Taken by the Lone Wolf Pt. 01

This is a more romantic and less explicit story, but the sexy times will come <3 hope you guys enjoy the change of pace!

***

Hooks pending from the low roof beams sagged under the weight of fresh game, some still waiting to be skinned. The carcass was turned from side to side and the hook tingled against the iron beam. Iris held on the bone of the ankle to keep it in place, took her cleaver and separated the leg from the body, arranging i neatly on the tray. By the time the deer was fully disassembled, her hands trembled with exhaustion. Just that day, she had cleaned two whole animals alone, their weight grinding into her shoulders. 140 kilograms of meat and bone each. The leather would be hanged to dry later, the heads had been carried away for entertainment.

The butchery felt warm and stifling, pressing in around her. The mess was testing her patience, but she had to choose between cleaning it and finishing her work on time. The heavy wooden tables, deeply marked with use, remained stained no matter how hard they were scrubbed. Bones and stray feathers littered the stone floor, swept into uneven piles that never quite caught everything. Buckets of blood and viscera were stacked in the corner. The air was thick with the scent of raw meat, vinegar, and the forest beyond. A half-open window let in the rustling of leaves and the damp breath of soil, though it also invited flies, which Iris swatted away absently with a bloodied rag.

Her knife moved quickly through muscle and sinew, separating the larger pieces into smaller cuts. Work was usually kinder to her, but, just that day, the high and mighty betas went to hunt. Then they expected a feast, and Iris had to do the hard work. Soon, she'd carry the meat to the kitchens to be grilled and served upstairs. And all she would have for herself was the blood and the bone scraps she managed to store.

Away from her butchery, the bell tolled. Once, twice... seven times. The alarm. She stood still, listening. The butchery's thick door to the outside often stood ajar. The wind carried the scent of the hunt -- wolves, blood, metal. But then it shifted, and she caught something else.

Acrid sweat. Salt. Piss. A lone wolf.

Iris exhaled sharply. "Dumb cub's going to get himself killed." The thrill of pursuit was thick in the air, and she already knew how this would end if no one intervened.

Dante didn't know what flying felt like, but in his dreams, it was a lot like running. For the fleeting moment when all four paws lifted from the ground, he felt weightless, carried by air. However the fierce presence beside him censured his daydreaming. This wasn't play. This was survival.

The wolves behind him moved in coordination, their formation shifting as they tried to corner him, forcing his path toward another group lying in wait. A trap. Dante turned sharply, paws kicking up loose dirt and leaves as he tore through the underbrush. The scents around him blended--pine, blood, sweat, so many different wolves. The metallic tang of bronze. A warning. He wasn't just running from teeth.

Then came the snap of jaws just behind his hind leg at the same time a spear flew in his direction. He twisted mid-stride and jumped, pushing off a tree to help his veering. The moment of weightlessness disappeared as his muscles burned, his breath ragged. A shape lunged from his left--a grey wolf, larger than him. He ran to the right, and the two groups closing in became just one, following. Too many. Too close. But falling behind. They were not fast enough.

Then something changed. The air shifted, and a new smell tore through the scents, cutting through the tangled mess of fur, sweat, and violence. Smoke. Vinegar. Blood. That was new. That caught his attention.

The alphas of Iris' pack had forbidden outsiders years ago--they believed mating should be a matter of family, alliances, and accords, and they couldn't have their daughters, nieces, or cousins being swept away by ruffian bachelors. Every spring, lone males, driven by heat, drawn by the pull of independence, tried to cross into their land. And every spring, the betas chased them off. Iris understood the call well enough. The mating call also burned beneath her skin.

Iris wiped her hands on her apron, hung the cloth, and sat near the door, watching the afternoon. The warm air carried the scent of blood from the butchery. The rest of the pack avoided the butchery except when bringing in game, so why was she hearing the barking grow closer? She bit her tongue. The betas were on him. She should go inside, avoid the trouble. But from the tree line, a shadow broke away, slipping through the leaves until dark fur brushed against the daub wall of the butchery. He moved fast, breath ragged from the chase. The wolf was huge, as large as the most powerful betas and alphas.

