The Infernal Itch Ch. 05

Zarel's head was spinning as Aavi closed the door to Vyx's office behind them, cutting off the shifter's enraptured cries. The brothel next door was leaking much of the same sort of ambience, but at least the cool night air helped to calm her a little. She took deep breaths, trying to focus on something that wasn't the burning ache between her legs.

Aavi was watching her with concern, but he didn't say anything yet. She was grateful for that as she tried to gather herself. She hated him seeing her like this, despite everything he'd already witnessed. Zarel was the older of the pair, the soldier, the strong one. Every compassionate look he gave her was a dent in her pride.

She bounced on her toes, suddenly full of restless energy. The curse wanted her to fuck. Fuck the curse. She'd walk it off. She started off for the end of the alleyway and the street beyond.

"Are you ok?" Aavi fell into place a few steps behind her, hurrying to keep up.

"I will be," she grunted, "after we find these werewolves."

Zarel set a pace that made conversation impossible to begin with, winding her way hastily through the diminishing crowds of the Midnight Market and scattering passers-by in her wake. She bumped shoulders a few times, but her furious scowl was enough to dissuade anyone from taking issue with it. And besides, it kept anyone from looking too hard at Aavi as he followed in her wake.

Walking helped a bit. Having to look where she was going, and keep an eye out for Aavi, kept her from thinking too hard about what she had just witnessed. Watching Toro and Ardour dominate the effeminate fox boy had been... eye opening. She'd felt the raw heat coming off them, seen the sticky glistening of corrupting juices on fevered skin. Most of all, she'd seen the focus and the raw intensity in all three of them during the encounter. The building might have burned down and she wasn't sure they'd have noticed. Nothing had mattered but the fucking, the desperate scratching of their Itch. Zarel shivered, feeling the chafing of her damp thighs. How long before she ended up like that?

Eventually Aavi was panting hard enough that she had to slow down and let him catch up. They were out of the populated district around the market anyway, back in quiet empty streets, headed vaguely north. Zarel had recognised Vyx's description of the werewolf lair, a factory with two chimneys. Endless hours on guard duty atop the Abbey's walls had given her a familiarity with the city's crumbling skyline. Actually finding the place on foot at night might be challenging, but at least she could see well in the bright moonlight.

"What are we going to do when we find them?" Aavi had his breath back, falling in step beside her now their pace had slowed.

"Make them give Tomasz and the others back."

It was very simple when she put it like that. Aavi had to go and poke holes in the plan, of course.

"There's only two of us, we might not be able to make them..."

Zarel grunted dismissively.

"And the devil might be there. Or the Seraph might not be"

Dammit, Aavi. She sighed.

"Ok. No fighting if I can help it," Zarel conceded, "I'll just see what's there."

And find out why they left me behind when they took the others, she didn't add.

Another thought struck her.

"And only I'll go in."

He started to object, of course, but she spoke over him in her best big sister voice.

"I'm already infected, and they've spared me once. You've got a lot more to lose."

"But-"

"And if it doesn't go well, you can fetch the Seraph. They'll follow you now. And I bet the Abbey has some silver swords somewhere."

Aavi sighed. "It does, they offered me one."

"And you said no?" Zarel rolled her eyes. "Next time they offer you something sharp and pointy, say yes and just give it to me."

He squirmed and she could see he didn't like the idea of the lying that would involve. Aavi was far too nice, it was why she had to protect him.

It took a few hours to walk to the right neighbourhood. Dawn was breaking, pink and orange and beautiful, on the eastern horizon. The city streets had gone back to the empty, abandoned feel that she had known of them for all her life up to this point. It seemed the city mostly spent the daytime sleeping off its nighttime revelries.

The crumbling factory turned out to be easy enough to find. A long, narrow building of sandy yellow-white bricks, about two storeys tall except for two tall chimneys at the far end. Sandy spoil heaps covered the ground around the place, giving them some cover as they approached. They stopped behind the first one they came to, Zarel determined to play it safe.

"Ok, wait here."

She glanced around, the sun already starting to light up the bare ground around them. It was promising to be another scorching hot day.

"Or... somewhere nearby. Somewhere you can see me when I come out."

Aavi nodded. "I'll wait until you do."

"Wait until noon. Then go get the Seraph and as many silver swords as you can find."

He didn't like that, but he didn't have a better option. They hugged. Zarel came away feeling both comforted by his touch and also slightly ashamed, like she was sullying him with her own.

"Good luck Zarel. You can do it."

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She found her way inside easily enough, slipping through a darkened doorway at the near end of the building. The room she entered was relatively small, probably an office area, though all of the furniture had been dragged out long ago. She moved as slowly and quietly as she could, conscious of how loudly footsteps would echo in such an empty place. A dark corridor led deeper into the factory.

The loud ringing clang of metal on metal made Zarel jump. The noise had come from ahead, where she sensed the old factory floor must be. It came again, then again, like a blacksmith's hammer. Surely there couldn't be any actual industry going on here?

She pressed on down the corridor and sure enough came to a cavernous space that filled the entire remainder of the building. Three enormous metal machines squatted in a row before her, overtaken by rust and vandalism. Each one was too high to see over and ran half of the length of the room, with narrow dark aisles between them. Huge skylights should have provided plenty of illumination, but they were covered with metal shutters that admitted only intermittent shafts of morning sunlight through damaged sections.

The metallic banging sound came again, from the far side of the space behind the machines. She could hear some other noises too, between each peal of protesting metal. Low voices, footsteps and what sounded like a scuffle in progress. Zarel crept forward, picking her way between two of the machines in search of a better view.

The shadows between the two great engines were thick and the air was full of the smell of rusty metal. The floor turned out to be uneven, with pipes and joints criss-crossing it at ankle height to form a treacherous web of hazards. She went through it as stealthily as she could, slow and steady.

The banging increased in frequency and volume, reached a fever pitch, and then stopped after a loud discordant thunk. Two distinct jangling noises followed, pieces of metal hitting the floor. There was a ragged cheer, though Zarel thought it came from only a handful of throats.

"Alva next!" a man's voice boomed, deep and resonant.

Zarel neared the end of the aisle between the machines and peered out to look. Marek was there, she remembered his broad muscular torso and scowling bearded features from their last encounter. He was holding a hammer and chisel and standing beside a flat-topped metal post that seemed to be serving as an anvil.

