Description Owen Banks witnessed Max finding his destiny up on the mountain, then realized he was changing, too. Was he like Max, or was something else awakening within him? He decided he was going to find out.
|Updated||05 Sep 2020|
Owen Banks roared westward on a winding two-lane highway through New York State’s sparsely settled north country, his beloved, recently recovered Ducati eating up the miles between him and whatever lay ahead.
He grinned as he thought of the changes that had crept into his life and then pounced on him, like a beautiful beast. It started with physical changes, not just to how he looked but to how he felt. All through high school he’d been thick and hairy, with wide shoulders tapering to a trim waist and the kind of powerful arms and legs that let you plow through a defensive line like they were bowling pins. Like any virile teen he’d been horny as all get-out, and the very heft and weight of his round, girthy tool seemed to amp up his easily switched-on arousal. He’d been good-looking enough to catch the eye of any girl he’d wanted, too. His piercing blue gaze, wicked grin and bad-boy stubble on a good-boy football hero’s face tended to spark something deep and wicked in just about every girl in school. Too bad it wasn’t the girls he wanted, though it had taken him ages before he’d finally let himself go after what he really wanted—namely, the cocksucking lips of his boyishly cute, not-as-shy-as-he-seemed friend Maxfield Sheridan.
Now, though, after the mountain, he was all that in spades. He’d seen it in Max the moment he’d gotten there—his bj-buddy had swoled up in muscle, masculinity, and pure fucking hotness. He’d known instinctively that the mountain was changing something in Max, or maybe releasing something that was already there, and nothing had ever turned him on more than Max showing what he was becoming.
Owen had spent a few weeks up close and intimate with Max and his sex-on-legs, mountain-he-man dad, Glenn, and he’d picked up on a lot more than they had told him outright. He knew that Max was facing up against something powerful in his bloodline that was turning him day by day into something his father already was—a creature of the mountain, more than just a man. He’d heard Max when he’d talked about the bears in his dream and the way he’d sensed the bear that came near the cabin that night, and how what he’d picked up on was how you’d know them if you were one of them. Max was connecting with something that was not only primal but animal, in a way that blurred the line between human and beast.
And it was happening to him, too.
He’d felt strange, unknown possibilities and urges coursing through him like hot blood from a second, once-dormant heart almost from the moment he’d laid eyes on the newly manly Max, way up deep in the mountain forest, immersed in nature and far from man. Owen had had to fight himself just to keep from dropping to his knees and yanking Max’s jeans before Owen had barely climbed off his bike and gotten his first good look at him. The sensation had built and expanded through him after that first beer, and then… Max’s cum. It was like it sank into him no matter how he took it, infusing into his insides, like all that sperm was wiggling into every last part of him and joining with him, becoming one with his flesh.
Sheridan cum. Owen had become insatiable for it up there. Somehow he’d convinced them to share him between them, and soon he was getting pounded by their huge, raging erections in almost nonstop bouts of ferocious, playful, crazily passionate fucking. And the more he stayed with them and the more they fucked him and fed him and shared their strangely hornifying beer with him in that special, magical place, the more he felt like he was Owen And More, like his entire being was reaching beyond being a mere man.
He’d thought it was all a kind of delicious sex delirium. His time on the mountain were just pure escapist pleasure, a vacation from reality in a land where men could meld with the primeval, planetary power of a deep, secluded nature far beyond the ordinary world of men. Then Owen had left that world… and somehow he’d taken it all with him.
He was palpably different now. He was apart in a way that made him almost jubilant with excitement. Sure, football had made him feel like he was a leg up on everyone—cheering crowds and constant praise did that to you, though he was grounded enough to know other people were different in their way, too. But this—this was an order of magnitude beyond anything like normal. He was overflowing with energy, life, strength, power, and sexual zeal, and all of it to an extent that was making him feel just slightly inhuman.
He’d seen it when he’d strolled through his hometown with Max by his side and everyone had stared at them. It was so obvious that the two of them were different. They didn’t track with the mundanity everyone else was used to and measured each other by. Jaguars padding through the dogs and cats and parakeets of everyday life. And it wasn’t just Max. It was him too. He’d known for absolute sure, a thrill of excitement rippling through him, when that tool Brewster, who was used to towering over everyone else, had stood in front of him and looked him right in the eye and called him a yeti and a freak. The look on that dumbfuck’s face, when Owen had told him the secret to his new size and potency was man-jizz, rubbed all over—twice daily! Owen snorted a laugh as he remembered. That was gold.
Owen was bigger and harder than ever before. He couldn’t be more thrilled. And as if it had been crafted as an avatar of his overall physique his cock was bigger and harder, too. His super-heavy wankshaft was up and eager all the time now, boned rigid as fuck literally more often than not. Even now he was as hard as an iron pipe in his bike leathers as he tore down the interstate. Every minute put more distance between him and his town, his family, and everything he’d ever known so far, and for the moment he was good with that. The mountain was far behind him, too—and the mountain was the one thing that could conceivably have gotten him to turn around and go back.
He didn’t know exactly what he was doing. He didn’t have it all planned out. But Owen went with his gut, and his gut told him fun, satisfaction, and answers were all in front of him.
Owen had been raring to go back there that morning, when he’d sat with his dad over a plate of eggs and bacon and just let his beard grow back not half an hour after shaving it off—without even knowing how he’d done it. This was the tripwire. This was the sign he should go back to the mountain. He’d been filled with energy and power ten times more than usual that morning, like he was a fucking sun of muscle and hair and sex and cum. Everything had been super-intense that morning, and when it dialed back toward his new normal he could still feel it, that boiling potential, surging deep underneath. No, he couldn’t grow his beard on command any more, not like he had that morning, though when he did shave he didn’t keep a clean chin for long.
But the mountain was still there. He could feel the pull, like that was the kind of place he belonged. He wanted to get on his bike, ride up there, and—what? What would he do when he got up to the cabin again? Get busy with Max and Glenn, literally shoving himself between them? Owen was no idiot. Never mind how rude that would that would be, now was when Max most needed to understand who he was. That was what Owen wanted to figure out, too, but lovemaking on the mountain was the culmination of his history as a Sheridan. It was Max’s climax, not Owen’s.
At first he wondered if the ranging up in size and vigor and erotic ardor and everything else really was down to being pounded full of Max and Glenn’s powerful cum. They were something more, something primal, and he’d had more of their jizz released into him than he would have thought possible only a couple of months ago. But that couldn’t be the whole story. Owen’s virility upgrade, both on the mountain and after, was a shadow of what happening to Max; and Max’s month-long transformation was clearly the culmination of something in his physical genetic make-up. What was going on with Max was a like a puberty where Max found a new level of manhood that was, somehow, his blood-given birthright. Everything Glenn had been doing had been to reinforce that, and that had included him sharing his own seed with Max. Owen didn’t know everything about what went down with the Sheridans, but he was almost certain that whatever was happening to his friend and fuckbuddy was something that was already in him.
Even the mental abilities Max had developed—especially that rad way he could remotely track through the woods without moving from his cabin—seemed to Owen like they branched out from the bond between Max and his dad. He bet that bond reached back further, father to son, into the ancient primordial wilderness, before there was even a civilized world to keep separate from. The cum boosted Owen the way it had Max, but in Max’s case for sure it was just a catalyst helping to activate something innate and far older than himself.
Having figured this much out, Owen was left with two bafflingly contradictory conclusions. There had to be something in him that being up on the mountain with the Sheridans had tripped and brought to life. That also meant that it had to come from his dad, and Owen just wasn’t seeing it. His father had been a well-muscled, popular football player once like him—though really it was the other way around, since Owen had started playing the game to make his dad happy and, thanks to his exceptional physical prowess and his exuberance on the field, had turned himself into the star player his pop had never quite been. They even looked alike, at least to outsiders: bluff, stocky, hairy-chested. They didn’t feel alike, though. For one thing, Howard hardly ever smiled, and he didn’t seem to relish life much, even as a young man. Owen found living like that almost as alien and unrelatable as if his dad were a walking man-shaped warship or a crazy noseless wizard.
