Well Bred by Moonlight Chapter 1

Well Bred by Moonlight

Rowan just wanted to have fun in his last year of school. He never imagined one night in the woods could change so much.

Playlist here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6fzITFehrpD4jYc5XAW5Ot?si=918e9eb7757a4dc1

Character and other reference pics here: https://twitter.com/tillwehaveface2/status/1496145077340712969

Warning: this story contains watersports, knotting and references to mpreg (male pregnancy)

a/b/o primer

So, I'm aware posting this to Nifty that not everyone may be familiar with the dynamics of a/b/o or 'the Omegaverse' as it's also known. (If you already know what the deal is with ABO, go ahead and skip to the story) There's a lot of information about this online, most of it contradictory, since this is a premise or trope which no one owns (despite the best, or worst, efforts of that one lady) and which every author moulds to his or her (usually her) own needs. As for my personal variation on the 'verse, I won't go into all of it here, but here's the bare minimum basics you need to know for the purposes of this story:

Some people have the physical, social, psychological and sexual characteristics of wolves, having descended from werewolves who over time interbred with the normal human population.

I'll only be discussing the men, since this is a m/m story.

Alpha males are, as the name suggests, uber-males: uber-tall, uber-strong, uber-muscular, uber-virile and uber-dominant. They also have uber-big dicks with knots like dogs that can inflate inside their sex partners and lock all their uber-thick and potent sperm inside. Alphas are fighting, hunting and fucking machines.

Omega males, also as the name suggests, are the opposite: small, soft, feminine, fuckable and weak, with wombs like women and vaginas inside their arses which are separated from a wall by the actual colon, the former being open during the sex (with the ability to lubricate and clean itself like a regular vagina, but as tight as an arsehole, and having both an internal clitoris and prostate) and the later during defecation.

They can be impregnated by any non-sterile male, but are supposed to mate only with alphas. Alphas and omegas each constitute roughly a quarter of the population each, and about 9/10ths of alphas are men, and 9/10ths of omegas women. Omega males are thus rather rare. Omegas are baby-making and home-making machines...and that's pretty much it.

People who are neither alphas nor omegas are called 'betas', and are simply normal baseline humans with no special characteristics.

Historically there has been tension and outright war between betas and the wolf-blooded, but at this point in history (roughly equivalent to our modern day, though in an alternate timeline, of course) they're fairly well-integrated into mainstream society.

The wolf-blood has been so diluted through the intermingling of the lupine line with betas that the ability to actually transform fully into a werewolf (as opposed to exhibiting secondary characteristics such as glowing yellow eyes, teeth lengthening into fangs, nails into claws) has become very rare among alphas and nonexistent among omegas. Alphas who still have this gift are known as Prime Alphas, and are uncommonly tall, strong and aggressive, even among alphas, and are respected and deferred to by their peers and spoken of as fearful legends by betas. They are semi-savage, and often live in the wild, in the traditional way of wolf-packs for centuries, and shun the bright clean cities.

Because alphas and omegas are essentially biologically-engineered sex machines, whose instinctual urges cannot be restrained by either law or convention, society looks quite different with them around, particularly with regards to sexual norms and similar matters. Notably, at least in the Western-equivalent cultures of this setting, sex matters much less than rank in determining not only social role but sexual orientation. It is, for instance, considered perfectly normal and natural for alpha males to be attracted to omega males (and even to a lesser extent to beta males, all other males practically being women compared to them, and many alphas viewing and treating them as such) and to take them as mates and breed with them.

Usually which dynamic one is manifests around puberty, with betas being 'normal' or neutral and not manifesting as anything (except as teenagers, which some might say is monstrous enough). Some wolfborn, particularly omegas, choose to use heat-suppressants and scent-blockers (when these are available and/or legal) to disguise their true nature and live as betas, to escape the discrimination, sexual harassment and other bullshit they would otherwise face. Some 'betas' are actually latent or unmanifest alphas or omegas, and can 'present' unexpectedly late in life. This can be triggered by events such as dramatic loss or gain in social status, or being exposed to an omega in rut or alpha in heat, especially when said alpha or omega is their 'soulmate'. Or simply being fucked really, really hard. When a beta transforms into an alpha he is said to 'alpha up'. When he becomes an omega (usually through physical and/or social subjugation and humiliation, especially rape, especially rape by an alpha) he has been 'bitched down' or 'bitched out'. Some alphas make a sport of 'bitching' beta males.

Aaand...I think for the moment that's all you need to know. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1: In the Dark Pinewood

The man leapt onto the roof of the schoolbus, roaring and ripping open his white business shirt as the muscles of his chest and arms bulged and sprouted fur, his fingers lengthened and sharpened into claws, his handsome, chiselled face distorted into a snarling muzzle and his grey slacks burst open at the knees and thighs and crotch. The helicopter coasted down, firing on him, but he crunched the bullets between his fangs, snapping them out of the air like flies. Tensing his massive haunches, eyes glowing red, he bounded up the side of a nearby skyscraper, every window in the building shattering under one blow from his huge swinging cock. Launching himself into the air as the helicopter whirred by, he caught the spinning blades in one massive claw, folding them together like a Zipangese fan, and used it to spin the chopper over his head like a sling. Black-armoured goons spilled from inside, their screams of fear drowned out as the Prime Alpha howled and ejaculated in triumph. Below him the crowd of hostages knelt to pay homage with hands outstretched and mouths open in awe, gratefully receiving his gooey virile sperm all over their upturned faces. In the wombship throbbing above the city the vile Omegara whimpered and clutched her tits, quivering cuntishly, while in the street below, Alphaman's smaller, weaker sidekick, Betaboy, who had yet again failed to do anything remotely useful, bent over with a sigh, tears already forming in his eyes as his self-lubing supersuit prepped his much-abused asshole.

Rowan turned away from the tv screen to the boy who sat next to him on the couch. `So, how come you guys never actually do that in real life? Like, around people? Around people-people--I mean, not-wolf people. Would you, like, go crazy and try to eat everyone or something?'

Broden looked amused but also uncomfortable at the same time. He groped his dick through his sweatpants, and a smirk was swapped over Rowan's head with the alpha on his other side.

`Yeah. Something like that. Not all of us can, either. It's pretty rare, these days.'

Luc, the alpha sitting on Rowan's left, slid an arm behind his back and curled it around his waist, and tugged him in. Rowan went easily, nestling into his firm, warm body. Luc's broad hand slipped half under his shirt and half under the waistband of his jeans, and rested there, thumb brushing back and forth over his hip. Rowan had found it profoundly weird at first, all the nuzzling and cuddling, especially between a bunch of seventeen, eighteen-year-old boys, but once he'd got used to it, it was actually kind of nice. Kind of cosy. A long tongue (all alphas had freaky long tongues, from what Rowan had seen and felt) scrubbed up the side of his neck and jaw. Rowan wrinkled his nose, but didn't say anything. He'd got used to that too, especially once he'd grasped that it was just a friendly gesture, really no different from the licks he got from his Nerish wolfhound back home. The dog and the alpha were about the same size, too.

A firm warm bulge under his butt, which he'd learnt by now was not a muscle in Luc's thigh, though it was long and broad enough to be one, pulsed rapidly and released a thick stream of jizz down the leg of his pants, soaking through to Rowan's leg as well. And as for that, the cumming all the time and all over the place—well, they couldn't help that. Or so they said. Just Alpha physiology plus normal adolescent horniness. Rowan still wasn't sure he was used to that yet. But he didn't want to offend him by wiping it off (at least not before he was out of scentshot).

They were in the den—a literal den, since this was the alpha cabin. It was in a big hole in the floor and even had rocks and shit around it. The couches were old but comfortable and the tv was new and actually worked, unlike the one in the beta cabin, which Ash said Mr Brighouse had disconnected because "they hadn't come all this way to sit around getting square eyes".

