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I grab a beer out of the fridge and head for the living room, looking for the remote as I step around the end of the sofa. It's never where it should be, on the coffee table. I wish I could blame my roommate, but I don't have one. I find it on the floor, under the newspaper, and sink back into the sofa as I turn the TV on. The Rams are playing the Panthers - neither team has a chance of making it to the playoffs this year, but I'll watch just because it's my night off and there's nothing else to do. I can't afford to go out, even if I wanted to. Which I don't.

For the last three weeks, I've split my time between home and work, with a couple trips to the store in there somewhere. Senji has called several times, wondering where I've been, and I'm finding it harder to come up with excuses. Your aunt can only die just so many times before even a dim-wit like Senji catches on. Of course, not taking the gigs means I don't have enough for rent this month, but it ought to be a few more days before Mr. Vexaan comes knocking.

I watch the Rams drive down the field for what looks like an easy six, only to have the ball stripped out on the eight yard line and run back by the Panthers for a touchdown. I roll my eyes and drown my disgust in crappy light beer as the game goes to commercial. I almost choke as a news brief comes on - something about tax breaks for big business - and a pair of winged Wolves stroll across the screen. My heart climbs into my throat as the younger of the two males glares at the camera, his gold hair hanging just into his amber eyes. The gold fur tipped with black, the powerful bronze wings that flash gold and green in the sun, the silver hoop in his left ear - that's him - that's the bastard who raped me.

I jump as someone knocks at the door, my half a beer slipping from my fingers and splashing across my hooves, carpet and sofa. Cursing softly, I pick it up and set it on the table, then head to the kitchen for a towel, ignoring the door. I'm not home. I wipe down the front of the sofa and crush the towel into the spot on the floor. I shouldn't wipe too hard or I might make a clean spot. The knock comes again, a pounding, really, and I sigh as I climb to my feet.

"I'm coming," I call, fishing the wad of cash out of the empty flower pot on top of the TV. It's only a couple hundred, but maybe it'll keep him off my back long enough for me to get the rest. "I'm sorry, Mr. Vexaan," I say as I slide back the bolt and pull the door open, "I'm a little short aga--" I can't breathe, my chest and throat tightening up, choking me as cold amber eyes regard me.

"Hello, Irra," he says, and I jump like I've been shot, the money slipping from my fingers as I throw my weight against the door, trying to slam it shut again. Claws dig into the wood as he grabs it and shoves it open, sending me stumbling back. This is the city; he can't do this here. I gasp for breath and open my mouth to shout for help, but he's all over me, one hand tangling in my hair as the other covers my mouth. He tosses his golden hair out of his eyes and licks his black lips before speaking. "Let's not make this harder than it has to be, okay? Because I could rip your throat out before help even thought about getting here, you follow?" I nod, more out of reflex than actual agreement. He takes his hand from my mouth and steps back, his eyes traveling slowly down the length of my body.

My eyes are drawn straight to his sheath, to the inch of slick red dick that is already poking out. I swallow hard and raise my eyes to his face. He looks hungry. Without a word, he steps back and closes my front door, sliding the bolt into place and locking us inside. I watch as he casually unbuckles his belt and tosses it past me, over the arm of the sofa, a small ring of keys and a fat black wallet clipped to it

"What ... do you want?" I gasp, my voice breathless, afraid. I clench my fists. I hate him, I hate him for making me afraid again. He reaches down and strokes his sheath, coaxing more of his dick out.

"I would've thought that was obvious," he growls with a grin full of teeth. I want to hit him, I want to beat that smug, punk-ass smile off his ugly face. He's a damn kid, for Luaath's sake! He's not even half my age. And I can't do a fucking thing to stop him. He glances around, his eyes lingering for a moment on the TV, then he motions toward the bedroom. I don't - I don't want to go in there, not with him, I can't, not again. I turn, and my eyes fall on my almost empty beer.

"Do you ... mind if I finish my beer first?" I ask. He shrugs. I step around the end of the couch and pick up the bottle with a trembling hand. It tastes sour, flat and cheap as I swallow down the last drink. I step toward the bedroom, my stomach churning, and as the Wolf starts to follow, I whirl around, the neck of the bottle gripped tight in my hand. I want to smash it over his head, but he catches me by the wrist and laughs as he jerks my only weapon out of my hand and tosses it onto the sofa. He spins me back around, facing away from him, and grabs my other wrist as well, pinning both arms behind my back, across my wings. I brace my hooves against the carpet, but he shoves me forward, down the short hall and into my bedroom. "No - Please," I whisper, but he throws me on my face in the quilt as if I weight nothing.