Then, as if folding in on himself, his body shifted--shrinking, reshaping.

Broad shoulders. A black wool coat clinging to a heaving chest. Sand-brown skin. Black, wary eyes still shining from the thrill of the run. Dark curls on his head and his beard. The wolves were closing in. Iris met his gaze, and something unfamiliar curled hot in her gut, something reckless.

"Come inside," she said, voice low. "Into the smoker room. The coal will hide your scent."

He hesitated only for a moment, then rose, stepping toward her. An idea struck. She gripped his coat.

"Give me this," she said. "Close the door. They won't enter."

He stripped it off without question. She bent down, shifting. Gray and brown fur took her skin, and her bones broke and twisted. Iris took the fur between her teeth and ran. Behind her, the butchery door shut, sealing the scent of the man inside.

Dante pulled the door closed until it clicked. He crouched low, nostrils flaring. Vinegar and gore filled his senses, thick and cloying. So few scents, so little to track--disorienting. All the clues were hidden beneath that thick stench. He moved closer to her apron, pressing his face near the side that had been against her body. There, past the leather, past the blood and flesh, was her scent. The salt of her sweat, the faint trace of soap, the fibers of her clothes, the oil in her hair. What she had eaten, what she had drunk.

His stomach twisted, hunger sharp and insistent. The room was full of meat. His gaze landed on a severed leg, red and glistening, and it brought water to his dry mouth. His pack would have to track for days to earn such a feast. And even then, the best parts would go to his father, his mother, the uncles. The bony parts and scraps would be left for him. That was fair--he was no pup anymore, and his mother needed the strength for the next litter she was raising. Still, he wanted that juicy portion.

He reached out, fingers skimming the flesh. They would notice if an important piece went missing. Scowling, he let it go and grabbed a bucket filled with rabbit and bird heads instead. Slipping into the smoker, he sat among the coal dust and pulled the door shut.

To have rooms like this, where meat was prepared, stored, cooked--this was lavish. A luxury. His pack rarely cooked at all, rarely took human form long enough to crave it. The wolves in the towns lived too well. No wonder they ran like sheep.

Dante exhaled in frustration, plucking a small rabbit head from the bucket. He bit into the leathered skin, tearing it apart. Bone cracked between his teeth as he dug for the brain. Greasy and thick. A delicacy, still. But not enough. He moved to the next. Here and there, her smell came up again. She had cleaned these animals. He couldn't imagine what it was like to be surrounded by such plenty every day. Yet her own wolf was small, scrappy, half-starved compared to the rest. Something didn't add up.

Dante ate and sucked the bones dry. Then he held the skulls and let five of them fall around his feet.

"I am in your hands," he said to thin air and shifted back, curling on the dusty floor to rest.

Iris ran until she reached the stream that marked the edge of the fortress. She let the water take the coat away and circled back, taking a detour. The smells of the night weren't strange. Despite everything that had happened, the forest was the same. However, the betas were still everywhere, sniffing around. Before she reached the butchery, she sensed eyes on her.

"Hey, bonepicker," one of them called. "Where are you going?"

She cowered, tail tucked between her legs, head low. The man walked closer, his white tunic dragging behind him.

"You should be preparing my dinner."

It was Menelay, one of the alphas' older sons. She lay down and turned her stomach up, displaying her utmost submission. Sandaled feet poked her ribs, but just that. Thank the gods he didn't taunt her further--she was not in the mood to be kicked. He smelled like grass, but also comfort--the fireplace, the blankets, wine, dates, honey, the cozy halls where incense burned.

Having asserted his dominance, he let her go. Iris throttled away, nose up in the air. The stranger's smell was faint, scattered. She reached her safe haven and was relieved to see the betas' trails had followed the stranger to her door and then moved on, falling for her trick. She returned to her human form as she pushed the door open.

Locked inside, Iris took a second to catch her breath. She hadn't run that fast and far in quite a while.

"Are you still here?"

