by Casey Morgan
Stuffing her with as much of my cock as I dare. I start to mutter to her about what a good girl she is. How she is my greedy, bad little wolf, and how much I’m going to enjoy training her. How much I will enjoy loving her and punishing her when necessary. It’s around this time, that I feel her ass shudder around me. It tightens around my cock, readying to come. Her muscles are so strong and strung out by the pleasure I’m giving her, she actually begins to shove me out. She begins to eject me from her warm, devious darkness, but I rebel. I fight back, claiming my hold on her again.
I spread her on either side of her cheeks, marking her with my nails, and making her sweet, gaping hole take more of my length. She will take my cum, which I feel building in thick, warm pools at the base of my balls. I growl and roar, concentrating on this sensation. I concentrate on how much cum I’m going to fill her smooth, virgin ass with. How much I want her to whimper and give a little cry when I do. Then, she will obey me when I tell her to keep it inside of her for a while.
“Take all of my cum, Ava,” I order, barking at her like the alpha I am. “I’m going to fill you up with my seed!”
Suddenly feeling the urge to bite her ass cheek, I lean forward and clamp down on it till I draw blood. Then, as I force my dick back into her, I feel my cock twitch at her inviting, hot center. As I fill her ass with cock again, beginning my grueling pace against her, I feel her muscles clench. They shiver and roll over me.
I feel my shaft muscles doing the same, as the warm liquid in my balls begins to travel up and out toward my tip. Towards my thick, chubby dick head buried deep in her ass. At that point, I spank her, hard, sinking my claws into her and causing her skin to redden under my touch.
She shouts out something, but it’s not in pain. She shouts in pleasure, of the unadulterated kind, that’s what’s gripping her. She screams from the orgasm she’s having, and the way my spanks pushed her to it.
As I hear her beginning to moan and whimper as she comes, I’m punched in the gut by my own sudden orgasm. Without any warning, I’m suddenly on a rocket of pleasure hurtling through space. I’ve suddenly strapped to the damn thing, with no ability to slow it down or control it. Before I can do anything other than let out a strangled, sharp howl, I feel my cock release its first shot of warm, thick cum, followed by another, and another.
Still more spasms out of me. Much more cum than I ever remember having, but I don’t pull out. I don’t stop filling her. I lean in closer, scrambling to keep a hold of her under the sweat and exhaustion beginning to grip me. I huff, and jerk under more waves of contractions as I orgasm. As they pull up and through my cock, more drops of cum still shoot into her.
Into my mate, and she accepts it all, hungrily and willingly. With love and lust equally. “Good girl,” I murmur, licking the scratches I’ve left to bleed on her ass, “good, good girl.” I pause, feeling one more spasm roll through me, before my dick is satisfied. “Take it all. You deserve it all,” I say, feeling listless and happy.
As the sparkle of release glows brightly for a moment, and then begins to fade, I realize I could learn to love this woman for eternity. I could learn to love the idea of being alive after so many years of being alone. Ava and I are a pack now.
“I’m no longer alone, Ava. And now, neither are you. All that’s left is our marriage. Our commitment to one another in the eyes of nature. Then we will start our pack. I’ll guide you through it all. You won’t be afraid. You’ll be happy. Overjoyed, and then we’ll go on our first hunt at midnight on Christmas day.”
I lean back on the couch and playfully slap her behind. She shakes a little at my touch and pulls to the opposite end of the couch. Her shoulders slump, and she sort of falls into herself. She mumbles something incoherently.
“What, my love?” I ask, reaching out to touch her knee.
She pulls it out of my reach as if my touch was fire. “I don’t want to be a werewolf,” she repeats louder.
At a lose for words, I just blink at her. I thought we were past this point. I stutter, “Ava, you can’t not be a werewolf. You’ve always been one. I just reminded you of what you are.”
