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Rapid steps, soft and stealthy but he could hear them all the same. Jon sidled further back into the decrepit old house, one of the few that remained in the old village long ago emptied by repeated raids of the Packs.

Was it Him, Jon wondered, pressed close back against the wall and trying to use his anemic human ears, or was it the others? The latest Pack was hunting near enough for their joyous song to be heard clearly; perhaps a league distant, maybe less.

The footfalls crunching through the leaves of the forest floor were alone, though, that he could hear. It might be Him, but it could be any of the Pack off on a solo hunt. That was how they had met, the first time, each moving through the unpopulated forest alone.

Jon, to die. Him, to kill.

Strangely, death had not occurred that night. Nor for any of the nights since. Each of them had found a kindred soul, so unlike their own respective kinds that it still left them both reeling upon the dawn that followed the rollicks in the moon lit darkness.

Jon heard the swift jogging pace fade but the crickets did not resume their serenade to the waxing moon. Sidling along the wall he hazarded a peek around the dilapidated door frame. All he could see, however, across the overgrown field long gone fallow, were the distant trees. No familiar shadow, dappled silver and gray, moving closer with a pair of motes glowing green in the moonlight.

With a sigh he drew back from the door and turned to rest his back against the wall.

Only then did he spy a hulking form that had snuck into the old house with him, a shadow that stood almost a foot taller than he though no broader of shoulder. A powerful hand, covered with fur where there were no rough pads or thick claws, clamped over his throat and shoved him solidly back up against the wall. In the dark shadows away from the moonlight it was just a hulking form, though its scent was all deadly predator.

White teeth gleamed from a muzzle large enough and powerful enough to rip out a horse's throat without strain.

Jon croaked, unable to cry out for the pressure constricting his throat, grasping the bony forearm of the beast.

Those white teeth flashed, the maw of the hunter dipping toward his face as it opened. Jon squeezed his eyes shut, prepared for the inevitable end, albeit delayed. But he felt no teeth pressing through the soft flesh and thin bone of his skull, though they did press. The hot, fetid breath of the predator filled his nose and a wet tongue stroked across his lips just before the large hand eased its grasp.

It was Him. His scent was, to Jon's insufficient human nose, was no different than any of his kind – though, admittedly, Jon had never smelled any besides Him. An almost rank, heavy musk that banished everything else at such proximity, with hints of pine and fresh spilled blood. The miasma of torn meat and entrails tainted the breath warming his face.

But, it was Him. Jon would not die, this night. Not to this master of the Hunt like every other wolf of the forest. Though He ran upright, like others of his kind, on two legs as a human might the wolf was so entirely a beast of the forest that there could be no comparing Him to a mere… human. But He was Jon's wolf, or Jon was His human, neither could say. In the wolf's case, could not, for He spoke in growls and body language.

A language that was easy to understand, in some ways. Such as the two huge hands that fell to Jon's waist as the beast's tongue stroked his face a second time, the snuffling of His black nose loud in the night time silence.

Jon dropped his hands and dug them into the dense pelt of fur at the wolf's hips, drawing Him closer to reach around in a proper embrace. They were quite the pair, the two anomalies of their species. Somehow the wolf had sensed it that first night, stalking Jon as He might other prey. Jon did not know how, nor did he care, ready to die when the horror of all men sprang upon him from the shadows of the forest.

But, after a brief tussle of panic and conquest, Jon had found himself at the wolf's mercy, and had not perished for it. Oh, he had suffered some pain, but it had proven to be the delicious, delightful, forbidden pain that he had been banished from his settlement because of.

Because Jon had not preferred the company of women, and that was the Highest Sin. He was repudiated, cast out, fleeing under a fusillade of angry shouts and cast stones. Somehow he had survived, finding an abandoned cave beyond both human and Pack territories. Each day he hunted, and each night he had gone out, to seek his end.

But, in the end, he had been found by one of the Pack who, like him, eschewed the attention of a female of His own kind. Did the Pack repudiate its own who turned toward their own sex, Jon wondered as well, though he could never ask his furbound mate. How did one convey a question through touch and gesture when one lacked the anatomy, or scent, for it?

But now he did not care, the wolf had come for his bitch.

And Jon knew it, feeling the firm ridge of the wolf's sheathed maleness pressing against the naked flesh of his stomach. His blunt, clawless fingers dug into the fur to either side of His tail, pulling even more firmly, his chin lifting as the deadly muzzle dipped to nibble at his naked throat. That always aroused the wolf, the submission of this other male to Him. Teeth and tongue alternated deadly threat and gentle teasing as He explored Jon's throat, neck, and shoulders. Powerful hips shifted and rolled, grinding that thick sheath against his flesh, pushing him against the wall.