Rowan was only there because of some fuck-up with the registration which meant there hadn't been room in the beta cabin, which unlike the alpha cabin had actual bunks, and hence limited sleeping spots. It wasn't that bad, once he got used to all the rape jokes. Those were not only frequent but alarmingly detailed and drawn-out, and, being that he was the only non-alpha in the cabin, more often than not had him as the (literal) butt. But he shrugged them off, because they were jokes, and it wasn't like he was some chick or omega. It wasn't like they actually meant it.

Rowan hadn't spent a lot of time around alphas, because people just didn't really hang out with other ranks, but they were cool guys, actually, despite what people set. At least they were at Redgrove. Only slightly more sex-obsessed than your average teenagers, and virtual fusion reactors of energy, which was fun to be around, though it could get exhausting after a while, even for Rowan, who was no featherweight.

They were literally all hot, too and built like fucking office blocks, so Rowan also had to get used to being the smallest guy in the room, for a change.

But the important thing was they liked him, because he was chill, and he didn't flip out or call them homos because of the strange quasi-erotic pack-bonding shit they did, and didn't gag or theatrically spray deodorant at them when they got angry or happy or horny or whatever minimal trigger was allegedly enough to get the pheromones wafting like roadkill on a hot day in summer. Rowan, of course, wouldn't know. Having no sense of smell was the whole reason he'd been put with them in the first place.

The other alphas on the couch, possibly set off by something in the movie--you never could tell what it was--imploded into one of the serious-but-not impromptu wrestling matches that were always breaking out, and after taking collateral fire from several flailing limbs, Rowan left the cabin to find Ash.

He spotted his best friend leaving the beta cabin, looking like he was about to head over to find Rowan, and Rowan jogged up to him, holding out his hand for a high-five.

But when he got close Ash's face scrunched up into what was definitely not an expression of pleasure.

Rowan dropped his hand and came to a halt. `What?'

`Dude, you kind of--phew.'

Rowan felt his face glow. `What? Really? I only showered like an hour ago.' Body odour, and specifically Rowan's lack of awareness thereof, was one of the biggest downsides to his condition, and a not infrequent source of anxiety. He'd always been fairly clean for a boy, and became fastidiously so after the accident and some brutal ragging in middle school. He had little pocket-sized cans of anti-perspirant he carried everywhere, but he still relied on Ash or someone else he trusted to tell him if he'd stepped in dog shit or something.

Now Ash looked embarrassed. `No, I didn't mean—it's not you. It's all those fuckin alphas. They're all fuckin over you. What were you even, like, doing?'

`Nothing, just chilling on the couch.'

Ash's face flattened out into a blank, sceptical expression. `You know that's a euphemism for sex, right?'

`Since when?'

`Since...always, dude.'

Rowan rolled his eyes. `Ok, you got me, we were totally having a gangbang and they were all fucking ploughing me one after another and like three of them bust off on my--

`Oh my God! Dude!'

Rowan snickered, then, spotting a teacher prowling the perimeter, he ducked his head and abruptly changed tracks. `Hey. Wanna check out the cars?'

Ash still looked sort of scandalised, but seemed relieved by the change in topic and said, `I—yeah, sure. Let's go, bro.'

As he said this he absently reached down to squeeze-stroke his dick through his shorts and Rowan cackled a little.

`What?'

Rowan dramatically grabbed at his own crotch. `You wanna be an alpha so bad, huh?' he said, mocking, but not mean. Ash was far from the only beta male who wanted that.

`Fuck off,' Ash said, and actually blushed. Huh. Rowan didn't think he'd seen him do that before. Or at least, he hadn't paid attention. It was actually kinda fucking cute. A blushing wannabe alpha.

It was a phase all beta boys went through, allegedly, though Rowan never had.

He didn't really get why Ash did, either. He didn't look or act the type. Sure, he was tall for his age, but not ludicrously so. He wasn't brawny or beefy, or loud or aggressive like alphas, and hence the betas who wanted to be alphas, were.

He was younger than Rowan, and he looked even younger than he was. Mostly he was just quiet and shy and kind of harmless-seeming, in a way that made people say, `Oh, yeah, Ash, he's a cool guy', if someone mentioned him, but otherwise forget he existed.

They started out for the woods, though in one sense as soon as you were outside, you were in them. The huge multi-storey stone-and-timber lodges the camp operators modestly called `cabins' were scattered among the trees, with the only clear ground being the all-purpose sports field on the other side of the kitchen block. Brokepines Wolf Range, as the name suggested, had been originally built as a nature retreat for city alphas, and there was no clear borderline that separated it from the surrounding landscape of dense pinewoods.

Rowan jumped down a log-shored bank a few feet high and when he landed a jolt ran up his legs through his tailbone into his spine.

Ash, who'd fallen a bit behind, came down the path around the side and said, `Seriously, though, why are you walking like you got fucked in the ass?'

`Because I did, I told ya', Rowan retorted, and instead of trying to work out the cramp he walked bowlegged and duckfooted, shaking his hips to make it even more exaggerated.

When he glanced over his shoulder Ash was giving him a flat stare, though his cheeks had a pink tint to them. Rowan took pity on him and said, `Aw, you're just too fuckin funny, bro. Nah, it was that fuckin horseback riding, remember—oh, you didn't do it, right. It was pretty cool, actually.'

It had also been the most lowkey activity they'd done so far, mainly because of the lack of alphas, since wolves and horses obviously did not get along. They hadn't liked Ash either, for whatever reason. After the third time he'd got thrown on his ass the teacher had let him stump grumpily back to the campground.

Even before they'd left the camp proper, Rowan found himself peering up into the branches for cars, though of course there wouldn't be any this close. Although there was something gleaming in a tall broad-branched deciduous tree that seemed vaguely metallic...

He jumped a little as something touched his ear. When he turned his head, it was Ash. He'd caught up to him, and was brushing the hair back from the side of his face. He wore an odd look. `Did somebody hit you?'

`What? Oh, no. Some of them just started playfighting, you know, or whatever they call it, and I was sitting near them, so I got whacked a couple times.'

`Oh. You gotta be careful. With alphas, I mean.'

`Nah, it's fine. They're pretty cool dudes, actually. Not like everybody says.'

Ash made a noise like he wanted to object, but just shook his head. They walked on in silence for a while.

It was evening. All camp activities were over for the day, so students had free reign till bedtime, which wasn't for hours. All around the long shallow groove of the valley the humped ridge of the horizon was burning as the sun sank, casting tawny golden god-rays in first one spot then another, as if showcasing the natural features in the midst of which Brokepines was so photogenically situated.

There were the cliffs where they'd done rappelling (coming down in pairs for `safety', only for everyone to get to the bottom and realise that, one, the whole time Tate had had his knot in the ass of Oren, his beta bitch-boy and, two, Cameron and his b-bitch Jasper were still at the top, fucking in the bushes); the carved-granite muzzles of Wolfshead Mountain, and the taller snowtipped mountains behind where they'd done skiing (and Darwin had jumped into a snowdrift and almost impaled his junk on a submerged tree); the gorge where they'd done bungee jumping (and the alphas had all done it naked, because that was Alpha, apparently, and most of them had pissed or jerked off while they were falling and Mr Faussett had made the entire class wash in the ball-freezing river at the bottom); the caves where they'd done spelunking (and Cameron and Jasper had snuck off to fuck again, and nearly fallen down a hole). And stretching out before them, undoubtedly the coolest attraction, though it wasn't on any camp schedule, the woods of Crashcar Gulch.

The name came from the extremest sport of all: the tradition of local guys driving old unwanted cars off the cliff that sheltered the woods and letting them crash into the forest below. Of course, they jumped out of them before they actually went over the edge, but those who stayed in till the very last minute got the best bragging rights. It was simultaneously the most redneck and most metal thing Rowan had ever heard of. And definitely the most alpha. He kind of wanted to try it.

