Born Wolf - 1. Chapter 1.1

Kurt hated being human. Being human sucked. It was rubbish in all aspects. OK, so except maybe showers. Apart from showers being human sucked. And the ability to get blankets. So blankets, and showers, apart from them, being human sucked. And cooking… Kurt growled and shook his head. Whatever, being a wolf was way better than being human. He turned in a tight circle and sat, lanky and cross legged on the floor, staring at the television without seeing it. Watching nature programs… sometimes Kurt wondered how his parents could possibly be his parents. And they always drove him insane.

He hated the rules by which he had to live his life. The wolf rules, now those were easy. Never turn your back on an opponent; never raise your chin to a wolf stronger than yourself; be respectful; never try and steal food unless you wanted to be a challenger; use your nose and your ears; don’t wave your tail about in season. Those rules were as easy for Kurt to manage as breathing, as familiar as his own golden tawny eyes in the mirror. It was the human rules that blew.

Attend school; be home and human for meals at least six days a week; wash more than once a week; keep up academically; spend time with humans. Don’t growl, don’t snarl, and don’t expect a human to act like a werewolf would… The litany went on and on. Kurt could practically see the list, the reel of laws his parents laid down for him, as though they were inked on the inside of his mind. Don’t bring kills into the house; don’t bleed on the carpet; no turning in the house; don’t snap at company; pick up your clothes; don’t leave paw prints in the garden; don’t steal food from the neighbours; don’t tell anyone. Kurt scoffed, like he ever would.

Kurt hadn’t realized he was making a noise until his mother’s sharp words drew him from his reverie.

“Kurt, don’t do that. It’s beastly.”

Kurt practically yelped and swallowed his tongue. He hadn’t meant to growl out loud. He turned to look at his parents. Had you ever told anyone they were werewolves they would have laughed at you. Dick and Barbara Smith were normal middle aged parents dealing with an unruly teenage boy, who at eighteen should know better. No one would ever suspect they changed into wolves in the woods, ran and howled and attended pack meetings in the nude. Sometimes Kurt could hardly believe it himself.

“Can I be excused?” He asked grimly, already knowing the answer would be negative.

“I don’t think so honey.” Kurt shuddered at the soppy human sentiment. “It’s a school night.”

“Fine.” Kurt got up and turned to walk up to his room. His room, the label was ineffectual. A closet full of clothes he never wore and hadn’t bought; books he refused to read, and a bed he didn’t sleep in. Slowly the boy took the blankets from the bed and made a nest on the floor in the corner, then looked at himself in the mirror.

Human. Human and weak. Kurt hated that his human form didn’t reflect his real shape. He hated being human. Black hair, not styled in any conceivable manner, pale skin drawn tight over a lanky frame with no extra flesh or muscle to speak of. Golden wolf eyes, the only thing he could be proud of. Kurt stripped, showing off to an audience of none a body with most ribs visible in the harsh light and shadows from the little bedside lamp. Being human sucked. Kurt rolled his shoulders, bent, stretched and changed.

For every werewolf the change was a crunchy, noisy, messy and painful affair. Not for Kurt. Kurt changed like the passing of water, and after a blink of unfocussed shifting a wolf stood in the space where the boy’s clothes were pooled. A large wolf to be sure, black as night with sunset golden eyes. Kurt grinned, flopped out a big pink tongue and licked his fangs. Everything was the way it should be. The air was scented with noise and pheromones, the open window let in the call of birds, the near-silent rustlings of tiny creatures running in terror in the night. An owl made a classic sound. Kurt’s ears twitched, turned, he flicked his big brushy tail and flexed his toes, claws snagging on the carpet. He wanted to run, desperately, he wanted to run. But at this time of evening, his parents would see or hear, and it wasn’t a risk Kurt was willing to take.

Kurt stepped over to his nest, turned around in a circle a couple of times, beating the blankets down with his hot foot pads, and settled into a tight ball, tail pressed across his muzzle. He slept.

*

Kurt had been born a wolf. Thank gods for home deliveries and a mid-wife in the pack. Babies from two werewolf parents were lucky creatures all round. They had an easier time changing; the shifts of will and temperament at puberty were not as harsh. They were generally more in touch with their wolf side, less torn. Kids from a single wolf parent had it rougher, the classic moody angsty bullshit while their instincts warred with their human sensibilities. As the child of two high ranking werewolf parents, Kurt should have had a childhood charmed by life and nature.

