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Who's afraid of the Dire Wolf?

By Dark Violet

Ollie fingered the haft of his spear, and gently chewed on the inside of his lip. "Well, I've got an idea."

"A what?" came the voice from inside the barn, muffled by fur and suds.

"An idea!"

The face of Mathew, scar on one cheek and orange hair that seemed to want to go every way but down, appeared above Bess' soap-covered flank. "An idea?"

"Yeah!" Ollie clanked as he turned, his loose-fitting armour rattling.

Mathew frowned. "Ollie - and please, know that I'm saying this as a friend - your ideas are terrible."

A light chatter clattered down the street. Ollie turned back around and stood back to attention as a couple of women passed. Buckets rocked gently from poles across their shoulders; milkmaids from the fields, heading to the King's kitchens. Ollie stared stoically forwards, as a good soldier does.

The early morning sun had risen above the town's walls, and was now bathing most of the buildings on the street in the pale, thin light they often got up in the mountains, where everything always seemed to be rather more sparse. To his right, the bleak visage of the castle's keep rose from the very edge of the town, balanced precariously on the edge of the ravine. The low angle of the sun could have cast it in an imposing light, but instead dark shadows just highlighted the bits where stones were missing, and where a rather worrisome crack ran down half of the nearest tower.

Ollie huffed. "Look, I just think that this idea is a good one. Will you at least listen to it?"

Mathew took a step back from his work, and surveyed the beast in front of him in the same manner a sculptor might survey a particularly troublesome piece of rock. And like a piece of rock, the beast - the king's steed, a wiry older wolf called 'Bess' for no reason anyone could remember - didn't care to survey him back. This probably left anyone cleaning her feeling a little underappreciated, but Mathew didn't seem to mind.

Bess was a dire wolf; this meant she was different from the normal wolves that you got down on the plains. Those wolves tended to only come up to your waist, acted proud and standoffish, and had a horrible tendency to maul errant travellers. Up here in the Bleakfells you got dire wolves, which were about the same height as a person, were proud of their standoffishness, and often didn't stop at mauling.

The problem was, Bess was not exactly a prime specimen when it came to dire wolves - or, for that matter, normal wolves. She barely came up to your shoulder if she stood up straight (which she rarely did), often whined complaints after a long walk, and the closest she'd ever got to mauling was barking at a squire during a recent meeting of the kingdoms.

A ragged ear half-heartedly flicked in Mathew's direction. "Yeah," Mathew said eventually, "I guess I'm game. What's the idea?" and leaned back down to keep washing Bess' side.

"Alright", Ollie launched in, "so you know how we're the worst kingdom in the land, right?"

Mathew's head rose slowly once again, with the dead eyes of someone who knew every facet of that fact. There was a pause while the miserly expression bore into Ollie. "I'm standing here washing the king's steed in water that's already gone through half the kingdom, using soap made from last year's thorn bushes, who last week I had to demonstrate how to catch a rabbit to. And do not give me that look, Bess, because you still bungled it."

Bess had turned around slowly to glare at Mathew, her thin neck creaking. A warning growl signalled her disapproval, though it might have been more disconcerting had it not sounded like the rattling of a bag of day-old chicken bones.

"Well," Ollie forged on, "I want to change that."

"Uh-huh."

"So, here's the thing-" Ollie turned again, letting his spear hang to one side. He gestured like some great teacher - or rather, like how he thought great teachers gestured. "What makes the other kingdoms so great?"

"Not having their main gatehouses falling down?" Mathew offered. "Curtain walls thicker than a curtain? Remaining unconquered because of the strength of their armies, not because no-one thinks a crumbling town slowly falling in the ravine is worth the half-drunk patrol it would take to capture it?"

"Exactly, their armies!"

"Not what I said, but I appreciate the enthusiasm." Mathew said, crouching down to scrub one of Bess' lanky hinds.

"And, what drives the effectiveness of armies?"

"Not being lower in the pecking order than the local wildlife?"

"Their mounts. See, think about it - The Kingdom of Astaria has gryphons, great beasts with talons as long as a person's leg, and they rule from the Cold Mountains all the way to the western shores. Questia has horses, and they own the great steppe from here to the desert lands. Wyrmia has dragons!"

"Yeah, but Wyrmia has horns on their helmets. Do you want to be the kingdom that has horns on their helmets? Do you realise how that's going to look in five hundred years?"

"Wouldn't you rather be them than us?"

"I mean, I've never accidentally impaled a rafter with my hat."

"So what I'm saying," Ollie continued with unfounded determination, "is that we need better mounts. If we get better mounts, we have a better army, and we'd have a better kingdom."

"Better mounts?" Mathew took a step back. "What's wrong with Bess?"

Ollie looked at Bess.

Bess looked at the floor. A rat had climbed into her food bowl. As they watched, it picked up a piece of chicken in its mouth, climbed out of the bowl, and ambled away with it across the barn. Bess watched it go with a limp gaze.

Ollie looked at Mathew.

"Okay, yeah, fair." Mathew said, deflating a little. “But I like Bess. She's a good wolf." He patted her side. She leaned over to rub into him, her long, silver-flecked tail wagging from side to side. "Just because she's not from one of those fierce buggers from the wild packs in the forest doesn't mean we should get rid of her."

"Nonono, I'm not saying we should get rid of her! Or any of the wolves. We're the Kingdom of Vargr; we have to have wolves. I just think we could have better wolves. You know, for whenever we need to fight, or ride out on for ceremonies, and stuff."

"Dire wolves have to be raised from birth, Ollie. I don't know if they teach that in hitting-people-over-the-head-with-big-sticks training. You can't just go and get better ones."

"Why not?"

"Because you put a bridle on one of those wild wolves out there, come daybreak, they might find the bridle." He paused. "Maybe your hand."

"Well- well yes, obviously, but that's not what I mean. Listen, this idea. I'm going to need your help with it."

"I figured that was coming."

"Yes, well, I think-"

"Sol-DIER!"

Ollie stood to attention so sharply his helmet bounced. He thumped his spear on the ground in salute, accidently caught the edge of a cobble, fumbled as it jolted out of his hand, and winced as it made a weak wooden clack-lack as it landed on the floor.

He opted to keep his hand raised as if he was holding his spear, and was merely unaware of its new ground-based existence.

And anyway, he was now distracted by the round face of Captain Sloane, whose pudgy, weathered visage and wispy white hair seemed to bulge out from beneath her battered helmet. She glowered at him with eyes wide with annoyance.

