Soren's Early Years- Part 2
#2 of Soren's Early Years
Part two of Soren's Early Years. Part three is currently in the works.
Soren's Early Years, Part Two
Most of the rooms in the castle were empty. It was hard for Soren to fathom having fifteen inhabitants to care for, feed, protect, and keep track of. Dante's room was at the far end of the eastern corridor, where he could whatever the hell he did without interruption. Ambros was given the choice of rooms (not in the eastern corridor), and chose the room closest to the tower library, on the bedroom floor. What a loyal pup he was.
The castle wasn't really a castle, but a rich bastard's mountain retreat. There was no moat with alligators, archer towers, or stables. When Soren took over, it was basically a two-story stone mansion with a tower. When you first arrive at the place, you are greeted by huge solid oak double doors with relief carvings of wolves (fitting, right?) chasing stags. The outer walls are all large, hand cut stone blocks, inlaid periodically with large windows. Over the double oak doors is a stained glass depicting the view of the three mountains as seen from the south. When you open the doors, the Grand Entry greets you in a grand way. Marble stairs begin wide on your left, and slope gradually up to the right, where they land on the second floor, which has a balcony all the way around the stairs. The glass above the front doors extends to the roofline, allowing the stairs, balcony, and Grand Entry sunlight from dawn to dusk.
Straight ahead, across the smooth flagstone floor, another set of doors leads out to the sprawling gardens. To the left, just next to the stairs, are three bedrooms, which were servants quarters before Soren. At the far left corner, the base of the tower, which is a standalone room, always kept locked. Next to the tower base, a single bedroom, presumably originally the head-servant's quarters.
To your right is a wide doorway with no doors, inviting you into the Great Hall, where meals used to be served, balls were held, and general activities requiring a large open room. Just on the far side of the Great Hall lies the kitchens. The stores and root cellars can only be accessed by a narrow stairwell in the kitchens, which lead down into the basement. Supposedly, the rich bastard owner had dungeons built for his own twisted pleasures to fill the remaining basement area, but they were walled off years ago, and Soren has yet to find the old entryway, or create a new one.
Back in the Grand Entry, you head up the stairway. When you land on the second floor, you are facing the east corridor (right side of the mansion). There is a hallway that terminates at the building's end, without a window. On either side of the corridor are four bedrooms, making for eight total. If you turn left, you face the back wall of the castle, and more windows looking out over a sprawling garden. Another left turns you west, where you walk along a balcony towards the tower's second level, which is the library. At the library, you look left again, and there are three more bedrooms.
At this point, the only way you can go is up. Inside the library are stairs made from bookshelves, leading up to the third story of the tower...Soren's private room. She added a trapdoor at the top of the stairs, on the floor of her room. The tower has a panoramic, 360 degree view of the forests, mansion roof (low-sloping a-frame style), and the three mountains guarding her private valley.
The castle was placed perfectly so whether the sun had just risen, was halfway through the day, or setting, the entire interior was bathed in natural light. Candelabras and wall-sconces lined the corridors, and were mounted in each bedroom. Dante took it as his job to light all the habitated areas every evening, and sometimes Ambros followed behind extinguishing them. Actually, Ambros got thumped several times from Dante in a given week.
Behind the castle, the gardens sat just far enough back to capture sunlight to grow. Soren was adamant about maintaining and harvesting the edibles from the garden, even though wolves feed on red meat proteins almost exclusively. She would bring the harvest into the kitchens, can and preserve, then leave it all in wooden cartons just on the Grand Entry doorstoop. Once a month, a small group of peasants from a town half a day's ride away, would pick up the produce and goods to sell. Usually, they traded for wild game, beeswax for candles, or other items of necessity.
Soren is a Wulf now, but was human long enough to require human comforts. A beautiful garden full of life, the furs on her bed, her library...anything to remind her that she was human first.
His name was Ingvarr. He was not fast. He was not a skilled hunter. He actually had never killed anything. He was an omega in every sense, except in his own mind. He was an outcast. Not strong enough to be a lone wolf, but too strong-willed to plod along at another's heels like an obedient puppy.
Soren discovered that once a year, she could don a full-length cloak, and travel into the village, and nobody cared. Hallows Eve. The one night she could walk amidst humans, and blend in. It was that evening, she smelled something new...something exciting.