He hadn’t.

Kurt had shown up ten weeks early, because wolves had a much shorter gestation period, and shocked and surprised his mother, his father, the midwife and everyone else in his pack by being born a wolf. Barbara Smith had fainted to realize she had birthed a puppy. Apart from being a werewolf and having to watch who he played with and mind his behaviour from the earliest of ages, Kurt had grown up different.

Born a wolf. He hadn’t had his first change to human until he was four months old, and flickered back and forth uncontrollably for months, the eternal puppy. Kurt spent years being what to a real wolf would be a new born pup. He lived uncomfortably in his parent’s house, hated his own skin, and spent every second he could in his true form.

For some werewolves, being a wolf was a sometimes useful inconvenience. Even those who were in-touch still called it ‘their wolf’ or ‘my wolf side.’ Kurt didn’t have a wolf side. He didn’t have a human side either. He was a wolf often stuck with the body of a human. It was a mind-set that had forced his mother’s enormous list of rules and regulations. Kurt did things the way a wolf did things. He wanted, so he took. He was hungry, so he ate. When he was tired, he slept.

It had taken a long time for school to get anywhere close to being in the picture. Kurt hadn’t learnt to read at all until he was nearly ten years old. It didn’t sit well with the pack, not really. Kurt was a better wolf than his parents, let alone his contemporaries, and a worse human than all of them. He was kept because of his parentage, but he did not fit into the pack’s system. He was too odd to be high ranking, too strong to be a submissive, too defiant to be omega. No one could really bully him, because Kurt, with no human instincts to get in the way, would try and rip their throat out. It was not the easy happy existence his parents had wanted for him.

Kurt slept like a wolf, with half an ear always open and listening, and he didn’t sleep the long, deep, dreaming sleep of his human shaped parents. It was just gone midnight when he woke again fully, and in the quiet dead end cul-de-sac of the little town in the country, after midnight was as good as dead time. No one stirred, no one woke, no drunken students wandered the streets singing. All was silent. Well, it was silent if you were a human. Kurt stood, shaking and stretching every muscle, then cocked his head, pricked up his ears and experienced the night.

The air was cool and damp with the promise of mist, maybe fog; there was the fresh green scent clinging to everything outside his window. Spring would be here soon. There was the red-flashing terrified scent of animals being alarmed, little things, mice and voles, birds of prey hunting in the low fields east of the woodland; the wet taste of blood in the air, metallic and sharp. And then there were the scents of the others. The woodland and the land around the cul-de-sac ran thick with the musky scent of wolves.

When the South Sea pack had first moved before Kurt had even been born, they had spent several long years buying all the houses in the cul-de-sac, as well as all the land around them, and the woodland. To have a giant house in which they all could live, would have been nice, but easily noticeable by humans. This arrangement worked very well. The whole pack lived together, but not together, which suited everyone fine. It also meant the woods behind Kurt’s house were a crisscrossed mash of scent trails, a convoluted and overlapping sea of colour and aroma. It was near enough to make anyone slightly nose blind. But one scent overrode them all.

It should have been the scent of their alpha, Degan Canon; he was strongest, he was their leader, he maintained a harmonious balance within the pack. But the strongest scent, the one than underlay all of the wolf tracks was the familiar greeny-grey scent of Kurt. Over many hours and by sheer force of will, he was the one every wolf smelt. Any visiting werewolf would be bound to think him alpha of the South Sea pack by the way the land smelt of him. Kurt was proud. He was a wolf, and his territory smelt like him.

Kurt jumped up onto the desk, bare of all things, and stood in the window. Jumping down from the second story was one of those things that had taken cunning and practice and had required him to use some human skills in overcoming his natural instincts. Now it was a practiced move. Kurt shifted his weight on his paws, checked the ground below and jumped, landing crouched and ready in the back garden of his parent’s house. None of the back gardens were fully fenced, and Kurt sprang up and trotted directly into the forest. Once under the cover of the trees he scent marked a couple to show that he’d been there, cocking his leg against the bark in satisfaction and pride. Territory was territory, and with Kurt patrolling every night whether his parents knew and accepted it or not, no other wolf was going to infiltrate without his knowledge.

