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The small mountain town of Ironridge was a picturesque sight in fall, nestled between two craggy peaks that sheltered it from most of the wind. The reds and oranges of autumn always lingered for longer than they did elsewhere thanks to the still nature of it, and especially at night, it tended towards a deathly sort of quiet, broken only by the errant bird or wolf.

A former mining town, back when mining iron that high up was still profitable, Ironridge had a long and illustrious history, having supplied most of the country with the once desirable metal, with a reputation for the workers being twice as hardy and enduring as those elsewhere. Ever since the death of the industry, the town had, as it were, rusted a little along with what it once produced, but that only lent to the aged charm it carried.

Like all isolated little towns, it had its darker secrets. Once, a priest had ended his life only days after arriving, convinced that there was no god after all, and threw himself from the nearby sheer cliff now known as Jonathan's Fall, where tourists often arrived in the summer to behold the majestic vista and wonder how any man of god could've have been convinced otherwise by the beauty of it all. The gothic architecture of the town hall and many of the houses only further lent to that unsettling feeling of it all. Few industrial mining towns had that kind of strange flair.

There was also the fact that, unknown to most, the city's inhabitants were almost all werewolves from one of the few dynasties that remained in the increasingly industrialized and civilized world. Many wolf-tribes had succumbed and then disappeared in the face of encroaching humanity and dying nature, but not so at Ironridge. Under their matriarchal leadership, they'd clung to existence by tooth and claw, embracing the future as best as they could. Their long lives, of course, also explained the anachronistic architecture, though only a chosen few knew that.

The town was all but a sovereign state. Though technically under federal rule, as every part of the country was, they were left to handle their own affairs, to write their own laws that each inhabitant adhered to, and a generous number of bribes from a few enthusiasts ensured that it remained so. As it turned out, humans and werewolves could coexist, if there was profit in it. Profit and perversion, as one might've expected; many of the rich would pay unfathomable amounts for a single night with a shifted wolf.

Perhaps it could be seen as prostitution, but then, all participants enjoyed it. Ravaging willing humans, it turned out, agreed perfectly with the primal instincts of many.

It was this dynasty of iron and sex that Adrienne – the current matriarch – had ruled for centuries from her gothic palace at the outskirts, changing names with each generation in a bid to prevent outsiders from noticing her abnormally long lifespan. The town had flourished under her once again with her focus on tourism both sexual and otherwise, but now, the wolf-queen – as the locals referred to her as with both playfulness and admiration – was truly growing old. Even the extended lifespan of a werewolf had to end, one day.

That meant that it was time for new blood. Her daughter, Morrigan, had thus far resisted her urgings to settle down and continue the dynasty, and seemed to continue to do so in spite of her mother's schemes. That aspect had always puzzled Adrienne; though she loved her daughter dearly, the younger wolf seemed almost ashamed of her animalistic side, preferring to cling to the world of humans. So be it; the child of a werewolf and human was still a full-blooded werewolf, but Morrigan had not yet had any children at all.

She had plenty of sons, of course. All of them had already settled down, most with a pregnant wife or hungry little pups to mature their once-rebellious attitudes, but the dynasty could only be continued through the mother's side. Once upon a time, that awkward, human-centric notion of waiting until she was “ready" had left Adrienne furious, but over the years, she had learned to accept it.

Her consort-husband, normally gentle in his position of taking care of Adrienne's daily affairs, had sensed her frustration and suggested that they might force her, which had earned him a series of new deep scars over his chest. That was out of the question, she'd told him firmly, as the matriarch did treasure and cherish her relationship with her misguided daughter. Any force would ruin that, and be just as likely to fracture the town, and with that, its very future as well as the future of the wolf-blooded. Force always led to force in turn. No, she had concluded, with her claws stained with her partner's blood – he'd heal quickly, for a werewolf it was little more than a brief annoyance – her daughter had to make the decision for herself. Those questions were not ones for the matriarch or her consort to decide, at least not directly, no matter how much her hesitation and procrastination frustrated her.

Yet she knew from personal experience that no werewolf could resist the urge to mate during their shifts, if a willing partner was nearby. Perhaps, then, she was afraid that any suitors would be discouraged upon seeing her shift, which was also when a werewolf was at her most fertile, and instead chose to conceal her true nature, running away like a scared little pup. That was, at least, Adrienne's best theory. Once word had reached her ears that she was dating someone, however, the wolf-queen had seized that opportunity, writing an official letter of invitation to her daughter and her prospective partner. A call to spend a week in Ironridge in that cold October. It was the kind of invitation that, though penned in elegant and flourishing letters, couldn't be declined.

That invitation was, of course, as her tangled web of schemes dictated, timed for exactly when Morrigan would be shifting. Perhaps, in the company of her own kind, she'd be less worried about letting it happen, and so letting it drive her to finally claim her partner – and swell with life, herself, thus naturally replacing the grey-muzzled Adrienne has the town's ruler.

As early as the next morning, Morrigan awoke to a knock on her door. The instant she opened the door, still only half-awake and wrapped in a blanket to conceal her nudity, she could smell it on him. The wolf-blood, her mother's influence. He handed the invitation to her without as much as a twitch of his lips.

