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Lykos - Wild Things

Chapter 01 - Into the woods

The first thing he saw was the darkness.

It enveloped him and his belongings, scattered all around the hole he had fallen into, like a quiet yet menacing beast with countless tentacles. The only consolation was that it wasn't complete: he could still recognize the basic outline of the surroundings, thanks to a diffuse milky glow giving the place an eerie, otherworldly atmosphere. It took him a couple of seconds to understand where the pale luminescence was coming from: the Moon - that had been at the full just two days before - was hovering behind the foliage of the tree overlooking the hole.

The first thing he heard was the silence.

It was so total and so thick that feeling it pressing against his eardrums was almost painful. He had never experienced such a calmness in his entire life, a tranquility so overwhelming he could hear the beating of his heart rumbling in his brain like a thunderstorm, and his fast, uneven breaths blowing like gusts of wind. He had come to those woods especially because he had wanted to immerse himself into a quietness like that... Too bad he wasn't in the position to appreciate it.

The first thing he felt was the pain.

It cancelled both the darkness, filling his eyes with burning white, and the silence, when a cry of pain escaped from his cracked lips; and then another, and then another. He cried with all his might, all the air in his lungs, all the sheer force of desperation and all the already dwindling strength of his body. He cried trying to get help, he cried trying to be heard by someone. Most of all, he cried trying to expel the pain from his body as if it was a venomous pus. But to no avail: no one heard him, no one came to his rescue. And the pain was still radiating from his broken right leg, spreading fire in his bones and clouding his thoughts. It was as if the fox burrow that had captured and broken his limb had been occupied and the pain was sinking its pointy fangs into his flesh.

With trembling fingers, he managed to extract the cellphone from the pocket of his sleeveless jacket and stared at the screen with watery eyes: the good news was that it wasn't broken. The bad news was that there was no signal whatsoever. "D-damn..." he managed to whisper through gritted teeth.

What did you expect, really?, his brain mused in a somber tone. You're in the middle of fucking nowhere, in case you forgot.

The young man had decided to go camping all by himself on a capricious whim; he wanted to be away from his home, his family, his friends and society at large, at least for the duration of a weekend: he wanted, in other words, some time and place for himself and himself only. He wanted to experience the uncontaminated nature without anyone around, and live in the simplest, most innocent way possible, at least for a handful of days. He had found the perfect wooden area, had prepared a backpack with everything that he had thought could've been useful to survive for a couple of days in the wild, had told everyone he knew not to try and contact or bother him until the following Thursday, and had finally left civilization behind him, feeling uplifted and happier than he had been in month.

He had somehow lost the path less than thirty minutes later, and had walked tirelessly for hours trying to find a route or any sign of human presence whatsoever, but to no avail. In the end, when he had noticed with growing anxiety that evening had been starting to fall over the woods, he had resorted to running in a random direction, screaming at the top of his lungs...

He hadn't seen the depression in the ground until it was too late. The sound of his leg breaking had echoed as clearly as a shotgun blow in the peaceful forest, causing a flock of birds to flying away from a nearby tree; their peeved chirps had been the last thing he had heard, before the pain and the shock had made him lose consciousness.

The young man tossed the cell phone aside with a groan. "Am I... going to die?" he asked in a pitiful tone to nobody in particular.

And then, a response came.

"Maybe."

The camper's eyes went wide, and he started to turn his head around frantically. "Who said that?" he screamed, his voice hoarse and raspy. "Where are you?"

"I mean, it's August, so you certainly won't die of cold... Hunger will probably get you first. Or thirst, if it doesn't rain in the meantime," the voice replied in a cheerful tone. It unmistakably belonged to a young man, probably a couple of years younger than he was.

"W-what?!" the camper whispered, incredulous. "What are you... talking about?" Pain buried his unforgiving claws in his leg, making him scream again.

"Uh, and that's a bad break you've got there! Scratch what I've said before, maybe you're suffering from internal hemorrhage as we're speaking. Or you could get killed by a good old blood infection, who knows!" the mysterious stranger went on. He sounded happier and happier by the second.

The young man felt cold, salty tears trickling down the sides of his face. "Are you not going... to save me?" he murmured... No, he prayed.

The silvery, cheerful laughter of the stranger's voice violated his ears more than the silence had. "Oh, you want to be saved? Why didn't you just say so?" And in that exact moment, as if it was waiting for a cue, the Moon came out from behind the tree, illuminating him with its silvery light.