South Sea was, by and large, a very accepting pack. They took in their share of strays, those being kicked out or moved on were rare, and it was a happy pack, a good family to live in. That didn’t mean their attitude to their territory was anything less than archaic. They were wolves, and the territory was guarded by those rules. Werewolves had to seek permission to enter pack grounds; those caught without permission would be attacked. The alpha would decide if their trespass was enough to kill them. It was a life lived on old traditions, and Kurt valued tradition. Now he sniffed the air, swinging his shaggy head around to get a Technicolor three hundred and sixty degree map of scent in his surroundings, and set off at a quick trot, heading roughly north and roughly uphill.

Kurt had plenty of favourite places in the woods, little copses and groups of trees, groups of rocks that made good vantage points for hunting. Some were shared, places he went with other wolves, other members of the pack, where they hung out and played. Some were private, little places he had found on his own and kept hidden from his pack members. Kurt loved his pack, like every wolf he needed contact, emotional and physical; he relished the prospect of rough and tumble with his extended family. But a lot of them didn’t understand him; they didn’t understand his lack of human whims. His peers felt ‘in touch’ with their wolf sides, loved to run and hunt to free the wolf, but all that did was help them to be more human when they changed back. Kurt didn’t understand them at all.

He clipped his way through the woodland, trotting with his tail high and proud. He wasn’t hunting tonight and there was no need to skulk and slip silently through his territory. He ran up the slope, black nails digging and gripping into the soft ground as he went until, panting lightly, he reached the top. This was his favourite spot. The slope ended in a flat rock which jutted at an angle out of the hillside, half surrounded by coppiced trees which sheltered the spot from the view of the town, but managed to provide a vista across the wide open countryside. Kurt collapsed on the flat stone and panted, tongue out, legs splayed out on the ground. Now he was alone, and in his place, he felt tired again. Kurt let his golden eyes close and snarled at the flash of vision that bridged his mind.

Tahryn Spencer’s smiling visage passed across his brain. Kurt jerked his head up and snarled at nothing. It was bad enough to have a crush on the boy, but to have to think about it when he was trying to sleep was unbearable. Kurt sighed and collapsed onto his side. It made him vulnerable, exposing his soft underbelly, but Kurt could smell that the woods were empty of threatening life, just rabbits shivering underground and trying not to be noticed. It was the period before spring when winter was over, but life hadn’t quite returned to the land... In a month, everything would be green.

The Spencer family had left their pack when their alpha had been challenged and replaced by a man they didn’t like. Mr. Spencer had used the opportunity to move up in the world, get a better job and relocate across the country. He and his family had petitioned for membership of the South Sea pack; himself, three daughters and one son. Degan Canon was a good alpha, fair and reasonable, and the Spencer’s had been welcomed with open arms about three weeks previously. It had not taken very long for Tahryn to keep turning up in Kurt’s mind. It wasn’t something he could help, nothing that he could countenance.

Tahryn was the opposite of Kurt’s skinny, uncared about human form. He was a god. A Greek fucking god, moved in down the road and now a member of his pack. Tahryn was a head taller than Kurt, which was pretty impressive considering Kurt was nearly brushing six foot, all tan skin, slightly wavy blond hair, ice blue husky eyes and walls of perfect muscle. Kurt stretched out on his slab, flicking his tail. Because Tahryn came to meets and hunts, Kurt had gotten to see the nineteen year olds perfectly sculpted muscular body naked on a couple of occasions. Luckily at first, and now tactically, he hadn’t been wearing human skin at the time, with the annoying uncontrollable and obvious genitalia. Now that he was free to think about Tahryn’s perfect naked form, Kurt allowed himself to relax, felt his cock stiffen in the cool air as it peeked from his sheath. Tahryn had eyes that smiled, he was nice to everyone he spoke to, and he was a fabulous specimen for a human. Big, strong, with muscles that made Kurt shiver and shake. He rolled, curving his spine, and bent his head to lap at his rapidly appearing cock. The pointed moist pink shaft was a good six inches long, but it was the thick and sensitive knot Kurt wanted to focus his pleasure on. Kurt licked himself, something he couldn’t do when he was human and thought about Tahryn.

What would it take for Tahryn to be out here with him, wolf and naked and aroused in the middle of the night, surrounded by nothing but the nature of their territory? It was not easy to guess a werewolf’s sexuality, unless they were mated or they came out and told you. Naked often, at ease with their bodies and others, many wolves were aroused after a hunt, so that couldn’t be taken as a specific sign. Being gay wasn’t a big thing with the South Sea pack, as long as there were enough stable breeding pairs and a good influx of new blood, preferably female, a few gay male wolves weren’t a worry to the alpha. If by any fortune Tahryn was gay, well, there were better looking people than Kurt he could go for. That didn’t matter much to Kurt now as he let the fantasy of the other wolf overtake his rational mind.