If he was doing it, he'd make himself hold on right till the car hit the edge of the cliff, and jump out just as it was tipping over. If there was a bad in ass, that would be it, no doubt.

As they got deeper among the pines, Ash took a deep, appreciative breath. `Asshole', Rowan said serenely.

An hour passed and they hadn't seen a single car wreck. Dark came quickly in the woods, but they continued on the implicit agreement that they weren't going back till they'd found one. The most interesting thing they saw was a tree that looked different from the others around it. Rowan thought it was one of those trees that had stripy white and brown bark, and it was only when they got closer and he shone his phone flashlight on it that he realised the white was in fact cum—dense clotted streaks of it, plastered all up and down the tree from the roots to the branches.

After both of them had laughed for approximately a century, Rowan wiped his eyes and said, `Why this tree in particular, though? Do alphas, like, get horny for wood or something? Is it a sexy tree? Is that what I'm looking at?'

`Probably it just smelled good. Maybe an omega peed on it or something.'

`Really? Just because of that they'd give this poor fuckin tree a bark bukkake?'

Ash shrugged, mouth slightly turned down the way it went when he was amused. He palmed his junk again and Rowan rolled his eyes, wanting to throw in another jibe about it, but he resisted, because okay, once was funny, but more than that would imply he was actively watching. They moved on, giving the cum-tree a wide berth.

As they passed it Rowan had a mental image of a group of alphas stood around the trunk in a circle, all with their pants down under their asses, huffing furiously, not speaking, as they jerked off. He shook his head and tugged at the crotch of his jeans. Just so fucking weird.

Alphas, especially growing alphas, liked to cum on stuff. And piss on stuff. It was part of the whole claiming/marking/scenting deal, which he didn't have that firm a grasp on, being not only a beta, but one who couldn't smell shit, literally.

Which was also why it didn't bother him. Just as long as he looked where he stepped or sat down.

It kept getting darker, and the best they'd found was half a fender, a steering wheel someone had propped up on a vaguely vehicle-shaped log and a ripped-out back seat that it was obvious, even to someone with no sense of smell, had been fucked on, and more than once. They came to a stony rise where the woods got patchier, the trees more spaced out. It was properly night now. Between the flayed hands of two branches appeared a full cheese-rind moon, so perfectly solid and clear he could have reached up and popped it like a blister. Everything else, by contrast, looked washed-out and witchy, like being inside a black-and-white film: the pale plain of the earth, the dappled skeletons of the trees and the black hump of the cliff on the horizon, the blue-grey tarp of the sky, rotten, worm-eaten, writhing with maggot stars. It was as if the moon's beams, rather than giving light, were sapping the colour and vitality from everything below, like the leech-ray of an alien worldship.

Rowan felt fine, though. More than fine, energised in the way he always became outdoors at night, when the air was like a cold glass of water sliding down his throat. It was probably all the beer he'd had at dinner, and the whiskey the alphas had stashed in their cabin, but he really wanted to hug Ash or maybe even kiss him or something. And that wouldn't be that weird, would it? Alphas did that shit with each other all the time—pack bonding and so forth. Why couldn't two beta bros bond with each other like that?

He'd been feeling strange like that, sort of melancholy and philosophical, since he'd realised in the bus on the way to the camp that for him school was already over.

He wondered if Ash would apply to Branson too. That'd be pretty rad. They might even end up as roommates.

Rowan was already trying out his adult look, putting his crinkly brown hair into a shorter, but still kind of tousled and unruly swept-back cut that was practically the house style in some of the swankier Beta fraternities. Ash had caught him (he'd thought subtly) checking himself out in mirrors a couple times and he'd got a sort of weird expression on his face. Ash was a little weird overall, not in any way that was really definable, nothing you could point to, but he had an air of self-containedness, of being a few beats out of sync with the rhythm of school life, that kept him from ever really becoming popular. But Rowan liked that. He was down with weird. Especially Ash's kind.

He turned to Ash, about to say something, probably something incredibly lame that he would deeply regret in the morning, when Ash said, `Look, dude.'

Rowan looked. It was a car.

Or, more accurately, a truck, a Chavvy, blue-painted, suspended a few feet above their heads, impaled on the tree with branches through the windscreen, two of the side windows and the undercarriage. The windows were all smashed and the car was rusted underneath and around the doors, but given that nobody around these parts was going to be driving a new car off the cliff, that was no indication of how long it had been up there.

As they stood gazing at it a strong wind blew up from behind them, and the car definitely, distinctly, creaked.

`You think we could get inside it?' Rowan said, faintly awestruck. Even though this was what they'd been looking for, it still seemed jarringly out of place, almost unreal, like coming across the burnt-out-wreck of an airplane in the jungle. He half-expected to glimpse a skeleton behind the dashboard.

`Sure, and they can bury us in it, too.'

Rowan snorted. `Come on. You said you wanted to find a car.'

`Yep. And we found it. Now we should probably head back before we get in even more trouble than we already—'

`Whatever, bro. You can be pussy if you want. But I am goin up there.'

And before Ash could talk him out if it he braced himself on the trunk and jumped for one of the branches underneath the car. He caught it, and let himself swing from it till he could shimmy along and grab on to the next one up. He was just beginning to execute phase one of this plan when two things happened. Or rather, two sounds. Two separate cracking noises: one that came from the branch that up till that point had been in his hands and over his head. The other, a split-second later, came from behind him and he couldn't see what it was, but he'd heard bone breaking before and that was what it sounded like.

He would have turned to look if weren't for the fatal ton of rusted metal and broken glass that was now sliding down toward him with a screech like all the demons in hell set loose upon the earth.

Rowan stood half-crouched, gazing dumbly at his death. It didn't occur him to him to try to move, to get up, get away, or even to close his eyes.

Something moved into his vision, intruding between him and the hurtling metal doom. A furred golden shape about the size of a grizzly, but far leaner; lithe and sinewy like a horse, but top-heavy like an ape.

Rowan felt the rush of air on his face, heard the crash as they collided. It was like that time his dad hit a wild camelope, only an order of magnitude louder and it was happening inches from his face.

The camelope had crumpled, but this time it was the car that recoiled, went spinning off to the side, folding around the trunk of another tree and tearing apart into two pieces with a noise that was so much louder and more terrifying than what they put in movies.

The golden beast went flying backwards, too, though it seemed to Rowan at a lower velocity. There was a thud from somewhere close behind him, and then that gut-twisting meat-sound again, the snap of breaking bones and squelch of ripping tissue.

Rowan felt himself with buzzing hands, but it hadn't been his bones breaking. It had been—

He turned just in time to see the bestial shape shrink back into—

Ash. His best bro. Who was apparently not only an alpha, but a fucking prime.

And who was also now naked, what was left of his clothes in little pieces on the ground around them.

His voice came out timid and uncertain as a child's when he said, `Ash? You're a wolf?' Then, `Holy shit, dude. Bro, you saved my life.'

Rowan stumbled toward him, half blinded by tears. The emotion that flooded his chest was a mess of things too confused and intense to name, but mostly there was numbing gratitude and love so overwhelming he couldn't breathe. It was like an airbag inflating inside his ribcage, nearly crushing his heart.

Ash had saved him. Saved his fucking life. His best friend saved him. He was alive because of Ash.

Rowan slammed into him, only vaguely registering Ash's bruised face and the small cuts on his limbs and torso. Rowan's arms definitely didn't go as far around said torso as they used to, and the chest he buried his face in was broader and more buff than he remembered. And since when had he been chest-height to Ash, anyway?

It was still Ash, though. It was Ash and he--

The next moment he let out a startled oof! as Ash shoved him off roughly. `Get the fuck away from me!'

