Tenderness of Wolves

THE TENDERNESS OF WOLVES

The following story contains sex acts between a male teenager and adults and teenagers of all genders where consent can be somewhat ambiguous. While these situations can be really hot in a fantasy, they'd be absolutely dreadful in real life. This story is only a fantasy, and it's not meant to be taken seriously, or to be condoning the idea of forcing people to have sex. If such stories are not legal in your locale, well... you know what you're supposed to do.

There are also some elements that could be triggering for survivors of sexual abuse.

It's a werewolf story. People get killed. Flesh is eaten. If you don't like horror mixed in with your smut, go read Playgirl. If the idea of something primal and savage like a werewolf gets your juices flowing though... Read on. ;)

The Tenderness of Wolves is an awesome musical piece by Coil. This is where the title comes from.

Feedback and encouragement is welcome and appreciated. You can get a hold of me at queer_tribes@yahoo.ca.

Have fun! :)

CHAPTER 10 -- Jules

"Take off your shirt."

Jules obeyed the pudgy man with the shaved head. He and the Caucasian woman looked at the lanky adolescent as he did so. The apartment -- the Wolves' den, Jules assumed -- was nearly empty. Furniture was gone, and only a few items -- a broken down vacuum cleaner, empty CD cases, and a box filled with worn out books -- were scattered on the hardwood floor. It looked like a place out of which people were moving. It was unsurprising, given the situation. Whatever misadventures had befallen Conrad, it made sense that his packmates would choose to move on to a safer place.

Safety was a notion Jules had abandoned the moment he had followed the two menacing adults into this place. He had surrendered it when Catherine had closed the door behind them. For that matter, the Haitian boy still had no clue as to what the man's name was, or what would happen next.

Murderous death, perhaps. 'Focus', he told himself, 'this is for Hector.' The teenager could not believe he was not already pleading for his own life.

Scents provided him with little in manner of clues. He could tell the occupants had smoked drugs in the place in the past -- the familiar green scent he always got from his own brother was impregnated in the lair. They were no cleanliness freaks either; homes that were untidy lacked the citrus fragrances of cleaners, and a musk of dirt and accumulated crass clung to them. It was not something ordinary humans would necessarily notice -- the place did not stink, it simply did not smell of clean. It did not reek of blood either; no death had occurred in this apartment. Yet this provided but small reassurance to the human boy.

This was the first time Jules was in the presence of Wolves since Conrad had bitten him. They were both in the human guise, and they smelled human too. He had expected them to smell special, but had he come across them without knowing what they were, he would never have known. Only the stinging scent of base aggression he had gotten from the hostile male outside had given them away. Now, it had receded, and the vulnerable teenager did not know what he found in its place.

"What shoulder did you say he bit you on?", asked the native guy in a guarded voice.

"The right shoulder. You can't see it anymore. It's gone."

The man let out a humourless chuckle.

"Of course it is. You have Wolf in your blood now."

He stepped behind Jules, who dared not turn his head around to keep track of him.

"How bad did it hurt when he did it?", asked the woman.

Her voice was soft, and almost carried sympathy with it. Jules might have believed in it, had it not been for the ice in her blue eyes. Jules licked his lips. His throat was parched.

"How bad do you think it hurt?", he retorted. "He almost tore the whole thing apart."

'I thought I'd die. I pleaded for him to let me go. He didn't.' All these things came to boy's mind. But the memory of the pain was the strongest, although it was dulled by recollection.

He jumped when the man brushed inquisitive lips against the back of his shoulder, where Conrad had bitten him. Lightning drove through the young Haitian's spine. The touch tore a moan from his mouth, a sound he didn't believe humans could make. His mind blanked. He longed to surrender to the male predator, to feel his arms surround him, to have him transform into the mighty Wolf and take him. But more happened. A fiery hot knife pushed into the waters of his soul, opening him up, conquering him--

Jules tore himself away from the man's caress. His cock was swollen with blood, but he tried to ignore it. He turned to face the Wolf. It was one of the monsters; if any doubts had remained, what had just happened had dispelled it. The man and the white woman were werewolves. He locked eyes with the beast who had touched him. Its eyes were alive, and it smirked.

"He bit you, alright", it said.

"What happened?", demanded Jules. "What did you just do to me?"

The female laughed.