Licking was suddenly not enough and Kurt remembered the last good thing about being human. Thumbs, and the ability to use them to jerk off. He shifted back smoothly, only changing position to end up lying on his back, legs splayed. Kurt grasped his human erection, which apart from the knot, was fairly similar to his normal member. A lighter pink, sort of tapered rather than traditionally flared. His hissed between his teeth as he stroked his cock, human hand soft, skin on skin. He growled as his pleasure built, tugging at the hard flesh between his legs, mind gone dizzy, vision dilated and blurred. Tahryn had a cock to go with his figure, thick and tan-brown and heavy looking. The memory of Tahryn naked sent shivers up his spine, made his balls ache and tighten and Kurt pumped his fist hard a few times before his back arched, and his snarled out his pleasure, shooting ropes of sticky come over his chest.

He licked his hand, pleasure sending vibrating aftershocks up his spine, and changed back without thinking about it. As a wolf, lying on his back was not comfy, and Kurt twisted until he lay on his front, paws out into front of him, his softening, shrinking penis nestled between his furred hind legs. Panting hard, Kurt laid his ears back against his furred skull and let his eyes drift closed, glowing tawny orbs narrowing to slits, blinking, opening, gone.

Sated, Kurt slept.

*

Barbara Smith yelled at her son pretty much every morning. Today was no exception. Kurt’s parents had woken and come downstairs to find feathers all over the lawn, paw prints everywhere and their son, a big black wolf, grooming himself happily in the shoe-cum-laundry room that lead off the kitchen.

“Kurt!”

Kurt raised his head and cocked an ear at his mother, waves of harmless self-satisfaction rolling off him.

“Change back! This instant! You killed something in the garden again!”

Kurt shrugged. His opinions did not exactly translate into words, but a combination of ears, tail and sparkling eyes simply denied this was true.

“I want to speak to my son.” Barbara put her hands on her hips and glared. It was no use. High ranking Kurt’s parents might be, his mother was no alpha female and he was stronger, they both knew it. Kurt was happy; he didn’t see any reason to change that. He got up, stood four-square on the linoleum and growled.

“Kurt. Do not speak to your mother like that.” Dick Smith was no more ferocious looking than his wife. In his fifties, with black hair greying stylishly at the temples and a little paunch, he had a wolf for a son instead of a midlife crisis.

Kurt knew better than to snap at his father. It would lead to a meeting with Degan Canon pretty quickly, and those meetings were getting less and less calm and more and more tense. Degan kept plenty of strong werewolves on the pack roster, enforcers and friends, he was secure and well liked, and he did not need to worry about a coup. But Kurt was volatile, badly socialized as a human, and young. Also unattached. A strong young wolf could be a threat by proximity alone. It let others, potential challengers, feel that the alpha wasn’t as all powerful as he should be. A strong wolf with a family and a mate within the pack would only ever be a strength to his pack. Kurt flattened his ears, backed down and turned his head to expose his throat to his father.

“Change. Now.”

Kurt rolled his eyes, and there was moment of wavering crunchiness and morphing before he stood in front of his parents. Apart from the soles of his feet and his palms being black and brown from the ground, he was remarkably clean. It was not always the case. Kurt stood slightly stooped, turned away in deference to his father’s anger, but his eyes were wide open, and he met his father’s brown eyes with a flash of defiance.

“Oh for god’s sake put some clothes on boy.” Kurt despaired that his mother, who frolicked about perfectly happily naked at meets and hunts, was so concerned about nudity in her own home. “You’ve got school, get dressed.” Kurt trudged upstairs to his room, physically resisting the urge to walk on all fours. Back in his room he pulled on clothes he didn’t see and came back down.

“SHOWER!” Chanted both his parents at once, in pretty much the same routine they’d been going through since he was ten and trusted to actually wash himself properly. Kurt stripped and went to the bathroom. Soap was another thing sucked about being human, and since Kurt had figured his parents were going to make him wash regardless, he had taken steps to avoid being nose blind. He had no idea how other wolves stood the scents, the cloying chemical smells and artificial aromas from conventional soaps and shower gels. Kurt bought a sandy liquid in glass jars made from soap nuts, by way of his pack-sister, from a lady off the internet who was into all natural products. The sand and soap got him clean, and he still smelt like himself, which was a relief for any self-respecting werewolf.

