Connor and the Wolves - 26. An Unexpected Meet

The chime reverberated through the field as Connor’s foot touched the finish line. A triumphant grin spread across his face as he slowed to a light jog. With Brienne missing, it was almost like he had no competition. Hopefully she would be back next week.
A brisk walk along the track lowered his thundering heartbeat, and Connor finally allowed himself some water. On the track, another wave of wolves took off, and Connor took a moment to watch their start. Pity and admiration washed through him in equal measure — the 800 metre wasn’t a sprint, but the wolves would still have to maintain a high speed if they wanted to succeed. There was no way Connor could sustain his top speed for that distance.
He scanned the sidelines of the track. The brindle wolf was watching the runners with longing in their eyes. Connor had no doubt their coach had benched them; they’d be lucky to get into another event today. But hopefully his earlier advice would help them train properly and they’d improve next week.
Turning toward his own team, Connor yelped as a large hand grabbed his shoulder. He was spun around, and a face crashed against his. Rough lips caressed his, enveloping them completely. A soft moan slipped unbidden from his lips. Connor’s eyes closed as he-
-shoved forward, knocking the stranger back. Polished jade orbs stared at him, blinking a split second later before dropping. A dark sun-kissed face furrowed, draped by cinnamon hair that hadn’t seen a pair of scissors in some time.
“Who the fuck-”
“Mate…” A smooth baritone wavered, and Connor’s pounding heart stopped. “You’re my mate….”
No… no, this couldn’t happen… not to him! Connor glanced at the stands — it would be just his luck for River to see him claimed by a werewolf. Yet his father was absent. For the first time, Connor was grateful his parents rarely came to see his races.
And that voice… he knew that voice.
A sudden bark startled Connor. The brindle wolf loped toward the pair, and Connor flinched as they came to a skidding halt. Relief flooded him as they turned their furious gaze on Connor’s assailant, snarling at the larger man. Behind them, a human with ashy blonde hair chased a copper skinned elf toward the trio.
“Kurt, why don’t we let Samuel handle this?” the elf said, stepping between the wolf and the darker man.
The wolf grunted, shooting daggers at the human before following the elf back toward the bleachers.
“Are you okay?” the blonde human asked, gently nudging the werewolf away from Connor.
It took Connor a moment to find his voice.
“Yeah… uh… yeah, I’m…” A weak chuckle escaped him. “I didn’t know you were a wolf, Soren.”
Soren’s head swept up, wide eyes meeting Connor’s for an instant.
“How-”
“SoA,” Connor said. “I’m NekoWolf.”
“Oh…” Soren shuffled his feet. “I… uh… I didn’t know.”
“You two know each other?” the other man asked, looking between Connor and Soren.
“Online friends,” Connor provided. “And… apparently mates….”
“CONNOR!”
Connor whirled around, wincing as Alastair waved his arm. The next wave of people were lining up for the 200 metre dash, his final race.
“I… I have to go,” he said, glancing back at Soren. “Uh… guess we’ll talk later.”
“Yeah,” Soren muttered as Connor hurried toward the starting line.

Deep breaths.
Connor crouched, setting his feet against the starting blocks. His heart thundered in his ears and his eyes stared straight ahead. He pushed Soren from his mind. There was no werewolf trying to claim him, only the track under his feet.
“On your marks.”
He pressed against the block, straining his ears for the chime he knew was coming. Around the curve ahead of him, seven other runners waited on their blocks.
A second passed.
A flurry of motion ahead of him. Connor leaned forward, then fell back quickly as a runner shot from their block. A whistle blew, and the runner trudged off the track, shoulders slumping. False start.
“On your marks,” the announcer repeated, and Connor straightened himself out.
There were only six other runners to beat now. He hadn’t caught the name of the disqualified runner, but it was too much to hope the runner had been from Jasper High.
Muscles tensed.
The chime rang.
And Connor pushed off.
He gasped as his foot slipped. Slamming into the ground, Connor pulled himself forward. He shot off the ground as he struggled to regain his momentum.
Connor focused on his own lane. Wind thundered past him as he accelerated. His feet pounded the track, echoing the thunder in his heart. He wasn’t out of the race yet.
He hit the forty metre mark. Connor laid back, focusing on maintaining the speed he’d achieved. A runner fell behind him. And then another. Connor paid them no mind — all that mattered was the end of the relay zone.
Coming out of the curve, his foot hit the relay line. Connor pushed. Pumping his arms for all they were worth, he propelled himself forward.
Twenty metres later, he relaxed. His legs blurred beneath him, his arms swung with every step. The cheering crowd was a distant roar in his ears — unimportant. He fixated on his lane, glaring at the finish line sixty metres away.
Forty metres away.
Twenty metres away.
The chime rang a second before he crossed the line. Connor slowed to a light jog, panting heavily as he worked his way off the track. He finally turned to see the scoreboard.
