7 comments/ 50076 views/ 30 favorites Wolf Cry By: Dshannon Samantha Brennan lay on the snow-capped hilltop, while around her the eternal trees abided, dark frost-patched evergreen, as numerous and densely packed as the hairs on her head, with irregular pauses for rivers, lakes and oil and logging camps, all the way to the wintry western peaks, their lines delicate, ephemeral, more dreamlike than actual beneath the patchwork grey of a sky of unwashed clouds. It made the forests surrounding her old home in Scotland seem like backyard allotments. The snow crunched beneath her as she shifted in place to ease her muscles. The crunch resounded in the solemn silence, as loud as the dull distant drumming of a woodpecker, or a snapping twig beneath a bolting sable, and she had no wish to disturb the clearing below - or the wolf pack who commanded it. There were ten adults, led by the dominant male and female (whom she had nicknamed Thor and Sif), and their cubs. They were magnificent specimens: sharp-eared, sharp-faced, coated in a range of tawny greys and blacks, copper eyes pinpointed with ebony, and animated bushy tails. Samantha had watched that afternoon as the dominant pair led four of the adults out to hunt, leaving the remaining two to mind the cubs; now they'd returned, with jawfuls of elk for the rest. She observed their snaps and cringes, games of dominance and submission - and saw so much of what happened in her own relationship- "Little Witch?" It was a cautious whisper which reached her ears, and a welcome one, and she twisted to watch the black-clad man approach, his size undiminished by half-crawling up the hill so as to remain unnoticed by the pack on the other side. As he reached her he practically slithered to her side, arm around her as if it had always belonged there. "They're coming. East by northeast." He smiled. "Time to work your zagovor." She couldn't help but smile herself, despite the urgency of their mission. "No magic, Mikhail. I just... have a way with wolves." Her companion snorted quietly. She understood his incredulity, recognised the twin edge of her reputation. Ever since she had joined the World Wolf Watch, a group seeking to preserve the remaining wild lupine populations throughout the globe, she had gained a reputation among her colleagues as a sort of 'Wolf Whisperer', able to approach packs as if she belonged to them, enticing them to leave a threatened area or not encroach upon cultivated land and risk being hunted. Samantha herself had always remained circumspect about it - the truth would be too much for them to take. She glanced at the clearing again. "Wait. He should be here any minute- there!" Both went silent as another wolf appeared in the clearing, bold as brass, the one she had christened Baldur. He, too, had brought food, but not before Thor and Sif circled him twice, acknowledging his immediate posture of abasement, then padded away. "Looks like they listened to you," Mikhail noted. Typical Slavic nonchalance, but Samantha heard his astonishment. Lone wolves like Baldur normally avoided contact with all packs, and they with ones like him. But in the past few days, she had worked to adopt him into the pack, for his own safety. Lone wolves were easy prey in this territory. Mikhail gave her a squeeze. "Come, Little Witch-" Samantha looked up at him. There was something about Mikhail Lavrov that seemed too massive for chairs, or even rooms, something beyond his muscular frame, beyond the worldly lines in his face and the strands of white in his neatly-trimmed beard. "I know, I know. And stop calling me Little Witch, or I'll work a spell to shrivel up your putz." Then she rose, straightened up, and emptied her mind. Some of the pack looked up in her direction; none of them moved to run off, even as she carefully made her way down the hill, towards them, though some circled nearer to the cubs. She watched her breath whiten from her mouth as she let her thoughts become as blank as the snow around her. She could almost hear the started breathing of her companion, who could not help but be concerned for her safety despite all he had seen her do since their partnership started a fortnight ago. When she was level with the pack, she dropped to her knees, sinking into the thin blanket of snow, and spoke with more than her own voice, feeling a greater power coursing through and beneath her. "Brothers, sisters, men are coming, coming quickly from the sky. You must leave now, together, head towards the setting sun, and do not stop until the stars are strong and bright." All lupine heads had turned to her, and she knew that it had worked again; so long as she kept it simple and not try to project complex human concepts, she got the message across. But even her knowledge could not suppress the surprise she felt as Sif padded closer, closer, ears flat against its head in a defensive posture, the blood and scent of the elk around her mouth as she licked Samantha's cheek once, before turning and joining the others, lifting up cubs and food and moving as one towards the denser parts of the forest. Mikhail and she would continue to follow them in the coming days, guiding them towards the safer territory of the reserves. She could still feel the female's rough tongue against her face, and allowed herself a grin of satisfaction. Thank you, Master... A Slavic curse behind her, and she rose and turned to see Mikhail quickly descend the hill to join her, his Kalashnikov rifle in hand; it was as necessary a tool in the wilds of Belarus as their radio or compass, though less for the animals than the bandits or smugglers they might accidentally encounter. