Connor and the Wolves - 1. The Runner

“It’s the last night of the full moon. Be sure to gather your silver bullets tonight — or clean yourself out, depending on how frisky you’re feeling-”
Connor shut off SoundMixer as the bus came to a stop. A quiet chuckle left him. Bullet or douches… he knew which way he’d go if a werewolf barged into his home.
The seventeen-year-old pulled his earbuds out, standing with a long stretch. He filed down the aisle, squeezing past a group of kids as soon as he was off the bus. Free of the slow crowd, he hurried toward the school across the street.
A breeze whipped through his short black hair as he cut across the car park. Gooseflesh rose along his muscled arms, and Connor bit back a muffled curse. His jacket was on a hook in his room. He’d be fine once he started moving, but that didn’t help him at the moment.
The school track ran around a vibrant green football field. Elves and humans were busy stretching near a tent, and Connor could see a few people jogging already. Most seemed to be here for the football team, leaving a few competitors trying out for track. He was an hour early — maybe more runners would show up.
A neko stood near Brienne — Dylan or something. A grey-tailed cat was on the ground beside the track, stretching out. Connor couldn’t remember seeing him in the academy — neko werewolves usually went to Elias Academy, the western pack school. Dylan was a special case — he wasn’t a werewolf. Though Connor supposed if the new neko was here for tryouts in the non-wolf team, he wasn’t a werewolf either. It still wouldn’t hurt to be friendly.
“Hey, Dogmeat!”
The grey cat turned as Connor approached, and Connor grimaced at a large bruise on his arm.
“Whoa! That’s a nasty bruise, dude!”
The neko just shrugged it off with a glance, motioning down the track. Connor frowned at the cat’s silence, wondering how he’d pissed him off already.
“Uh… no? I’m not running yet,” he said, brushing off what he hoped was an offer. “I want to save my energy. Good luck, Dogmeat. Nekos don’t do well around wolves.”
It was true. He’d heard Dylan tried out for football last year, and the coach promptly rejected him. Though the accuracy of the rumours around the school was up for debate.
The neko shrugged, jogging away, and Connor turned toward the sign-in table.
“Connor, right?” The elf behind the table scribbled something into a binder. “Didn’t you make it to the finals last year?”
“Yeah,” Connor said. “Those Mydaran runners are tough. But I’m going to kick their asses this year.”
“Looks like you’ll have less competition,” the elf said, pointing behind him. “I think the cats quit.”
Connor turned, watching Dylan help the grey neko off the track.
“Nah, he had a bruise. Must have hit it again.” He shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll be back.” Brienne chased after Dylan, and Connor frowned. “Or maybe not?” The teen shrugged. “He’s not the friendliest sort.”
“Mute, as far as I can tell. He’ll be fine until Alastair gets ahold of him,” the elf said. ‘Brienne won’t be winning any points by ditching, though.”
“It’s not like Coach can afford to drop her. She’s one of our best sprinters.” Connor grinned at the elf. “I’m better though.”
He wasn’t sure it was true. Brienne had been close to beating him last year. But Connor wasn’t about to worry. If she had improved over the summer, he would just have to work harder.
Any competition would only help him.

He jumped off the bus two stops from home. The tryouts had been a disaster. Only three runners had stuck around with him. While everyone who showed up was officially on the team, Coach Alastair was pissed that half of the runners were missing. There would be blood, sweat, and tears to pay for the entire team.
Connor hadn’t even had the chance to run his hurdles. They'd have to wait until after school.
He began jogging down the street, determined to get in at least a bit of a run. Behind him, he heard the bus brakes hiss, and Connor broke into a sprint as soon as the bus appeared in his vision. For a good six seconds, he kept up with the bus, increasing his speed as a building blurred past him.
Then they hit a stoplight, and Connor skidded to a panting halt. He smacked the button to cross the street, using the respite to prepare for another sprint. Crouching into a pseudo-start, hands hovering above the sidewalk, he waited.
The light turned green.
The bus hissed.
And Connor shot forward.
He kept low for the first few seconds. Air whipped his hair around his ears as he rose. Five seconds in, he stopped accelerating, gliding over the sidewalk as the bus pulled ahead.
He ducked over a trashcan. His feet hit the ground. And he sped up, chasing the bus down.
The end of the block came fast. Connor kept going, blowing through the green light like it wasn’t there. He could see the next stop three blocks away. But that wasn’t his goal.
Blasting past a CeCe’s sign, Connor skidded around a tight turn, slowing down at last. He trotted under the restaurant’s awning, walking off the exertion. Pushing into the warm building, he dug through a pocket for the silver his dad had left him.
“Orange glaze, nuggets.” He panted as he passed the coins to the neko across the counter. “Two of them… you have any water?”
“No sir,” the neko said, tapping a till.
“Cranberry juice then.”
Handing two coppers back to Connor, the neko grabbed a cup. Connor turned toward the soda fountain, filling the cup with cranberry juice. He didn’t bother grabbing a lid.
Cool, tart juice ran down his throat. A few frantic gulps drained the cup, and he could breathe again.
Connor refilled the cup and dropped into a booth. He stretched a leg across the seat, taking another gulp. His lips smacked around the dryness that always seemed to follow cranberry juice.
“No, see, the ball is in your field.”
Connor glanced at the table behind him. An elf and a human sat across from each other. Dark hair framed reddened eyes, and tapered ears blushed in what Connor could only assume was anger. Or sorrow. Elves were rather tricky.
“You can change this,” the man said. “I don’t date women I can’t pick up-”
“What, you can’t pick her up?” Connor interrupted. “That says more about you than it does her, doesn’t it?”