Rowan stumbled back, tottering, almost falling, dizzy from the shock of it all and distraught at Ash's harsh words. `Bro, what?'

Then he saw it. Saw that his best friend was not only naked but obviously and ragingly erect.

Oh. That was...as unexpected as everything else that had happened in the last minute.

But he wasn't going to flip out over it. He'd seen dicks that weren't his own before. He'd even seen dicks that weren't his own, hard, before (in perfectly innocent and heterosexual circumstances, thank you very much). Granted, he'd never seen a dick that big before.

He squinted. Not even on Ash.

He had seen Ash's dick before, in the showers (not that he'd been looking) and it had been a good size, but nowhere near this freak of nature tree-trunk motherfucker currently sprouting from his crotch. He—yeah. Rowan would have definitely noticed that. Especially with how much Ash had been touching it lately.

Had he really got bigger?

It was ridiculous, but it made sense—the one thing everyone knew about alphas was that they had (and were, depending on who you asked) huge dicks. So, not just magical super-wolf-strength and transformation powers, but a cock-upsize into the bargain? Life was so fucking unfair.

Or maybe not, given Rowan would have been so many pounds of mincemeat if it weren't for Ash and his huge alpha cock.

And what a fucking cock. A long hornlike thing, flushed a shade or two darker than the rest of him, curving up and out and slightly to the side, bobbing down, as if straining under its own immense weight, then lifted up again by force of sheer horniness.

And, yes, that was definitely pre-cum that was spreading in long spirals over the forest floor, falling on the dead leaves with little dry patters. Ash was fucking throbbing for it.

Rowan swiped at his eyes and cleared his throat, trying for a quip before something more embarrassing came out. `Bro, you really are fucking horny for nature, aren't you?'

Ash didn't laugh. Which was odd in itself. Ash always laughed at his jokes, even when they weren't really jokes. Even when no one else did.

He was breathing real heavy. And holding himself strangely. His normally carefully-combed hair was a wild golden thicket and he was visibly dripping sweat, the clear beads rolling in long bright furrows down his temples and the V of his Adonis belt.

There were claws at the ends of his fingers. His eyes were yellow.

Rowan felt something at the very back of his brain, a sharpness like an injection, like someone was sliding a steel wire into his neck and down his spine. Then it lit up, and all at once his entire body was tense, electrified, alert. A tingle came down the wire, a telegram from ten million years ago, a quiet, urgent voice, whispering one word: run.

Rowan ran. He didn't think he'd have been the last guy out of the car after all.

Behind him rose a howl that made his whole back go creepy like it was a chalkboard and that sound was a handful of nails raking down it. Or claws.

He found himself wailing too, out of sheer shock and terror. How had a school camp suddenly turned into a horror movie? How had his best friend turned into a monster?

He knew Ash was following him, could hear the pants and the thuds of falling feet (and hands? Was he running on all fours?). He didn't dare look behind him. He just ran, chest heaving, feeling the ache in his thighs and calves as he forced his legs into sprint mode, even though he had no idea where he was running to or how long he could keep it up.

The camp, he told himself. If I can get back, they can help me.

Which way was the camp? Crap. They really hadn't thought this out.

He had no fucking clue where he was going, it was all he could do to stay on his feet, dodging the trees that swarmed up into his face with alarming speed, like playing a video game but this was real life, and there were no respawns if he got wasted.

It was such a mind-fuck to think he was literally running for his life from his own best friend, who had just saved said life, that several times he nearly stopped, before he heard that harsh breathing and heavy footfall on his heels, and remembered why he was running.

Thank God I did cross-country last year.

Though from the way his legs were eating themselves, that sort of long-distance training wasn't that much help in a `trying-not-to-get-eaten' situation like this. He was running as fast as he physically could and by rights he should have collapsed in an out-of-breath heap by now. But running with a feral boy-wolf behind you was different, and with the adrenalin coursing through him he felt he could continue right up until his legs actually dropped off. Or until Ash dropped him.

He was close now, Rowan could hear him practically up his asshole, just about feel him breathing down his collar. But he didn't say anything to Rowan, didn't call out or try to get him to stop. He was, evidently, beyond speech. And Rowan was so fucked.

He gasped as he felt something wet splatter over him from behind.

He passed a hand over the back of his neck and brought it to his face. He couldn't smell it, obviously, but it was hot, like, surprisingly hot, and sticky, like snot. Did Ash fucking sneeze on him while he was trying to murder him? Was that how alphas marked their prey?

He was so weirded out by this he risked a look back in time to see Ash's shiny new megaschlong bounce between his thighs, stiffen and throb like a steroid-crazed muscle and jerk out an artillery volley of cum, a shower of molten silver in the moonlight.

What the fuck? What the fuck?

Rowan's stomach lurched but he didn't have time to throw up and he sure as fuck didn't have time to stop.

He turned around and picked up his feet.

He was running downhill now, into a kind of gully: steep and clogged with bracken and ferns and dead tree-limbs and dry decaying logs, with the suggestion that something dank and wet waited at the bottom—just the sort of place that had always repelled Rowan when he was out rambling. But he hurtled down it, scraping his hands on branches to keep from slipping, nursing some vague notion of there being a river down there he could use to make Ash lose his trail.

And then—a shelf of level ground, and a glimmer of rusted steel amidst the trees.

He paused and considered the car. It was too old and weather-scrubbed for him to tell what colour it had been. The windscreen was somehow still intact, though clouded with a film of dirt and resin. Was this a good idea? He didn't have a better one.

The door of the car wouldn't open, and it would have probably squealed like a bitch anyway, so he squirmed awkwardly through the glassless window into the front passenger seat.

He tried to stuff himself under the dashboard but of course he couldn't fit (there was something growing in there and it had the dewy slimy wetness of undergrowth, like the earth's equivalent of human innards, just wrong, like something no person should be touching), so he just hunched down in the space in front of the seat, laying his head back flat on the cushion, trying not to breathe loud, or at all, trying to hold himself completely still, trying to do all these things at once and failing, trying not to cry.

His phone, now he thought to check it, had no reception, just like the whole time they'd been at brokepines. Fucking useless. What was the point of having a device for emergency calls that didn't function in the places where you were most likely to have an emergency?

He waited. The time it took for Ash to find him was horribly short.

It seemed like he'd just begun to get his breathing under control when Ash appeared again, cresting the ridge at the top of the gully. For a moment he stood, silhouetted by the moon at his back, a hulking half-man shape standing erect (in all senses) between two trees, utterly black save for the shining gold pits of his eyes. His cock was so long it cast its own shadow.

He lifted his head and sniffed the air, just like in the fucking movies. Then he was ducking down, moving with eerie grace through the brush, looking like something that had lived its whole life in the wild. And... he was headed right for Rowan. Well, shit. He thought in all that dense underwood and with the dip in the terrain he might have lost him at least a little.

It was too late to break out of his cover, so he stayed where he was, holding his breath till his lungs burned. He wasn't quite pissing himself, but he was so tense every muscle in his body ached. Maybe he wouldn't spot the car? Or would he even recognise it as a place where Rowan might be hiding? Would an animal think of that? How human was his thinking, still? Clearly not that much if he wanted to eat Rowan, surely.

Ash bounded down the slope, gliding in seconds over distances that took Rowan minutes of cussing and scrabbling his way through gnarly earth-gunk.

Maybe he was making for the river too. Maybe he would miss Rowan altogether.

For a little while Rowan lost sight of him amidst the grey-green shadows of the wood. Then, just when the tension that had him wound tight as a roundball pitcher's arm was starting to relax, Ash appeared, bursting into the little clear ledge of earth where the car was. He took a flying leap and landed on top of the car, which crunched and groaned under his weight. From his cramped vantage point Rowan felt as though he was staring right into the eye of his dick, which smeared viscous white fluid over the windshield as Ash growled and batted at the car, each swipe jostling it on its wheels.

