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I catch the scent on the wind, and I roar.

The responding roar sounds in the distance and I run. The intonation matches the scent. He is ready. The landscape flies by as I keep my nose to the scent, letting it drive my excitement. It has been building for a time now, as the females' scent change with the season. They affect me, but don't trigger a desire for them. It is a different scent that drives me.

I come to a stop as I crest the hill, claws digging into the dirt and grass. He is there, majestic, golden fur shining in the sun as he snarls at the interlopers. There are many pacing around him, all excited, all wanting him.

I roar, getting their attention. He is mine, and I fight them for him. I swat at them, baring claws only when one does first. This isn't to the death, I only want them to leave, and if it means I have to bloody them to make them understand, so be it.

Finally they leave, with whines of protest. They still want him, but I am the strongest here and I hiss at their departing tails.

I approach him, his scent is rich, heady, needy. He butts his head against my shoulder, licks one of the cuts I acquired in fighting for my right to him. I nip at him, shoulder him, circle him, sniffing him.

Oh, he is ready, but he won't make it easy on me, it isn't how we are. He turns to face me, scenting the air, and I rush behind him, try to climbs on top of him, but he whirls, bats at me, claws sheathed.

We play this game for a time, his scent telling me he wants me as badly as I do him, but his actions forcing me to wait, making him want him more.

And then I have him on his side, and as he straightens, I am on top of him, teeth in the fur at the back of his neck, humping wildly, feeling for the entrance. There, I feel myself sink in, his heat.

But he growls. Not at me, at what I'm doing. There is an intruder. I bit harder, trying to get him to ignore them as I want him too much more, more than I have ever wanted any of my kind before. I need to be in him.

He growls again and the time I catch the scent, and while it makes me want him more, the alienness of it scares me and I dismount.

The cold air on my member reminds me what I've stopped doing and I turn to go back to it, but my mate is backing away, belly to the ground, whining in fear.

Fear!

I am angry. I turn to the intruder and roar. I am Flesh Render; I am the hunter of the cold plains. I will not be denied what I fought for.

The intruder's scent is male. I don't understand how it can be, but I know that he is more male than I am. Then I could ever be. It says that I should submit to its potency, turn and offer myself to it.

I hiss at it, at him. I am the hunter, not the prey. He is the prey, with his lanky body and the grass eater's antlers on top his head. I do not care that he is taller than I am, that his forepaws reach for me instead of supporting his body. I do not care for the hardness between his legs emanating the male scent.

I run and jump, my fangs dig in his neck and I taste blood, rich blood, male blood. My blood heats up in response as my claws find purchase in his skin and rake.

I want.

I need.

I can feel my hardness grow.

I am Male.

He fights me, but like a grass eater, trying to shake me off, but my fangs are in. I am drinking him. Getting stronger as his throws become weaker, panicked.

He lets out sounds and I understand them to ask for pity, that he wants to share, not take. That he--

I don't care.

I can't roar without letting go of him, so I bite down harder, I feel bone under my claws. I feel the ground against my side, and still I don't let go. For interfering in my pleasure, he will be my meal. I will regain my strength from his flesh and then I will go hunt my mate again. I will find him and I will claim him.

This time there will be no game, no play at denial. He will feel my virility as I approach and he will offer himself to me.

My prey is still under me. His blood no longer flows into my mouth, down my throat. He put up a valiant fight, but I am the victor. I am the one who will feed.

I wait, not letting go. Some of the grass eaters are clever, not more than I, but enough they will act dead in the hopes I will let them go.

This one isn't acting.

I let go, back away to admire my kill. I lip my maw, taste the blood there and feel the energy in it. I take another step back in surprise as my kill fades away.

Where did it flee to? I wonder for a moment, before the answer comes. He didn't flee; I ate him. Even without rending his flesh, I still ate him, somehow.

Perplexed, I stand.

And stand.

And stand.

I look down; I stand on my hind paws, and I know I will not fall. Between my legs is my hardness, but so much larger, so much more potent. I am so much more than I was.

I lift my head to the sky to let the world know who I am, and double over, hacking and coughing.

There is something in me, caught and needing to escape. Something born of what I did. Something that doesn't belong with me, something wrong, alien, contrary.

I finally hack it out, and I breathe. I am on all four, as I used to be, but there is a wrongness to being in this position now. I stand. This feel better. It frees my forepaws to do... I don't know what, although I can see myself reaching between a male's legs, stroking their hardness, feeding on what they feel from that.

The thing on the ground calls to my attention by how wrong it feels. I look at it, canting my head this way and that, stepping around it. What it is comes to me in a flash.

A fang. One of my fangs, and I touch my muzzle to check. No, I still have them, and yet, it is mine. My hand follows my face up and feels the antlers on top of my head. There is an instant of wrongness at feeling them there, then I can't understand why I felt that way. Of course I have antlers. They are another demonstration of my maleness, of my strength, as my fangs are.

I am...

I am lust.

I am virility.

I am the life that courses through men with their blood.

But who am I?

I look at the lone fang on the ground. It is the fang that bit into my neck, that allowed my blood to flow into me. That ended me and allowed me to come into being.

The fang is who I was. It is...

Who I was.

And I wonder, for an instant, what did getting this strength, this power cost me.