"Aye, Captain!" Ollie said. His legs ached from his posture.

"What the hell a' ye doin' standin' in the middle o' the street like a wilted flower?"

"What do you mean, Captain?"

"You think the assembled armies o' the north are gonna come barrelin' out o' the inn? Why are ye not on the walls, lad?"

"He's protecting the king's steed, Captain!" Mathew said from somewhere behind him. Sweat beaded on Ollie's forehead.

"Aye, and why's he doin' that?"

"...it's a stable job?"

There was a pause in the air, a brief silence between the two so thick you could feel it pressing against the skin.

Captain Sloane deflated, her shoulder slumping by her side. She gestured lamely, staring at Ollie. "For he'ens sake, lad, we're supposed to be an army here."

"Yes, Captain," said Ollie, letting out a held breath. He shuffled his feet with admonishment.

"Ah know that no-one's gonna be attackin' the walls, but it's the presentation o' the thing."

"Sorry Mum- ...er, Captain Sloane."

She sighed, and glanced down the street. Over the walls, the sun was high enough now so that the local hills were in broad daylight, sheep dotted amongst the few gnarled trees that could survive the sheer slopes.

"Just get back to yer post soon, aye?"

Ollie clicked his heels together. His greaves clattered. "Yes, Captain!"

She turned and started to march off down the street, one hand clutching the handle of her sword. "And pick up yer damn spear! If it gets rusted up, I'm not gonna be the one scraping it off this time!"

When Captain Sloane was out of sight, Ollie turned. "So here's my idea-"

A rag hit him in the face. When Ollie pulled it away, Mathew had fitted Bess' collar around her scraggly neck and had attached a threadbare leash.

"Come on. You can tell me about the idea while I take Bess for her morning walk. You can call it a patrol. And wipe down your spearhead before you go."

They set out along the broad streets of the Kingdom of Vargr. They'd end up walking down both of them, in fact - seemed to be one of Bess' good days. Mathew took the lead, one hand on the leash and the other on Bess' back. The great beast pottered along beside him, occasionally nosing at a passer-by or raising her muzzle at the scent of an errant smell - at the corner, she had to be pulled away from sticking her face in a barrel of fish. She grumbled as Mathew led her away, blunt claws clattering against the cracked cobbles.

Ollie walked on the other side of Bess, spear tucked beneath one arm, hands waving as he explained his idea.

Mathew listened patiently, not asking questions as they walked. He didn't say anything as Ollie got through some of the more questionable aspects of the idea. He didn't comment at all when Ollie got to what he was sure was the most questionable aspect. He just walked, absently stroking Bess' neck.

They got to the far side of the town, and climbed up the steps to the outer wall. The dark grey stones were patched with green and grey lichen, some of it scraped away, some of it left alone in a sort of mute acceptance.

They were walking along the battlements when Ollie reached the end of his idea. They stopped, and looked out across the dark peaks of the Bleakfell mountains. The early morning mist had almost completely evaporated, but some still lurked in a few of the more shadowed valleys, drifting slowly between spires of pine. Along the nearest slope, a waterfall tumbled down a channel of worn rocks, before disappearing down into the ravine that bordered the town on two sides.

To their left, just before the mossy slopes descended towards the lower mountains (you had to go a fair distance before you reached anything that could be described as a mere hill), a dense forest crowded the lip of the valley. A simple dirt path snaked towards it over brackish ground, skirted the treeline anxiously for a few hundred paces, and then reluctantly turned in between a couple of trunks and disappeared into the darkness.

"Why do I have to be the one to go out there?" Mathew asked eventually

"Because someone's got to be on guard in the gatehouse to let you in. And anyway, don't you keep going out at night anyway? Foraging, or whatever it is?"

Mathew rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. Uh. Yeah."

"And aren't you always saying that you know how those wolf packs work?"

"Yes, yes!" he hissed, cutting Ollie off, "I know, I know!"

They fell into silence again. An errant breeze tussled Bess' fur. She looked between the two of them expectantly, ears flicking from one to the other.

"So," Mathew said finally. "You want me to go out into that forest, find the biggest wild dire wolf I can, somehow lead it back to the kingdom without getting eaten, bring it through the main gates, into the stables, and get it to mate with Bess in the hopes of providing a stronger bloodline for our mounts."

"Yes," said Ollie.

Mathew's expression was blank and unreadable. Bess' was merely unimpressed.

After a while, Mathew folded his arms.

"Well, it can't exactly make the kingdom any worse. Sure, I'm in."

***

They decided to put the plan into motion just a few days later. Bess had this cycle (which Ollie knew about from two older sisters), and she was due to go into something Mathew called 'heat' (which Ollie had not known about before) very soon. That would apparently be the best time for it.

Truth be told, Ollie felt a little guilty for feeling like he had to do this. Bess, to her credit, had tried her hardest to be the King's steed, but there are some things that she couldn't quite make up for. She was the one that the runts of the other litters had picked on for being not up to wolfish standards, after all. And despite what some of the wandering minstrels in the inn would have you believe, stubborn determination and a can-do attitude could only get you so far in life, and often don't quite make up for lame legs and the tendency to roll over for pets every time someone so much as brushed against your ear. Those sorts of things tended not to be assets to life as a noble mount, anyway. No - it didn't please Ollie to admit it, but as sweet as she was, she was a pretty dire wolf indeed.

Something had to be done. And unfortunately, the things that were being done weren't bearing fruit. The only possible sires for future bloodlines that the kingdom could afford were those aforementioned runts, and the current litters had not been looking any more promising. As Mathew had said, feeding one wriggling bundle of black fur from a bottle as he was doing so, "Adorable things, and who really wants to walk in a straight line anyway?"

So they needed something fresh. Something to re-invigorate the spirit, as it were. To inject some new energy into the bloodline - or inject something into somewhere, anyway.

And so the day came. It was another clear one, with icy air that could take off the top layer off your skin, and pale frost glimmering on the peaks above them that only turned the dirt inside the town walls to mud. And as the day turned into evening, after clouds had moved in from across the ridgeline, the evening sun painted the peaks orange - and heightening the darkness beneath the forest's branches.

Ollie's shift started at sundown, but he was there early. Anticipation was making his fingers tingle. Eventually, the last of the evening guards left, and as the night drew its cold cloak across the Bleakfells, Ollie stood alone in the shadow of the gatehouse*.

*(You may think that a kingdom would have more than one guard on its main gatehouse at night. You would, therefore, be thinking of a kingdom other than Vargr.)

