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[center]His Wolf Part 5 - by A. A. Samuel[/center]

"The chase is over," the black werewolf said.

At his feet, Miah, whimpering softly from the injuries he'd just inflicted, opened her mouth to swallow his fat, hard cock.

Behind him, black clouds gathered in the sky of Sam's mind. Wind howled through the creaking, swaying trees. Sam considered his options.

He ran.

This was Sam's mind. With the tricks he'd learned from Tree, he should be able to . . .

A man darted in front of him.

A tall man. With black hair. Sam would recognize him anywhere.

[i]Of course there are two of him here.[/i]

[i]Why[/i] wouldn't [i]there be two of him here?[/i]

But it was too late. Hurst—or whatever the bastard's real name was, since it sure as fuck wasn't "Alpha"—had already caught him. He wrenched Sam into a painful arm-lock, forced him to his knees if he didn't want a broken shoulder.

[i]It is just my mind,[/i] Sam thought. [i]Maybe if I let him break it, I can . . .[/i]

"I see that look," Hurst said, grinning cruelly. "You're wondering if you have the guts to break your arm to get away from me. I [i]have[/i] seen defiance before, Bitch."

Sam glared at him and lurched to yank himself away.

Hurst let go at the last second. Sam overbalanced and fell on his ass. While he scrabbled to his feet, Hurst disappeared completely, then reappeared practically on top of Sam, wrestling him into a different, more-painful lock before Sam could even blink.

"I've spent a long time learning to manipulate the minds of others," Hurst said. "How do you think I made your fluffy friend there?"

He jerked Sam's head upward. He was back where he'd started, staring up at the huge black werewolf, while a trembling Miah sucked wolf-Hurst's cock.

"I get that someone's taught you a trick or two, stupid bitch," human-Hurst murmured in Sam's ear, "but it won't help you. Not against me."

A chill iced through Sam's soul. He wished for Tree, but he knew it was almost sunset. He knew he'd stepped out of her realm.

[i]He's psyching me out,[/i] Sam insisted to himself. [i]This is[/i] my [i]mind. I can take it back from him. I just need a minute for clarity.[/i]

"You think I'm just trying to scare you," human-Hurst purred. "Try me." Then, "Get her tied up Wolf," he snapped.

"Yeah, I know the drill, jackass," the werewolf snarled back. He jerked Miah roughly to her feet and over to a tree.

The tree, inexplicably, had shackles bolted to it. Miah barely resisted as he chained her in. She refused to look at him—or at Sam or human-Hurst—and she let him have any limb he grabbed, let him bolt on the shackles as pliantly as a suicidal lamb.

"We've got something special planned," the werewolf rumbled to Miah. "Since you've been such a very bad girl, your alphas are going to get treats." He chuckled at what he might possibly have considered to have been a joke. "You won't like it," he promised.

"I'm sorry, Alpha," Miah whimpered.

The werewolf backhanded her across the muzzle. Sam winced. Blood appeared on Miah's lip where her own tooth had cut her.

"You do [i]not[/i] have permission to speak, Bitch," he growled.

Sam struggled in human-Hurst's grip, but the ground beneath him was weirdly soft, and he couldn't seem to find any leverage.

Sam's captor laughed at his efforts. "What, are you trying to save her?" He might have been genuinely surprised. "Why do you care? She's a monster. She's my pet bitch who's invaded your brain. Wouldn't you rather we just killed her?"

Sam set his jaw and refused to reply.

"You [i]are[/i] a weird one," Hurst said, "but I can fix that."

Now it was Sam's turn to get yanked to his feet and dragged to a tree to be shackled. The cuffs were heavy iron, so heavy Sam could barely shift them when he tried to struggle.

His tree faced Miah's, but she still wouldn't look at him.

"Eventually," human-Hurst said to Sam, "you're going to get the idea that you can disappear those shackles with your mind. I'll save you some trouble. You can't. It's a thousand years too soon for you to challenge me for dominance here, Bitch. You're already mine."

"Fuck you," Sam said.

Hurst laughed. "No," he said. "Sometimes, when you're very good, [i]I'll[/i] fuck [i]you[/i]." He grinned as if he'd been clever. "Not tonight though. Tonight, you get to learn your place."

Sam tried to spit on him, but the spit somehow evaporated into nothing before it ever reached Hurst's face. Hurst sneered and punched Sam in the gut.

Fiery pain exploded out through Sam's being from the punch. He wanted to hunch around his poor stomach, but the shackles wouldn't let him.

"If he talks again," Hurst drawled, "feel free to eat his tongue, Wolf."

The werewolf chuckled. Hurst walked away to join him.

Man and wolf, Hurst stood beside the bound and near-limp Miah.

"Now then," the human said.

The wolf looked on with a mild, cruel amusement. Sam had the impression that the human dominated between them, but only because the wolf didn't care enough—about anything—to bother challenging him. As long as he was entertained, he let his human play boss, within reason. Like Jake's wolf, only evil.

Sam wondered if most werewolves had similar wolf-selves, once human and wolf reached an understanding with one another. Or perhaps this was a trait of those born werewolves? If so, Hurst must have had a far more fucked-up childhood than Jake.

"The game for tonight," human-Hurst went on, "while my new human bitch learns her filthy insignificance by watching us attend to more important matters . . ."

Sam snorted. [i]K[/i], he thought.

". . . you'll be learning how to properly serve your Alpha." He petted Miah as he spoke, then abruptly jerked her face over to meet his eyes.

She gasped as he yanked her fur.

"Don't make a sound," human-Hurst said. "That's the first rule. Every time you make a sound, he cuts you."

A claw lashed out and slashed along her arm. She gasped again. It was barely more than an indrawn breath, but it did, like the previous gasp, have the slightest, thinnest ghost of a whimper to it. Wolf-Hurst cut her again.

That time she kept silent.

Sam wanted to scream at them, but he didn't know how much power Hurst really had here. He didn't honestly know what would happen to him if wolf-Hurst ate his tongue. He didn't ever want to know.

No one was looking at him though. If he could just find some focus, gather his concentration, he really should be able to get out of this.

"The next rule," human-Hurst said, "is that every time you orgasm, he cuts you deeper."

Wolf-Hurst grinned wider and flexed his claws. Human-Hurst crouched between Miah's legs and began to gently toy with her clitoris with one hand. Miah began to twitch and writhe beneath his touch. Sam couldn't even imagine what a struggle it must be for her—of all people—not to make a sound during such ministrations.

"Rule three," came Sam's enemy's smug, arrogant voice, "is that if you so much as [i]look[/i] at my insignificant bit of trash over there, who caused me all this rude inconvenience, I will cut off your tail and shove it up your ass. The only people in this forest are Alpha . . ." He pointed to himself with his free hand. "Wolf . . ." the werewolf, ". . . and Bitch."

He tweaked her clit hard, eliciting a short, sharp squeak, followed by another bleeding cut, this one across the top of one creamy-furred breast.

"No one else even exists without my permission," Hurst concluded.

Sam mostly rolled his eyes at all that, but he knew it probably had an effect on Miah, and he couldn't say for sure what kind. He wondered too, if this might be part of the "getting rid of the human self" process Tree's story had implied. Sam didn't see how such a ploy could hope to work on him, but given enough time and despair . . . well Sam didn't exactly want to test the theory.

No, he had to get out of here. He had to coax [i]his[/i] mind-forest into obeying [i]him[/i] over this intruder. If he could slow his breathing, take a moment to center himself . . .

"And the final rule," Hurst declared, still toying with Miah's clit as she silently writhed in her chains, "is that the game will continue until you've begged hard enough for your Alpha's cock—[i]out loud—[/i]that he finds it in his heart to give it to you."

Sick fucks, both of them. Sam felt ill. Wolf-Hurst stroked his own huge erection. Human-Hurst bent forward to apply his lips and tongue to Miah's clit.

Against his will, Sam felt the echoes of her growing arousal, like he always did. This wouldn't go well. He could already tell.

A tiny whimper of pleasure escaped Miah's throat. Another red gash appeared, on her belly this time. The first two had already healed by now, but that didn't make a difference to the pain she must feel.

Why did her pleasure always transfer to the physical body, and through it to Sam, but not her pain? He wasn't sure there was anything important in the answer, but he did wonder if he could use it somehow.

But Sam could worry about that later. For now, what he really had to do was get out of here—back to Jake, and if possible back to Tree. He shut his eyes, cleared his thoughts as Tree had coached him, and tried nothing more difficult than to return to his physical body.

It didn't work.

Sam tried it again, several more times in fact, using every trick he knew to shut out the sounds of Miah's torture.

Nothing ever happened. It [i]might[/i] have been because Miah grew more and more aroused as they licked and cut her, to the point that Sam heard and nearly [i]felt[/i] her scream with orgasm, and again in pain with whatever "deeper" cut had followed, only to successfully swallow her cries for any subsequent ministrations.

Sam [i]thought[/i], however, that he'd centered himself more than enough to be able to return to his body. Something was in the way, and he probably wouldn't be able to bypass it until he at least knew what it was.

And he couldn't even [i]ask[/i] Hurst about it, because he didn't know what would happen if they cut out his tongue.

Plan B then. Sam opened his eyes for a moment just to be sure that he wasn't missing anything. Human-Hurst still lapped at Miah's now heat-swollen cunt. Wolf-Hurst still stood at alert to make her bleed at the slightest sound. A large gash in her side bled rivers of red down her soft, pale fur as it slowly healed.

