FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Written and posted with permission from Leo_Todrius (who also provided the kickass thumbnail icon!)

You can find his profile and awesome stories here: http://www.furaffinity.net/user/leotodrius

---

Lykos - Wild Things

Chapter 06 - All the lights in the sky are stars

"Hold onto me!" Drake growled at Wyatt. He felt the arms of his alpha grab his midsection, and somehow managed to dart to the right, despite being four hundred and fifty pounds heavier at least, avoiding the first assault. The direwolf turned around and stood still at twenty feet from them, staring at the two werewolves with its revolting eyes; the expression on its brutish muzzle almost seemed amused. It started prancing around them, dripping small stains of black fluid from his oblong penis as if he was drawing a corrupted magical circle, and Drake couldn't help but thinking to all those movies he had seen about killer sharks... Except the monster in front of him was way deadlier - and much more unfathomable - than a shark.

"It's playing with us, that fucker," Wyatt rumbled, his voice still nervous and horrified. "We have to keep it entertained, before it decides to be serious." Drake could feel him trying to dislodge himself once again, and let out a yelp when he felt the knot pressing painfully against the tender flesh of his tail hole. "I'm sorry, we're still stuck..."

Drake shook his massive head, but without diverting his gaze from the creature of madness besieging them. "We'll think of something. Guess it's kill or get killed, right?" Even thought, how can we kill something like that? He also felt sorry for the human sharing the body with such a monstrosity, but way less than he would have expected. No, we can't let such a horror exist.

Behind him, Wyatt nodded. "And by looking at its dick, it'll probably rape us both beforehand." Drake felt that the pressure of his alpha's cock inside him had decreased a bit. "I think I need a couple of minutes before I can..."

Drake saw the eyes of the monster burning at mere inches from his own muzzle; it had took it just a moment to cover the twenty feet. With an alarmed bark, the dark grey feral wolf took a fast step left, turning around a bit instinctively to shield Wyatt; he wasn't fast enough, though, and three jagged lines of searing pain twinged in his right flank, blood already staining his pelt. The direwolf landed behind them with a crazed grin, some strands of gunmetal fur trapped under the curved claws of its right front paw.

"NO!" Wyatt shouted. Despite his shape, his size and his growling voice, he sounded very human in that moment. "Drake, are you..."

The bigger werewolf did his best to sneer, even if he had never experienced a hurt that intense, not even when he had broken his leg; it was like the hate inside the head of the direwolf was gnawing at the flesh of his side with red-hot teeth. "Don't worry, it's just a scratch." He panted heavily, now more determined than ever not to let the creature take him by surprise a second time. I'm sure the wolfish side of me knows how to handle it, he said to himself. I should simply trust my instincts. Drake lowered his head and bared his powerful fangs, his body crouched forward and the fur on his back erect: he looked more massive than ever, the perfect and flawless amalgamation of a wolf and a man. I am strong, and I am not afraid of you, was the meaning of that pose.

The direwolf, however, didn't look impressed: after all, it didn't need to flex its muscles or show its weapons to look terrifying. He growled, a sound so low, deep and rumbling it made every bone inside Drake's body vibrate; his glowing red stare was so intense it made the eyes of the feral wolf burn and water, but Drake didn't divert his gaze. If I show even a speck of weakness, it will know. And it will kill the both of us.

"I'm sorry, Drake, if only I could already..." Wyatt whispered, but his beta interrupted him.

"Don't say anything, Wyatt. Even if it costs my life, I will protect you." Drake could feel the golden-furred body tense behind him, along a brief, pissed off snarl.

"Don't you dare saying something like that, Drake. Don't you even dare. No one will die tonight... except that monster." Wyatt tried to dismount again, and this time Drake felt a little pain - well, at least compared to the searing sensation of hurt that plagued the right side of his body; in any other occasion he would've probably yelped and hoped for a friendly packmate to lick the wounds clean and give him a good rim job to the side - and the by then familiar pressure inside his tail hole disappeared, a small stream of warm and dense cum dripping from his pucker. The golden werewolf, his blazing eyes narrowed in fury, started walking towards the direwolf with no hesitation, as if he was just strolling down a city road; even the monster seemed a bit taken aback by that blatant display of carelessness. "I am your alpha, Drake, and that means one thing: I am the one who protects you."

The direwolf growled, first in confusion, then in rage; its ears flickered in frustration and anger, and Drake noticed that the left ear had a circular hole in it, as big as a dime and with a bruised, purplish outline. It darted forward with a push of his powerful hind legs, his front paws outstretched and his mouth filled with deadly fangs open wide, right towards Wyatt... Except Wyatt wasn't were he had been until a moment before.

Drake raised his eyes in wonder: the alpha had leaped over the direwolf, much like a high jump practitioner, and landed with an elegant move just behind it. "You'll have to do way better than that to catch me, pal," he said with the usual bravado, his muscled arms crossed over his chest. Despite the fact that he was fighting for his life and the life of his beta against a creature coming straight out of Hell, he was grinning from ear to ear.

That was... totally uncalled for. But very cool, Drake thought, his right paw caressing absent-mindedly the three parallel wounds on his flank and making him wince in pain: the heightened regenerative powers of his primal form seemed somewhat hindered, as if the touch of the direwolf was poison to his flesh. What can I do? I should help Wyatt, he...

"Stay where you are, Drake," the golden werewolf interrupted his chain of thoughts; his voice was firm and commanding (and even though it was made out of mostly roars and growls, still comprehensible, which startled Drake a bit despite the tense moment), his eyes firmly on the direwolf in the attempt to read its every movement. "Please." The monstrosity in front of him tried to assault him once again, but Wyatt simply jumped back, keeping himself out of its reach.

The dark grey beta looked at him in confusion and sadness, his bushy tail stuck between his legs. "But why? I want to help you, I..."

"You are hurt because of me," Wyatt replied; his tone sounded brusque, but Drake knew that his alpha was feeling very guilty, at least judging by his lowered ears. "And anyway, this is the perfect chance to show you what I can do." The golden werewolf stroke a fighting pose worthy of a martial artist, and even gestured with two clawed fingers for the direwolf to get closer. "Come here, big puppy... Let's play for a bit."

Why does he have to be that showy?, Drake thought, his brow furrowed, as he watched the black monster trying to assault Wyatt for a third time, with the werewolf avoiding it some sort of elaborate pirouette. Is he doing that for me? Not just protecting me... he probably sensed that I was scared, and he's trying to cheer me up in his own crazy way while fighting for our lives. The love and affection Drake felt for his alpha became so strong and intense that they actually hurt his heart... although, compared to the pain inflicted by the deadly claws of the direwolf, that was the good kind of hurt, and the grey feral wolf focused on that sensation, rooting for Wyatt with all his soul.