The boy was lying flat on his back just on the edge of the hole; he didn't look a day older than nineteen. His unruly and shaggy blond hair was carelessly spread over the dirt, and his slender arms crossed over his lithe chest. The features of his face were sharp but not particularly remarkable; he donned a pair of thin, metallic glasses and what looked like a small bronze pendant earring dangling from his left ear. He was smiling, his eyes looking at the moon shining over him, and the camper managed to notice, through the curtain of pain, that there was something strange in that smile, as if those teeth didn't belong in a human mouth. He was wearing a simple black t-shirt and a pair of shorts covered in dirt and grass stains, and his feet were bare and encrusted in mud. The boy glanced sideways at the camper stuck in the hole without moving his head, a gesture not unlike that of a reptile: his irises shone of gold for a moment, the eyes of a predator. "So... what brought you here?" he asked, in a jovial, matter-of-fact tone.

"W-what?"

"Falling into that hole made you deaf, too?" The mysterious boy sighed. "Why are you in these woods?"

The camper gritted his teeth; not only for the pain, but also because his interlocutor was starting to get on his nerves. "I'm not in the mood for a conversation, right now," he replied, trying to sound as calm as possible.

The grin of the boy widened. "Maybe I'm not in the mood for saving you, then."

Asshole, the camper thought. Although, that strange guy was probably his only chance to survive; he had to go along with his wishes, at least until he was rescued. Then I'll punch that obnoxious smile out of his face, he said to himself with grim satisfaction. "I... I wanted to spend some time with myself, into the wild... Without anyone else around. I wanted to reconnect with nature, that's all."

The boy nodded. "A bit cheesy, but not a bad answer." For some reason, he really looked pleased.

"What about you?"

"Huh?"

"Why are _you_here?"

The stranger shrugged. "I heard you screaming. I got curious. That's all."

The camper shook his head. "That's not what I meant. Why are you in these woods? In the middle of the night, without a pair of shoes on?"

The mysterious boy laughed again, but this time he didn't sound derisive; there was real, pure, unadulterated joy in that display of hilarity. "Because that's what I do. Every night, when the dark time comes, I am here. Here to run through the woods, to listen to the woods, to smell the woods, to feel alive... In a sense, you could say that I am these woods." There was happiness in his voice. And pride, too.

Is he a lunatic?, the camper thought, dumbfounded. Or maybe he's a serial killer... But no, he doesn't look the part. He seems so innocuous and frail, not like someone who could murder another person... Or even someone who could run for miles through a dark forest. "Seems... nice," he finally conceded.

Another smaller fit of laughter. "Nice? It feels awesome." A brief moment of silence. "Name's Wyatt, by the way," he added in a casual tone.

"Drake," the camper muttered in response. He didn't really wanted for the stranger to know his name, but it was like his tongue had suddenly gained a mind of its own. "Say, Wyatt, why don't you go call someone to rescue me, please?"

"Huh? You don't think I'm strong enough to get you out of that hole by myself?" Wyatt replied; he sounded confused and disappointed.

"I...". A sudden pang of pain stabbed Drake's broken leg, incandescent flowers blossoming in his field of vision. "U-ugh..." he groaned.

"It must hurt like hell," Wyatt chimed in. "Guess when people say 'break a leg' they don't mean it literally, huh? Coincidentally, do you know the Italian equivalent to that expression? They say 'in the mouth of the wolf'. I've always found that very funny..."

"You know," Drake growled, after the tide of pain had retreated. "I'm starting to think you're nothing but a hallucination produced by my brain. Or maybe I'm just dreaming, who knows." He could feel the anger taking the center spot, chasing away both the pain in his body and the fear in his heart. It burned hot and scalding, but it was a different kind of flame than the one that was consuming his broken leg. It was a bright orange blaze in the middle of his chest, and instead of destructive and fierce, it seemed... empowering.

"I bet you'd love to kick me in the face," Wyatt mused, sounding not at all preoccupied. "I can sense your fury from up here, and it's glorious. Promise me something, Drake: promise me you'll never trust someone who tells you that being angry is a bad thing. Those who always suppress the fire burning within their souls, those who never let the beast in their heart come out and howl... They are not truly living." His omnipresent Cheshire grin seemed to become a tad more sincere. "Focus on your heartbeat: can you feel it becoming stronger, faster, pounding against your ears? That's how I feel every night, when I ran through these woods." The boy stared at the Moon for a while, before chanting something in a dreamy tone. "'Nor greed nor fear can tear our faith apart, when every heart-beat hammers out the proof that life itself is miracle enough'. You know Mervyn Peake, Drake? He was a great guy, even if a little too melancholic for my taste... But he was totally right, you know? Life itself is a miracle, especially when you see it through my eyes, you hear it through my ears and smell it through my nose." The golden gleaming sparkled again in his eyes, the pointy teeth in his mouth protruding from his upper lip. "This world is just awesome, Drake."