It was a couple of hours before Mathew's dark shape moved out from the lights of the main street, and across the main courtyard. The castle keep was a disquieting black silhouette behind him - funny how not being able to see it made it look more imposing. Ollie turned sharply as Mathew drew close, leaning out into the light of a nearby torch. "Halt! Who go-"

Mathew jumped, lashing something out in front of him. It whipped Ollie's nose, and he recoiled, grasping at his face as a cloying, musky smell sent him almost doubling over.

"Oh, Ollie, Ollie I'm so sorry, I didn't expect you to do that and-"

"What the hell is in your hand?" Ollie said, turning away and taking in deep breaths to clear his head. Whatever it was, it felt like it was sticking to the side of his nostrils.

Mathew held up a rag. "It's, uh, a lure."

Ollie could already feel the smell curling around him again. He took a step back. "A lure? Why the hell would one of those wolves come anywhere near you with something like that?"

"Well, uh... it's..."

"What?"

"Well, I rubbed it... there. On Bess. You know. Down there."

Ollie stared at him. Realisation arrived slowly in his mind.

"Oh. Oh! Oh, gods, is that what it smells like?"

"Yeah, pretty good, right?"

Silence.

"...What?"

"What?"

"Look, Mathew, will you just get out there and get it? And quickly, it's gone midnight already. We need it in and out of here before daybreak."

"I know, I know. Just, lift the portcullis, will you?"

Ollie sighed. He leaned down, and lifted the wooden grating barring the entrance to the kingdom with one hand.

Mathew ducked underneath it, and then looked back at the lashed-together tree branches with a frown. "You know, we really should get a proper one of those at some point."

And then he was gone.

Ollie nodded to himself, turned on one heel, and marched smartly around the squat towers of the gatehouse. He climbed up, his armour clanking with each step, until he reached the top. There, in the middle of the battlements, he stood at ease.

Which was a curious turn of phrase, because he wasn't.

And he continued to not be as the night wore on. Stars slipped between wisps of cloud in a black sky, rising high and then sliding quietly towards the horizon once more. For an hour, a chill wind picked up and made the trees whisper unsettling rumours, and then eventually died down into a cold silence, and Ollie was not quite sure which was worse.

In these small hours of the morning, most of the torches of the town had been extinguished. The streets lay empty and draped with shadows.

He passed the time by slowly stripping himself of his armour. This was a plan that needed him to be unseen and unheard, and it didn't seem to Ollie that an ill-fitting breastplate and hand-me-down greaves would help with that. He left them arranged neatly against the crenelations, and stood instead with only his leather jerkin keeping him from the cold.

After a while, the eastern horizon gained a gentle hint of blue, and for a moment Ollie was terrified that dawn was coming early - only for a half moon to slowly crest the far ridge. He sighed, and looked down.

There was a black shape moving down the path to the gatehouse.

Ollie gripped his spear tighter. He turned sharply - caught one of his greaves with his foot - and winced as it fell over with a loud clatter.

The sound died down into an icy quiet.

A little calmer this time, he took one step at a time, edging his way down the stairs. At the bottom, he grabbed the torch that illuminated the archway and doused it in the bucket of water below. This time, he used the rope to raise the portcullis, and wrapped it around a peg sticking out of the wall to hold it open.

A few moments later, the vague shape of Mathew backed slowly through the entrance. Squinting, Ollie could just make out him holding the rag at arm's length. Beyond the gate was still darkness - the moon's light was slowly edging across the courtyard still, and hadn't quite reached the outside.

"Did you get one?" Ollie hissed.

Mathew's pale face seemed to shine in the darkness. "Oh yeah. I got one."

"Where is he?"

"...what do you mean, where is he?"

And that's when Ollie realised that the darkness outside the gatehouse had an edge to it. A specifically lupine-shaped edge. An edge he had to look up at.

"Oh..."

"Yeah..." Mathew said, voice trembling slightly.

Ollie was backing away now too. He hadn't decided to back away. He'd just done it, in the same way that you just breathe or you just run away screaming. It was an involuntary movement he had every support for.

The shape ducked under the archway of the gatehouse. There was the sound of two sniffs, one after another - not Bess' reedy sniffs, but like wind rushing through a doorway.

They backed further into the courtyard. "Hey, Mathew?"

"Yeah?"

"What's this?"

Mathew gestured with the rag. "What, ah, what you asked for. Right?"

Walking - no, not walking, this was a creature who stalked places - into the courtyard was a hulking beast. The weak moonlight highlighted muscles in the shadows in ragged fur, cast its ears - one half-missing, the other merely scarred - into the shape of gnarled horns. Its nose tested the air, following the scent of the rag, and then hunched over, dipping its head down to their eye level.

"Mathew..."

"Yeah, I, uh... I know I talk a lot of game, but..."

"Mathew... what did you do...?"

"Okay, so, you know those packs out there?"

"Yeah?"

"You know how I told you the other day there's this one lead pack that the others look up to?"

"Mathew, I didn't want a member of the lead pack, any of them would have done!"

"Uhhh... this isn't a member of the lead pack." Mathew took a deep breath. "This is, uh, the... alpha."

Ollie's heart caught in his mouth, which meant it was just a few inches away from going further up, wrapping its ventricles around the brain stem, and shaking what squidgy mass it could find shouting what is wrong with you!?

Ollie's face must have communicated a little of this, because Mathew had started gesturing with his free hand. "I didn't intend it to be him, he was just the first one to, uh, heed the call, as it were. I was hoping for one of his pack, you know, doing my best, but when he was the one that stepped over the bushes in front of me-"

"You mean 'Out of the bushes', right?"

"No."

"-Oh." A pause. The only sound was the rumbling breathing of the beast before them. It peered at them through the darkness; its warm breath billowed white clouds in the night air. "Mathew, he's, uh... he's twice as big as Bess..." Ollie muttered finally.

"Yeah, at least, at least."

"He's going to snap her in half, you know that, right?"

"Uh... she can take it."

"How do you know?"

"Hm? Oh. Um. Let's get him to the stables, shall we?"

Ollie swallowed. His throat was uncomfortably dry, despite the damp, heavy air. "Yeah. Yeah, let's try that..."

They continued walking backwards. The beast, this alpha, kept walking - its paws made dull, rumbling thumps against the cobbles. Ollie started to lower his spear, but paused, and then thought better of it.

