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I was a boy of 17 years when the wolf came to my town to collect tribute that winter. As a blacksmith's son and apprentice, I was already a man in my own right when that creature came. I was stubborn, sure I knew enough of the world to get by, and perhaps most importantly, I was made in fire. I thought I knew what that meant at the time, but I wouldn't truly understand until much later. I did not hide because I saw no point in it, and in the end that arrogance was what sealed my fate.

We all knew that the wolves were wild and dangerous monsters, as feral in their passions as they were in their rage; or so the stories went. But we also knew that they were our protectors. These terrifying werewolves protected us from many other horrors that lurked in the night. And so I did not hide when the wolf came that day, whether from misguided security in my own place or just arrogance, I don't know.

My town, while not large, was by no means small, and so the werewolf's arrival was not missed. All the townsfolk either knew or assumed the reason for his appearance, so no places of gathering were very populated when he came through. I myself had been sent off to take inventory by my father. I was aware that this was meant to be busy work, but I did not argue; my father's status commanded respect, as did his narrowed glare. If I ever forgot his due respect after his glance, his hand was sure to remind me.

Being the blacksmith's son, I was secure in my place, in my value in the village and to my future lord. My father would train me, and I would take his place when my time came. I would provide for the village, and eventually raise a son to take my own place. And because I was made in fire, I had no problems with this. I was born to forge.

Diligently, I went to work, polishing tools and generally staying away from the front of the shop. Despite the fact that it was mostly busy work, it was work that needed to be done, and as such I worked thoroughly.

Hours after the wolf's arrival to town, I was finally proven wrong in all of my securities. I'd expected the man-wolf to have been long gone by this point, but like many things I would come to learn, I was mistaken to assume so.

After completing my work, I had been instructed by my father to watch my younger siblings. The old man seemed intent on keeping me out of the shop and so I had no choice but to move next door to sit and watch my brother and sister who were four and five years my junior.

For the most part, the two entertained themselves while I prepared their dinner; Henry would take Catherine's dolls, Catherine would storm about before kicking him in the shin and snatching it away. Eventually, though, the two grew bored of their roughhousing and crowded around me as I worked the wood stove.

"Why is the wolf here, Kenneth?" Catherine asked, her eyes large with curiosity.

Henry pushed her aside to make room for himself, and I caught her before she fell. "Dummy, he's here for tithe!"

"Calm down, both of you," I instructed. "And back away from the stove, it's not a play area and porridge won't be ready for a while longer."

Catherine continued her questions as she took her brother's hand and backed away at my behest. "But why do they need tithe? They're wolves, why don't they just hunt?"

This time, Henry had no comment to make, but instead turned his gaze to me, eyes filled with the same curious light as our sister's. I sighed as I did my best to answer their questions.

"The wolves are like us, at least half the time. They can't survive on meat alone, as far as I know. They don't have the time to farm or craft because they're migratory; the wolves that protect us in the winter are not the same as the ones who protect us in spring."

The two stood quietly for a moment before Henry piped up once more. "So why do they need tribute?"

Catherine frowned, scrunching up her forehead behind her blonde locks and I watched as another question formed on her tongue. "...What's the difference between tribute and tithe?"

I looked at the two of them as I worked out my response, choosing to start with Catherine's question first. "Tithe is food and clothing, an offering of that sort."

"And tribute?" They asked in unison.

I ceased my stirring for a moment, and perhaps in that very moment, my fate was being sealed. But I answered with conviction, the surety of one who knew their own place in the world. "The wolves are monsters just as much as the vampires and fairies and whatever else they protect us from. Like vampires, they can't breed, so in order to keep a pack going, they need to recruit tributes to undergo the change."

"So the wolves are good?" My sister's brow remained furrowed, my explanation having planted more questions in her fertile mind.

I had scarcely began to open my mouth to reply before my father opened the large wooden door to our home, striding into the large room. The first glance I got of his face revealed that the large man wore a grimace that weighed down his shoulders and eyes. I immediately knew something was wrong, and Nicholas Smithson did not attempt to hide it as he made his way towards his children.

We stood in silence for a moment, our father's stern glare not inviting inquiries. The tension was palpable, the only sounds coming from the popping of the fire and our father's stressed breathing. He was not pleased.

"Kenneth," He addressed me, and I stood straighter, my green eyes snapping the blue of his. "The wolf is next door, in the shop. He would like to speak with you."

"What? What's going--?"