"You see how it is now, right?" the werewolf growled to her, so softly that Sam might have missed it if he'd still been concentrating. "You should start begging now. Don't wait until you need it to stay sane. You'll never convince me in time that way. If you want the game to stop while you're still you, you need to say, 'Alpha, please fuck me,' as sweetly as you can. Got that?"

Miah didn't move, save to writhe against human-Hurst's tongue. For several long moments, she gave no sign that she'd even heard the werewolf's words.

Sam wasn't sure why, but he couldn't force himself to look away. His cock was painfully hard from Miah's helpless, unwanted arousal, and Sam couldn't reach himself to do anything about that, but he thought it was horror, more than eroticism, that kept him staring as the scene unfolded.

"Alpha," Miah said.

Slice.

"Please"

Rip.

"Fuck"

Tear.

"Me"

Cut.

"Hmm, that wasn't very sweet, was it Face?" Wolf-Hurst drawled.

Human-Hurst snorted but kept at his task. He wrapped his arms around Miah's thighs to hold her more still as he licked.

"I don't think it was very sweet," the werewolf concluded. "You need more practice. Say it again, Bitch. Beg me to fuck you."

Sam had to get them out of here. He had to tear his eyes—and his mind—away from this freak-show.

Setting his jaw, he shut out everything else once more. This time, he imagined that the shackles were made of aluminum foil. Hurst had said Sam couldn't disappear them, but maybe if he changed them into something he could break, it would be a different story.

Sam visualized his tinfoil shackles in great detail, then opened his eyes to see what he'd accomplished.

The shackles were unchanged.

But everything else was worse.

Sam's tree had . . . sunk? Into the ground? Sam was buried to the knees, and in his mouth . . .

Sam explored with his tongue.

Fuck.

He now wore a ring gag. His mouth was stretched open in a perfect and uncomfortable O.

Human-Hurst stopped licking Miah to turn and grin at Sam. "Oh good!" he cried. "Our cum-bucket has arrived! I was starting to feel a bit pent up, but I knew it wouldn't take [i]too[/i] long." He chuckled. "Bitch, you may look at the cum-bucket, but remember that it is an inanimate object. If I suspect you are making eye-contact or attempting communication, I will still cut off your tail for rectal insertion."

Sam's heartbeat sped with new terror. This wasn't good. This was in fact very bad. He had no idea what had happened, or why, or how. He had no idea how to undo it. He found himself very much afraid that if he tried anything else he would only make things worse, and yet . . .

There wasn't a lot worse they could get, was there?

Human-Hurst whipped out his cock, and stepped up to Sam. Sam's mouth was at exactly cock height.

"You handle her alone for a bit, Wolf?" Hurst said. "I'll warm the bucket for you."

"Alpha, please fuck me!" Miah cried plaintively. Sam thought she might even have said it for him, to end this torment for his sake.

He wished she wouldn't keep trying to please them. He didn't think they were ever going to let things end before they were good and ready.

But she'd already said it. Four claw-slashes accompanied her words.

"A little better," wolf-Hurst commented, "but keep trying. Yeah, she doesn't mean it yet, Face. We'll be at this for hours. Bucket better be able to hold a fuck-ton of cum."

"It can do anything I want," human-Hurst bragged, "and only what I want."

[i]This isn't real![/i] Sam promised himself. [i]This is just the mind forest! None of this is happening except in my mind.[/i]

Laughing, Hurst shoved his hard cock down Sam's throat and began to fuck.

It really was hours. Hours and hours. Sam lost track. He wanted to lose consciousness, but he was never quite able to.

He was, on the other hand, able to gag down a great deal of cum. So much that he felt uncomfortably full. After a while, when he glanced down at himself, Sam noted he'd swallowed enough semen to distend his belly in a small paunch.

He didn't understand how the werewolf's cock had even fit so deep down his throat, or how he'd kept breathing when wolf-Hurst had knotted with his ring-gag. But Sam wasn't in control here anymore. Hurst was. The rules were whatever Hurst wanted them to be.

[i]None of this is real.[/i]

Miah continued to bleed and writhe and beg. Sam thought she went mad a long time before he did. They never did fuck her that he saw. No matter her tone, no matter how sweet, it was never good enough to merit the knot she needed.

Her arousal grew high enough that [i]Sam[/i] came twice without anyone ever touching his cock, ever even acknowledging that he was alive and a person.

Orgasm in the mind-forest was strange. It felt more like foreplay than climax—no, more frustrating than foreplay, except . . . with the urgency oddly muffled, just a bit dreamlike. Sam wondered if either Hurst were really getting anything out of this, or if every time they came served primarily to humiliate their victims.

Sam couldn't fathom anything either of them thought.

It made his head spin. It made the world spin, and all the trees, and the stormy sky overhead.

And he swallowed Hurst's cock again. Swallowed it over and over and over and somehow didn't suffocate or vomit. Tears ran down his cheeks. Drool and spooge ran down his chin. Hurst shot another load into his throat. Sam swallowed whatever he could, scrambling—as he did every time—not to choke.

"Alpha, please fuck me!" Miah screamed in obvious orgasm.

Hurst ripped brutally into her. "You're not even trying," he growled—though he sounded more delighted than angry, deep down.

And so it went on.

And on.

And on.

[i]It's not real.[/i]

Without that thought, Sam would have wanted to die. He did want to kill, but he'd already wanted that. Now he wanted to kill slowly, horribly, with screams and bleeding.

But he didn't dare imagine anything too vividly. He didn't dare trigger any more horrific responses from Hurst's strange power.

[i]Let it end,[/i] Sam begged, though he didn't know who he thought might be listening. [i]It's my own mind! It's not even really happening! I should be able to stop this!![/i]

[i]Please, please, please let it end.[/i]

And somehow—after far, far too long but as suddenly as it had started—it ended.

The world went white.

Werewolf. Terrifying, giant, fanged monster. Sam screamed and scrambled backward.

"Whoa! Hey!" the werewolf cried.

Sam got his feet under him. He lurched dizzily toward cover. The werewolf let him go. Sam glanced back at him.

Not black fur this time, he realized. Brownish-greyish. Wolf-colored. Not grinning. He looked worried, in fact, and not really very terrifying after all.

Sam blinked. He replayed the werewolf's voice in his head. Through the startlement, the sound hadn't really sunk in, but now that he thought about it . . . That was Jake. He was looking at Jake. Behind Jake were trees, which . . . could mean anything.

But Sam was free, and no one was fucking his face. His mouth wasn't even sore. He couldn't hear any screams. All of those seemed like good signs. He blinked again.

"You're awake!" Jake sounded like he'd been crying. "Sam? Are you ok? Tree will be here soon. What the fuck happened to you, babe?"

Babe?

The next thing Sam knew, he was laughing. It was a crazed laughter—composed of too many emotions crowding together until they blurred into some kind of absurdist horror comedy. Sam laughed until tears leaked out his eyes, then choked on them to keep from crying, which somehow turned into a savage yell. It ripped Sam's throat ragged and left him sagging against a tree.

From behind himself, Sam heard Jake's werewolf-form voice on the edge of panic.

"Sam, can you hear me?! What's happening!?!"

Sam realized that Jake had been saying his name, trying to provoke some rational response for well over a minute while Sam laughed like a crazy person. He just hadn't noticed.

He forced himself to stop and breathe.

"I'm sorry," he said. It came out a hoarse croak, from the yelling.

"Sam?" Jake asked. He circled back around until they faced each-other again.

Sam nodded. "Where am I?"

"Inside the barrier," Jake said. "It's about dawn. You woke up the second I got you inside."

All night. Sam had been stuck in Hurst's clutches [i]all night[/i]. A thought occurred.

"I need to check on Miah," Sam said. He didn't want to go back to the mind-forest—maybe ever, if he could help it—but he couldn't just leave her . . .

[i]I'm here,[/i] came her voice in his mind, very softly. Her tone was unreadable. [i]He's gone for now.[/i] She sounded very much as if further discussion would not be welcome. Sam decided that for a few hours, under the circumstances, anything she wanted was fine with him.

He relayed this information to Jake, who looked torn between relief and renewed concern in response.

"That Hurst guy? Got into your mind?!" he asked, almost barked.

Sam nodded tiredly. "It's definitely not my imagination, and I don't think Miah invited him either." Sam noticed he was shaking. "He can just do what Tree does, only worse, and even at a distance."

"I take it that something has happened?" came Tree's voice from all around them. "Why have you returned?"

"I see," Tree said gravely.

The three of them sat in her tree-house. Sam couldn't stop shivering, so Tree had wrapped him in furs. The others were naked, and Jake had taken human form.

Sam couldn't fathom how it would even be possible to feel aroused after the night he'd had, but as he shivered there on Tree's bed, wrapped in what seemed like it must be a bearskin, Sam found both his companions distractingly sexy—no matter how many times he dragged his mind back to the problems at hand.

Was that something Hurst had done to him too? Or was Sam subconsciously just desperate for any distraction, as long as he could think about something besides . . .

. . . torment.

"I need more help," Sam heard himself croak. "I need to learn how to keep him out of my mind, or hide here until I can fight better, or, fuck, quest for the 'sword of I win', or . . ."

