by Casey Morgan
I know it’s made her angry and irritable; a lone wolf like me who has never found her true pack and feels its lack sharply like a constant ache. She stomps her foot and yells into the phone. I can smell her anger, hot and gritty, like a forest fire. Longing to comfort her, I have to hold myself back. I need to find a way to contact her subtly, to get her used to my imposing presence without fear.
I smile to myself. Although, a little bit of fear might do her good.
My virgin hangs up her phone and kicks a snow bank, sending little white flakes flying everywhere. “Marry fucken Christmas to me,” she mutters in a low growl. “How am I ever going to find replacements this close to the play’s opening?”
A few tears line her cheeks, but she wipes them away quickly. I want to run to her and hold her, but she will see me as a stranger and not her alpha, not yet. She doesn’t know what she is. My poor lone wolf was given to a human family to raise when the scrutiny of humans was coming too close for the wolf packs to bear.
Twenty years ago, all the wolf pups were all split up. Taken away from the packs, they were hidden in an effort to conceal our nature and numbers from the growing human population. Most were adopted to human families who never knew what they were. Alpha males, like me, were taken by a secret government agency to be held and raised in special camps. We were taught to be warriors, soldiers for our country, obedient and subservient to every order. But Alphas are never subservient, and the camps were destroyed as soon as we came of age. Hiding our identities, we mixed into the human population to try to find other Weres and restart the packs. It’s taken years for most to find mates and wolves do not survive well alone.
The woman before me is my salvation. An alpha female and a virgin who is just waiting for me to make her mine. She turns towards me, as she stalks around the theater’s parking lot, but she doesn’t see my wolf-form hidden in the shadows. She places another call, this one to her adoptive mother, gripping her phone like it holds all the answers. My hearing is sharp, and I eavesdrop on their conversation. My angel needs help with her Christmas play. I smile to myself. That will work for our introduction.
I pad backwards carefully and slip further into the shadows behind the theater, drunk with her. Her smell and body call to me. I will have her soon. I will make her mine. I will take everything she has to give.
After settling on a plan, I shift to my human form and feel the cold air against my skin. I find my pile of clothing and slip them on. My wolf form is warmer, but I need to be human to be able to approach the theater.
Fully clothed in jeans and a sweatshirt, I look over the theater’s parking lot for my love. She’s gone inside, but a lanky man in all black clothing is standing outside smoking a cigarette. I approach him cautiously. Once he hears my steps, he looks up at me with tired eyes.
“Can I bum one?” I ask, my slight Southern accent apparent. The camp I was raised on was in Southern Louisiana.
The human blinks at me a few times, and then he hands over the pack of cigarettes.
Immune to carcinogens, I take one out, fish for the lighter in my pocket, light it and breathe in the smoke. The man watches all my movements with fascination. Alphas are hard to not watch; our presence is hypnotizing.
“Cold,” he comments, for a lack of anything else to say.
I nod. “Indeed.” I give him a smile. “What’s the play?”
The human looks away and his eyes turn distant. “Some Christmas pageant. It’s been a nightmare. The writer’s a real bitch and we keep losing our stagehands. At this rate, the show will be canceled.”
“That’s a shame.” I lean against the wall to knock the snow off my boots and take another drag of my cigarette. “I bet that will disappoint a lot of people and kids. I’m new in town, maybe I can help.”
He turns to look me in the eyes and scowls. “The pay is shit, man.”
I laugh at his candor. “Whatever it pays will be fine. Do you have the writer’s phone number?”
He sticks his cigarette in his mouth and pulls a cell phone from his pocket. After scrolling through the contacts, he hands the phone to me.
Ava Winterborn, I read. That’s my mate’s name. Excellent.
I program her number into my phone and then give the young man’s back.
“I’ll give her a call,” I tell him. He shrugs, not understanding why I would. “Any place close by were a man can get a meal?” I ask. “Close enough to walk to?”