The gold-furred werewolf grinned a bit, still displaying a huge amount of self-confidence... or of extreme recklessness, considering what creature his opponent was. "This is getting boring," he growled. "Let's up the ante." Until that moment, he had simply avoided the fangs of the direwolf, without even trying to counterattack; now, however, he flexed his fingers, making his onyx-black claws shone under the moonlight, and his tongue darted outside his mouth to lick his lips. "Show me who of the two of us took the right path, big boy." Wyatt hadn't even finished the sentence, and he was already running toward the direwolf, his massive arms dangling quite clumsily at his sides; the black beast sneered and simply bared its fangs, clearly expecting a pathetic and uncoordinated assault that would've ended in it submitting and killing its opponent... That is, until Wyatt darted on the right and increased his speed in a sudden burst; the direwolf didn't even manage to tilt its head in confusion, before the claws of the werewolf cut strands of drippy, slimy fur and bits of the corrupted skin and flesh underneath.

Wyatt turned around, ending his run with an abrupt stop that sent a fan-shaped wave of dirt and grass fly behind him. "Fuck, it's more resilient than I thought," he said, looking at his claw. The direwolf had turned around to stared at him in pure hatred; it didn't seem in pain, probably because the attack had just left some superficial wounds on its body, but the rage inside its eyes was now unbearable. It once again broke into a rush towards its enemy, nearly as fast as the werewolf had been despite its massive size; Wyatt stood still, simply watching at the monster coming for him, and Drake let out a choked whimper in a futile try to warn his alpha.

Wyatt jumped over the running direwolf as if he were a gymnast and the beast a vaulting box, grabbing the dark pelt of its back while his chiselled body traced an elegant arc through the air, before landing just behind the creature. "Sorry, you can't catch me."

The response of the direwolf was shocking, to say the least: he quickly lifted its tail and let out a short, broken growl while closing its eyes for a moment. Wyatt yelped and covered his muzzle with both his meaty paws, his eyes huge and watering, his pupils shrunk down to pinpricks; Drake looked at the scene in front of him in bewilderment, before the pungent, acrid stench violated his nose and penetrated right to his brain to stagnate there, like a venomous fog. "S-shit..." he murmured, trying his best not to vomit his latest meal all over the grass. Until that moment, he had thought that having such an incredible sense of smell was a blessing, but right now he would've traded it gladly for his old human nose.

The direwolf finished unloading the disgusting pile of dark crap right in front of Wyatt's hind paws and scratched the ground with a leg in a decidedly canine manner, a satisfied look on its twisted muzzle. It turned around to stare at Wyatt to stare at him in defiance, undisturbed by the revolting smell of its own excrements... And then, without a warning, it tried another frontal assault, its maws snapping in the air and spitting yellowish, dense saliva all around.

The golden werewolf, despite being hindered by the unexpected stink attack, managed to avoid the direwolf, albeit barely. "Ooooh, now you've done it," he snarled. From the sound of his growls, he sounded very pissed off; Drake had never seen his alpha that angry, not even when he was talking about his elder sister. "No more playing around, now."

Drake took a half-step forward. "Wyatt, I want to..."

Wyatt raised a paw towards him. "Stay where you are, Drake. I'm asking that to you as your alpha." The gunmetal werewolf, as if that simple gesture had placed an enchantment over him, froze where he was. So that's why he's doing all this, he pondered. He's not just protecting me, not just trying to make me feel better... He want to prove me that he's a good alpha. But I already know that, he doesn't need to... Or maybe, wait, he's doing it... For my wolf? Drake crossed his arms over his chest, the pain on the right side of his body becoming less and less intense with every passing moment; somewhere in his soul and all over his own powerful body, he knew the golden eyes of the beast living in his heart were staring at the fight. So be it, Wyatt... Show us what you can do.

The battle between the horrible beast and the golden wolf resumed, and that time none of the two adversaries was holding back anything: the direwolf fought with all the desperate, burning force of its madness, without any restraint; its limbs contorting and bending at apparently impossible angles to try and maim its opponent, its yellowed fangs bare, its monstrous cock spraying dark precum in a savage, fierce, permanent arousal. Its paws clawed the ground, digging deep furrows in the grass and inflicting wounds in the barks of the surrounding trees. More than even, in that moment the direwolf was showing its true nature: a creature made out of nothing but death, insanity and hatred, bent only on destruction. The dark side of the existence of a werewolf, the complete and total refusal of any kind of harmony.

As for Wyatt, he wasn't fighting. He was dancing. There was really no other way to describe the incredible show Drake was witnessing: every gesture, every pose, every jump he made looked part of a complex choreography performed on a music only he could hear. He was elegant and graceful, and at the same time deadly: every time he stroke, a wound appeared on the massive body of the direwolf - even if, due to the thick, slimy fur and the resilient dark grey skin underneath acting as natural armors, the majority of them were nothing but simple scratches - and, on the other hand, the black beast still hadn't managed to land a single blow, despite its fierceness and ferocity: every time its claws and fangs tried to bury themselves in the smaller frame of the golden werewolf, Wyatt managed to avoid the attack with incredible ease, and even took advantage of the momentary opening in the direwolf's defence to land yet another hit.

Stuck in their deadly dance, the two creatures looked the complete opposite of one another: a dark, deformed fragment of madness, an existence so fundamentally wrong and outside the laws of nature that it required its own death to be reborn every time, and a golden shining lightning, a beautiful creature made out of harmony and grace, the perfect amalgamation of two different beings into a single, incredible, wild thing... And yet, despite the irreconcilable differences and the divergent paths they were walking on, there was still something - very deep inside - that identified them as equal: they shared the same origin and the same curse, even if one of them had rejected it and the other one embraced it.

And, because of that, even if the black beast had wounded him and was trying to kill his alpha, the most unlikely of the emotions started to blossom inside Drake's soul, and it was so unexpected that it took him some seconds to identify it correctly: he was feeling pity for the direwolf. In a sense, it's not its fault, he thought, his shining yellow eyes still on the two opponents, not wanting to lose even a moment of the splendid battle. Both its human and its wolf side, they must feel so angry, and bitter, and scared, and alone... Having something else inside you that is so close and yet so unreachable must be like living in a constant hell.

The fight had been going on for several minutes now, and there didn't seem to be any evolution: the direwolf still tried with all its might to hit Wyatt, and the alpha conversely avoided its assaults and managed to land a blow every time he tried, albeit in a not particularly effective way. Despite that, a faint smile appeared on Drake's wolfish muzzle: if nothing changed in the pace of the duel, who the winner was going to be was perfectly clear. Wyatt might have been weaker than his opponent in terms of pure physical strength, but he was also the only one damaging the other; his strategy was simple and yet very effective: since the claws and the fangs of the direwolf were so deadly, the only sensible way to win that fight was of course never to be hit. He can do it, Drake said to himself, a bubbling, pleasurable exaltation filling him like a wave of sea foam. He can beat that monster.

Unfortunately, even the direwolf seemed to have realized it had been driven into a corner: the sides of his body were missing huge chunks of messy dark fur, sickening corrupted dark blood was dripping from a gash on the left side of his muzzle, and the tip of his tail was oddly bent downward. He was panting in impotent rage, while Wyatt - despite having jumped, darted, run, ducked, kicked and scratched continuously for a good twenty minutes - looked still as fresh as a daisy. "You don't seem in a good shape, big boy," the golden werewolf joked, circling around it with a derisive grin on his muzzle. "Need a timeout?"