First place: Felix Aran, Jasper High.
Second place: Cassandra Hart, Queenswood High.
Third place, Connor Evans, Quarian Academy.
Connor shrugged — it was honestly better than he thought. A slip like that would be lethal to most runners. There would be the ferry to pay come practice, but that was a problem for future Connor.
Slowing to a walk, he worked through a series of stretches. There was no hurry — with relays scratched due to Brienne’s absence, Connor wouldn’t be anchoring the 4x1 or 4x4. Any other day, he would complain about missing the events, but today it was a godsend.
He glanced around as the wolves lined up for the 3200-metre race. Soren was missing, but he found Kurt stalking along the side of the track. As he watched, one of the coaches shooed them away from the track. No one wanted them mistaken for a pacer in a distance run — that would lead to a lot of disqualifications.
“Your hands-” Connor whirled, biting back a yelp. Soren stood behind him, a rag in hand. “You fell,” the werewolf murmured.
“I’m fine,” Connor brushed off.
“You’re bleeding.”
Connor glanced down, grimacing at a streak of blood on his palm. Now that Soren mentioned it, his hand did hurt.
“Guess I am,” he muttered as Soren took hold of his injured hand.
“We need to wash this,” Soren said, tugging him toward a water fountain with surprising gentleness.
Connor let Soren lead him to the fountain. Icy cold water washed over his hand and he shuddered.
"Sorry," Soren muttered, inspecting the injured hand. His thumb brushed around the wound, rubbing away any remaining dirt.
"You're very good at this," Connor said, watching him work.
Soren nodded, dipping Connor's hand under the water again.
"You should see Coach Miles about a bandage," he muttered, dabbing the wound dry with his rag.
“Soren!” The werewolf whirled, dropping Connor’s hand. An elf pointed toward the locker room, and Connor chuckled as Soren sighed. “Relay’s coming up!”
“You have about twenty minutes,” Connor said, glancing at the track. Several wolves were scattered around the track, many looking like they were about to drop from exhaustion. “It usually takes the humans fifteen minutes to finish the 3200.”
“Three kilometres?” Soren frowned, watching the racing wolves. “That seems slow.”
“Well yeah. The leaders usually finish in about nine minutes, but you can’t exactly start a fresh race while the old race is still going.” Connor chuckled. “I think my hand is okay, though. You should go change. No sense in earning extra laps at practice.”
“Yeah.”
Soren turned away and Connor grabbed his arm.
“Come find me after your race,” Connor said. “Our relay got scratched, so I’ll be free.”
“You should talk to Coach Miles,” Soren insisted quietly as Connor let him go.
“I’ll see if Alastair has any bandages,” Connor conceded.
Nodding, Soren headed toward the lockers, leaving Connor with his thoughts.
He hadn’t given Soren an answer. And Connor wasn’t sure he could. His parents would kill him if they knew he was even considering dating a werewolf. Yet there was that nagging attraction to Soren — hadn’t he been almost fantasising about the man a few days ago?
Connor watched Soren vanish into the locker room. The man was caring, gentle. A bit shy, but Connor wasn’t going to hold that against him. Plus, he was rather hot.
“Ugh… I’m so dead…” he muttered, sitting to remove his spikes.
His hand throbbed, and Connor grimaced. Sighing, he made his way over to Coach Sandolin. The werewolf coach was less likely to berate him. He hoped.

“Is it wise to toy with a werewolf like this?”
Connor stared studiously at the track, where Soren and the brindle wolf were joining their teammates for the 400 metre relay. Beside him, Alastair was on a tirade, albeit a sedate one under the public eye.
“Wisdom’s chased me all my life.” Connor shrugged, watching a lilac wolf lead the pack around the track. “I’ve always been faster.”
“I mean, it’s not like you’re actually going through with this,” Alastair continued, ignoring Connor. “You’re one of the best sprinters in Astara. You go after a werewolf, and all that will vanish.”
Then he’d be the best werewolf sprinter in Astara. It wasn’t the end of the world. Probably. Now, the end of his life if his parents found out, that was more likely.
On the track, the lilac wolf passed the baton in their mouth to the brindle wolf, clinging to it as the two neared the end of the hand-off zone — mouth-off zone? The lilac wolf released the baton right before the line marking the end of the zone, and the brindle wolf took off. They ran slower than before, and Connor watched the pack slowly catch up to them. But the wolf didn’t flag, pacing themself better than they had that morning.
“Guess my advice helped a bit,” Connor muttered as the wolf was passed by a couple of opponents.
The baton found its way to a brown-furred wolf, who took off like a shot, making up the distance the brindle wolf had lost. Connor watched with some surprise — he hadn’t paid much attention to the wolf races before, but Soren had to be new. Yet he was the anchor for the relay? His coach must have high hopes for him.