And the fact that he could do that, that he was this strong, in his human form... Rowan had never been afraid of alphas, the way some people were; not being an omega, he reckoned he didn't have to be. He had been a fucking fool.

Ash jumped down from the roof of the car, landing—yup, right outside Rowan's window. He was gazing right at Rowan.

`Ash...' he whispered. Ash didn't say anything. But the way he was looking said enough. Maybe Rowan was gonna piss himself after all.

Ash reached for the door, while Rowan begged his muscles with tearful sobs to please unlock and move before they were all torn into little shreds of tissue and tendon.

Rowan didn't think he could have cracked that time-and-oxygen-soldered door with a crowbar, but Ash just sunk his claws in and ripped it right off its hinges.

Damn, all this just to get to Rowan? Weren't their deer in this forest? Or something that didn't take as much work to kill?

While Ash pulled the door off like the paper lid on a sample jar, Rowan wormed his way up so he was lying on the seat on his back. By the time Ash turned around again he had his leg up on his chest, cocked like the trigger of a gun, all the strength left in his body coiled inside it. As soon as Ash poked his head in, Rowan let loose the meanest kick he'd ever dealt, right at his snarling face.

Ash grabbed the foot before it could even touch the tip of his nose. Motherfucker didn't even flinch. Then he pulled. Hard.

Rowan latched on to the top of the door frame just as he was whipping under it. For a moment it was like Rowan was the last Omeg-O in the jar and Ash was a hungry, impatient toddler, tugging stupidly at Rowan's leg, huffing with frustration.

For a moment Rowan thought his leg was going to tear off at the hip. Then, instead, his shoe came off.

Ash held it, blinked at it, as if his wolf-brain thought Rowan had shrunk down into a Lykē sneaker.

It was so anticlimactic Rowan found a sputtering laugh knocked out of him as he swung down onto the seat, automatically releasing his grip on the frame now the pressure keeping him horizontal was gone.

But Ash wasn't laughing. He crunched the shoe in his hand, leather and rubber crinkling up like wet paper, flung it away, and thrust his long arm in again, snatching right for Rowan's crotch. His claws stabbed through the front of his jeans, narrowly missing Rowan's dick. Then Rowan was literally flying out of the car by the seat of his pants.

His head clipped the top of the doorframe as he was yanked out, and although there was fortunately still some padding on it, he hit it hard enough that for a moment the world wiped out.

When it came back it was much closer to his face than it had been before, and also much browner. It also appeared to be rushing past him at great speed. He pondered this for a few moments, wondering if he had in fact died and was now descending to the underworld. Then he realised Ash had yanked him out with so much force he was sailing over the forest floor a few inches from the ground. He was just wondering when, if ever, this round of toss-the-beta would cease, when his spine jarred into the trunk of a tree and he came to an abrupt stop.

He landed in a sprawl on his face. He made himself turn over onto his back, even though it felt like it was damn near broken, and found the-thing-that-was-no-longer-Ash stalking toward him, menacingly stroking his still very, very much erect Alpha cock in his clawed fist as he came.

This time Rowan felt absolutely no desire to laugh at the sight, bizarre as it was. There was nothing funny about it in that moment. He was too fucking scared.

It wasn't so much the physical changes in Ash as his expression. His clean-cut even features were a thin mask of humanity stretched over a shell of animal rage and hunger. It was like there was a wolf inside his skin. It was the most terrifying thing Rowan had ever seen.

And somehow only adding to the terror was the realisation that the noises Ash made as he advanced, jacking his über-prick in choppy, aggressive movements of his muscled arm, were not just from exertion, but also pleasure.

Did alphas get off on hunting their prey? He couldn't deny it made sense, even if it was—well, about as fucked up as anything he'd heard about them, actually. Jesus. To not just have a guy rip you apart into little shreds like pieces of wet paper, but to have him showering you with ball-juice while doing it—it was just such an indignity. Like salt on a wound. Literally.

Rowan's hand fumbled down to his jeans, and he felt a hard cylindrical bulge underneath it. A thrill coursed through him and he went rigid, breath stoppered in his throat.

Of course. His deodorant.

Ash stopped a few places from Rowan; the muscles from his biceps to his thighs flexed and bulged and he let out a noise half grunt of satisfaction, half growl of frustration, as he visibly forced an orgasm down through his balls and up through slit of his cock, which was so dilated Rowan could have easily stuck a finger down it. And he was definitely aiming it at Rowan when it swelled and spat out several slow, high arcs of cum, the drops so thick they felt like little solid pellets or even pebbles scattering over Rowan.

He ignored the warm heavy clumps of wolf-milk raining down on his shirt, giving the plaid pattern a new cum-dye overlay. He waited, holding the canister close to his chest. Every cell in his body shrieked for him to get up and away, but he forced himself to remain where he was, on his back, legs spread, tense and trembling as Ash loomed over him. Something like triumph entered those gold inhuman eyes as he bent low, claws extended, the gently pointed tip of his dick nudging painfully into Rowan's belly button through his shirt.

When Ash reached for him, he thrust his hand forward and let him have it, depressing the top of the can so hard he felt the plastic crack. A blast of pale mist shot out, right at Ash's gaping muzzle.

The beast reared back with a howl—of pain, yes, but mostly of such fury it honest-to-God made Rowan want to throw up. No natural beast, however vicious, had ever produced a sound like that. There was something primal about the way Rowan's body reacted to it, a response imprinted far back on the day when man had first found himself the prey of the man-wolf.

He just wanted to lay down and die.

But he wasn't going to. It wouldn't just be cowardly, but it wouldn't be fair, either--not on him, on his friends or family. And, he realised, not on Ash either. How the fuck would he feel when he finally came to his senses, knowing he'd killed his best friend? Rowan could only imagine how he would feel in that position, but that was bad enough. How the hell would Ash live with himself?

It was the first time this thought had occurred to him, but now it gave him new resolve. Even if there'd been no other cause to keep himself alive, Ash was enough.

Do it for your bro, he told himself, and sprang to his heels and ran once more.

The woods moved past him in a blur. Sore as he was, the interlude in the clearing had given him the closest thing to a respite he could hope for, and impressed on him that running was his only option if he wanted to survive this night.

He knew now there was no point in hiding—fucking idiot, just because Rowan couldn't smell didn't mean Ash couldn't. Everyone knew predators hunted by scent, and he must reek of fearsweat and just normal sweat.

And he realised, now he wasn't five literal seconds away from dying and could think a little, no point in running either.

Only a few yards from the gully his footsteps faltered once more.

His lungs were lakes of fire and there was nothing in him that could have kept him on his feet for even a minute longer. Why the fuck was he trying to outrun an alpha on foot? Who did he think he was? Nobody could do that. He was a fucking idiot. He should have just rolled over back in the clearing and saved himself all the legwork. No point in drawing it out.

Speaking of which, did wolves eat their prey while they were still alive? Hadn't he read that somewhere? Did Ash even want to eat him, or just rip him into little bitty pieces?

He looked over his shoulder and realised Ash was no longer following him.

Even as he screamed at himself, asking what the fuck he was doing, telling himself to keep going, his feet slowed and stopped. He listened.

It was Ash; there was no question about that. There was no one else out in the woods that night.

Cries, half-animal and half-human, desolate bays and plaintive yelps that creased up his spine, but were nothing to the vaguely wet-sounding thuds and the sobs that followed.

The noises disturbed him like a hand reaching inside him and pulping his guts through its fingers. It was somehow even worse than the howl. It sounded like Ash was really hurting himself.