"Wow..." Drake whispered at Wyatt. "When it appeared it looked so terrifying, but... You managed to tame it, somehow." His voice sounded impressed and full of admiration.

Wyatt snickered. "You're talking with someone who fought his alpha for hours, this one is a puppy by comparison." He stood in front of the direwolf: the creature's eyes were now burning more than ever, of an even deeper shade of crimson. "You should really consider trying something else, pal, what are you doing isn't working very well..."

The golden werewolf, basking in his own self-confidence, didn't seem to notice the subtle yet deep change in the expression of his opponent, but Drake, still watching from the sidelines, did: he witnessed the black lips of the direwolf, baring its fangs in an expression of fury, curl up in a manic and wicked grin, his front right paw grabbing something from the ground. "Wyatt, be..." he shouted, but it was too late.

With a humid, sickening squish, something dark and moist hit the alpha on the side of his face, tainting its golden fur with dark brown and forcing his right eye closed. His left iris widened, and his mouth was agape in horror and disgust. "It..." he growled. "It threw its shit on me! This fucker threw its shit on..."

The direwolf, this time, acted too quickly for Wyatt to avoid it: the quick swish of one of its paws hit him right under the chest. His golden eyes went wide in stupor and pain as three deep gashes opened on his flat stomach, devastating his abdominal muscles and spilling blood all over; Wyatt fell backwards, and as Drake screamed and darted towards his alpha, time seemed to extend and stretch, becoming slower and slower, his fall lasting hours... until his back hit the ground with a dull, sickening thud. The werewolf just lied there, his tail crushed under his muscled body, one of his legs twitching, his breaths heavy and broken.

Drake turned around to face the direwolf: the monster was staring at him with demented glee. "What have you done?" he growled at him. "What have you done?!" The big, dark grey feral wolf charged into the monster, hitting it squarely in the flank with his shoulder and sending it tumble on his back, the black legs pumping in the air and a snarl of rage and disappointment escaping his cracked lips. Drake crouched down next to the wounded alpha, his meaty paws trembling in fear and confusion. "W-Wyatt..." he whispered.

The golden wolf opened his left eye and looked at him. There was pain in his stare, but most of all there was an abyss of frustration. "I... I'll be fine..." he murmured. A small, single tear of impotent fury appeared in the corner of his eye. "F-fuck... I'm sorry, I was... I was sure I could..."

Drake gently wiped off the stinky, disgusting substance from Wyatt's muzzle as best as he could: his fur was matted with poo, but at least he could open his right eye, now. "You did a good job, my alpha. No, you weren't good... you were extraordinary. But now let me take care of this." He stood up, his eight and a half feet tall, heavily muscled body ready to fight. No, he thought, let us take care of this. He faced the direwolf that was back on its feet, hatred dripping from his eyes in tears of blood, and never-ending arousal pouring from his cock in dark, foul droplets; Drake readied himself to fight against the monster, but before he lunged at it he filled his powerful lungs with air and let out a series of nine howls. Three short ones, three long ones, three short ones again.

And now... let's hope for the best, the massive beta thought, preparing himself for the first fight of his life as a werewolf... that could as well be the last.

* * * *

A low, dense fit of laughter bounced among the trees of the forest like an old, wizened but experienced fox going back to its own underground burrow. Moira Wilewski was sitting on a stump, a bright red electric lantern hanging from a low branch behind her casting a small beacon of yellow light around; she was smoking a long thin cigarillo, and was browsing through the pages of what looked like - at least from the picture on the crumpled cover - a raunchy romance novel. She sighed, pretending to wipe off an imaginary tear from the corner of her eyes with the back of a finger, her front teeth sinking in the acrid surface of the tiny cigar. "Why do they even let people like these publish books? They can't even write a decent fuck scene..." With a groan, she put the small paperback inside her giant bag and smoked pensively for a bit, letting out rings of dense smoke from her mouth.

The truth was, she wasn't in the right mood to read: since she had sealed the energy barrier around her pack, the sensation that something that night was wrong still hadn't left a corner of her mind, like an annoying thorn stuck too deep to be removed; at first Moira had just singled that out as paranoia, but with every passing minute the feeling of uneasiness had just gotten stronger and more difficult to uproot, as if it was a weed growing all over her brain. Well, it's not like I can do anything right now, she thought. Her neuromantic powers were strong, sure, but they had a limited range; and projecting her mind through the barrier would've just given her the situation of what was happening on the borders of the pack's territory (along with a killer headache; she had never had that much of an aptitude for astral projection).

Moira snorted, blowing the last ring of smoke from her cigarillo. She tossed the cigar butt on the ground and pressed the heel of her old leather boot over it, but then picked it up and put it inside a small portable ashtray with religious reverence. "Maybe I'm really just paranoid..." she muttered. She had just finished speaking to herself when the sequence of nine howls reached her ears, a bit muffled by the barrier but still perfectly audible; she stood up, a grin of grim satisfaction on her face: she would've recognized the distress in that sound anyway, even if it hadn't been split up in the Morse code for S.O.S.

"I knew there was something wrong..." the keeper muttered under her breath, rummaging in one of the pockets of her cardigan until she found her battered cell phone. For some reason, those old models still had good reception inside the forest, unlike the newer smartphones; the old woman dialed a number with surprising speed. "Ian?" she said the moment her grandson picked up the call. "Have you heard the howls?" She nodded, listening to his words. "...good. You know what to do. Go tell Harrison I need... Yes, yes. Send her to me as soon as you can." The woman put the phone back into the pocket and sat on the tree trunk again, her steely eyes narrowed and a bit worried. "So... I was right again, huh?" She asks the forest. No answer came, and Moira shook her head. "Sometimes I really hate never being wrong..."

* * * *

Drake panted, his massive front legs resting against the ground; he was feeling tired and was having problems maintaining an erect position: despite being mostly healed by that point, the wounds on the right side of his body were still bothering him, especially when he bent left or right. With his dismay he had discovered that being a eight and a half feet tall, six hundred pounds heavy werewolf didn't automatically mean that he was an experienced fighter; even though only two minutes had passed since he had replaced Wyatt as the direwolf's opponent, he was already feeling tired, his large body heavy and fatigued.

He had tried to hit the black monster multiple times, but it had always managed to escape his grasp, because his movements were ridiculously easy to read; at least, none of the blows from the direwolf had managed to land, either, but Drake wasn't so sure that he could still keep the rhythm for too long. The grey werewolf glanced at Wyatt, who was still lying on the ground, his eyes filled with pain and his breathing heavy: the blood loss from the jagged cuts on his stomach had decreased, but he still looked too worn out to get up on his paws. I have to defend him, he thought. As long as I can.

Cast those foolish thoughts aside, a deep, resonating voice replied inside him. You are strong and worthy enough to turn that abomination to pieces by yourself, and with minimal effort. Stop pretending you are weak.