"He's sensitive! I don't remember you moaning like that, Chad."

'Chad. His name is Chad', noted the teenage boy.

"There was no need to tell him my name, Cat."

"Just relax. I don't think it matters. He's Connie's chew toy, no doubt about it."

Jules cringed as he heard the words 'chew toy'. He thought he had accepted that he had probably been no more than Conrad's plaything. He hadn't.

"What happened?", repeated the young human, an edge to his voice.

The knife was in his coat. The coat lied crumpled to his feet.

The odd, detached woman spoke.

"I guess it means you belong to our pack."

The guy with the shaved head frowned and glanced at her sideways.

"Not yet", he said.

"What you felt... It was you connecting with Chad. Your body, you mind offering themselves to him. They know who you belong with. It happened because it's our packmate who bit you. The bite remembers what binds our pack together."

"So you are Conrad's packmates."

Chad bit his lip. Cat licked hers.

"It's pretty much obvious at this point, isn't it?"

"I don't like this, Cat. He knows too much."

Catherine then became taller. Her features broadened, revealing the predator within. Her eyes took on the amber of the Wolf. Jules drew in a sharp breath, but managed to not recoil at the sight of the change.

"Remember Connie's Gift, Chad. What he told us about it."

She stared straight into Jules' eyes.

"I want to taste him too", she said.

Suddenly, time slowed. Jules could count seconds between each of his heartbeats. He watched the She-Wolf step towards him in slow motion. The words 'I want to taste him' were ringing in his ears. He ducked and reached for the coat. It felt like one of those dreams he sometimes had, full of danger, where no matter how quick he hoped to be, he always ended up moving as if he waded through a sea of molasses. The Wolves were faster than him, although the human teenager had all the time in the world to see them make his way to him. Jules took hold of the coat, but Chad tore it from his grip. Cat grabbed the gangly boy's shoulders and spun him around, his face to the plaster wall, his back to her.

"Quick little bastard. Look what he's got in there, Chad."

Jules felt her breath against the spot were Conrad had bitten him. This alone was enough to send tremors through his spine. His cock gorged with blood and ripples coursed through his reptile brain.

"Jesus", she whispered. "I haven't even touched you yet. You are a special one, handsome."

"Please. Don't. Not that."

He remembered his soul parting for Chad, like his hole had parted before for Conrad. They couldn't own him, not like that. Catherine brought her lips to his earlobe. The sweet aroma of her lust reached the young Haitian's nose. It was different than that of boys, but he recognized it for what it was. He could also smell the Wolf on her, now that she no longer hid her animal self. It disturbed him how familiar the scent was, musky, blended with the leathers of her coat.

"Why?", she let out.

"Please. Just don't. Not like that."

She kept still. Her plump breasts were pressed against his back. Her fragrance became mysterious, something Jules didn't know.

"He's packing wolfsbane, Cat."

Chad held the unsheathed knife, taking the measure of the poison's stench. Catherine chuckled. The humidity on her breath moistened Jules' ear.

"Vicious little fuck. You came ready."

She released him. He remained still, leaned against the wall. He realized he was probing for scents, for a clue as to how to react.

"We take him with us," she said.

Jules picked up Chad's aroma. Acrid, distilled in danger. Like it had been outside in the staircase, but more defined, with something more to it. Then Jules knew.

It was the scent of murder. They were going to kill him.

"Put your coat on", said the stocky man, who threw it back at Jules' feet. "Don't make a fuss. I'll have to gut you if you do that. You don't want to die like that."

'How are you going to kill me then?', thought Jules.

He should have been terrified. He should have been begging. There was a bitter taste in his mouth, and his heart was tight. Yet panic was absent from him.

"Somebody knows I came here. To your home. They have the address. Your name."

There was silence from the Wolves.

"If something happens to me, you'll be out. They'll tell the police."

"Do 'they' know we're Wolves?", asked the woman.

Jules hesitated. Joey knew he'd come here, but not what they were, and he'd told Conrad's friend that the accusations were lies.

"No. But 'they' will figure it out if I vanish."

"Put your coat on, Jules", repeated Chad.