Is he... really quoting poetry in a moment like this?!, the camper screamed internally in a fit of outrage. And yet, the words of the mysterious boy had somehow managed to soothe his physical pain even more: the hurt was still there, but it had been reduced to nothing more than a dull, uncomfortable numbness. Wyatt was right: the rage was actually helping him, keeping him focused, mainly on the prospect of giving his interlocutor the lesson he deserved.

"You're doing great." Wyatt, still lying on the ground, congratulated him. "I'm still waiting for that question, though."

"What do you mean?" Drake snarled at him.

"The right question, of course. You asked me to save you, and why am I here, but you forgot to ask the most important thing... You know what I am talking about." The mysterious boy seemed once again very proud, as if he had just posed a very difficult riddle.

The right question?, Drake thought. I think... I know that. He cleared his raspy throat and looked at Wyatt. "Who are you?"

And then, for the first time, Wyatt turned his head and faced Drake directly; the camper forgot to breathe for a couple of seconds, lost in the deep, rich brown stare of the mysterious boy. Where did the golden gleaming go?, he somehow managed to think. "Bingo!" Wyatt exclaimed. He scratched the thin, almost invisible stubble on his chin, seemingly lost in his thoughts. "How can I explain that... Oh, right, let's put it this way: if you had been so unlucky to come here two days ago, you wouldn't have gotten away just with a broken leg." He smiled again, and it was a dangerous smile: Drake this time was sure that the teeth the Moon was shining over, making them glisten in pearly whiteness, were the fangs of a ferocious beast.

"Two days ago?" Drake replied, barely repressing a shiver down his spine.

"Yes, two days ago. When the Moon was at its full." Once again, Wyatt was staring at the night sky with a satisfied expression on his face.

Drake couldn't help but snicker. "And now you're going to tell me that you're a werewolf or something?"

Wyatt snorted. "Please... I'm not a werewolf. I am the werewolf." He stretched an arm upwards, as if he had just decided on a whim to try and grab the Moon; the silvery light shone over the black, sharp and curved claws on the top of his fingers, claws that Drake was quite sure hadn't been there a couple of seconds ago. "Do you have any familiarity with the way hierarchy works within a wolf pack? Or, in other words... Do you know what an alpha is?"

Of course Drake knew what an alpha was... well, apart from being the first letter of the Greek alphabet, of course: the leader of a pack of wild animals, the strongest, the most cunning, the most fierce and the most authoritative of them. "Yes, I do. And, far be it from me to offend you, but..."

"Go on," Wyatt urged him in a quite amused voice.

"Well, let's admit for a second you really are a werewolf..."

"Which I am."

"...sure. But as I said, let's say I believe you. You... certainly don't look the part of an alpha."

Wyatt burst into a long, resonating laughter; he laughed so much that tears started rolling down the sides of his face. "Don't worry, Drake, no offense taken. I mean, it's true... I certainly don't look like the leader type, do I? I'm scrawny, I'm nerdy, I don't seem particularly strong nor authoritative. If anything I should be a beta, if not even the omega of my pack. But, you know what? That's where my real strength lies in: nobody suspects the short, skinny, glasses-wearing wimpy guy... Until, of course, it's too late." And there it was again, the dangerous smile of an apex predator.

"Still trying to justify your own weaknesses with that stupid theory, little brother?" The brash, aggressive-sounding voice of a young woman resonated through the woods. Less than a second later, a figure appeared in front of Wyatt, her face looking down at him with nothing but contempt in her shining yellow eyes. "The human is right, you don't look like an alpha. And why are you lying in the dirt, like a pathetic worm?"

If anything, Wyatt's grin widened again. "Hey, sis! Nice of you to pay us a visit."

"Let me guess," Drake said in a sheepish tone. "She's a werewolf, too?"

"My former alpha, to be exact. Oh, yeah, I should introduce you to each other: Drake, this is my big sister, Talia. Talia, this is Drake." Wyatt had the face of someone who was having the time of his life.

"Um... nice to meet you, Talia?" Drake tried to sound as courteous and friendly as possible.