Drake tried to charge the direwolf once again, to no avail. He could only lower his ears in response of the words of the wolf. I... I don't... He glanced again at his wounded alpha. He's the one who's strong, I'm just...

The direwolf took advantage of his moment of distraction to hit him squarely in the chest with its head at full speed; a curtain of grey dots exploded in the eyes of the werewolf and a gush of air escaped from his lungs. He was sent tumbling in the grass, and before he could get up he felt the powerful paws of the direwolf pinning him on the ground, its jaws grabbing him by his mane of hair and forcing a distressed and alarmed yelp from the back of his throat. He could feel something big, slimy and warm near his tailhole, like a wet, hard tentacle trying to force his ass cheeks apart to invade and devastate his insides. And by looking at its dick, it'll probably rape us both beforehand, Wyatt had told him when they had seen the direwolf the first time... And the joke was apparently going to become a grim, horrible reality. "No!" Drake screamed, trying to squirm and to push the beast away. "Let me go!"

A blood-curling roar rumbled in Drake's pointed ears, leaving him dazed and bewildered... and free, since someone or something had pushed away the direwolf with apparent ease, sending him tumble on his back once again. Drake turned his head around: Wyatt was towering over him, a clawed paw over his mangled abdomen and a look of white-hot, blazing fury in his eyes. The alpha pointed at him with his free paw, and bared his fangs towards the direwolf. "HE... IS... MINE!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, even if he was still panting, and then - despite his grievous wounds - readied himself to attack again... but then a sudden, blood-red lightning adorned with a dark blue scarf ran past him, and jumped over the black beast to pummel it savagely.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY ALPHA?!" The female werewolf shrieked, her maws dripping foamy saliva, her eyes nothing more than speckled twin fires. "I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU KILL YOU KILL YOU KILLYOUKILLYOUKILLYOUKILLYOU!" And then her mantra devolved into a series of inarticulate grunts.

Drake got back on his trembling hind legs. "I-is that... Angela?!" he whispered, looking at Wyatt: the alpha looked a bit better than before, even if it was probably all thanks to a sudden discharge of adrenaline all around his ripped body.

Wyatt scratched himself in the back of his head. "Yeah, she tends to be a bit overprotective towards me. That's a side of her you don't see that much often... luckily."

Why do all the women around here have to be so goddamned scary?, Drake thought with a shiver. The grey werewolf lowers his eyes and ears in shame. "I'm sorry, Wyatt, I..."

The alpha grabbed his paw and squeezed it tight. "What are you talking about? It's your first primal moon, you still have to get used to that handsome body of yours."

A warm feeling travelled all the way to Drake's bearded, furred cheeks. "T-thanks," he replied. "And by the way, when you saved me and told the direwolf that I am yours... You were really cool in that moment."

Wyatt pretended to pout. "What do you mean? I'm always cool!" He snickered and looked at the still ensuing fight: Angela was pounding the left flank of the direwolf with powerful punches, still shouting death threats. "We should probably go and help her."

Something burst through a dense spot of bushes, a huge dark brown creature that for a moment Drake mistook for a grizzly bear; he wasn't as tall as he was, but was way larger, his arms so thick and bulging they looked like tree trunks. He had a shorter muzzle than the other werewolves, covered in a bushy, wiry, hirsute beard... and yet, his honey-colored eyes were still the gentlest ever, despite his size and his power. "P-Patrick?" Drake exclaimed, staring at the beefy mountain of a werewolf: he was probably more than one thousand pounds worth of flesh and muscles!

The brown werewolf turned his head towards Drake and nodded briefly; he darted forward, running on all fours, and caught Angela - who had just been kicked in the chest by the enraged direwolf - before she could fall to the ground.

Two smaller werewolves appeared next to Drake and Wyatt; compared to Patrick, they were downright tiny, like puppies, but they were still majestic beasts packed with muscles. "Alpha... B-big bro..." Chance whined, before starting to lick Drake's wounds clean with his tongue. His fur had the same chocolate shade of his dreadlocks, that in his wolf form were longer, thicker and sexier; his tail was cute and slender, with an almost-white tip, as if it belonged to a fox.

Kaylee, meanwhile, was taking care of the cuts on Wyatt's belly: she caressed them gently with her long pink tongue and coated them with warm, healing saliva. Her golden eyes stared at the black beast now fighting against Patrick for a moment and the rosewood-tinged fur on her back stood up in fear and disgust, a small growl trapped in her pointy muzzle not unlike that of a jackal. "That's... a direwolf, right?" Her growls and roars were a bit lower than her usual tone, probably because the vocal chords of a feral wolf weren't exactly suited for a girly and high-pitched voice; Drake was still a bit surprised that he could still understand his fellow packmates so well despite the strange way they talked.

Wyatt nodded. "We should get ready to fight it together. I'm sorry I have to ask you pups something like this, but..."

"No." Everyone turned their muzzles to stare at Drake. "We will not fight it. I will."

"What are you talking about, Drake?!" Wyatt exclaimed. "You've already tried, and..."

Drake lowered his head. "Exactly: I tried. Now I want to give the wolf a go." His voice sounded so firm and determined that Chance took a half-step behind, as if he was suddenly scared by his big bro. The grey werewolf turned around to face Wyatt, golden eyes peering into golden eyes. "You showed me how great an alpha you are... Now I want to prove to you that I can be a valuable beta." His stare was unwavering, much like his determination. "Please."

Wyatt looked back at him, and there was something undecipherable in his eyes, alongside admiration and pride. "Go, my dragon. Show me what you can do."

"Thanks." Drake walked slowly towards the fight scene, where Angela and Patrick were trying to overpower the monster. "Leave it to me," he told the wolf girl in the same commanding tone. Despite all the fury and the rage in her speckled eyes, Angela bowed her head and gestured for Patrick to retreat.

The direwolf was sporting a couple new wounds, and his left ear looked like it had exploded somehow, but its hatred towards the entire world was still there, ready to torn Derek to pieces with its yellowish, deathly fangs. Okay, wolf, I won't say I'm weak anymore, he thought while scratching the ground with a back leg. So please, lend me some of your strength.

Drake was sure he had heard the beast in his soul snicker. Again, another foolish thing to say. You still have a long way ahead of you, but one day you will learn. In the meantime, however...

The beating of a gigantic heart resonated all around the grey wolf's body, coursing through his vein like boiling blood. His pupils became as small as pinpoints, and a small moan of surprise escaped from his lips: he was feeling just like when the change in his primal form had started, but this time the sensation was more intense... and more personal, as if there was a voice speaking directly in his ears, whispering wild and fierce words of power to his mind and to his heart. Drake looked at the direwolf in front of him, and he had to restrain himself not to snicker derisively: he had really felt scared of that malformed, pathetic creature? Something living its existence in such a pitiful and incomprehensible disharmony wasn't even a match for a creature like him, the noble and almighty synthesis of a human being and a beast. You are wrong, he thought, his fangs bare, his body ready to strike, to attack. To kill, even. I cannot allow you to exist anymore.