The teenager swallowed. That had been his last card. Too little, too late, it seemed. He put his shirt back on, buttoning it slowly. The predators were watching him with cold eyes. The scent of death still hung in the air. He bent down to pick up his coat and put it on. Jules was calculating possibilities. He thought of spilling the beans about Hector, about what other Wolves were up to with him. Maybe they already knew of such things. Maybe it would just give them another reason to be rid of him, for knowing so much.

"Come", said Catherine. "And don't think about screaming for help or pulling a stupid stunt. We will kill you if you do, in the middle of the street if necessary."

'You'll just kill me elsewhere if I don't.' Jules wondered if what the Caucasian woman had said was a bluff. Making a fuss in public might still be his best bet at escaping alive.

Catherine moved towards the door, and Chad nudged the lean boy forward, staying close behind him. Jules knew he'd be the one to do the kill if he resisted; instinct told him that. They climbed down the metal steps, and they began walking east, along the sidewalk. It was late in the afternoon -- there were plenty of humans middling on Bernard Street. All Jules had to do was to scream for help, to cry Wolf. Or maybe he could run, make a break for it.

But like a lamb being led to slaughter, he meekly obeyed. He hated himself for it. He should have been brave, defiant.

They reached an old car, a green, rusty Chevrolet with a decaying paint job. Chad unlocked the passenger door.

"Sit in the front", ordered Chad.

Jules did as he was told. Cat took the driver's seat, and the native werewolf slid onto the back seat. The woman started the car; she pushed her long chestnut hair out of her face as she did so. The engine was noisy, and it sounded like the muffler could use a replacement. They began the drive, heading north. Traffic was a crawl -- Montreal at the end of a day's work.

"Told you we should have left early", said Catherine. "But no, you wanted Szechuan."

"I'm not gonna get General Tao tofu up north. I'll miss the food here."

Everyone remained silent for long minutes as they waited to get on the civil engineering nightmare that was the Metropolitan highway. It was a vast overhead speedway that had been built in a fit of mad ambition in the 60s -- the term "speed" was ironic there, as the major road's odd exit placement caused it to become clogged with traffic the moment one car too many ventured on it. The atmosphere inside the vehicle weighed on Jules. He struggled to convince himself to remain quiet, but it was becoming harder and harder. He eventually broke the unbearable silence.

"Are you a vegetarian?", he asked in a timid voice the man with the shaved head.

Catherine burst out laughing.

"Yeah, he is. Vegetarian werewolf. That one has got to be the most hilarious thing ever."

Chad glared at his packmate.

"I can't stand factory farming. They're concentration camps for animals; the poor things have no dignity. I only eat meat if I know who killed it."

Jules pondered the implications of that last statement.

"Where are we going?"

They would probably not say. But Jules had a feeling staying silent was not his way out of this death trap. To his surprise, Chad replied.

"North", he said. "We have a cabin there. Quiet, near a beautiful lake, surrounded by forest. It's gorgeous in the Fall."

'I'm going to die alone in the woods. They're going to take me there, and kill me where no one will find the corpse for months.'

He thought of the two of them transforming all the way, and ripping his throat open. Would the last thing he'd see be the sky between the tree branches? Or the dirt of the ground, between rotting leaves?What if he was still alive when they chose to eat him? They would eat him. He doubted Wolves would waste a valuable human meal. He should have known this would end like this.

He wanted to be afraid. He wanted terror to grip his gut. He wanted to feel compelled to grovel, to beg for mercy. He thought of Conrad's teeth rending his flesh, nights ago. Jules remembered the words he himself had spoken at the bar, that fateful evening: 'I'm sick of being afraid.' His werewolf lover had granted his wish. Whatever coursed through his veins now had stolen his fear.

He opened his mouth to speak. Then he changed his mind and closed it.

It took them 45 minutes to clear the traffic jam. They were now driving north on highway 15. Jules noticed Catherine's foot was heavy on the gas pedal -- the speedometer indicated 140 kilometres per hour. Maybe the police would stop them. Maybe that would save him -- or get a cop slaughtered.

Quaint villages passed them by, one after another. They drove up and down through the ancient Laurentian mountains, the road bordered by the gold and copper of the autumn trees. Jules had to swallow a few times to clear his ears; the hilly roads and the changing pressure kept causing them to block. He tried to pretend the swallowing had nothing to do with how dry his mouth was. The car reeked of that murderous resolve. He wished there was something to drink.

"I'm thirsty", he said softly.