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought that he might have set aside his conservationist instincts and threatened any of the pack, even out of a sense of protecting Samantha. Then she followed his gaze upwards towards the rapidly approaching sound of whirling blades. Seconds later, the helicopter came into view over the clearing, the vehicle barely missing the tops of the birches as it circled overhead, kicking up swirls of snow from the shuddering, surrounding trees. The sides of the ex-military vehicle were open, and winter-clad figures half-hung from it, secured to the fuselage and aiming weapons in Samantha and Mikhail's direction. The pair stood still, letting the red beams from the weapon's laser sights dance around. Beside her, Samantha felt Mikhail draw closer, wrap an arm around her. The men above were foreigners like herself, here for the wolves, but beyond that, they parted company. They were hunters, men who paid big money to bag a few pelts with their automatic rifles without actually doing any work. She was here to save as many wolves as she could from that fate, and they could hover up there all they want and try to intimidate her. Finally the helicopter pivoted and headed westward, following the pack's prints, though Samantha suspected they would lose the trail. At least, for today. Mikhail and she relaxed their posture - though he still hung onto her. "Filthy muksuns..." He grinned. "You have the luck of the Devil, Little Witch, and my land needs such luck. How can I let you return to Britain now?" Samantha smiled, warmed as much by the man's love for 'his' land, the place where he'd grown up - she could not picture a more devoted conservationist - as by the man himself. "It can get cold here at night; I'll need something to keep me warm." He leaned closer, and with a slyness added to his grin and his words. "I'm sure something can be arranged." "I'll bet." A playful kick to his booted shins initiated an impromptu chase back up the hill towards their supplies. * The waystation consisted of several log cabins, linked by nocturnal guidelines and wooden planks regularly swept clean of blowing snow, and set in a tiny forest clearing; it sufficed as an emergency shelter for the area's loggers, riggers, even the odd nomad. And for the past two nights now, Samantha and Mikhail. It was comfortably warm inside the main room, with a stone hearth dominating one wall, its heat and light mocking the feeble efforts from the oil lamps. Mismatched chairs and couches filled the centre, and maps and paintings adorned the walls between the narrow, treble-glazed windows. Samantha had returned from securing their vehicle for the night to find a hot mug of medivka, a honey- and herb-flavoured beer waiting for her. She accepted it gratefully, relaxing beside Mikhail on the couch. In the fortnight they had spent together, she had become closer to him than to any other man she had known. She enjoyed his company, his strength and spirit. And she enjoyed his gentle persistence on certain matters. "Don't make me beg again, my little witch, my knees ache." He pointed at her with his own mug of Something Stronger Than Medivka. "They're never afraid of you. They never attack. They just seem to listen, and do what you say. Tell us how you do it." She watched the flames dance and crackle in the hearth. More than once he had asked about her abilities. And she had always put off the truth. Now, however, she felt she had grown close to Mikhail in the last two weeks, two weeks of risking life and limb - and now she would risk trust. "Do you know the Norse legend of Fenris?" The Russian frowned in thought. "A monster..." "A god. A wolf god, son of Loki, bound by the other gods to protect themselves, but having broken free of even the strongest chains. He still lives, but as a spirit force representing primal, feral instinct, of passion and hunger. Some modern witches can channel that, and other spirits, in spells to serve or empower, to protect or advise. Witches like me." "Ah, you said you weren't a witch." He was smiling, but he didn't appear scornful of what she was saying. "No, I said don't call me one." "But you did say no magic was involved." Her face flushed. "It's not something I tell anyone straight off, unless I'm sure they won't start looking at me like I'm going to eat their babies or bow down to Satan. The organisation doesn't need the general public thinking that their members are all New Age lunatics." She sighed, sipped at her drink, felt the rush to her head as it piggybacked onto her revelations. "Several years ago, I learned how to communicate with Fenris' spirit form. I gained special gifts from this... association. And have since used them in the protection of nature." She looked up, awaiting the inevitable disparagement. It wouldn't be the first time - but she'd grown close enough to him to know how much it would hurt, coming from him. Instead, Mikhail stared into his mug, firelight reflecting from his animated eyes, voice low and intimate. "This land is filled with gods and spirits and creatures: Zakarij, the Wolf Goddess who laps at the moon and whose howls make the night winds; Kasmira, the Trickster, whose eyes shine like green fire and who lures men and women to passionate deaths; the Vukodlak man-beasts of the forests, spawn of the modern werewolf legends... my paternal grandmother was a village shaman, the first little witch I have ever known. She told me the stories, the practices. I swallowed it all hungrily." He paused, sipped at his drink and continued. "When I was a boy, a Scout, my troop went camping in the forests of Alianokirk, not far from here in fact. It was there one night that I saw... something... something in the shadows, something deeper... it was a Vukodlak, I was sure of it, snarling and slavering... it came to me, and I... I have told no one else this before." "Mikhail-" He swallowed, visibly uncomfortable; she had not seen him looking so vulnerable before, but he gestured at her to let him continue. "My parents had always dismissed such village folklore, and encouraged me to find all the answers I sought in science and knowledge. And as I grew up, I tried doing just that. Tried to rationalise what I had seen, what I'd experienced... optical illusion, youthful imagination..." Now his bright eyes met hers. "But I couldn't. It wouldn't lie down in submission to rationality. And I have since learned to accept that there is an unknowable element to our world, that there are shadows which no light can disperse." For a while, there was only the crackle of the fire and the distant howling of the winds and the wolves. * Neither had said anything further until she had risen to go to bed, knowing they had an early start tomorrow. She was at her door when Mikhail reached out, stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. "Samantha..." She turned, her heart racing as his other hand moved to her waist, drawing her