A nervous laugh escaped Jake, but Tree's reply held no humor.

"You're no longer hidden here," she said. "He's found you. You have to move on." The look in her eyes permitted no argument. "However, I will give you something to ward your mind, and I do have more information to share."

Information? Sam straightened where he sat, to show he was listening.

"I received a reply about the missing young man in Canada," she explained. "He has been found."

Sam blinked. A strange nausea told him he might not want to hear more.

"What did he say?" Jake asked. "Is it related? How did he . . ."

"He's dead," Tree said.

How had Sam known? How was he so sure he knew what Tree would say next as well?

"A female werewolf was discovered chained in a basement," she said softly. "She didn't survive long, despite all efforts to save her, both magical and mundane. She wasn't much more coherent than the one from the swamp, but they were able to ask a few questions before she passed."

"Her human had died a long time before they found her," Sam heard himself say, his unwanted lusts finally withering. He felt nothing now—nothing but the nausea. It wasn't an improvement.

"So it would seem," Tree confirmed. "The wolf-woman's last words expressed relief that she would rejoin her human soon. She wished she had fought harder to save him."

Jake seemed to struggle with this. He'd declared it impossible the last time the concept had been raised, but now he said nothing. Sam felt oddly grateful. He didn't want to have to talk about the things Hurst had said to him last night.

"Was she starved and tortured like the others?" Jake growled instead.

Tree nodded. "A werewolf can heal almost anything, but not malnutrition." She sounded tired and sick, though not as sick as Sam felt.

"Where did they find her?" he asked.

"Less than fifty miles north of here," Tree replied. "A construction crew found her on a routine inspection before bulldozing the house she was in. Quite the supernatural task-force turned out to keep the matter under wraps, so I'm told." She shook her head, looking worried for once. "Apparently, the US military nearly got their hands on her before the crisis was contained."

Jake's face went grey. He swallowed a few times before speaking again. "Did . . . she give us anything else?"

Tree nodded again. "The descriptions match: tall, black hair, brown eyes, handsome, of European blood or mostly so, black fur in wolf form." She shrugged. "They found no connection to the name Enoch Hurst. The house had belonged to a Max Curtis, several years dead at age seventy-four, but no one seems to know whether or not our torturer used that name as an alias or what his real or previous names might be. His victim would call him nothing but Alpha until she died."

[i]Are you listening?[/i] Sam thought loudly, as gently as he could manage through his rage at Hurst.

If she was, though, Miah didn't reply.

"What was her name?" Jake asked softly.

"The missing young man was named Kevin Rasmussen," Tree said sadly, with a subtle undercurrent of rage, "but the wolf-woman would identify herself only as 'Bitch'."

Bitch. Sam actually gagged. He shivered harder, wrapped the bearskin tighter around him.

"Before he abandoned her," Tree went on, "he told her she'd failed him, grown boring like the others. He told her he was headed south to choose a replacement."

"How long ago?" Sam asked. [i]How long did it take him to pick me?[/i] He wasn't sure why he cared.

"She was found three months ago," Tree said. "Before that, Kevin Rasmussen was missing for nearly five years."

Kevin Rasmussen.

Bitch.

[i]Why me?[/i]

He'd probably never know. It probably didn't matter. Wrong place, wrong time. Hurst was in the mood for a blond. He'd chosen randomly by running out in front of a car and seeing who hit him. Could be anything. Sam couldn't expect things like [i]reasons[/i] from a guy like this.

As if he'd heard Sam's thoughts, Jake asked, "Did Kevin ever say why she was chosen? What Hurst saw in her?"

Tree looked to Sam, and her sadness seemed to deepen. "No," she said. "Not that I was told."

Tree didn't have any more information. She gave Sam a very small pine cone on a leather thong, and told him to wear it at all times, waking or sleeping, until Hurst was defeated. She gave Jake permission to apply wax to the charm and cord, so that Sam could bathe with it on, though she didn't seem to understand why he would need to.

And then Tree, once again, assured them they had everything they needed, and would be fine. She said her goodbyes and ushered them back to the edge of the barrier.

Sam tried to walk out. He didn't want to outstay his welcome. He didn't want to trouble the dryad any more than he already had. He was grateful for everything she'd done, and he didn't want to force her to do more, and yet . . .

He couldn't do it. He couldn't make himself leave.

He looked to Jake, standing beside him, waiting to cross with him back into the real world. "It won't be enough," came his own hoarse whisper. "You don't know what he's like. You don't know his hold on her. I . . ."

Jake nodded, kissed Sam's forehead like . . . well, like they were lovers, which Sam grudgingly admitted they were. Squaring his shoulders, Jake turned back to face Tree.

"My lady," he began, the way a defendant might say "Your Honor," in a courtroom, "We're up against a werewolf, a mage, and a psychotic serial murderer, all wrapped up in one person. Even if it's technically two-against-one, we're feeling a bit outnumbered here."

Wind sighed through the trees all around them. A handful of birds startled and flew away, squawking. A nearby snake revealed its position by slithering away, and other bushes rustled and quivered. Sam didn't dare look around at Tree's face.

"I don't know who else to ask," Jake pleaded. "We need an edge, an extra boost. Don't you think this might be a situation for . . . the item you guard?"

Sam froze. The trees around them shook and groaned as if in a storm. Birds exploded into the air and flew away, followed on the ground by other forest creatures. Sam barely noticed, barely grasped the implications in regards to Tree's sheer power.

Item? What item?

"[i]Nothing[/i] could justify involving that which I guard," Tree insisted, her voice echoing among the trees around them. "I don't thank you for speaking of it, son of Hannah Grey."

Jake winced visibly at Sam's side.

"I know," he said, "but . . ."

"It's time for you both to leave," Tree said softly. "I do not forget my debt to your mother, Jake, but you forget my age. I [i]have[/i] seen conflicts between werewolves before. Hurst is only one man. You are better prepared than you think."

"No!" Sam heard himself shout. He found himself spinning to face Tree, shaking head to toe. "It's [i]because[/i] we're werewolves that he'll beat us!" he cried. "Don't you see? He [i]specializes[/i] in . . ."

Tree stepped into a tree behind her, startling Sam into trailing off as she disappeared. Was that it? Had she just left?

Both werewolves jumped when she reemerged from a different tree, right beside Sam. This one had bright red berries, and they colored her eyes eerily. She stepped close to Sam and folded him into her arms, kissing his ear.

Sam felt himself trembling still, in fear of Hurst, and of her.

Tree held him close, shushing him like a child until he went still. Jake stood silently by.

"You are strong, Sam," Tree said. "And your Miah is stronger than you think. I'm sorry I can't help you more, but I have duties here in these woods. I cannot neglect them further." She pulled back and fixed Sam with her weird green-and-red gaze, like a plant that bled human blood. "I need you to try for me, Sam. I believe in you."

She meant what she said. Sam could see that. She really didn't believe she sent Sam out to his death. She really did wish she didn't have a tree-warding deadline or whatever eldritch "duties" pressed on ancient dryads who consorted with psychotic former gods. She [i]liked[/i] Sam, and Jake too, even if she was annoyed about him bringing up whatever cursed artifact she had hidden here.

She really was trying to give Sam strength for the trial ahead.

But.

She also needed him to leave.

She would force him out if he didn't choose to go.

[i]Sam[/i], came Miah's voice in his mind, shaking but insistent.

[i]I know[/i], Sam replied. [i]It's her territory.[/i]

"It's ok Jake," Sam said out loud. "Let's go."

He nodded to Tree, his sincere thanks for all her help—qualified by the understanding that it wouldn't be enough, couldn't possibly be enough. He hoped she could forgive him for the less than gushing farewell.

He checked one last time to make sure his pine cone was in place. It was.

Then he turned and walked out of the barrier. He heard Jake follow. He felt the power of the boundary between this magical forest and the human world outside shiver over his skin. It was so subtle on the way out. You had to be looking for it or you might not feel it. Like goose bumps, or static electricity.

Sam braced himself for attack.

None came.

"That pine cone doing its job?" Jake asked.

Sam nodded. "So far," he said. Then he sighed. "Can I have some pants now?"

"Ok," Sam said. "You told me before not at his house, because he'd be too prepared there, and we agreed not at my house because it's in a complex and there would be too many civilians nearby. We also don't want anything too unfamiliar, because it leaves us with too many unknowns." He sighed and met Jake's eyes. "Doesn't that [i]only[/i] leave us with your place?"

"I'm familiar with a lot of wilderness areas . . ." Jake began.

"Yeah, but that's not exactly a controlled situation," Sam protested. "If things turn south for him, he'll just leave and try again later, until he wears us down."

"Sam, he'll [i]expect[/i] it at my place," Jake said, not for the first time. "He already found you there once. For all we know he's been sleeping there every night we've been gone."

Sam shivered in the passenger seat of Jake's Subaru.

"If that's true, can we even afford to go back there?" he asked.

Jake half-shrugged without taking his hands off the wheel or his eyes off the road. "We'll pull over a mile or so out and smell for him in wolf-form. If he's been there, we'll go somewhere else, but even if he [i]hasn't[/i] been there, it's still not where we should try to fight him."

"Jake, I don't want him trashing your place," Sam said. "I really don't, but that basement of yours . . . if we could get him down there . . ."

Jake was silent for a while. Then, "One thing at a time," he said. "Let's see if he's been to my place first."