There was some humanity in him, then. Rowan didn't know if the blast of Alpha-UP had cleared his head or what, but there was enough of him there he was trying to hold himself back. For Rowan's sake. Saving him again, the first time from his own stupidity, the second time from the consequences of that stupidity. Saving him from himself. But who was going to save Ash from himself?

Even though his saner half was still screaming itself hoarse, Rowan found he couldn't do a thing but turn around. It was his fucking bro.

He was pulled by a burning invisible thread of concern, even more urgent than the concern he felt for his own safety, back through the woods, retracing his steps to the clearing where he saw Ash...

Literally beating himself up. There was no other word for it.

Bashing his head against the hood of the car, pummelling himself in the head with his fists, or running at and throwing himself into trees, smashing against the harsh brittle-barked trunks with meaty impacts that made Rowan wince through his entire body, even from several yards away.

There was just no way he could watch this. No way he could let Ash do this to himself. Ash had saved him once, was trying to save him again. But this time it was Rowan's turn.

I owe him my life, anyway, he thought as he stepped through the bushes.

`Hey, bro, bro, stop that, please.'

Ash turned to him. There was a frantic wounded-animal look in his eyes that made Rowan's heart bleed.

He started to walk towards Ash with slow, cautious steps, vaguely imitating some wolf-whisperer type dude he'd seen on tv.

`Bro, listen, it's me. We can get you through this, okay. It's okay, you don't have to freak out, just please, stop fucking hurting yourself like that.' Rowan reached out a hand.

In the weeks and months that follow, this moment is one that will play out again and again, slowed-down, no-sound, like the moment in a movie where everything goes wrong.

It wasn't curiosity that killed the cat. It was compassion.

He reached out and Ash looked up and his arm was grabbed and yanked forward and the world spun off its axis and Rowan landed on his back on tight packed earth, too winded to even make a sound.

Ash landed on top of him, pinning his legs with his weight, his shoulders with his hands. Rowan stared into his best friend's eyes and saw...

Nothing.

There were emotions there, all too plain to see: frenzy and frustration and exhilaration and triumph. But nothing human. Nothing Rowan could recognise of the boy who had been his best friend.

He was alone with the beast and there was no one to save him.

And it was this thought that finally made him lose it.

Rowan hadn't cried since he was nine years old and grandma had brought triple chocolate caramel cookies to the hospital after the accident and he'd put one in his mouth and realised he couldn't taste it.

But he cried then.

He lay on his back in the dirt and Rowan sobbed like a fucking baby while Ash used his hands that were still half-paws to roughly slice his clothes off his body, not caring if he sliced Rowan's skin as he did so.

Get it fucking together or you're about to be mincemeat, he told himself. Suck it up! Quit pissing your pants and fucking do something!

But what was he supposed to do?

He threw punches at Ash; they might as well have been gentle pats for all the notice the alpha took of them. He begged for his life; he might as well have been singing the royal anthem.

But when Ash zipped open his sweater like a pencil case, his claw carving a line of fire from Rowan's bellybutton to his nipples, and Rowan knew he'd be zipping him open in a minute, he just couldn't lie there any longer.

Ash had leant forward slightly, haunches lifting off Rowan's waist, enough that with a groan and gritted teeth Rowan could scoot himself out from between his thighs, turning over and clambering over the ground, scrabbling on his belly with desperate sobs.

Even as he pushed his overtaxed limbs to move, he knew it was utterly futile. Did he think Ash was just gonna let him crawl away? But he had to try; he couldn't just lie there bawling like an infant who'd pissed its diapers until Ash had stripped off the last scraps of his clothes and was ready to move on to his skin.

He raised his hips to keep his exposed dick from getting scraped raw on the dry pine needles and nettles that carpeted the soil. He couldn't even imagine how dumb he looked, wriggle-humping the ground bare-assed like some kind of earthworm prostitute, and in that moment he also really couldn't care.

He saw Ash's shadow move over and ahead of him on the ground; felt warm dick-spittle drizzle on his asscheeks; felt the heaving weight of his cock stroke up his spine, his balls rolling into the small of his back and the head drooling between his shoulderblades. Then Ash flipped him over and picked him up by the flapping halves of his sweater, using them like the handles of a bag as he carried his squirming squalling human bundle back to the patch of grass he had evidently designated the schoolboy picnic site. Rowan was no tiny dude, but Ash dragged him along with seemingly no effort at all, ejaculating casually on the ground as he did so. Even this didn't seem to work him up either, anymore. Like he knew it didn't matter because the chase was over, and he had Rowan right where he wanted him.

Ash settled over him again, claws and teeth out and gleaming in the moonlight. And Rowan did the only thing he could think of—he grabbed Ash by the prick.

This made Ash stop in his tracks. The bemused, open-mouthed expression on his face would have been almost comical, almost cute. If it weren't for the yellow eyes and the fangs and that he was trying to disembowel him.

Trying to ignore the fact that he was currently holding on to his friend's dong, literally for dear life (ignore the fact that his fingers couldn't even go all the way around it. And he did not have small hands), Rowan brought his deodorant up with his other hand and let rip.

What came out was mostly air—he hadn't thought to check before, but the tiny canister was nearly empty; he could feel it getting lighter in his hand as he squeezed the button with all his might. A feeble burst of mist, only lasting a few seconds. Then nothing.

Ash gave an almighty sneeze and at the same time his cock pulsed in Rowan's hand and threw out a rope of cum so solid and heavy it actually felt like a whip lashing across his face.

Rowan was still trying to recover from this, spitting furiously and blinking to clear his eyes, when Ash swiped the can out of Rowan's hand and punched him twice, once on each side of the head. The first blow made him see stars, and the second made him see nothing at all for a while.

When he came round he was naked, except for a kind of denim fringe around his waist where Ash hadn't bothered to take his belt off.

Rowan supposed it made sense that denim and sweat-soaked cotton wouldn't taste very good as a wrapper.

Though he couldn't imagine he tasted very good at the moment. Hadn't he heard something about how they deliberately didn't let livestock see others in their herd being slaughtered, because the stress made the meat taste worse?

Jesus Christ, Rowan, shut the fuck up!

Although, as his erstwhile-friend continued to whuff and paw at him, apart from the long red scratches where Ash had flayed off his clothes, which he couldn't feel beyond a dull sting because of how pumped-up he was, there was a surprising lack of tearing-to-bits going on.

He couldn't believe he was even still alive to be analysing his own non-deadness. What was Ash waiting for?

It was then that Rosan felt the stiff pointy head of Ash's prick blunt in between his sweat-varnished asscheeks. And a thick pointed nail rasp over his starfish-rose.

Oh.

Oh.

Ash wasn't trying to eat him. He wasn't even trying to kill him, at least not right away, though it might come to that in the end because what Ash was trying to do, what he had been trying to do this entire time, except for that brief period when he had been trying not to, was fuck him.

And Rowan had been a blind fucking fool not to realise it before. It was just—he wasn't an omega. And he hadn't thought that whole side of alphas applied when you weren't that. And Ash was his friend.

Oh, God. He had been so intent on not ending up as little bite-sized pieces of sperm-salted beta jerky. But ending up as a bloody, cummy, yawning cock-shaped hole was hardly any better. At least maybe he wouldn't die? If they could find him and get an ambulance out in time.

Though who was to say Ash wouldn't eat him once he was done? Maybe he just liked to salt his meat.

He was wandering again. Trying to distract himself. Was Ash raping him?

In fact, he was mostly just jabbing his dick into various parts of Rowan's body around, but not actually in, his ass. Which absolutely did hurt, especially with the semi-cone-head deal his dick had going on. But he wasn't making any headway into Rowan's actual anus, sabotaged by his own clumsy horniness.

Rowan started to think instead of being raped or eaten he was just going to lie there and get poked to death. Once more, it was bizarre and almost funny, till he remembered, with a sensation like a bucket of ice water being tipped over in his gut, that Ash was trying to stick that thing inside him.

