Winter Wolf

Part 4

The day after Leander's departure was a quiet one. Axton stayed in his wolf shape all day, unable or unwilling to calm down enough to change out. Mostly, he spent his time unable to sleep, curled up in a miserable little ball on his bed. Eventually he got tired of sulking and so he went outside. Outside, he curled into a miserable little ball under his swing. Still, he did not sleep.

Half ashamed and half too far gone to care, Axton eventually crept over to Leander's cabin. On Leander's porch, he curled up into a miserable little ball yet again, as if it was the only shape he knew-and, finally, he slept.

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For a few days more, Axton kept close to the cabins, hardly leaving to hunt, and even then only going a few feet into the woods. He slept much yet rested little, kicking with his eyes closed as he dreamed. Each day he ventured out a little further, hunted for a little longer. He went from barely eating to eating just enough to get by, and one fine dawn he padded to the top of a hill and greeted a glorious sunrise with a deep, thrilled howl.

He took down a buck that morning, and ate like a king for a week.

After that his days became almost normal again--he went on wild runs and faithfully patrolled his borders.

Each time there was a thunderstorm, Axton would look up into the clouds for a minute, searchingly, and the sweet scent of Leander's skin would flood his senses.

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There was at least one permanent objective change in Axton's routine: he now specifically patrolled Leander's cabin, too. Though Axton's territory was huge and the exact boundaries were somewhat theoretical--he was far from home and had settled in an area with apparently very few werewolves--he always trotted around his own cabin and checked on it throughout the day or night unless he went very far.

Now, he circled Leander's, too, making sure that no one found it and no one intruded. A family of pheasants settled in his bushes and Axton flushed them out, much as he chased away the foxes and raccoons that tried to cause trouble. With his wolf's eye he still noted human details, so one day when he possessed thumbs he went out and cleared the gutters. He tolerated an infestation of bats in a nearby tree, because his human self knew they would keep the insect population in check.

Though he took care of these things, he did not do them with a heavy heart. He did not pine for Leander in a languishing, heart sick way, or torment himself with visions of Leander's life in the city. Instead, Axton's chores were matter of fact, and he thought of them as things he should have been doing anyway for the other cabin that he'd just been slacking on. His life did not stop in Leander's absence, for there was much to do. Beyond that, wolves did not brood, not like humans did. He had his land, his health, his runs--he was content.

But the wolf did remember him fondly, and the wolf did yearn for the touch he'd never experienced, Leander's hands stroking his fur.

It was only Axton's human shape that woke up weeks later from a dream, his mouth dry, tongue swollen clumsy in his mouth, his dick so hard it ached. Leander's bare shoulders, golden skinned and muscular, shone with sweat and work in his memory. Axton fumbled in the dark and tried a quick squeeze to will the erection away. When that didn't work, he groaned and rolled over on his stomach.

There were times, few and far between, when Axton would wander into town and a beautiful man would catch his eye. He never spoke to them and hardly dared a direct look, instead keeping his gaze downcast, lowered lashes dark against his skin, as he passed by. But his eyes were sharp and a few quick glances informed him perfectly of broad shoulders and tapering hips, and his nose had always filled in the rest with their scent. So sometimes Axton would return home and imagine himself touching one of those men, and being touched in return. And he would let his breath hitch, and he would touch himself in the dark, steadily and to completion. That was fine, and did not trouble him. Those men didn't matter and he hardly ever thought of the same one twice.