Talia, however, made crystal clear that it wasn't nice to meet him, at all. She was a statuesque beauty of twenty-five years old, probably an inch under six feet tall; just like her brother, she was barefoot and was wearing a simple pair of shorts and a black tank top that underlined her impressive, tonic physique. The pendant dangling from her left ear - shaped like a curved claw, now Drake could see it clearly - was identical to that of his brother, but made out of gold instead of bronze; her shoulder-length, dark brown hair was tied back into a short, practical ponytail. Her most striking feature was without a doubt her face, though: there wouldn't have been any other way to describe it than the perfect blend of a beautiful girl and a savage beast; her eyes glimmered with gold, her luscious lips hid pointy fangs, and her expression was stern, severe and proud. "Why is there a human lying in that hole?" she asked, giving Drake no more than a quick glance.

"...because that's where he fell into, I guess?"

"Stop being such a smartass, Wyatt."

"Well, you should stop asking stupid questions, then."

I see the two of them are getting along together..., was Drake's sarcastic thought. He didn't say a word, though, because Talia seemed more than ready to jump at someone's throat.

Unfortunately for him, the young woman seemed to have noticed his uneasiness, just like Wyatt had apparently felt his fury. "Human," she shouted, her arms crossed over her chest.

"U-um," Drake mumbled. "You know I have a name, right? Your brother introduced me to you maybe a minute ago."

No reply.

"...okay, I'll be 'human', then."

Talia nodded. "Good. Why are you in that hole, human?"

She may be an alpha, but she's not the brightest tool in the shed, is she? "Well... I broke a leg and now I'm trapped down here. Would you be so kind to help me?"

The young woman eyed at him with a modicum of interest. "Show me your resolve, then: climb outside the hole, then we can talk about giving you some help."

"W-what?! I'm stuck down here with a fucking broken leg, in case you haven't noticed!" Drake screamed at her. The flame of rage scalding his soul was still burning bright, helping him keep the physical pain at bay... But Talia was definitely not the best target to let it vent.

The young woman, however, just scoffed at him. "In this case, you're useless. There's no place for the weak, here... This world only needs beautiful things, after all."

"Sorry, Drake, trying to convince my sister to do something she doesn't want to would be like hoping to see a blue moon every year," was Wyatt's quiet reply. Despite what his sister had told him - or maybe because of it - he was still lying on the ground. "By the way, sis, don't you have your important alpha duties to perform or something?"

Once again, Talia stared down at his little brother with unadulterated disgust in her eyes. "Mark my words, Wyatt: one day, when you least expect it, I'll put you and your miserable, pathetic pack back in line."

"And I'll tell mom and dad that, despite being a grown-up married woman, you're still bullying me," was Wyatt's cheerful reply.

Talia turned around, showing his brother and the camper her back in disdain. "That's the reason why I'm not recognizing you as a true alpha, and I'll never will: you're weak, little brother, and there's no place for the weak, here." And then, less than a second later, she had disappeared without even saying goodbye.

What followed was a good minute of embarrassed silence. "I'm... sorry for what you had to witness, Drake."

"Heh, don't worry. Every family has its own problems." Drake squirmed nervously, trying once again to free his broken leg from the burrow; the only thing he got was a new, intense dose of pain that almost threatened to extinguish the flame burning in his heart. "Ouch... A little help would be appreciated, by the way."

"Huh?"

Drake frowned. "Dude, I'm still trapped here. You said you would've helped me..."

"No, I haven't," Wyatt stopped him.

"Y-you... haven't?" The fire in Drake's heart froze immediately.

Wyatt shook his head. "The only thing I can give you right now is a choice... But you won't be able to go back to your former life either way. I'm sorry."

"What the hell are you talking about?!" The wall of ice exploded, letting the flame burn fiercer than ever. "You really want to let me die here?! Don't you have some basic human decency?!"

The strange boy scratched his messy hair. "Well, technically I'm not human..."

"Oh, please, enough with this fucking werewolf bullshit!" The camper was so enraged he didn't even realize he wasn't feeling any hurt from his broken leg, the poisonous flowers of pain having wizened and died; he could've probably pulled the limp out of the burrow without too much difficulty and maybe just a scream or too, if he hadn't been so intent at discharging a torrent of molten lava and fury against Wyatt. "I don't care if you and your sister like to, I dunno, fucking LARP about being werewolves in your free time, but..."