A dwarven woman was just lowering herself to kneel beside it. She was heavily scarred, missing her left eye and half the ear on that side, face still bearing the deep red claw mark of whatever monster had done the deed. Alva was wearing the spiked metal collar that Zarel remembered from the werewolves, much too large and heavy for her frame, but just a little too narrow to lift over her head. She positioned one edge of the thick metal neck ring atop the makeshift anvil, where Marek pinned it with the chisel, then shuffled her head and neck as far away from that side as she could reach.

"Should've started with me, chief. Less to mess up if you miss." Alva had a gravelly voice, like someone who had smoked for many years.

"You could bear the weight better."

Marek's grunted words made more sense when Zarel noticed the remains of several broken collars around the anvil. They were lit up by a flickering lantern. Her lantern, she realised with a spark of anger.

"Aye, better than your skinny elf. Though I'm surprised hers didn't fall straight down her waist when she changed back."

Zarel scoured the rest of the room, trying to count the pack. There were three people watching Marek and Alva, only one of whom was still wearing one of the unwieldy collars. Away from the lantern two human women, already collar-less, were engaged in something that was either a no-rules wrestling match or sex so rough it made her wince to watch. One of a row of hammocks slung from the far wall looked occupied. How many was that? She thought she might be one short.

Bang! Marek's hammer came down on the chisel with enormous force. The heavy iron collar jumped but seemed otherwise undamaged. Alva gritted her teeth against the jarring impact only a few inches from her cheek.

"Fuck that's loud!"

"Shut up," Marek punctuated the statement with another ringing hammer blow. "Don't move."

Zarel watched the big man work, powerful muscles rippling as he pounded hammer against chisel again and again. She saw the chisel's edge bite into the collar and form the dent that would eventually become a crack and snap the metal. But it looked like it was going to take a huge amount of effort from Marek, and a huge amount of endurance from the dwarf, before her freedom could be accomplished.

The werewolves were distracted, then. Time to look for her friends.

Zarel turned to go back the way she had come, but there was someone there, right behind her as if they had emerged from thin air! She didn't wait to look, just attacked. A shove sent the newcomer crashing against one of the big machines with a clang. Zarel followed, hands outstretched for her enemy's throat.

They were an elf, she realised, though with frosty blue skin that was surprisingly cool to the touch as she got her hands around the other's slender neck. Ice-white eyes widened in alarm and willowy limbs flailed unsuccessfully in an attempt to fend her off. There was just enough light to see the elf's face, which Zarel judged to be female. Her features were exotic, beautiful but oddly-proportioned in a way that Zarel couldn't quite explain.

The elf struggled for a moment longer, Zarel's fingers cutting off her breath, then suddenly she was gone. In her place was a white-scaled snake, wrapped halfway around the human's arm and rearing up to bite. She let out a panicked shout as the creature lunged but sank its fangs only into the fabric of her long sleeve. It went to bite again and she cast it away, tossing it to the ground.

She managed to get a foot on the snake so it couldn't bite, then started climbing over it and back between the machines. If she could get back out of the space fast enough then perhaps she could evade capture. Zarel felt the snake twist and change beneath her foot, then something else was clawing at her retreating heels. It was compact, furry and powerful. A badger! She was fighting a druid!

Long burrowing claws raked the back of one leg as she scrambled away from it, half running and half hauling herself between the pipes and fixtures with her hands. She got a solid kick in that seemed to deter her opponent for a moment and the badger dropped back, lost somewhere in the shadows behind her.

Blood running down her leg, Zarel scrambled back the way she had come as quickly as possible. She picked up a few knocks and bruises from protruding machine parts as she did, but these were an acceptable price for speed. She made it to the end of the aisle and looked for the door that was her escape route.

There was a flutter of wings and the druid appeared in front of her again, returning to that tall and skinny elf shape. Her snowy white hair was dishevelled, her hands held out placatingly. Zarel put her head down and charged, intending to go right through her.

There was a tearing sound and a growl, right before she collided. Rather than flattening the lightweight elf, Zarel cannoned into a hard and fur covered chest. Snowy white hide backed by powerful bestial muscle stopped her cold. Her nose filled with familiar musk and pheromones, tinged with the exotic scent of pine. Something hard and hot jabbed against her side.

The werewolf, the same one that had defiled handsome Tomasz, balled two clawed hands in the front of her shirt and lifted her from the ground. Legs kicking helplessly, Zarel dangled while a narrow fang-filled muzzle inspected her. Her captor inhaled deeply, seemingly examining her more by smell than sight. She glanced down and saw the furry white length that had violated her friend pointed up at her.

Then the druid-elf-werewolf was moving, carrying Zarel across the factory floor. They circled the big machines, sticking to one wall where there was much more space, before arriving back before the gathered pack. All of the activity had stopped and they were watching, alerted by the sounds of the scuffle. None of them looked particularly worried, she thought. They were confident in their den.

Zarel's captor dropped her at Marek's feet, shoving her back down as she attempted to rise. This repeated twice more, the determined fighter bouncing back upright after each shove, before the scowling man banged his hammer angrily on the anvil.

"Enough!"

They both stilled, Zarel breathing hard but keeping her feet on the fourth try. She saw that the dwarf's collar was removed now and she was standing at his side. Apparently Marek had kept working to break it even as her fight with the elf had unfolded. He was still wearing his collar, she noted with interest. Waiting until last? Or was nobody else trusted to wield the hammer and chisel?

"You have come sooner than I thought you would."

Marek put the hammer down and scratched his beard. His scowl seemed permanent, making him hard to read. Zarel gave him her best defiant glare in return. It was getting a lot of use these days.

"Where are the others?" she demanded.

"Not here. The devil claimed them." His voice was hard, unsympathetic.

"Then where did she take them?"

Marek shrugged and didn't reply.

"You work for her!" Zarel shouted.

Marek snarled, as did the werewolf behind her.

"Our association has ended." He picked up the hammer again and beckoned the remaining collared man over. "Speaking of which, come here Ruus."