in close. Then, finally, he kissed her. She relished the smooth brush of his beard on her flushed skin, couldn't help but notice the erection pressed against her thigh through their clothes. There could be more between them. She wanted more. He was handsome, intelligent, kind, powerful... she couldn't help but want him. But she pulled back. "No, Mikhail. I can't." He held onto her, his maleness a heady mix in her nose. "As you said today, nights can be long here. Don't make me beg here, either-" She pushed him back, gently. "There's...someone else. I'm... spoken for. As much as I'd want it otherwise-" Now he stepped back, unable and unwilling to keep the disappointment from his expression. But he showed no bitterness. "You are beautiful, intelligent, full of life. When you get home to Britain, Samantha Brennan, tell your lover I envy him. Good night." Fingers of light danced from the oil lamp by her bed as she shed her clothes, always preferring to sleep in the nude. She looked down at her long chestnut hair reaching her full round white breasts, moved her hands over the curve around the waist, down to the dark trimmed triangle steepling her firm thighs. Though well into her thirties, she felt more fit now than she ever had - thanks to the changes her life had taken since first summoning Fenris. Thoughts of Fenris made her go for her bag, reach deep down and extract the leather collar, thick black with diamond-shaped chrome studs. She'd seen it in a pet shop years ago while getting supplies for her old dog Mac, and, as Fenris saw through her eyes, had whispered to her to purchase it. But not for Mac. And she took it with her whenever she travelled, having made up a sentimental story about it and Mac to explain its presence to anyone who saw it. She fitted it around her throat, clicked it shut. She had initially considered it a new humiliation for her, a reminder of her subservient status, as if she needed one. But now, she saw it as a proud badge, that she was owned by a force mightier than she could ever have dreamed possible. She'd never told Mikhail the full story. He wouldn't believe, unless he saw firsthand. And she didn't dare let that happen; the one and only time there had been witnesses, nearly two years ago, the witnesses had either been torn apart, or enslaved, made to serve as she had been made to serve. Samantha sighed with pleasure as she climbed beneath the covers. The bed was lovely- with room for another- But the other couldn't be her Master. He was too big for beds. And lately, she found herself regretting things like that. Ordinary things. She could have summoned Him. In the flesh. It had only been a few weeks, but it seemed like ages since she'd felt him against her, filling her up, scratching and nipping... Except that it would take a lot out of her, physically as well as mystically, and she needed all her many strengths for this mission. And she would inevitably make enough noise to attract Mikhail's attention from the next room. But she still had needs to satisfy... her hand took a familiar path towards her vulva, full, expectant, and she opened her mind, let her feelings, her imagination carry her... she pictured Him standing before her prostate form, stripping the clothes from her with his claws and fangs, bending her forward, his erect shaft demanding entry, as the wolves howled outside... Master... she called to him, to come to her mind and join her, make her fantasies all the more real. But he remained distant, defiant. Master? He stayed away, like some petulant child. Or was that just her imagination, her fatigue after a long hard day? So as her fingers grew moist and hot with her juices, she sought another lover in her mind, the images changing, the fur and claws and tail disappearing, the sounds... the lover... more human... he may not have been a God, but he was intriguing – arousing - in his own right... it wouldn't be wrong... * His huge, dark shape rose over her, eyes burning with accusation. My pet... you have betrayed your Master... No, no! It's not true! I remain loyal! Your thoughts do not. But those are just thoughts- fantasies- I own all of you, including your thoughts! But- But you can't do that- SILENCE! NO! You can't silence me! Damn you! Damn- "-You!" Samantha bolted upright, sweating, blind, cold. For a moment, she didn't know where she was. Then she slumped back again, noting the grey light of dawn seeping in from the crack of the window shutters, her oil lamp long since extinguished. He was there, in her mind, angry with her. Guilt wracked her. He had given her so much, fulfilled her in ways no man could ever manage. And yet... And yet, in the time since they first... bonded... what about what she had given Him? What about how she had fulfilled Him? She gave Him life, reality, in the realm of Man. Didn't that matter? Was she really just His pet, and nothing more? Didn't she deserve better? She drew up the covers, her fingers touching her collar again, considered opening her mind to contact him again, apologise to him. No. * "There they go again!" It was an uncannily warm day, melting much of the snow on the ground into dirty slush; Mikhail insisted it was literally the calm before the storm, and seeing the Eastern black clouds, she concurred. They had moved many kilometres westward, still following the pack, and thankfully with no sight of the hunters. Samantha lay atop a slope overlooking a wide river cutting a crooked path through the forest. From here, she watched Sif and Thor playing, snapping at each other's tails, then mating again. Their lovemaking was fierce, brief, but intense, passionate. Beside Samantha, Mikhail lay on his back, eyes shut, content to bask in the relative warmth - so easy to kiss now, she mused. "Aren't you enjoying this weather?" "Of course." She tried to keep her mind on her work. But he wouldn't let her, setting a hand on the small of her back, stroking lightly; Samantha fought back the shiver that ran through her like a wire, and took another swig from the vodka he had brought with them. "There's much here to enjoy, Mikhail." "Yes." His caress became a playful smack on her bum as he sat up. "Like swimming." Samantha watched with both disbelief and expectation as he removed his top, revealing a hirsute, perfectly muscled chest and biceps. She