They edged themselves down the main street. Buildings rose on either side. If it stood on its back legs, this creature would be able to peer right into the second floor - and probably find himself a nice snack if anyone slept a bit too close to the windows, Ollie found himself thinking, and then cursed his brain for its unhelpfulness.

They began to round the corner of the street. The beast stopped.

SNIFF. SNIFF.

Ollie looked at Mathew. Mathew held the rag out a bit further, giving it a lame wiggle.

SNIFF. SNIIIIFF...

The beast turned its great head. A barrel sat by the fishmongers on the corner. A huge nose pressed against its scratched sides.

SNIIIIIIIFF...

"Hey, Mathew, I think we-"

CRUNCH.

The beast had bitten the side of the barrel, and pulled away the splintering planks, letting them fall to the floor. Shards of wood clattered over the cobbles. Ollie gripped his spear in two hands as the beast grabbed the rest of the barrel in his jaws, lifted it effortlessly above his head, and emptied a small avalanche of fish into his open mouth.

They ran down his gullet in two easy gulps. He didn't chew once.

"That bastard..." Mathew muttered quietly.

Ollie nodded weakly.

"That barrel was there this morning! I knew ol' Robert was selling day-old fish!"

A window opened somewhere above them. Ollie's heart froze.

"Ey, what's going on?"

Oh fuck. Ollie gritted his teeth - well, maybe as long as he doesn't light a-

The warm glow of an oil lamp appeared through a window above the fishmonger's. The light caught the scruffy fur, gleamed off fangs longer than Ollie's feet, and shone in two deep yellow eyes - eyes that narrowed under a furrowed brow.

A deep snarl rumbled from the depths of the beast's stomach. It was the kind of snarl that you hear in a deep nightmare, that scatters the lesser horrors and jolts you awake, only to follow you around for days with the unshakeable fear that it might not be just your imagination.

And it definitely was not Ollie's imagination that slammed its paws down on the cobbles, sending stones flying, and headbutted the shop front.

Timbers snapped. Daub facing cracked and came off in great white sheets. The oil lamp span as it was flung from ol' Robert's grip, only to be followed by ol' Robert himself as he tumbled out the smashed window, and landed with a yelp amongst the rubble of his shop front.

A muzzle as big as he was dipped to the trembling shape on the ground. It parted; the flickering lamp a few paces away illuminated rows of teeth that gleamed with drool...

Another window opened. And another.

"What was that?"

"Has our Ross been at the ale again?"

"I bloody 'ope not! I've 'alf a mind to - oh bloody 'ell!"

More oil lamps flared. The scene, previously lit by the pale blue of the moon, was cast with an orange glow. And in the middle of it, the hulking black wolf reared back from ol' Robert among the rubble, and flung his head around to each new sound.

"Ollie, time for the backup plan," Mathew muttered, taking a step back.

"Yeah, that would be nice," said Ollie distantly, his spear wavering in front of him.

"...what do you mean, 'that would be nice'?"

More crashes of doors opening. Ollie's breath came in rapid spurts. Around him, lamp-wielding townsfolk were appearing, staring at the alpha while huddling beneath eaves, in a curious mix of ready-to-fight bravado and ready-to-leg-it-to-the-nearest-wall practicality.

Some of them had moved between the dire wolf and the gatehouse. A thin line of lamps, their light glinting off rusted daggers and old axes.

The beast had noticed this as well. It stared at the wall of iron and fire. It turned, facing Mathew and Ollie, and for a moment eyed the dancing spearhead.

And then turned towards the castle keep. The street there was dark.

Great paws broke the cobbles beneath them as it turned and lumbered towards the looming shape of the keep.

"Oh, bleeding hell..." Mathew muttered.

Ollie was running in seconds, on trembling legs that almost had him crashing into the blacksmith's on one side. Mathew was ahead of him, unencumbered by weapons, but had still chosen to not run any further forward than the tip of Ollie's spear.

"It's okay," said Ollie, watching the dark, lumbering shape, "the keep's main doors are locked every night by-"

There was a shattering of wood. Light tumbled out of the hole where there had just previously been solid oak doors. A dark shape disappeared into the keep.

They ran up to the rubble. Amongst the splintered planks lay a body, face down, a beam of wood laying across it. They stopped.

Mathew hesitated a step further back than Ollie. "Is... is she...?"

Ollie prodded it. It grunted, and one eye opened beneath a dented helmet.

"...wuh?"

"She's fine." Ollie muttered. "Mathew, how do we stop it!?"

"You know, it's spooky, I was going to ask you the same question."

"I'm not joking!"

"...wus' goin' on...?" came the guard's voice from somewhere below them.

There was another crash further on in the castle. A scream of surprise echoed off the dark stone walls.

Mathew pulled at his hair with both hands. "Surprisingly, neither am I. We have an alpha dire wolf the size of a house loose inside the keep."

"...we have a what!?"

"Yeah, I know!"

"We need to get him out of here before he starts eating royalty."

"Yes, yes! Just let me think for a second!"

Ollie span in a circle, tapping his spear against the floor. The layout of the castle flew through his mind. Behind them, there was the sound of rushing feet as the townsfolk neared.

"Is anyone going to help me up...?"

Hm. Would that... maybe...

"Alright," Ollie said, "alright, I think I have an idea."

"Is it a good one?"

"Yes-"

"I just ask, because your last one did cause the need for this one."

"Yes, alright, listen - the Solar is in the eastern tower, right? And it's got those big arching windows to let in the sun, right?"

"Uh-huh..."

"So - if we can push him towards there, he'll jump out the window and down to the courtyard. Then he'll probably just leave the town the same way he came in."

Mathew nodded his head slowly. There was another scream from inside. "Alright. Terrible plan. Best we've got. Let's try it."

They ran off down the corridor.

A piece of wood fell from a buckled hinge and bounced once on the floor.

"Oh, sure, don't worry about me, I'll take care of myself, just a couple of broken legs..."

***

The plan did not go well.

To be fair, it had started out fairly decently - or at least a lot more decently than any plan involving a dire wolf inside cramped corridors had any right to be. They'd found the trail of broken braziers and scattered suits of armour leading down the main entrance chambers, diagonally through the great hall (and the tables therein), and - in a stroke of luck - past the tower leading up to the royal bedchambers.

They'd eventually found it chewing on a statue down the south corridor. Granite crumbled from its jaws as it turned to face them.