He found part of the answer after dinner one night in the “Personal – Family” drawer of his father’s filing cabinet. His stomach fluttering, Owen set the adoption papers onto the coffee table in front of his dad while Howard was watching a baseball game on his big, old-fashioned CRT television.
His father glanced at the folded papers and paled a little, but all he said was, “It’s not like it should be that big a surprise.” Then he added, “I’m still your father.”
“I know, pop,” Owen said. He resisted the urge to sit next to his dad and remained standing, close to where his dad slumped in the sofa after too long a day wrangling a living from an undistinguished five-store pharmacy chain. Owen almost felt guilty for how hard Howard worked and how Owen had been unable to stand doing the same kind of dronery. “I know,” he said again. “But… you know something’s happening to me, right?”
“I did notice,” Howard said. He sounded a little sour. “You’re even less like me than you used to be.”
“You mean, I’m handsome now?” Owen quipped. Howard said nothing, and Owen let out a breath. “I did try, pop,” he said.
Howard’s eyes were on the game, but Owen knew he wasn’t seeing it. Owen tried to find the words to explain what was going on in his head, but he wasn’t sure he understood it, either. Max was better at words—Owen was a visceral kind of guy. “There’s more, pop, I can feel it,” he said at last. “I… want to find it.”
Howard shrugged. “I can’t stop you.” He clicked his tongue and added, “I’d’ve done the same thing, to be honest.” But he didn’t say any more than that. He just kept watching the little men in the glass tube smack baseballs across some stadium diamond somewhere else in the world.
Owen pursed his lips. He’d been over the adoption forms, but they’d only contained information post-adoption. He was listed as Owen David Banks—the name he’d known his whole life. No information about birth parents, locations, or anything else he didn’t already know about beyond the adoption itself.
Owen needed something to go on. It felt the initial stirrings of a quest, and that kind of excited and amused him. But to embark on a quest you needed something to start with. A compass heading, anything.
“Pop,” he nudged.
Howard finally looked up at him. “You’re looking for what? Family? Roots?”
Owen toyed with revealing the hidden world whose threshold Max had allowed him to cross, and that seemed to connect to blood and lineage. If his dad knew about it, though, by virtue of how Owen had come to him if nothing else, then it followed that there was no need for Owen to tell him why he was looking. And if he didn’t… well, he thought he knew what his practical father would think of his son’s imaginings. “Roots,” Owen agreed.
Howard nodded. He turned back to the TV. “I’ll find you something. Give me until morning.”
There wasn’t much more to say, it seemed. Impulsively, Owen reached over and ruffled his dad’s hair, gray and thinning but still substantial. Howard’s lips twitched in an almost-smile, accepting the affection.
By the time Owen had gotten up the next morning, the house was empty and his dad was nowhere to be found. Presumably he had gone in to work at the crack of dawn, as he sometimes did when things were busy. That would be his excuse, anyway. On the kitchen table was a sheet of lined notebook paper on which had been written, in his father’s meticulous block handwriting, two pieces of information culled from whatever old notes or address books his dad had rummaged through the night before. One was an address in Lake Placid, New York. The other was a name: Burke.
Owen sat and had a bowl of cereal, pondering the address and the name the whole time. He cleaned his bowl and set it in the drainer, drying his hands. Then he came back and carefully tore the sheet of paper in two, folding the half with the address and name and tucking it in his pants pocket. He found the pen his dad kept on top of the fridge for shopping lists and wrote “Love You Pop” on the remaining blank half, leaving it on the table for his dad to find. Then he went upstairs and and packed, whistling tunelessly to himself in the empty house.
Owen wasn’t the kind of guy to stay cooped up in his motel room. As soon as he’d dropped his bags, dumped his riding clothes in the room’s only armchair, and taken quick shower to wash off the sweat and grime from long summer day on a hot highway, he was out exploring the area.
Though he’d taken the scenic route across Lake Champlain and through the upper New York Adirondacks, it was still light as he’d approached Lake Placid from the north, but he decided to stop for the night anyway and leave investigations for the morning. He wasn’t sure how he’d actually proceed the next day, but he wasn’t too worried—his gut told him something would turn up, and anyway, that was tomorrow. The place he’d picked, along the state highway outside of town, had decent reviews and was mostly full despite not being one of the expensive lakefront inns with swimming pools, gift shops, and omelette bars at morning brunch. Out back there was a large expanse of unmown grass dotted with random wildflowers behind the motel, and Owen spent some time wandering the little patch of wilderness with a huge smile on his face, while eyeing with great curiosity the darkly forested mountains looming up the east and south around the little valley. He found himself wondering what Max and his dad were up to just then, roaming their own mountain far away beyond the horizon. Owen’s heavy, hard cock flexed in his loose, knee-length shorts, riding high at the vertical now so that it was trapped by the wide waistband, and his anus twitched and squeezed with equal excitement as he vividly remembered the dark, spectacular joy he’d felt at being plowed by the ardent and lusty Sheridan men.
His smile got even wider, if a little wistful. He could almost have committed to being part of a—what was a couple called when there were three people involved? A trio? He could have done it, but… well, Glenn loved Max with everything he had in him, and Max loved Glenn even more. He didn’t quite fit into that kind of picture. Still, Owen wouldn’t mind something as sweet as Max’s love for Glenn on his travels if it happened to turn up, but (and here he directed his thoughts to his tireless cock) he’d definitely have to see about finding a little more mundane relief, and soon. His big dick jumped against his waistband, impatient and eager as always, as if to assure him that it not going away of its own accord anytime soon (if ever).
When he got back to the motel he found a curious sight waiting for him: a large dog with dark chocolate coloring was standing directly behind where his Ducati was parked between two SUVs. It stood absolutely still, ears up and tail straight out behind it, and was staring hard at the bike as if it were trying to bore a hole in the gas tank.
Owen approached cautiously, the dog almost immediately catching sight of him and watching him move steadily closer without turning more than his muzzle. Owen stopped a couple feet away and knelt behind the nearer SUV, maintaining eye contact. The dog was large enough that if Owen had gotten down on his hands and knees, they would have been pretty much face-to-face.
“You like my bike, buddy?” Owen asked, keeping his voice calm and friendly as he looked the animal over. He wasn’t up on dog breeds, but guessed he had to be a labrador. The dog had no tags or collar that he could see, but he also looked well-groomed and healthy, with a glossy coat and no sign of injuries or weaknesses. This was no stray, Owen was certain. From the size of the paws, its suppressed energy, and a general sense of the dogs he’d met over the years, he had an idea that in spite of its size the dog was fairly young, possibly as young as twelve months. “Whose li’l pup are you, eh?” he asked the dog curiously, still looking him over.
The dog tightened his gaze into a glare, and Owen, taken by surprise, barked a laugh. “I knew a boy like you once!” he exclaimed, grinning smugly at the dog. “You just gave yourself away, there, Fido. Which was it, ‘li’l pup’, or belonging to someone else?”
The dog snorted. “Aw, you and Tyrant would be such good friends,” Owen said, still grinning. “Though I bet you’re not as uptight as he is.” He put his hand out with the back facing the dog, fingers curled back. “Maybe you can smell something about me you can trust, like Tyrant did,” he said. “Want to see?”
The dog eyed him another second, then trotted forward, closing the distance just enough to sniff Owen’s hand. His reaction was almost comical: he bounced back a step, rearing a few inches on his rear paws, before planting himself in a half-crouching, play-fighting stance and letting out a loud “woof!”, while behind him his tail whipped back and forth in a frenzy.
Owen gaped at the dog for a second, breaking out in a huge smile. “You recognize what I smell like!” Owen said, delighted and awestruck all at once. “You know what I am, don’t you, boy?” He leaned forward involuntarily, hand still outstretched, and the dog woofed excitedly at him again. “Oh, pup, if only you could talk,” he said—but Owen was never wistful for long. “C’mere, pup! You know I won’t hurt whoever you’re protecting, right?” Now he did get down on his hands and knees, and the dog, exhilarated, danced left and right, waving its tail almost too fast to see. It was like he’d been waiting his whole life to meet and wrestle with someone like Owen. Owen jutted his head forward, and the dog leapt back half a foot a let out another happy bark in pretend-challenge.