They tossed around other plans as they drove—traps and chemistry experiments, and every way to cheat that they could think of. They both knew they'd need it.

When they stopped to sniff for intruders at Jake's . . .

"Yeah, that's his scent," Sam said, once he had the right sort of tongue and larynx again.

He still had the impression that he [i]could[/i] talk in wolf form, but it still felt unnatural to try.

"He hasn't been there for a few days, if that's him," Jake said, "but that still means he's probably scoped the layout."

"Doesn't mean he found your basement," Sam pointed out. "We could at least sniff around on-site, see if it's a safe place to sleep for the night."

Jake shook his head. "He's a crafty bastard, if he's gone this long without some local pack tracking him down for his crimes. He knows we're werewolves. He knows to hide his scent." Jake stepped back into his pants, pulled his t-shirt over his head, and stepped into his shoes without lacing them. "He could be there right now, and he knows you have another werewolf on your side too."

Sam, also dressed again and climbing back into the car, felt himself sag under crushing despair. "So where do we sleep?" he asked.

"Food first," Jake said. "We haven't eaten enough today. This last transformation has my stomach screaming."

Sam's own stomach growled in response. Where could they eat safely though? He started to protest, but Jake was grinning as he started the car.

"I know just the place," he said.

It had looked like an ordinary diner, but—like Jake's house—it also had a basement. It was dim down there, almost dark, and eerily silent. All the booths had high walls and little doors for privacy. Jake ordered two "shapeshifter specials" and informed the waitress that he was pulling in his favor with someone named Ernie.

She smiled and nodded and brought them plate after plate after plate of delicious food.

"Shit, Jake, what is this gonna cost?" Sam asked, after his fourth hamburger. He was still famished.

"That's the favor I'm calling in," Jake said. "Ernie's stipulation on the boon was 'nothing dangerous', and I'm in deep shit if danger follows us here, but he owes me for something I can't talk about from years back, and a few hundred dollars worth of food at his diner should probably set us square." He shrugged. "He's been hoping for years I'd use the boon this way. It's about the least inconvenient thing I could demand from him, but until today it always seemed like a waste of a favor."

"Is Ernie a werewolf?" Sam asked.

Jake shook his head. "Nobody else down here is werewolves. We don't have a lot in this town, and Hurst hasn't been here long enough for those in the know to spill the secret of Ernie's." He chuckled. "When you're new in town, they send you to the Rusty Knife until they trust you."

"But they [i]are[/i] supernaturals here?" Sam asked, hope springing up, "Could any of them help us?"

Again Jake shook his head, waving a hand for Sam to keep his voice down, even though he'd told Sam earlier that the booths were enchanted for privacy. He looked slightly alarmed.

"People at Ernie's mind their own business." Jake said. "A lot of them hate werewolves anyway. There's a shit-ton of bigotry in the supernatural world, and not nearly so much of the heroic generosity." He frowned. "If I was in a proper pack, we'd have [i]them[/i], but . . . my parents are sort of weird, and I haven't found a pack of my own yet, so . . . seriously, Sam. Don't even talk to the other people here. Some of them might decide to help [i]Hurst,[/i] if they happen to think his plan sounds entertaining."

Sam stared.

And he was a werewolf now. This was his world. Because Enoch Hurst, the fucker, had randomly decided he would make a good fuck-toy.

"I thought . . . I thought we might at least find a safe place to sleep tonight," Sam whispered.

"Shit, I was so hungry I almost forgot!" Jake said. He stuffed the last bite of a chicken strip in his mouth. "When the waitress comes back, remind me to ask her something."

"Is Mahalah working tonight?" was what Jake asked the waitress.

Mahalah seemed human to Sam, though he wondered how she might smell in his other forms. She had a wild, bohemian sort of vibe, and even to Sam's human nose she smelled like patchouli. Jake asked her for crash space, and she asked no questions and offered a key. Then she left.

Sam blinked after her. "Another favor?" he asked Jake.

He shook his head. "Mahalah lets anyone crash, as long as she trusts her power to keep the peace. It's a vow or something, and there may be others there with us, not super comfortable." He smile apologetically. "She keeps it secret and safe, though. Best I can do."

"She knows we're werewolves?" Sam asked.

Jake nodded. "She can smell the wolf on us."

Sam stared. "Why would someone powerful enough to keep the peace among multiple werewolves work as a waitress?" he asked.

Jake shook his head again. "No earthly clue. I've never asked. You cool with this?"

Sam nodded warily. "If it's the best way to be safe, I'm good," he said, though he really, really missed his own bed at home. Another thought occurred to him. "Hey, if she's so powerful and generous, maybe we could ask [i]her[/i] for . . ."

Jake cut him off. "Safe place to sleep," he said. "That's all she offers. We will [i]not[/i] be pestering her for more. If you know the taboo and ask anyway, it can get you barred. She's not human. She doesn't think like one. You with me?"

Sam nodded, his world feeling more askew than it had already, which was saying something. "As long as it's safe," he said softly.

Mahalah's place, an ordinary apartment from the outside, was furnished inside like one giant bed. Blankets, cushions, and pillows were strewn everywhere across a floor that was padded instead of carpeted, like a massive futon-room. Only the attached kitchen and bathroom had ordinary linoleum floors.

Mahalah's other guests were asleep when Sam and Jake arrived. There weren't many of them, and the lushly-cushioned space was lit only by a few dim lanterns, darker than most night-lights. Sam noticed small goat-horns on one of the sleeping people, and he didn't dare look closely at the others.

"You sure about this?" he whispered to Jake.

Jake nodded. He seemed tired and not particularly happy to be here, but he clearly believed the place was safe, at least.

"Here's a nice corner," he offered softly. "Nobody bugs anybody here, and her magics will guard us, even when she's not around."

Sam nodded doubtfully and lay down beside Jake. The padded floor was comfortable, as were the pillows, and Jake found blankets for them too, though the room was so warm they were barely needed. Jake had stripped to just boxers, but Sam felt too awkward. He'd been wearing Jake's sweats all day, and he left them on to sleep, along with his borrowed t-shirt. Jake made no comment, and Sam was grateful.

"Your pine cone still doing its thing?" Jake asked.

Sam nodded. "But, Jake, we still don't have a plan," he hissed.

"I know, babe," Jake replied sleepily. "We'll think of one. Until then, public places during the day. Mahalah's at night. I have an idea of how to get us breakfast without going broke tomorrow too."

Well, that was all well and good, but . . . "Can you [i]never[/i] call me 'babe' again, please?" Sam asked.

But Jake was already asleep.

Sam lay in the near-dark, listening to Jake's breathing and the soft, sleeping sounds of the other guests. He noticed that he couldn't hear [i]any[/i] sounds from outside, and even the sounds inside were oddly soothing. The mattress tugged gently at Sam's mind, or it felt like it did.

Sam found it a little creepy. Jake was so sure it was safe, but . . . did the others not notice that there was an enchantment here, some sort of sleep spell? Were they ok with that? If Jake knew, why hadn't he said anything?

Or was it only Tree's pine cone that let Sam notice the spell in the first place?

Of course, if this Mahalah was what Jake believed her to be—someone with some vow to give anyone a safe place to sleep, as long as she had the power to keep the peace—then a sleep enchantment on her house seemed nothing short of practical, almost considerate. It would probably let up in the morning. Sam was probably being crazy, but . . .

Fuck, he just wanted to sleep in his own bed.

[i]What do you think of this place?[/i] he asked in his head. He wasn't sure he cared about Miah's answer, but he didn't exactly have better things to do.

It took her a while to answer, but around the time Sam would have given up and assumed she was napping, she finally replied.

[i]It smells nice. Why?[/i]

Sam snorted. Maybe he should let her take the body, so they could get some sleep. Even with their agreement though, he still didn't quite trust her that much.

Unable to keep still, Sam stood and walked across the padded floor to the clean little restroom. Everything in this place was remarkably clean for what it was. There was that, at least.

When using the facilities didn't help, though, Sam, decided to take a walk. Jake knew what he was doing, and Sam had grown to trust him quite a lot over the last few days. He was sure this place was fine, but . . . with everything else going on, getting to sleep in a strange place just wasn't going to be that easy.

Sam went back to Jake's corner of the "bed" room, fished the key to Mahalah's apartment from Jake's folded pants pocket, slipped on his shoes, and went to the door.

[i]Are you sure we should go outside[/i]? came Miah's voice in Sam's mind.

[i]I won't go far,[/i] he promised. [i]I won't leave the complex.[/i] As soon as he managed to relax a little, he'd go back in.

Miah seemed to accept this and subsided again.

The night air was crisp and soothing. The sky was clear, with just a slight breeze, not too cold. Sam had no idea where he was, really. He'd never spent time in this part of town, and he'd gotten a bit turned around in the dark on the way here from Ernie's. That in itself was comforting though. It wasn't very logical once Sam thought it through, but on the surface it felt like, if [i]he[/i] didn't know where he was, how could Hurst, right?

Oh, if he walked until he found a busy street, Sam was sure he could orient himself, but he wasn't leaving the complex. Jake said it was safe here, so here Sam would stay.

The complex was large and sprawling, and not what you'd call upscale, but it was clean like the inside of Mahalah's apartment, and quiet too. Sam stepped over a child's tricycle and walked a little further.