She would've raised her hackles, had she been shifted. Instead, she only grumbled. It wasn't that Morrigan didn't like her mother, but the older wolf had an awful tendency to never simply mind her own business. This wasn't the first time she'd done something like this; the first time had been trying to pair her off with various eligible bachelors. The second had been a long, awkward attempt to convince her to have kids and settle down. In Ironridge, of course, and taking her mother's place as the town's caretaker at the same time.

Just like she didn't hate her, it wasn't that she didn't want to succeed her. She just wasn't ready, and her mother's pushy attitude only made it worse. With the very first man she'd revealed her true form to – even that by accident – things had not ended well. He had gone catatonic with terror, and then, despite her best attempts to comfort him, ran away in blind panic. He'd either forgotten the encounter, as well as their budding relationship, or he had simply tried to convince himself that such was the case.

Morrigan had quickly come to the conclusion that she would never be able to show her wolfish form to humans, and in turn, because of her desire to spend time with them rather than exclusively other werebeasts, she'd come to dislike her own nature. Oh, certainly shifting felt beautiful. It was an intoxicating, carnal, raw sensation that filled one's body with primordial strength and narrowed the mind to a focused spark. It made her want to tear prey apart, to mate like a wild animal. And yet, what good would any of that be if she couldn't share the experience with anyone?

Contrary to common belief, werewolves weren't infectious. Not those of the dynasty, and Morrigan had never met any others. As such, she would never be able to be herself with a human, she'd concluded.

With that realization, she'd begun to excuse herself every time a shift was about to happen, suffering her curse-blessing alone. One day it might be a business trip she couldn't decline; the next, perhaps a sickness she didn't want to risk her partner catching. At the very least, reality was full of excuses, even if the subterfuge always felt as if it drove another wedge between herself and her boyfriend. It left her with a gnawing feeling of guilt, because even though their relationship was one with great chemistry, they'd always be kept at arm's length by her secret.

This was, then, her mother's plan to force her to reveal herself, and thus likely driving him away. Maybe the idea was to get her to date a werewolf as she'd always planned. Maybe it was something more complicated, like a delusional hope to that her partner would accept what she was. Either way, nobody could decline the matriarch's summons, and that included her own offspring.

She waited until her boyfriend – Hugh, by name – stirred awake, and then, with his morning coffee, she showed him the letter.

“My mother wants us to spend the week there over Halloween," she sighed. “You know, in Ironridge. That small town you'd never heard of when I mentioned being from there."

“Oh," Hugh mumbled in response, only slowly sipping away at his coffee while his mind struggled to register anything this early in the morning. Sometimes, the sheer slowness of humans frustrated Morrigan. Other times, she found it endearing. This time, it was both. “Well, that… could be fun, right? Didn't we want to travel somewhere?"

“Somewhere, yes. To Ironridge specifically, no. Unless you're really into gothic architecture or guided tours of abandoned mines," she replied. Or werewolves, who could disembowel and devour you in a minute flat.

They wouldn't, of course, not with her mother at the reins, but it still felt dishonest to not mention it, the same way one might feel dishonest about luring someone onto thin ice despite believing it should hold. Mentioning it, however, would be another wedge between them, and quite possibly a long, forced session with a psychiatrist.

“I wouldn't mind," he said. “I mean, it'd be a great opportunity to finally meet your parents too. I bet it's beautiful this time of year!"

Morrigan sighed again. She'd deliberately avoided introducing them, because then she'd have yet another hook in her, another way to get her to do what she wanted, but there didn't seem to be any way around it, not this time.

“Fine. We're not staying at their place, though. No way. I think the old hotel should still be open…" she replied."

Chances were, it wasn't, but they'd open for the matriarch's daughter and act as if they'd been that way all along. She could handle her mother. She could possibly even handle Hugh and Adrienne meeting and talking, no doubt about her. She could not handle a single day in her mansion, being treated as a pup despite being almost thirty human years old.

But first, she had a few choice words to say to her mother. Excusing herself, she dialled the matriarch's number.

“My dear pup, how are you? I've not heard from you for ages," Adrienne answered.

“You know exactly what you're doing. Stop it," Morrigan growled back at her.

“Oh, such youthful aggression," Adrienne replied. “I'm not doing anything except, perhaps, showing you and your partner a good time."

“Yeah. Sure, I've heard that one before. At least tell the hotel to open up. We're not staying at the mansion," Morrigan countered.

“As you wish, daughter," Adrienne said. “As you know, I'd do anything for you. Almost anything."

She wasn't lying. More than once, the old wolf had bailed her out of trouble at expense to herself, but that didn't make her consistent, stubborn meddling any less pleasant to sit through. For every time she arranged to have witnesses to her shifts bribed into silence – or disappeared, if they didn't take the money – there was another situation like this, where she forcibly inserted herself into Morrigan's life yet again.

Despite all of that, she didn't hate her, and on top of that, Morrigan knew her mother really did what was best for her. The problem was that mother and daughter disagreed on what the “best" was.

“He's going to figure out what we are sooner or later, dear," her mother added. “You might as well get it over with. You can't hide forever. And well, we'll see you soon. How'd that old routine go again…."