“Bandit!” cried a male voice from some distance away, and instantly the dog froze—not in obedience but in mortification. Owen wanted to look up to see the owner of the voice, but first he had to mouth “Bandit?!” incredulously at the dog, just to see its reaction. Sure enough, the dog turned his head away, even more embarrassed, and Owen sat back on his haunches and chuckled as the dog carefully straightened up into its original, stiff and stoic deportment, careful not to look at Owen or anything else. It was the funniest thing Owen had seen in days.
At the sound of approaching footfalls, Owen looked up to see a dark-haired, amber-skinned young man hurrying toward him across the parking lot. He was roughly Owen’s age or just a bit older, and his black Springsteen concert tee shirt and light-colored sweatpants did little to hide a lithe, lean body that was tightly packed with hard, dense muscle. Owen was tempted to let out a whistle of appreciation as the man rushed up.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” the young man said, looking a little distressed. Owen guessed a lot people tended to be frightened of such a large dog, especially when it acted all grim the way it was now. Owen loved knowing that it was, in fact, just an act. He was very curious to learn just how much Bandit’s human knew, and if Bandit were hanging around the man for reasons similar to Tyrant’s seeming sense of responsibility for the stranger side of Stark, New Hampshire.
“He never acts like this,” the newcomer was saying. “But I promise he’s not dangerous.” He turned a glare on the dog, who was still stiffly avoiding all eye contact.
“No worries,” Owen said. He didn’t stand up just yet, as he was finding this position to be an excellent vantage from which to admire the very good looking and extremely well-put-together human companion to his new friend. He noticed that the man was hairier than he’d seemed at first, with long sideburns, a dusting of stubble along his jaw and around his lips, and more than a little body hair along his arms and poking past the collar of his shirt.
Instead of commenting, though, he deflected attention to the dog. “No worries at all. Bandit and I were just making friends. Right, buddy?” he added to the dog. Bandit turned his muzzle very slightly further away from Owen, not appreciating the ribbing over his name. Owen suppressed a laugh and, as an apology, he offered the back of his hand to the dog again. To his surprise, Bandit, almost reluctantly, leaned forward slightly and gave it a small lick with his the tip of his wide, red tongue.
Owen grinned, turning back to the human. “I have a way with animals,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound smug. He’d said the same thing to Max once almost as a joke, but the truth was that animals did tend to trust him—even, as it turned out, mysterious protector-type dogs that were clearly smarter than they were supposed to be.
“Bandit’s never like that with anyone,” the sexy stranger said cautiously, aiming a puzzled look at the dog. “Usually he acts like humans are beneath him.” The young man seemed to remember his manners and offered Owen a smile and an outstretched hand. “I’m Gerardo, by the way,” he said.
Owen took the hand and shook it, standing as he did so. He was a lot taller than the newcomer, and as he stood, Gerardo’s hand still in his, the effect was for Owen to rise up and up and up, exposing not only his height but the full extent of his recently enhanced musculature. By the time he was up to his full stature Owen was towering over a beautiful, saucer-eyed man who only came up to his collarbone. “I’m Owen,” he said at last, staring down into brown eyes stretched so wide he could see all the way around the irises.
Suddenly a red flush appeared in Gerardo’s cheeks, and he squeezed his eyes as tightly shut as they had been wide open before, snatching his hand back in the process. “Oh god oh god oh god,” Gerardo mutterred.
Owen realized what was happening with an answering surge of sensory pleasure flooding through him. His balls tightened and his pipe-like tool seemed to harden even further. “It’s okay,” he said soothingly, though he wasn’t sure which of them he was talking to. He rested a tentative hand on Gerardo’s square, very pleasantly muscled shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay.” He clawed back from the edge of climax, and Gerardo seemed to do the same.
The smaller man blinked rapidly up at him, trying to focus on Owen. “Oh god, I almost—I almost—!”
“It’s okay,” Owen said. He toyed with confiding he’d almost hurtled off that cliff with him. He was still hot and flushed, and his pulse was hammering in his ears. “It’s okay,” he repeated with a smile. As Gerardo drew a breath, his gaze sinking into Owen’s, he went on, “Maybe we can do it properly later?” He felt his smile spread, and watched its effect on the young man looking up at him. “When we’re not in a parking lot,” he added.
Gerardo’s mouth fell open just slightly, his eyes a bit glazed. Owen, a little amused and very turned on, was contemplating bending down for a kiss when a new hand appeared on Gerardo’s other shoulder. It was dark amber and a little hairy, like Gerardo’s. “Everything okay, Ger?” asked a new male voice, concerned and suspicious.
Owen tore his eyes away from Gerardo to find an older version of him, this one in a midnight-blue tank-top and cut-off jeans shorts. The two men looked almost identical, though the new arrival, who had maybe two years on his—brother? Had to be brother—had longer hair almost to his shoulders and a well-trimmed goatee to go with the dark stubble lining his jaw and lower cheeks. He also, improbably, looked even more like he had as much dense, thick muscle as physically possible packed hard and tight onto a frame that could still count as a lithe, long-limbed aesthetic physique. Every hairy inch of him was jammed with round, hard muscle, but he still looked much more Olympic gymnast than Mr. Olympia.
Owen looked down into dark eyes much like Gerardo’s, only they were flintier and more guarded than the ones he’d been staring into. There was a glint of defiance visible there where there was none in his brother’s, and Owen was sure the older man was working to resist the deep attraction to Owen that Gerardo had quickly surrendered to. Owen found both reactions perplexing. Could he turn these guys on so easily, so completely, that he’d almost made one of them cum just by standing up to his full height? And why was the older one fighting such pleasure? At the same time, the brothers’ responsiveness to his hotter, harder appearance was deeply stimulating to him in a way that was already driving him almost irresistibly right back to the very edge of release.
“I’m Owen,” he said, his voice deep and rough in his ears, and he seemed to be speaking down into the well of those dark brown, lust-soaked eyes.
“Victor,” the older brother said, sounding as if he were far away. His brows drew together. They looked dark, somehow—in fact they looked just slightly darker than they had a moment ago. A cold shiver went down Owen’s spine. “I don’t… understand,” Victor said haltingly, his voice sounding strained as he continued to stare hard into Owen’s eyes.
Behind them, the dog barked. This time, he wasn’t playing.
Owen looked over at Gerardo and sucked in a sharp breath. Gerardo was baring his teeth, and they were all bigger and sharper than before. Vicious-looking fangs had erupted in place of his canines. Hair was racing up the sides of Gerardo’s cheeks, and… fuck, was his nose starting to push out? Owen’s hand was still on Gerardo’s shoulder, and the muscles there were quivering with impossible energy. It felt almost like power was boiling under Gerardo’s very skin, power so intense it was capable of full-on transformation…
Bandit barked again, more insistently. He grabbed the back of Owen’s right running shoe and yanked back hard on it so that Owen almost lost his balance, effectively bringing him out of the spell. Adrenaline poured through him as he recognized he was in a crisis situation. He had to do something now. Years as a quarterback had inadvertently trained to recognize split-second decision-making moments and how to respond to them, and Owen wasted no more time.
The main problem was they were in public. He had to get them out of sight first, then calm the two brothers. For a millisecond he considered his own room, but he discarded the idea instantly when he realized the brothers almost certainly would feel safer in their own space. He turned back to Victor. “Where’s your room?” he demanded.
Victor was frowning at him, eyes unfocused. He was fighting hard against whatever Gerardo was succumbing to. “What?” he said, confused.
“Victor, I need you to hear me,” Owen said. “Where is your room?”
Victor seemed to pick up on Owen’s urgency. “113,” he said.
Gerardo growled, finally alarmed at the transformation that he shouldn’t have been experiencing, now that it was too late.
“Go,” Owen ordered Victor. “We’ll be right behind you.”