And—oh no, that was not a thought he could deal with. Maybe if wolf-Ash had had a regular-sized peen it was something that could have been negotiated, but oh, Jesus Christ, no. Rowan was just not equipped.

`Ash, please, no. Bro, stop, please, don't do this, bro, come on, come on—' His voice cracked off into a scream.

For a moment Ash paused, and something new, or rather, old, entered his face­­—a suggestion of hesitance, maybe even of recognition. Then the tip of his cock touched Rowan's hole and his pupils blew up wide like blood moons, and whatever had been there was gone, swallowed up by the blank golden beastlight. They were eerily beautiful, those eyes. And so was Ash, somehow, more than Rowan or anyone had ever seen. There was no uncertainty in his face, no bashfulness, only pure single-minded lust, and the determination to dominate, to subjugate, to breed. Nobody could have ignored or overlooked him then. Nobody would have dismissed him as harmless or nice. He had become a perfect biological machine of instinct and power, and for the first time Rowan understood why ten million years ago some of his ancestors had called alphas demons, and some called them gods. Ash's burning cock was an altar. And Rowan was the sacrificial lamb.

He closed his eyes and told himself that whatever the thing on top of him looked like, what he was dealing with was a feral animal and the only way was to lie still and let it do whatever it wanted and hope to not be dead at the end.

Ash pushed in.

And Rowan couldn't help but look. He told himself he wasn't going to cry, he wasn't going to scream; it wasn't going to hurt—tried to will the pain away from his body just by thinking it.

The small band of muscle that was his sphincter buckled in as far as it could, then abruptly snapped back as the broad head of Ash's cock punched through. Rowan bit his lip, then stopped, for fear he would bite right through it. That was how bad it hurt. His breath came out of him in a long agonised moan as Ash crammed his prick into the miniscule virgin orifice through sheer brutish force.

It was like a fist to the face, but Ash didn't stop there. Not even for a second.

Any man breaking a boy's butt in for the first time would have understood the necessity of taking care, of going slow, of giving the bitchcunt time to adjust. But Ash was human only on the outside. Animals hadn't heard of foreplay; they didn't care about hurting their mates, or even understand the concept. In nature's realm, all love was devouring and all sex was rape.

All of which was as much as to say: Rowan was only just beginning to come to terms with having his ass-pucker, something that had never taken anything bigger than his own finger (or maybe two. Three at the absolute most, plus the end of a toothbrush) stretched around a stiff knob that he knew logically couldn't be as wide as dinner plate, because he'd fucking seen it and even alpha primes didn't have cocks that big. But. That was sure as fuck what it felt like. God, it felt so big. Size of a fucking orange at least, and not a small one. It would actually have hurt less to be fisted.

But Rowan was trying to get used to it because his body had no choice. Maybe ten years would have done it. Ash didn't even give him ten seconds.

Head—in, then about a million metres of telephone pole shaft, spearing with sickening ease into the sperm-slicked crevasse of his hole. Splitting it so wide he could feel his buttcheeks bulge and buckle around it, could practically hear his pelvis break.

Ash curled over him, claws raking down his sides, huffing out his pleasure in harsh, heavy breaths that fell across Rowan's face like blows. They were so close they could have kissed. Some part of Rowan that had evidently gone insane sort of wanted to. Maybe one last kiss before he died wouldn't be so bad? At least Ash would remember it and know Rowan hadn't blamed him.

But would Ash remember anything of what he had done? It was impossible to parse the man from the beast in the slavering, gnarling visage that hung over him. It was just his face, the same face Rowan had known for years. Only the soul behind it was missing.

It was just doing him in, the dissonance between what his senses were telling him, which was that his best friend was giving him the railing of a lifetime (the railing to end a lifetime) and what his rational mind, or what was left of it, knew.

It was Ash but it wasn't. It was absolutely fucking his head. Even as the beast was absolutely fucking his guts.

It was...was it sex? Did this count as sex? Was he having sex with his best friend? Was he being raped by his best friend?

The weight of this question crushed him, so once more he closed his eyes to it. But he could not shut out all the other sensations of his mating: Ash panting and moaning; hips pounding his ass-cheeks like drums, clapping them like cymbals; the inconceivable violation of something alien and unyielding being forced hideously deep into his body, over and over without remorse. But the worst thing, somehow, was the sounds. Not just the slaps but the fucking squelches. His ass was making more noise than the mushiest drilled-out mess of a pussy. In porn Rowan would have found them hot. As it was they made him sick.

There was so much wetness down there; it couldn't possibly all be from Ash. And it didn't feel like cum, or even precum. It was more...liquidy. Had he actually pissed himself without realising it? It felt as though it was coming from inside him. That meant.

Oh God.

He opened his eyes wide in horror.

It was blood, wasn't it. Well, of course it would be. He hadn't felt anything tearing, yet, but there was plenty of dick to go.

At least for some reason it also felt good. He wondered if he'd bleed out before Ash came.

Ash put a hold on Rowan's reaming, just for a moment. He squatted, rolling Rowan up like a carpet so his ass was lifted off the ground, knees tucked under his armpits, hole turned up to receive the piledriving meat drill of Ash's cock, Rowan's own inexplicably hard penis aimed straight at his tear-smudged face.

A savage grin warped the bestial beauty of Ash's countenance. He held Rowan with one ankle, the other braced on the ground near his ear, lifted up his haunches, and went to fucking town.

It was like being punched in the ass, over and over. Being punched inside his ass. Holy God, being fisted would definitely hurt less, even if the guy had worn a fucking boxing glove. Ash couldn't actually go that fast purely because of the sheer ponderous weight and girth of his prick, and the tight clutch of Rowan's insides that still resisted it, though that was rapidly disintegrating as Ash beat his flesh into a quivering acquiescent pulp. But dear God he went hard. Each thrust caused an earthquake in Rowan's body.

He was sure there was something torn, something bleeding. Not all of that slipperiness was from the ever-flowing cum-fountain of Ash's prick.

Rowan's own poor dicklet was purple and engorged, from pain rather than pleasure, and the relentless bullying his prostate was taking. On about every second thrust of Ash's it shivered and oozed out a substance that compared to what Ash's prick had belched out could scarcely even be called semen. It looked like cloudy water, it was so pathetically thin and weak. And that was all without his cock receiving any stimulation, except when it was smashed against the wall of Ash's taut flat belly. Rowan hated himself for it a little bit. How dare his dick get off to his own destruction? Fucking traitor.

After what could not have been more than five minutes of the worst beating Rowan had ever taken, and never mind that it was being done to him with a dick and was technically supposed to be intercourse, things, inconceivably, got worse.

So far Ash had been driving in as deep as he could, burying himself right up to the physical limit of Rowan's passage. But that still left several monstrously thick inches of cock outside Rowan's body, and maybe they were getting cold, or just annoyed at missing out on the action, because Ash had evidently decided to introduce them to Rowan's ass-lining.

Now, the only snag in this plan was just that—a block in Rowan's pipeworks, a turn in Ass Alley with a NO ENTRY sign not even the biggest dick could ignore without doing some serious damage to parts of Rowan's internal real estate that just weren't just built to be fucked. It would take some serious brute strength to break through that barrier.

Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on whether you were rooting for the underbitch—brute strength was something Ash had in plentiful supply.

He hammered in with unmatched ferocity, bruising Rowan's recalcitrant flesh into obedience, cumming and cumming against that tight tiny little spot, cumming out of sheer rage and spite, from indignation at being denied the right to defile all Rowan's innermost recesses.

And Rowan's poor, battered little body, already so sorely-used, had no choice but to give.

Something inside him popped like a plug coming out of a drain, and with a triumphant roar Ash propelled his cock forward. And Rowan felt another hole being opened up within his hole, an even more intimate penetration. He could not have felt more deeply violated if Ash had been fucking his bleeding heart.