Before I could finish voicing my question, my siblings had piped up, clambering to our father.

"Father, what's going on?" Questioned Catherine.

"The wolf is next door?" Henry asked. "What does he want with Kenneth?"

My father placed his calloused hands on the shoulders of his younger children while holding my gaze like a vice. "The wolf will not wait, Kenneth. Next door, now."

The iron quality of my father's voice told me that his words were no exaggeration, and so I nodded before moving to make my way to the door.

In the moment that I passed my father, he placed a hand on my shoulder, turning me to face him. For a moment he didn't speak and his eyes locked on mine; in that instant I felt trepidation for the first time, fear of the unknown. My siblings were quiet, as if they understood that something serious was occurring. Then, Nicholas Smithson spoke.

"Be brave, Kenneth." My father said evenly gripping my shoulder and giving me a shake. "Be brave, and be strong. Endure. Remember that you are made in fire."

Of course, in that moment I didn't understand what my father meant. I had no reason to be afraid of meeting a werewolf. They were our protectors, and my role was to supply the weapons that the tithes were trained to fight with. He wouldn't harm me, and he couldn't take me. Because of these ignorant self-assurances, I simply nodded to my father and told Henry and Catherine I would return for supper.

With a confident smile, I nodded to my father and siblings and left the house.

The walk next door was short; I did not have the luxury, or burden, of worrying myself over the question of what the wolf could possibly want with me. I stepped through the shop's door with my head high and was taken by surprise when met with the towering figure of my visitor.

"Greetings, Kenneth." The large man spoke, surprising me once again with his surprisingly gentle voice. "It is nice to meet the son of a smith. I hope you're well?"

I nodded, doing my best to disguise my surprise at his manners, all while I inclined my head to inspect him. He wore no armor or shirt, just a simple but large fur coat over thick cotton trousers, his feet covered by leather boots. He was not barrel-chested as my father was, but to say he was not muscular would be a lie, for the sinew, and hair, of his chest was not hidden well by his coat. I did my best not to stare at him, as his height easily beat my father's and dwarfed my own. "I am. My father said that you requested me, sir wolf?"

"Ah, yes. Nicholas is a good man, a good smith. I'm glad he's given himself such smart children." The wolf smirked, a dangerous gesture that revealed his inhuman canines; I could see humor in his green eyes. "You know a lot of wolves. You're quite informed, aren't you, Kenneth?

"There are stories, sir." I nodded again, my heart beginning to thump in my chest. He had heard; I should not have been surprised by that. Swallowing hard, I bade my heart peace as the man's smirk widened into a full-on smile.

"Oh, of course. Some of them are even true." The man moved towards me, reaching out to shake my hand. "My name is Orion."

Orion took my hand in his own, his fingers long and his hand warm; the back was whiskered with the same brown hair that covered his chest and forested down his stomach. I vaguely wondered if that was an effect of being what he was.

"I am Kenneth Nickson." I gave a slight bow of my head. "But you knew that. Might I ask what it is that you request of me? My father is a far better smith than I."

Orion ignored my question, releasing my hand and turning about to inspect my father's shop. "I remember when your father first arrived here with his father, you know? Smith and good old Nick. The stories your father told me of his land's wolves were much less thrilling than the ones he's told you, I'm sure."

I frowned in confusion. Of course I knew my father was an immigrant, his red hair, and mine, made it hard to hide. But the fact that he and this wolf had a past together surprised me, and I couldn't figure out why he was telling me this in the first place. When I failed to respond, Orion turned back to me.

"You're not scared, are you, son?"

This gave me response and I answered indignantly, as well as with a bit of arrogance. "Of course not! What have I to fear of some nostalgic old dog?"

Orion reacted quickly at my insult with the ease of practice and instinct, grabbing my collar and yanking me towards him. He inhaled slowly before smiling, his breath hot on my face, green eyes meeting mine.

"It seems your talent for smithing tools does not extend to lies, child."

I did my best to pull away from the old wolf, my heart beginning to race at his words. While I wasn't sure what he meant, by this point I had enough reason to assume.

"Whatever you're assuming, dog, I am not tithe material. If you're that badly in the need of it, go and ask another family for their donation!"

Orion yanked me against him, pulling me to the tips of my toes as he nearly snarled in my face. As he spoke, I watched as his eyes turned a sick yellow. "I am not here to ask for tithe, pup. I am here to convince." The tall wolf released me with a huff of his hot breath before continuing.

