech he could manage.

I could recognize my own name. Put at ease somewhat, I forced a smile, and tried to interpret this. Through his folds of hair, I could feel the heat of Ian's skin. He was a furnace; I could imagine steam wafting off of his body, even in the perpetually temperate Californian forests. Beneath that, I could feel the beating of his heart. Ian removed his hand, and I pressed down. Powerful, thunderous contractions even underneath of all the muscle.

"Damn," I whispered. Ian's ears twitched as I spoke, and he looked down at me. I met his gaze and felt my breath halt--it was an incredible power that those predator's eyes seemed to have over me. "I-I still can't believe this is real."

It was bewildering. My fingers kneaded at the thick hair, and I felt my hand migrate elsewhere. Across Ian's chest, to one of his shoulders, and down an arm. I explored, making note of every churning muscle. I could see a bit of his skin in certain areas. It was still reddened; he must have been unbearably hot underneath all of that hair. My hands moved. His palms were rough, I had noticed before, but now I noticed the thick, calloused skin. It must have been an adaptation to run on all-fours. The nails were long, and slightly curved. Five daggers on each hand.

The intimacy of the moment didn't become apparent to me until I found my hand on one of Ian's hips. I had merely been an artist looking over some sort of supernatural sculpture, committing the details to memory before I carved it in my writing. But, as I traveled downwards, Ian's member naturally sprang to life. It raced along with his heart, and bobbed to full attention, engorged with blood. It would be a missed opportunity to not look now, right?

"Holy fuck," I gasped. The monster was longer and thicker than I remembered Ian. "So this is just..._this_is what happens?"

Ian began panting. His hot, muggy breath washed over me. I looked down, and then back up. He tilted his head down at me, and then made a vague motion to his crotch.

"I-I can't. I wouldn't know what to _do_with that thing, man."

I withdrew my hand from his body. If this was where it was going to lead, I wasn't sure if I was ready. It had been a possibility in the back of my mind, but I couldn't actually imagine fucking him right now. The last time Ian and I had gotten, well, intimate, something strange happened. Well, this whole big damn mess happened. I had another split-second flashback to his hands at my throat, the wild bucking motions. My body being under his control, and me essentially powerless. Just having to sit there and watch it all play out. I could almost feel my vision narrowing again as the fever of fear took over.

"Fuck." But, I was hard. My own dick was straining at my jeans, rubbing against the fabric of my underwear. It had been stirred to life against my better wishes.

Paralyzed, I just grit my teeth and stood there. Suddenly, I felt Ian's massive hand on me again. He guided my hand to his jutting, throbbing member, as suggestively as possible. Without forcing me down, I could feel the heat emanating from the veritable third leg. It twitched in anticipation, and I relented, willingly closing my hand over the shaft.

What happened next was a whirlwind. I began stroking Ian's dick, my arm quickly growing tired from the mileage necessary to give him a handjob. He responded by grunting, and stepped forward. Our bodies closer, I felt his beclawed hands on my body. As gently as possible, he began unbuttoning my shirt. I felt a nail graze my skin at my collarbone, and shivered. He huffed, as if to apologize, and moved on. As a button flew off in his mad dash to undress me, I couldn't help but chuckle, and assisted my free hand in the task. Soon, my shirt hung at my arm, and I threw it to the ground.

I felt the air against my shoulders. It was liberating, in a way. Ian's body heat seemed to roll off of him, and I too felt myself sweating. I released my grip on his dick in order to undo my belt buckle. Another second, and the pants were gone. It was a bizarre mixture of fear, excitement, and sexual autopilot. I had been incredibly horny lately, and it wasn't something simple to satiate when you were put up in a guest room across from your niece. There was the night life, which I tried at first, but no matter the guy or the girl that I chatted up, I felt my thoughts drift to Ian. That one incredible, terrifying night had firmly taken root in my consciousness.