Eyes gleamed out at him from under a stairway. Sam jumped, but then a cute little dog ran out toward him. It sat a few feet away and looked up at him, tail wagging.

Friendly little thing.

It occurred to Sam that a werewolf mage might have some ability to control dogs, but first of all, anyone who could control dogs would have picked something that looked less like an adorable cross between a beagle and a cocker spaniel. For someone like Hurst especially, Sam was sure, anything so fluffy-wuffy would be beneath his arrogant jackass pride. Second, there was no way Hurst could know where Sam was to send a dog after him, was there? And third, this one looked anything but hostile anyway.

He thought about asking Miah's opinion on the topic, but the doggy fixed Sam with soulful brown eyes and offered a panting smile, still wagging. Well, who knew if Sam could trust Miah's advice on something like this anyway.

Sam crouched and extended his hand for sniffing. The dog sniffed, and immediately approached like they were long lost friends. Sam laughed and petted, feeling better.

Maybe this was a service provided by Mahalah, to relax her more restless guests. If so, it was working. The little dog was soft and cheerful. It put its paws up on Sam's chest to lick his face. Sam laughed and grimaced at the feel of its little wet tongue on his nose and cheek and kept on petting the sweet creature.

Feeling better, he thanked the dog and stood to go back inside.

Perhaps it was coincidence. Perhaps Hurst [i]had[/i] done something after all. Sam wasn't sure he would ever learn which. He only knew that when he stood up, the little dog's claws caught on Tree's pine cone. The leather strap broke.

The charm fell to the ground at the dog's feet.

Sam dove for it, but not fast enough. The dog ran off into the night, as if Sam had never existed. The charm lay on the ground. Sam saw his fingers stretch almost close enough to touch it, and then . . .

The forest.

A huge black werewolf stood over him, sneering down.

[i]No![/i]

"You know," Hurst said to Sam, face to face, in the real world. "You have actually managed to piss me off."

Sam's memory of how he'd gotten here was sketchy at best. There may have been a cab involved? Which he'd paid for himself? Everything in his memories between this moment and the fallen protection charm was blurred, misty, and full of holes.

Sam took that as something of a mercy. He wished he could forget what had happened [i]last[/i] time Hurst was in his mind.

Of course, his situation now was far worse. He was physically [i]here[/i] in Hurst's power, tied to a chair in Hurst's near-empty husk of a run-down old house. This time, whatever took place, it would be happening to Sam's [i]body[/i], not his mind. This time he wouldn't be able to tell himself it wasn't real.

Sam had no idea what might be coming, but he was sure it would be horrible.

Hurst chuckled, with more cruelty than humor. "So," he asked, "why wasn't I able to transform you on arrival? Why did I have to tie you to that chair and wake you up?"

Sam frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, sincerely.

Hurst cocked his head. "She hasn't taken over control," he mused. "I haven't seen that in a while. I'm sure I didn't make her too submissive." He frowned. "She was quite courageous last night—obedient to me, but [i]far[/i] too strong to respect the likes of you. Hmm."

"Maybe you underestimate me," Sam said softly.

Hurst snorted, as if the notion were absurd. Then he shook his head. "No, I don't think I made her wrong. Is it that other werewolf you've been fucking? Does she think he could defeat me? He smells normal enough, and I note no signs of a pack, but . . . there [i]is[/i] something magical going on." He paused, narrowing his eyes at Sam. "Well, doesn't matter now. I'll get the rest out of you after I break you."

He moved to crouch between Sam's bound legs. Pulling out a knife, he grabbed the waistband of Sam's borrowed sweats.

"What are you . . . ?" Sam tried to ask.

Hurst cut him off. "Address me as Alpha," he corrected.

He sliced into Sam's pants, cutting precariously close to quite sensitive areas. Sam froze still, heart pounding. Hurst pulled aside the loose flaps of the now-ruined sweats to expose Sam's genitals. Sam squirmed in his bonds, but he couldn't do much. He was tied very still.

Hurst grabbed Sam firmly—but not yet painfully—by the scrotum, squeezing just a little, just enough for a threat.

"Say it," he said. "Call me Alpha."

Sam was terrified, frightened as he'd never been in the mind forest. Hurst's touch felt different here, more vibrant, more immediate. If Sam disobeyed him, the following pain would be very, very real.

But Sam was determined. He would never call this man Alpha. He swallowed bile and a threat of tears. He set his jaw.

"Call me Alpha!" Hurst snapped. He squeezed just enough for a twinge.

Sam twitched and winced, but he didn't give in. Muttering, sullen, but at least defiant, Sam said, "Enoch Hurst."

Hurst froze. He blinked at Sam, and after a moment sat back on his haunches. He even took his hand away from Sam's crotch.

"That's not my name," he said.

"No," Sam acknowledged with a shrug. He hadn't thought it was. "But it's the one you used in Creede, Colorado, what, ten years ago?"

Hurst raised an eyebrow. "Your boyfriend has ties to a pack in Colorado?" he guessed, putting on a show of mocking innocence. "I don't see what makes you think . . ."

Sam wasn't fooled. "You're trying to do to me what you did to that woman," Sam said, "and to the one you left in the swamp in Florida, and to Kevin Rasmussen."

Hurst frowned. He watched Sam for a long time without speaking. Sam fought as hard as he could to keep his eyes defiant and strong, but his heart wouldn't stop beating like a hummingbird's. He started to feel lightheaded.

Hurst shifted his knife back to his right hand. He darted forward to flick it across Sam's upper, inner thigh. Sharp pain blossomed, hot and wet. Sam's vision swam. The cold metal of the knife blade came to a stop at Sam's scrotum.

"Switch with your wolf, or I will castrate you right now." Hurst's voice was soft, unreadable. He looked away, toward the boarded up window of this near-empty house Sam hadn't even managed to look around in. Hurst's expression was blank, almost bored.

A chill iced through Sam at the sheer, cold madness he read in Hurst's manner. It was obvious he knew what Sam was talking about, and that the topic unsettled him. He had to be wondering where Sam had learned these things, but instead of asking Sam about them, he'd demanded to speak to Miah.

Sam wasn't sure what to make of that. The uncertainty frightened him.

Hurst twitched his dagger painfully against Sam's sensitive flesh. His expression never changed.

Sam found himself shaking, and embarrassingly close to tears. He swallowed. [i]Um, Miah?[/i] he thought.

[i]What do you want me to do?[/i] She sounded as frightened as Sam felt, and as if she possibly waited for Sam's guidance in this matter.

Sam felt unworthy as a leader. He didn't know what to say. For her sake, he tried to pretend. [i]Keep damage to a minimum until we have a plan.[/i]

[i]Jake will find us,[/i] was her reply. [i]There was a scent trail.[/i]

Sam wasn't sure that was even close to true, and even if is was, he wasn't sure if it made him feel better or worse, but the next thing he knew he only watched as Miah said to Hurst:

"Yes, Alpha?"

Her voice sounded different this time—almost as if the term "alpha" had lost its former meaning.

Hurst didn't seem to notice. "There's my errant, pathetic weakling of a bitch. If I untie you, will you be good?"

"O-of course, Alpha," she said, though she sounded uncertain.

Hurst sighed. "I thought as much. They've been filling your pretty head with lies about me, haven't they?" He sounded suddenly sweet, almost charming.

It made Sam's hair stand on end.

"They're telling you you're not special, am I right?" Hurst went on, "or that I'll abandon you or get rid of you. You know I'd only do that if you were bad, don't you? All you have to do to stay special is to be good."

Miah breathed a soft whine. "I'm sorry Alpha," she said thickly. "I'm so confused."

"Poor thing," Hurst murmured, petting Sam's hair. "I'll make it easier for you."

Crossing the room, he pulled a pronged choke-collar from an old, leather bag beside another plain wooden chair, near a plain wooden table and a few other chairs across the bare-floored, bare-walled, dusty, cracked-plaster, open room. The floorboards creaked as he stepped on them. Wherever they were, this house was old—and possibly not in great repair.

Hurst returned to crouch before Sam's body again. He brushed his hand over Sam's flaccid penis, causing a careful, twitchy gasp from Miah. He smiled and reached up to fasten the collar around her neck. He had a long, leather leash to attach to it as well.

Sam knew he didn't want that collar on his neck, but he didn't see any way to stop it from happening, even if he took his body back from Miah. He was bound too tightly and too well. He could probably wriggle enough to make his chair fall over, but that wouldn't keep the collar off him for long.

Reluctantly, fearfully, Sam chose not to interfere. Hurst adjusted the chain.

Once the uncomfortable thing was on, Hurst said. "This collar is enchanted. It works like a regular choke-collar, unless the person wearing it touches it with hands." He grinned. "If your hands touch it, it will tighten until it breaks your neck. Understand?"

Miah swallowed hard and nodded. Sam felt sick.

It might be a lie. Hurst might be bluffing. Sam didn't think he could afford to take that chance. He just didn't know enough about magic.

"There," Hurst said, petting Sam's hair again. "Now let's get you out of that chair and those clothes."

While Miah obeyed Hurst's commands, Sam scrambled to think of something—anything—useful to do.

Nothing came to mind. Nothing except the taxicab. In whatever fugue state had brought Sam here, he felt more and more certain there had been a taxicab involved.

That meant there was no scent trail. Jake couldn't possibly be on his way. He had no way of knowing where Sam was.