"I have no words of honor for an insolent puppy who has no idea of his place, but I'm sure you care enough for Catherine that it would break your heart were fairies to take her."

If I were capable of snarling, I would have at that moment. Instead, I shouted at Orion, amazed at the audacity of his threat. "It's your job to protect her! She is an innocent."

"Then you should fight for her, pup." Orion answered, his teeth showing. "I am an old wolf; creatures may easily slip past my guard."

I didn't know what to say to him at this point. For some reason, the old man, the old wolf was insinuating that if he were ever lazy enough, he could live with the deaths of those he was meant to protect. If that were true, what kind of protector was he?

Orion seemed to understand my silence for what it was. With a deft movement, his hand had caught my shirt and yanked me against him, forcing our bodies flush while he breathed down on me. I squirmed in discomfort at the stranger's proximity, but he held me still, eventually pushing his fist under my chin to force our eyes to meet. My gaze wavered, but after a moment of struggling, I watched as his eyes turned emerald once more.

"The wolves are in need of new blood." He addressed me, breathing slowly and quietly. "I have come to take payment on a debt your father owes. You have a choice, one that you should not take lightly. One is that you join the wolves as tithe, and hopefully join our ranks."

He paused, and so I asked the question he was waiting for. "And if I refuse to join?"

The man's smirk returned, and I knew he could tell that my heart skipped a beat. "You forfeit this town's protection. The word will be passed on to the other packs, and they alphas will change the patterns that their wolves follow. Your town and family will be forgotten by Spring."

"You would really do that?"

"We do not protect your people without expectation of compensation. And we need blood, pup."

My jaw clenched and I glared at Orion. This was no decision of any sort; December was only just beginning and there was no way the town could defend itself against the hordes for three months without aide. And I would be the cause of the slaughter.

"That is not a choice." I spoke flatly.

Orion chuckled darkly, the deep resonation vibrating through his torso and into my chest. "On the contrary, you have the choice to sentence your family and town to their sure doom. Whatever you do is of your own volition."

"I not going to forsake my family, mutt." I answered, disgusted with the wolf who still held me close. I realized in that moment that despite his unpleasant breath, Orion's skin smelled simply of smoke, sweat, and of the woods; I attempted to pull away. "I'll go with you."

Apparently satisfied, Orion released me, causing me to lose my balance. The tall man watched with amused eyes as I toppled to the floor, and didn't extend a hand to assist me when I tried to stand. Instead, he stepped past me while I collected myself from the floor; by the time I was standing, he was straightening his coat and stepping out of the shop and into the cold.

"Come on, pup. Say your good-byes and pack warm clothes," He instructed. "We leave soon."

I followed Orion hastily and called after him, "Already?"

This went ignored as I walked into my small home behind him, to find my father sitting in his chair in front of the fire, Henry and Catherine staring wide eyed at the man who'd just entered our home. My father made to stand, but Orion put out a placating hand.

"Your son has made his decision, Nicholas." He spoke quietly. "Under the blessing and regards of Lord Dominic-"

My father pushed his way past Orion and took up my entire field of vision, hands clutching my shoulders. He was afraid for me, and I realize now that I was just as scared. There was no way Orion wasn't aware, but he was respectfully quiet.

"You're going, Kenneth?" My eyes locked to my father's as he spoke, and the clamoring of my siblings' questioning seemed to fade away.

I nodded my head, never breaking eye contact with my father. "Yes."

For the first time since the loss of my mother seven years prior, I found myself clutched to my father's chest. The large, sturdy man held me tight, and as he sobbed I could feel his convulsions wrack through him. I held him as he attempted to pull himself together and speak. A glance over my father's shoulder showed Orion's quiet testimony of the moment and my siblings' shocked silence.

After a few minutes, my father released me from his vice-like embrace and held me at an arm's distance. He looked me over quietly for a long moment before he nodded.

"You've grown, Kenneth."

I opened my mouth to speak, but he continued, insisting on my silence.

"You've grown, and I'm so proud." Nicholas had not been a man of many words in a long time, but I reveled in the sound of my father's voice, which was beginning to show the lilt of his homeland, though we both ignored it. He was proud, and I was full of warmth, even as my throat restricted while he said good-bye.

"I'm proud of who you'll become, Kenneth. I know you'll join the pack, and I am honored to be under your protection. I know that this will be hard on you, but remember who you are. First and foremost, you are made in fire."