Releasing his wolf's rump Jon awkwardly stuffed his hands down between their bodies to untie the ragged remnants of his leggings, the weight of his sheathed hunting blade dragging them down. He let the rank, unwashed fabric drop to his sandaled feet, his own blunt, erect human dick pressing into the fur alongside the wolf's sheath.

He was a pittance by comparison, in that department; both shorter because he lacked the pleasurable bulge at that the wolf had at His base, and not as thick though only slightly so.

With one hand he reached up to grasp his lupine paramour's shoulder in a firm grip, his own shoulders grinding against the wall. His other hand moved to stroke the furry scabbard of the wolf's slim (for the moment) maleness, his thumb coaxing the flesh down to expose the glistening tip that he could feel but not see.

“Take me, wolf." He rasped, clutching at the fur of shoulder, then neck, then the top of that broad predatory head between tall ears. “Let me be the bitch for you I love to be." Damn, but he needed what the wolf offered. His clumsy hand fumbled at the wolf's sheath, caught between rolling, furry hips and naked hips as the two ground and rolled. He felt the slick, slim spear emerge to press against his belly and his forearm before he managed to get his fingers around it.

Balanced by the wolf pressing him against the wall Jon raised one leg, awkwardly hooking it around the panting, eager monster's waist while he drew that hot, firm length downward and eased it past his own aching balls. He was beyond eager to be made this deadly predator's masculine bitch, he was hungry for it; that hot, powerful union between himself and the Beast. When the wolf's slick tip found its way to his needy pucker he felt familiar teeth seize his shoulder, biting possessively but tenderly.

Relaxing himself Jon let his head fall back and his eyes closed as he drew his hand away.

The wolf thrust; a single powerful hurling of that meaty spear of maleness that impaled Jon to the hilt with a single cast. The human let out a gasp at the brief flash of discomfort; the pain of being taken had vanished weeks past. As the wolf's hips twitched and jerked back Jon dropped both hands to grasp at the fur of His ribs and flanks.

Another thrust, though just as deep but with half the hasty need, slid the wolf's pulsing shaft once more into the heat of Jon's ass. “Yes!" he croaked, clutching fistfuls of dense fur, “Yes, my wolf, fuck me!" Once again the hips rolled back, the cock in the tight grasp of the human's smooth ass thickening rapidly.

Again and again the wolf's hips strove up and forward, lifting Jon's one remaining foot from the floor at each apex, his other leg and hands grasping desperately. The bulge at the base of the wolf's thickening cock did not swell as swiftly, Jon knew, and was thankful for.

Because, when He strove to seat it within His flimsy furless bitch, it would become far too large to withdraw.

Jon strove to relax himself, though his own stiff erection dribbled pre copiously into the fur grinding against it, and let out a long, shuddering sigh as the bulging girth pressed against him. With each thrust lifting his weight by that point of contact, stretching him afresh, until with a short, fierce snarl the wolf's hips jerked. With a muffled, wet noise Jon was fully impaled, the twinge of fiery discomfort brief and subsumed within seconds by the swelling, throbbing mass of the huge wolf's knot.

“Oh gods!" Jon squeaked, “I – I –" He broke off in surprise when he heard a noise in the near distance. Distressingly near! Panic tightened his guts and the wolf growled at the sudden pressure upon his freshly established tie.

Voices, human voices, indistinct but coming closer.

Angry human voices.

And Jon was trapped! The wolf was as well, caught inescapably in his tight human ass. His passions had let the wolf miss their approach, despite His vastly superior hearing and nose. Jon writhed against the wolf, who clutched him tight and took a step back from the wall, ears backed and predatory eyes casting about. Another sound soon reached Jon's ears as well.

Howls.

Not victory howls, but the questing howls of the Pack pursuing prey, coming from the opposite direction of the loud humans.

Escaping the wolves, those humans would seek the best defensive position they could find quickly, because the Pack moved much more swiftly than humans did without horses. Jon knew that there was only one such place easily found for his own kind.

The very house he found himself locked ass to crotch with Him.

The Highest Sin coupled with the Deadliest Enemy in one place, unable to flee.

Kneeling, the wolf scrabbled about with one hand on the floor at their feet. Torchlight flickered on the wall as the voices of the humans resolved into words. They had found someplace from which to fight; a dilapidated old house.

Jon felt something pressed against his breast, cold and metallic; his hunting knife. Looking up he saw the torchlight of the approaching humans flickering in the wolf's steady, adoring eyes, their predatory intensity gone. Fumbling one hand free he reached up to grasp the carved bone hilt of his knife. The wolf's large paw slipped over his fisted grasp, guiding his hand down and inward.

The tip of Jon's sharp blade rested against the predator's breast. With one last look deep into His human mate's eyes, the wolf dipped His powerful head, jaws agape. Long, deadly teeth rested against Jon's throat.

Knife thrust, teeth bit.