* * * * *

I woke with a start, my breath catching. What the fuck was that? I wondered as the memory of the dream stayed with me. The sex part of the dream was definitely in par for me, but the rest? That had been beyond weird.

To get my mind off it, I rolled on my side and reached around the armadillo to stroke his already hard cock. With a sigh he turned to face me, but didn't open his eyes. I wasn't sure he even woke up as he pushed me on stomach and mounted me.

I buried my muzzle in the pillow to muffle my moan. I didn't want to wake William. The wolf had to work in the morning.

Colby bottomed out and I couldn't stop the grunt of pleasure. He bit on my neck and I had a flash of the dream, biting the other Sabertooth cat's neck as I tried to enter him.

The armadillo pulled out and slammed back in and my grunt was louder. He did it again, settling into the rhythm, slow, but forceful. I bit the pillow to keep from moaning out loud. Colby certainly knew how to treat my ass.

I gasped in surprise at the slick hand that closed around my shaft. William sleepily grinned at me, a bottle of lube in his other hand, before leaning forward to kiss me.

Humping his hand was a natural motion with being fucked, and it was much more comfortable than humping the sheets. The kiss ended with him falling back asleep, and his hand slackened, but I kept thrusting against it until I came with a grunt. With my ass spasming on Colby's cock, he came too, slowing and becoming still on top of me.

I rolled my eyes. This was what I got for initiating sex with sleeping guys. I forced Colby off me, then got up. William's hand tightened in my cock, but it will too slick to hold me. I wiped myself clean then dropped a clean cloth on his hand. Colby could handle himself.

I took my phone off the stand and looked at the time. Too fucking early O'clock. How was it that after almost two years without having to get up at any hour of the night because dispatch called me in, I was still unable to fall back to sleep once I was awake?

Okay, the sex hadn't helped tire me, it never did.

I cross the bedroom to the door that had used to lead to the walk-in closet. It was closed, because last night had been noisy and I didn't want my sex to keep Eddy awake. He was a growing boy, and needed his sleep, if I didn't.

His crib was against the wall, with the changing and feeding station next to it. A wardrobe with all the things needed to take care of a healthy boy was opposite those and the door leading to Lorraine's bedroom was partially opened. She hadn't expressed the resentment I expected at losing her walk-in closet. I had a misrepresentation of what women needed, it seemed.

"Hey, buddy," I whispered. He was growing so quickly, after a year and a half, he was getting to the point I'd have to turn the crib into an actual bed. "Are you sleeping okay?" He was on his back, smiling, ears twitching. I pulled his yellow blanket to his neck. "I bet you aren't bothered by weird dreams."

I wanted to pick him up, sit and hold him, but there would be time for that before I left for the office. Plenty of time for that, it looked like, and Eddy would wake up, eventually. He'd demand breakfast by five, and Lorraine would bring him down after that.

She kept complaining that Eddy was an early riser.

He kissed his finger and pressed it to Eddy's forehead before straightening and heading to his bedroom. William was pressed against Colby and based on the moaning might be fucking him. We were a bad influence on the wolf--or a great one--according to him.

I walked by my office, and the weight room on the way to the stairs, then retraced my steps to the office, grabbing the three coffee cups there. The screen turned on as it sensed my presence and I caught sight of the 24h news, the woman behind the desk talking silently. The scroll at the bottom read 'Violence escalates in South Africa.'

I cursed as I left the room, cups in hand. Once they were in the dishwasher and the coffee machine was going, I sent a message to Frank. 'Are the Adesida okay? Were they the target of the attack?'

'Probably,' came the response, 'it was a Gray Church attack after all. But I didn't hear from them, so they're fine. They know they can come to Kenya if they need protection. Dad has opened the borders to anyone that's been targeted by the church, Society or not. How are things in the US?'

'Much the same.' I grabbed the hot cup. 'Someone from the church is on the news daily to proclaim the wrong that is homosexuality. Two churches were bombs in the city last week. Looking into who did it. Arnold claims it isn't him, and I'm inclined to believe him, so my suspicion is the church did it to stir the pot.'

'You mean Damian.'

'Not personally, but yeah. Has there been any sighting of the tiger?'

'Not recently. Last sighting was in Rome, seven months ago.'

'Are the Del Carlos talking?'

'They said the pope was fine, but he cut contact with them after the attack and still hasn't reestablished it.'

I took a long drink. That wasn't good. 'Is there a sense he's blaming us? I mean gays.' As far as I knew the pope wasn't aware of the Society, or the Gray Church. The Del Carlos had had good relationships with him, as a proper Christian family and supporter of the church, but that he wouldn't talk to them didn't bode well. They hadn't hidden they were a gay family.

'Keep me in the loop, I'll test Arnold's mood later today.' How pissed Arnold was when talking to me was a good indication of how well the 'war' was going. The news hadn't taken to calling it that yet, but that was because of the pressure various families in positions of influence were putting on them to keep the word out of the broadcasts. It was only a question of time before they slipped the reign, Arnold had ranted the last time we spoke.

Stuff like that was one of the reason why I was happy to stay out of it, let Arnold deal with his uncle's war. I would focus on making sure Denver kept standing. And that meant stopping the church attacks here.

He slotted his phone in the table and brought up news feeds. Maybe the reporters had uncovered something his teams hadn't on the church attacks.