And with how far that dick was hurtling up inside him, he wasn't ruling that out. Jesus, it was still coming!

And cumming. He could feel the shots, at close range like fucking jets from a water-blaster, firing out so hard they practically lacerated the walls of his colon.

With a normal guy, this would have been game over, or round over, at least. But Ash just kept humping through them, like he didn't even notice. The only sign that he was fucking orgasming was a slight hitch in his breath, a hiccup in the rhythm of his thrusts, a twitching of his claws in Rowan's flesh and a dilation of his pupils.

Alphas had told him—or, rather, boasted to him—about what rut-sex was like. Bragged that, having essentially evolved to be supercharged baby-dispensers, alphas could cum multiple times during the act, even before the `proper' climax. And alphas were so hung, even slick omega holes could use the extra lubrication, especially given how tiny omegas were overall.

Rowan wasn't that small, but Ash was that big, and Rowan's hole, unlike some fancy bitchboy's bussy, did not produce its own lube. Ash's wangworks did made it go in easier, which was both a wonderful and a terrible thing. Wonderful because there was less friction so that hurt less, terrible because it let him go deeper, harder, faster, which hurt more, so it ended up being two inches back, about fifteen forward. And terrible because he was being fucking raped by his best friend.

Who was an alpha. And thus would ejaculate pretty much continually while he fucked, and then when he reached his actual climax—

That was when he popped his knot.

Ash's cock was already so big. He couldn't imagine what his knot would be like. Rowan was not unacquainted with pain; he'd had more broken bones in his childhood than most people had in their entire lives. He'd taken nearly ten minutes of Ash's alpha-mating, and somehow, miraculously, he hadn't died yet.

But that, that softball-sized thing inflating in his ass. He couldn't see any way he would survive it.

You're gonna kill me bro. You've gotta stop or I'm gonna die anyway, and I know you don't want that, don't even want to fuck me, not really, but it's gonna happen if you don't pull out, my body just can't take it.

This is what he was saying inside his head. But he couldn't make the words come out his mouth, and after a little bit he stopped trying.

His life was Ash's now, wasn't it? He didn't really have any right to complain. It hadn't been a redemption, after all. Only a reprieve.

He drifted a bit, even as Ash kept powerfucking him to infinity and beyond, kept on making him come. He knew his dick must hurt from the over-stimulation, but everything else hurt so much more, it barely even registered. At least it was feeling good as well.

He could no longer see his cock because Ash's cock was in the way, springing up through the meat of his torso as though it was about to pop through at any moment. He watched his abdomen flatten out as Ash withdrew, then protrude upward as Ash plunged his full length into him again. Rowan drew his eyes away and stared straight ahead. He couldn't look at that. He'd spew and drown in his own upchuck.

That big fatal bulge kept nudging at the overstretched opening of his ass. Ash bent his head down toward him and opened his mouth.

For a spacey second Rowan thought he was going to kiss him. Then he saw the teeth.

These closed on the side of his neck, sunk in and locked on, Ash growling as he worried at it like a dog with one of those rope-toys. Luckily, Rowan couldn't feel anything there. Couldn't breathe either, not with that roundball bat beating on his lungs.

What he could feel was Ash's knot. The alpha bulbus glandis was something he had heard about, but never seen in the flesh, and certainly never felt in his flesh, and had never been able to imagine what it would be like to have that inside you.

But soon he wouldn't have to imagine.

What it felt like was two extra balls screwed onto the steely shaft of Ash's dick, taut and hard and hairless, but just as big as his real ones, which meant, oh God, so much bigger than a softball; like two softballs, at least, each one as big as that, or as grapefruits, which meant together they must be as big as a fucking melon and Ash wanted to put that shit inside him?

Holy Christ. He was actually going to die.

Maybe it was this thought that gave him his voice again. He wept and pleaded, resolution and pride both left far, far behind, left shattered and drowned somewhere on the forest floor with his virginity. `Ash, Ash, Ash, no, Ash, please, you can't, I'm telling you, please, Ash you can't, fucking God aaahhhhhhhHHHHHHH!'

Two things, again, two sharp cracks. Only these occurred on the inside of his body and were felt, not heard. One came as his ass pretty much exploded and then somehow Ash's knot was tucked neatly away inside him, making all the gargantuan girth of his cock feel like a pencil.

At the same time Ash's prick punched right in, as deep as it was possible to go, and encountered yet another hole, the deepest of all, the third gate, one that Rowan was sure had not been there before. It was tight, tiny, miniscule no wider than the head of a pin. But alpha glans were shaped like that, were rigid like that, for a reason; Ash's prickhead met this hole, kissed it, kicked it in, fucked right through it into a tight little space that it created as it cocked, that it filled as it forced open, a new chamber it was carving out in the crumbling mansion of Rowan's body.

The walls of this hollow were of a tissue so sensitive and delicate that to have touched it with the tip of a feather would have been torture a psychopathic sadist would have shrunk from. Ash's prick bashed it with hammer-blows so furious and forceful they could have turned bricks to powder. And Rowan's whole body lit up with a pain so excruciating that it transcended any sensation his mind could label or his body could hold.

For one eternal moment Rowan saw God. His eyes and hair were golden and His cock was red and long.

So unbearable was this apocalypse that Rowan's mind exorcised itself from his half-ruined body and went out into the world.

He knew neither pain nor fear then, only the taste of moonlight and the silent sorrow of the mountains; the sharpness of the air, bitter and bracing as ice on his tongue; stars wheeling in his head and above and below and beyond it all, the slow explosion of the universe. And the wolf's howl became the sun, and behind it was blackness of night, and Rowan's own eructed soul screaming somewhere in the void. And this in time became the sound of a little boy crying, lost somewhere in the woods.

Everything was dark now.

What there was instead of Rowan Hunt was an imploded jelly-thing of meat and gristle, boneless, blind, defenceless, fit for nothing but fucking, and by the Wolf-God's implacable grace that was exactly what was happening to it.

The Beast was on it, mauling it and breeding it at the same time. It had a hard, sharp, hungry tool and hard, sharp, hungry teeth and both were in him, rending him, wounding him, but it was right, it was meant to be: he was a beast of prey, a sacrifice animal, born to be devoured.

Rowan slowly, unwillingly returned to an awareness of himself. Something had shifted inside him. Ash had altered something, broken something so badly that Rowan would truly never be the same. There was no surgery that could repair the damage his teeth and knot and brutal claiming cock had done. He was a new creation, wonderfully and fearfully remade.

He could still feel the changing fire within him. It had to be close to thirty degrees out here, but he was burning up like a bonfire.

His hips bucked as he came over and over, ass constricting around Ash's huge knot as his friend did the same, powerjetting potent alpha sperm right into his very core. It was a completely helpless reaction, like a seizure. He was powerless in the grip of his own ecstasy and of his best friend and destroyer, Ash O'Canann.

His thighs flattened against Rowan's glutes as he dug in; he was as deep as he could get but he wanted in more. Rowan was so completely opened up for him, around him, that if it weren't for his knot and prick plugging him there'd be a gaping wound the size of an expressway instead of a sphincter. Drenching his lungs in spunk, drowning him.

The noises that come out of Rowan as Ash spun him round on his knot were so unnatural they creeped him out, even though they came out of his mouth. It felt like a deliberate cruelty, whatever instinct demanded.

Hello dirt my old friend, and yes, those were definitely claws sinking so far into his asscheeks Rowan was surprised Mr Mount-n'-Maim didn't impale his own prick, and, yup, that crunch was definitely his nose breaking as his face hit solid compacted clay. Ow.

It was all a little bit much. And when the teeth went into his neck again, Rowan—well. He took a little nap. It had been a long night.

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