Sam was alone in this. After everything, he was still alone.

He decided not to share this insight with Miah. No need to frighten her further.

When she'd finished undressing, there in Hurst's cold, abandoned-looking house, Hurst led her down a flight of rickety steps. The cut on Sam's upper thigh screamed with every step, but Miah ignored the pain and followed Sam's enemy.

The stairs led to a dim, candlelit basement scrawled all over in weird symbols. They were painted in a flaking, brownish paint that Sam really, really hoped wasn't blood.

While Miah stared down the last few steps at the scrawled mystical sigils, Hurst paused near the bottom step and turned away for a moment. When he turned back, before Miah glanced his direction, away from the possibly-enchanted basement, Sam felt a pinprick in the side of his neck.

Miah jumped and turned to stare . . . at the empty syringe in Hurst's hands.

"It takes centuries to learn the kind of spells I cast," Hurst said, with a self-satisfied smile, "unless you do what I do . . . and cheat."

Sam began to feel distant, strange, like the world was far away and moving at half speed.

"What did you . . ." Miah began. Sam's voice sounded slower to his own ears, deeper, possibly under water.

Hurst pushed Miah the rest of the way down the stairs, into the circle of symbols. Sam felt [i]something[/i] shiver over his skin, like electric corruption. Miah kept her feet, barely, but Hurst had held on to her leash, causing the hard, metal prongs to bite at Sam's skin, much more harshly than they would at the fur-padded, muscular neck of a dog.

Miah yelped, pinwheeling for balance as she struggled against the natural instinct to grab for the thing that hurt and choked her. She resisted the urge, but she stumbled down to one knee in the process.

Hurst chuckled. Sam heard his footsteps descending the last steps, but—much more strangely—he [i]felt[/i] Hurst's presence in the ritual space, the moment he crossed into the circle. It felt like . . . like Hurst was all around him, like Sam was about to drown in Hurst's putrid swamp of a soul.

"Using that drug and this circle," Hurst explained, sounding like each syllable traveled through a metal pipe several miles long before it reached Sam's ears. "I can, with a lot of practice and concentration . . . interact with others' minds, at a distance—especially werewolf minds, due to the inner location that forms for the two halves of the split soul to interact."

What? Why give the drug to Sam then? Wouldn't that mean that with practice and concentration Sam could maybe . . . contact Jake?

Hurst snorted. "You're not even in my mind yet, and I already know what you're thinking." He shook his head. "There's no danger to me in giving you access to my spell. First of all," he reached out and wrenched the choke-collar off over Sam's head, scratching him deeply with at least two prongs on the way. "You're weak as a kitten now. I can do whatever I like with you."

As if to demonstrate, he laced his fingers through Sam's hair and dragged him over to an odd-shaped bench Sam hadn't noticed, just to the side of the circle's center. Miah was, as advertised, utterly helpless to stop him, to break his grip on Sam's hair, or to even coordinate her movements very well.

"I normally keep all the bondage furniture in my dungeon," Hurst said, "but I moved this one to the ritual space especially for you, Bitch."

He yanked Sam down over the top of the little bench, fastening metal shackles at Sam's wrists and upper thighs. The shackles were so loose, Sam could normally have pulled his hands right out of them without fuss, but as the drug continued to take effect, and the world seemed further and further away, Miah apparently found herself unable to even lift her hands off the floor.

She lay on the uncomfortable bench-thing, in a low all-fours position.

Sam didn't have much trouble guessing what such a position might be good for. Panic began to grip him. No. He didn't want Hurst to fuck him. He didn't want sex with this asshole. No.

[i]No![/i] he screamed to Miah.

Even in his mind, his voice sounded strange.

[i]I can't . . .[/i] Miah replied, sounding as drugged as Sam felt—in addition to the other weird distortions. [i]Can't move.[/i]

"You can't leave here," Hurst said, "but you also can't use the power. You see, with me standing right here, in the circle with you, you not only [i]can't[/i] concentrate—you don't need to." Hurst laughed again at whatever expression he saw on Miah's face. He ruffled Sam's hair, like they were uncle and nephew. "As soon as that drug finishes taking effect," he explained, "you'll just fall directly into . . ."

The basement disappeared. Sam was in a . . . torture chamber? The walls were stone, splattered with fresh blood and other, less identifiable substances. All around the room hung tools and implements of pain-infliction—on weirdly neat little racks, considering the mess—below torches that popped and flickered smokelessly in their sconces. All around the room stood wooden frames in various shapes and designs, but all shared a few things in common: room for a person to sit or stand on them, and shackles to hold that person still and helpless.

But what told Sam where he was, as he spun to take in the room, was Miah's presence beside him, in full-canine wolf form, and werewolf- and human-Hurst chuckling side-by-side in the doorway.

This was Hurst's mind.

It would appear that he didn't have a forest.

The moment he realized that, Sam also realized he didn't feel drugged anymore. He felt fine again, normal. No, better than that.

When Hurst had been on this drug, he'd been able to control Sam's own mind completely. Didn't that mean that Sam could have a similar effect here?

He took a breath to focus his will.

. . . and found himself already chained to the wall.

Werewolf-Hurst caught Miah and forced her down onto her belly. She transformed into a werewolf, but he was still bigger and stronger, and she didn't accomplish much.

Human-Hurst strolled up to Sam. "You're having clever ideas again," he said, "but I've been at this a lot longer than you have, Bitch, and I did prepare myself for your visit. Wolf?"

The big, black werewolf manhandled Miah into the shackles of a large, wooden, x-shaped contraption. She bit and snarled and clawed at him on the way, but he healed quickly from the wounds she inflicted, and he never lost his grip while he clamped down first one wrist, then the other, and then both ankles while she tried to kick at him. Once she was fastened in, the contraption left her standing, spread-eagled.

"Don't think you can change forms," the werewolf rumbled. "These shackles lock your mind-form where it is. All you can do is do as I say."

He punched a hole through her chest.

Sam gagged on bile, lurching helplessly against his own chains. Human-Hurst grinned and licked his lips.

With his fist still buried inside her chest, the werewolf leaned in close to Miah's ear and whispered something.

Miah whimpered softly. Blood drooled from her canine mouth to drip onto the torture-chamber floor. She managed a soft nod. Sam began to feel strange. The room began to dim. What?

"Miah!" he called, but his voice sounded thin and empty, the voice of a ghost.

The world went black. Sam opened his eyes. He was back in his body, in Hurst's enchanted basement. Hurst was using zip-ties to bind Sam's wrists into the bondage-bench's too-big shackles. Held at this angle, in this position, even the too-big thigh-shackles were enough to keep Sam's legs bound as well. He could kick a little, but he couldn't escape, or accomplish anything of use.

Sam also noticed that he felt truly normal this time, no traces that the drug had ever been in his system.

Hurst finished with the zip-ties and ran a proprietary hand over Sam's nude back and ass. Sam flinched and kicked as best he could.

"Fuck off, asshole!" he yelled.

Hurst landed a sharp, loud spank on Sam's butt. It hurt a little, but the humiliation was worse.

"That's 'please fuck me, Alpha'," Hurst said gently.

"No fucking way, Hurst," Sam growled. "Let me the fuck out of here!"

Hurst only laughed. He reached between Sam's legs to pinch the skin of Sam's testicles between his fingernails, until pain was Sam's world and tears leaked from his eyes.

"Wolf taught your wolf-bitch how to draw all the drug's effects into herself," Hurst explained. "She doesn't seem to know what you know about controlling the mind-space, so she'll still be helpless no matter how much power I throw at her." He chuckled again. "You see, what I really wanted was to have her trapped in my mind, and you back to normal out here. Do you know why?"

"The workings of your fucked-up asshole brain are not fucking interesting to me, shithead," Sam yelled. He tugged as hard as he could at the damn zip-ties, but they didn't give. "Let me go, fucking now!"

Sam tried to show only anger, only manful, defiant rage, but he knew his whole body shook with terror. He was naked, chained, and helpless. He was perfectly positioned to be fucked.

He wasn't getting out of this. He wanted to cry like a little boy.

Behind him, he heard Hurst fussing with something, but he couldn't crane his head far enough to see what. After a moment, Sam felt a warm, slimy-slick touch between his ass-cheeks, right over his hole. He tried to squeeze his cheeks shut, tried to make himself inaccessible, but the shackles held his thighs too far apart. Hurst rubbed thick lube all over Sam's hole and pushed his finger just a little way inside.

Sam wanted to scream. He did scream, for all the good it did him—more curse words mostly, nothing of meaning or great originality. He kept his voice angry more than horrified, but only barely.

And then . . . the sensation began.

Startled, Sam fell silent in the middle of a string of invective.

"Ah," Hurst said happily. "Step two has begun. My wolf is bringing yours into heat. You'll be feeling more and more of her lust as we go, and don't worry." He laughed, as if he'd made a joke. "It's mind-sex. No matter how many times he makes her cum, you'll only get hornier."

Sam shivered. Hurst pushed his finger deeper into Sam's ass. It felt so strange, so wrong and . . . uncomfortably good. Sam squirmed, edging closer to tears. Hurst hooked his finger just right, pressing hard, and sensation exploded through Sam. He felt his cock responding, growing hard where it hung between his body and the little bench.