What followed was, to Drake, very difficult to define: he felt as if he was skirting a strange path between the dream and the waking, not a hundred percent conscious of what was happening to him but still aware; and yet, that definition was completely wrong, in a sense. More than a dream, it was a very powerful and vivid fantasy, as if he had found himself inside an incredibly realistic 3D movie: despite seeing, hearing, smelling, touching and feeling everything around him with perfect clarity, he had taken the back seat of his body, letting something (or someone) else in charge. And even an explanation like that would've been incomplete and half-baked, because Drake was still himself: he had just given up thought, focusing and his wolf instinct and what his body was telling him, instead of waiting for his brain to give him the okay. There was no different whatsoever in the harmonic wave that was his werewolf soul: he was just on a different point of the spectrum right now.

His assault on the direwolf was being performed with surgical, frightening precision; Wyatt had been gold: graceful, ductile and wonderful to look at. But Drake... Drake was steel: he was hard, brutal and unforgiving, even if he too had a peculiar and savage elegance in his movements. Just like Wyatt, every blow he delivered was sure to connect and damage his opponent; but unlike his alpha, he didn't care much about being hit back: he was stronger and more resilient, and focused more on minimizing the wounds inflicted on him than avoiding them altogether. He wanted the fight to finish as fast as possible, he wanted the monster to dissipate and slither back in the terrible darkness that had birthed it, never to return to the world illuminated by the moonlight.

The air was filled by the smell of blood, both his own - with his rich, strong, earthy aroma - and the direwolf's, corrupting the night with its ungodly and decaying stench. The mix of different odors exalted and empowered Drake, kicking his already accelerated metabolism into overdrive: the wounds on his right flank that had bugged him so much had disappeared without a trace, leaving only untouched skin and luscious gunmetal fur behind.

Drake wasn't feeling joy, nor excitation, let alone pain. He wasn't feeling anything, emotions having been temporarily erased from his system along with complex thoughts; in a battle like that, they would've been useless. There was no need for being happy, or doubtful, or for feeling pity towards his opponent: there was only the fight, and nothing else mattered, not until the inevitable death of one of the opponents. And the only thing Drake was sure about, in those tense, violent, blood-filled moments, was this: he was the one who was going to survive.

* * * *

It was feeling rage and hatred. And that was only natural, since those two feelings never left it, because they were the fuel that had been keeping its dark, impure body going since the first time it had born, countless nights before. They, along with arousal, were the only things capable to make it feel alive, the desire to rape, destroy and burn the whole world to a crisp.

It was feeling pain. And that was unpleasant but expected, since it had been fighting against the worst - and at the same time, the best - opponents it could've found. Even if they were very similar to it, they were completely different, and it didn't feel but contempt and disgust for them... And envy. It didn't know nor understand why, but it resented them, because they had something it didn't have, nor it could've ever had. That was the reason why it had killed many of those horrible creatures during the past years; of course, before ending their lives it had satisfied its perverted libido with their bodies... and in many cases, even after.

But neither the rage and hatred, nor the pain disturbed it. They were only natural to it, just like breathing and bleeding. It was yet another sensation, something completely alien and unexpected that was creeping its way through its progressively more battered and damaged body. It had been born and died hundreds and hundreds of times, only to be reborn again... But, as it let out an alarmed, choked yelp and turned its tail to escape the claws of the dark grey monster, it distinctly felt that if it had died this time, it wouldn't have been able to see another night ever again.

For the first time in its perverted and gleefully twisted life, the direwolf was feeling fear.

* * * *

It is running away, Drake said to himself, the first coherent thought in a while. I cannot let it go. Everything will end tonight. "Leave it to me," he said, turning his muzzle towards his packmates. "I will take care of it right to the end." The five werewolves just stared back at him in awe and bewilderment as he turned around and gave chase to the direwolf among the trees. Following him for Drake was incredibly easy: it was losing so much blood it was a miracle - albeit a horrible, dark miracle - that it was still alive. And yet, despite the severe wounds all over its body, it was still running as fast as it could, scratching the soil and the grass and leaving a small but distinct path of destruction and corruption behind it. You cannot escape me, Drake thought, running on all fours. We are inside a barrier, after all.

They didn't even reach the barrier, however: the werewolf found the beast crumbled inside a small trench, near a broken vodka bottle and what looked like the squished remains of a corpse, nothing more than a disgusting jumble of skin, hair, blood and ruined clothes. It was breathing slowly and is visible pain, letting out broken growls from time to time. He is still not dying, Drake thought, looking at him from above. Despite its horrifying existence filled of nothing but despair, both as a wolf and as a human... It wants to survive, after all.

"Fang clan," Moira said in an abrasive tone. The old woman was standing alongside him, and despite his superhuman senses, the werewolf hadn't heard her approaching; even if she looked so tiny compared to him, the aura of power she was projecting all around felt almost solid. "So, reinforcements weren't actually needed... You did a pretty good job, new one. Color me impressed."

Drake stared at the keeper, then at the direwolf lying in the dirt of the ground, and the feeling of pity lit up in his soul once again. "Is there... any way to save it?"

Moira nodded. "You can kill it, of course."

Drake shook his big muzzle. "N-no, I mean... It's still like us, in a sense, right? The same bite that changed me into a werewolf made it into what it is. Isn't there any way to make it, well... Take the right path?"

Moira seemed taken aback by the question. "You mean saving its life? Making it become a werewolf?" she asked. "I'm sorry, new one, but... it's too far gone. Its soul is split open, but the two halves are not part of the same thing anymore." The woman stood silent, biting her lower lip. "I can read its thoughts, new one, and... No creature in this world should live constantly tortured by something like that." Her cheeks were pale, but her eyes remained stoic. "There's nothing you can do for it, except..."

Drake lowered his head. "I see," he murmured. He jumped into the trench, landing next to the direwolf; the monster stared at him with one of his burning red eyes, and growled at him quietly... and for a moment, Drake thought he could hear a word hidden somewhere in that bestial sound. Please. Please. The grey werewolf grabbed its head in his paws. "I am sorry," he murmured.

The sound of the neck snapping resonated through the trees like a shotgun.

* * * *

When Drake - who was carrying the slimy, limp corpse of the direwolf in his arms - and Moira had reached the rest of the pack, they discovered another fight had been going on: everyone was huddled against each other behind Wyatt, who was staring with homicidal eyes to a seventh werewolf, one Drake had never seen and who made him skip a couple of breaths.

The new primal wolf was as big and muscled as he was, with a uniform black pelt and a proud, triangular muzzle. At first, Drake didn't even realize that she was a female, until he noticed the lack of a furry sheath between her legs; the moment she noticed the arrival of the keeper and the werewolf, she bowed with an elegance and a composure that seemed unthinkable for a being of such stature and frame. "You don't just look strong, you are," she articulated in a voice that sounded quite exactly like her human one. "I am sorry, I misjudged you."