She caught a glimpse of a shadow darting between buildings. It was lean, twice her height, and fast. The wild in her kicked in, and she chased after it. It smelled...wild. It raced along alleys with a surefootedness that could only come from living in those alleys for years.
Around the next bend, she had it cornered. It was then she came face to face to her natural enemy. Lean, ugly bathwater gray skin, wiry and matted fur, golden eyes full of rage, yellowed and wicked teeth pulled into a permanent sneer...this was a werewolf. This was an enemy. This hideous thing was a big ugly scar in the unseen world. Hiding in the shadows of the human villages, responsible for countless murders of innocents. It had to go. Soren knew she was to kill it, but she didn't want to get too close to this drooling, nasty thing.
She bared her teeth, issued a warning snarl, and crouched slightly, like putting tension on a spring. The werewolf snarled back, arching its already humped back, taking a step forward on its gross furless feet.
Like a knife through butter, a sleek grey wolf dropped into the space between the werewolf and Soren. She issued a surprised and angered bark, the werewolf backed up to the wall.
The grey stood exactly Soren's height, and when he turned to face her, locked his dark brown eyes on her, she knew he was his.
"You cannot fight it alone. Even as an alpha, you will not win against a were." the grey wolf spoke in a quiet, almost shy manner, then averted his gaze respectfully, "I will not let him hurt you like he has hurt so many before."
The newcomer pulled a knife from his sash. It gleamed abnormally bright in the moonlight. Silver. A silver plated blade. Really?
The were took a step forward, but stopped. It stared at the grey Wulf, sniffed, then promptly collapsed. Soren peered around the new Wulf, and saw the silver blade nestled almost to the handle in the beast's gut, dark blood coagulated in a puddle already, lumpy and gross like the beast itself.
The grey retrieved his blade, wiped the nasty off on the were's "fur", and faced Soren.
"I wish to belong somewhere, with someone. I hate to be alone. My name is Ingvarr. Please accept me as an omega in your house. I pledge myself to be loyal, to protect you as needed, and be your humble servant."
Soren stared at Ingvarr. She hadn't had one approach her like this. Strong, like an alpha, assertive like a beta, and placid like an omega. She liked him already.
"I want you as part of my submissives. But whether you're a beta or an omega, only time will tell. I want you as you are. You will always be yourself, and no one else. Are we clear? If one day you are not content, I will let you leave. But while you are with me, I will treat you as family."
Soren held his muzzle in her paws, "now let's go home and I'll break you in properly."
Ingvarr had a scar on his left forearm, and another on his leg, presumably from fights, but he never said. When he was at the castle, he preferred the old head servant's room. He wanted a clear view of every entry and exit, and would sit just inside the doorway of his room, watching. He was a sentinel, a guardian. He apparently loved his new master enough to sit vigil like this for hours, even when there was no threat.
Soren had brought him home early morning after Hallows Eve in the village. She had questioned him about the blade, the werewolves, and his scars. His literal answers had been "had it a long time", "they have been around a long time", and "do not remember". Soren knew he was just not talkative, but she wanted more info about this new Wulf. It was like being able to only open the corner of a Christmas present.
The first level of the tower, the locked room, was a room Soren kept sealed. She only ever opened it for initiation.
Ingvarr walked past Soren into the tower room. She slowly closed the door behind him, bathing them both in darkness.
The she wolf slipped her arms around the grey Wulf's body, holding him close. She buried her nose in his neck fur, inhaling his wild and rugged scent. Ingvarr seemed startled, but stayed still, as Soren ran her hand down his belly, seeking out his sheath and the jewels hidden within.
Soren used her body to push him further into the room. Exactly seven paces in, Ingvarr was pushed onto a wood table. It had been sanded strategically to be ergonomic for most positions Soren wanted her subs in. She produced a length of soft rope, ran it through a hole, over Ingvarr's taught body, and through another hole. The rope was knotted on one end, providing a stop, and Soren tied the loose end straight to the table. This tie was more of a command, not a punishment, seeing as anyone could simply slip out from under. It was a training tie, so to speak.