The man that came over was grey haired and weathered, he was in his fifties at least and ageing rather badly to Zarel's eye. He gave her such a hateful stare that it took her aback for a moment, until she recalled the grizzled werewolf she had stabbed twice during their last encounter. That gave her a flicker of pride - she had bested this one at least.

"Kneel down."

Marek's growl interrupted their staring match and Ruus reluctantly knelt beside the anvil. He had a thick neck and it took some squirming and readjusting until the tip of Marek's chisel was positioned where it would bite only metal and not flesh.

"So she let you go, but didn't take the collars off?" Zarel didn't exactly mean it as a taunt, but it drew a growl from the bearded man anyway.

"It was a bad deal. The details do not concern you." Marek picked up the hammer again.

"Yes they do, she took-"

Bang! The ringing peal of hammer and chisel cut her off. Ruus barked a curse but held still.

"What did she give you in exchange for my-" she tried again, only to be drowned out by the hammer again.

"Fuck's sake!" Zarel shouted over the noise, "What was worth the lives of all of my friends?!"

The answering hammer blow was the strongest one yet, but also the wildest. Ruus let out a furious shout of pain as the chisel bounced from the iron collar and scored a vicious scratch in the side of his neck.

"Hold still," was Marek's unapologetic grunt.

"So you can chop my head off with the next one?!" the older man demanded, clambering to his feet and rounding on Marek. The wound was bleeding profusely, but it was already starting to close. Werewolf regeneration worked on their human forms as well it seemed.

"First you humiliate us with the devil to save the elf and now you're too busy jawing with the girl to aim your swing!" He jabbed a finger in the bearded man's face. "You should have more care for your fighters and less for your favourites!"

The two angry men were chest to chest now, both tense but still. It seemed for a second like the moment might blow over, then Ruus slapped the hammer from Marek's hand. In an instant both had changed forms and instead two enormous werewolves grappled each other, one black and one grey. Their clash was deafening, the air filled with barking roars and snarls as clawed hands ripped at tough hides.

A third werewolf, a black furred female, seemed to join the fray out of nowhere, crashing into Marek's side and biting at his ear. A moment later Zarel's white furred captor had swept past her, nearly knocking her over, to go to his aid and drag the interloper off. Others were shifting too, battle lines being drawn that seemed obvious to everyone except Zarel.

The dwarf, Alva, grabbed her by the arm and pulled her away from the melee. They watched from the shelter of one of the machines as the pack scuffled and snarled.

"That's been brewing for a while," the dwarf observed sagely, "good to get it out before tonight."

The real fight was between the two dominant men, Zarel realised as she watched Ruus try to maul his pack leader's face with claws the size of daggers. All of the others were making a lot of noise but not really aiming to wound.

"Why are they fighting?!" she asked, alarmed. "And why aren't you?"

"Bloodlines. Or maybe I should call 'em bitelines? Marek favours his get, though he'll never admit it." Alva watched the fight with disinterest. "And I'm too sensible to let it bother me, unlike some."

Zarel tried to parse that, ducking as the big grey furred werewolf came backpedalling past them, bleeding from a kick by a powerful clawed foot.

"He favours his... children? And Ruus doesn't like that."

"Aye, those he's turned. Like Salis."

"Salis is the elf?" Zarel indicated the snowy white werewolf, still grappling with the black furred female.

"Yeah. Eladrin elf from the mountains, now you from the Abbey. I reckon our chief has an eye for the exotic."

"Wait, me?!"

Ruus's huge bulk crashed into the machine beside them with a sound like a building collapsing. He sprawled there and did not rise. Zarel looked up to see the enormous dark bulk of the werewolf pack leader, all shaggy fur and animal muscle. He was bleeding from numerous cuts and bites, all closing swiftly before her eyes.

She was moving before she really knew it, incandescent with anger.

"You turned me into a werewolf?!" she kicked Marek in a huge bestial shin. It was stupid, but she couldn't reach his face for a proper punch.

"Easy," Alva warned, "don't provoke 'im up when the blood's up."

"Provoke him?!" Zarel stormed, booting the werewolf in the other shin. She tried punching him in the groin for good measure, but he didn't seem to feel either blow.

"You're saying this... creature... got all my friends kidnapped, gave me the Itch AND turned me into a monster?!"

Marek let out a low rumbling growl that she couldn't interpret. Out of the corner of her eye, Zarel could see that the fighting had stopped and the rest of the pack were reverting to their normal shapes. Ruus looked to be out cold.

"Aye maybe... I think your friends might have been doomed regardless, that devil seemed like she had a plan for 'em."

That was hardly a consolation. She wanted to hurt the big werewolf in front of her, wanted to tear some vengeance out of his monstrous hide, but she couldn't damage him at all. It was infuriating.

"We'll know if you share our curse tonight," a new voice added. Salis had untangled herself from the pack and come over. The graceful and willowy eladrin druid did not look like a natural brawler in this form.

"Aye, full moon's the way to tell." Alva nodded. "Unless you want to keep kicking the chief 'til he does something about it. Then we'd learn quick."

"You'll transform in the moonlight," Salis explained, seeing Zarel's blank look. "Or, well, if Marek harms you then you'll regenerate and we'll see the quick healing."

Zarel's stomach dropped.

"Regeneration. Like the bite wound."

She pulled the collar of her shirt to show them her shoulder, the completely smooth and unmarked flesh where there should have been a terrible bone-crushing bite.

"Ah," said Salis somberly.

"Yep," observed the one-eyed dwarf, "that'll be it."

For the second time in less than a day, Zarel found herself in a room with people she didn't know giving her awkward sympathetic looks about a devastating revelation. She hated it! Hated what these people had done to her. Hated the prickling fever heat which fogged her mind and filled it up with sordid desires. Rage boiled up inside her.

Her punch caught Marek on the jaw just as he reverted back to human form. It was a clean hit, the strongest she had ever thrown, and it lifted him clean from his feet. The big man hit the floor with a thud, out as cold as his rival.

"Well, shit..." drawled Alva, "I can see what he saw in you."

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Aavi was where she had left him ten minutes earlier, crouching in the shade of the spoil heap. Zarel stomped up to him, sending gravel flying in all directions.

"Come on."

He was slow to rise, tired from a long day and night's activity without proper rest. Wired on adrenaline, she grasped his hand and pulled him to his feet, noticing as she did how light he felt.