She paused for a moment.

“As iron sharpens iron, so a friend sharpens a friend. Ironridge welcomes all? Gods, it's been centuries…"

She was referring to an old slogan, from back when the mining industry prospered. Morrigan wasn't old enough to have lived through those times, but she'd seen plenty of old, rusty signs displaying it. Of those old miners, a few had found their homes among the wolves, and their descendants – of whom all were of wolfish stock, as the town's traditions dictated – lived there still.

Rusty and cold, just like its namesake. Ironridge welcomes all, Morrigan thought.

“We'll see you soon, then. Both of you."

And with that, she hung up, leaving Morrigan to simmer. The timing of her mother's invitation was, and of course it was, such that she'd almost certainly be shifting while there. The joke was on her, though; she knew every nook and cranny of the old town. There were plenty of places for her to hide, with the excuse of meeting up with childhood friends. Hugh would be none the wiser despite the wolf-matriarch's best efforts to the contrary.

The two of them finished breakfast in tired quietude. Well, tired for her part. Hugh was, as one usually did in the morning, slowly waking up, whereas Morrigan herself was already busy planning out how to manage their enforced “vacation". Her childhood hideaways were still there, no doubt; Ironridge rarely changed. She navigated the memory of it, absorbed in recollection. North of what had been the town's only convenience store – and maybe it still was – there was the old water tower from which you could see both Ironridge and the distant lights of the city, given a clear night. Next to it, a dense forest that'd once been a field, and in that batch of trees, dilapidated barn. Nobody knew who it'd once belonged to. Unless torn down, it'd still be there, even with the ravages of time; she remembered it being built of sturdy oak. In a different town, such old buildings might've been torn down, but for werewolves, it didn't pose much risk.

Once, she'd managed to break both of her legs during an ill-advised climb with her friends. Adrienne's reaction had been like that of a human mother whose child ate all the cookies; mild, scolding bemusement.

It'd hurt like nothing she'd ever felt, but she'd healed fully in less than a week. Then there was that time-

She snapped back to reality when Hugh's lips, framed by a well-groomed beard, met her own softly.

“You're worrying again. It'll be fine. What's the worst thing that could happen?" he asked, fixing his slate-blue eyes to hers. “Trust me when I say nothing she says will change how I feel about you. I love you," he smiled.

If only. Yes, she loved him too, there was no doubt of that. But she'd never met a human who could handle seeing her shifted form. Sometimes they ran; other times they froze in blind terror. Maybe Hugh would be different. She could hope, but what she couldn't do was to actually risk it.

As for Hugh, he'd fallen for Morrigan almost instantly. Certainly, he'd fawned over her wild, untamed beauty. The way her dark brown hair was always somewhere between well-kept and messy. The shallow green of her eyes. Of course, her body was beautiful too; she wasn't exactly what one might consider traditionally feminine, and that worked for Hugh. It worked really well. She had plenty of muscle, a stocky build with narrow hips and modest, shapely breasts. The kind of woman who, if she wanted to, could probably compete with the men physically. Her name suited her perfectly. Great Queen. Irish, if he remembered correctly.

Granted, he didn't actually know about her other self, which could do more than just compete.

What made her so perfect was that despite her rough, wild exterior, she was no less sensual for it. Her scent was one of delicate wet moss, mingled with the light fragrance of a flower, her skin warm and soft where it wasn't covered by scars.

Scars, indeed. She had more than a few, and she'd never elaborated on how she got them, and Hugh wasn't one to pry. She'd tell her if and when she was ready. Not that he wasn't curious about the “claw marks" that ran down her back, or the criss-crossing scars of old scratches on both her arms and legs. A rough childhood, maybe, owing to her adventurous attitude, or perhaps a no doubt traumatic encounter with wildlife. Maybe one day she'd trust him enough tell him, but if not – that was fine too. He'd probably fawn over her regardless, drawn as he was to Morrigan like a young bird might be to a cat, curiosity drawing him dangerously close to something he couldn't fully understand.

A quick check revealed that there was still a train that called in at Ironridge. The line had originally been used for ore transports, and was maintained, most likely, purely for tourists these days. The inhabitants of the town rarely left, after all. That was another thing Morrigan remembered from her childhood. Every day she knew the train would arrive, she'd sit by her water tower and watch it come in, and then leave once more, the lights visible at such a distance when the days grew shorter. She'd always dreamt of getting on it and leaving for the city.

Of course, Morrigan didn't mind being what she was, not truly. It was very much a mixed blessing. The older she had gotten, more she'd learned to accept it, though even now, if only by a smidgen, she'd have preferred merely being an average woman, living a life with someone outside of werewolf politics. Living in Ironridge would've made that impossible.

And yet, only a few days later, the two were on that train towards her former home. As they left the city and headed towards the train's terminus at Ironridge, Morrigan could already feel the itch of an impending shift. She watched the landscape scroll by through the train window, idly imagining simply running off, disappearing into the forest and living like a common wolf. Mating like a common wolf.