Victor blinked, nodded, then looked at Gerardo and gasped. “Go!” Owen shouted. Victor nodded again and ran off toward the row of well-spaced red-painted doors directly behind them on the motel’s first level. Owen then picked up the younger brother and threw him over his shoulder, earning himself another growl and short whimper. “It’s okay, buddy,” he said soothingly, easily taking Gerardo’s weight as he turned and hurried after Victor. “It’s okay. Victor and I are going to take care of you. It’s going to be okay.” Gerardo’s weight was shifting weirdly on his shoulder, and Owen could feel some of what was going on as he held the other man tight against him. This was damn strange, totally unnerving, and awesome as fuck, but he wasn’t going to tell the others about that last part just yet.
Victor had one of the room doors open and was gesturing to the dark interior, dark eyes sharp with concern as he tracked their progress. Owen wanted to glance around for witnesses, but he didn’t risk taking his eyes off the asphalt and concrete between him and the safety of the brothers’ room. There hadn’t seemed to be any folks around when he’d returned from fields beyond the motel and discovered Bandit checking out his bike, so he’d just have to hope his luck held. It usually did. Even when it didn’t.
He rushed into the room, Bandit at his heels, and Victor closed the door. Owen deposited Gerardo from his shoulder down onto the nearest bed, only what he settled onto the rough, motel-issued ivory comforter was not the hunky, startlingly attractive, easily seduced man Owen had met only moments before. What Owen dropped down on the big, queen-sized mattress could only be described as a massive, black-and-silver, 150-pound wolf that was, incongruously and ridiculously, still wearing sweats and a Springsteen tee. He was immense as a wolf, so that lying on his side he took up a considerable share of the bed. Golden eyes looked up at him with mingled fear and annoyance, lips parted to reveal those large, scary teeth.
“Cool,” Owen blurted out, unable to hold back a grin.
At that remark Victor practically exploded. “‘Cool’?” he mimicked, viciously adding an airheaded surfer-boy drawl to Owen’s delivery of the word as he hurriedly yanked the sweats and shirt off his brother. “Is this a joke to you? This is not ‘cool’, cabrón.” His task completed, he hurled the clothes aside and turned his glare on Owen. “What the fuck are you?”
Owen blinked at him, taken aback. “What?”
Victor faced Owen like a man determined to show strength and determination even against a larger foe, a stance that frankly only stoked Owen’s arousal. Gerardo the wolf, meanwhile, was clambering off the bed on the side away from Owen and moving around to stand at Victor’s side. His powerful body made the motel room seem small. On four paws he was visibly larger than an actual gray wolf, his back reaching the level of Victor’s waist. He looked sleek and strong, and it occurred to Owen for the first time that in wolf form Gerardo was probably capable of ripping him to pieces, with or without his brother’s help.
Victor took a step forward, and Gerardo stayed right beside him, backing him up with a hard yellow stare. “We’re six days past the full moon,” Victor seethed. “That’s the only time our kind shifts involuntarily. Even an alpha can’t force it on one of us.” Victor took another step closer, jabbing the middle of Owen’s chest with his index finger. As Owen’s collarbone was just above eye-level he almost had to reach up to do so. “You are not wolf. What (jab) are (jab) you?”
Owen snatched Victor’s wrist into his own larger fist and held it stiff as stone. His heart pounded in his chest, and he had no doubt Victor’s did the same. Victor tried to pull his hand back, but when his arm didn’t budge from Owen’s grip he stilled himself and waited, watching him with his upper lip just slightly lifted to show teeth that were still human, for now. Gerardo crowded close, ready to support his brother in a fight.
What… are… you…
He had an answer, but he didn’t know if he was right. It was the only thing that made sense to him, but it came from instinct, not knowledge. His innate sense was that the changes he had been starting to experience were an echo of what Max was going through, and that felt like the firmest part of a very uncertain mess. He wished he had Max to talk this over with, or better yet Glenn. Maybe he should have gone back up the mountain after all. Yet as soon as he thought it, he felt more strongly than ever that that mountain was not his mountain. His mountain—his place—was here, somewhere, and he had to find his knowledge here, if he could.
Owen flicked his gaze instinctively to find Bandit, who’d taken up a position sitting tall by the window and was craning his neck to peer out between the wide vertical slats, checking for trouble. He glanced over at Owen, perhaps feeling his eyes on him, then dropped to all four paws and padded past them into the bathroom. Can’t help you, dude, he almost seemed to be saying. Owen smiled at that.
He looked back down at Victor, whose eyes had narrowed slightly. Whatever he’d done to Gerardo and had been on his way to doing to Victor, the older brother’s ire and frustration was blocking it for now—though, he sensed, not completely. The way he was holding Victor’s wrist before him meant that Owen’s thumb was positioned directly below Victor’s curled palm. Owen stretched his thumb up and passed a single caress over the lower reaches of Victor’s inner palm, and watched as Victor drew in a long, silent breath.
He was still hugely erect and rock hard. He wondered if Victor was. He was sorely tempted to use his other hand to find out.
“You are not wolf,” Victor repeated, grinding out the words. “What are you?”
Owen stared down hard into dark brown eyes. It felt right in that moment to put this out there, here with these two that were like him and not like him, and see what happened.
“Bear,” he said confidently, his voice deep and rough. Then he smiled. Whatever else was true, he liked the idea of being a bear to these two wolves.
Victor frowned. “There are no bear people in these mountains,” he said. “And there’s nothing in the lore about bear people forcing us to shift.”
Owen didn’t waver. He was stoking his own arousal now, focusing it like a concentrated beam into his smaller friend. Victor’s nostrils twitched, as if smelling Owen’s powerful, cut erection and all the precum that had been seeping slowly into his waistband.
“Maybe you don’t know all the lore… Victor,” he said, using the man’s name like a gentle command.
“Maybe… maybe you are… not bear,” Victor said, speaking with difficulty.
“Or more than bear,” he said. He was certainly more than Owen, or at least, what he was used to Owen having been. He moved his eyes down Victor’s handsome face to his full, wine-dark, bearded lips.
Abruptly Victor tried again to pull his hand free, but Owen still held it fast. “Please,” Victor pleaded. “Don’t make me shift.” The tip of his tongue emerged from between his lips, pushing out just enough to wet them for him, and Owen knew that wanting to have sex with Owen was edging past a fear of shifting involuntarily as the overriding reason Victor wanted to stay human.
“Oh, you’re not going to shift,” Owen said, and it was an instruction as much as an assurance. “See,” he added, bending down slightly so that their faces were teasingly close, “I figured out what happened. Back in the parking lot. Gerardo started to lose control, and that turned me on so much that I started to lose control, too. So,” he added, bending still further, until he could feel Victor’s breath on his lips, “the trick is simple: stay in control.”
It was funny saying something like that aloud. People had thought he was like that in school, the cocky football douche. Even Max had thought he was a grinning, arrogant meathead at first, before they’d started hanging out. But Owen instinctively knew how to handle this situation, and being this close to a deeply attractive muscle hottie like Victor who wanted him this badly built up so much arousal and aching desire in Owen he though he might cum explosively from every goddamned pore in his body. Control was the answer, and he was stronger now—stronger in every way.
With Max, and with Max and Glenn, he had been an eager, insatiable bottom, much to his own surprise and amusement. He’d loved letting Max dominate him and stimulate massive orgasmic eruptions in him, and he’d loved letting the Sheridans double-team him too. He’d jacked off thinking about Max’s huge cock in his ass every damn day since, making his chest hair and beard all sloppy every time with huge gouts of hot cum from the vivid memories of being fucked hard and deep.
This was something different, though, and in its own way as equally, amazingly hot. With these pups, it was just as imperative that he top, and that it happen now, this fucking minute, and then again, and again, and again.
Victor nodded, as if assenting to everything Owen was thinking. His eyes were open, still watching him, but he was ready.
Owen had one more thing he had to do before the descent into euphoric madness. He dropped to his knees, still keeping hold of Victor’s wrist and tugging him down to a kneeling position in front of him before finally releasing him. Then he turned and stared into the yellow eyes of the wolf he’d made with nothing more than the raw sexual allure of his body and his voice.
“Shift,” he said. Gerardo the wolf made a tiny, whimpering sound deep in his throat. Owen leaned forward just a little further and stared deep into those luminous wolf eyes, making him feel the words. “Shift, pup,” he said again. “Shift for me.”