Drake slowly placed the body of the monster on the ground in front of him, then stared at the female werewolf. She was the only creature in the glade he could look at in the eyes without lowering his head. "Talia?" he asked, even if he already knew the answer: the gold earring dangling from her left ear was unmistakable. Well, of course there had to be a reason why she's the alpha.

Wyatt's older sister nodded. "You defeated a drrewolf. The head keeper called me here because you were in danger, but I see that my presence wasn't needed after all."

"Yeah, you can go away now. Bye bye, sis," the golden werewolf quipped at her in a voice that was dripping poison.

Drake crossed his arms over his chest. "You are right, you misjudged someone... but not me. The one who you should bow at is your younger brother. Wyatt was the one who showed me how to fight this monster, and he's the one who's truly strong here."

"Hey, I don't want any stinking..." Wyatt exclaimed, but Drake stopped him with a gesture of his paw.

"No, Wyatt. Let me finish." He looked at Talia again. "And not only him. Every one of those werewolves you see there is strong, and brave, and incredible... Too bad you didn't seem to realize that when they were your packmates."

The black werewolf's eyes were burning bright with sudden anger, the muscles of her arms bulging as if she was getting ready to attack him. "I won't let you talk to me..." But Drake waved a paw at her, too.

"You will listen to what I have to say too, Talia." I've just killed a direwolf, I'm more than ready to fight anything, believe me. "Seriously, what the hell do you have in mind? You beat the shit out of your brother for years when he was part of your pack, and let your packmates abuse of Angela and the pups as if they weren't under your protection. And don't give me that bullshit about the world needing only beautiful things again: as an alpha, your duty is to love and respect all your packmates not... not to use them to vent your own frustration, or neglect them." Okay, now she'll totally kill me.

For a few seconds, it certainly looked like Drake's life was going to be over, at least judging from the tension in Talia's body... But then her shoulders slumped and she lowered her head, even if just a little bit. "It's just that... I wanted them to become strong. I wanted them to fight back, because... Because we werewolves should be strong, and proud, and powerful!"

"And it never crossed your mind that you could have just told them that, right?" Drake didn't want to leave his opponent any possible escape route. Not today, not this night. This night is just for victory. "Good god, this is one of the situation that could've been easily resolved if you just had the common decency to talk to each other!" He pointed a clawed finger to the rest of his pack. "You owe them at least an apology, Talia."

The black she-wolf stared back at him, and for the first time since he had met her, Drake could distinctly notice confusion and conflict in her eyes. She lowered her head again in a deep bow, but this time she was looking at her younger brother and his pack. "Wyatt, Angela, Chance, Kaylee... I deeply apologize, both for me and for my pack. I considered myself to be a worthy alpha, but... It is clear that I failed with you. And I will totally understand if you don't want to accept my apologies..."

Wyatt let out a sarcastic and derisive laugh. "Yeah, of course we don't accept them! You know where you can stick your stupid and pathetic apologies, sis?"

Drake blasted him with a stare. "Oh, shut up, Wyatt. It's not like you don't have your share of faults."

"What?!" The alpha roared with an offended expression on his muzzle. "I was the one who got beaten, dude! What faults do I have?! She's the one who has been a bitch since..."

"Yes, and now she's apologizing to you."

Wyatt shook his head. "That's nothing you can solve just by saying you're sorry and pretend nothing happened."

"Of course not," Drake replied. "That's why the two of you need to talk."

The golden primal wolf walked just in front of his beta and crossed his arms, looking up at him in defiance. "And why should I want to talk to her?"

Drake hugged him in response, holding him tight; Wyatt tried to squirm a bit, but ultimately gave in to the gentle yet firm embrace of his stronger beta. "Because you can't accept everything from me if you don't accept yourself first," he murmured in his ears. "You still love her, right? Even after all those years, even after she treated you like that... She's still part of your family. That's why you wear an earring that looks like hers, and why your eyes always become so sad when you talk about her... You can try and fool yourself, Wyatt, but you can't fool me: she is your sister and she was your alpha, and those are two things that you cannot change. Remember what you said to me the day I woke up as a werewolf? That the bonds between packmates are so strong they can break your heart? Maybe, when you left Talia's pack, you broke her heart, too, even if she's never going to admit that." Drake sighed, looking at the corpse of the direwolf near his feet. "I'm not saying that you should forgive her that easily, but... at least try and talk to her. Do it for me, okay? I mean, she's a Nietzsche wannabe and probably a bit of a psychopath, but... If you don't face her and the unresolved problems you two have, you'll never be truly happy. We have to be in harmony with ourselves, or something can break inside us." Drake ruffled his golden mane. "Sometimes you can prove that you're strong just by the virtue of being a better person... or, well, a better werewolf, in our case."

Wyatt looked up, a timid smile on his muzzle. "Yeah... You're right, Drake, I can't keep running away from her." He stood on his tiptoes for a moment to give him a quick kiss. "Thank you. For everything." The alpha then turned to face Talia. "Okay, sis, I'll give you ten minutes, 'kay? Let's go somewhere more private."

After the two alphas had left the glade, Drake was assaulted by an impromptu group hug. "That fight was epic , big bro!" Chance exclaimed, his tail wagging like crazy.

"Yeah, who knew you were that good?" Kaylee added while she caressed his abs with her paw pads. "Looking at you made me feel so excited!" She murred happily, nuzzling against him.

Patrick showed him a rapid sequence of gestures. "He said 'You are the best new packmate we could ask for'," Angela said. She now looked calm and a bit melancholic again, the fury that had enlivened her dissipated. "And I think the very same."

The horrible sound of the dog whistle hurt the werewolves' ears again, eliciting a plethora of pitiful whimpers. "Shoo, shoo!" Moira snarled, moving her callous hands as if she was trying to sweep the night air. "Let the poor guy breathe!" The four packmates, begrudgingly, unravelled the hug; the old keeper stared at him with her fists on her hips. "You keep surprising me, new one. Not only you managed to kill a direwolf on your first full moon, you did something even more incredible: you convinced those two knuckleheads to talk to each other." She gave him a huge smile, and Drake felt instantly terrified. "Wait until Delia discovers it..."

* * * *

Drake opened his eyes, and found himself surrounded by white again. After the moon had waned and their incredible change had reverted, leaving them human - and naked as babies - once again, he had slouched towards Underhill house in a confused daze, only wanting a place to rest his head and sleep for a couple of hours. Or a couple of days. Without even bothering to shower, he had just slithered to his room and had fallen asleep even before his face could feel the comforting touch of the pillow.

The young man looked around, his forest green eyes examining the immaculate dome. "I'm here again. Strange, I didn't even drink that mephitic potion," he said to no one in particular. He then stared at himself: no clothes, just the wolf claw pendant around his neck. "Aaaaand I'm still naked. Great. I'm starting to suspect my wolf actually likes to see my junk."

And here you are again, spouting foolish words, the thundering voice of the beast in his heart resonated all around him. The reason why you are not wearing any clothes is because you are your purest heart, your truest self. This is exactly what you are on the inside. In other words, I do not think that your soul wears clothes.