The door to the smoker chamber creaked. Now, with time and peace, Iris could really see him. He was very different from the surrounding wolves--his skin was a few shades darker, even the whites of his eyes were stained with ochre. They were lined with thick, long eyelashes. His clothes were rougher than she was used to, not woven linen but thin leather.

He stepped out, apprehensive, and didn't get too close.

"I lost your coat. I'm sorry," Iris said.

"It doesn't matter. You helped me greatly." His voice was rough-edged, as if he didn't use it much.

"I can hide you in my hut," she said. "You can rest there before leaving."

"I'm already indebted to you."

"Care not to pay me back. I just don't want to see another pup suffer."

He laughed at that, his eyes glinting, his smile bright, light--utterly unguarded.

"You're kind, but I'm no pup."

Iris felt a warmth of shame creeping up her neck. She was used to misjudging people and getting bitten for it, but he just chuckled as if it was nothing. Of course. He was not pack, and she was no omega in his eyes. Imagine that.

"I have to finish my work first. I'm behind, and they expect this meat to be cut and delivered soon."

The stranger picked up a cleaver, holding it out to her. Then he took one for himself.

"I'll help you." His voice was soft, but Iris shook her head.

"No, they'll smell your scent on the meat!"

He turned his palm up, showing himself. His hands were rough, calloused.

"I bathed in your vinegar and sat in your coal. My scent is subdued."

Iris hesitated, eyeing his outstretched palm. The vinegar had stripped most of his scent, and the coal had masked the rest. Still, it felt wrong--dangerous--to let an outsider touch the pack's meat. But she was tired and late. Without a word, she took the cleaver from his hand and set to work. He mirrored her movements, his blade biting into muscle, separating flesh from bone. For a moment, the only sounds were the wet slice of steel through flesh and the distant rustling beyond the butchery walls.

Iris glanced at him from the corner of her eye. His technique was different. Rough, but efficient. His people likely tore meat apart with teeth and claws more often than they butchered it, she figured. Yet he worked with quiet focus. Her own cuts were neater, but there was no time to correct him.

"You've done this before."

"Not like this." He pressed his weight into the cleaver, cracking through a thick joint. "But I know my way around a carcass."

They worked in rhythm after that, the task swallowing the need for conversation. The last of the deer came apart in clean sections--ribs, shoulders, lean cuts. The offal went to the buckets. The bones to the scrap pile. The thick hides, set aside for drying. The wolves on leather duty would come to pick them up in the morning.

Iris exhaled, rolling her shoulders. The ache in her muscles throbbed beneath her skin. But the work wasn't done yet. She stacked the trays onto the handcart and dragged them out. The corridor of the butchery led her along a narrow path through the inner walls until she reached the kitchens.

The wolves on duty, sons and daughters of Arsinoe, barely spared her a glance. Their father was one of the reasonable alphas, too diligent to waste time with petty displays of dominance. They didn't scold her for arriving late. They knew the task had been great, and that was enough. Without a word, they took the delivery. The heat of the ovens roared behind them, thick with vapor and coal.

She turned to leave, but then one of Menelay's brothers stepped into the passage. Sweat clung to his skin, darkening his tunic, streaked with leaves and damp earth. In his hands, he carried the stranger's coat, dripping, still soaked through.

Iris felt her stomach drop, ice spreading beneath her ribs. But maybe, just maybe, the water had washed away any trace of her scent. She stepped back, retreating into the kitchen to let him pass. He barely acknowledged the kitchen door, his path set toward the inner rooms where the alphas gathered. But as he moved by, his gaze caught hers. A slow, judging look. Then, he sneered.

Iris held herself still, refusing to shift, refusing to react. Only when he disappeared beyond the curve, moving on to the deeper parts of the fortress, did she allow herself to breathe.

***

Dante was halfway through mopping the floor when the she-wolf returned. Anxious, he'd searched for something to do while he waited for her. He scrubbed the blood from the blades and hung them back on the wall, broomed away the debris, and was then washing the stone floor.

"You're fast!" She pointed, surprised.

He didn't stop working. "I imagine you want to rest as much as I do. Ah, what is your name? I almost forgot to ask. I'm Dante."