She could feel her shifts a few days in advance. They were always heralded by a kind of itchiness that seemed to spread to every part of her body, a twinge, growing into a warm glow, somewhere in the lower belly, halfway between excitement and arousal. A fierce spark of lust that's swell into raging desire, and into animalistic need, blossoming into a full transformation into her true form, the growth of fangs, fur, and claws usually leaving her sex clenching and dripping, the new-grown fur already slick with lust by the time she was fully transformed.

Needless to say, it was a very erotic experience, one that left many werewolves experiencing their first shifts as unwitting parents. She was only an exception by luck; the first time it'd happened she'd raised her tail for the first male she came across, who had been all too happy to claim her virginity without care nor ceremony, nothing except rapturous carnal lust. The males were, from all that Morrigan had seen and experienced, much the same, desperately eager to dominate, to rut with single-minded focus in the heat of the moment. Sure enough, he'd tied with her and filled her unprotected body with his potent, masculine gift. And it'd been the best feeling in the world, the warm seed bringing with it a tingling, soothing satisfaction that made her howl with pleasure, spasming thankfully around the male's throbbing, lupine cock.

They never met again after that. She hadn't conceived, thankfully. Sometimes nature simply didn't let it happen. From that point on, though, she'd opted to be more careful, taking care of the transformation-induced lust herself. In effect, then, she had two reasons to keep her shifts to herself, because even if Hugh, by some miracle, didn't panic, she knew perfectly well she'd not be able to resist the siren call of messy, animalistic, and more than anything, unprotected sex. Being pregnant wouldn't be that bad, perhaps, but merely imagining her mother's smug grin when she learned of it… well, needless to say, Morrigan wasn't looking forward to it. At some point she would, but only when she was good and ready, not because her bestial nature forced the hand of fate.

Here she was, though, her panties growing slick and clinging to her lips as the familiar, intoxicating bloom of warmth swept through her. It'd be a while before she actually transformed. Hopefully, well after they'd both arrived in Ironridge and met up with Adrienne, likely for dinner. Then, she'd slink away in the night when Hugh was fast asleep.

Morrigan couldn't deny that she really wanted to drag her partner into the train's restroom for a quick, rough rutting against the wall, but at this point she knew she was already fertile, and denying herself those pleasures as long as she could was part of her rebellion against her mother's schemes, giving her the stoic kind of satisfaction that few other things could.

Hugh was none the wiser, already half asleep and his head resting against Morrigan's shoulder. One of the benefits of having a human partner was their lack of awareness. Maybe he'd be able to smell her heat once fully transformed, but for now, he had no idea. Of course, once fully transformed almost nobody could resist the scent of a werewolf heat, or rut for that matter. The few human scientists who were aware of their existence at all referred to it, she mused, as a “high-potency airborne aphrodisiac". It drove males of all kinds wild with desire, causing their bodies to overproduce cum and leak precum. That, in turn, has the same effect on the females.

The train pulled in at the last station before the long, mountainous stretch towards the terminal at Ironridge, where it'd turn around. After more and more of the other passengers had left with each stop, Morrigan and Hugh were left alone in the car, and having already checked their tickets, the conductor wouldn't be passing through either. It only made Morrigan more aware of her growing wolfish need, but she was determined to resist it once again. It seemed to be coming on faster than usual, which worried her, but she'd manage well enough. As much as she wanted to climb into Hugh's lap and feel his firm body pressed against her. Into her.

After an hour or so of the train's vibrations slowly teasing her tingling body, she started to recognize the surroundings. There, in the distance, was the mountain with the water tower on it, and that meant they would soon be at Ironridge. It was a peculiar feeling, returning after so long and still remembering certain trees and cliffs, as if their gnarled and rugged forms had remained the same for all these years. Maybe they had. Maybe nothing had changed at all, and maybe it never would. She could only hope, because that'd allow her to remain in the comfortable status quo, fully in control of herself.

Finally, with a raspy announcement that the train would be turning, they had arrived. The train's brakes screeched as it came to a final stop at a rather nondescript station deep in the woods. Ahead of them, the tracks looped. This was, in more ways than one, a dead end.

“We're here," she said, grabbing Hugh's shoulder to shake him awake.

“-oh, that was quick. Must've dozed off," Hugh replied with an apologetic grin.

“You sure did. Hopefully it was pleasant, because we're about to meet Adrienne in just a few," Morrigan sighed.

They picked up their meagre luggage, consisting only of a change of clothes for each, and chargers for their phones. “Let's hope they still have electricity," Morrigan joked. Blackouts weren't uncommon, and they didn't much bother the town's inhabitants. Even tourists found the gas lights used in case of a power outage more charming, adding to the gloomy, almost Victorian nature of the town.

Not that the werewolves needed any lights, but at some point, they did have to take care of the tourists who kept the little town one of the wealthiest in the country.

Morrigan and Hugh stepped off the train, and she took a deep breath. For all its flaws, nobody could argue that the air in Ironridge wasn't great. It'd been a little polluted during the mining boom, or so she'd been told, but for as long as she herself had lived, it'd been some of the cleanest mountain air imaginable. This late in the year, now that all the flowers had died, it carried with it only a faint fragrance of decomposing leaves and deciduous trees.

Come for the fresh, clean air. Stay because you got eaten by werewolves. Ironridge welcomes all.