"Dude, I don't know what LARP means, but I can assure you that I'm a true, honest to god werewolf. I mean, haven't you noticed my claws and fangs?"

"Prosthetics!"

"What about the golden eyes, then?"

"Contact lenses!"

Wyatt sighed. "You're tough, huh? Okay..." And then the mysterious boy did something completely unexpected: he got up on his feet, brushing off the dirt from his clothes with mechanical gestures. "How about this?" He lowered the backside of his shorts a bit, and what looked like a long, thick rope started to protrude from his skin before becoming rigid and fluffy, covered in honey-blonde fur. Wyatt wagged the newly-sprouted appendage a couple of times.

Drake's jaw dropped. "Is that... a tail?" he finally managed to murmur after nearly a minute.

"No, it's an elephant's trunk... Of course it's a tail!" Wyatt joked, before sitting back on the ground, his legs crossed in a yoga-like position. "So... are you convinced now? Or do you think that's prosthetic makeup, too?"

The camper gulped a couple of times, before finally shaking his head. "N-no... You're... You're r-really a werewolf... But how?! I thought werewolves were just... just a legend, and..."

"It's a very long story, Drake. And an interesting one, to boot," Wyatt interrupted him. "And I'll be very happy to tell you everything, should you..."

"Should I?" Drake urged him. "Should I what?" He had realized he wasn't that angry towards the werewolf anymore: Wyatt had been honest with him and told him the truth since the very beginning, after all, even if it was a truth he still wasn't ready to accept... And because of that, the red inside his heart had subsided a bit, leaving the center stage to something else. Something dark, swirling and unpleasant.

Wyatt sighed again. "As I said, I can give you a choice... And it's not an easy one. I'm sure that when I finish my explanation you'll hate me even more than you already do, and you'll have every reason to. That's why I want you to listen very carefully to what I have to say; and when I'm over, I promise I'll even let you punch me in the face, if that's what you'll want to." He smiled, but this time his teeth were without a doubt those of a human being... And the smile itself was bitter and sad. "Okay?"

"I..." Drake whispered, before his eyes lowered, staring at the silhouette of his broken leg. "O-okay. I'll listen" Why am I feeling like this?, he was thinking, anguished. I should be screaming. I should be crying. I should be begging for my life... How in the hell can I be so calm and accepting?, he asked himself, even if he already knew the answer.

Wyatt. He was the answer. The mysterious werewolf. The creepy, irritating, cruel, incomprehensible, fascinating, charming young man sitting a few feet from him, ready to change his life forever.

"I'll explain the choice to you in the simplest way possible," Wyatt started, his voice clear and a bit monotone. He wasn't smiling anymore, and that was the reason why the bubbling dark mass inside Drake's chest stretched and extended its filthy tentacles again, becoming larger and heavier. "You can either decline or accept my offer... and should you choose the former, I'll simply go away, leaving you here to die. I won't kill you, of course, but believe me when I say that no one will be able to find you until you're nothing more than a rotting corpse." A moment of tense silence. "I know what you're thinking: 'He can't be serious, there's no way he'd let me die'. Well, Drake, keep in mind that I've never lied to you... And I'm not lying now, either. Sure, I'll feel guilty and sad for a while, because part of me is human... But eventually the wolf will help me forget, because for him a dead body is just that." His eyes, now glowing in a pale shade of yellow, were unfocused and lost in a remote distance. "Or, of course, you can decide to accept my offer and let me bite you. The choice is yours."

Drake couldn't believe to his ears. "W-wait... Are you telling me that..." he managed to whisper before his voice betrayed him. He knew perfectly well - having read and seen dozens of horror books and movies - what the bite of a werewolf would've entailed. He really wants to turn me into one of his kind?!, he thought, his brain lost in a daze of confusion, pain, fear and excitement.

Wyatt nodded. "Yes, that would be the plan. You can't go back to your previous life knowing that me and my sister are werewolves... but if you became one of us, there would be no problem: our secret would simply became your secret, too." Drake opened his mouth, but Wyatt shook his head. "What you're thinking right now is: 'Why is that even a choice? I certainly don't want to die!'. The point is... a werewolf bite is not that simple."

The young man lifted the index, medium and ring fingers of his right hand; they looked strange and misshapen under the moonlight, with bulging leathery pads underneath them and curved, onyx-colored claws. "A bite can have three different outcomes. The first," he lowered the index finger. "You become a werewolf, just like me. This is what I call the red path: you and the beast inside your heart will become one and the same, sharing a single body in complete, total harmony... In other words, you will effectively be reborn as a completely different creature, as a member of the claw clan." For a moment, the fingers of Wyatt's left hand toyed with the small pendant earring dangling from his ear.