"Everything ok?" he asked, concerned.

Zarel felt her cheeks darken. No, everything was not ok. But she was the strong one. She'd bear it.

"Fine, but it was a bust. We need to leave."

She kept hold of his hand and half-dragged him until he fell in step beside her. She was being rude, she knew, but she was too angry and tired to care.

"Tell me what happened," Aavi encouraged.

"They're in there. Just the weres, no Seraph and no devil."

She wanted to leave the building behind as quickly as possible and she didn't particularly want to tell him what she'd learned. Brevity helped with both.

"They say they're done with her. That she took the others and they don't know where."

Zarel kicked a stray pebble and it arced away to smack against a doorpost with a puff of white dust. The sun shone bright and strong in her eyes, threatening a pounding headache. Her groin picked that moment to start itching terribly.

"I..." she began, then trailed off.

She wanted to tell him about it. About how she was apparently double cursed, with both the Itch and the werewolves' own unique curse. He was a good listener and he'd already sworn to help however he could. But she was so tired and angry. She didn't want Aavi looking at her like all the others had. She didn't want any more pity. Not yet.

"I need sleep. And so do you."

Aavi nodded his agreement.

"We'll find somewhere safe to rest."

"No," Zarel shook her head, "you go back to the Abbey. Sleep in a bed, it will do you good."

He looked at her, face full of concern. She wanted to cry in frustration.

"Are you sure?"

"I want to be alone for a while."

Long enough for some self-pity and to think about what to do next. And far enough away from Aavi that she wouldn't have to explain herself when the moon came out.

"Ok, if you're certain..."

She wasn't certain. A big part of her wanted to cry on his shoulder. Have him hold her and comfort her while she slept. Or perhaps she could hold him, since she was a little taller.

Yes, she could hold him. His hair always smelled nice, like the flowers from the rose garden at the Abbey. She could bury her face in those pretty white curls. Squeeze him tight. Press his body against her, inhale his scent. Maybe grind against his back just a little, so softly he might not notice...

Her sex throbbed suddenly and she swayed, head swimming. Aavi was looking at her with concern again. Innocent, worried Aavi.

"I'm certain," she blurted, "go home where it's safe. I'll find you later."

She knew she would. She had his scent.

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She awoke later, much later. She could tell at once that she had been asleep all day by how clumsy she felt, limbs still asleep even as her mind tried to rouse them to activity. Her stomach growled loudly.

Food. She had food, she remembered. Aavi had left it for her.

It was dark in the windowless root cellar she'd been resting in, but she could smell the cheese and dried meat in her pack. It was easy to find but hard to open, her hands were clumsy with sleep.

Frustrated and hungry, she resorted to tearing one of the canvas straps that held the backpack closed. Food spilled out and she ate greedily. The cheese was wrapped in wax that seemed too fiddly for her fingers, so she ripped it off with her teeth.

It was gone far too quickly. She thought she had more than one meal in the pack, but apparently not. Her stomach had stopped growling at least, but she was still full of hunger.

Aavi would have more food. That was his... she struggled drowsily for the word. His hunt? No, that didn't make sense. His nature. He gave. He wanted to help. Like a sheep lying down for the wolf.

Where had that thought come from?

She stood and hit her head on the ceiling, growling out a curse. Why had she picked such a cramped resting spot?

She managed to clamber out through the cellar's hatch, just narrowly able to squeeze her powerful shoulders through. It was dusk already, the sun just sinking below the rooftops. The moon was already out to the east, huge and round and foreboding. It troubled her, but she couldn't remember why it should.

She felt clumsy still. Her legs kept threatening to trip her, like she'd forgotten how to walk or something. Her perspective felt a little wrong as well, but that was even harder to put her finger on.

She started walking. She wasn't quite sure how she knew where to go, but she followed her nose. She wanted to find Aavi. Her friend. Her food.

She didn't know how long she walked. Her gait was still troubling her and she found it was easier and faster to drop to all fours and move that way. The sun was totally gone, but the moonlight was bright enough to hunt by.

She picked up the rose-scent at about the same time as she heard distant voices. Her ears pricked and swivelled to listen better.

"Tieflings have been around since before the plague, actually."

She knew that soft voice. Her Aavi.

"Really?" A female voice, its tone one of interest. "I assumed we were descended from the devils that brought the Itch."

"Descended from infernals, the books say, not specifically devils." She couldn't see Aavi yet, but she could picture him smiling. He liked teaching. "And yes, much older than our current cataclysm."

"Huh."

She slowed her pace, creeping a little closer. She remembered this place now, a market square. There was a tower on one side.

"You were going to tell me about tiefling virtue names," the other voice prompted. She didn't like the other voice.

"Oh yes!" Aavi's voice had the delight of someone finding a gold piece left in a coat pocket. "I'd forgotten. The books say it's a tradition."

She found a spot in the shadows where she could watch, about fifty yards away. Aavi and the grey female tiefling from before were just outside the tower's building, leaning on the wall beside the door.

"Demons and devils were scary, even back then, so being visibly marked by them was a disadvantage. It prejudiced people."

"Uh-huh." The tiefling was looking sideways at him in a way she didn't like, but couldn't explain.

"So, to... reassure people, I suppose, some tieflings named themselves after virtues."

"Virtues?" the other sounded sceptical, if intrigued.

"Good qualities. It could be a good trait to have, like Charm, or Bonhomie."

"Bonhomie." the tiefling snorted and they both laughed. She liked it when Aavi laughed. She could tell the tiefling did too.

"Or an ideal to live up to, like Zeal or Chastity." Aavi paused thoughtfully for a second. "I don't think anyone is called Chastity any more..."

"Sounds like tempting fate," his companion agreed.

The tiefling turned to lean sideways against the wall, body toward Aavi. It obstructed her view.

"So what does Ardour mean?" the tiefling asked. "Blessed with beauty and intellect, right?"

She could tell that they were going for levity, but the moment was serious. She didn't like where it was heading.

"Um, no, it's an emotion..." she heard Aavi fidget. The pair had drawn a little closer. She found she was growling, very quietly.

"It means great enthusiasm." He wavered a little, cleared his throat, then pressed on. "Um, passion, fervour. Romantic love."

There came a silence, but it wasn't silent. She could hear every fluttering breath.