Drake lowered his eyes, flowers of red on his cheeks. "Sorry, I was just joking..."

The golden eyes of the beast stared at him. The wolf was as huge and imposing as he remembered it, and Drake silently thanked whatever deity was in charge of protecting werewolves for not having become as big as he was during the full moon. I have not brought you here to joke.

Drake gulped. "Why, then?"

The wolf stood silent for a long time, as if he was trying to test Drake's patience. You did a very good job during this full moon. The way you fought against the direwolf, the moment you managed to gather some self-confidence, was magnificent. And you were right about your alpha: he is a good fighter, albeit a bit unconventional. And he proved that he wants to mature and change, at least a little.

The young man scratched the back of his neck, the sensation of embarrassment intensifying... but at least, this time, it was a nice feel. "U-um, thanks. But I couldn't have done anything without you lending me some of your strength..."

The beast snickered again. You still do not understand, do you?

"What do you mean?"

The wolf shook his colossal head. Explaining it to you straight away would be useless and detrimental; this is something that you ought to understand by yourself. But after the past full moon, you are already a bit closer to the answer. The beast looked up, his stare lost in the unfathomable heights of the dome. The time we have is over for now, I am afraid. But worry not, we will meet again soon.

"What are talking..." Drake opened his eyes again: someone was knocking at the open door. His vision was still foggy and confused courtesy of the impossibly vivid dream, and all he saw was a tall, blond figure standing on the threshold of the room. "W-Wyatt...?" he slurred.

"No." Cordelia walked inside the room, the same incomprehensible expression of an Egyptian statue on her fascinating face. She stopped in the middle of the bedroom, and looked at Drake with the air of someone who was desperately trying to say something.

Drake immediately got up from the bed and inspected himself: he was in a pitiful state, his clothes dirty and his hair a mess, but at least he wasn't naked anymore. "Oh, um... Hello, Delia."

"Yes," the tall woman replied, as if that had been a question. "Moira told me what you have done in the woods. About the direwolf... and about Talia and Wyatt." She stood silent again, as if talking was causing her to feel physical pain. "Who are you, Drake?" she finally asked.

"Huh?" Drake stared at her, dumbfounded. "I'm... not sure if I understand the question..."

"Who are you, Drake?" the woman simply replied. Her chestnut eyes burned with feverish intensity.

"W-well..." The young man scratched himself again. "You should know that, you said you browsed through my cellphone and my wallet, so..." Delia shook her head.

"That's not what I meant. You are a nice and gentle person, my husband doesn't stop talking about how great you are at your job and even Moira seems to have taken a liking at you, and Moira doesn't like anyone except her dogs. You have been brave and strong enough to kill a direwolf and to protect the rest of your pack during your first primal moon, and you even insisted for its corpse to be buried properly; not many wolves would've shown such a compassion. And what's more... you managed to convince my stupid son and my stupid daughter to try and reconcile." Delia grabbed one of Drake's hands between hers; it was the first time she had ever touched him, and the sudden gesture alarmed him a bit. "I don't know who you are, Drake... But believe when I tell you how grateful I am that Wyatt had turned you into one of us. I want you to know that our house is your house, and that, to me, you are a member of our family... and should you and my stupid son decide to marry one day, you will of course have my blessing."

Drake's face turned an interesting shade of purple. "G-g-gh," he managed to babble. "I-I... T-thank you, Delia. That... That means a lot to me, really." She had always thought at Wyatt's mother as a distant, cold woman and that there was almost no way for him to connect with her, but apparently she had a heart, too.

The small smile appeared again on her lips. "Although, if you try and tell Wyatt I said something like that, I'll yank your testicles off and cook them in a saucepan with a knob of butter and some parsley."

Drake could distinctly feel his brown hair standing to attention at the top of his head. "Y-yes sir. I mean, ma'am. I mean, Delia." I never understand if she's joking or not, he said to himself, a shiver coupled with cold sweat trickling down his spine. But, knowing her, the latter is more likely than the former. In the meantime, the woman had taken something out one of her pockets: a white, squared piece of lucid paper. Is that the picture of puppy-Wyatt again?, Drake asked himself.

"I wanted to show this to you," Delia told him, handing him the photograph. "You should understand what I'm feeling right now, by looking at it."

Indeed, one of the subjects of the picture was Wyatt during a full moon: he was crouched on a carpet crying his little heart out, and didn't look older than two-and-a-half. In front of him, her arms wide open to shield her little brother from whatever danger might have scared him, there was Talia, her triangular ears pushed back against her head and her tiny fangs bare: she looked ready to kill someone in order to defend Wyatt. Well, at least now I know she had been a psycho since childhood, Drake thought, but he couldn't prevent a delicate warmth to spread inside his heart.

Delia snatched the photograph from his fingers. "As you can see, there was a time where my stupid children loved each other... And should a time like that happen again someday in the future, I know it will be at least partly thanks to you."

Drake shook his head. "I... just did what I thought was the right thing to do. I am an only child, so I don't really understand how brotherly relationships work, but if I had a sister I think that I would like to be close to her." Even if she's someone as frightening as Talia... "Especially now, since your family is going to become a bit bigger soon, and..." Drake slapped a hand over his mouth. Oh, no, I didn't want to say that!

Delia gave him an funny look. "Oh, so you noticed? You're also very perceptive, I'd say."

The young man nodded. "Well, Talia didn't drink her contraceptive potion, she just pretended to... And since she's married, that's the only reason I could think of."

"Yes, apparently next March I will become a grandmother," Delia replied in a quite amused tone. "Now come with me, Drake: lunch is almost ready, and you know I don't like when a family member is late." And with a last, tiny smile, the strange woman walked outside his room, leaving the young man standing barefoot on the carpet, a dopey grin on his face.

"Family... member?" he repeated. "That... doesn't sound too bad."

* * * *

"Wyatt, we have been walking for at least half an hour," Drake protested. Wyatt had insisted to tie a blindfold over his eyes before they went outside for an evening walk. "Don't you dare to peek!", he had warned him in a joking tone. "'cause otherwise I'm squeezing your balls so tight you'll squeal like a pig!"

What's with everyone threatening my testicles today? Drake had groaned internally, but had accepted with pleasure to be escorted through the woods - the sounds and smells were unmistakable even if his sight had been impeded - by the warm hand of his alpha. I wonder what does he have in his head... Sometimes I'd love to have Moira's mind-reading powers. He smiles under the blindfold: on second thought, it wouldn't really be that funny. The fact that Wyatt kept finding new ways to surprise him was one of the things of him he loved the most, after all.

"Don't worry, we're almost there!" Wyatt chirped in an excited tone. Less than a couple minutes later, Drake couldn't feel the hand of his alpha anymore. "You can take away the blindfold now."

The beta obliged: Wyatt was standing in front of him with a proud look on his face. He had lied a checkered blanket on the ground, as if they were going to have a picnic. "Surprise!" he exclaimed. "Recognize the place?"

Drake looked around, and for a good minute he didn't seem to find anything peculiar about the glade they were in. "Mmh... Not really, no."