To the Haitian boy's surprise, Chad rummaged through a bag at his feet. He handed him a metal bottle half-filled with water. Jules unscrewed the cap and took a couple of sips. The water tasted lukewarm and stale.

"Don't say we never gave you anything", joked Catherine.

Neither Jules nor the native Wolf replied anything. The teenager kept the bottle tucked between his legs. It crossed his mind how precious something like a bottle of old water could become when you were a prisoner. He wondered if he'd get a last meal. The last thing he had eaten was a bologna sandwich for lunch at school. He hated bologna -- that had been all there had been in the fridge back home, with some bread.

They had been following the Trans-Canada Highway for more than two hours now. What had been the large, well-traveled highway 15 had become a narrower country road. Jules had spent most of his time reading signs along the road in a futile attempt to keep his mind occupied with something other than the thoughts of his likely end. Traffic had become scarce. This was the remote part of the Laurentians to which most people went only for vacation, and few people actually lived there in the Fall. Catherine eased off the gas pedal near some place called Lac-Saguay.

Lac-Saguay was nothing more than a crossroads with five houses, a gas station that doubled as a general store, and of course a church. There were churches everywhere in Quebec, even in the most insignificant of villages. Jules thought of the last time he had confessed his sins. He had been eight, shortly after his mother Estelle had died. He had confessed to stealing some candy in one of their neighbourhood's "depanneurs" - it was how the Quebecois called their corner stores. He was not a thief, he had never stolen before. He had never indulged in such conduct again either -- he had been wracked with guilt ever since he had done the deed. He had simply really wanted something sweet, something to forget the gaping sadness that his mother's departure had left. He had stopped going to confession after his father had begun touching him. He had not wanted to talk about that with the priest, and Jules belief in God had dwindled and faded in the years that

had followed, unlike his brother.

Catherine took a left turn at the crossroads, taking them to the back roads.

Jules thought of his more recent sins: of his silence on who had killed his classmates in the alley, and of the sex he had had with their murderer. He would get what he deserved now. He thought of how he had failed Hector also. Was his friend damned like him too? He would never get to ask him.

They had reached an isolated gravel road now. Wherever they were, they were nearing their destination. Suddenly, Chad spoke.

"Here", he said. "Stop here."

She braked and gravel screamed under the tires.

"Get out of the car, Jules."

The Haitian boy unbuckled his seat belt and opened the car door.

"Do you want me for this?", asked the She-Wolf.

"No. Go to the cabin. I can handle this", replied the man with the shaved head.

Jules stood by the side of the road. The perfume was different here than in the city, made of leaves and pine needles and subtle animal droppings, marred by the stench of heated rubber from the car's tires. The thought of running crossed the Haitian's mind. He should try something, make an attempt at saving his existence. But how could he possibly outrun werewolves? Besides, they now were in the middle of the Laurentian forest -- animals in the woods, predators and prey. He should have screamed for help back when they had still been in the heart of the Mile-End. He had been an idiot for keeping silent there, for heeding the Wolves' threats.

Chad walked to the trunk and opened it. Blood left Jules' face when he saw the man pull a shotgun out of it. 'Oh God. They're really just going to shoot me in the middle of the woods.' He had entertained little doubt as to what his fate would be throughout the entire trip. His instinct had known what scent he had been picking off the Wolves -- that of beings readying themselves to kill. But seeing the instrument of his death being brought out like this made everything real. The teenager's knees buckled.

For a short moment, Jules nearly felt relief at the realization that he could still experience something familiar and human like terror.

The car started, and Catherine drove off, leaving the Wolf and the ape alone next to the gravel road. Chad motioned at the trees with his chin.

"Walk in there. Follow my directions. Please don't be difficult about this."

The Wolf's expression was unreadable, but its scent told Jules all he needed to know. He put a foot forward, then another, raising a hand to push branches away from his face. This was not a pleasure trail in the woods for tourists on a stroll. This was the mostly untouched wilderness of the Canadian Shield, woodlands that had endured for millenia. Progress was a lumbering crawl, with trees fighting Jules' every attempt at advancing, and the predator behind him keeping him at gunpoint. Thorns occasionally tore the Haitian's dark skin. He tripped once on a treacherous root, sprawling himself over the forest floor; dried spruce needles dug into his hands.