One thundering heartbeat, two, a third…
“You bastard,” Gerardo said, crouching on all fours in front of him, but he was beaming crookedly at Owen with wicked lust written all over his face. He straightened, proud and naked, so that he was kneeling next to his brother, his hairy, packed-muscle, beautifully proportioned body on full display. Victor’s slightly more impressive bod was not much harder to appreciate despite the tank top and shorts that were still in place. A nod from Owen at the shirt and Victor was pulling it off over his head and hurling it into the nothing that existed beyond the three of them. Owen raked his eyes over them and almost growled at the sight of a stiff, gently curved erection that was almost as big as Owen’s jutting out from Gerardo’s crotch. An even-bigger-looking bulge in Victor’s shorts told him he might just be giving Owen a run for his money in that department. Their lust washed through Owen, communicated through the connection already forming between them, and Owen knew that his almost limitless desire was pounding through them as well like a torrent.
Owen wrapped both of his meaty hands around the brothers’ napes. “Now, pups,” he said to them, looking from one to the other and grinning wide, “kiss me like you mean it.”
Victor rolled his eyes, but their lips all came hungrily together a moment later, and Owen felt the earth move just from the thrusts of the brothers’ tongues meeting his and each others’. The kissing deepened and intensified, and the feedback of the brothers’ pleasure into his own drove Owen suddenly toward total, unstoppable climax. “Cum for me, now!” he ordered them, breaking the kiss only long enough to force out the words. The brothers came hard, in complete unison, throwing back their heads and yelling their release as jets of spunk soared out of them, Gerardo’s splattering all over all three of them while Victor recklessly soaked the shorts he still was wearing from the inside.
Owen hastily lifted his shirt to expose the head and top inches of his monster torpedo cock just in time for climax to smash through him. His release smacked him right in the face, just missing his eye, and Owen quickly threw his head back, laughing and moaning at the same time. He gathered the still-cumming wolf brothers in his arms and they did the same, and they came hard and relentlessly together as they held their sweaty, cum-slicked bodies against each other until the orgasm subsided many long aeons later. Then they were just holding each other, dazed and delirious with incomparable, ball-tightening euphoria, their twitching, still-hard dicks jumping languorously as their bones tried to liquify inside them.
Their heads fell softly together, and they began kissing sloppily as if they were half-asleep, or drugged. “My only question for you two,” Owen said after a while, between pants and kisses, “is whether you want to shower first before we fuck for real, or if you want to be (kiss) slippery and (kiss) dirty.”
The brothers’ eyes glinted as they pulled back and shared a look. “How about this,” Victor counted. “We shower…”
“…and you watch,” Gerardo finished.
Owen laughed, even as his dick sprang to full hardness at the image the brothers’ words evoked in his mind. “Good,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at them. “You be clean… I’ll be dirty.” The brothers were shaking their heads and smiling as they all climbed to their feet together, but Owen couldn’t help but notice that they were just as crazy-hard as he was. He had to kiss them one last time before he followed them into the bathroom, evicting a much aggrieved Bandit as they took over his hiding place for the next round of fun.
Owen was having the dream again.
He’d expected to lay awake all night. Fucking the pups had energized him rather than exhausting him as it had Victor and Gerardo, and as they lay curled up against him on other side, nuzzling against his flanks in their sated sleep, pleasantly warm in the cool room thanks to a steamy second shower and their innately hotter-than-human wolf blood, Owen stared up at the motel ceiling, his heart thumping a steady rhythm as his mind raced in curves and twists, like a hundred cab drivers trying to find their way out of a complicated and suddenly exitless airport.
God, the fucking. It had been beyond intense. The best part was how it was so completely different from his eager bottoming for Max and Glenn up on the mountain. Back then, that had been about… well, it had been about a lot of things, not least the feeling of Max’s thick, hard, club of a cock inside him, and Glenn’s even larger monster, pounding into him tirelessly, sometimes one after the other. But what Owen had cherished even more than that, more than anything, was the excitement and gratitude of Max and Glenn tenderly gifting him—him, Owen, this hairy, wisecracking, muscled-up boytoy who’d butted into their lives (hah, “butted in”) and basically demanded they share their seemingly limitless sperm with him—with actual control over the power they had over him. He’d never understood what topping was until he’d been topped by Max and Glenn. They didn’t take, they gave, and Owen had reveled in it, his heart swelling with lust and admiration for the two men.
Bottoming for Max and Glenn had been euphoria, falling into his own world that was full of joy. Topping the werewolf brothers, though… To Owen it felt as if he had discovered some related and yet completely different kind of activity. There was getting fucked, and then there was fucking, and they were as different as working out and riding his motorcycle. Both were a rush, and thrilled him in every muscle of his body, but they were worlds apart. And yet—like pounding iron and eating up road on his Ducati, fucking and getting fucked were both unequivocally him.
He’d started with Gerardo, because he figured Victor would get off watching his brother get drilled, and that Gerardo would love getting picked first. It didn’t matter much to Owen. They were both sexy as fuck. Their warm skin, browner than his Mediterranean olive, turned him on, as did their deep, penetrating brown eyes and thick, soft near-black hair—not just the long locks they kept pushing back, but the heavy stubble and Victor’s dark little beard, and all the silky black hair that covered their chests and trickled down their flat, washboard abs to their randy groins. Best of all, they were lithe and limber and yet packed with muscle, the way Owen was increasingly coming to appreciate deep in his heavy, tight balls.
He’d always loved muscle, of course, especially the awesome way it had started to accrue on him inch upon inch and pound after pound from an early age. He’d relished working out since before puberty, not only for the rush it gave him, but also because the gym was a world of muscle. Working out around other muscly, sweaty, straining guys had been one of his real-life heavens for as long as he could remember, more fun than the exhilarating but stressful hours on the gridiron itself and almost as awesome (once he discovered it) as sex. The more Max had led him incrementally toward a slightly surprised yet inevitable understanding that he really wasn’t a regular hetero guy (in lots of ways, apparently), the more Owen understood that the hours he’d spent intensively appreciating heavy pecs and thick, hard upper arms and wide, bulging shoulders and carved, tree-trunk legs hadn’t just been about “fitness aesthetics” and props for the hard work that had gone into building those impressive evocations of masculine power. He loved staring at muscle, caressing muscle, licking muscle, and being held by muscle as his partner’s eyes and hands and tongue and mouth communicated his own praise for Owen’s own hairy body and his growing, dense, huge and beautiful somehow-more-than-human physique.
They’d stood there by the bed, the three of them, naked and rock hard, the two brothers looking up at him with a crazy amount of desire in their eyes. Their hands twitched from wanting to touch him, but they didn’t dare do so without permission. He could feel a hint of trepidation from them, especially Victor, and Owen guessed it came from being a little unnerved at how completely and unequivocally their physical forms submitted to him. It was like their bodies had given Owen complete license over them without consulting their rational minds, and it was up to Owen to give them reassurance along with pleasure. They stood before him side by side, staring up at him with lust-dark eyes and looking more alike than any brothers Owen had ever seen that weren’t actually identical twins. Owen stared down at each of them in turn, using both hands to stroke their flanks, and they drew in silent breaths as the looked up at him, waiting, their three cocks bumping damply together between them.
He glanced down at their twitching, reddened boners. Owen’s playful, cut, torpedo-thick cock had been minutely expanding over the past few weeks, which was proof enough to Owen that something supernatural was going on even without the insta-beard he could grow during the full moon and all the rest of what he’d seen and felt. He’d spent most of his life growing his muscles the usual way, and in a way it wasn’t too surprising they’d started growing on their own—he could almost believe, with a wry smirk, that he’d trained them enough they’d finally gotten the idea of what they were supposed to do and didn’t have to be told any more with long hours at the gym. It went without saying that nothing in all those years had ever grown his dick, though when he was twelve he’d had a blast pretending that dick growth (length and, especially, girth) was a most excellent side-effect of doing hundreds of sit-ups and crunches, and Owen had kept up a hard six pack (more of an eight pack, these days) ever since. Now his fat, heavy, rock-hard and leaking tool was pretty much the biggest he’d ever seen, on par with Max’s and not that much smaller than Glenn’s, and even soft (not that it ever got completely soft these days) it was bigger than any hard-on he’d ever seen in the locker room or online pornos. The brothers’ boners were impressive on that scale, ten inches easy and more girthy than most—perfect mouth size, Owen realized with a warm shiver of excitement—and that fact that his was as big as both of theirs put together and considerably longer was definitely not about them being small. It was about him being abnormally, gargantually huge, and only faith in whatever supernatural forces were transforming him allowed him to feel confident that he could give them pleasure without tearing them open with his giant, monster dick.