He points towards the North-West and the end of the parking lot. “The Great White Wolf is decent. Just a few miles down.” He drops his cigarette butt and stomps it out. “Good luck, man. Maybe I will see you soon.” After giving me a quick nod, he departs back into the warm theater.
I quickly call my love. She doesn’t answer, which is fine, and I leave a message. She will have to call back as soon as she hears my voice. She won’t be able not to. Even over the phone my presence will command her and drive her.
I stomp out my cigarette and decide that I need to prepare for our meeting, Ava’s and mine, or it’s possible I will lose control of myself. Heading back into the shadows of the tall bushes that line the theater, I take one last whiff of her lingering scent. I stalk through the dark woods till I know I’m completely alone. Then I stop, close my eyes and lean against a tree.
Her image comes to my mind, full and vivid. I imagine running my hands through her long black curls and kissing her pink lips. I would remove her glasses and stare into her blue eyes, seeing her desire for me. My cock stiffens at the thought of her being close and the fantasy of the feel of her body underneath my hands. I pull its length from my pants, and start stroking it gently.
In my daydream, I undress and touch her virgin body. Her breath catches at my touch, but she doesn’t move away, since she is in my power. I kiss and lick her neck as she leans into me, allowing me to run a hand up her smooth stomach and around her firm, soft breasts. Her breath comes in gasps as I squeeze them and rub my thumbs over her nipples till they harden underneath my touch.
She reaches for my bare, long, thick cock. She touches it tentatively, gently at first. All is wonder to her or will be during our first time. Touching my cock makes her wet; I just know it.
I reach down and slip my hand between her legs, brushing a finger along the silky length of her pussy lips, as if to confirm my suspicious. Yes- my finger comes back dripping wet. She’s ready. I will take her and make her mine.
I turn Ava, bend her over on hands and knees, and marvel at her generous round back side. I feel the fullness of her ass, grabbing her cheeks with my eager hands and spreading them to expose her willing virgin pussy. With one finger, I trace her lower lips, taking her moisture and spreading it around. When she is fully wet and ready, I rub the tip of my cock on her folds. Her pussy quivers a bit, nervous at my hard cock’s first touches, but she begs me to fill her. I push in slowly at first. As slowly as I can stand. But I can’t stand it long.
From easing my way into her warmth and wetness, I plunge in with both feet. Or rather, with all of my length. I don’t hesitate, wait or question. I’ve done enough of that for one lifetime. I’ve been a lone wolf for way too long. It’s time for me to form a pack of my own and this little virgin is going to be the first step in the process.
In seconds, I’m all the way inside her, as far as my long, thick cock will go, and it feels amazing. Her pussy is warm and insulated, like being surrounded in silk and satin. Her virgin walls clench me tight, holding my cock in close-fitting grip. For a moment, all I can do is lean into the young woman. I collapse against her, smell her scent, and savor the feeling of being inside her. I love being hugged and cradled by her pussy.
Then I start to fuck her. She gasps a bit as I first pull back, her pussy walls not wanting to let me go. But I don’t hold back for long. I ram my hungry cock into her. Thrusting harder and harder, till I feel the friction and heat caused by my steely rod sliding in and out of her. It awakens my wolf.
I grip her backside hard, letting my
nails rip into her ivory flesh. Her flesh gives underneath my claws, and under my cock as I ram her. Traces of her blood come forth, a sharp contrast against her virgin flesh. It’s delicious. The sight is simply addictive, and even though I hear her beginning to whimper and moan, I don’t stop. I don’t slow down.
If anything, I speed up. I strengthen my hold on her hips, her pelvis, and grind against her more. Harder. I’m thrusting to a peak of pleasure and lust unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. Her pleasure overcomes her, and she cries out. She howls, now awake to her full nature and the wildness of her soul. Her pussy grips me hard and then starts to pulse. It calls for my seed and I let my cock thrust into her deep, unloading my balls into her waiting womb.