I scramble to get away, but he grabs my legs and pulls them apart, his claws digging into my hide as he leans down and sticks his cold nose in under my tail. I close my eyes and shudder as his hot tongue slides across my opening. He licks deeper and I cover my head with my arms, fighting to keep my stinging eyes dry as I moan, "Not again, please not again, please, not again ..." The Wolf pauses, his painful grip on my thighs easing, but then he goes right back to licking my asshole, his long, slick tongue sliding deep inside me. I want to vomit because, damn it, it feels good, and no matter how hard I try, I can't stop the shudder that races up my body.

He straightens up and I want to scream, because I know what's going to happen now. He shoves me farther onto the bed, his rough hands grabbing my hips and lifting my ass into the air. I bite down on the quilt as I feel his hot dick press into me. I clench, I can't help it, and I expect him to tear into me again, to rip me open, but he doesn't. He pauses, and something deep inside me, some calm voice of reason, whispers that I need to relax, while I still have time. I don't want to, I want to fight him, I want to keep him out of me, but the voice points out that he's already inside me, I can't fight him, and I ought to make this as painless as possible.

I heave a dry sob into the blankets and force myself to open up to him. After a moment, he slides deeper, and while it still hurts, I don't think I'm going to bleed this time. I don't move, don't make a sound, as he works his wide Wolf dick in and out of me. He so big. Not as big as Tabborn, but shit, Tabborn was an Elk, and that was fifteen fucking years ago. I'm not as pliable as I used to be. He begins to whine and I cringe as he pounds into me, that knot at the base of his dick trying to stretch me wider. I don't want that inside me again.

I lift my head and raise myself up on one elbow, my whole body shaking as I reach back between my wings and slip my hand between his body and mine, encircling his dick with my finger and thumb. He watches me, cold gold eyes glittering in the half-light from the dirty window, but he doesn't try to stop me. I tighten my grip on him, and his long, hard strokes grow short, frantic as he jerks his hips. Each breath is a broken, desperate whine as he hammers against my hand, trying to force that swollen knot inside me. My slick fingers aren't strong enough, he starts to push them open, to work his knot into me, and I choke on a scream as I grab him in my hand. He throws back his head and howls, the sound raising the fur along the back of my neck, and I feel his knot pulse in my hand as he shoots his load into my ass.

"Shut the fuck up in there!" My neighbor, Vrash, pounds on the wall, hard enough to knock the pictures crooked. The Wolf above me snarls. As soon as his hips stop jerking violently, I let go of his dick, wiping my hand on the quilt. I already need to wash it. Hell, I need to burn it now. It stinks of Wolf. As do I. His ragged breath falls on the side of my neck and I flinch away from him, but he drags his long, hot tongue along my shoulder and then up my neck.

"I don't know about you," he whispers in my ear, his voice a deep, low growl, "but I'm hungry." Fear, cold and dull, settles in the pit of my stomach and I close my eyes, waiting for his fangs to sink into my throat. Please, I beg silently, be quick about it. He climbs off of me and I raise my head, watching him leave the room. I can feel his cum leaking out of me, cooling as it slides down onto the quilt. He returns a minute later. "You got anything besides salad in this dump?" he asks. My apartment is not a dump. It's more than I can afford, that's for sure. Of course, being a member of upper one percent, he probably lives in the fucking Sequoia Tower penthouse. I shake my head.

"I'm a vegetarian," I say, my voice hoarse.

"Droon's Balls," he mutters, then leaves again. "Hey, you want anything while I'm out?" he calls from the living room. "My treat."

"Go fuck yourself," I snap, cold, thick liquid running down my thighs as I rise up on to my hands and knees to get out of the wet spot. I need a shower. I need a lot of showers.

"Thanks for the suggestion, but I think I'll stick to fucking you." He sticks his head through the doorway. "I'll be right back, so don't even think of running off, because no matter where you go, I will find you, and the longer it takes, the unhappier I'll be, get it?" I glare down at the carpet and nod my head. "Good. You sure you don't want a milkshake or anything?" I grab a pillow from the head of my bed and fling it at him. Laughing, he knocks it out of the air with one hand, then turns and leaves. I hear the door close and then my heart starts hammering in my throat, making it hard to breathe. I stumble to the bedside table and grab the phone in my shaking hands, staring down at the lighted number pad. Call someone, quickly. But who? The police. Tabborn left cuts and bruises, and they still didn't believe me. Senji? I don't really want to get him involved, and besides, what is a Fox/Raccoon going to do against a Wolf? I slam the phone down in the cradle and bury my face in my hands, but jerk away as the stench of Wolf assaults my delicate nose. I need a shower. A long shower. I don't think I'm going to get one.