"I'm Iris," she answered and let out an amused sigh. Her shoulders sagged, the tasks pressing against her bones. That was a lot of work for just one wolf to do alone. "Let's finish up. I'll take you to my home so you can rest and hide away, but you must leave tomorrow morning at the latest."

"Of course." He wrung out the mop, leaning on it slightly as he considered her. "I was going to ask if I could eat the scraps."

She hesitated. "If you can wait a little longer, I'll take them home and cook for us."

That stopped him. A flicker of surprise still passed through his dark eyes.

"I don't think I can owe you more than I already do, my friend."

"Nonsense. I'll have to cook for myself anyway. Adding you to my plans will change nothing."

And then the surprise turned to confusion.

"Aren't you joining the feast after the hunt?"

"No, I'm not."

"Why?"

"I'm not welcome."

He frowned slightly, his head tilting as he studied her. "You're part of the pack, aren't you?"

Iris shrugged. "That doesn't mean I'm entitled to be invited to their parties."

Dante was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, almost cautious. "But you're the one who prepares their food. You should eat as well."

The she-wolf let out a breath, her grip tightening on the cloth. "That's not how things work around here."

Her body language told him enough. Her metaphorical tail was as tucked between her legs as her real one probably would be. He didn't press further. Instead, he moved to help, gathering the last of the tools. Finally, when everything was in place, Iris wiped her hands on her apron and nodded toward the back door.

"Come on. Let's go before anyone decides to come sniffing around."

Dante picked up the buckets of blood and scraps as he followed her out. The early night air was crisp, carrying the distant sounds of celebration from the heart of the pack's land, beyond the walls--laughter, voices raised in song, the crackling of fire. It all felt a world away. Most betas seemed to have already left the woods, and whichever ones lingered wouldn't follow the scents that announced Iris--they already knew her. Iris led Dante down the narrow paths that wove between the trees, keeping to the shadows.

Her hut stood on the very edge of the settlement, deeper in the woods. A small stone and daub cabin with a straw roof, the last survivor of what had once been a handful of homes. The others had long since crumbled, their stones reclaimed by the forest, leaving Iris as the lone inhabitant of a place half-forgotten. She pushed open the door and motioned for him to enter.

"Sit down. I'll start the fire."

Dante stepped inside, taking in the compact space. Thick stone walls cocooned him from the world outside, muffling the distant sounds of the feast, the scent of wolves and blood fading beneath layers of wood smoke and dried herbs. The air was still, warm, and faintly laced with the scent of tanned leather and iron. He felt right at home. The hut was simple, of course. A log table stood at its center. Against the walls, shelves lined with clay jars and bundles of dried plants suggested someone who prepared carefully for each season. A small cooking space was built into the corner, the hearth cold but clean. Fabric hung on the far side of the room: her extra tunics left to air and dry.

Iris busied herself with the fire, stacking the logs before striking flint. Sparks caught, dead leaves turning to flame, and soon the small space flickered with orange light. As she placed a pot on the fire to cook the blood and pieces of meat, Dante studied the room. There was a small table at the side where she gathered dried herbs around a small statue. He didn't have to inspect any closer--he recognized the symbols (the bouquet of wheat stems, the skulls, the pomegranate) of Persephone, the queen of the underworld. He wondered, then, who'd died and left Iris alone.

The butcher filled intestines with the bloody soup, twisted the tubes into sausages, then cooked and grilled them. Morcilla wasn't anything fancy, but Iris doubted that Dante would care. Besides, she needed to make her scraps last. As expected of a lone wolf traveling on his own, he'd been fasting for days. Once the plate of warm food was in front of him, he devoured it.

A beat of silence stretched between them before Dante gathered the will to speak.

"What is this place?"

Iris opened her eyes but didn't lift her head. "What do you mean?"

"Your pack. Your land." His voice was low, thoughtful. "I smelled them before I saw you. Too many. Too many scents, too many wolves. More than a hunting pack. More than a village."

Iris exhaled through her nose, staring into the dim shadows of her hut.