"Aavi, I-" her rival began.

Enough! She stood and roared a challenge. Not very eloquent, but the tiefling should get the message. Back off, Aavi was hers.

They both jumped, Aavi in particular cringing in shock. He wasn't used to the dangers of this place.

"Werewolf!" her rival shouted, pulling him behind her. She didn't know how the tiefling knew her secret. She would have preferred to tell Aavi herself.

She advanced on them on two legs, like she knew she should. Her limbs still felt clumsy and ungainly, but she felt strong too. She was the strong one of their pair. The protector. The alpha.

They were retreating before her, ducking back through the doorway and into the building that housed the tower. The tiefling's den, she remembered. She sped up her pursuit.

"It has Zarel's backpack," she heard Aavi say, uncertainty in his voice.

Of course she had her backpack. She needed it for the food he was going to share with her. But something in his tone gave her pause. She glanced down at herself.

Strong, muscular frame of a warrior, check. Black, white and orange fur like a timber wolf, check. She liked her ginger hair, it had always been a vanity. Nothing unexpected. He must just not recognise her in the dark.

"Get up the tower," her rival urged, still between her and Aavi. She had a dagger but it looked very small.

Aavi was hesitating at the foot of a wooden ladder, unsure. She tried to call to him but her words stuck in her throat and came out in a gravelly growl.

"Go!" the tiefling shouted, and she felt anger flood through her. How dare the tiefling shout at him!

She took two very big steps forward and reached over the low stone counter that divided the room to grab for him, but a sharp pain blossomed in her side. She howled and backhanded the tiefling away, scrabbling at the dagger until it came free and clattered against the stone floor.

Aavi had started climbing now, probably scared by her rival's use of violence. She had to reach him so she could protect him from her. So she could claim him first.

There was a confusing stirring at her crotch, accompanied by an unfamiliar kind of ache. It was like when she wanted to grind against something, only much stronger. She looked down at her body again and saw she was growing erect. Her spaded tip was a bright spot of angry pink above a broad orange furred sheath.

A moment of confusion flickered through her. Had she always had a penis? But it made sense, her sire had one after all. As did that snowy white wolf who took the form of an elf. His 'get' took after him. Satisfied, she put the thought aside.

Aavi was halfway up the ladder and nearly out of reach. Frustrated, she clambered up onto the counter and reached up to gather him to her. It was a good thing she was so tall.

She nearly had him when the tiefling crashed into her ankles, upsetting her already clumsy balance. She fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs, snarling in pain.

"It's Zarel!" Aavi was calling from his perch. "I can see it in her eyes!"

"Climb the damn ladder-" Ardour wheezed from somewhere near her. She had the tiefling's scent now, her sweat and her musk and her fear. It mingled with Aavi's rose-smell.

"But-"

"Aavi, she's mad! She'll infect you!"

She snarled. She just wanted to claim him and protect him like he deserved. Why were they making this so difficult?

He was climbing though, almost at the top of the ladder now. She scrambled to her haunches, intending to leap for him. The tiefling landed on her back, arms around her neck, weighing her down.

"Pull up the ladder!"

She twisted, trying to throw the tiefling off. Ardour hung on grimly.

"You'll be stuck down there!" his voice had a tremble she didn't like to hear.

"And you'll be safe, do it!"

She gave up on trying to throw her rival off and just rolled over instead, driving the breath from the tiefling's lungs. Ardour gasped, crushed beneath her bulk.

"Pull it up! You can help me later. Her too."

She saw Aavi climb up through the trapdoor at the top of the ladder and reach down to start hauling the ladder up behind him. She broke the tiefling's grip and crawled toward it, reaching to try to grasp a rung.

Ardour fell atop her again, this time full length over her back. The tiefling was much lighter than her, but strong enough to be a nuisance. She felt her rival's warm hands clutch at her arms, trying to pin her. Her nostrils were full of the other woman's scent, both of them hot and perspiring from the struggle.

She felt something half-hard nudge her back as they grappled and she remembered Ardour was also endowed. She'd seen her mounting that fox boy, claiming him, despoiling him in a glorious bestial rut. Iron certainty suddenly gripped her - her rival wanted to do the same to her Aavi!

That could not be allowed. The thought gave her a new purpose. She had to break the tiefling's rut, show her who was really in charge, exhaust her until she was no threat. The plan filled her limbs with new strength and dispelled her lingering clumsiness. She gave up on the ladder and reached up, hands searching, until she found Ardour's head. Strong claws wrapped around the tiefling's bull horns...

---------------------------------------------

Ardour's world suddenly flipped upside down as she sailed through the air and landed on her back with enough force to drive all the air from her lungs. She lay there dazed, back and neck starting to register the agony from the impact. That was probably good, feeling nothing would have been worse.

She looked up to see Aavi finish pulling the ladder up through the trapdoor and into the tower above. Good, that was the only way into the belfry unless the monster was able to climb. She remembered its long limbs and the size of its claws and gritted her teeth, it probably could climb. The paladin's perfect pale face reappeared in the trapdoor, looking down at her with worry. She wanted to tell him to get out of sight, to hide in case doing so could make the werewolf just forget about him, but she was struggling to draw enough breath to speak.

The werewolf's black and orange muzzle appeared, looking down at her. It was Zarel, she was certain now. There was something in the eyes, that same wounded-but-determined expression the former Seraph had been wearing since they'd met. Apparently her brush with Marek's pack had given her more than just the Itch. Stupid that they hadn't thought to check that...

Ardour stirred and tried to get a foot planted on the floor, the first step toward standing up. If she could lead Zarel away then maybe she could lose the werewolf and double back to Aavi later...

Zarel snarled and lunged forward to seize the leg, pinning it back to the floor. The werewolf crouched on top of Ardour on all fours, powerful legs trapping her arms and preventing her from rising.

That meant she had a faceful of wolf crotch to deal with. She was fairly certain that the woman had not been packing earlier, but she certainly was now. What must have been ten inches of furry lupine dick was rapidly swelling, intermittently beating against her face as she struggled fruitlessly to free herself from Zarel's clutches. Actually only the sheath was furry, the pointed tip that bulged from it was tender bright pink skin. The whole lot exuded something warm and oily, not pre-cum, but it clung to her cheek wherever it came into contact.