She looks at me from under her long lashes. “Take it away, Cole. I don’t ever want to shift again. What ever you’ve done to me, take it away. I don’t feel like myself anymore. I can’t control my rage.”
I turn my body towards her and regard her fully. I reach my hands out for her. “Darlin’, I can’t take it away. It is and was what you have always been. I thought you understood that now. You were taking away from your pack as a pup and given to your adoptive family to raise. You were never human. There isn’t anything to take away.”
Repulsed by my grab, Ava jumps back and off of the couch. She backs away until her back is up against the kitchen counter and regards me with icy blue eyes.
“I don’t know you and you don’t know me, but you made me this and now you talk about marriage. But I don’t know you. Today was my first time. You took my virginity. This is all too soon. I want you to get dressed and go, Cole. I don’t ever want to see your face again,” she spat these words at me, her face filled with hatred.
Why does she continue to resist me? I wonder. Why is she not giving into my alpha aura? I have never heard of this happening before.
I stand and move towards her slowly. Holding my hands up before me in a placating gesture, I try to calm my mate. “Ava, just think of what you are saying. Do you want to be alone? Do you want to be a lone wolf forever?”
She shrieks and grabs a vase of flowers from the counter. With a quick toss she sends it flying towards me. I jump quickly to avoid being hit and the glass container shatters to the floor.
“You’re not listening to me. I’m not a wolf. I’m a person. I’m not alone. I have my mom and my friends and my theater company. I don’t need you,” she shouts. “Get out of my life! Get out of my home!”
My shin stings. I look down and see that a shard of glass has cut me. My mate has deliberately hurt me. It’s unthinkable.
I point to the blood flowing from my leg. “Look at what you’ve done, mate. You’ve hurt me. What were you thinking? If you keep acting this way then I will go and never come back.” I stamp my foot to make my anger clearer.
Ava grabs a butcher knife from the counter and throws it at me. It flies by me and buries itself into the wall. I feel myself deflate. Fuck this. I did not put all this effort into starting a pack to be mated to a crazy woman.
I grab my clothing and start to get dressed. “You want me gone, Ava? Fine. I’m gone. You can be alone for the rest of your life. That rage you are feeling is never going to go away without me. This angry rage-filled person is all you will ever be.” Fully clothed, I storm towards the front door.
“You don’t know me,” Ava growls at my back. “I never want to see you again. Stop telling me who I am! You don’t know the first thing about me. You’ve never asked.”
I turn to look at her one last time. Her blue eyes are wild. She’s on the verge of shifting again. And if she does, the violence will overcome her. Part of me wants to move back towards her, and try one more time, but she grabs another knife and hurls it at me.
I shut the door behind me and leave.
Chapter 17
Ava
Friday, December 25, 20XX.
When I regain consciousness (something I didn’t even realize I’d lost) I become aware of three things distinctly and acutely. One, I’m on the floor. Two, my clothes are shredded to hell, as if the rest of my furniture. Bite and claw marks are everywhere. Third, my phone is ringing like crazy. It’s blasting its techno frenzy into my apartment and into my numb, ringing eardrums.
Blindly, I fumble around for it. Somehow, it’s on the floor next to me. Hidden in the shreds of my clothes, which I’m still not sure why or how they happened. I pick up the phone without even glancing at the screen. “Hello?” As I speak, I pull my aching body up off the floor, and stumble toward something that resembles my bedroom.
I feel w
orse than drunk. Worse than hung over. Like I got smashed over the head with German-sized beer tankards like the ones at the restaurant last night, and then smashed headlong into the dividing line on the highway.
Sarah’s concerned, and irritated voice is on the other end, surrounded by sounds of the theater. Sounds of music in full swing, accordion, trumpets, practically screaming, “Christmas!” in my ear.
“Ava? Ava, where the fuck are you right now?” she says.
I don’t have an answer for her immediately. I’m still too busy stumbling drunkenly toward my dresser drawers, trying to fish out some clothes that aren’t shredded to hell.