So, suffice to say, I wanted this. It was insane, and perverse, but I recognized the feeling. Unabated lust, manifest in my own body. My dick as the ambassador, perhaps the real pilot of the night. However, my mind was at play; I had an analytical approach to the act, now dutifully removing my boxers as the night air kissed my own cock, moist with sweat. I went to my knees, and tempered the beast with my mouth.

"Huuurrrrugh," Ian growled in animal satisfaction.

It was slow at first. I felt the head press against the roof of my mouth, and then with diligence, I coaxed more of his dick into my maw. Half, maybe, before I began starving for air. I released Ian's dick, and saw it bob out of my mouth, glowing in the moonlight from a slick layer of saliva.

"I--uh, wow. Guess there's no real need for formality then."

I went at it again, stuffing the beast's meat into my mouth. My tongue danced around Ian's head as I felt him slowly begin to thrust forward. One of his big, razor-tipped hands found a place on the back of my neck. I did what I normally did in situations like this: tried to live outside of my body. Enjoy the pleasure, but examine my options.

It was a strange and systematic way of dealing with sex, but it was all I knew. Old habits died hard. I knew that Ian was largely in control, now that he had fully Turned. I wondered what was going through his head right now, but it was impossible to figure out. He couldn't talk, and could only convey vague approximations of what he needed of me. It's true that he got me to suck him off with little directive, but maybe that was more of my own curiosity than his animal charisma.

I remembered writing some earlier chapters. His friend and sire, Hunter, seemed to use sex as a control mechanism. As strange as that seemed, it also apparently tamed the wilder and more feral side of the Turned's personality. So, I tried the same. I felt my jaw ache, and Ian's member left a trail of salty precum in my mouth as he pulled out. Now I wondered what was next.

'Control.' It was my obligation to subdue the beast, right? I took a deep, cleansing breath, and stood up. The air was cold against my skin, but Ian radiated heat like a smelting iron. I stepped towards him, and diligently avoided getting stabbed by his wolfen spear.

"Alright, big guy," I combed through the black hair on his chest with my fingers. It was soft, almost pleasantly so. Made me wonder what the 'design' of it all was. Why would such a fearsome creature need soft, plush body hair? "It's been a weird few weeks for me. Meeting you, getting to, er...know you, and write about you. I've understood a lot of shit that I thought would be impossible. I've always been open-minded, but...now it's like my mind has been fully peeled back and cracked completely open."

Ian cocked his head down at me, his angular ears flicking about. I grinned stupidly. I was rambling, but I had a point to make.

"I guess, what I'm trying to say is..." I laughed. A mad, uninhibited laugh. "Let's get weirder. Take me for a ride, wolf-man. Do what you gotta do, because...well, I think I need it just as much as you do."

The Turned's breathing seemed to double. His chest rose and fell in an excited, feverish pace. I felt my own heart race. Ian put his claws on my hips. I could feel his nails against my skin, but he seemed to be going as gently as possible. Slowly, he guided me down to the ground.

"Oh, fuck," I gasped.

I felt his weight on me, and my legs gave out from underneath, now at an ungainly angle. Before my ass smacked down uncomfortably against cold grass, my hands shot back in reflex to catch and support me. Ian growled, a low and somewhat light-hearted rumble, and then pressed me down further. I felt my lower back press coolly against ground, and that was that. My dick, rigid in the raw excitement, and fear of what was about to happen, twitched as Ian's claws migrated from my waist to my thighs.

"Woo boy," I nervously smirked, as he pulled me closer to his body. His claws traced around my legs, until he held me firm by the meat of my hamstrings. His hands were almost large enough to wrap entirely around my thighs, I realized. With a grunt, he lifted my lower half upwards.

My legs were in free-fall, but I regained control and allowed them to spread, helping along Ian's process of granting himself ease of access to my hole. He looked down at me, a drop of drool rolling from his jaws. All it would take was one move, one quick slash up my midsection, and I'd be gutted before I even knew what was happening. But the large beast had something else in mind; though, I couldn't help but realize it was only a slightly different way of being split in two.