The two stared at him. The human’s eyes glowered, but Connor ignored him. His eyes swept over the elf.
“You stay out of this.” The man snarled at him.
“I’m sorry. I only listen to people who are nice. But have some free advice. If you can’t pick someone up, maybe you should hit the gym. Or maybe you shouldn’t judge someone for their weight.” Connor smiled at the elf. “You look beautiful, by the way.”
“Um… thanks?”
“You trying to steal my girl?” The man snarled, launching out of his seat.
“Doesn’t sound like your girl,” Connor said, taking another gulp of juice. “And if you want to fight me about it, go here. Tonight, just before moonrise.” He drained his cup, then scribbled out an address on it. “You’ll need all the preparation you can get.”
Standing as a bell dinged, Connor crossed the room and grabbed a bag from the counter. He flashed a smile at the cat behind the counter before stepping outside.
The walk home was short. Ten minutes after leaving the restaurant, Connor strode up a third flight of stairs, his legs stretching to take them three at a time. Crossing along the wide hall, he glanced at the elevator as it dinged. An elf stepped out with a pet carrier in hand. The two gave a passing smile as Connor hurried to his apartment.
He stepped into the darkness. Connor closed his eyes, letting them adjust to the low light that seeped through a curtain. He slipped through the room, not lifting his feet more than an inch. There was little risk of stepping on anything, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
He made sure the bedroom door was closed. Then he flipped a switch. Light flooded the room, shining off the tile floor. The front door remained cracked to his left, and on his right, a half wall barred the way into a narrow kitchen.
Connor crossed into the kitchen, setting the bag on the counter. He grabbed a large glass of water and gulped it down greedily. Thirst slaked, he took a moment to wash the few dishes in the sink. A letter on the fridge caught his attention — his father needed to call Ethan when he woke up.
Gathering the fresh clothes he’d set out that morning, Connor flicked off the light before creeping into the bedroom. Snores thundered through the dark room, confirming that his father was still asleep in the narrow bed. A quiet hiss filled the air with heavy vanilla, and Connor wrinkled his nose.
Twisting the sticky doorknob to the bathroom, he let out a relieved breath when it opened without a sound. The door shut securely, and he locked it before turning on the light.
His clothes dropped to the floor, and Connor bent over the tub, turning on the hot water. A sweaty musk wafted into his nose, pulling a grimace to his face. Vanilla would be far preferable. He needed stronger deodorant — smelling like this around a bunch of wolves would not go over well.
Hot water washed over his muscular torso, dripping down his lean abs. Orange and cinnamon combined as he lathered his hair. His hands ran down his body, pausing just over his cock.
It had been four days. Yet he let his hand fall, washing his legs instead. He couldn’t jack off in here — not with his father on the other side of the door.
His cock still plumped up. Connor grunted, running his hand over the thick length. He stroked a few times, his eyes closed. A hard tug, a tight squeeze, and he bit back a moan. Supported by his free hand, he leaned against the shower wall, working up a furious pace.
“Connor?” A knock interrupted him, and Connor gasped. “You in there?”
He took a deep breath, trying to calm his pounding heart. “Yes, sir.” It wasn’t too breathless… he hoped. “Just finishing up. Lunch is in the kitchen.”
“You’re home early.”
“Yeah… No one showed up, so Coach sent us home early.” He gulped, willing his erection to go down as he rinsed off. Shutting off the hot water, he almost yelped at the ice that pelted him. “I ran the last bus stop before CeCe’s, worked up a sweat.”
The tap shut off with a squeal, and Connor shivered. He dried off with a large towel, trying not to pay attention to his shrinking dick. Any thought about it would make it grow.
Trapping his cock in his boxers, Connor yanked his pants up before unlocking the door. He would not keep his father waiting.

River’s mint green eye watched Connor as they ate. His right eye socket was empty, bisected by a scar that gave him a permanent scowl. The wound no longer bothered Connor — he was eight when a werewolf mauled his father. After nearly ten years, they’d both become used to the injury.
River’s cropped brown hair kept his features harsh. He was no longer in the guard, but he wore his service to the Crown like a badge of honour. He was still in fighting shape, aside from his missing eye, and Connor couldn’t imagine him any other way.
“So you made the team?” River asked.
“Yes sir,” Connor said. “After my performance last year, Coach said I had a spot guaranteed. I’m not happy that I couldn’t practice, but hopefully we’ll get some laps in tomorrow.”
“And that girl… Bryan, she was there too?”
“Brienne. She signed up but ditched halfway through. I think she’s still on the team, though.”
“She blew off the tryouts? Sounds like she’s half-assing things,” River said. “You’ll beat her this year.”
“Yes, sir.”
“No one gave you trouble on the way home?”
Connor shrugged, poking at his chicken with his chopsticks. “There was a guy in CeCe’s. Told him if he wanted to fight, he could meet me tonight. Gave him directions to the nearest guard station.”
River’s eye glinted, and he let out a snort.
“Let the trash take itself out, huh?”
“I figured it was better than actually getting into a fight.”
“I’m sure it was,” River said. “While you were out, I put in another application to an apartment downtown.”
“Near Jasper High?” Connor frowned. That put his father dangerously close to his mother.
“It’s supposed to be a second chance apartment, but you know how those things go,” River said. “We have more than enough gold to afford the rent if we can actually get in.” He scowled at his own chicken. “And you’d have the western pack school — Elias or whatever — to finish your classes.”
Connor kept quiet, letting River stew in his thoughts. It wasn’t their fault Connor was going to a pack school. The blame for that lay with his mother turning after leaving River.
He had doubts about their ability to get anywhere. Getting into apartments was hard with his father’s record. But he wasn’t about to voice any doubts. Let his father dream of a better life. Connor would work on that in his own way.