It was pitch black in the room. Only a sliver of light leaked in from under the door. The sliver ceased momentarily, and Ingvarr felt inquisitive hands on his chest, gently running down his belly (over the rope), and resting on his sheath. A finger slipped just inside the sheath, playing with the tip hiding inside. Ingvarr stiffened as the finger coaxed his cock out, until enough was exposed...
A warm tongue caressed the side, a hot mouth exhaled, the tongue wrapped around the tip. Ingvarr moaned as the tongue lapped at his exposed member, and a hand grasped the knot, squeezing in rhythm akin to milking a cow. As the rhythm sped up slightly, his knot swelled even more, the mouth clamped over him, saliva simultaneously warming and lubricating.
A single hand ran against the grain of his fur, up to his chest, and dug claws in. Ingvarr growled. The claws dug deeper. The mouth suddenly disappeared, leaving his naked cock cold and exposed. Both hands left him in the dark.
He felt the atmosphere around him change, then felt legs on either side of his hips, fur run up the length of his dick, then a hot, wet mouth rest on the tip. It was hotter than before, and much softer. It swallowed a couple inches, pulling a shudder from the grey Wulf. Soren pulled off him, then ran him back inside up to the knot. The sudden shock of her body heat made him arch and purr (MY wolves purr).
He grabbed her hips, and tried to lift himself up and force his knot into the warmth. He succeeded in locking into her, eliciting a mew from the darkness. She settled down onto him, pushing him back onto the table. He felt her presence next to him, felt her breath on his face. He nuzzled into her, pumping up into her hot box.
A tongue licked his face repeatedly, then a muzzle pushed against his cheek. He felt her clench tight around his dick. He felt his balls tense. With a pathetic whimper, he dug his claws into her hips, thrusting hard, releasing his load.
The muzzle against his cheek lifted, then a nose touched his nose lightly, held for a moment and disappeared. Soren set her whole body weight down on him, stretching the cramps out of her legs. He moaned. She clenched her vag around his spent cock, pulling a shiver from him, then dismounted.
He was suddenly cold, her body gone, cock wet and exposed. And it was still fucking dark.
The rope was loosened, the door opened moments later. Soren paused in the doorway, looking back at the grey, then disappeared, leaving the door partially open.
Ingvarr sat up slowly, let his legs hang off the table. He almost felt bad for taking advantage like this, instead of simply doing what needed to be done. It had been so long...he had a moment of weakness. She wasn't like they made her out to be. He was supposed to find her, get inside her house, then do his damn job.
He thought back to the day he walked into the medicine hut, saw the blood. All he needed was to find the sword, and that would be all the evidence he needed to finish his job.
The grey Wulf snarled, his teeth bright in the dark shadows of the room below Soren's tower.
From day one, Dante hated Ingvarr. He was too quiet. Had a weird smell. Acted shifty. It was always something different each day. The black Wulf kept a wary eye on the newcomer, even leaving his part of the castle to nose into Ingvarr's business. The grey wolf always sat in his room's doorway, watching the stairs, the doors to the garden, the heavy front doors, the Grand Entry. Dante caught the wolf snooping around the library one day, pressing at the trapdoor to Soren's quarters, and staring at the sword on the wall for a long time, unmoving.
Ambros happened into Ingvarr in the kitchen one day. He saw an opportunity to haze the new fish, and snuck around behind, using the counter as cover. Ingvarr sensed a presence, but didn't pay much mind. Ambros sprung up and over the counter, pouncing on his prey's back. No teeth or claws, but Ambros half-ran half-limped from the kitchen. He was nursing his cut leg for a week, which he said was just an accident. It was a clean cut, straight to the bone. Wulfs typically heal fast, being partially immortal, but this was such a clean and deep slice, it took almost two weeks.
"I do not trust him. Do not let your guard down. Keep watch over Soren." Dante said to Ambros after inspecting the wound. Ambros promised.
The harvest was finished. The sting of winter had been biting at the region for a month, and it sank its fangs in when the first frost hit. The goods left on the doorstep had been pulled in. Time to prepare for the heavy snows that would keep the Wulfs indoors for the next several weeks.
Dante stalked the east corridor. He was always irritable when he couldn't go out into the woods easily and harvest random animals for sacrifial offerings to the demon gods, or whatever he did in his room.