Ardour was starting to get her breath back, but it was made a lot harder by the werewolf's presence. The air around her face was hot and full of scent. Zarel smelt of clean new fur, soft musk and animal arousal. The monster woman slid forward and suddenly Ardour's face was covered by fluffy white furred balls, heavy and never before emptied. A cloud of pheromones went straight to her own dick, which twitched in treacherous sympathy.

Zarel's muzzle jabbed her clumsily in the crotch, surprising them both. The werewolf drew back and sniffed again, sampling her smell. The physical proximity, even through her clothing, made Ardour's flesh ache even more and her trapped member strained against her leggings. The Itch didn't much seem to care that it was an enormous werewolf it was lusting after, though the tiefling certainly did. How much damage could a horny werewolf do to her with those fangs?

Zarel ground herself against her face, smearing more of that warming, lubricating oil over her features. It was joined by salty pre-cum now, thicker and gloopier than she was used to. The combined liquids made it hard to breathe through her nose, forcing Ardour to open her mouth. That meant they ended up on her tongue as well. The taste was not unpleasant, but she didn't want to suck the werewolf's cock. Did she? It would certainly distract her from Aavi...

Monstrous claws dug into her ass, lifting it from the ground as they tried to drag her leggings down. The tight garments ripped instead and Zarel tore them from her shred by shred. The rapidly receding rational part of Ardour's brain lamented the amount of clothing she'd ruined in the last few days. She needed something tougher.

Speaking of needing protection, she felt hot breath wash over her now exposed groin. She ought to be wilting at that, but her damned dick was at full mast before the werewolf's fanged muzzle. It was straining at its own destruction, she worried, but no teeth came. A huge wet tongue lolled out and swept her length from tip to base, making her shudder.

Just one lick had left her about as wet as Zarel's own cock was, as it continued to grind and thrust against her face. Ardour wasn't an entirely unwilling participant now that this seemed to be a mutual activity, but the werewolf's clumsy humping made her think that actually taking Zarel in her mouth was a recipe for injury. Instead she used her lips and tongue as best she could, wetting and caressing the wolfdick whenever it came close enough.

A single lick was apparently all her own length was getting, as Zarel's questing nose moved further down her body. Ardour squirmed as her tight ballsack was nosed, practically inhaled by a huff of powerful lungs, then treated to several enthusiastic laps. The werewolf's tongue was thick and heavy, rougher than a human's, and dragged along her hairless skin with enough friction to make her gasp.

There was a strange feeling in Ardour's core. Primal fear of the monster warred with the rising demands of the Itch, which cared more for release than it did for safety. But she'd had feelings like that before, like with Sivir, her treacherous aching cock leading her into danger. This was different somehow. The sensation was deeper, needier, not focused entirely on her dick.

Zarel's cold nose bumped against her butt cheeks and she jumped in surprise. The werewolf gave a grunt of dissatisfaction, thwarted by the angle. A moment later she was moving, rolling Ardour over onto her front. The tiefling made a squawk of complaint as her slick length was dragged over the dusty floor and then trapped under her body painfully until she readjusted herself.

Ardour could hear the werewolf moving around behind her, on all fours like a beast. She didn't quite dare look back so she risked a glance up at the trapdoor in the ceiling above. Aavi was still there, his eyes huge and round with worry. She tried to give him her most reassuring 'all in a day's work' grin but it turned to a sudden and undignified half-shriek when Zarel's heavy tongue dragged its way up the valley of her ass.

The werewolf seized her ankles, immobilising her legs before she could squirm away, and the tongue struck again. It was tickling and terrifying at the same time, degrading and yet somehow tantalising, as that huge slick appendage slithered its way up over her asshole. Ardour clenched tight with terror at first, but the beast was content with just licking for now. Slippery saliva coated her cleft and dripped back over her balls, which tingled electrically. She had never felt so vulnerable, or indeed so confused.

Ardour risked another glance upward. Aavi was beet red, matching her own fluster. He mouthed something and she squinted to catch it.

"Are you ok?"

What a question.

Was she ok? Was this ok?

If she'd been asked a few days ago she would have said no. She was infected, yes, but still rational. She didn't fuck with monsters. And monsters certainly didn't fuck her. She was a top who liked cute Abbey boys, usually viewed from afar. She played it safe and eked out a tolerable life, managing her Itch as best she could. No risks, no monsters, no madness.

But now her spine and the base of her neck were on fire with the Itch and there was a strange empty aching in her core. Zarel's tongue stiffened, an oddly human motion, and probed at her tight entrance. Ardour found she could only muster a desperate moan in answer to Aavi's question.

She was still clenching reflexively but the tongue was too slippery and powerful to deny. She felt its tip slip past her sphincter, then it began to slither inside. The feeling was indescribable, even as her overloaded brain desperately sought a point of reference. She remembered a time Toro had stuck his tongue in her ear during a particularly sordid jerkoff session. It was like that times a million, sort of.

There came a moment when her muscles abruptly stopped fighting and the rest of that huge tongue slithered inside with sudden ease. It thrashed about, artless but hot and heavy and strong. It felt immense but perhaps that was her panicked inexperience talking. She felt its rough textured surface drag along her fluttering walls, not quite scratchy but a pleasing juxtaposition with the overall tickling sensation.

Slowly Ardour got more used to the slippery, questing appendage. The sensations were strange, particularly the stretching of her sphincter, but not unpleasant. Actually she was feeling the sort of tingling buzz around her entrance that she normally associated with her dick. Deeper inside the feelings were more muted, fewer nerves, she guessed.

That was until Zarel's stiffened tongue dragged over a certain spot behind her balls that felt like it shot lightning up her spine. She let out a shocked gasp, which the werewolf answered with a deep resonant growl that vibrated her insides and threatened to turn her brain to mush. Zarel probed that spot again and Ardour writhed, her sex throbbing in response.

She knew what a prostate was, of course, she'd had enough encounters with slutty boys like Vyx in her time to know that if she poked it then they made the cutest noises. But she wasn't sure how many of them had had the experience of being impaled on such a powerful, squirming and slippery thing as a werewolf tongue. She heard a whorish moan that she couldn't quite believe had come from her own throat.