"The second outcome," Wyatt lowered his middle finger "is the black path, the way of the direwolf. Direwolves are..." He shook his head. "The only word that can define them is 'monsters', and even that term is grossly imprecise. The human and the wolf in the body of a direwolf, they... they hate each other; and every time one of the two decides to emerge, the other one dies. Imagine a human body suddenly splitting into two, blood and internal organs splattering everywhere, and a giant, grotesque creature emerging from the maimed corpse... That's what happens to someone who has become a direwolf. They are creatures of hatred, of violence and of pain, and they live to kill, hurt and destroy. They are aberrations, something that shouldn't be allowed to exist... In other words, the fang clan."

"And then," Wyatt finally lowered the ring finger. "There's the third path, the colorless one. This one is the most simple, and yet the most definitive of the three." The werewolf lowered his gleaming irises, as if he was admitting defeat. "Death, pure and simple. You can become one of us, you can become of them, or you can become nothing at all: if someone doesn't become a werewolf nor a direwolf, their immune system attacks the lycanthropy virus... And then they inevitably die of anaphylactic shock."

Wyatt crossed his arms over his chest. "Of course, there's no way to determine which of the three paths a person would take after having been bitten. Every member of the claw clan has their own theory on the matter, but nothing written in stone; judging from my personal experience, though, everything boils down to how someone is feeling the moment he or she is bitten. Remember when I told you that anger and fury are good things? That's the path of red: letting the beast hidden inside your soul come out on your own accord, accepting him as another part of you even if he scares you... a part of you that can be terrible and cruel, sure, but also wonderful."

"If you take the black path, however... If you turn your back to the wolf, there will be no way for the two of you to reconcile. From that day on, you'll be sharing your body with your nemesis, until the day someone will free you from that torture. It's a road paved in fear, hatred and self-loathing... And pain, both for you and for those around you."

"As for the colorless path... If your soul isn't red or black enough, then it will simply flicker away, like the flame of a small candle trying to face a strong gust of wind." Wyatt licked his lip nervously. "There, this ends my explanation. Now it's all up to you: everything that's inside of you right now, everything... I'll accept it. All the pain, all the fear, all the hatred tainting your soul with black, I'll gladly take them from you; and then I will help you find the red of the beast inside of you once again..."

"No," Drake murmured, interrupting him. There were tears streaming down his face, warm on his skin and yet intolerably bitter. "I only want you to answer one question, Wyatt: why... why didn't you just save me the first time I asked you to? I didn't... I didn't want to know that you were a lycanthrope, I just... wanted to go back to my everyday life. So please, just answer me... why?" The black creature made of shadows had completely invaded his body and mind, even managing to reawaken the hurt in his broken legs. And now the flowers of pain were blooming dark and exhaled a bittersweet fragrance of death. It doesn't matter what he says, he thought, defeated. My soul has already chosen its path.

Wyatt was still staring at the ground, his golden eyes gleaming in anguish and pain... And then, a miracle happened. A miracle made out of four, simple words, pronounced with such innocence and sorrow that there was no way they could've ever been a lie.

"Because I love you."

A wave of warmth enveloped Drake for a second; it wasn't enough to dissipate the black creature of fear and pain, but gave the camper enough strength to lift his head. "Y-you... love me?" he repeated in a barely audible whisper.

"Yes." Wyatt's face was emotionless, but from his voice it was clear that he too was on the verge of crying. "At first, when I heard you screaming, I thought that I could just have some fun with you before having someone rescue you. But then you told me that thing about you wanting to spend time in the wild, reconnecting with nature, and the wolf inside me started to feel a connection. He's always been very fast at taking decisions, you know? He sensed that you could've been a great packmate almost immediately... And he was right: I liked the way you looked, I liked the way your voice sounded, I liked the way your skin smelled. And most of all, I liked the passionate fury burning within your soul, so pure and full of life. That's why I decided that I couldn't ever let you go." He sighed, and the quiet, sad smile reappeared on his face. "I'm sorry, my wolf has always been an egotistical asshole... No, not him.Me. I've always been an egotistical asshole, because I am him, and he is me."