Sam made a small, helpless sound. Hurst hooked his finger again, like heaven and hell distilled down to a single point inside Sam's ass. His cock hardened further, lust mounting.

No. Not this. No!

[i]Miah!![/i] Sam tried to retreat to where she was, but he couldn't. However that damn drug worked, it seemed to have him stuck in his body now. [i]Miah!!![/i] he tried screaming again.

But if she heard him at all, she made no response. Sam's desire only mounted. Hurst slipped in a second, lube-slicked finger. Sam let out a ragged cry.

"There we go," Hurst purred. "I think you're ready now. You see, to teach you a lesson, I've decided I need to claim your body as mine. You still don't deserve my cum, but you've proven yourself to be a special case. So I'm going to cum in you anyway, over and over, until you understand to whom you belong."

"Fuck you," Sam muttered, but it came out as more of a whimper.

"It's 'Please fuck me, Alpha'," Hurst said mildly. "And I will, but only to teach you a lesson."

He dragged his fingers deliciously out of Sam's ass. Sam felt something else lube-slicked, something much larger, much hotter pressed to his hole, between his ass-cheeks.

He knew what it was.

He wished he didn't.

Hurst gave a sharp thrust. Sam felt him slip up inside him—too fast, painfully fast. Sam screamed again, inarticulate this time and raw.

"Ooh, so tight," Hurst murmured. "Tight little virgin ass, am I right?" He gave Sam's cheek another spank, his hole another thrust. "Not a virgin anymore, Bitch. You're all mine."

Sam's horror and his lust rose together in tandem. "No," he heard himself sob. "No. No. No." He repeated it like a mantra as tears leaked from his squeezed-shut eyes. "No."

Hurst kept thrusting. Every thrust felt better than the last. Every thrust hit that magic point inside Sam's ass that electrified his whole cock from the inside. Sam's erection throbbed and pulsed with pleasure he didn't want.

He wanted to vomit, or possibly to die.

Hurst kept right on thrusting.

Sam also wanted to cum.

Hurst took his time raping Sam's ass. He fucked Sam long and hard until—between the echoes of Miah's heat, inaccessibly deep inside Sam's mind, and the sickeningly glorious caress of Hurst's cock inside Sam's body—Sam ultimately, helplessly, weeping with shame, felt himself spill over the edge into orgasm, felt his cum shoot out of his cock to splatter against the side of the bondage-bench.

He tried to hide his climax from Hurst, but he failed. Hurst reached around and felt the slimy mess Sam had made, smeared a little of it on Sam's own ass, and only [i]then[/i] did Hurst allow himself to cum as well, shooting his load deep up into Sam.

He pulled out after that, and Sam had a moment of reprieve, a moment to reflect on the aftermath of rape. But Hurst wasn't done.

"That's one hole claimed," he said. "I'm not much into anal, but I figured you needed the humiliation. Am I wrong, Bitch?"

He caressed Sam's ass-cheek and gave it another sharp smack, then let his hand drift down to brush over the back of Sam's balls.

Sam didn't reply. Whatever was going on inside Hurst's mind-dungeon, Sam's cock was already hard again. He didn't want more. He couldn't ever possibly want more, not with Hurst. But . . . he did wish Jake were there behind him—and even that thought made Sam sick.

Hurst continued to caress Sam's balls. It felt amazing and terrifying at once.

"It's time to get rid of these though, I think," Hurst said. Before Sam could panic too hard, he added, "Let's get you into the form I designed.

Transformation wasn't Sam's favorite idea, but he preferred it to any other possible way Hurst might "get rid of" his balls.

"I'll just have Wolf give your counterpart a few instructions," Hurst said. "With the way my drug works, she now has total and sole control of your transformations, so . . ." He paused.

Sam began to change. He grew until the leg-restraints fit him, until the zip-ties bit painfully into his flesh and ultimately snapped loose, just as he grew into the wrist cuffs. He felt his fur and tail push in, his ears glide up to the top of his head. He watched his muzzle lengthen.

He felt his genitals mutate and reform. His cunt felt hugely heat-swollen already, dripping with need.

Hurst ran one finger through the ready slickness there, like a bolt of defiled bliss. Again, he chuckled. From his deeper, more growling voice, Sam realized that he too had changed forms.

"You are a pretty little bitch," Hurst rumbled. "I think I outdid myself this time. Such beautiful fur."

He petted Sam's ass and tail, slid his hand down to toy with the wet, hungry lips of Sam's cunt.

"You see," he said, "I could have had her without all this fuss. No matter what shit you've put in her head, she's mine forever. She'd have fucked me eagerly, gratefully, if I simply gave her the order."

He slid his hands forward to tease mercilessly across Sam's clit. A moan escaped Sam's lips. He hated how good every touch felt.

"But where's the punishment in that?" Hurst asked. He shook his head. "Besides, I know you're the real problem, not her. Hence the fuss. I needed [i]you[/i] in the body, Bitch. I needed [i]you[/i] to understand that you already belong to me."

Sam felt sick. He also still felt horny.

Hurst moved around beside Sam and did something to adjust the height of the bench-thing, until Sam lay uncomfortably on top of it again, unable to shift from side to side, or to otherwise change positions. Sam had been so distracted by heat-lust and Hurst's touch, he hadn't even noticed he'd outgrown the thing at its lower height.

When Hurst finished adjusting it, he took a moment to painfully tweak Sam's nipple, where his breasts were now mashed against the little bench, and then he walked around to where Sam could see him, wiping himself clean with a towel.

He dropped the towel and knelt in front of Sam, bringing his huge, werewolf cock perfectly to the height of Sam's mouth.

"I've fucked your mouth before," Hurst said, "and after last night it's almost boring. Plus I know you're going to try to bite me, so let's get the claiming of this hole out of the way quickly, shall we?"

Bite was an understatement. Savage might be better, or emasculate. Sam growled.

Hurst laughed again. "Yes, yes," he said cheerfully.

He gripped Sam's lower and upper jaws, one in each hand, and—before Sam could wrench his head around to get free and bite—Hurst pried Sam's mouth as painfully wide-open as it would go.

"I [i]have[/i] done this before," Hurst said.

He shoved his hard, werewolf cock down Sam's throat. Sam gagged. He yanked and struggled, but Hurst held Sam fast, ignoring all injury to his fast-healing werewolf hands. He knew how to use his claws as well—sharp pokes at just the right times and places to startle Sam and derail his attempts to get free.

And Hurst fucked Sam's mouth like a jackhammer—hard, fast, and brutal. Sam nearly threw up, and tears once more ran down his cheeks, though this time more from gagging than emotion.

Hurst smiled down at him, purring, "Good bitch, good bitch. So pretty when you cry with my cock down your throat," and other things Sam tried very hard not to hear.

The whole proceeding didn't take long. Hurst injected a huge load of cum down Sam's throat, then pulled out and held Sam's mouth shut until he swallowed.

Still holding Sam's mouth shut with one hand, Hurst scratched behind Sam's ear with the other and purred again, "what a good little bitch."

Sam tried to growl again, but to his great shame, it came out as a whimper.

Hurst gave another soft laugh. "Two holes down," he said. "But with all that fucking you've been doing with your puppydog of a boyfriend, I'll have to do something special to truly claim you as mine. Hmmm." His expression took on an even crueler glint. "I have just the thing," he said. He shut his eyes for a moment.

Once again, Sam began to change. Hurst came around to the side of the bondage bench and adjusted its height as Sam began to shrink.

Sam did not, however, lose his fur and tail, claws and fangs. No, this was much worse. This time Sam lost his fingers, watched as they turned into paws, felt as the rest of his body bent and shifted entirely away from a humanoid shape.

Hurst had forced Sam to take wolf form.

[i]No, no NO![/i]

[i]I will[/i] not [i]be fucked as a literal bitch![/i]

[i]Fucking NO!![/i]

He tried to shout something. It came out as a bark and whine.

Hurst grinned and moved around behind Sam. "How does a giant werewolf knot sound, eh?" he asked.

Sam made another series of inarticulately unhappy canine sounds. He once again had the impression that he [i]could[/i] speak if he really tried, but the sounds he made seemed to better express his point than words ever could.

Hurst only laughed again and petted him, and ran a finger once more across Sam's heat-slicked cunt.

Sam whined, in equal parts hatred and desire. He tucked his tail down hard, so Hurst couldn't touch his cunt, much less penetrate it. By then, though, Sam was so mind-numblingly horny, it wasn't easy to even remember why he didn't want Hurst fucking him.

"Move your tail," Hurst ordered.

Sam tucked it down even harder.

"No, bitch," Hurst said mildly. "Disobedient bitches get punished."

He stepped away to a nearby satchel that lay in the shadow of one corner, far from the flickering candles. When he returned, he appeared to have a needle and thread.

He walked back around behind Sam and grabbed his tucked tail, wrenching it agonizingly upward, all in one yank.

"When I say move your tail, bitch," Hurst said, "you present to me your eager and accessible cunt, immediately, every time. If you do not, this is what happens."

Sore from the yank, Sam mistook that alone for the punishment.

Until the needle and thread came into play.

Ignoring Sam's desperate, pleading yelps, Hurst proceeded to [i]sew[/i] the tip of Sam's tail to his back, with stitch after painful stitch, until Sam might rather have died than try to lower it again.

It hurt. It hurt with all Sam's soul. The pain of it echoed through Sam's whole body, jangling his nerves and searing away all thought from his mind.