She glanced, with some trepidation, at her surroundings. She and her partner had been the only passengers to make the full journey today, which wasn't surprising. It seemed the average person cared little for a rural backwater town when they couldn't go camping to escape it.

Still, there was a nostalgic twinge to it, a silver lining. She could imagine herself being a pup again, marvelling at the wonders of trains simply existing at all, and then again as a teen, dreaming of where they could take her. Ironridge wasn't all bad. She could imagine it flourishing again one day, and if nothing else, it was still home to her people. The only ones in existence that she knew of.

“About time you two get 'ere," someone called out, and the moment was gone. “Hurry up, the ma- your mother wanted you over for dinner as soon as possible. 'otel's still open when yer done."

A scruffy, though enormous man that Morrigan didn't recognize by name, but immediately recognized as a fellow werewolf by his behaviour. The way he seemed to scan the two for weaknesses, his ears moving just a little bit more than a natural human's would. And of course, the way he, regardless of any opinions, acted subservient to the ruling family of the town. He motioned Morrigan and, reluctantly, her partner towards his car which was stood in the small parking lot. The cars were, really, only for tourists and to make government agents think that the town was somewhat modern. A werewolf could just about outrun a car when shifted. This one seemed to be an American muscle car straight from the 60s, loud and brash and painted a lurid red, standing in stark contrast with the older architecture. The kind of car driven by two people: those with nothing to prove, and those desperate to prove something.

Hugh seemed to enjoy it, though, tossing the luggage into the trunk with a broad smile on his face, and even Morrigan had to admit that these vintage cars had a certain charm to them. In her increasingly heat-sensitized state, the bestial growl of the engine sent a vibration of pleasure through her body. The car shook and trembled, the engine far too big for the vehicle. Luckily, though, her mother's mansion was only a few minutes away.

Where the cars are just for show, so nobody figures out we're monsters. Ironridge welcomes all. No, Morrigan told herself, she would never get bored of coming up with better slogans.

Usually, Adrienne's mansion was surrounded by flowers. Now, in fall, the only source of colour were the autumn leaves of the oaks planted near the driveway. Much like Adrienne herself, the building carried itself with aged majesty despite the shearing winds of time.

“Welcome, both of you. Dinner should be ready in just a few," she heard her mother call out. She walked to meet them with leisurely grace. “And you must be… Hugh, was it? How nice to finally meet you."

As always, she pretended to be far older and more graceful than she really was. More than that, she pretended to be human. If she were one, she'd be well past a natural lifespan and buried long ago, but with the extended lifespan of werewolves, she was only perhaps sixty, in human years, despite having lived at least twice that long.

“Hello, and likewise," Hugh smiled, offering a handshake, which Adrienne took with barely concealed glee. Morrigan saw Hugh wince as she squeezed his hand with surprising strength, but he bore the pain well. “I'm glad to finally meet you."

“Oh, I'd bet Morrigan has told you all kinds of stories about me. Some might even be true," she grinned in that wolfish, predatory way. “But never mind that, you can decide for yourself. Now, you and my daughter simply must join me for dinner. Tell me, have you had much chance to try venison in the city?"

The smell of it was mouth-watering. Rich, fresh venison – Morrigan didn't doubt for a second that her mother had hunted down a deer herself for this occasion – served with a blood-red sauce, that thankfully wasn't actual blood but red wine that complimented the flavour perfectly. She listened in quietly to whatever Hugh and Adrienne spoke about, which wasn't much of substance. How their lives were going, what the city was like, the colder weather.

Through it all, Morrigan suffered her growing heat quietly. Those shivers were coming more frequently now, the transformative glow – like moonlight – suffusing her entire form from head to toes. As always, she felt it most around her sex, which was dripping wet by now, a fact she was very self-aware of knowing that Adrienne would already be smelling it. Then again, it was perfectly natural for any wolf to grow excited as their shift grew near, hardly a cause of shame. Spurred on by the wild taste of the meat, though, it was coming on too fast. She found herself fidgeting, claws digging into the solid wood of the dinner table as she struggled against it. Storm within, calm without, she told herself. An old mantra that one of her mother's friends had told her about, for holding back the changes just a few minutes longer by bottling up the energy and lust for as long as possible.

But no matter how hard she tried, she wouldn't be able to stave it off forever.

There was something about the familiar environment that made it worse, too. Morrigan, certainly, could notice how everything was set up to allow for a shift anywhere. The furniture sparsely placed; the lack of decorations in most rooms. Hugh would have no idea, but she did. And the meat. Rare, dark, juicy meat that made her salivate even after she'd already started on her portion of it. Her mother micromanaged everything, as always, no doubt trying to tease her into transforming, but she already knew of her plans.

“…how about my daughter, then?" she heard her mother ask, through the deafening, thrumming sound of blood rushing through her ears as her focus on the world grew narrower and narrower, scents and sounds that'd been unnoticed growing very evident in those early stages of her transformation. “Have any plans to settle down?"

Her asking so tactlessly made Morrigan want to snarl at her, but she remained in control. She knew exactly what she was doing.

“Well, we're planning to do it eventually, right?" Hugh replied, glancing at Morrigan again. “Just have to find a good place to settle down in."

“Ironridge welcomes all," Adrienne grinned.