Out of the shower Kurt dried off and stared at himself in the mirror. No need to shave, possibly ever by the looks of things, and Kurt had basically no interest in his appearance outside of being a wolf. His hair was black, oddly cut, and not all the same length, unlike his sleek and glossy pelt. He dried his hair roughly to stop himself from getting cold and walked to his bedroom. Kurt had no interest in clothes, except to favour wearing black. His fur was black, it felt natural on him. He dressed and put on shoes, his most hated type of clothing, and went back downstairs.

“Breakfast?” His mother asked, sipping tea.

“I already ate.” Kurt grumbled. The wood pigeon had been fat and lazy, and therefore deeply tasty. Getting feathers stuck in his fangs was only a slight annoyance.

“Indeed.” Barbara Smith raised an eyebrow at her son. Unwittingly, Kurt dressed like every slightly misunderstood, underweight teenager who listened to alternative music. Granted her son didn’t listen to any music, but the image still stuck. “Have a nice day at school.”

“It’s college.” Kurt left with that parting gambit, correcting his mother as always. He barely remembered to shut the front door behind him. Not every family in the pack had kids, but there were a good dozen making their way down the road, every age from nineteen down to four. Cubs made for a happy pack. Along with not being able to read or write particularly well, Kurt did not drive, so while Tahryn Spencer and his next oldest sister and the only two other wolves his age, Koby Dean and Henry Tanner got into Tahryn’s vintage blue Triumph, Kurt turned away to walk down the road. He did not miss that Koby got quickly into the back of the car. He could practically see his ears turned back as he slid in behind Tahryn. It was so like him to simply bend to the will of others. Henry and Chaska fought for shotgun, and Chaska won, but only just. Kurt unconsciously raised hackles he didn’t have and stared at the car as it turned to drive past him. Henry smiled, but the flash of teeth was as good as a challenge to a wolf and Kurt growled as Tahryn pulled the car away.

South Sea pack liked to have their kids attend public school. When they were little it wasn’t dangerous, before the change the pups were like any other child their age, except maybe a little stronger, and schooled in controlling their physical presence. Some had rocky attendance during puberty when the change made them volatile and difficult, but generally it all picked up again later on. Kurt had been home schooled until he was twelve, and his attendance had been poor since day one. School was dull, it smelt too harshly of chemicals, and it was full of stuff Kurt just didn’t need to know.

He was a wolf. He could track a deer for twenty miles and kill it in five minutes. He could read changes in the weather long before meteorologists did, and could survive in the wilderness for years. Algebra and English literature were not high on his list of priorities. Kurt walked to school mostly alone. Once he turned out of the cul-de-sac there were other kids, cycling or walking, or waiting for the bus. Lazy. Kurt wondered if his life looked empty to other people. Wolves were social creatures, and as far as he understood it, all the other wolf cubs got on pretty well with humans, had big social groups, lots of friends. Kurt had no friends, not one. Not even another token outcast. Kurt did not like humans, and going to college and being surrounded by them was practically torture.

The biggest problem with school was they had built a sixth form not long ago, and now staying there for college was de riguer. But there was no freedom. Sure there were free periods, but you had to be on the grounds for the same hours as everyone else, nine ‘til four like a fucking bad joke. Added to that, Kurt’s lack of progress in subjects like, well all of them, held him back. He was basically re-sitting the same classes for the third time now. Kurt wandered into registration and slumped into his seat. It was a deliberate gesture, a lack of respect like a slap in the face no wolf could fail to notice. Their teacher was a boring human, so Kurt’s actions meant nothing. The only sort of high point of school, at least lately, was Tahryn. As Smith and Spencer, the boys got sat next to each other in every class they shared, which weren’t many, but Tahryn had been given the locker next to his, and they had sports together.

Kurt did not like sports. The gym teacher was the only wolf on faculty, and he made them toe a strict line of never winning, coming in close second despite and because of the fact every werewolf kid including Kurt could run rings around the humans. Depressingly, because it was a Friday and their classes turn for P.E, the gym was exactly where he ended up, shuffling his trainers against the parquet floor, hands in the front pockets of his hoody.

“Hey Kurt!” The words were accompanied by a slap on the shoulder and Kurt spun around, already snarling, every muscle tense. The fact that it was the drop dead gorgeous Tahryn standing there looking like a sex fuelled day dream only made him angrier. Did the guy know nothing at all? People who touched unsuspecting werewolves whose noses were currently useless and full of fucking wood varnish deserved to lose their hands.