And when it was done, despite the pain, Sam felt almost relieved. Somewhere in the mind-world, Miah was getting fucked silly, and her unfulfillable desire was driving him absolutely insane.

He needed the knot.

He needed it bad.

He hated himself to his core, to even admit it.

Hurst put away the needle and thread, returned to his position behind Sam, and pressed his massive, werewolf cock to Sam's wet snatch. He thrust inside.

Sam lost track of how many times Hurst came inside his wolf-form cunt. It took until the third time before he'd stretched Sam open enough to take his knot, but after the first time he tied inside Sam, he took only a short break to get back to his task.

"I think the best way to [i]fully[/i] lay claim, after what a slut you've been," he mused, "is to fuck you unconscious, don't you think, pretty bitch?"

Sam didn't answer, and Hurst clearly hadn't expected him to. It wasn't just that Sam didn't feel like using words in this form. It was that Sam had gone numb, inside and out. He couldn't weep tears in this form, but his throat had long since gone raw from whining, and Sam had run out of the ability to feel horrified.

He just let himself float in a sea of desire and pleasure, despair and shame, enjoying every orgasm, hating himself that he did.

He didn't know how long it had been, had lost count of how many times Hurst had cum inside him, when Hurst said suddenly, "Ah," and moved briefly away from Sam's bondage bench.

He came back with a kind of armored, reinforced, leather hood. This he forcibly slipped over Sam's muzzle and head, belting it on tight.

"This will not break if you transform," Hurst said. "It's sturdier than your skull. You change, it crushes your brain. Your drug will wear off soon. I don't want you getting ideas."

Sam whimpered. Again.

Hurst stuck his way too big cock back into Sam's canine cunt. Sam let the world fall away. Everything was horrible. Nothing would ever be quite right again. The universe had gone rancid with rape and degradation.

All that was left was to ride the waves of one more orgasm. And one more. And one more.

Hurst did eventually succeed in fucking Sam unconscious.

Sam couldn't tell what time it was down in the basement. He lay on an old, sex-slimed towel, too tired to even think about bothering to tug at his bonds. He had no hands to fuss with them. He still wore the hood that kept him locked in wolf form, and that meant he still couldn't open his mouth either, not that he particularly [i]wanted[/i] to try chewing through the wooden post to which he was leashed.

He still couldn't lower his tail. Hurst had just left him like that.

He was starving.

He didn't try to check on Miah. She'd caused so much of what had happened to him, even if he knew it was all under dire coercion. He didn't know how to face her yet.

Especially . . . well, if she still hadn't learned to hate Hurst, even now, Sam wasn't sure he could ever face her again. He wished so badly that none of this had ever happened. He wished she'd never existed.

A rustle sounded from the window above where Sam lay chained. He felt his ears perk toward the sound, which was an odd sensation. The sound continued, however, and that was mildly more interesting than Sam's own ears.

It was a small sound, like a mouse maybe, or a cat—cats were quiet for their size. A human might not have noticed it.

It grew louder as it continued, however, until Sam realized it wasn't a small creature, but a big one being very, very quiet.

And then it began to fiddle with the lock. Finally Sam lifted up his head, bothered to open his eyes and look toward the sound.

That was a human outside the window, or someone human-shaped. Sam tried sniffing. No . . . no, not a lot through the glass. Not when the basement was awash in the scents of sex and blood. Could be anyone for any reason. But whoever it was wanted the window open.

Sam wasn't sure if he did or didn't hope it was Jake. He did desperately want to be rescued, even if he didn't want to be seen like this, but . . . he also wanted Jake to be safe somewhere. Hurst frightened Sam so badly now.

But then the window popped open with way too loud a crack—though to human ears that might have been the first sound some noticed—and someone was dropping feet-first to the floor right beside Sam's mat. He landed neatly, brushed off his hands, and turned to survey the basement.

It was Jake. Sam looked up at him and whined. Their eyes met. Jake's went wide with concern.

"Sam?" he whispered? "Miah? Oh look at you, babe! What has he done to you?! Come here."

Without another word, he unstrapped and set aside the hood, unbuckled and quietly lay down the collar. He was moving to inspect Sam's tail, but Sam, impatient, decided to simply transform. Miah didn't stop him.

When Sam was human, he went without a word to the clothes Hurst had abandoned on the floor in the corner. They were too big for him and, worse, they smelled like Hurst, but Sam was done being naked.

Jake stood by and watched this process wordlessly. Sam had trouble even looking at him, though he knew Jake deserved better from him.

"How did you find me?" he asked. He'd been so sure Jake wasn't coming. He couldn't track a taxi by scent, could he?

"Paid a psychic," was all Jake said. "Oh! Here's your pine cone."

Grateful—and choosing to accept the "psychic" explanation at face value—Sam tied Tree's protection charm back around his neck, then finished rolling up Hurst's pants so he could walk.

When he was as dressed as he was getting—Hurst hadn't brought down shoes or socks—Sam steeled himself and met Jake's eyes.

"I'm ready," he said. "Let's go." He knew he should say thank you. He knew he should hug Jake and maybe even kiss him.

He didn't have it in him. Any of it.

Jake only nodded. He crouched and laced his hands to give Sam a boost up to the window.

Sam looked up at the window. Yeah, he wasn't reaching it without a boost. He was going to have to touch Jake anyway, just to get out—either that or move potentially-loud torture equipment over to the window, and . . . Sam didn't want to touch any of that shit either. He hated himself for not wanting to touch Jake though. He stared down at Jake's offered hands.

There was no way around this.

Fine. He'd just have to go all the way then.

Sam crouched facing Jake, took Jake's hands in his, and forced himself to give Jake a slow, tender kiss. He tried to ignore the tears that ran helplessly down his cheeks the moment his lips touched . . . his lover's.

"Thanks for coming," Sam managed, in a hoarse whisper.

Jake's own eyes looked shimmery and very worried, but he only nodded again.

Well, that had gone ok. The crying was embarrassing, but he hadn't gone catatonic or had flashbacks or anything. Sam could do this. He stood and stepped up into Jake's offered boost. Moments later he was clambering out the little black-painted window. It was daylight outside. Between long shadows and the smell of the air, Sam guessed it to be late afternoon. Morning would smell different. And that meant north should be [i]that[/i] way. Ish.

The taste of freedom brought a tiny, tired smile to Sam's face. He turned back to the window, knelt, and reached his hand back down to help Jake up.

A huge black werewolf lunged down the basement stairs.

"Jake!!" Sam screamed.

"Run!!" Jake screamed. He was already transforming, his clothes stretching and tearing as he grew to match the other fanged beast in height and girth.

There was no way. No way Sam could ever leave Jake to face that monster alone. He shifted positions to climb back down through the window.

"Don't you dare!!" Jake shouted. "Get out of here, Sam! Miah, get him [i]out[/i] of here!!"

Sam tensed, but Miah spoke to him for the first time in hours.

[i]I'm not leaving either[/i], she said.

Sam didn't dare to ask her why, but he went back to his task of attempting to assist Jake in what had already turned into a bloody, fanged combat.

Except that he was already too late.

Something exploded between Jake and Hurst. It had to be something magical. It smelled like rotten fruit, and it seemed to make the world lurch sideways.

Jake dropped like a rock. Hurst, panting and bloodied but grinning, swung around toward the window.

Panic gripped Sam. He couldn't move. He couldn't think. Hurst was going to catch him again. Hurst, who wanted to unmake him, destroy him, rape him to death. Sam didn't know what to do.

"Sam!" Jake croaked weakly from the floor. "Get help. I'll hang on, until you get . . ."

He trailed off. Hurst darted forward to grab for Sam's dangling leg.

Sam unfroze. He dodged Hurst's grab, scrambled back out onto the lawn.

Get help. He could do that. He'd get help and come back.

Jake!!

Sam ran toward the front of the house. There was Jake's Subaru, with the driver-side door wide open and the engine still running.

It was daylight. Even if a werewolf could catch up to a car, Hurst would have to move as a human, at least until dark.

Sam threw himself into the driver's seat, pulled shut the door, put the car into reverse.

[i]WE CAN'T LEAVE HIM!![/i] Miah screamed, though she—interestingly—didn't try to take over.

[i]I know,[/i] Sam thought back to her. [i]We won't. I promise. He saved us, we'll save him.[/i] And if it so happened that she meant to say that they couldn't leave Hurst, well, fuck her.

Hell, maybe she meant both.

She didn't reply. Sam pulled out onto the road and shifted gears. He put his foot on the gas.

[i]We'll come back for him,[/i] Sam promised again, as much to himself as to Miah. And this time he wasn't sure whether [i]he[/i] meant Jake or Hurst. If Jake, to save him.

If Hurst, for vengeance.

They made it all the way out to the highway before Miah spoke again.

[i]Where are we going?[/i] she asked.

Sam blinked. He looked around and realized he hadn't really picked a destination. He was almost to Jake's house, for some stupid reason, but it wasn't as if he'd find help there.

But where else could he even go? It was taboo to ask Mahalah for anything but a place to sleep, and even that much hadn't exactly worked out.

Sam hadn't even [i]met[/i] anyone else supernatural.

Where [i]was[/i] he going?!

He swallowed hard and set his jaw. There was really only one possible answer.

[i]Back to Tree[/i], he said.