"The walls you ran along belong to Locri," she murmured. "The city of wolves."

Dante's ears twitched. He shifted slightly beside her. Curious now. Listening.

"Like a town of humans?" He let the words settle before speaking again. "You all live together? And answer to the same alpha?"

Iris let out a short, dry huff. "Not together, like, in the same house. Each of the alphas has their own household with their children and their loyal relatives. But they all answer to the eldest alpha couples from whom we all descend. They built this place generations ago and claim every wolf within as their own, forming one single, huge pack."

Dante made a quiet sound, as if considering the idea. "So you don't travel. And not all of you hunt?"

"Nope."

He huffed, shifting against the straw. "I'd never think wolves anywhere would want to live like humans." As if their nature wasn't beastly. As if they had never been cursed.

Iris chuckled. "Yeah, well. They do here. We are all half human, after all."

Dante was silent for a moment. Then, with a tone caught somewhere between amusement and curiosity, he asked, "And what about you? Do you live like them?"

Iris smirked faintly, though it didn't quite reach her voice. "I live like me. I don't like to deal with all the other wolves, so I stay here."

"I understand," he said, but she wasn't quite sure if he really did or if he was just being polite.

Satisfied that Dante didn't waste a single bite, Iris smothered the fire, letting the darkness settle into the hut. Wolf eyes didn't need much light. She shifted, paws scratching against the cool paving floor before stepping onto her straw mattress. Her body ached, but it was a dull, familiar pain. She curled into herself, tail flicking idly before resting around her belly.

Satisfied that Dante didn't waste a single bite, Iris smothered the fire, letting the darkness settle into the hut. Wolf eyes didn't need much light. She shifted, paws scratching against the cool paving floor before stepping onto her straw mattress. Her body ached, but it was a dull, familiar pain. She curled into herself, tail flicking idly before resting around her belly.

Behind her, Dante moved, his dark shape blending into the night. He circled her once, his paws heavy against the floor. His breath warmed the back of her neck as he sniffed at her fur, lingering just long enough to spark irritation. Iris let out a sharp, angry whine, warning him off.

But he didn't step away. Instead, he lowered himself beside her, stretching out until his tail brushed against hers. If either of them moved, the other would feel it and wake. She tensed, waiting for him to push the boundary further, but he remained still.

Iris huffed, considering whether to scoff him off and make it clear that her space was hers alone. But she was exhausted, her muscles heavy from the day's work, and his warmth seeped into her skin, steady and grounding. It was a comforting feeling--for once, someone guarded her sleep. If he was in heat, his self-control was strong enough to hold back. If he wasn't, then there was nothing to fear. She let him be.

Their peaceful sleep didn't last long. Night was just about to break into blue dawn, and all was still quiet when Dante woke up to high-pitched howls. The betas were still on the hunt, but now drunk and even more careless than before.

Iris got up swiftly, shifting mid-stride, her bones breaking and reforming without hesitation. She moved to the door, ensuring it was locked before lifting a thick timber and slotting it into the brackets, reinforcing the barrier. Then she stilled, waiting. Dante didn't like that one bit. The howls grew louder, echoing off the trees. Then came the barks, the uneven pounding of running paws, fast and eager. Too close. His muscles tensed. They weren't passing by. They were coming in their direction. Shadows flickered under the door. Claws scraped against the wood, slow at first, then more frantic, as if testing its strength. Then came the mockery, a snarling, howling laughter. They weren't hunting. They were playing a game at her expense.

A growl built in Dante's throat, low and dangerous, but Iris turned her head sharply, eyes flashing a warning. Stay still. Stay silent. Dante clenched his paws. The scratching at the door grew harsher. The betas outside whispered to each other, words slurred and mocking.

"Bonepicker..." one of them sang. Another let out a low, taunting wolf snarl.

Dante forced himself to remain still, but his claws scraped the dirt. If they got through that door, he wouldn't hesitate. A heavy thud rattled the wood, followed by another. They were kicking at it now. Iris remained frozen, barely breathing. Dante could feel the careful calculation in her stillness. She had dealt with this before. She knew how to survive it. Dante, however, wasn't sure he could just sit there and wait.