“Do you have any idea what fucking time it is right now?” she asks me when I’m too busy splashing around in my fragmented consciousness for answers. I don’t have anything, just foggy memories of Cole. Memories of being angry at him, but nothing about what happened after I left the restaurant. After I got behind the wheel of my car.
“It’s almost 4 o’clock in the evening, Ava!” shouts my friend when all I have for us yet is more silence, like I should know better, like I am better than leaving her hanging like that. And usually I am.
But I’m feeling hollow inside. Mechanical almost, like I was never real. Made of flesh and blood but made from someone else’s construct.
Sara scoffs angrily. “Do you have anything to say? About the fact that your play is going to be premiering in an hour? About the fact that you let us hang around here without you for hours today? On Christmas? At the theater, while you’re doing what? Recuperating from being hung over?”
I shake my head to it all, finally managing to gather all of what I think are essential for clothes me. “I’m sorry,” I say.
Numbly, I’ve started to put on my clothes, irritated by the humming sensation the setting sun and rising full moon gives me. The light is cooler in color with it being evening, but it feels obnoxious on me. Like a bunch of bees made out of photons, the light bombards me. It stings at me, and my blood weirdly, with cruelty, with hunger and malice, almost driving me to step out into it and to embrace my new identity as a flesh and bone instrument built for some maniacal musician.
“Just get your ass over here,” says Sarah, letting me hear the vicious edge in her voice. One I’m sure will match her Mohawk. “Just get here and get to work. Show up for your dreams, Ava, or kiss them goodbye.”
With that, she hangs up and leaves me to finish dressing. I sit with myself, marveling at how much I feel empty. I feel devoid of any bones or muscle, though I’m sitting upright, and getting dressed. Those all feel like illusions, parlor tricks placed on a body that has nothing actually functioning about it anymore. I become sure of this when I look at myself in the mirror. My eyes are icy blue, glowing in the dark. They practically melt the glass of the mirror the longer they stay pinned there.
I retrieve my keys and wallet from my shredded pile of clothing and head out. As I drag myself out the door and down the stairs, into my car, I feel bitter and heartless. The singing in my blood grows louder, more metal and tin sounding as I put the car in gear. The closer I drive to the theater, the louder this singing becomes, until it’s all out wailing in my veins.
I ignore it all, focusing my mind on one single wish: that I don’t see Cole waiting there for me. If I do, I don’t know what will happen first: kissing or killing him. The way I am now, both are equally likely and equally deadly, with the way my mouth is.
After what seems like a long, grueling drive, I arrive at the theater. I stumble to the stage, all the while going past signs for my upcoming show. My over-stimulated heart, which won’t stop fluttering and beating around in my chest cavity, is like a thin, frail bird.
When I finally reach the stage, the surrounding auditorium of chairs not-yet filled with patrons, I immediately escape my mind by doing anything and everything I can. I go over lines with actors, helping organize sets of bits of scenery, bits of background and other props.
Thankfully, I don’t see Sarah. I don’t see her the first hour I’m there, nor for hours afterwards. And that’s okay with me. I’d much rather be alone. Escape her wrath and her lectures. I’ve got enough wrath and lecturing going on in my own head without her supplementing it.
As I do various tasks, no matter how intently I try to focus, no matter how wholly and completely I try to involve myself in each segment of coaching, modifying costumes, finalizing lighting selections or sound bites, none of it takes away the gnawing at my spirit. The nipping at my heels, and by Cole’s aura and the memory of him. I can’t give him up. I want him back.
The weight of agony and regret is all I feel draining into me with each passing minute. It deepens and stretches throughout my body, chilling and numbing everything as it goes from limb to limb. I fight this sensation, this avalanche of guilt overshadowing me, but in the end, I can’t outrun it. I can’t escape it, thanks to a ping on my phone.