He looked up and met Victor’s eyes. “On your back,” he said, and though it was a command he said it tenderly. Victor’s eyes lit, and Owen’s lips curved in amusement as he held back a smile. Whatever concerns Victor had about the uncanniness of their instant spiritual rapport, he wanted it. Don’t worry, pup, Owen thought, you’ll get it. He nodded toward the bed, and Victor moved instantly. Before he was in position Owen turned to the younger brother, whose expression told him he was a little miffed that he might have to wait his turn. Owen simply said, “Hands and knees.” Gerardo’s eyes widened comically, and a big, uncomplicated grin burst across his face as he realized what Owen had done. He turned instantly to obey, and Owen swatted his firm, hard ass as he did so, chuckling as Gerardo climbed onto the bed and positioned himself smugly over his disappointed brother, their long cocks fencing between them and dripping clear precum onto Victor’s amber-brown lower abdomen.
Owen stared at them, a powerful craving for them both welling up in his chest. They were extremely alluring positioned like this, staring into each other’s eyes with their long, limber, brawny bodies and equally long cocks on full display, the younger hunk-pup looming cockily over the older, and Owen had to fight a sudden and powerful urge to stand there and stroke himself to quick release just from the sight of them. Instead he said huskily, “Tell me where your lube is.” There was no question they had some, though how they played when strange more-than-werebears weren’t around, wither singly or together or maybe with someone else between them, was something he could sketch in with his imagination some other time.
“Toiletry kit,” they said together. Gerardo snickered, and Victor smiled and shook his head slightly, though their eyes remained locked on each other’s. Gerardo was shifting very slightly forward and back, sliding his precum-slicked cock against Victor’s, and Owen could sense even from a couple feet away just how much low-level pleasure this simple action was giving them both.
Owen’s arousal jumped. He was pretty sure he wasn’t going to last at this rate. His hands juddered, once again wanting to grip his supersensitive ship’s mast of a cock and drive himself to a blasting orgasm, but instead he cleared his throat and said, “You can kiss if you want” before turning and heading for the bathroom where the boys’ shared toiletry kit was.
In the bathroom he found the large, square, black leather zipped travel kit the brothers used for toiletries, and sure enough there was a large, half used tube of slick in there, clearly as relevant to the brothers’ daily routine as their combs and toothpaste. Interesting. Owen glanced around the bathroom, half expecting to see Bandit glowering at him at the impure things he was thinking about the dog’s charges. He’d let the dog out before they’d started their showers, not wanting an audience for what came next and trusting the young metacanine to take care of himself, but he could still smell him in here, and it made Owen grin all over again to think of the protector-dog acting all stoic and responsible after revealing himself to Owen, playful crouch, waggly tail, woofs and all. He grabbed up the lube and a couple towels in one hand, experiencing a flurry of excited anticipation as he turned to go back. This was going to be unlike anything he’d had before.
He returned to the room to find the two brothers engaged in a slow, languid make-out while they waited for him, their cocks batting at each other in the space between their tight, beautiful torsos. Victor was stroking Gerardo’s sides as his brother crouched over him, ass in the air, and Owen could feel the heat coming off them in waves like he was plugged into their arousal at a level beyond the usual, mundane senses. His cock surged and his balls drew tight, and his whole body felt like he was liable to erupt any minute, uncontrollably and without warning, before he’d even gotten his massive dick inside his pup’s hot, tight hole.
This time he did grip his dick, though only with one hand—the other was still holding the towels and the brothers’ well-used tube of extra-slick lubricant. He didn’t dare stroke his big, stiff prick, though, and his grasp was more like a steadying hold, urging it to wait, to hold back, so that they could all enjoy a true and incomparable release. “We’re going to have to do this a few times tonight,” he growled as a he stalked toward them. They broke their kiss and turned their heads to stare at him, their dark brown eyes drinking in his almost giant-sized form and tree-trunk cock as it bore down on them, and their own cocks jerked at the sight. “I’m not going to last long,” he admitted as he reached the bed and stood next to it, sweat already dappling his hairy, round delts as he looked down at them, the mere sight of the lanky fuck brothers now threatening pushing him toward the edge. “And one go is barely going to take the edge off,” he added, offering them a rakish smile. He wasn’t even sure why he was saying all of this. Maybe he just needed to give them one last out before he drilled them both into the mattress.
The brothers seemed to understand. Gerardo wrested his eyes away from Owen’s face to take in the massive dick that was about to be pushed into him, but when he looked back up at Owen there was no apprehension, only awe and need. “Please,” he pleaded, lifting his ass subtly, making it clear he was willingly offering himself to someone whose power over them none of them understood. He licked his lips, like he could almost feel what it was going to be like, and he had to have it.
Owen’s gaze flicked to Victor. His expression was more complicated, but he had already given himself to Owen, just as Gerardo had, and Victor was not the kind of man to back down or turn back on anything. He met Owen’s gaze steadily. “Please, Owen,” he said, and Owen’s heart stuttered. Oh, to hear his name on those lips. Whoever had said there was power in names knew what he was talking about.
“Sure thing… pup,” he replied with a crooked grin, deliberately not reciprocating. Victor sighed slightly, though without looking away from him. Owen knew there would be a moment, very soon, when he said Victor’s name with the power of orgasm behind it, and Victor knew it, too.
“Bastard,” Victor huffed. Owen laughed a little as he climbed onto the bed behind where Gerardo’s knees splayed on either side of Victor’s faintly tan-lined hips, placing his own broad knees between Victor’s thighs and Gerardo’s splayed, hair-dusted calves. Setting the lube and towels down to one side, he started things off with a slow, easy caress along the long, dark slope of Gerardo’s back, and Gerardo moaned plaintively, transparently eager to experience the sensation of Owen being on top of him, surrounding him and penetrating him, with his hairy, hard-muscled, randy-as-fuck brother below him at the same time. Victor stroked his sides in concert with Owen’s caress and drew his nose along Gerardo’s, their heated breaths buffeting across each other’s lips and bearded chins, and Gerardo jerked his mouth down into a sudden, fierce kiss that his brother unhesitatingly reciprocated.
They continued kissing as Owen slicked up his right hand, then used his index finger to explore Gerardo’s crease until he found the tight pucker between them. Gerardo hummed into the kiss in satisfaction, them moaned loudly into Victor’s mouth as Owen pushed his finger through the ring of muscle and shoved slowly in, inch after inch, until he was all the way in to the knuckle. Gerardo broke the kiss at last and lifted his head back to release a long “Aaaaaa-aaaa-ahhh!!” that was as much impatient craving for more as satisfaction. Owen wiggled his finger then pulled back and pushed in again, eliciting another cry from Gerardo. “Put it in me,” Gerardo begged. “I’m not a fucking virgin! Put it in me, Owen!”
“You’re a virgin for a cock as big as mine,” Owen warned. He pulled his finger out and pushed two in, and Gerardo groaned in pleasure. Owen grinned at him, taking in the simple joy on his face. Then to his alarm Owen notice hair creeping subtly up the younger man’s cheeks, and canines just starting to descend.
Victor saw it too. “Ger,” he said. “Stay with us!”
Owen stilled his fingers and laid his free hand firmly on Gerardo’s hip, as if he might communicate his will directly into the man’s body through though. He could almost feel the change in him, hovering just on the edge of being triggered, as though the very cells of his skin were vibrating with the possibility of transformation. He remembered what he’d told the brothers about control and said in a firm voice, “Don’t shift.”