almost declared her lack of costume, settling for the more valid comment, "The water will be freezing!" "The river's fed by a hot spring; I have swum here often." He grinned as he removed his boots and socks. "Of course, if you haven't the courage-" "What about the wolves?" "They'll ignore us, or run off. Trust me." She did; it was a question of trusting herself. She could have refused, made excuses. Instead she copied him, pulling her shirt over her head as he disappeared. Samantha stripped off quickly, swaying slightly from the drink; this was just a harmless bit of fun, she reminded herself, hearing him yelp as he splashed into the river, not a prelude to sex. Then, naked herself - and in the open, too! - she swallowed hard, rising and following him, cursing the cold mud and sharp stones beneath her steps, certain her face was beetroot. Wolf Cry He was waist-deep in the river, his back to her; Sif and Baldur had vanished. As she first suspected, the water was glacial, making her gasp aloud and her nipples scowl as she rushed deeper into it, unwilling to prolong the initial shock and provoke more teasing. She was nearly up to her breasts when he finally turned around, as if having waited for her benefit. It seemed so natural to Mikhail, playfully splashing Samantha, making her squeal and splash back. The riverbed was a ticklish silt carpet, and the water a constant pull downstream. She kept moving, invigorated now, accustomed now to Mikhail seeing her breasts, or other parts of her, as she swam about. After a time, he made a show of pursuing her, and she half-stumbled to escape his clutches, shrieking and giggling as he chased her out of the water and onto the bank, both of them collapsing, rolling over each other, muddying themselves. Then she felt his erection against her thigh. Samantha's eyes widened as their wrestling ceased, both of them aware of how the circumstances had suddenly changed, with that simple, undeniable physical reaction on Mikhail's part. Then, with only some surprise, she found her own desire present, calling, as if it had been there all along, waiting the ideal moment. But what about her Master? To hell with Him. When they kissed, not as friends but as imminent lovers, warmth coursed through her, sending her belly into somersaults but acknowledging that Samantha needed what Mikhail could provide. Their bodies fitted together, tongues dancing, his erection pressing into her mound with wild anticipation. He parted from her, the breath leaving his body in a shudder, and she looked between them, at the firm stem of his cock, long and thick, its damask head collared by darker skin, and rearing up from a clump of black curls over his balls. Boldly she reached down and grasped it, easily drawing the foreskin back and forth, as if to confirm this was real, not some fantasy. Then he gently eased her onto her stomach, her breasts pressing into the mud, saying nothing, having no time or need for courtship. She acknowledged how he wanted her; she wanted it, too, rising onto all fours. Warm fluid seeped from between her thighs, and she desperately craved to be stretched to capacity, literal fulfilment. With something like a growl Mikhail parted Samantha's thighs and lifted her up, before mounting her. The lips of her sex swallowed the cooler head of his cock, then almost the full stem as he pressed into her, enveloping him totally. She felt his balls slap against her with every thrust, while his hands gripped her sides, unwilling to release her. It felt strange, new to her, his body having hardly the same amount of hair as... They found a mutual rhythm, each giving, each gaining, her mind and body awash with the sensations invoked. But soon Mikhail coaxed their rhythm into a more urgent gallop, one Samantha agreed upon: lovely. She pictured how they might look to the wolves: naked, muddied animals caught in their own heat. This image, and an extra deep thrust on Mikhail's part, made her climax with a strangled cry; wave after wave of pleasure ran through her, making her dig her nails into the mud. Mikhail came, too, grunting, his body spasming behind hers. After a time he withdrew, leaving her feeling empty but immensely satisfied, and they lay together, facing each other, their pulses still rapid. But her post-coital embers died quickly, replaced by a cold wash of guilt. She froze, the warmth of spent lust seeping from between her clenched thighs. "Oh, God... Master..." He stared quizzically at her. "Samantha?" The realisation of her act struck her like a hammer, when it should have been evident from the start. "What the hell have I done?" She sat up, shame making her cover herself with her hands, then stagger to her feet to reach her clothes. When he followed, she raised a hand. "Keep back! Don't look at me!" He turned away. "Samantha, I'm sorry - I didn't mean to force-" "Shut up! You didn't!" She only wished that he had; at least she would have had a legitimate excuse. She was drawing her knickers up over her bum when she heard the growls. She froze at the sight of Sif and Thor, a short distance away, teeth bared and hackles raised. For the first time in a long time, she felt fear. Still, she forced down her emotion and opened up her mind, letting the words flow from her. "Brother, sister, be at peace. We mean you no harm. Leave." But even as she acknowledged not feeling the same power as before, she also acknowledged that the wolves continued to growl, and draw closer, as if they no longer understood, or cared. A knot twisted in her belly. What the hell was going on? Then she yelped at the gunshot directly behind her, turning to see Mikhail standing there, still naked but holding his rifle, with which he had just fired one round into the air. The wolves scattered. Master, where are you? "Come on," Mikhail was saying, dressing quickly, looking like a man who'd just realised he'd walked on to a pond . "Let's get back to camp." She wanted to stay, to follow the pack and find out what had happened, perhaps try again. But instead she dressed as well, silently, guilt and dread welling up inside her like blood from an internal wound, avoiding his touches, his overtures to get her to open up. * They had move from the waystation to a smaller, more claustrophobic and primitive cabin, but she didn't