"Get back up. You're not done yet."

Jules obeyed. His heart was numb. This was the end of his road.

"You see the big pine tree over there? Head towards it."

The tree was in sight, but it took them fifteen minutes to reach it through the dense woods. As they neared it, however, trees became sparse and walking, easier. The enormous pine tree marked a wide grove that was mostly devoid of trees and underbrush, a natural chamber formed by the old living things that stood in silence, witnesses to their deeds.

"I know these woods like the back of my hand. I used to come here every year as a child, and later for hunting. I would always come to this grove to think whenever I had important decisions to make. The nature clears your head."

Jules glanced at the young native man. His face remained expressionless. He kept the gun pointed at the human teenager, although he held it rather casually.

"Sit down, Jules."

The teenager sat down cross-legged amidst the dead leaves and needles. The cold of the earth began seeping through his jeans. Chad circled him at a deliberate pace and came to stand behind him, out of his sight. Suddenly, the cold metal of the end of the canon touched the back of his head. Jules inhaled sharply.

"So this is it", he whispered. "You're going to kill me."

"Maybe this is what's best for you. It's painless. You die human. You'd even get to go, and think of yourself as a good person -- just a victim in all this."

Jules wondered for a brief second: 'Am I a good person?' He remembered Hartigan screaming as Conrad closed his jaw on his neck, the sound a guttural noise Jules had never expected to hear a person make. He then remembered himself screaming for very different reasons, letting out animal yelps when the Wolf's cock had fucked away every claim he could ever have to innocence.

"You're a loose end, Jules", said Chad. "One that needs to be tied up, one way or another."

Jules swallowed.

"There's another way, is there?", he asked, his voice barely audible.

The Wolf answered nothing. Jules could still smell murder on the creature -- it was overpowering, but the more he examined that odour, the more he realized there were other things mixed up in it. Intense focus. Anticipation. Maybe even... longing?

'Of course there's another way. There always was, ever since Conrad bit me.' He had barely dared to think of it, so shaken he had been by the changes taking place within him. Yet the question had been impossible to elude.

How were Wolves made?

Conrad had been grooming him for this. Jules had not been naive enough to not have known the punk boy had hoped he'd join him -- and his pack, he assumed -- as a Wolf. Now in this predicament, at this threshold between life and death, there was another way. It was filled with blood and violence. In his own way, Chad was kind enough to give the young human a way out -- a clean way out.

Jules closed his eyes. This was it. He probably would not even realize the moment when he'd die. Gunshots traveled quicker than the sound they made -- he had read that somewhere. It'd be peaceful. No more pain. The end to this horrible, unspeakable mess. The end of secrets, of lies. He wasn't pure, he had been weak, but maybe there'd be forgiveness in whatever lied beyond.

He thought of Hector. He wouldn't save him, but had he ever even stood a chance of that? He had loved him so much, his only friend. He still did. He had never truly gotten over it. But now he would fail him. Maybe it couldn't helped, after all.

He thought of the other kids at school. Would they mourn him, as they had Williams, Hartigan, and Ballantine? Would anybody care that he was gone? Somehow, he knew the answer to that. It was a cruel and heartless answer. Why had they been so relentless in hurting him? He had never done anything to them. But he had been the odd one out, the weird one of the bunch. It was human nature to pick on the strange ones.

He thought of Jacob. He would leave his little brother alone with his father. He had promised himself he would never allow that. Big brother would fail him too. But people never kept their promises in the end, did they? They lied to themselves, thinking they were better than what they really were, but in the end, promises were meant to be broken.

He thought of Etienne, his father. The man would never lay his hands, his mouth on him ever again. It would be over. Jules would never again go to sleep waiting, listening for the smallest sounds, the smallest hint that his father would come to his room that night to do the sickening things he did. Jules would be free of him -- forever. But things would never become right again with his father. Yet it's not as if there had ever been a single shred of hope they could ever be fixed.

The last leaves of October rustled in the autumn wind. The chill breeze brought with it scents -- clear, pristine fragrances that existed only as far away as possible from the city. He could do this. Die here, and know peace. It was a good place for it. The Wolf, as twisted as it was, was right -- it was a place for important decisions. He just had to speak. To say the words that would be his final freedom.

Jules shuddered amidst crisp wind and the clammy earth.