And then that wonderful appendage was retreating, her revelatory experience cut short as Zarel pulled away with a lustful growl. Ardour started to look back to see what she was doing, then the werewolf's bulk was on top of her, pinning her to the hard floor. She felt that iron hard and slippery cock nestle between her cheeks, sliding up and down the saliva-soaked cleft.

Oh no.

There was no way.

The tongue was one thing, but that huge bestial cock was not going to fit her virgin ass, even as thoroughly prepared as she was.

She felt the tip catch against her entrance, its pointed almost arrowhead shape helping to lodge it there. She clenched against it, teeth gritted, muscles bunched as if she could throw the werewolf off.

Zarel pressed against her, gentle but demanding. She was so big, but also so powerful. She could get it in, Ardour realised with dread, one way or another.

Her muscles wouldn't listen to her brain now, even if she tried to unclench. Panic was setting into her rational mind, even as an ever-growing lust fogged part of her psyche was cheering the werewolf on. She trembled like prey caught in a predator's jaws.

Zarel seemed to sense it, though she didn't exactly let up on the pressure. The werewolf's muzzle came down beside Ardour's cheek and sniffed her. A thoughtful growl transmitted itself through her back. Then a wet, squirming tongue was shoved into her ear.

Ardour yelped and might have jumped off the floor if not for the werewolf's bulk. Confused and distracted muscles fluttered and briefly relaxed, letting Zarel's first inch sink into her. It was wider than her tongue and much, much harder. It spread her until her entrance hurt, a sort of aching burn that was unlike the pleasant stretch from before. The throbs of pain were confused though, seeming to morph toward pleasant as they washed up against her spine and the base of her cock.

Zarel was growling again, a domineering rumble that sounded both content and promising, there was more to come. Small bucks of the werewolf's hips had her sinking deeper, just an inch or so each time. It was deliberate and coordinated, Zarel was either shrugging off her earlier clumsiness or concentrating very hard on not tearing her in half.

Either way, Ardour appreciated it. Each new inch hurt, resisted by spasming and fluttering muscles, but she could handle it. It was getting a little easier. She was starting to feel full, too. Not just stretched and abused, but a sort of deep fulfilling penetration that filled an emptiness she had only just become aware of. It was good. It scratched the Itch.

The size of that lupine cock meant her walls were clinging to it. It didn't so much hit her prostate as gently flatten it with its passage, spreading a sort of toe-curling oomph that echoed in her untouched cock. That broke the rest of her resistance and Zarel bottomed out with a triumphant grunt. Hot breath washed over Ardour's cheek as the invader pulled back, feeling her clinging and squeezing, then thrust in again. And again.

They had a rhythm soon, the werewolf driving into her loosened and accommodating body with gusto. The patience and consideration were gone too. Zarel had her full weight on Ardour, each squirming limb pinned beneath a stronger one. The werewolf's chin was resting on the top of her head, huffing and panting as she dominated the tiefling.

Ardour belatedly recognised the prone position as the same one she'd used on Vyx the night before, rutting the moaning fox boy into the bed right before Zarel's eyes. Was it a deliberate choice? The stone floor was definitely less comfortable and the treatment rougher.

But it was working. The pain was gone from her ass at least, though her knees and breasts were protesting the werewolf bulk squashing them into the ground. More than making up for her discomfort were the waves of pleasure that shot through her every time Zarel's cock dragged over her spot. She could feel a filthy pool forming beneath her as each thrust squeezed more pre-cum from her.

Her ass tingled from the corruption in the werewolf's own pre-, an Itch nearly as bad as her own, Ardour realised with a shock. After only a single encounter with the werewolves and their succubus master.

The werewolf's fuzzy balls were slapping against her own hairless nethers, tickling her. Each thrust was a heavy impact, monstrous weighty marbles full of fresh seed pummelling her small tight sack, thoroughly drained only half a day ago. As if realising where her attention was, Zarel thrust harder and angled her hips to maximise the pendulum slapping motion. Each hit made Ardour's stomach jump in a confused mixture of pleasure and pain. She ought to be protesting, but somehow she liked it. Somehow she was going to cum for this savage domineering monster.

It had been building for many minutes, but it arrived all at once. Suddenly her limp muscles were spasming, clenching, grasping around that invading cock. The waves of pleasure from her prostate became a single continuous paroxysm of release, quite unlike any orgasm she had experienced before. Her cock, untouched and squashed uncomfortably between her belly and the floor, pulsed and oozed to add to the filth smearing her front.

Above her, the werewolf let out a triumphant snarl.

---------------------------------------------

Her rival (Ardour, she had a name Zarel remembered now), mewled and quivered beneath her. Her nostrils twitched and she smelt the tang of wasted seed in the air. Good. That was the point, she distantly recalled. Exhaust the tiefling so she would be no competition for the boy.

The white haired boy. Smelled like roses. Her brow twitched, trying to remember.

Aavi. That was his name. She wanted to protect him. Claim him. To stop Ardour from claiming him.

She'd done that now, hadn't she? The tiefling was limp beneath her, groaning softly. She felt good, hot and tight around her cock.

She looked upward, drawn by a shaky intake of breath. Aavi was looking down at her from the ceiling, out of reach. He was very pink, but she couldn't read his expression. He must be impressed, she decided.

She was impressed with herself. She had no memory of using her penis like that before, or her tongue for that matter. But Ardour had clearly liked it. She herself had very much liked it.

Was still enjoying it in fact. Her hips were moving unconsciously, little thrusts that kept her hard and drew tired appreciative moans from the well-fucked tiefling.

She could stop, a tiny part of her suggested. The job was done. But Ardour's body was very nice wrapped around her and she didn't really want to pull out.

If she pulled out and went to claim Aavi then she'd have to climb up to him somehow, which would take a long time. And she'd have to prepare him like she had the tiefling, which had been fun but taken a long time and lots of care. She wasn't feeling very careful right now. She was feeling like she wanted to fuck.

So where did that leave her?

Aavi was safe. Her rival had been taught a lesson. But she needed to fuck. Needed to claim someone. Her cock throbbed in its resting place.

An idea struck.

Careful to stay rooted inside the tiefling's now very relaxed ass, she adjusted her grip on her rival to wrap her ankles behind those slender grey ones. Big furry paws grasped Ardour's hands. Revelling in the new strength and coordination she found in her body, she rolled over onto her back, taking the impaled tiefling with her.