Where mothers casually needle their children over dinner. Ironridge welcomes all. Morrigan clenched her jaws shut to keep from saying it out loud. As irritating as it was, she still loved her mother when she wasn't meddling in her affairs.

“I think she's rather fond of the city life," Hugh smiled. At least he had her back.

“True, true. But the city's no place for children – if you ever choose to have them – and particularly not ours. Has she told you about that one little thing we have?" Adrienne replied, her eyes narrowing.

“What one little-“

Morrigan couldn't hear any of it. Between the frustration of dealing with her mother at her worst and the growing lust inside her, she was all but doubled over. She couldn't hold it back any longer, her bestial nature clawing at her from within.

“Excuse me," she choked. “Bathroom… need to use."

Adrienne shot her a knowing glance and nodded. “Absolutely, dear. You know where it is."

Morrigan stumbled out of the room, managing to contain herself for just long enough to close the door behind her before her nails were sharpening into claws, her posture hunched forward with her body yearning to drop onto all fours. She didn't head to the bathroom, of course, as she'd be certain to be discovered by Hugh if she did. Rather, the changing werewolf made her way out through the mansion's front door.

“I see someone's 'bout to go feral," her mother's driver, still waiting outside, amusing himself by watching the wildlife and smoking a half-burnt cigarette, taunted her, seeing her in the throes of her natural lycanthropy. “Into heat too, by the smell o' it."

“Shut it, or… rrrgh, won't be talking much… tear your throat out," Morrigan snapped back with a deep, threatening growl. Fur spread over arms and muscle rippled in its wake, a quiet grunt of pain accompanying the snap of her ankle bones rearranging to assume a digitigrade gait.

Sure enough, the driver, despite his gruff attitude, backed down immediately. Perhaps not so much for the physical threat – he seemed like the type to enjoy fighting – as for it coming from the leader's daughter. “Well, suit yerself. I'll jus' wait for you to get done, then. 'otel's open all night."

Morrigan dashed off into the woods. Gone was the hesitation, as it always was when she shifted, human worries drowned out by the sheer primal joy of it all. She was a wolf, at heart, no matter how much she tried to deny it, and her growing claws gouged a nearby tree deeply, leaving sap-dripping wounds as she made her way towards her safe place by the water tower, retaining enough presence of mind to know she needed to remain unseen. Soon she dropped onto all fours, her changing physique making it a much of more comfortable position to run in. She let out a loud, mournful howl as her vocal cords reshaped into those of a wolf.

“There she goes again, I guess," Hugh sighed when he realized that his beloved wasn't coming back anytime soon. “Do you know why she does that? Has she always?"

“Oh, but of course," Adrienne smiled at the now alone, and very vulnerable even if he didn't know it, human. “But I think you should learn for yourself. Not to worry, it's nothing as trivial as cheating. She wouldn't mate with any of the men here. It is a certain condition that our family has always carried…"

“How could I ever know when she runs off when whatever it is happens?" Hugh sighed.

“Well, she always has somewhere to hide for her… episodes," she replied, phrasing it as if it were a mere medical issue. Hugh wouldn't believe her regardless, were she to be truthful. “Somewhere safe, comfortable, and familiar. In the city, I wouldn't know where."

She paused for a moment, for dramatic effect. The old wolf did love a good drama.

“Well, where is it? I'll meet her and show that whatever it is, it doesn't matter. Even if she's going to die soon," Hugh said, likely imagining the situation to be something akin to dizzy spells from an advancing illness, or perhaps epilepsy.

“Oh, she won't, but… well, I'll let you see for yourself," Adrienne replied, and unfolded a map. “Here," she added, tapping the map with a finger. “Do you know how to use a map? There's an old water tower. Next to it, an overgrown, failed field. And in that field, a barn. She used to love playing there as a child."

“Will she be there, then?" Hugh asked.

“I'd bet my life on it. Either at the barn or near the water tower, probably gazing towards the city," Adrienne smiled. “Just like when she was a kid."

She happily provided the inquisitive young man with both a flashlight and a compass, and when he was gone, a little whisper to inform the town's inhabitants that if anyone but Morrigan harmed him, they'd be torn limb from limb by her and her closest guards. As much of a blessing as any relationship would get from the old wolf, assuming that the suitor survived the revelations her advice would bring.

Hugh set off, towards the places that Morrigan hadn't wanted him to know about. He was, or so he felt, ready for any dark secrets she might harbour.

She was already there. Not at the barn, no. She was perched on a cliff near that old, long since defunct water tower, looking over the endless forest in all directions except where the city – her home, now – glowed like some massive bioluminescent organism, streets and highways stretching away like tentacles of light.

Most werewolves found the view to represent the cancerous growth of cities and the slow decay of nature around them. Morrigan had always found if soothing, reminding her that while she might've felt alone, everyone else was too, no matter how big the city they lived in was. Every far-away lit window represented another mind, ultimately sovereign, an inner island upon which nobody else could ever tread.