Soren started jogging as the brown wolf charged toward him. His maw closed around the baton, and the brown wolf released.
The baton dropped from Soren’s mouth. Both wolves skidded to a stop, staring at the offending object.
“Grab it!” Connor hollered, his voice obscured by the collective groan of a watching crowd.
Soren lunged. Scooping up the fallen baton, he clamped down as several wolves shot past him. Soren hurtled after them, all four legs blurring as he caught up to the last place runner. He blew past the wolf, falling into a rapid pace.
Connor sighed as he watched the wolf creep up on the next runner. Elias Academy seemed full of runners who had no concept of strategy. Even as he watched, Soren wriggled into third place before running out of steam. The wolf floated down the backstretch of the track, struggling to maintain his lead around the curve.
Coming down the homestretch, he started sprinting again, blowing past the next two runners. Connor saw the instant he hit the wall — the runners he’d fought to beat caught up to him easily, dropping him back into fourth place. In the last forty metres, the wolves fought tooth and nail, exhaustion only adding to the desperation as each tried to outrun the others.
Connor let out a loud whoop as Soren blasted past the finish line. Third place — not bad for what was probably his first race.
“I’m surprised you haven't changed yet,” Alastair said as Connor stood up. “There’s no relay today, and everyone else is practically gone already.”
“Yeah, I’ll be gone soon.” Connor stretched, watching a pair of nekos head toward the brindle wolf. The crowd was dwindling fast — not many stuck around for the 4x4, and the wolves were already splitting to change. “Probably should beat the wolves to the locker room.”
He jogged toward the locker room, slipping past a couple of elves who’d already changed.
The room enveloped him in gloom. Connor blinked rapidly, trying to trick his eyes into adjusting to the lights faster. A shower squeaked off, and an elf crossed the room, a towel wrapped securely around her body.
As the locker room came into focus, Connor hurried to his own locker. With any luck, he’d be showered and dressed before Soren came in to change. If not… well, there was always a Wolf Patrol officer watching the locker rooms at track meets.
Stripping bare, Connor headed to the open showers. He didn’t bother covering his body — the showers could be seen from nearly every part of the locker room. Facing the wall was enough to keep some semblance of modesty.
He scrubbed quickly, hitting every part of his body that could add to an odour. Not that it made much difference — he’d already been claimed by a werewolf. He still went through his routine, making sure nothing remained for any interested werewolves to sniff.
The locker room opened, and Connor glanced toward the entrance. A group of wolves entered, Soren bringing up the tail end. Connor glanced away as the wolves split off to their lockers. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Soren and the brindle wolf squeeze into a couple of bathroom stalls, Soren with a phone in his mouth.
Connor sped up his washing, rinsing under the cold spray. He shut off the water, and towelled off vigorously before returning to his own locker. Dressing in record speed, Connor closed his locker again as the first stall opened. A calico neko caught his eye, motioning outside.
Probably someone else telling him to stay away from Soren. Connor sighed as he sealed his dirty clothes in a plastic bag. Stuffing them deep into his gym bag to smother the worst of the smell, he hoisted the bag over his shoulder and followed the neko from the lockers as the other stall opened.
The neko spun as the locker room closed behind them. Connor found a comfortable patch of wall to lean against, studying the neko.
“I just want to apologise for Soren-”
Connor’s eyes widened at their voice. The thick accent — Khorsan, if he remembered correctly — and the possessiveness over Soren, he could only be talking to one person.
“Oh! Hey, Sharp!” He grinned at the calico. “I was wondering if I’d run into you. Of course you’d be hanging around Soren. But what are you apologising for?”
SharpCat stared at Connor, trying to catch up to the sudden change in the situation.
“Oh… I mean… he basically assaulted you-”
“He’s a werewolf. It happens,” Connor brushed off. “Er… no offence.”
“Some taken,” SharpCat grumbled. “First my brother and now Soren… everyone’s gone insane…” She let out a long suffering sigh. “Not really how I wanted to meet you, NekoWolf.”
“Connor, actually.” Connor grinned. “And don’t worry about Soren.”
“Khurtschono… Kurt, if that’s too much of a mouthful for you.”
“Eh, I’ll probably need to practise mouthfuls now.”
Khurtschono rolled her eyes, glancing at the locker room as the door opened.
Soren emerged cautiously, his eyes swivelling between Connor and Khurtschono. A moment passed as the three sized each other up.
“Oh, get over here.”
Connor grabbed Soren’s shirt, pulling the taller man down. Their lips crashed together, and he heard Soren gasp through the kiss.
“Now we’re even,” Connor murmured, releasing the werewolf.
“Does… does this mean… I mean…” Soren stammered, trying to catch his breath. “Do you want to come to my house? We… we can talk — nothing else, just talking-”
“Yeah. I think that’d be a good idea.”