remain inside long after dinner. Despite his protests, she had ventured out alone, into the woods, promising to bring a weapon along with her. When she found a suitable small clearing, a haven for insects in the salmon-pink sky of dusk, she began stripping off her clothes, piling them together with the rifle, needing none of them, nor any of the candles or other mystical paraphernalia that was once required, such was her rapport with Him. But she did bring the collar, as a focus – and a symbol. She had to summon Him, summon Him now and explain what had happened. The cold harsh ground was ignored as she fitted the collar around her and knelt down, emptying her mind to all but the prayer, knowing that as it took hold, a welcoming heat would envelop her: O Powerful Fenris, son of Loki and Angrboda, bound to the rock of Gioll, I, your servant, your possession, conjure thee on this night and at this hour here, to order firmed affairs with thee... She waited for the expected swirls of air, the eldritch crackle of energy dancing across her skin like snakes of static electricity. She waited. She whispered the Summoning aloud this time. And waited some more. A terrible dread gripped her, twisted her insides. She opened her eyes, looked about, and smelled the air for his musk. "Master?" Nothing. "Master? Please, come to me." The silence was unbearable. "Master!" Panic set in. She dropped forward until her head nearly touched the ground, and her fists banged again and again. "Master! Where are you? Please! Please come to me! Please!" She didn't hear Mikhail approach, lift her up, didn't hear his concerned pleas to know what was wrong. She was swept away in a hysterical panic. "He's gone- won't come- won't speak to me- Master-gone-GONE-" The slap across the face snapped her back. She stood there and shook, as he stepped away long enough to grab her coat and wrap it around her. * "Six years ago, I began dabbling in the Wiccan arts. I turned out to be quite good at it - great, even." Sitting by the fire in the hut, still wrapped in the blanket, with a mug of vodka in hand and the collar in her lap, she stared blankly into the flames. "Though it turned out my arrogance exceeded my mastery. I told you about the spirit forms that could be summoned and made to serve those with sufficient power and skill. Well, I sought to become Fenris' Mistress. But instead I became His slave, His... pet." She looked across at Mikhail, as if daring him to contest what she said. When he just sat there, hands steepled before him, staring at her, she continued, the shock of losing contact with Fenris overwhelming any embarrassment at telling the Russian the full truth. "And I have lovingly served Him ever since. I changed my career, my very life, in service to Him. I have even helped give a sort of 'birth' to His spirit offspring; the reports of wolf sightings in the Scottish and English forests now outnumber the ones for big cats." She rubbed her eyes. "And it was He who bade me go out into the world and help those of His earthly brethren who are threatened by man. He even gave me the gift of communicating with them." Mikhail leaned forward, dropping his joined hands to hang between his parted legs. "You tried to summon him tonight?" She nodded. "But He didn't come. He can easily appear in the flesh, as real as anything else. But there was nothing now, not even a whisper." "Why do you suppose?" She looked up, almost afraid to voice it, but knowing she had to face it. "A relationship with a being like Fenris is all-encompassing, uncompromising. He demands obedience, loyalty, fidelity. I... betrayed him. Betrayed him by having feelings... having sex... for you." She startled herself with the level of anger in her voice, as if he was to blame for her own actions. "Now He has abandoned me." "Perhaps... perhaps not." He raised a finger towards her. "Have you tried summoning Fenris here before?" She frowned, as if waiting for him to start rationalising it all, or worse, ridiculing her. But still she replied, "No. I've not had much opportunity. Why?" "Wolves have territories. That might also apply to wolf gods, their energies bound to the lands where belief in their existence has held dominance for centuries. Fenris may consider Britain or Northern Europe his territory, but this land belongs to Zakarij. And as with real wolves, there may be protocols to be met, appeasements to be made. Perhaps you need to summon Zakarij first, beg her permission to let Fenris here... with some local help." Samantha blinked, not sure of what he meant but recognising, and grasping, the glimmer of hope he seemed to be offering. "You know where we can find this... 'local help'?" * It was a chill, starless night, the wind stirring the surrounding trees of the clearing, a precursor to the oncoming storm. Mikhail had brought out with them some emergency candles, salt, water, a knife, and a hastily-fashioned ring of wolf hair gathered from previous pack encounters. He cleared an area on the ground of stones and leaves, and began preparing a circle of salt, as she watched, her nerves attacking her gut. "Mikhail, are you sure about this?" "Sure? Of course not, my little witch. If my parents knew what I was up to, or our superiors..." "I meant, are you sure you can remember enough from what your grandmother taught you?" He paused before answering. "The specific words and procedures aren't as important as the mental state. Which is a good thing, as I don't think we can find a chalice of virgin blood around here." She recalled her own history, how a slight mistranslation of a Summoning spell on her part had ended up binding her to Fenris, and was less optimistic. "We're mixing magicks here. I blew my hair dryer to buggery when I plugged it in my hotel room the first day I arrived. I don't want to think about what will happen with this..." He knelt and removed his boots, then his socks. "If you feel strongly enough about this, you can always wait until you get back to Britain - once our real mission fails." In the distance, the wolves howled as if in agreement. They couldn't stay where they were now, it still wasn't safe. And they wouldn't move unless Samantha could regain her abilities, her link with Fenris. She accepted that there was more at stake than just her damaged relationship with