He walked closer to her and whispered in her ear.

"How many?"

She showed both of her hands, all fingers up. There were more wolves outside that door than there had ever been in the pack Dante grew up in. His gut tightened. Dante's ears rang as another thud rattled the door, wood groaning under the force. His eyes flicked to Iris. She hadn't moved, still standing motionless by the door, reading the air the way only someone who had lived among them could. Her body was tense, her breath slow, but she wasn't trembling. She had endured this before.

Another kick. Then a snicker. "We could break it," one of them said. "Drag her out."

Another voice, deeper and less amused, chimed in. Menelay.

"Iris, open the door."

She closed her eyes. Vinegar and soap still clung to her skin, but Dante's scent was everywhere. It was woven into the straw, lingering in the air, clinging to her hands from where she had touched him. If they got inside, they would smell him. Her fingers tightened around the wooden brace she had just set against the door. She had two choices: she could fold, open the door, let them leer, sniff, taunt her like they always did and drag Dante out, or she could push back, even if it meant making things worse. In the end, she was cornered either way.

She chose.

"Menelay, you are not welcome in my house. I'm not opening the door. Go away."

A sharp snort of laughter followed from one of his packmates. "Maybe the butcher forgot who she has to obey."

Iris' grip tightened.

"I have to obey your father," she snapped. "Not you bunch of morons."

Silence. For a moment, she thought she might have miscalculated. Then, a slow chuckle.

"Now, that's new," Menelay murmured. "The little bonepicker finally learning to talk back?" He pressed a hand against the door, as if he might push it open with nothing but his weight. "Come on, Iris. I know you helped the outsider today."

"Accuse me of whatever you like, but you will bring it to Alpha Atreus. Not to my house."

They all growled in anger, threatening.

"You're bold tonight, little omega," Menelay mused. "I wonder why."

A thunderous punch fell against the wood. Iris whined like a distressed puppy. She was so scared, her wolf was almost taking over to flee in distress. Dante left his hand on her shoulder, grounding her. She was breathing slowly, with effort. They called her an omega! He should have figured as much. No treasured son or daughter would be left to live alone, bullied at the whim of ignorant betas.

The wolves strode away. Iris dug her fingers into the earth, almost in tears. Dante's black wolf circled her, whimpering in distress. His head pushed against her, and Iris hugged his neck, closing her eyes. The warm comfort of his fur gave her something else to think about.

"It's not your fault," Iris said, sensing the regret in his tension, in his bent ears, the tail between his legs. He licked her forehead.

"Seriously, stop..."

But he heard something moving above, softly stirring the hay of the thatched roof. Iris' eyes darted up. She was so fearful, and all Dante wished was that he could wash away that threat and keep her safe. The gentle rhythm of steps became the frantic tear of paws digging through the thatched roof.

"Get off!" Iris shouted. Whoever it was, she didn't scare him. Dante bared his fangs. He shouldn't fight inside her house, but he couldn't risk going out and being ambushed.

When the beta broke through the hay, blue light took the hut. Then the dreadful wolf jumped inside, snarling at Iris as he landed. If he expected her to cower, she didn't. She curled her lips and bared her fangs.

The wolf lunged for her. He didn't get far because Dante bit and pulled him back, dragging him by his hind leg. The wolf turned, kicking wildly, his furious paws trying to reach the black wolf in vain. Iris took advantage of his surprise and leapt into the fray, biting his neck.

I can't kill him, Dante thought amidst claws and fangs tearing through the darkness. But the wolf wouldn't stop fighting. He stood back up, and seeing himself cornered by two other predators--one just as big and powerful as himself--he pushed forward. Reckless. Ruthless. Stupid.

Dante felt white eyes on him. The battle slowed to the speed of dripping honey.

"If today wasn't his day to die, he should have stayed away from my hound."

And at the corner of his vision, Her presence (Her voice, Her moonlight) pressed further into his mind.

"Don't disappoint me."

He never intended to.