In reality, I spend myself into my hand. It’s a poor substitute to my lover’s willing pussy, but it is all I can do for now. I groan out my pleasure and lean harder against the tree. My head is swimming. It won’t be long, my love, I think. I will have you soon and then… then you will know what you really are.
I catch her scent again. It’s fresh. She must be outside the theater once more. I zip my cock back into the confines of my jeans and dash towards the parking lot just in time to see Ava drive away. Her car is too fast to follow on foot, so I shift to my wolf form, scoop up my clothes in my mouth, and run after her on paws.
Chapter 2
Ava
“The Wolf Who Saved Christmas”, that’s the name of the play I’m preparing to present at this year’s Christmas festival in my small town of Shady Glen, Minnesota. It’s my flagship play, the first play I ever wrote, for my theater company, Dark Moon Productions. That’s the theater and entertainment company I founded with a college friend of mine, Sarah. Our great plan was to write plays that opened minds and start producing more theater in our boring little town. Starting with a Christmas play seemed like a great way to get the town’s interest and support.
It’s a sweet story of two werewolves in Victorian London, who use their powers to track down a thief who is stealing Christmas presents and capture him. But the werewolf lovers are at odds about what to do with the man they capture, and it brings strife to their relationship. The alpha wants to kill the man, but the alpha’s mate and wife resists his authority and takes the man to the police. Learning that she disobeyed his orders, the alpha turns the good wolf out. Alone, she is captured by the church because the thief told them of her true nature. She begs for her mate to return to her, as she faces a revolver full of silver bullets. He is the only one who can save her.
There’s just one problem. Well, multiple, actually. But they all cause the same fucking headache. We have so much work to do: get sets built, get actors to actually memorize their lines, and organize other props and musical numbers, but no one is here to do it. No one is here to help.
Virtually everyone I had hired to do this work for me has apparently decided that today is the day that they’re going to just blow me off. It’s three days shy of when I’m supposed to be opening a polished, perfected Christmas play. But for the stagehands, today is a complete and total fuck off. They are basically giving me the proverbial finger.
I sit down on the edge of the stage, raking my hand through my curls. I’m already irritated. I have been for a number of hours now, ever since the first call came in with someone quitting.
No one is here to do the crafting that happens outside of phenomenal acting, or lighting work. All the set builders quit, along with the costume designers, and now, none of any of those things will get done on time. It’s too much to handle.
I take out my phone, seeing my haggard reflection in the perfect, smudge-less glass. “There has to be someone I can count on,” I mutter, seeing my trendy, black rimmed glasses reflected in the phone as I swipe into it. I’m determined to try to do something useful, like check the ad for help which I left on an online classified website, Greig’s List, or some such nonsense like that.
Even as I think this, in the reflection of the phone screen I can see the sharp lines of my face drawing inward, pinching with irritation. I’m annoyed that I have to be doing extra work because no one around here wants to do any at all.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the workers and actors who are here. The workers are still fumbling and bumbling about. The actors are rehearsing fine. It’s been hard to get local actors to take anything seriously, but they listen to me, unlike the stagehands. Yes, they’re present, and they’re doing some work, but by the looks of it, they’re doing it all wrong, again. After both Sarah and I have told them numerous times how things should be done; how things should be organized and carried out, this close to opening night.
Hearing a crash and fumble of something precious and no doubt irreplaceable from somewhere in the dark recesses of the theater hall, I snap my head up. I glare at the gathered workers. I hold onto my black curly hair for comfort, so that I don’t take their simple, meaningless lives when I decide to strangle them.
“Would you please be more careful!” I yell. “For God’s sake, we have a play to put on, not a garbage heap to make!”
The gathered stagehands flinch at me, and I know why. I’ve probably got that death glare going on at the moment. It’s not something anyone really wants to stare down. Especially if they’re not getting paid all that much to put in these hours, but I don’t care.
They don’t understand what it’s like to try to build a dream, just to have unskilled, talentless people accidentally fucking it all up. Making a mess out of something that should be organized and beautiful.