her Master- "Samantha..." She glanced up. Mikhail had almost finished undressing, and was obviously waiting for her to join him in his skyclad state. Blushing, a strange sensation given that they had fucked that afternoon, she followed quickly, hoping that her guilt and dread could be kept under control, allowing her to achieve the proper mental state. She never saw the candles being lit - perhaps they did it themselves? - as she knelt within the circle, facing Mikhail, also kneeling, the required tools close at hand, as was her collar – but she left it off, Mikhail telling her it could be considered an insult to Zakarij. She tried not looking down at him, her skin hot with embarrassment rather than magic; the last time she had performed a spell with another was in her early days, with the coven in Wiltshire, and she'd never outgrown her chagrin at being naked with them. Mikhail was speaking in his native Slav, the words tumbling from him like water over rocks, a pleasing, almost hypnotic sound that helped her relax and reach a more receptive state of mind. She watched as Mikhail poured water into a wooden cup, then reached for the knife... a quick cut on his forearm, a few drops of red into the water... then he gently reached out for her arm as well. She prepared herself, barely winced at the touch of the blade on her skin, watched blankly as she bled slightly into the cup. Finally he added the ring of wolf-hair to the mix, swirled it about. From the corner of her eye, she saw the candles go out, but leaving an eldritch moon-white glow bathing the clearing. Before her, Mikhail rose to his feet, still mumbling, but stepping backwards, out of the circle, kneeling beyond it, his features becoming indistinct, swallowed up by the surrounding energies that were building, swirling like a whirlwind about the circle. She felt giddy, as if Mikhail had drawn too much blood from her. But she recognised this sensation, recognised the power, and that odour of musk and sweat and fur that filled her nostrils. She kept still, eyes wide open, watching portions of the energy coalesce, solidify into a huge, familiar shape standing before her: as large as a bear, four-legged, the large head, the pointed ears and bushy tail... but clad in fur as white as the purest snow... But even as this figure took shape, it was changing, shrinking, rising on hind legs that grew longer and slimmer, fur disappearing into alabaster skin, long white hair descending from a smaller, rounder head to caress full, feminine cheeks. With the fluid ease of butter melting on a hot pan, the wolf... became a woman: white-skinned, white-haired, tall and regal as a princess and as naked as Samantha, standing proud and unabashed and regarding the kneeling woman before her with deep green eyes that shone as brightly as the coruscating energy about her. Samantha had to blink as she looked up at the spirit form. "Are- Are you Zakarij?" The spirit woman offered a slight, knowing smile. "I have been called that. You are the pet of the Wolf God from the Northern Lands?" Samantha swallowed; Fenris had never adopted a form as human as this whenever He had appeared before her. Was that a conscious decision on His part, or a distinction for the spirit forms of this part of the world? Then she focused on her reason for being here. "I- I am. I summon thee here to beg permission to let me speak with my Master within your domain..." The woman smile shifted - and grew cold. "Tis far too late for begging my permission. When you performed your Summoning at the setting sun, your Master broke agreements - and now lies bound, as he once did on the rock of Gioll. Unlike then, however, there will be no freedom." Samantha grew ashen, and her heart leapt into her throat. Fenris, bound, imprisoned in some ethereal realm? Because of her ignorance, because of what she had done tonight? No, it couldn't be! She raised a hand towards Zakarij, flinching as if she might be burned by the vision. "No! Please, I beg of you, free him! It's my fault! Mikhail, please-" She turned to face the man beyond the circle - only to find he was no longer a man. He rose onto thickly-muscled limbs draped in ashen fur, his snout distended and jaw curled to reveal pointed fangs gleaming in the arcane glow, pointed ears raised, clawed hands curled outwards. He howled, blood-red eyes fixed upon the woman and the goddess. "And now the man achieves his true destiny," Zakarij announced. "The destiny he renounced as a boy, when the Vukodlak found him in my forest, and marked him to join their kind." Samantha swallowed, her head spinning. Had she done this as well? Forced Mikhail to reawaken something within him that he had buried and forgotten, in order to help her? Was that why she had been as attracted to him as she'd been with no other man? It was too much, too much for her to bear... she returned to Zakarij. "Please, free Fenris! He cannot be bound again! Punish me if you will, but not Him! It's my fault!" "Yes, the fault lies with you, pet," the goddess agreed, drawing closer, the features growing more and more woman-like, svelte like a ballerina. She reached out and took Samantha's chin in her slim grasp, forcing her to look up past the small, round breasts to those eyes. "The fault, and the solution. I will free the Wolf God... if you renounce him, and swear fealty to me, and me alone." Samantha gasped. "Wha- What? But- but why me?" Zakarij half-knelt before her, her fingers trailing across Samantha's cheek, sending tingles through the woman. "You have natural power and skill; even untrained in the local arts, you have been able to help summon my form to Earth, more substantially than any other I have known." Her hand descended to one of Samantha's breasts now, idly trailing over the nipple, making it pucker and tighten. "And your form is pleasing to me. I would enjoy having you as my pet." The hand dropped between Samantha's parted legs, moved over her bush, across her labia, roughly manipulating her. Samantha shuddered in place, felt herself respond to the touch even as she fought with the notion of rejecting Fenris. He had been her Master, for years! How could she abandon Him now? Because it would be to save Him. She loved Him. Not as a pet or a slave, but as a woman. Loved Him so much that she would risk never