“Move your fucking hand, now.” Kurt kept his voice low, but the snarl was obvious, the hard set anger in his eyes. Tahryn looked stupidly at his hand, moved it off Kurt’s hoodie and their eyes met with more or less a clang.

“Sorry.” For about half a heartbeat Kurt thought he was going to have to challenge the big bronze muscle bound hunk, but the newcomer flicked his eyes down and backed off a step. It was a vaguely submissive gesture, but not an out and out retreat. “A bunch of us are going for a hunt tomorrow night. You wanna join us?”

Something inside Kurt that wasn’t subject to his wolvern will went thud, really fucking hard. It was like there was something else trying to push instincts out of the way. That had never happened before, and Kurt’s instincts turned out to be stronger than the sweet and painful thudding. He jerked his chin, shoulders back, dominant.

“I hunt the woods every weekend. You might run into me.” He stepped around the bigger werewolf and strode off to the other end of the gym, the hair on the back of his neck prickling when he knew he was being watched.

*

Tahryn Spencer cursed himself in his head as he watched the slim werewolf walk away from him, clearly bothered by his presence. That’s what you got for being dyslexic in the wolf world. Tahryn was great at being social with humans, fantastic at it, after three weeks he was the most popular guy in school. But being a wolf was all about the little things, and his head-blindness often made him miss those things. He wasn’t really dyslexic, not in human terms, what he suffered from was more like very very mild Asperger’s. His sisters said he was lazy. Maybe he was. Whatever it was, he had been misreading small werewolf body language symbols his whole life, and now the only guy he was even remotely interested in had stalked off, clearly angry with him. He’d given up the dominant position without much thought, Kurt had been obviously on edge after his sudden approach, and Tahryn had been warned.

In the car that morning he’d asked Henry and Koby about Kurt Smith.

“Wolf boy? Why?” Had been Henry’s quick response.

“That’s a bit harsh.” Chaska, his sister, only a year younger than him and recently eighteen had said. “He’s pack just like us.” A pause. “Isn’t he?”

“He’s a freak.” Koby said, his voice sending little needling whines up Tahryn’s spine. “He’s way more wolf than person.”

“Wolves are people.” Tahryn had made his voice suitably harsh when he had responded, almost feeling Koby shy away from him the seat behind. In the three weeks since his family had moved to the South Sea pack, every word Koby Dean had spoken had angered and annoyed Tahryn. The smaller boy was obviously totally smitten with him and acted like a lost puppy half the time. He wheedled and whined and was submissive as hell. Tahryn had never seen another werewolf simply roll over and show their belly at a first meeting, not unless they were backing down from a serious challenge. Now the smaller boy bugged him wherever he went. Koby’s subservient attitude irked him and made his skin crawl. Not that there was anything wrong with Koby, Tahryn was sure he would make a good little house pet for some guy one day, he was nice looking, hell, he was downright pretty with a tiny waist and a butt to die for, but he wasn’t…

He just wasn’t Kurt.

Tahryn had felt drawn to Kurt from the first second he had seen the big shaggy black wolf with the golden brown eyes, and he too would probably be doing his best puppy eyes at the other werewolf if Tahryn hadn’t been the dominant type anyway, and if Kurt wasn’t so… spiky. Somehow the defiant, dominant attitude that should have been a total turn off made Tahryn want him more, and left him really hard and uncomfortable. Tahryn felt eyes watching him and turned to lock his gaze with the honey shade eyes that made his heart leap in his chest like a lovesick school kid, which was kinda what he was. Unfortunately Koby chose that moment to hang his arms around Tahryn’s neck and press himself into the big werewolf’s back.

The look of disgust and loathing that passed across Kurt’s face made Tahryn want to throw up just from looking at him. Before he could act the other wolf snapped his gaze away, stood up and walked out of the gym without turning back. Tahryn stood for a moment in shock, and then realized the stupid little pup was still slithering against his back. With a hard shrug he dumped Koby to the floor of the gym. The boy whimpered, looking hurt, instantly turning his head to show his neck in deference to Tahryn. Tahryn growled, snapped and stalked over to the main basketball game. The whole exchange had taken place in thirty seconds or less, but Tahryn’s brain whirled. He really was going to have to get rid of Koby properly. Even then, he might have no chance with Kurt at all.