"I... I..." Drake mumbled through the veil of tears. The black creature sizzled and mewled horribly, like a cat thrown into a vat of acid, but the grip of its tentacles was still too strong for the young man to fight against of his own. "I don't know what to say..." But, as always, Wyatt's words were completely true and honest; he too had experienced a sparkle, a bond, something that he had never felt towards anyone else in his life and - because of that - something that he would've never been able to describe using words. It was like his soul and Wyatt's were connected by a red thread, and they were now hovering high, basking together in the glorious moonlight where no monster made of fear and pain could've touched them.

"Don't say anything, then," Wyatt replied. After what looked like an eternity, he seemed relieved again. "Just close your eyes."

And Drake, trusting the werewolf completely, complied. He felt a sudden wind caressing his body, and then Wyatt spoke again, his voice now much closer. "Look at me."

Drake opened his eyes. Wyatt was standing naked in front of him, the pale, silvery light of the moon making his skin shine of an eerie glow, a true spirit of the woods and the darkness. His eyes now shining, two small golden hearths that looked dangerous and inviting at the same time; his unruly hair, now even messier and shaggier, had grown in seconds, and fluffy, bushy mutton chops now adorned the sides of his face. His stubble was thicker, having claimed his chin and now connected the two sideburns in the form of a short, honey-blonde beard; even his ears were now covered with fur, longer and coming to a point. Even the simple bronze earring adorning his left ear seemed to shine of a tiny fire of its own.

Wyatt's body looked decidedly bigger than before; he wasn't huge, not even bulky, he looked more like a gymnast or a swimmer, every muscle perfectly chiseled; Drake found it really hard not to lose himself in the sight of his meaty pecs, sporting turgid and hard nipples, or at the six pack of abs covering his washboard stomach. The werewolf's tail was curled against one of his solid runner legs, the fluffy point swatting the air with hypnotic movements.

And then, of course, there was his dick, protruding out of a furry sheathe; it was at least nine inches long, red and slick, with a mushroom-shaped tip. The cock of a true beast, glistening under the moonlight with a strange, fascinating glory.

Wyatt glanced at Drake with his incredible golden irises. Despite being a naked wolf-man with a raging hard-on already dripping precum, he looked like the portrait of innocence and purity. "Look at me, Drake", he repeated. "This is my true self, my real me. This is Wyatt the human, and this is Wyatt the wolf. This is what I want to donate you: my happiness and my sorrow, my wolf and my human hearts, and most of all my freedom. So please, Drake... Let your soul be a canvas for me to paint on."

Drake sighed. "I... the black is too intense for me, Wyatt..."

The werewolf took a half-step forward. "There's something I still haven't told you, Drake... Anger is not the only way to fill your heart with the color red," he gestured at his naked body - and especially at his groin area - with a sly smile on his feral face. "And really, you can't even imagine how difficult it is for me not to jump on you right in this very moment."

Drake looked away. "I... um, I've never felt... that way for another man..." Inside his pants, however, his excitement was betrayed by a stiff, growing erection.

Wyatt put on a playful grin. "You can't fool my nose, Drake... I can smell your arousal quite well." With liquid, careful movements, without even brushing against his broken leg, Wyatt came down to lie alongside him on the ground. "My wolf doesn't care about the difference between males and females. Right now, we're just an alpha and his beta, bonding with each other for the first time."

"Beta..." Drake murmured in a dream-like tone. "I like the sound of it... Makes me feel safe and protected."

"And loved. Don't forget that." The moment their lips touched, Drake felt the black creature screaming in impotent despair before starting to retreat in a remote, filthy recess of his soul. A hand came up to his face, caressing the dark stubble on his cheeks with leathery pads; it felt strange, but in a good way. Drake relaxed, letting Wyatt complete control over the kissing session: it was his duty as an alpha, after all; the werewolf playfully teased Drake's lips with his own, before his long, warm tongue slid inside the other's inviting mouth.

The red blooming inside Drake had a distinctly different shade than before: the fury had been a scorching, burning hot crimson, threatening to consume him whole if he hadn't been careful enough; the sensation he was feeling right now, however, was more subdued, but at the same time more soothing and pleasurable, the eyes of his mind with the sight of a view tinged in amaranth and vermillion. His tongue started to caress Wyatt's, and then reached for his mouth, tracing the contours of his wolf fangs with its sensitive tip.

Wyatt suddenly broke the kiss, looking concerned. "Be careful," he admonished. "It would only take a single, tiny cut to..."

Drake showed him a tiny, crooked smile. "I thought this is exactly what you wanted."