seeing Him again, never feeling Him against her, beside her... she couldn't make such a decision now, even as she knew such offers were not made lightly, or held in abeyance for long. She dropped her head and let the tears fall unhampered to the ground as she murmured, "I'll- I'll do it." Zakarij released her hold on Samantha and straightened up once more and drawing closer. "Then seal your bargain with your new Mistress through the Fivefold Kiss." Samantha understood: the traditional Wiccan kiss on the feet, the knees, the womb, the breasts, and finally the lips. She descended to Zakarij's feet, kissed each in turn, then rose to follow suit with the goddess' knees. She straightened up to kiss her belly, but Zakarij's hand shot out and took Samantha by the hair. Her green eyes narrowed. "Too high, my pet." A part of Samantha expected this, and focused now on the goddess' sex, a full, thick delta of hair as snow-white as that on her head. She felt as if she was as if she was on an inescapable, stomach-churning river. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the bush, the familiar musk, so like her own. She pursed her lips and kissed, tasting honey. Now the hand at her head pulled her roughly to her feet, allowing Samantha to kiss each of her nipples, Zakarij forcing her to linger on each one, until she realised she had to suckle on them, making them peak. Their bodies pressed closer, Samantha felt her own nipples harden against her as Zakarij forced an open kiss on Samantha's lips, her tongue probing, demanding. Samantha felt herself responding, even as her eyes remained open, open to peer into those vivid green eyes... green eyes... Wolf Cry Mikhail's words from the other night returned to her: "This land is filled with gods and spirits and creatures... Kasmira, the Trickster, whose eyes shine like green fire and who lures men and women to passionate deaths..." Without hesitation, Samantha pulled back from the goddess' embrace, swung out and struck her across the jaw. The white-haired figure staggered back, looking as thoroughly shocked as any human would have. "How dare you? You will learn true obedience beneath Zakarij, my pet." Samantha ignored the thumping pain in her fist, never having struck anyone, man or spirit, before in her life. "No I won't. You're not Zakarij, no Wolf Goddess. You're Kasmira." The woman smiled a smile as cold and cruel as the harshest winter. "And you have unwittingly helped gather the necessary energies to let me take form within the world again - and helped awaken the Vukodlak within the man. I shall allow him to properly reward you for your services." She turned, almost having forgotten Mikhail, now transformed into the werewolf-like creature, any recognition of her by him seemingly buried too deep, as he lumbered closer, claws and fangs bared, the familiar shaft rising between his legs. Samantha dropped to her knees, taking a protective stance, knowing running would be useless, her mind desperately seeking protective spells and sigils, something she could empower using the immense energies still swirling about the clearing- wait... Face and body taut and angry and determined, she reached down and grapsed the collar, held it tightly as she focused her eyes on the Kasmira once more, letting oft-spoken words quickly escape her lips. "O Powerful Fenris, son of Loki and Angrboda, bound to the rock of Gioll, I, your servant, your possession, conjure thee on this night and at this hour here, to order firmed affairs with thee..." The Kasmira's face somehow whitened more than her hair. "No- NO!" Samantha felt the rush of air behind her, and instinctively dropped into a crouch, feeling the huge, hairy body leap over her and towards the Trickster. She looked up as she heard something she had never expected to hear: a goddess, screaming... and watched as her Master, Fenris, in full wolf form, tore into the Kasmira... It was something she had never witnessed before. She had seen real wolves killing real prey. She had even seen hers and Fenris' spirit offspring attacking men who had threatened her. But this was one spirit devouring another, ripping her surface features asunder until she haemorrhaged light and sound, before Fenris drew the energy into Himself like breaths. And the Kasmira's substance crumbled, even as she continued howling into the darkness, leaving nothing behind, no remains or traces. And when it was over, Fenris turned as if to face Samantha, and howled into the night, joined by His brethren in the surrounding woods. He had never seemed so strong and proud and a part of the world as he had that night, appeared a true God when compared to the deceiving demons such as Kasmira. And she had never been so pleased to see him. She started rising. "Master, thank you-" Eyes as red as roses fixed on her, and an angry growl that strummed across her skin made her stop, then drop back to her knees. He started padding closer - then stopped as something came between Samantha and Himself. It was Mikhail, pointed ears raised, fur bristled, claws bared, either wishing to protect her, or challenging this newcomer to his territory. But as strong as he appeared in his current state, he was small and weak when compared with a God... Fenris moved more swiftly than she could have imagined, knocking Mikhail several metres to her right, until he slammed into a tree and fell into a slump, alive but unconscious. She returned to see Fenris changing now, changing as she had seen before, as if to echo the Kasmira's transformation from wolf to human form. But He stopped in a transitional form, like Mikhail. No, not like Mikhail. Mikhail was a man who took on some of the essence of a wolf; Fenris was the opposite. Fenris appeared less humanlike, and yet with a magnificent nobility, a figure tall and more muscular than any man's, ash-grey fur patched with black around his neck, at the joins of his wrists and ankles, at the base of his tail, and dipping down his belly to steeple around his shaft, long and thick and pink and hanging. His eyes remained blood-red. And angry. Something made her not speak aloud just yet. But she couldn't help but feel gratitude that He hadn't killed Mikhail- Is your new mate that important to you? She jumped at the sound of His voice in her head, how it reached down and