"Turn around, then," Wyatt suggested with an amused grin.

Drake did so, and didn't fall inside the large hole just thanks to his heightened werewolf reflexes; his eyes went as wide as coins. "W-wait! This is..."

Wyatt nodded. "The place where we first met. I thought it could be, y'know... romantic to celebrate our first month together, even if a month still isn't technically passed, and..."

Drake cut him short by circling Wyatt's face with his own hands and locking their lips together; his hungry tongue slithered in the mouth of the alpha, exploring all around until it found its warm, moist twin and sucked eagerly at it. Yeah, less than one month ago I would've never even considered kissing another guy, and now it seems like the most natural thing in the world, he thought.

The making out session went on for some long, hot minutes, until Wyatt interrupted the kissing. His ears were now furred and pointy, claws adorned his fingertips and the outline of a semi-erect cock that looked anything but human was painfully visible through his shorts. He licked his lips, before all the features of the wolf disappeared into thin air, except for his shining golden eyes. "W-wow..." he murmured, exhaling a long, satisfied breath. "Has anyone ever told you that you are a great kisser, my dragon?"

Drake grinned. "If you're talking about other men, no, you're the first." He too shook away his claws and fur, his beard and muttonchops retreating a bit inside the skin of his face. "I guess you didn't bring me here to do a second take of the sex scene from yesterday, did you?"

Wyatt shook his head. "No. Well, maybe later, but not now." He sat on the blanket and gestured for Drake to do the same. "Come here. Let's lie down for a bit." The two laid down one next to the other; Drake was looking at Wyatt in the eyes with a timid, dorky smile on his lips, and the alpha snickered. "You can stare at my face all the time when we are home, dude. Look up, now."

Drake's eyes slowly pointed upwards, and his heart skipped a couple of beats: he had never seen such a perfect, beautiful starry sky, not even when he was a kid and his parents had accompanied him to the planetarium: the myriad of lights framed by the treetops all around them were vivid and glorious, their brilliance pulsing slightly as if they, too, were living beings. "This is another thing I wanted to show you, my dragon," the voice of Wyatt reached from what seemed like a very remote distance Drake's ears; his mind was high and away, projected in the velvety darkness to play among the stars. "The night sky at the end of Summer is always the best."

Wyatt smiled, and there was joy and melancholy in equal parts in that expression. "During his month I gave you everything I could give to you: the curse and the blessing of my blood, my eccentric family, my cute packmates, my grumpy keeper, my skills with the piano, my happiness and my sorrow, my wolf and human hearts, my freedom, these woods... and of course my adorable and sexy body." The smile became a playful smirk for a single moment. "But I still haven't given you this starry sky, so... here it is. Just for the two of us." His lips parted again, this time to sing a melody that sounded familiar to Drake, even if he didn't know its name. The tune was quickly joined by words pronounced in a language that surely wasn't English. "Ihr stürzt nieder, Millionen? Ahnest du den Schöpfer, Welt? Such' ihn über'm Sternenzelt. Über Sternen muss er wohnen."

Drake snickered and caressed the back of Wyatt's hand with warm fingertips, tracing the contours of his knuckles. "No way, you also know... was that German?"

Wyatt shrugged. "Well, my great-grandparents from my mother's side came directly from the Black Forest, but you know, it's not like you have to learn German to know one of the most beautiful and well-known works of art man has ever produced." He hummed the same tune with his lips closed for a bit. "Do you bow before Him, you millions? Do you sense the one who created you, world? Search for Him above the starry canopy. Beyond the stars is where He must dwell." The alpha paused for a bit, his eyes fixed at the dark sky above. "You know, for all this years I thought I would've never been able to feel like Beethoven, or Gershwin, or Mervyn Peake, or John Donne, or all the other artists I admire, because I didn't hope I would've ever been able to produce something that could be legitimately called a masterpiece. But, well, you know... Yesterday I suddenly realized that I was wrong, because I had already created something incredible and unique enough."

"Really?" Drake replied lazily, his fingers still caressing his lover's hand. "And what that would be?"

Wyatt turned towards him, his golden eyes gleaming softly. "You. You are my masterpiece."

Drake felt his eyes become watery and prickly. "That's... the most beautiful thing someone has ever said to me." His strong, muscled arms grabbed his alpha and pulled him close. "I love you so much, Wyatt... Thank you for giving me this moment. It's the best birthday present ever."

Wyatt stared at him, suddenly perplexed. "W-what do you mean, 'birthday present'? You mean today was your birthday?!"

Drake scratched the back of his head. "Well, no... But I'll turn twenty-three in a couple of hours. I didn't say anything because knowing your father he would've insisted in throwing me a birthday party or something embarrassing, and..."

This time he was the one interrupted by the tongue of his partner caressing his own, an invitation to a wild dance full of pleasure. His lips were massaged by the expert touch of Wyatt's, making him moan in delight. "Don't be silly, Drake! Of course we'll throw you a party, and mom will bake her renowned apple pie!"

"But I don't want to be a bother..." Drake weakly tried to protest, but Wyatt silenced him.

"Oh, come on, you're not bothering anyone! You're a member of our family now! You are my beta, my dragon and my boyfriend, so there's no really..."

"W-wait," Drake stared at Wyatt with trembling lips. "Y-you said... 'boyfriend'?"

Wyatt grinned back. "Well, if you are okay with that, of course... Dude, you literally have no idea how much I love you: you're strong, handsome, reliable, gentle, compassionate, and you ass is fantastic! I feel horny just thinking about it..." He licked his lips playfully, his fingertips stroking the beard on the beta's cheeks. "So?"

Drake lowered his eyes, his mind a hurricane of different emotions. "I... don't know what to say."

"It's easy, really." Wyatt kissed him once, on the lips. This time, it was just a sweet, tender - and unfortunately too short - gesture of pure affection. "Just say yes."

Drake kissed him back. "Yes, Wyatt. There's nothing else I want, right now, than being your beta, your lover, and your boyfriend."

The two young men resumed their making out session once again, and this time they let their wolves come out and play; their bodies grinded slightly against each other, stimulating the rock-hard canine erections still trapped inside their shorts. As Wyatt was taking Drake's t-shirt away to lick the toned skin of his chest and play with his nipples, the beta stared at the brilliant sky full of wonders just above her heads, the stars looking so close and tempting that he lifted an arm, trying to grab a handful of them.

I don't know what is going to happen from now on, he thought, shivering in pleasure when Wyatt's tongue started tracing the contours of his abs. I still feel the lingering sensation that what I'm living right now is nothing more than a very vivid hallucination, and that at some point I'll just wake up in that hole, dying of starvation... Because there's no way someone can be as happy as I am right now.

What lies ahead is still a mystery, something that I have to face day after day, until I'll finally learn what it exactly means to be a true werewolf... But at least I know that there will always be someone alongside me, someone who loves me for what I am, someone who I can accept completely and that accepts me completely.

Wyatt Underhill.

The name of my summer.

(next chapter: Point of convergence)