"Of course it is. More than anything." Wyatt placed a clawed hand over Drake's chest, as if he was checking his heartbeat. "But first I have to make sure that the wolf inside of you will be taking the right path."

Drake grinned and kissed him on the lips once. "Why don't you assert your dominance over me, then? That's what an alpha is supposed to do, after all."

Wyatt looked back at him with glowing eyes, his long tongue lolling for a moment from the side of his mouth, splattering Drake's cheek with saliva; he looked very aroused, all of a sudden. "I was waiting for those exact words, you know..." he whispered in the camper's ear, before nudging at him playfully. Drake felt Wyatt pinning him on the ground, his strong limbs enveloping around him in a firm, yet passionate grasp. The broken leg protested, sending a couple of weak jolts of pain to Drake's brain, but he was too focused on the new, intense sensations clouding his brain in an exhilarating, intoxicating daze to care. He could feel the heat rising from the body of the werewolf, the passion and arousal filling his body and mind to the brim, his beastly cock sliding against him, staining his pants and jacket with clear precum... Wyatt was dry humping him, an expression of pure ecstasy painted on his face.

Drake just relaxed, revelling in the physical stimuli, his eyes now serenely staring at the moon over them. It's so strange, he thought. I'm lying in the middle of a forest, with a naked werewolf - a male werewolf - thrusting against my body, ready to cum... Something that I would've never imagined could happen, even in my most secret, wildest dreams. And so... Why this does seem so right? But no, "right" wasn't even the right word, because that would've implied that what he was experiencing could've also been "wrong". But there was no right nor wrong, not right now: there was just the two of them bonding, connecting, finding pleasure in the other. It was messy, it was hot, it was comforting, it was totalizing, it was animalistic, it was passionate, it was natural and it was thousands and thousands of other sensations all bundled together.

In a word, it was beautiful.

Suddenly, Drake felt Wyatt's body tense against his. The werewolf let out a long, satisfied howl, and his cock twitched, unleashing a torrent of yellowish and dense spooge all over Drake's clothes. It had a musky, almost spicy scent, and Drake idly wondered how it would've been to lick himself clean with his tongue, savoring the secret taste of his alpha. The thought drove him over the edge, and he felt the bliss of an orgasm blooming in his mind, while his dick coated the inside of his underpants with sperm.

"Here... I marked you as mine..." Wyatt painted, his wolfish mouth grinning from ear to ear. "U-um... sorry for your clothes, by the way."

Drake grinned back. "Nothing a washing machine can't fix. So... Guess I belong to you now, right?"

The werewolf shook his head, his pendant earring tingling gently. "No. Now we belong together."

The two of them kissed and nuzzled some more, before just being content in lying on the ground, hugging each other and watching the summer sky over them. Drake, however, started to feel uncomfortable after a couple of minutes, and it wasn't because his broken leg was hurting. "Why are you hesitating, Wyatt?" he asked, a tiny but painful lump stuck in his throat.

The werewolf lowered his long, furry ears. "Because right now I can't bear the thought of losing you. As I said, there's no certainty that your body will react the right way, and..."

Drake placed a hand over Wyatt's head, gently ruffling his hair. "I know, the black and the colorless paths. Becoming a monster full of hate or dying... But I trust the gentle, crazy, wonderful wolf right next to me enough to risk it." Another moment of quietness. "Although... There's just one more thing. Should I survive... Can you promise me something? " Drake asked, tears trickling down his already damp cheeks.

"O-of course," Wyatt replied. He, too, was crying now.

The camper felt the lump in his throat becoming even tighter. "Promise me I'll smell the world as you smell it, I'll hear the world as you hear it, I'll see the world as you see it. That you'll show me how much of a miracle this life can be. P-promise... Promise me that I can be these woods with you."

Wyatt closed his golden eyes and placed his head against Drake's chest. "I promise," he said. And that was enough.

"Okay," Drake whispered. "Okay, then." He too closed his eyes, and drew in a long, liquid breath. "I'm ready now."

Can you hear me, wolf?, he thought, trying to reach the beast waiting inside his soul. I want to meet you, you know? I want to feel what you feel, I want to share the rest of my life with you as a single being... And I hope you're feeling the same. In a sense, I think I came here, into these woods, because you were calling to me... And I'm so glad that I decided to answer. Drake felt a sudden pang of pain from his shoulder, right where the fangs of Wyatt had just pierced his flesh, and smiled.

I know... I made the right choice, he managed to think, before drifting gently into a deep, dreamless slumber.

(next chapter: The eccentric family)