But what about himself? It was defeat. The ultimate admission that Jules Rodrigue was the most supreme of fuck-ups. He would have lived a short life, marked by death, abuse, and more death, and short joys poisoned in every way by the rest of what was his existence. He had entertained the foolish hope that someday, things would get better. That somebody would love him back -- if not Hector, then somebody else. That he'd grow up and leave his father's reach, and take his brother with him. That his intelligence would be worth something, and that he'd do something good with himself, even in a world filled with Wolves -- because he was that smart, and a survivor. It had been the one thing he had always clung to, that maybe, just maybe, things could someday be better. He was giving up on that. It was over. He had lost.

It welled up in his gut, the old feeling he had buried years ago. It rose to his face, distorting his mouth, wetting his eyes.

'No, not this. Let me keep this. Let me die with dignity. I fought you back through Mom's death, through what Étienne did to me, through all the shit at school. Don't take this away from me. Let me keep this.'

His sobs were quiet, but he could not control them. He hiccuped hopelessly, tears streaming down his cheeks, saliva escaping his mouth.

"Not this. Not this", he said in a strangled voice.

He thought of Conrad. He thought of the things the Wolf had made him do. The things he could not speak of.

He cried harder.

"Please...", he sobbed.

"Please...", he repeated.

He mouthed something in near silence. The Wolf heard him. It shifted its position ever so slightly.

"Say it again", said Chad. "Louder."

Jules let out another choked sob.

"I don't want to die."

Something stroked the ghost of Jules' bite; it was the Wolf's thumb. The Haitian boy closed his eyes and shuddered.

"You're not afraid of dying. That's not why you're crying."

Jules shook his head but replied nothing.

"You're in pain", said the aboriginal man.

Jules dared not move for a few seconds. Then he nodded.

The thumb rubbed a gentle circle on the spindly teenager's shoulder. Warmth was spreading from it. It was different than what it had been in the Wolves' den, it was not an electric, overwhelming sensation. It soothed him. Jules was not crying so hard anymore.

"Do you understand what you are choosing, Jules?"

Jules breathed the air around him. Murder still hung about Chad, but the odour was no longer as strong, and was mixed with many others -- the teenager's mind was too numb to make out which ones.

Did he understand what he was choosing? He doubted it.

"I'm not sure", he risked, truthfully.

"You'll lose yourself. You know what you felt when I kissed your bite. You'll be bound to our pack. We'll come first, and who you are will only matter as a distant second."

"I'll be your slave."

The Wolf pondered the Haitian's comment.

"You'll be a slave to us, but we'll be a slave to you, just like we are slave to one another. That's what being pack is."

The cold metal from the gun left the back of Jules head. He dared not move. He heard the sound of the Wolf opening the weapon -- emptying it?

"For what my opinion's worth, I think you're making the right choice."

"So you're not going to kill me."

"I don't like killing if I can avoid it."

Jules chanced a look at the short man. Chad walked a few steps and sat next to him, on the cold ground, the shotgun straddling his knees, pointing away from the Haitian teenager. Murder had left the Wolf.

"So what happens now?", asked Jules.

His hands were shaking. He took a deep breath to steady them.

"You and me, we'll do some... 'bonding'. Then it'll be with Cat and Connie, at the cabin."

"Conrad's at the cabin? He's alive?"

For the first time, Jules saw Chad smile.

"Of course he is. He's going a bit crazy, away from the city. He's a total urban animal. I bet he'll be glad I didn't blow your brains out."

The Haitian boy swallowed. Conrad was alive and well. He would be seeing him soon. Then they'd... "bond".

"I don't think he expected you to turn up. It'll be a surprise. He could use something nice, he's had a rough time."

Then Chad cocked his head and looked at Jules -- sizing him up?

"You're upset. Still mad he bit you without asking?"

It had been a while since a Wolf had read Jules like that. He remembered that quirk Conrad had, of simply stating emotions he picked from him.

"You know about that?"

"Yeah, he told us. Well, after telling us everything else about how he ended up in such a shitload of trouble. So you're still mad at him?"

The Haitian looked sideways, avoiding the Wolf's stare.

"That's pretty obvious, isn't it?"

"He's a hothead. He acts first, and thinks later. I'm sure he gave you a rough time."