Her body, unlike her distant mind, was burning up with arousal. Had a male appeared then and there, she'd have succumbed to his lust in a heartbeat, at the slightest whiff of masculine need even halfway as strong as the wet, clenching need inside her. Her elongated, sinewy, wolf-like arm reached between her legs to kneading the warm, matted mess of arousal that was her sex, a lusty and pleasured growl spilling from her lips as she rubbed her aching, needy cunt. As she always did when in heat and helplessly taken by those more primitive of instincts.

Then, whether fantasy or reality she wasn't sure, a scent reached her. She was so absorbed in her need that she didn't recognize it at first, but when she did, her inner walls twitched with anticipation, and the transformed Morrigan dropped onto all fours. There was still the wolfish urge to maul and tear, but her heat would make it difficult to fight any male. Not before he'd sated her needs and desires, anyway.

But she was ready to try.

Hugh found himself shivering as he made his way through the darkened forest. Something about it was foreboding, even if he was driven by love. With the trees blocking out of the moon and stars, the shadows drew darker as he continued towards the location Adrienne had pointed out, but equally, an oddly pleasant scent became more and more noticeable over the natural scent of autumn's decay.

The scent was tangy, sweet, and spicy all at once, tugging at primitive parts of Hugh's self, those parts that any civilized man learned to control. It made his cock swell out and stiffen in his pants, as if he were some feral dog smelling a bitch in heat, slipping out of his sheath at the slightest whiff of sex. Ready to mount and mate.

Hugh didn't actually notice his own arousal, though, not with his mind hyper-focused on the map, the compass, and the dark forest illuminated only by his flashlight. Ahead, the trees grew sparser, and in a few more steps he was close enough to the edge of the woods that he could see stars glimmering between the trees. Everywhere bar for a tall, dark silhouette. That was it, the water tower; he'd have to check if Morrigan was here before trying the barn in turn.

But that invigorating scent caressing the most primitive, masculine parts of his mind only grew stronger until he was rock hard underneath his trousers. He only realized how excited he was when a step over a fallen branch made him shiver with pleasure, loins twitching as his cockhead pushed needily against soft fabric, leaving it wet with plentiful precum. His body was responding just like any other man's would at the pheromones lingering in the air, but his rational mind, not noticing the sweet heat-tang in the air, was left confused as to why he was suddenly so incredibly horny.

If he found Morrigan here, Hugh thought, he'd pin her down and rut her. Hard. He'd show her just how important she was to him, no matter the reason she was hiding from him. At that thought of sliding into her warm, wet, and tight caress, his cock bucked, smearing a little more of his wetness onto the front of this underwear.

Morrigan had been observing him for a while already. Was he any other male, she would've pounced him, but when she'd realized it was Hugh, she'd hid away again. But that chain reaction that werewolves always caused was already starting. Her heat driving the human into rut, and his increasingly sexual scent in turn making her even wetter.

Maybe this would be the right moment. To finally claim him. No, her rational mind told her, he'd run away panicking. But no amount of rationality could deny the swelling, soaring, gnawing need inside her.

She pounced.

One moment Hugh was standing. Then he laid sprawled out in the wet moss, head reeling from the impact and perilously close to the cliff's edge until he was yanked backwards. Briefly, he thought that a tree might've fallen on him, until he opened his eyes and saw a werewolf looming over him. There was no better way to describe it, even for a sceptical mind such as his. A muscular, enormous wolf in vaguely human shape, clad in dark brown fur that was matted with the autumnal drizzle. Though feeling the panic well up in his chest, when his gaze met the wolf's pale green eyes, he recognized something.

“M-morri-“ he began, stuttering – though not as much out of fear as because of the werewolf bowling him over having knocked the breath out of his lungs – but as he inhaled to finish speaking that one fateful name, his mind was suddenly flooded with her scent.

The tangy, almost sweet scent of pure, raw, feminine need filled his nose, and all of those pheromones, along with the convulsive shiver of lust it inspired in him shot straight to his already hard cock, and his hips bucked instinctively. Suddenly all that fear was gone; his eyes dropped to the werewolf's breasts – fur-clad, though with her stiff teats still plainly visible – and then to the wetness dripping from between her legs, and his cock twitched again.

Satisfied to see her partner's eyes glaze over with lust, Morrigan leaned down and engulfed half his face in a very lupine, passionate kiss, her broad tongue lapping over Hugh's lips and chin, even forcing its way into his gasping mouth before breaking and leaving him covered in her saliva.

Her claws cut through Hugh's clothes effortlessly, freeing first his chest and then that beautiful manhood her body demanded she have inside her. She needed this. Needed him. Every last part of him. Desperately so. Hugh's cock sprung out, throbbing in the cool air and yet showing no signs of softening with Morrigan's naturally high body heat keeping him warm. Her tongue dove for that breeding rod next, stealing a long lick all the way from her partner's hefty, seed-filled sac, up the shaft that'd soon be jerking and pumping inside her, to the purple crown through which his virile heat would fill her.

Normally, when not shifted, and when not in heat, she might've thought about safety, about perhaps waiting for a better time to have pups, or children. Not in this state, though; she was only a bitch in heat, and Hugh, while human, was exactly the mate she wanted to seed her, to fertilize her, consequences be damned.