Ambros holed up in his room for most days, and any opportunity given, he slept nights with Soren, always laying on his injured side, so she wouldn't see.
Soren opened the trapdoor, allowing Ambros up into her quarters.
"Are you ok?" Soren queried.
"I don't like the new Wulf." Ambros replied.
"It will just take him some time to settle in. He seems like he'd be a good one to have around. He knows more about the werewolves than we do."
"Dante doesn't care for him either. We actually agree on something for once."
Soren had noticed over the last week that Ambros hadn't been himself. Kind of sulking and quiet, and clingy. Very clingy. She didn't like that version of Ambros, and it hurt her to see him mentally caged.
The white she-wolf held Ambros close to her, running her hands down his body. She felt to his hips, stopping at the scar on his thigh. Ambros stiffened.
"What happened." Soren commanded.
"Just an accident a couple weeks ago." Ambros tried to shrug it off.
"I know my house. You don't have 'accidents'. What happened?" Soren sat up, glaring at The brown Wulf.
"I...was just...I...it was just an accident..."
"Tell me now, or you sleep in the tower room."
"I snuck up behind Ingvarr, just a joke, you know? He sprung at me, with that silver blade he carries. It was just reflexes. An accident." Ambros avoided Soren's piercing eyes.
"It's impossible to sneak up on a Wulf. This was no accident." Soren was deeply disturbed. She liked the new grey. His secrecy was tolerable, but both her subs disliked him, and now he had injured her favorite. She would have a talk with Ingvarr tomorrow, but for now, she needed to comfort her chosen one.
Ambros nuzzled up to his master's breast, lightly tickling her nipple with his nose. He licked at it, then pressed his lips onto her breast, sucking gently.
The she-wolf ran her fingers through Ambros' fur. She held him close.
"I'm not letting you go."
The city was dark. Very few windows were illuminated, and the ones that were, had no effect on the desirability if the alleys and rooftops. The darkness was comfortable.
Once the city goes to sleep, the shadows come alive. Before the werewolves, vampires ruled. With the sudden onslaught of witch trials, the vampires took to the woods in fear of being found out. Witches, wizards, and vampires ran away, leaving the city exposed.
Unlike the romanticized vampires of today, these vamps were never completely human. They were creatures of the night, born from early humans. They were hairless, with nearly transparent skin, large eyes, short tails. They preferred blood, but weren't killers. They stalked their prey, ambushed them, used their fangs to inject a type of non-lethal venom to subdue their prey. They would lap up just enough blood to satisfy, then leave. Every once in a while, a vamp would take it too far, but it never happened enough to scare the majority. If anything, the vampires' presence was enough to keep other evils, stronger and deadlier evils, away.
Women started reading. Not just books from local publishers, but books imported worldwide. This sudden thirst for knowledge, followed quickly by a spirit of independance, led to fear. Once people started fearing these women, they tried to hide their desires, only moving at night to find new books. Naturally, when they were caught, they were accused of witchcraft, and subsequently burned at the stake. Increased patrols at night made it very uncomfortable for vampires, so they left.
When the city was vampire free, the werewolves moved in. They killed without respect, tearing their victims to pieces while still alive. They procreated underground, doubling their numbers in mere months. They became such a fear, the people of this town, as well as many other towns in the region, changed their whole lifestyle to adapt to this new threat. As soon as the sun hinted at setting, people raced to be inside their homes, fearing the werewolf. Those who were caught after dark, that survived, were feared by the population...who else could survive the night but a werewolf?
Ingvarr hunkered down behind the stairs, watching.
Dante wandered slowly from the kitchen, a nicely-prepared plate of raw meat in his paws. He sauntered up the stairs, wary of the grey Wulf camped below his feet. Bastard.
Ambros had locked himself in his room an hour prior. All Ingvarr had to do was wait until Dante disappeared, and he could make his move. That bitch was HIS.
Soren was a young Wulf, but had a sixth sense about her environment. The slightest change alerted her, even if it was nothing more than the castle's temperature falling after sunset. She saw numbers everywhere, got "feelings" when holding certain things, or felt deja vu was a signal of impending change.