In the light of a couple of still-lit torches hanging off their bent wall brackets, they had finally managed to get a much clearer look of the beast. Its coarse fur was a deep grey, like sheer rock cliffs of the Bleakfells, and topped with patches of dull brown and deep black running down its back and around its flank. Paler fur, like limestone, dusted its neck and chest, and patched the end of its muzzle. And behind it, its tail lashed back and forth, as black as the night it lurked in. Its legs, the fur growing steadily darker, ended in paws the size of small carts, and had jet-black claws that glinted in the torchlight.

Mathew had stood still, the blunt sword he'd grabbed from one of the suits of armour hanging limp in his grip. "Ohhhh..." he'd gasped, staring up at it. "Oh, you beauty. You absolute beauty."

Ollie stared at him.

"Look at you! Oh man, I've not seen a-"

"Mathew?"

Mathew turned his head slightly, but didn't look at Ollie. "Hmmm...?"

Ollie sighed, and held out the spear in one hand, and a torch he'd found in the other. "Just... let's try and move it, okay?"

Surprisingly, this was not where the plan went wrong. The wolf seemed to be perfectly happy crunching statues to pieces or ripping apart tapestries, but anything that moved and waved fire at it was obviously more hassle than it cared for. Ollie had not found himself as happy about this as he thought he would be. It had probably been because the wolf did not so much run from the fire and iron in fear, but rather gave the impression that it expected there'd be more snacks further along that weren't quite as prickly in the mouth. This, naturally, had presented the worry that it might change its mind if they took too long.

Another big worry was the rest of the keep. You can't have a dire wolf rampage through a castle and scare a few night maids and early-rising cooks half to death without waking up, well, everyone. And Ollie could already hear shouts from elsewhere in the keep - and they seemed to be getting closer.

When the wolf had reached the east tower, with its spiral steps leading up to the Solar, Ollie's heart had been beating so heavily he could barely hold his spear up. He'd nudged Mathew. "Alright. We're doing well. We just need to-"

And, of course, this was where the plan went wrong. Because instead of going up to the Solar, the beast had stopped, sniffed the air twice, and then started stalking down the spiral steps instead.

Ollie dropped his arms, letting the spear and torch dangle from his hands.

"Hey, Oll..." Mathew said. "What's down there again?"

"The dungeon."

"Ah. There's no other way out of the dungeon, is there?"

"Errrr..." Ollie said. "...no. No, there isn't."

"Right. So, recap here - alpha dire wolf, inside keep, in a dead end, probably about to get very angry about the dead end."

"With a pitchfork brigade about to give it something to take its anger out on."

"Mm. Yeah."

There was a pause. More sniffing echoed up the spiral staircase.

Ollie suddenly ran forwards.

"Er, hey - what?" said Mathew, somewhere behind him, as Ollie raced down the steps.

"I have a idea!" He shouted back up.

"Do you realise how not reassuring that is at this point!?"

Ollie vaulted down the stairs two at a time, and came to a stop in the doorway to the dungeon, which had apparently been unlocked, since it was not in splinters on the floor but just merely shouldered wide open.

Vargr's dungeon was not currently holding any people. This was, in fact, pretty much the norm for Vargr, which rarely had prisoners it needed to deal with - there was very little theft (no-one had anything worth stealing), practically no murder (no-one had a sharp enough knife), and zero prisoners of war (for reasons which should be obvious at this point). As such, the dungeon had turned into something of a storage room, and was scattered with crates, barrels, old carts, rusted armour, and several coils of rope and chains. And, now, one inquisitive dire wolf filling most of the room, and levering off the lid of a crate with a single paw. The scene was lit by Ollie's sole torch, which he gently placed on the stone floor; its sputtering flame sent the wolf's shadow dancing across the ceiling.

By the time Mathew had appeared at the door, Ollie already had a length of chain in one hand and was staring at the wolf.

"If I can get this chain round it, we can hold it in place."

Mathew stared at the chain, then the wolf, which had found something salted and edible in the crate. Mathew let out a long sigh. "You know what, at this point, fuck it. It's as good a plan as any."

Behind him, the shouts of the kingdom's soldiers were getting closer. Metal clanking echoed off the walls.

Ollie slid the end of the chain through an iron loop hammered into the wall next to the door, grabbed Mathew's sword from his unresisting hand, and stuck the blade through the last link to secure it. Then, he grabbed the other end of the chain, found a long, rusted knife in a nearby pile of old weapons, and glared at the wolf's nearest back leg.

He stepped forwards, measuring his breaths. The wolf was preoccupied with whatever it was eating. A bone snapped between its jaws like a twig.

Ollie crouched by the wolf's back paw, and pulled the chain around it. A few links rested on the dull black fur - the paw twitched, and Ollie let out a squeak - but the noisy chewing continued unabated.

Ollie breathed out. He pulled the chain around the paw, made it tight enough so that it couldn't just pull its paw back through... and then pulled it just that bit tighter, and in the same motion, jammed the knife through the links to secure the loop. In a finishing flourish, he bent the blade, holding the links together.

He jumped back, and looked up.

The wolf was glaring at him with a piercing yellow gaze. Ollie smiled weakly.

It turned its head down to stare at the chain.

It looked up at Ollie again. Ollie resisted giving a little wave.

The wolf half-turned, and lowered its muzzle - warm breath, heavy with the smell of half-rotten fish and salted beef, rolled over him. Teeth flashed past his eyes, and great jaws closed over the chain. Muscles bunched up in its neck, legs twitched - and it yanked at the chain.

The links clanked against one another, holding strong, the chain taut. The wall, however, was not quite so well made.

The block of stone the chain was fixed to cracked, and then was pulled free in an explosion of rock and mortar. The blocks around it tumbled, and Ollie caught a brief view of Mathew flinching, hands raised, before the doorway - and the corridor beyond - collapsed in a shower of stone and dust.

Rumbling echoes of collapsing masonry were muffled by the rubble piled in front of what used to be the doorway.

Ollie was on the floor, one arm over his head, staring across at the billowing dust. Cracks ran right the way up the wall where the stones had been disturbed. His heart pounded, becoming the only thing he could hear. For a moment, the wolf was far from his mind.

A muffled groan rose from behind the pile of rock.

"You know what...?" came Mathew's voice, "You're not allowed to have ideas anymore."

Ollie's heart skipped a beat. He scrambled forward, pulling himself up with the stones. "Mathew! Mathew, are you okay!?"

"Yeah, I'm... urgh. That's probably a broken rib. And a - ow, hell of a bang on the head. So... bad, but not awful." There was a clattering of smaller stones. "I can get up, at least. Legs seem alright... oh. Hey. Looks like your idea did something else too."