"I'm not sure I'm ready for this."

The young man with the shaved head burst out laughing.

"You're a messed up fifteen year old kid. Of course you're not ready for this. Life never waits for you to be ready, Jules; it just happens to you."

"I'm going to become a werewolf."

Chad shook his head.

"One step at a time. Become pack first. Only then you'll hunt with us and eat the Flesh."

'Eat the Flesh.' The words lingered in the teenager's mind, penetrating his brain. He dug his fingers into his thighs.

"Eat the Flesh. I'll have to eat the Flesh. That's how you guys turned. You were bitten, and then... you ate the Flesh."

It made so much sense, all of a sudden. Wolves and human flesh, the need to hunt, their base Hunger -- such a fundamental aspect of the creatures. You were bitten, then eating human flesh finished the job of turning you.

"Connie told you about the birds and the bees, I see."

"No. No he didn't. I just... figured it out."

He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. His heart was racing.

"I can't do that", he said. "I can't eat a person."

Next to him, Chad transformed into the feral form. It was the first time Jules had seen the man do this. What struck him was his eyes, grey -- unlike Conrad and Catherine's brown -- intense, steel mirrors.

"Yes, you can. Connie could, and I could. You can too."

From the scents that reached his nose, Jules could tell the Wolf was calmer than he had ever been since the Haitian boy had met him. There was nothing threatening about his aroma nor the way he had said these words. It had been a quiet statement, almost meant to reassure, the way an adult would reassure a child about to undertake some scary deed.

"Jules, I'm Mohawk. I come from a warrior culture. Hell, apparently we even used to eat our enemies sometimes -- at least that's what our enemies say."

He gave Jules a frightening smirk, baring his canines. His expression then became serious again.

"Killing is not what you think it is. It's not to be undertaken lightly, and you should do it for good reasons. But it's not the ultimate taboo that you think it is. All cultures have ways of giving themselves permission to kill. Some are just more honest about it, that's all."

"I can't. I can't do that."

"What would make you do it? What would make you kill? And then feast on the flesh of your enemies?"

Jules opened his mouth, almost replying 'Nothing'. But then he knew it was a lie. There were things he would kill for. He wasn't too sure about the 'feast on the flesh of your enemies' part. But there were things -- people -- for which he would kill.

His head spun with the realization. He should stop right there, right now. He could not go down that evil road. He should ask the Wolf to tear open his throat, to finish this, to make him die a good enough person. But the beasts -- Chad and Catherine, and even Conrad -- had ensnared him and dragged him there, face to face with his bare soul.

"I can't", he repeated.

The Wolf put a hand on his shoulder and turned the lanky teenager's back to his face. He began to undo the buttons of Jules' shirt. The human boy shivered as Chad exposed the dark skin of his shoulder.

"Don't worry, Jules. By the time we're done with you, you'll do it and love every bit of it."

The young man with the shaved head ran the tip of his index and middle fingers against the site of Jules' bite. Sparks flew in front of Jules' eyes. The wind was behind him and brought the Wolf's scent to him, deep, earthy, charged with lust.

"I'll do you first", said Chad. "Then you can do me too. You'll be glad, when we're done. Don't fight it."

Jules licked his cracked lips. The Wolf bent close to his shoulder.

"Anyway, I know you want it", he whispered to the boy's ear. "You want to belong. You want it so bad."

Then all he did was blow with his burning, soft breath against the skin of Jules' shoulder, against the spot where Conrad had marked him as theirs. The teenager drew in the cold autumn air, filling his lungs with it, readying himself.

"Do it", he whispered back.

The Wolf wrapped his hungry, wanting mouth against the flesh that had grown over the bite. He ate it, dragging the human boy under. Jules abandoned himself, letting the monster invade him, claim him. He thought of resisting, but he was tired of struggles. The animal's tongue, lips, and teeth sang a song on the Haitian's flesh. Chad was fucking is mind, staining him with part of himself. Jules felt the mark of the being branding him, impregnating him, became aware of the femininity of the werewolf's shell that was brimming with somber virility. He allowed the superior creature to pour the entirety of his essence inside him. He had consented. He could no longer force him out.

The Wolf swallowed Jules whole, drowning him in the terrifying ecstasy of surrender -- and the human child lost his soul.

TO BE CONTINUED.