She was sitting in her library, holding a leatherbound book, but not reading it. Something had been nagging at her. Maybe it was Ambros and Dante's uneasiness. Maybe nothing at all. All wolf packs have issues when a new member shows up. As much as she tried to discredit her feelings, they kept her brain occupied to such an extreme that even rutting wasn't appealing.
It was no surprise to her when she saw the reflection of the old alpha male reflected in his sword on the far wall, the leaping torchlight playing at the vision like angry demons come to torment the accused.
"You know you can't sneak up on a Wulf. Especially in their own home." Soren was outwardly calm, but her feeling of impending doom crept into the corners of the room.
"I was not trying to sneak up." Ingvarr crested the stairs, and stepped into the library. The alpha wolf's reflection gave way to Ingvarr's, and things started to make sense.
"You don't have permission to be here, Ingvarr."
"I do not need it." the grey snarled. Soren was on her feet, staring straight into the offender's eyes.
"Why did you attack Ambros?"
"Does it matter? You invited me in. This is my home too now." Ingvarr showed his teeth in an evil half smile.
"It matters to me. If you know what's good for you, you'll leave my house and never look back. Don't make this difficult for me, I'm not in the mood for bullshit." Soren took a step towards Ingvarr, who was still a few paces away.
"I get Dante...the strong, silent, handsome one. Ambros is the fucking joker. But why did you pick me and fuck me so fast? Are you that shallow that you want me for my body alone? You really do not care if I'm some sort of killer? Do you love anyone but yourself?" Ingvarr laughed in the eerie way only a wolf can.
Soren was simply angry at first. But what he said was very close to the truth. She didn't love Dante...she was in love with his love of solace. Ambros; she didn't love him at first, but was purely entertained. He seemed like a simple-minded creature, easy to figure out. But after some time, she saw more of him, who he was inside, and longed to be part of it. And yes, she wanted Ingvarr as a good fuck, wild, mildly crazy, and mysterious. She knew now the mistake she had made.
"Do you know why I am really here? Why I would let you take me so easily?" Ingvarr stepped over to the sword on the wall, rested his hand lightly on the hilt. He stared piercingly at the she-wolf, who still hid the uneasiness behind a mask of anger.
"Are you that old bastard's son? Or his lover?" Soren growled.
Ingvarr lowered his hand. A flash of shock crossed his face, but was quickly overtaken by the glare he'd been wearing since he entered the library.
"Oh, you're his son and lover." Soren smiled. She was waiting for an opportune moment to subdue this fucker. Maybe she'd rape him before releasing him...if he was lucky enough to be released in one piece.
Ingvarr coiled his fists, bared his teeth, and crouched slightly. He still wore the silver knife on his belt. It was then that Soren saw it fully...it was a mini version of the blade on her wall. Son of a bitch. She had a feeling blood would spill here, and hoped it wouldn't be hers.
By this point, she had worked her way to the bookcase stairs to her chamber. Ingvarr had his back to the open doorway. Not a smart move for a seemingly battle ready Wulf. A pair of eyes glinted in the darkness behind the grey.
"So what the fuck are you, besides a son of a dog?" Soren antagonized the furious Wulf, keeping his focus on her.
From the darkness, a brown flash wrapped Ingvarr, teeth digging into his neck, claws locked into his chest. Ambros had Ingvarr's arms pinned. He loosened one hand, grabbed the silver blade, and swiped across Ingvarr's belly, drawing a dark red line. The grey Wulf staggered back with a roar. Ambros lost his balance, and the two wolves fell backwards onto the landing just outside the library.
Before Soren could lunge at Ingvarr, he had pounced on Ambros, smashing the brown Wulf into the floor. He grabbed his scruff and tail, and shoved him towards the balcony rail. Ambros bit at the air around his head, trying to make contact with Ingvarr. Soren slammed Ingvarr, pulling both males away from the rail. Ingvarr kept one clawed hand buried in Ambros's scruff, releasing the other to swipe at Soren, who dug all her claws and teeth into his flesh.
The she-wolf tore at the offending Wulf's flesh, pulling bloody fur from his back and shoulders. She tried to bite at his neck, which prompted him to release Ambros. Soren couldn't see much...she simply swiped at her opponent, digging in when she contacted flesh. Ambros suddenly grabbed Soren, pulling her back from Ingvarr, and into the library. He slammed the door closed, leaving Ingvarr in a crouch out on the landing, bloody mouth in a snarl.