"Oh fuckkkk," I hissed through my teeth as I felt the white-hot tip of his cock on my asshole. It probed, almost curious, settling into the opening of my rear and playfully parting the entrance.

'This is it,' I dryly realized. My eyes went wide as Ian plunged into me.

The wolf growled, a long baritone rumble of pleasure. The animal within him was pleased, I could tell, at his relatively effortless conquest. The feeling was delayed for a moment, but all at once I felt the sensation of fullness and being stretched. I moaned as the inches of meat pressed into me, hungry. My ass was tight, but it was also accommodating. To my surprise, it actually didn't hurt too much.

Ian tightened his grip around my legs, and pulled me closer, simultaneously driving his cock deeper. I could feel every piece of the seemingly mile-long werewolf dick. I took in a sharp breath, the rod striking something within me. Something that sent a wild jolt of pleasure and shock through my body. Immediately, I felt my own cock twitch. A bead of precum appeared on the tip of my shaft. I smiled dumbly, as a heat rose up into my chest. It soon overwhelmed my face, and a soft glow appeared on the outskirts of my vision.

"That'd be the spot, yeah," I nearly giggled, drunk with the feeling. I took another deep breath, and could smell the intertwining scents of earth and sweat.

There was a sharp dance of nails on my skin. A hand was broad on my back, pulling me up. As Ian continued to slide in, I felt him pull me up off of the ground. I bound my legs around his hips, holding on as I rose into a sitting position on his lap. The full body of his cock slid into me, the position favoring gravity. I exhaled a great plume of breath, and sank forward into him.

"Fuck," I gasped. He continued to buck, intent on completely filling me up.

The werewolf dick pushed deep into me. I felt it pummel and probe up into my guts, pushing aside walls that had never experienced such an invader. At the moment, I could do little else but rock along with his rhythm, feed into the dominance that the wolf was orchestrating. My face was pressed into Ian's chest, the thick hair brushing against my face. The skin beneath it was slick with sweat, and almost red-hot to the touch. I pulled back, overheated, and cold air slapped at my skin. Sweat on my forehead made it even colder, and a chill ran down my spine.

The spasms caused me to tense and relax in rapid succession, my hole quivering around Ian's member. He panted, and I took a deep breath. Chilled air mixed with the steam from his wolf-breath, and I was caught in a momentary haze of sensory overload. The smells, the heat. The feeling being stabbed and speared in unending, savage rhythm.

But, I did it. Just as I had in our previous escapade, I found my zen-like center in the storm and held on. My hands gripped onto Ian's shoulders. I could feel the knots of muscle underneath the full pelt of black hair. I used him to gain leverage, and rode. Hard.

Back and forth we rocked, syncing up the beats of our bodies into one unified rhythm. I could feel it pounding in my head, between my ears. I took another deep breath as I felt Ian thrust harder and with more hunger. One of his hands left from its home on my ass and went behind him for support. I felt wet streaks of pain as his claws raked over my skin, grip in the opposite hand tightening.

"Holy fuck!" I yelled in shock. I think I was bleeding, the instantly-cooled liquid running down my back in small rivulets.

I was seeing flashes of light. Ian's thrusts became even harder, if that was possible. With one hand on the ground, he could prop himself up even harder. I was getting bucked into the air, sliding up on his shaft and then crashing back down as my ass strained against the intruder crashing its way even deeper up into me. I grit my teeth and started grunting.

"Fffffffuck!" I stared wide-eyed into Ian's face, numb from the exhilarating pain and fullness.

He was barely an inch from my face, massive jaws open as his tongue lolled out to one side. Drool flowed freely from his mouth onto his muscular neck and chest. I could see the diluted color of blood on some of his teeth. Likely a ramification of his transformation. He huffed and growled, and now that he caught my eye, closed his mouth and started in a low rumble. I strained my ears, trying to parse what he could be trying to say in a human tongue over my own loud moans and the heavy, wet slaps from my rear.

"Aaank yoo." Ian seemed to say, his chest vibrating.