Gerardo froze too. His eyes met his brother’s, though they seemed slightly dazed. A line of concern formed between his brows. Owen was worried, too. Something about their connection was so powerful, thanks to some unknown aspect of Owen’s nature, that it had an overwhelming effect on these closely connected werewolf brothers, especially the younger one. This was all on him, and he didn’t even fully understand what it was. “Gerardo, listen to me,” he said in a strong, resolute tone that seemed, to his irreverent mind, a little incongruous with the two fingers he had still inside the man. He used the thumb of his other hand to slowly stroke Gerardo’s butt-cheek, and he let a little more humor creep into his voice as he continued. “I only fuck men,” he admonished wryly, “not wolves. If you want to get fucked, you’ve got to stay a man, okay?”
“Just… put it… in!” Gerardo gritted out. He was sweaty and flushed across his shoulders, his damp hair clinging to his neck, but there was no sign of any fur there. Watching him closely, Owen saw with some relief that the whiskers had stopped advancing on Gerardo’s cheeks, and the fangs had halted in mid-descent, through they hadn’t fully retracted either. Owen stared, amused and aroused. There was something kind of awesome about a guy wanting his dick so bad he started losing control over his hidden animal nature.
Owen had read a bit of werewolf fiction, and there was always talk about how the man and the wolf were two separate natures. The man was always talking about “his wolf” and what it wanted, which always had to do with instinctual needs like hunting and fucking. It sure looked like Gerardo’s wolf really, really wanted Gerardo to be fucked hard and deep by Owen. Maybe Owen could ask the big silver-black wolf the next time Gerardo shifted.
Hey, did that mean he had a bear—”his bear”? Or… something?
Not the time to think about it. He patted Gerardo’s ass and said, “If you insist.” He continued with his prep nonetheless, twisting his fingers and scissoring them in Gerardo’s hot, very tight hole, and Gerardo moaned softly and whispered more indistinct begging. “Fuck, you’re a bossier bottom than I ever was,” Owen chuckled. He wanted to comply with Gerardo’s demand that he “put it in”—his own need was ramping up so high he might come the second he got his cock into the man—but he was a little unnerved at just how big his dick had gotten lately, and he wanted to be sure he’d done as much as he could. He pulled out the two fingers and forced three back in, slowly but relentlessly driving them deep inside him as far as he could.
Victor was staring up at him, concern subsided so that all that was visible in his expression was love and arousal. “He isn’t usually,” Victor said distractedly as he took in his brother’s needy face, and it took Owen a second to understand this was in response to his remark about Gerardo being a bossy bottom.
Owen grinned as he made one last press with his three fingers. “What about you?” he teased Victor.
There eyes met, and Owen saw amusement there. “I… don’t usually have to beg for anything,” he said drolly. Owen laughed. He was almost tempted to flip roles and let Gerardo fuck him—it sounded like that would be pretty wild. He’d have to settle for imagining the brothers going at it, at least for now. He pulled out his fingers at last and straightened up, squeezing lube onto his dick in a long, fat line down the wide, flat surface of his dick. Fuck, it looked like an aircraft carrier from this angle.
“Owennnn…” Gerardo begged, and the name coursed through him like a thousand little explosions. He quickly finished slicking up his cock as thoroughly as he could, then dropped the lube next to Victor’s hand, meeting the older brother’s gaze.
“Stroke your dicks together,” Owen instructed. “Like I said—I won’t be long. And all three of us are going to blow together this time. Got it?”
“Fuck, Owen,” Victor said shakily, like the command had shoved him hard toward the brink of his own release. “Who the fuck are you?” he added with a wondering half-smile, picking up the lube and slicking both hands with it.
“I,” Owen said, pausing as he positioned the head of his mighty cock against Gerardo’s hole, unable to resist such an obvious set-up line, “am the best fuck either of you pups will ever have.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Victor, who snorted a laugh and muttered something incredulous in Spanish. Then Owen pushed his cock-head into Gerardo’s tight, hot hole at the same moment that Victor clasped his fists around their long, thick, nuzzling cocks.
Gerardo tossed his head up and let out an “Oh, yes!” that was just loud enough for Owen to suddenly remember they were in a motel room. He had no idea of there were any neighbors on either side of him, and he normally wasn’t one to care, but from the moment Gerardo had started to shift Owen had felt a powerful sense of responsibility for the two pups, and that included protecting their secret as well as his own. With this in mind, he put his clean hand on the back of Gerardo’s head and guided it downward, and the brothers took the hint and embarked into some heated, sloppy making out that drove Owen nuts to watch. Fuck, he had to get inside this fucker before it was too late.
Loosely holding onto Gerardo’s hips from both sides, he began driving his oversized, steel-hard, more-than-eager cock inside Gerardo’s furnace-hot, impossibly tight hole, inch by inch. Gerardo cried and moaned into Victor’s mouth but didn’t stop their frantic kissing, and Victor kept up the steady two-handed fist-pistoning on their two big, hard wangs.
Owen’s larger form gave him the perfect angle to dominate Gerardo’s ass. The sensations of what they were all experienced flooded through him, a vast, hot torrent of turning, melding pleasure as their very centers somehow twisted and twined around each other, tightening their connection. Owen kept shoving his too-big cock into Gerardo, blinded by lust but feeling every inch of both of the smaller, sexy men below him. Some dim corner of his mind was hoping he would sense it if it got to be too much, too big, but the more he pushed into Gerardo the more unbearably right it felt… It was like this, this, was the way to his becoming. It was like an alignment of the universe, a slotting of things into the way they were supposed to be. Him being inside Gerardo—except—
Why did it feel like he was inside both of them?!
Victor moaned loudly into the kiss. It couldn’t be, but he was moaning—they were both moaning. Their hums and groans were winding and resonating through all of them, curling around Owen’s eager, blunt cock, and the brothers’ long, heated, crazy-sensitive pricks too. Victor’s strokes on his and his brother’s cocks were getting faster, his rhythm uneven. They were close. They were both close.
Owen was fucking them both. He was feeling their passion, their arousal and their pleasure coursing through him like he was on the surface of the sun and all its radiation was pouring through him. And it was both of them, spinning slowly through his own radiance. It was ecstasy and it was unendurable pleasure. He was going to blow. He had to get all the way in, at least, only, fuck, he was all the way in. He was fucking, gently but steadily, in a few inches, then back, in, then back, then in all the fucking way so that his billiard-ball buts were smacking against Gerardo’s ass. But inside, he could feel both of their pleasures from being fucked hard by his gigantic dick, and the knowledge that he was sharing this with these two hot-as-fuck muscle pups finally triggered him into a supernova climax. He exploded into them, his cock releasing spurt after spurt of hot cum deep inside them as they released with him, covering their chests and shoulders and bearded chins with long, hot sprays of spunk. They were still kissing, gasping for breath around each other’s mouths as they kept at it, and it was Owen that was yelling their release, and he definitely didn’t give a fuck.
They’d lain there for ages, Owen and Gerardo straightening out their legs so that Owen and Victor were sandwiching Gerardo between them. Owen knew he was too heavy with dense muscle these days to lie on top of both brothers for long, so he’d rolled the three of them on their sides and they’d cuddled there, sticky and half-dozing, until they’d accumulated enough energy to find the shower and rinse of, this time Owen going in first with Gerardo, then Victor taking his place, and he’d kissed them both languorously as they’d washed all the jizz down the drain. The brothers had barely stayed awake long enough to climb back into the bed and under the covers, and Owen paused only long enough to let a wryly amused Bandit back into the room before climbing into the bed between them, leaving the other, unused bed to the brothers’ canine protector. Despite the satiation of afterglow Owen hadn’t expected sleep to find him with all the strange thoughts spinning through his head, and he was a little surprised when he fell into blackness and the dream came for him.
Owen had always dreamt vividly. He remembered most of his dreams, not only the content but the way they’d seemed uncomplicatedly real no matter how bizarre their narrative. When he was six he’d dreamt that he was a fire truck—not a fireman riding a fire truck but the actual fire truck itself. He’d never forgotten what it had felt like to be a long, metal, sun-baked machine with such an important job, speeding down the streets and chivvying ordinary cars and pickups and bicycle-riders out of the way with his siren so his humans could get to their fire and save the town. He’d giggled as the happy firemen had washed him with rags and buckets of sloshing suds and powerful sprays of warm water all over his shiny red chassis. He even remembered how he’d worried about his humans in their dangerous job, and the pride he felt in how he helped them save people and stay safe with his speed and strength and the water and hoses and ladders he shared with them.