She came to rest on her back with Ardour lying face up on her chest, head between her tight muscular breasts. Her rival moaned something that might have been a protest, but with all four limbs restrained she had no say in the matter.

This angle let her see the tiefling's dark grey cock too, flexing uselessly as it pointed up in the air. She noted with irritation that it was still mostly hard. That wouldn't do.

With her ankles wrapped around Ardour's legs she had control of the tiefling's lower limbs. Planting her own feet on the floor spread those legs wide apart and gave her some acceptable leverage. It also exposed their victorious joining for the world to see.

For Aavi to see.

She looked up and they made eye contact with a jolt. His pretty golden eyes were huge. He was shaking, but she wasn't sure what that meant.

She thrust up into Ardour, testing out her range of motion. It wasn't quite as good as before, she couldn't truly pummel the tiefling in this position. But that was ok. She had learned her lesson, as her much quieter mewling confirmed.

She took a breath and focused on her own pleasure now. Ardour was looser than she had been, but she didn't mind. The struggle for penetration, the gripping and fighting muscles, it had all been very exciting. But now the tiefling was beaten and compliant she could go deeper and easier, with long thrusts that maximised her own enjoyment.

She huffed contentedly, inhaling the tiefling's scent and the smell of their joining. It was good.

Something caught her eye. That unnatural grey cock was fully hard again, bobbing up and down in time with her thrusts. She felt a small flare of anger, but the rest of her rival's body was still so limp and relaxed atop her, accepting her dominance happily. She didn't think it was a challenge, despite appearances.

Hmm.

She guided one of the tiefling's hands to it and Ardour duly set to stroking, soft touches in time with her thrusts from below. It looked nice.

That gave her a hand free, so she explored her beta's body. Her claws were sharp and the soft grey flesh was tender, so she had to be careful. She cupped and squeezed the tiefling's breasts, enjoying the feeling of the hard nipples against the soft fur of her palm.

Her hand drifted lower and she spread out her fingers so that they covered the tiefling's stomach. She could feel Ardour's abs tighten every time she thrust up into her, holding herself steady for her to fuck. She could just about feel her own hardness there too, lodged deep inside. The thought made her pulse with excitement. She was getting nearer.

Her hand trailed lower, skirting around that impertinent cock, and she pressed a finger against the smooth flesh just above where their bodies joined. If she angled it right she could rub the spot with the pad of her finger while angling the claw away.

Ardour's deep answering moan thrilled her. A good spot. She pressed a second fingertip against it and rubbed harder. The tiefling squirted a rope of clear pre onto her belly. She inhaled deeply of the scent and thrust harder, feeling her peak must arrive soon.

She felt her knot starting to swell. A bulb of flesh near the base of her shaft. It felt good already as it bumped up against her beta's entrance. She knew that it would feel a lot better once she got it in there, with all Ardour's muscles squeezing down on it. She was going to do it.

The tiefling's moans were delirious but they had an edge of protest to them now too. She was probably scared - the knot was half as big again as her usual width. But it was going to happen. She was going to claim her.

She sought some means of reassurance for Ardour even as she pressed harder against her entrance, trying to squeeze her knot inside. She could lick her face, but something told her the tiefling wouldn't appreciate the gesture as it was intended. Hmmm.

Aavi. Aavi was reassuring wasn't he? He was kind and gentle. He had healed her after her siring, and she remembered him touching Ardour's brow and soothing her in the midst of her frenzied rutting of the little fox prey.

She let go of Ardour's other hand and took her by the chin, directing her gaze up to Aavi. The beautiful paladin was still watching through the trapdoor, expression stricken. Good boy.

He said some words, but she was too hazy to understand them now. Ardour gasped some sort of acknowledgement though and stopped clenching against her quite so hard. Good girl.

Nearly there. She was so close now, alternating between short staccato thrusts that built her pleasure and increasingly insistent attempts to squeeze her still growing knot past Ardour's entrance. The tiefling was moaning again, sweat coating her brow. She tensed suddenly and to her delight actually pushed back against the knot, trying to help.

It popped inside all at once and Ardour threw her head back and howled. She bucked her hips excitedly and rewarded the tiefling by grinding the heel of her palm against her taint, squishing her weak spot flat between unstoppable cock and immovable hand.

This time the tiefling's eruption was a jet, not an ooze. Ropes of silky white cum fountained up in the air and rained back down around them, some marred her fur but most fell on Ardour herself, pretty white streaks on grey flesh. Ardour's whole body clenched down on her cock, or so it felt, muscles spasming and rippling, milking her sensitive knot.

With a triumphant howl of her own she finally came. She felt her balls twitch and jump, sex pulsing as she spent her seed deep inside her defeated rival. Her core clenched and pulsed. She was so strong, maybe that was why her climax felt incredible. She had never known one so strong.

She wanted to sink her teeth into Ardour, but she knew instinctively that wasn't allowed. That was fine, the tiefling didn't have to be a werewolf to be hers. Her beta in this pack of two. Maybe three...

Somehow her orgasm went on. She had a lot to give, but that was fine. The knot stopped Ardour from going anywhere and made sure none of her seed escaped. She liked the feeling of the tiefling held against her, she decided, and wrapped both arms around her to draw her in tight.

Her mind was clearing as she spent herself, fog she didn't know was there but could see by its absence now it was lifting away. That was the Itch, she remembered suddenly. Corruption in your flesh that made you mad, until you shared it with someone else. Then and only then, in the aftermath, did it grant you a snatch of lucidity. She was thinking better now, as her pulsing climax finally dried up.

Zarel frowned, seeing her current situation in a somewhat different light. She snuck a guilty look up at the trapdoor and saw the concern and horror on Aavi's face. Her best friend's face.

She should leave, she decided in her moment of clarity. Get away from them both before the fog descended again. In the morning she'd change back and then she could be trusted around them again, or so she hoped. She started to lift Ardour's semi-conscious form off her, then felt resistance.

With a low whimper she realised they were still knotted together. And the Itch was coming back...

Author's note: thanks for reading this far. This is my first time writing and I'm having a blast. If you liked it and/or you have any suggestions then I would love a kind comment.