"Thanks?" I repeated.

He nodded.

"Don't mention it," came the reply. I tried to keep myself cool, but that was getting increasingly tough. The pain was starting to get a little too sharp to handle comfortably. The speed at which Ian hammered upwards into me was stealing my breath. I felt a tightness in my chest as I tried to speak.

But I had done it. I had allowed the werewolf to fuck me, and I was actually pulling it off. I grinned widely, and could feel drool and sweat flow down my face. I must have looked like an idiot. But it made Ian smile. At least, that's what it looked like. His lips curled upwards and he uttered several deep, booming grunts.

I winced as a particularly violent thrust buried Ian deeper in me than anything had ever been. Whirlpools of of light and darkness swirled on the edge of my ken. I grit my teeth. Ian seemed to slow down. There was a sort of sympathetic sound coming out of him, but I felt his muscles tense. His grip on my small body hardened. Sharp nails threatened to tear into me. Ian was concerned, thought that I was in pain.

He was right, but that weakness was now depriving him of release. I had the sudden idea that his control was momentarily fading him, and his body was acting of its own desperate accord. I felt another wicked thrust, driving the shaft into what I could only imagine was through my entire body. I couldn't let this happen, just sit here like some pathetic rag-doll.

Time to take control. I let my body fall forward, and then I began to sway my hips in a fast, forceful rhythm. Small flashes of light kept popping into my peripherals, dotting Ian's dark fur with small starbursts. Even closing my eyes, I could see them, swirling in the darkness within my head. As Ian's head bobbed forward, I made my critical move. I bent my neck forward, opened my mouth, and took a firm mouthful of the bottom of his ear. He yelped in stark surprise, and I held it between viced teeth.

I wasn't sure what made me do it. The idea was planted into my head by some half-forgotten memory. A dumb movie, perhaps? Or a nature documentary I fell asleep to at the end of some late and drunken night. The ploy seemed to have the desired effect, though. I wanted to show dominance. To equal his lust and sexual energy. Meet him as an equal, one animal to another. Ian growled, and panted. His thrusts became sharp and quick. I rocked my hips around like a dancer, trying to maintain my clamp on the beast's cock.

Claws dug into my back. I gasped, and let go of the werewolf's angular ear. Ian was pulling me down harder onto his dick. A fiery eruption ignited within my gut, and I knew the job was done. I felt the tears of blood slide down my back and onto my exposed rear. Ian bucked repeatedly. The werewolf threw his head back, beastly snout pointed skyward, and howled.

It shook my bones, and made my skin crawl. I suddenly realized how cold I was, and how much the raucous lovemaking had taken its toll on me. I was completely numb where Ian had pounded into me, but I could feel the slow drip of his seed out of my filled hole and onto the ground. I sighed. Hot moisture welled on the corners of my eyes. I felt light-headed, and the scratches on my back now felt like deep, piercing slashes.

I leaned back, tried to pull away. Ian half-growled something, and turned his face towards mine. I looked into those two pools of ice. A feeling of dread should have gripped me, but instead, I smiled. His lupine nose moved forward, and I felt the hot tip of his snout on my own quivering face. A shiver ran down my spine as Ian shifted his body, and I felt myself rising up. A pressure on my midsection, and a wet plop from down below, and I felt the warm dick leave me. A geyser of seed ran down my inner thigh as I found my legs, and nervously staggered into a standing position.

And then, cold darkness. A large, black blur of fur and muscle came careening to me. My vision narrowed to a point, and all I could think about was the motion of air in and out of my body. Long shadows danced savagely all around. Before I hit the ground, two rough, clawed hands caught me.

I was pulled in close, and a warm bed of hair lay against my back. As I opened my eyes, I realized that Ian was caressing me, his lupine snout looking down. As my vision flickered and I gazed up at him, I smiled. He seemed to return the expression, and the wild blue eyes took on a glow of softness. Instead of ice, it was like I was staring into warm, crystal-clear water on a tropical island. I shivered, and realized how good that sounded right now.