Ollie was staring at the stones. He wanted to test them, see if he could pull any out to try and get to Mathew, but at this point he was terrified to try. "What?"

"The staircase has fallen in too. I can't get to you, but no-one up there can get down to me."

Ollie sat back slowly. A warmth spread down his spine. "That's... not a good thing, is it?"

"You know, I don't think I ever said it was."

Ollie froze. Hang on. It wasn't warmth that spread down your spine at times like these, was it? It was a chill. He was sure of it. So why did...?

"Hey," Mathew said, "what about the alpha? Is he...?"

Ollie looked up.

The alpha stared down at him. Its yellow irises bored into him, glinting in the firelight, and turning a dark bronze with the shadow of his brow. Black lips, glistening with drool, curled back over pale teeth, gritted together and shining like daggers in the night. It growled at him - a deep, guttural sound that rumbled from the belly, and made nearby pieces of rusty armour vibrate.

A glob of drool landed on his cheek. The teeth parted just a tiny bit, and Ollie's heart skipped a beat, only to suddenly slam into overdrive.

Ollie shoved himself forwards, rolling onto his back and scrabbling back towards the pile of rubble. "Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohf-"

"Ollie! Ollie!! Ollie, listen to me!"

A gigantic paw pressed down where his legs had been a moment before. A nose the size of a dinner plate followed him, sniffing. "Mathew, he's right here Mathew! Oh gods, oh fuck...!"

"Ollie! Look, how about, we try one of my ideas for once."

"What!?"

"Ollie, I like you, but so far your ideas have been awful. And let's face it, I don't think you have a choice, do you?"

"No, no, I don't, what is it!?"

A stone dislodged itself and clattered to the floor. A hand, smeared with dust, stuck through the gap, and waved something right next to Ollie.

It was the rag from before. The lure.

"Mathew, getthatawayfromme! I don't want him coming closer!!" Ollie's back pressed up against the wall.

"Ollie, for the sake of the gods, grab it and shove it into his nose!"

The alpha pulled its head back, nose twitching. Its eyes flicked between the rag and Ollie. Its teeth slowly parted, revealing pink flesh beyond, and the darkness at the back of the immense jaws. The growl was loud, echoing, like the promise of lightning.

Ollie grabbed the rag, and closing one eye, he lunged forwards and pressed it against the alpha's nose. It recoiled a foot, but Ollie kept with it. The wolf sniffed twice - the rushing air against Ollie's hand was cold, and the rag flapped in the air flow.

And the growling stopped.

Or, rather, it changed. It was no longer the hungry, angry growl of before, but something more consistent, almost... distracted. The eyes softened, unfocused, staring at nothing. In the darkness beyond, the tail flicked back and forth. Ollie took a few shaky breaths.

"Hey, Ollie? ...You still alive in there?"

"I... think so."

"Oh thank goodness."

From beyond the rubble, there came the sound of more shouts, but more muffled than before. "Oh hell," Mathew muttered, "looks like they finally got their act together out there."

Ollie stared at the gigantic wolf temporarily subdued in front of him. "How... how long do you think this will work?"

"A few minutes, maybe, before he gets used to the smell."

Ollie felt around with his free hand. After a few pats of the ground, his fingers met cold steel. The blade of the sword scraped against the floor as he picked it up.

"Ollie...?" came Mathew's voice, suddenly shaky. "Ollie, what are you doing?"

"I'm going to stab him," Ollie said, working out if he could quite reach the neck from this position. The nose shifted under his hand, making his heart skip a beat.

"What? No, nonono!" Mathew's pale face peered through the hole he'd previously stuck his hand through. "You can't do that!"

"Why not?"

"He's beautiful!"

"He's going to eat me."

"Only if you let him!"

"Yes! And this is me, not letting him! Stab stab, no more letting!"

"Ollie, what did we just establish about your ideas?"

"Mathew, I'm a soldier. I stab things and I guard the kingdom."

"You literally brought one of the biggest threats to the kingdom through the gates half an hour ago. You're a terrible soldier. And anyway, you couldn't get that sword through a mackerel, let alone a dire wolf's hide."

"Have you got a better idea?"

"Yes, actually. And what's more, it'll do the original plan, too."

Ollie glanced at the rubble out of the corner of his eye. "How the hell are you planning to do that? We can't get him up those steps - even without the rubble, half the kingdom is in the way."

"We don't need to. Listen... you're gonna think it's a weird one. But stick with me here." A slow breath. “I'm going to need your help."

The alpha twitched its head. Fear shot through Ollie, and he had to press forwards to keep the rag on its nose. "You know what, I'll do it, I'll do it! What do I do?"

"Right. First things first, find a bucket."

Ollie scanned the room. "...Alright, yeah, I can see one."

"Great. Now, here's where you're gonna find it weird. Leave the rag draped over his nose. That'll give you a moment to get the bucket, and get around to his rear."

Ollie took a few shaky breaths, then - making sure the rag was going to stay in place over the nose for a while - he pulled his hand away, and gingerly stood up.

The wolf remained in place. It lifted its head slowly, eyes glazed over in the firelight.

Ollie edged around it, retrieving the small wooden bucket he'd see before. The wolf's flank was at eye height - he barely had to duck to look beneath it, and between the legs. A smell of musk, at the edge of his perception, seemed to be guiding him in.

He squinted.

“You mean… get around to this?"

“From the tone of your voice, I'm going to say 'probably'."

"...What am I looking at?"

"Haven't been around wolves much, eh?"

"Only Bess."

"Mmmm-hm. So, wolves are a bit different to us. They've got this thing called a sheath which protects the... y'know. The cock."

Ollie shifted uncomfortably. "I thought that was their... cock."

"Well, this can be a learning experience for you. I'm guessing he's peeking?"

"He's what?"

"...Describe it to me."

Ollie crouched down. The sheath was this length of coarse, black fur that hung beneath the wolf, coming out from between its thighs. It was about two hand-lengths long, hanging lower at the front, and bulging all the way down it. The wolf's balls hung behind it, nestled between the longer fur of the hind legs - they, at least, looked fairly normal to Ollie, aside from their sheer size. At the other end of the sheath, however, was something very different; sticking out of the fur and glistening in the torchlight was a shiny red tip of flesh.

"Yeah, he's peeking," Mathew said, when Ollie relayed this to him. "So, get that bucket and put it under him."

"Is he gonna... just... fill it up himself?"