The set for this play needs to be goddamn amazing, if I’m ever going to get this show and this company off the ground, I think, as I watch them all loitering around, shuffling nervously at my anger. I know they’re wondering when I’m going to come over there and go all werewolf on them.
Werewolf. That’s what my mother always calls my tendency to lose my temper and yell. She says it’s because I try to control everyone and everything in my life. She would tell me, like many others have since, that I need to loosen up and go with the flow, but I can’t. Chaos irritates me. I want to be surrounded by people who I can count on, people I can depend on, but reliable people seem so rare. If I don’t try to control the actions of everyone around me, I’m always disappointed by them. Just like I am now.
But none of the beauty that I envisioned is going to come through, if nobody does their fucking jobs right, I think. And if nobody else cares enough to be here, it’s just going to be me all the time. Doing everything, just like I always do.
After this blistering and morose thought about my fate in life, I finally tell the stagehands to just get back to work, to stop screwing up, and to get and keep on schedule. Then we can all go home and have some semblance of a night tonight, before we all have to come back and do this shit all over again tomorrow. We’ll have to work all day, and probably into the night now based on today’s screw ups and lack of help, to make sure everything’s ready by Christmas day.
Most of the hired help disperses after this but a few of them linger. Whispers float my way, asking if I really am okay, though their questions are not directed to me personally. Their murmurings are to each other, almost in secret, as if they’re afraid I’ve lost my mind.
I probably will if this play crashes and burns. If I make absolutely no impression during the Christmas festivities, I will most certainly lose my mind then. As well as any hope of doing anything worthwhile with my theater degree.
With a heavy sigh, I return to unlocking my phone and looking at my screen. One new voice mail. What? The stupid thing didn’t even ring. I dial voicemail and prepare for more bad news.
“Hello, Ms. Winterborn,” a strange man’s voice with a slight southern drawl speaks to me from the recording.
I immediately feel my heart rate increase. My breathing slows to a crawl and sweat begins to form on my fingers and the palms of my hands as I grip the phone and listen to the message in its entirety.
“Ms. Winterborn. My name is Cole Grayso
n. I’m interested in helping out with your production between now and Christmas. I am good with theater, having studied it to a great extent in my youth. More importantly, though, I am interested in helping with the heavy lifting. I have good, strong muscles. I am new to the area and I would love nothing more than to help launch your inaugural show. Please call me if you are still interested or in need of assistance in this, or any other matter. I’ll be waiting for your call. Goodbye.”
His voice is deep and resonate. It’s sound sends electricity through my veins. I feel lusty. There is an intoxicating feeling to his voice, to him, I think automatically, even though I don’t know who he is. This… Cole Grayson.
Even from just listening to his words, there’s something about him that’s overwhelming and suffocating, but in a hungry, delightful way. It’s a way I’m not sure I quite understand but I’m eager to experience more.
Cole’s call has me grinning from ear to ear and stumbling over my own fingers to call him back. After days full of lazy or clumsy workers, his promises are exactly what I need.
My call goes to his voicemail and I am disappointed. I leave him a quick reply.
“Hello, Mr. Grayson. As it happens, I am in dire need of people to come and help. As of today, most of my original crew has abandoned the production, for one reason or another.” I can’t help it, I start flushing with heat and excitement, just replying to him. “I could really use your extra pair of hands.” I could use his strong, capable muscles as well, but I don’t dare say that, or allow myself to think about it for more than a second. “If you are still interested in giving your time, know that I am willing to pay at least twelve dollars an hour at this point. Please give me a call back as soon as possible. Have a great evening, and I look forward to hearing from you!”
I hang up and stare at my phone for a bit. I wish he had answered. I feel a combination of trepidation and excitement. It’s a mixture of joy and fear, as if I’m about to find myself at the edge of a precipice, or in the mouth of a terrifying beast. I shake my head trying to get the feeling to go away.