"It's alright, big guy," I said softly, reaching up and patting him plainly on the side of the face.

Ian gruffed something, but I couldn't make it out, if it was a word at all. Slowly, with great care, I stood up. A padded hand on my back let me know that the Turned had me if my legs were to give out again. Another shiver, and I spied my disheveled pile of clothes on the other side of the clearing. With stiff legs, I hobbled over and proceeded to get dressed.

"No sense waiting around for me," I looked back and spoke at Ian, pulling up my pants and snugly buckling the belt. A strange pressure in my pocket reminded me of the silver dagger, which was now snugly twisted against my leg.

As I reached down to pick up my shirt, I heard muted footsteps over soft earth. Before I realized it, he was behind me with barely a sound. I threw on the shirt and looked up at him once more; now that we had both reached our full-headed height, I was feeling egregiously dwarfed. Ian's Turned form was easily seven feet tall, and completely decked out with grizzled black fur and rock-solid muscle. To think that something his size and bulk could move as if he was weightless through the woods. I shuddered to think what it could have meant under less favorable circumstance.

My arms tunneled through the sleeves to my button-down, but I suddenly didn't have the energy to button it up. Instead, I continued to look up at Ian. Despite being attentive and on his best behavior post-coitus, he seemed on edge. A little twitchy. I could see his long ears to a strange dance, picking up some imperceptible forest frequency.

"Just go," I said, smiling. "I'll be fine. I packed for the night, remember?"

Ian growled some sort of response, and nodded his great head in a gesture of understanding. The great beast reached the backside of his hand out and gingerly stroked the side of my face. I smiled, though having his dagger-like claws mere inches from my jugular was hardly as blasé as I tried making it seem. However, by the time I had blinked, Ian had turn tail and bound off deeper into the woods.

I stood there, numb but not cold. I wasn't exactly in pain, or shock; the hollowness in my body seemed to be my final grim acceptance that this was all very, very real. I was firmly locked into this whole _Interview With A Werewolf_schtick, and there was no turning back. How could I, even if I wanted to? It was all so grotesquely fascinating.

It took me several more minutes of standing dumbstruck to finally regain awareness of my body. The night wasn't especially cold, but a breeze on my exposed chest still caused me to shiver. I quickly buttoned the bottom half of the garment and headed off to get settled.

"Where's...? Oh."

My brother's camo bag was just where I'd left it, abandoned behind the large, tangled growth of shrubs that I had first tried to hide behind. One of the snap-buckles was undone, and a few of my things were haphazardly sticking out. I hefted it all back to the clearing, and got to work making camp for the night.

Undoing the second buckle and shaking everything out, my belongings spilled inelegantly onto the long grass. I unfurled the sleeping pad and kicked the bulk of it to unwind it to its full length. It was a bit lumpy still, but would do just fine. My laptop had been tightly wrapped by a layer of spare clothes; I unwound it and quickly parked myself on top of the pad. Booting my computer up, I blindly groped for the slightly-curved shape of my flask in the far recesses of the bag.

"Looks like I got a long night ahead of me," I sighed. The moon glinted in the sky overhead.

For all the gripes that I gave nature, it certainly was...peaceful? Quiet, at least. The only sounds I could make out were a faint chirping of crickets. Ian had likely scared away the larger game, but I couldn't even hope to hear a sign of his nocturnal romp. There wasn't a blip of service on my phone, either. I was truly alone.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," I mused, and took a bitter swig of the booze I'd brought.

Though, I wasn't sure if that was exactly true now. Ian and I seemed to--intentionally or not--be forming quite the bond to one another. Even now, I found myself wondering where exactly he'd gotten off to. Was he alright? Surely he wouldn't get into some sort of trouble out there, blitzing through the wilderness like a maniac and clearing miles of woodland without a care in the world?

"The fuck am I worried about? He's done this a million times..."

Propping myself on my side, I winced at the pain in my back and butt. That called for another drink. I took a gulp, then opened up a word processor and began firing away.