She leapt off him, only a few feet away, and dropped back onto all fours, her tail naturally hiking up to give him that unmistakable, feminine invitation of her dripping sex, puffy and half-splayed open with lust. In any other situation, and maybe with anyone else, Hugh would've chosen to run, even as the wolf presented herself, no matter how alluring the invitation of her visibly wet sex was. This, though, was his partner. He knew that, on some deeper level, even though his conscious thoughts were utterly lost in the misty storm of arousal.

He was on top of her in an instant, enthralled by her need, and Morrigan let out a lustful growl as she felt Hugh's strong hands grasp her hips. Neither of them were much more than animals, following their instincts and urges, and all instincts were telling them to mate. Hugh positioned his achingly hard cock against the werewolf's folds and then thrust hungrily, possessively into her, sliding all the way into her heated, clutching, fertile cunt in one smooth, slick motion. Morrigan snarled with pleasure, clenching hard around him in response, egging him on, cheering for her beautiful mate to finally claim her.

And he did. He began thrusting hard, rutting into the werewolf as savagely as his human body could muster while she dug her claws into the ground. There they mated, like wild animals, underneath the old water tower and with a magnificent view of the forest and distant city gleaming in the darkness. They saw little of it in the throes of that primal union, though, their own worlds entirely focused on the equally beautiful, searing hot glow where they were joined. Morrigan had been wet before; she was dripping now, her juices gushing over her thighs and what remained of Hugh's trousers as he bucked into her, quickly working up towards the inevitable, sticky and yet very natural conclusion of a mating.

He was throbbing faster now, and Morrigan, driven purely by desire at that point, squeezed around him more tightly, massaging that wonderful length that'd finally soothe her heat, her body egging him on to just keep thrusting until he spilled his seed into her. Though feverishly passionate, they wouldn't last long, but now that the ice, as it were, had been broken, the two would likely keep mating throughout the night, until she was well and truly pregnant. That much, both already knew, as they raced towards the first, shattering climax of the night.

Morrigan reached her peak first, howling with pleasure into the night as her climax swept over her, leaving the werewolf clawing at the ground and shivering as that wet, sticky pleasure pulsated through her body. Her sex clenched tightly and rhythmically around Hugh's bare cock – already only moments away from inseminating her – with an encouraging kind of lust, her body trying its hardest to coax him into orgasming with her and breeding her. Into filling her fertile and receptive cunt with every last drop of seed he could muster.

As her juices gushed over Hugh's heavy balls, he couldn't hold back any longer. His fingers dug into her haunches and he hilted with a surprisingly bestial growl, grunting and groaning as his cock finally throbbed inside his mate, in quick, shuddering pulses. And with each, a rope of warm, plentiful seed erupted into her, driving Morrigan even deeper into that rapturous pleasure of reproduction. She came again with no delay, slick inner muscles massaging his cock thankfully to prolong his release in turn, her body drinking as much of his cum as it could.

Though heavenly, the moment ended, as such moments always did, leaving them cuddled up with his drooling length still buried inside her. It'd only be a few moments before he was ready to go again, thanks to her pheromones. After a few more sticky matings that left Morrigan's thighs matted with spilled seed, though, the cold of the night would necessitate that they make their way to the hotel, where a discreet receptionist mostly ignored the two and let them continue mating again and again in the warm comfort of a room rather than outside like animals, though with no less of that feral passion and enthusiasm.

The last few times, Morrigan took him on her back, with her legs spread, if only so they could share a few lust-filled kisses between human and wolf as the few watery spurts of cum that Hugh had left pumped into her well-bred sex, that blossoming of heat never losing its appeal.

That night, still in a lustful haze, she slept with a few pillows under her rump to make sure all of that sticky, warm gift Hugh had given her stayed inside her body. It felt too good not to, the wilful surrender to her body's natural needs. As one might expect, the result was unavoidable; sometime in the early morning, her heat ended with a twinge of satisfaction somewhere deep inside her.

Sure enough, the next morning when they met Adrienne, she gave Morrigan that grin that told her, in no uncertain terms, that she knew exactly what they'd done. Thankfully, she was polite enough to not mention it, seeing how sheepish the two looked, despite very clearly still smelling sex on them both despite their best attempts at cleaning in a mutual shower, and perhaps even the fact that Morrigan was likely pregnant with how much seed Hugh had rutted into her. Morrigan, herself, knew that much as well; her heat had faded away into an ember-like glow of deep satisfaction as Hugh's potent little swimmers had made their way into her.

Maybe it was time that she took her place as the town's matriarch, she mused quietly. Maybe it'd actually be worth it. It wasn't as if they needed her there all the time, so she'd still be able to visit her beloved city. Well, as long she wasn't too heavily pregnant, or currently nursing the next generation of nippy little werewolf pups. It was, however frustrated some part of her was at her mother's scheming, impossible to deny just how beautiful the tingly feeling of a heat properly sated was.

Not to mention that rather than running away, Hugh seemed to be even more attracted to her when shifted, and beyond that spice, their bond was deeper than ever. Life was good, bar for a few nauseous mornings a couple of months later, and the general annoyance of a swollen belly for Morrigan.

Too pregnant to move and no doubt about to have more pups afterwards? Ironridge welcomes all, Morrigan mused with a frustrated, though happy, grin.