touched every part of her, became as much a part of her as her own thoughts and feelings. She lifted up the collar, to put it around her neck- He slapped it from her. Master, he's not my mate! He reached out, placed a hot, hairy hand on her head - and forced her down, gently but insistently, until her face nearly touched the ground - and, she could not fail to notice, pushing her rear end high into the air. She shuddered with fear and delight as He bent down, sniffed at her hair, along the bumped line of her spine, until she felt His hot breath between her cheeks. His scent on you says otherwise. Shame mixed with her growing arousal, and tears poured from her once more. "Forgive me, Master, I was- I was-" You were tricked. She started, as much by His revelation as by His nose, teasing the hot, wet groove of skin between her cheeks. "What? Who-" Her Master's voice murmured with amusement. The Trickster, of course. She sensed your power from the day you arrived in her lands, used her subtle spells to draw you closer to her unwitting pawn, to prevent you from properly summoning me. She churned and cultivated your guilt, deceived you into almost abandoning me. "Forgive me, Master. I thought she was Zakarij-" I know. As it is, I *am*Zakarij, as I am Fenris, aspects of the same primal force, like the faces of the moon. "Then- Then she never bound you?" NO ONE WILL BIND ME AGAIN. She yelped as she felt His huge clawed hands grasp her by the waist, then flip her over onto her back. She stared up at Him, watched helplessly and deliciously as he touched, then parted her knees. She felt the cool air on her wet sex, saw His own arousal growing. But He bent down, sniffed around her bush, sending shards of pleasure running through her. He had never had her like this before, it had always been from behind. "M-Master, forgive me-" His black snout moved down, over her labia, as His voice continued to caress her within. You keep asking that. When you do something worthy of begging forgiveness from me, then ask. His tongue, thick and flat and rough, lapped at her, making her squirm, unable and unwilling to escape His hold on her. Her head spun as He continued to work at her, waves of bliss rushing through her sweating, trembling body as His tongue dipped deeper into her. Do you understand? "Y-Ye-Yes- M-M-" The strokes quickened even after she lost her voice and cried out, cambering her back as she climaxed, breasts flat on her chest, shaking with her body, losing her sense of self, becoming a brief, blinding burst of sensation. This, too, was new; He had licked her before, but never to this degree. For a terrible, paranoid moment that threatened to crack her post-coital bliss, she feared that this was another deception, and not her Master. Samantha. Open your eyes. He used her name, something else that was new. She listened, looked at Him as He drew over her, feeling the hot breath from His snout on her face, and smelled herself on Him. No tricks. I am Fenris, but I am no longer your Master, and you are no longer my pet. You were willing to give yourself up for my sake. She was trembling, but still reached up and stroked His muzzle, the fur behind His ears, a move she would never have dared before, for it appearing too much like He was her pet, and not vice versa. "Of course. I love you." None before you has ever been as willing. None have meant so much to me as you. He shifted above her; she felt the tip of Him brushing across her sopping, sensitive entrance. This is new to me. Samantha understood, understood that He - he - meant more than just the position their bodies held now. She shifted in place, raised her rear from the ground and opened up for him. "For me too, Mast... for me, too." With her knees high up, her pussy pulsated from his ministrations as if shivering from the cool air, eager for him to fill her up. He didn't wait long, the crown of his cock impatiently nudging against her moist sex momentarily, before plunging in. She squealed aloud, reaching up and clasping his strong, broad, furry shoulders, feeling so small and helpless beneath him. He bent forward, licking at her throat, her shoulder, sometimes nipping her, as he drove into her, and she drove back, true lovers rather than master and pet. Their bodies met and matted with sweat as they thrust together, his claws digging into her skin, until she cried out, her pussy swept over with sweet release. Even as she was pushed over the edge, it continued relentlessly, again and again, until she begged for relief. But none was forthcoming, not until Fenris, too, thrust into her one final time, filling her with the hot, sticky seed that pushed her over the edge... She felt almost insensate as she lay curled up against his massive frame, her eyes focusing on the still-unconscious form of Mikhail nearby. Was he alright? He will live, and return to his old form in the morning. But the Vukodlak essence awakened within him cannot be put back to slumber, any more than the other ancient forces in these woods can be put to slumber again. His Beast will resurface as surely as the next moon. He will need your guidance, and mine, in mastering this. A new task for you, Samantha. She nodded slightly, even as sleep was quickly consuming her... "I don't mind. So long as you're with me." I would not have it any other way... my love... * It was dawn when she awoke, naked and shivering and aching all over, but feeling stronger and better than she had before. Fenris clung to her like a scent, one she would never wash off. She had no idea how this new facet to their relationship would progress. But she would relish finding out. Nearby moans drew her attention, and she twisted in place. "Mikhail!" He was still by the tree, still as naked as she was, but looking human again, if thoroughly confused and groggy. "Wha- Sam-" She took him in her arms and held him close. "Are you okay now?" "I don't- what happened? The last thing I remembered was helping you summon Zakarij... then nothing." Her mind raced ahead. They had a lot ahead of them, and not just about Mikhail's condition. There was also the wolf pack to escort to the reserve – not to mention the forces that have awakened in these forests. It was daunting. But they would manage. "Come on, let's get breakfast. We have a busy day ahead of us."