"Ah-hah hah. Ah. No. No, you're going to help him."

There was a silence, broken only by the grunts of the alpha.

"What-"

"Look, it's really easy. Just-"

There was a muffled clatter of masonry. The distant shouts of the townsfolk got louder. The alpha lifted its head - the rag tumbled from its nose.

"Ah, fuck - listen, Ollie, just get to work! I'll get back to you- yes, hello, I'm here! Yes, Captain Sloane! Hello there! No no, keep that stone there, I think it's supporting the ceiling, ah..."

One of the wolf's paws shifted. The growl was starting up again. Ollie stared at the rubble of the doorway, then the rag lying on the ground, then the shaft that twitched as he watched it...

Well, what did he have to lose? Or, rather... what would he definitely lose otherwise?

And so, he wrapped one hand around the tip of the wolf's cock. His fingers barely met around the other side.

The wolf's demeanour changed immediately. A snarl had been building as it pulled itself from the stupor of the rag's scent - but the moment Ollie touched the shaft, it hunched over, its belly twitched with an intake of breath. Claws tapped against the floor as the paws bunched. Well - that was probably a good sign...?

He slid his hand back and forth over the cock. It was wet - more so than he'd been expecting, the damp clinging to his fingers. But it at least made it easy to rub, the flesh soft under his fingers - yet not quite as flexible as he'd though, as if there was some bone inside holding its shape. Ollie pushed at the sheath, and it slid easily back over the length, revealing more of the shaft still hiding inside. He moved his hand again, but the sheath stayed where it was, leaving more of the length exposed. How much more was there...?

He leaned closer, pressing down with his fingers on the meaty length. It was this pale rose colour, and beyond the tip, marbled with meandering veins beneath the surface, which seemed to grow more prominent as his fingers pressed against them. And it was warm, too, heat radiating off it - Ollie swore he saw the air shimmer above it.

The wolf twitched again, and the shaft danced in front of his eyes, flicking a few droplets of liquid into Ollie's face. Ollie flinched in surprise - the smell he'd been ignoring all this time was suddenly much more prominent. It was like the scent that had been on the rag - musky, heavy, and as if it clung to the inside of the nose. But there was a trembling excitement in that scent, too - it made Ollie's breath catch in his throat. It was a scent that could carry instinct and intention with it, and this instinct was very, very clear.

He returned his attention to the tip, where the shaft tapered quickly to a point that protruded along its underside, and shone with a bead of liquid. He slid his fingers around the crown - only to find that his tips no longer reached. It was... bigger. And firmer, too, under his grip. The muffled words of Mathew desperately trying to get the townsfolk to not come any closer were becoming masked by the heavy panting of the alpha - but even that was becoming second to a deep thump-thump-thump; the wolf's heartbeat, resounding through that huge chest, and pounding in Ollie's ears. Each time it did, the shaft under his fingers pulsed with the blood flow, swelling that little bit bigger. Oh gods - it was still growing, and showing no signs of stopping.

The wolf thrust forward, making Ollie jerk backwards in surprise - there was no warning, just a scraping of claws against stone. Clear liquid spurted from the tip, splattering over the floor - Ollie hastily shoved the bucket over to catch some of it. His other hand held the wolf's cock, which jumped in his grip, swelling once more under his fingers.

More of the liquid was dribbling from the tip, coming out in long, thin strands. He angled the shaft so that they would land in the bucket, then continued his rubbing of the shaft. Was it still growing, even now...?

"Hey!" Mathew's voice was a hoarse stage whisper. "Are you done in there yet?"

Ollie watched as a couple more strands fell into the bucket. It had almost pooled entirely around the bottom. He told Mathew this.

"Alright, alright - wait, is it white?"

"No, it's clear."

"Oh, come on, Ollie, that's not cum, you should know that! Look, I'm guessing his knot isn't out yet?"

"His what now?"

"His- ...okay, so, dire wolves only climax when they're inside the female. You gotta make his body think that that's happening. So, get your hand as far back as possible, and start rubbing."

"Sounds... easy enough..."

"Yeah. Well, things are gonna start to swell when you do that."

"Oh, it's already swelling."

There was a dismissive laugh, cut-off half-way through. "Ah... not really. You know what? You'll figure it out. Just catch as much of it as you can, alright? And like, quickly, I don't know how long I can hold them off-"

"Oh, you want it done quickly!?" Ollie gasped - on cue, the wolf growled again, the guttural sound echoing off the cold floor. "I'm the one in danger of getting ripped to shreds!" he continued, in a little more of a whisper now.

"They don't usually do that if- I- I mean, yeah, you're right, I mean, uh, I'm- oh, dammit - no, I said not to move that one! Yes, I know it looks okay, but, ah, there's this support beam on this side..."

Ollie's hands shook as he slid his fingers beneath the end of the sheath - it was hot inside, almost slimy beneath the fur.

"No, no, just stay there, it's... fine..."

Mathew's voice faded beneath a snarl from the wolf. Its head swung around, its brow casting deep shadows across its face.

"Nonono, it's okay, I'm-" Ollie pressed his fingers into the shaft, sliding them up and down the hot, twitching length. "I'm doing it, I'm doing it... good boy, good boy..."

His fingers pressed further down the shaft. It had been getting thinner, but suddenly that changed - it got thicker again, just a little bit. Was that the base? He eased the sheath further back, flinching as the wolf thrust forwards in response, but not losing his grip this time. Clear liquid once again splattered over his leg. Come on, good boy, good...

There. Behind the thicker bit, it began to taper. That felt like a base - it was certainly close enough to his underside...

And it meant the shaft was certainly long enough. It was longer than his forearm at this point. He eased the sheath back over the thick bit, the fur sliding slowly over hard nubs in the flesh. When enough of the cock was exposed, Ollie wrapped his fingers around the thinner base-

SLAM. The wolf thrust forwards, the hips almost hitting Ollie in the head. Claws screeched as they dug into the ground, and a snarl cut through the air like a non-Vargrian blade. Ollie yelped in a mix of surprise and terror, gripping the shaft harder out of pure instinct - only making the wolf twitch and jerk, hips trembling, thigh muscles bunching around him. One leg kicked backwards, sending a crate flying across the room.

Those hips surged forwards once more. But, unlike the jerking thrust, this was a long, powerful press, vibrating with need. The shaft jumped in his hands - a sharp jolt that almost unbalanced Ollie, who gripped harder to it to keep from falling. A jet of pale white liquid erupted from the tip, the long rope splattering right down Ollie's arm and making a splash as it hit the floor several paces away.