Ambros heaved himself into one of the few bookcases that wasn't built into the wall, sliding it across the floor with a cacophany of squeaks and groans. When it was centered in front of the door, Ambros slid to the floor with a heaving sigh. His brown fur hid the blood easily, but not enough for Soren to miss it. She crawled over to him, inspecting his damage. He held her back.
"We need to get out of here while we can." Ambros said, his brown eyes wide with adrenaline and fear.
"I need to end this. He won't stop until I pay for what I did." Soren sat back on her haunches, just as the bookshelf and the door it protected rattled from impact.
"What did you do to piss this guy off so bad?"
"I killed his lover. Or father. Or alpha. Whatever he was."
"I picture you only killing for good reason." Ambros never broke his gaze. Good old Ambros. Always the optimist.
"He was an alpha, from the pack that turned me into a Wulf. He tried to bond me. Long story short, I killed him and stole his sword." Soren looked away from her loyal lover, towards the sword on the wall.
"So who is Ingvarr to that alpha?" Ambros flinched as Ingvarr threw himself against the door again, knocking a couple books onto the floor.
"I don't know, but he is beyond rage over it." Soren looked worried. "I want you to run. Get out of here. Hide somewhere. If I live past tonight, I will come find you. My past is mine to deal with. I don't want to see you hurt because of me." The white wolf held Ambros' muzzle in her hands. She nuzzled him. "I love you, Ambros."
Dante peeked out of his bedroom at the first sounds of commotion. He already knew Ingvarr was trouble, and that there was a connection between Soren's past and him. He watched Ambros explode out of his room, and tackle the wild grey wolf. The following scuffle was entertaining. When Ambros dragged Soren into the library and locked themselves in, he took great pleasure from watching Ingvarr fall into a rage, slamming the door with his body repeatedly.
"Now it's my turn." Dante snuck down the hallway, avoiding the circles of light from the wall sconces. Being a black Wulf was great in these hallways, where darkness filled every corner like water in a cup. He had watched Soren and Ambros fuck from the hallways and even in the same room, and neither ever knew he was there. "One of my favorite hobbies." He thought with a smirk.
Ingvarr rammed the door again, though not as hard, and favored his shoulder.
Like a shadow, Dante swept up behind Ingvarr, and tapped his neck. The grey Wulf whirled around, but was too slow for the living shadow, who stepped back out of reach. Ingvarr tried to attack, but his vision swirled, his arms failed to perform the acts his brain commanded. He snarled as his eyes rolled back and he collapsed to the floor, rolling onto his belly, exposing the tiny dart in his neck.
Dante coolly stepped over the snoring Wulf, and lightly tapped the battered door.
"Mistress..."
The naughty grey Wulf was tied with way more ropes than needed.
He woke with a pounding headache. When his vision started to clear, he realized he couldn't see through the blinfold anyways. He sensed he was not alone, and he was right.
Soren had allowed Dante to use the tower room for whatever he wanted to do with the chicken fucker, so long as she got the final blow. She knew Dante was into some dark shit, and was incredibly gifted at manipulating the body. Cross those two and throw in an insatiable lust for sexual relief, and you've gotten yourself into a fun predicament. Soren loved it when he played new tricks with her.
The black wolf lit a torch by the door, which was heavily padlocked. He lit another torch positioned over a table covered in small boxes. The last torch was actually a bowl full of oil in the center of the room. Once lit, it chased away most shadows from the circular room.
Dante walked over to the grey wolf, who was tied so tightly that he looked like a furry bundle of meat from the butcher. His arms were tied behind his back, his legs tied together just as tightly. Ingvarr was on his knees on the same table Soren had taken possession of him weeks ago. Dante grabbed him by the muzzle, slamming his head down onto the table, and latching ropes from the table to his collar. Now he was in a most undignified position for any Wulf. He tucked his tail down, protecting his asshole.
The dark Wulf removed the blindfold with a single claw.
After blinking against the firelight a few times, Ingvarr focused on the raw, swollen penis inches from his face...Dante smiled down at the subdued Wulf.
"We are going to have all kinds of fun."
To be continued...stay tuned for part 3