All day he watched for Kurt. The other werewolf’s scent made a register on his senses like no one and nothing ever had before. There were trails all over the school and they stayed in his brain, a fire brand across his heart. He made sure he was watching every time Kurt noticed him, but every time Kurt sneered it felt like getting slapped. And even that was weirdly good. A less pleasant sensation was the one he got from Koby. The damn pup was watching him constantly, never more than an arm’s length away, ready to be pulled in or reeled off and hit. The neediness in him made Tahryn angrier and angrier as the day went on.

By registration at the end of the day Tahryn was thrumming with built up tension. He desperately needed release of some sort or another. Koby’s kicked puppy act made him want to break the smaller werewolf in half, Kurt’s defiant anger made him want to break the slim dark haired boy in a very different way. His wolf paced through his mind like a caged beast and Tahryn was a very different person from the smooth, unruffled teenager he had been when he arrived that morning. The bell sounded for dismissal and Tahryn snapped his eyes up to meet the honey gold gaze of Kurt. Neither of them looked away.

To his wolf, the fact he was sitting mattered, and Tahryn stood, still locked with Kurt’s eyes. He could feel his wolf rising, could scent anger and blood-lust in the air, pheromones and testosterone making his nose quiver, setting his world aflame with coloured scents. He let slip a soft growl, not having meant to do so, and saw the muscles flex in Kurt’s hand and arm. His lips distorted to show his teeth, very white and very threatening to his wolf, and Kurt snarled at him. Tahryn knew he had to back down now or risk having his head taken off, but somehow couldn’t break the contact.

As always, Koby had excellent timing. If there was anything in a submissive’s nature useful at a moment like this, it was the desire to placate two stronger wolves spoiling for a fight. Koby put himself between the two werewolves, his back pressed to Tahryn’s thrumming chest, making sure his eyes were down and Kurt could see his exposed chest. The boy snarled at him, any thread trace of humanity gone, snapped his jaws and slashed out at the shorter werewolf. Koby whimpered, but the noise made Tahryn look down and Kurt strode away, trying to stop his shoulders from shaking. People muttered about ‘Kurt is fucking strange’ or ‘oh poor Koby’ but no one said anything useful so they were dismissed.

Tahryn strode to his car without looking where he was going. He barely gave the other three wolves time to get in before he squealed the tyres out of the lot. He drove home with the single minded determination to get there without wolfing out in the actual fucking car, ran two red lights without stopping and gunned the engine down the cul-de-sac. He dashed from the Triumph Spitfire without turning off the engine, and made for home. A trail of clothes scattered throughout the house, Tahryn emerged into the back garden as a huge sand coloured wolf and sprung into the woodland.

Tahryn ran, letting his mind take a back seat to his wolf and the desire to get out, run until every muscle he had burned and then tear something apart. The fact this would be an option very soon was not lost on the wolf. He tore through the forest, feet pounding on the ground turned hard by a week without rain, whipping past trees, low hanging branches snagging and snapping in his fur, whip-like ones cutting into his sides. Tahryn flattened his ears and scented the air as he ran. He could smell living things with fast heartbeats, his ice blue eyes scoured the convoluted landscape in front of him and he picked a fox track leading north. Much smaller animals scattered at his approach, a cloud of birds cawing in the sky. He snapped at them anyway, long jaws closing on nothing.

He smelt the rabbits long before they were visible, and he didn’t slow down. He knew his reactions were good, better than theirs, and sprang into the clearing, jaws clapping shut with a bloody crunch on the shoulders of the bunny. Tahryn didn’t even stop, but tore limbs from fur and flesh from bone, not caring of his mess or his actions, until the hot ball of rage in his head cleared and his heart slowed until he could hear the sound of his own thoughts.

And the sound went; Kurt, Kurt, Kurt…

Tahryn knew he shouldn’t, his human mind knew he mustn’t, but it didn’t matter. The keenness of pain he felt, the confusion striking in his brain, the human emotions twisted with the wolf and Tahryn raised his muzzle to the sky and howled, long and high and mournful. It was still light, half past four in the afternoon, but he howled anyway, for long, long minutes until the ache lessened, the grip around his heart loosened, and he let his voice die. He could have imagined it, it might have been a trick, his ears had been full of the sound of his own sorrow, but he swore he heard another wolf’s cry die out right after his own. Shaking and panting, Tahryn turned and made his way back down the hill towards his family’s new home.