Ollie gritted his teeth in fear and exertion. He pulled the dancing cock downwards, edging the bucket further forwards with one knee, catching the cum as the spurt died down, and several large globs oozed from the swelling tip of the cock.

It happened again. Another long, hungry thrust, another rope of cum spurting from the tip. As it did, those hips shuddered, the wolf's claws tapping staccato beats into the stonework. This time, the shaft hit Ollie in the face as it jerked, and he reeled in surprise - cum splashed over his legs, and he scrambled to hold it still. He got another grip on the wet shaft, and heaved it down.

A third spurt jerked him back, but he just had enough grip now; most of the cum splattered into the bucket, making it tilt briefly to one side before clattering noisily back onto its base. His arms ached, wrapped as they were around the shaft, muscles straining from the effort. Sweat was running down his face - at least, he was tasting salt in his mouth, and he hoped it was sweat.

And the shaft was swelling. Mathew had been right - what was before was nothing. His fingers lost their grip on the expanding shaft, the tip becoming a deep rosy red as veins rose and darkened along the length. And beneath the fingers that held the base, something even stranger - that thicker part, the vague nubs of something, had begun to grow with an unbelievable, gratuitous speed. Clutching the shaft to his breast, Ollie watched in fascinated horror as it swelled, far thicker than the shaft, than his arm, than his leg. A bulging mass of flesh, deep red with criss-crossing veins - Ollie could see the wolf's heartbeat in its twitching and pulsating. His hand caressed it - it was firm, with almost no give under his fingers, and hot.

Another spurt. And another. Each one was punctuated by an insistent press forward, a strangled snarl of need and lust, and a shuddering that started in the paws and rippled up through the wolf's hindquarters. Ollie grabbed just forwards of this new swelling, where the cock was briefly thinner - he was barely able to get his fingers half way around it - and he angled the spurts directly into the bucket. Each one made a thick gloop-ing sound as it landed into the steadily growing amount.

"Oh yeah..." Mathew's voice carried across the wolf's snarls. "Don't forget the balls. Get a hand just above them, rub just there..."

Ollie swapped hands, keeping the shaft pointed downwards with his grip around the thin base, and with his other hand, he reached further up. The balls were heavy, and took effort to push aside - they felt higher now than they had been before, as if they'd been drawn up into the body. He slid his fingers past them and above them, feeling the thick fur between the balls and the tail, and pressed down.

The wolf growled again - but it wasn't an exasperated grunt, nor a needy snarl, but like a long and contented sigh. The shaft jerked twice, and cum flowed like a light stream - not quite spurting anymore, just dribbling right into the bucket. Bubbles appeared and popped where it ran from the tip.

A wet warmth suddenly spread over Ollie's leg. He looked down, and made a sort of strangled grunt - the bucket had overflowed. A small waterfall of thick, gloopy cum coated his knee.

He let go of the shaft, and the little spot behind the balls, and half-fell backwards, catching himself on his damp hands. In front of him, the shaft jumped, sending another few white spurts across the floor - and his leg again. The growl rose and fell with each one.

Ollie's hand slipped against the stone floor. He was covered in sweat.

"Oh wow."

Ollie lolled his head to the side to the source of the voice. Mathew was gently easing a stone to one side - the gap was just wide enough now to accommodate the bucket.

"Seriously, well done, man. That was... quite something. Careful now, they usually fall asleep at this point. And when I say fall, I mean-"

The wolf groaned. It was a deep sound, rumbling between the fangs of a half-open mouth pressed into the floor. Its body rocked like Vargr's keep in a particularly stiff breeze - Ollie grabbed the bucket and pulled it to one side with him before the entire black-furred mass toppled in the other direction, and crashed to the ground. Splinters of crates rose like a dust cloud.

"Is everything okay down there?" came a voice echoing from above. "Is our Oll' alright?"

Mathew stuck his hand through the gap. "Come on, come on, quickly! That's only going to remain potent for about an hour tops, I need to get it to Bess now."

Ollie nodded. He felt like he should be saying something, and words were definitely arriving in his brain, but they sort of just tumbled away whenever he tried to grasp them.

He'd just jerked off a dire wolf. Something like that tended to push most other thoughts away, it appeared.

"Ollie! Come on!"

Ollie pushed himself to his feet, picking up the bucket - or at least, trying to. His first attempt only nudged it, sending cum slopping over the side. He leaned down again, gripped the handle with both hands, and heaved it up. Cum dribbled onto his foot. He staggered over to Mathew, and balanced it in the opening. A hand grasped the other side.

Two eyes appeared over the rim. "Er..." said Mathew, "...can you get me a blanket or something as well?"

Olliie found a blanket and draped it over the bucket. A moment later it was pulled through.

"Oh, gods." Mathew said, with the air of someone who'd just picked something much heavier than he'd been expecting up.

"How're you going to do it, anyway?" Ollie said, peering through the hole. He found his voice had a distant quality to it. "Y'know... make sure Bess get's... y'know?"

Mathew paused. "Oh, I'll... get it in there," he said, not quite turning around. “...I'll figure out a way..."

"Don't worry, lads!" came an unsettlingly familiar voice from beyond him.. "We're pullin' out the last one now!"

A hole opened up, and the light of several torches made dancing shadows on the dust-covered steps of the spiral staircase. And like that, Mathew was gone - and the shadows of several people appeared in his place.

Ollie shunted a stone over the hole, and turned back around.

It was now that he realised he was standing right by the wolf's head. It was watching him with one lidded eye. Slowly, it rose - and stared at him from just an arm's length away.

Warm breath rolled across Ollie's face, its all-too familiar scent catching in his nose. Yellow eyes narrowed.

Alright then...

So. He was still in the dungeon. He still had the alpha dire wolf in front of him, somewhat satisfied - for now, at least, and even then only sexually. Mathew had gone. He had no way out, other than through several soldiers - including his mother - which were also trying to get to him. He also reeked of musk, was half-covered in wolf semen, and - just checking - yes, that bulging pink shaft still lay across the floor in a slowly expanding pool of dribbling cum.

There was more shouting from the corridor, and the scrape of stones being pulled away.

The wolf's brow furrowed. Its eyes flicked to the rubble, and then back to Ollie. Fangs gleamed in the torchlight like knives in a dark alleyway. A growl rippled through the room, up Ollie's legs, and echoed deep in his mind.

"Alright..." he muttered, "I've got an idea..."

The End