I shudder in my soul and know it’s Cole before I ever look at the phone. It’s a voicemail from him; one finally replying to the one I’d sent only thirty-six hours ago, though now it feels like thirty-six years. Though I’m already preparing my heart for a letdown, I’m not prepared for how blistering cold and final his words are. How much this is not the voicemail I’d been thirsting for, nor the way I really wanted it to end. But, as I listen to his words for me, I know it’s over.
He says he doesn’t plan on coming to help with the play. He assumes that I don’t need him or want him. He wants no pay. No compensation, other than the pain and suffering I’ve caused him. Those memories will serve well enough, he tells me. He then proceeds to tear into me for my lack of care or compassion. My lack of understanding for his plight and my resistance to being a wolf.
I waver on my feet, hearing all this. Crying as he cuts me loose. As he condemns me to a life of loneliness, of going through the days and hours like their own individual death sentences. I sink down onto one of the chairs, noticing how he doesn’t call me by my name or say his. He doesn’t leave any indication of warmth or hope that I may fix what’s been broken between us. He leaves it broken in all its glory for me to see and take responsibility for, since I’m the one who wanted him gone.
A fact I can’t minimize, as I drop my phone onto the floor next to me, wondering how much worse tonight could get. Tonight was and is supposed to be my night. My time to shine. The time for my theater to shine as well, since this is our first real gig since opening, but all of that seems meaningless now. It’s frail and without substance, now that I know just what lonely agony I’m going to experience for the rest of my life.
You’ve made a terrible mistake, Ava, says my inner wolf. You’ve done something that never should’ve been done. You’ve pushed away the one other soul you need. Your other half. The one who can not only make you whole, but who can make you into a better, more confident person. The woman you’ve always wanted to be but lacked the courage to embrace. And now you’ve sent all that away. So far away, he’ll never come back.
I shiver into myself, feeling tears of panic begin to overwhelm me, along with the first strains of my lungs beginning to hyperventilate. Never come back? I curl into myself. Into the dark, brutal parts of my head. If he never comes back, I won’t be able to survive without him. I won’t be able to just wake up one day and forget about him.
I remember how different my eyes looked in the mirror. I saw how different my face is now. I’m like him. I’m a werewolf. A creature who will not just die because I ignore my true nature. The memory of shifting will never fade from me. The wildness and rage will never be gone. The agony of being without my pack and my alpha will eat me up like a burning fire.
But then I don’t think Cole would be satisfied with that. He’d want me to keep on living without him. I grip myself tighter, realizing there’s no saving myself from the storm. No sanctuary from the desolation inside of me. What he’s suffered for however long he’s been alive, he wouldn’t want to watch me do the same. And this time from heaven or hell, wherev
er he ends up. I’ve made a mistake, and there’s no going back from it. There’s no fixing it.
My phone pings at me again, just as someone throws on the stage lights, and begins to put the first backdrop up behind the curtain. I don’t care to look at it. Something tells me it’s more bad news. Something else letting me down. Someone else, though I know the biggest letdown is myself.
Even as I stand there, watching my creation come to life, I feel like it’s already ended. And I want nothing more than to take it all back. Then to invite Cole to my home, not sending him away into the darkness. Away from me. Away from any chance at being whole ever again.
It’s just now seven-thirty p.m. A little less than half an hour before “The Wolf Who Saved Christmas” is due to premiere on our stage, in the middle of a glowing, happy and alcohol-induced Christmas audience. Music and lights are ready, as are the stagehands.
But despite the cheery atmosphere and the gathering audience, tonight keeps getting worse and worse for me. And that bearer of bad news happens to be Sarah, who’s just materialized out of some dark part of the theater, a deep scowl on her face. “Get my text?” she asks.
I did, but I didn’t read it. Which ends up being the same thing as not getting it in today’s world. So, I just nod my head “no,” and decide to take whatever comes.
Her frown deepens, and I know it’s not good. “Well, I guess I don’t have to wonder why Big Sexy Boy isn’t here with you tonight.”