This one felt real, too, but he knew from the start he was in a dream. He was standing at the edge of a pristine lake he’d never seen before, its crystal waters perfectly reflecting a vivid blue sky marked by sparse, cotton-ball clouds and a bright yellow sun high overhead. The long, oval lake occupied the center of an enclosed valley; it was surrounded on all sides by tall deciduous forests of oak, ash, and maple rising up dark, wooded ridges that, while not tall, still hemmed in the lake and its little valley. The forests basked in the gleaming sunlight, the shadows of clouds passing along them in stark relief as a chilly wind wafted them into and then out of the lake’s purview. It was a calm and peaceful place—preternaturally peaceful, maybe, though the place was full of sounds as vibrant as its colors, from the songs and chatter of birds and squirrels to the lapping of the lake as the odd, autumnal gust caught the water’s smooth surface. The air even tasted good, brisk and clean, with a hint of oncoming winter still comfortably far away. It seemed to Owen that there was a hint of unreality to what he saw, as though the mundane world of men no longer contained this idyllic place. His heart swelled that it was still preserved, somehow, and he had found his way here to experience it.
He looked down and saw his own form reflected in the of the water. The lake was deep here, the banks dropping off rapidly not far from where he stood, and the mirrored surface only showed the sky and Owen himself as he stooped to look down at his own form, and nothing of what coursed below. It did not surprise him to see that what looked back at him was a massive, black-furred bear. Scale was hard to judge, but Owen somehow knew that he was larger than any real bear, maybe eight feet tall even on all fours and weighing well past half a ton. Owen grinned, his bear face easily displaying his glee in the reflection. He loved that how big he was as a man carried over into what he’d be like as a bear, and in spades. The same cool wind that scudded the clouds past overhead now playfully ruffled his thick, dark fur, and Owen laughed a gentle, ursine laugh as he bent to drink from the lake’s pure, clean water.
Rustling in the undergrowth behind him made him turn to see a pair of large, young wolves emerging from the woods near the lake and loping in his direction, unafraid, of course, of the massive predator before them. One was black and silver, and the other was a darker gray close to charcoal with strands of black that seemed almost midnight blue in this bright light. Owen could tell that, like him, they were easily half again the size they should have been if they’d been mere, ordinary animals, though their impressive size was, of course, dwarfed by Owen’s colossal form. They were smiling as they trotted up to them.
Owen found he could reach out to them with his mind—this seemed normal to him, in the dream, and he later remembered the mental and psychic abilities Max had gained as he’d undergone his monthlong transformation and the mental connection he’d gained with Glenn. Hey, pups, he sent to them happily. His tone was cocky and smirking, of course. Even here, they objected to being called “pups”—they were, after all, full-fledged adults in both their human and animal forms—but he also knew they cherished the way Owen teased them and played with them just as much as Owen did.
Shut up, Victor sent back blandly, pretending to ignore him as he bent to lap at the cool lake water, though the spot he chose to do so happened to be only a foot or so away from Owen’s mighty paws.
Yeah, shut up, Gerardo chimed in, though he’d paused in the act of bending to drink from a spot just the other side of Owen to stare up at him, and Owen caught indistinct ripples of emotion through their connection. Awe, he thought, and raging desire—Gerardo was addicted to the incredible fucking they enjoyed in their human forms—and, to Owen’s astonishment, love. Could that be right?
He knew instinctively, and in this place had known for a long time, that Victor and Gerardo would be his mates if they were bears, but… they weren’t bears. They could not be mates, not really. But that thought felt wrong to him.
He put the problem away to think about later. What did the elders say? he asked them. Owen had asked for them to reach out to other packs for stories and lore that might tell him who he was and why this place was undeniably home to him, since the tales of the brothers’ own pack had told him little.
Gerardo bent to drink at last. Owen felt a tinge of frustration from him as he replied, They were no help.
They’re afraid of you, Victor supplied. The elder of the two brothers was better at containing his emotions when they communicated, but Owen could still sense concern from him. There were legends in these lands of bear shifters and wolf shifters once having been at each other’s throats, literally when they were in their animal forms, and though it had been long ago the wolf shifters remembered, and no one talked about how there were no bear shifters around, or indeed anywhere between here and the White Mountains where some lived among men and others shunned all humans.
I guess I don’t blame them, Owen thought to both his pups. He bent to drink again, though he wasn’t thirsty now. He was a little scared himself, when he let himself think about it: the bits and pieces he was discovering about himself didn’t all fit neatly into the box labeled “bear shifter”. Even in the days of legend, for one thing, a werebear couldn’t make a werewolf shift involuntarily, between full moons. Victor had said so from the beginning, and the pack elders had confirmed it, reacting—so the pups said—with horror when they’d heard Owen had done just that to Gerardo. Owen wished they’d never told them.
They might… Victor started to tell him. Owen looked up. Victor was looking at him, his golden eyes bright. They don’t like that you’re here, Victor tried again. I think they are discussing driving you out.
Owen felt a flood of worry come from Gerardo—worry for Owen, but also for the pack. An echo of similar concerns came from Victor. Owen wanted to growl, to say “let them try”, because this was his home now—this was where he belonged. Max had his mountain, and here—these endless forests, rife with flora and fauna, and these hills and this lake—he could feel its energies knitting with his own, slowly rebuilding what was lost in him when he was left among the humans and unlinked from his birthlands. He wanted to defend, with tooth and claw and all the strength of a colossal werebear, his need to be here and to create a future here with these two men who belonged with him. But even Owen the bear wasn’t violent or destructive like that. He’d never take that path.
Maybe it was enough to know this place existed.
He shook his head and looked up at the sky. No storms loomed there, no thunderclouds gathered ominously along the tumbling, woody ridgeline. The sky remained bright and blue, and the puffs of clouds wandering past overhead seemed like friendly visitors.
It won’t come to that, he told his pups. I promise. Now, he went on, with a sidelong glance at both of them, who’s up for a swim?
Victor gave him a skeptical look. Gerardo glanced up in shock with a What?? Sure enough, Victor was distracted enough by his brother’s reaction and his instinctive need to protect him that he was caught off guard when Owen suddenly shifted his weight and shoved Victor right out into the cold, deep water. He came up sputtering and cursing mentally at him in Spanish, and Gerardo was laughing out loud, his wolfy laugh something Owen found incredibly endearing. Owen thought about sending the other pup into the water too, but instead he stepped backward from the edge until he had a good run-up to the lake.
Victor saw what he was doing and called out, No! Don’t you dare!, but Owen was already galloping fast toward the water’s edge. As the two wolves watched he leapt up with a happy roar, soaring out and over where Victor was treading water a few feet from shore, and arced hard down into the water with a belly flop. The result was a splash so massive that it seemed to inundate the whole valley and drench his entire dream, dropping Owen straight out of unconsciousness and back into the calm, unadorned midnight of the cheap motel where the silent darkness was disturbed only by the fitful rumbling of the heater under the window and the snores of two human lovers and one pert dog.
Breakfast was at the Denny’s that stood, improbably, about a thousand feet down the otherwise uncommercialized highway from the motel. There had been a moment of drama getting ready head out, when Owen had come out of the steamy bathroom buck naked to find Gerardo staring down in distress at his too-small tee shirt, a well-worn, brick-red “I heart NY” number that was straining across his chest and hugging his shoulders so tightly the cotton fabric seemed to be under the misapprehension that it was really Lycra. Victor stood to one side frowning at him, his own shirt, a white button-down with a wavy, mesh-like navy blue pattern, hanging open over his hard, hairy pecs and tight, bumpy abs, the white fabric providing a compelling contrast with the dark tan of his skin. His dark jeans looked tight, too. So did Gerardo’s.
Owen leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his much larger chest. “Why did you pack a shirt that was too small?” he asked.
“I didn’t!” Gerardo protested.
“It didn’t shrink in the laundry, either,” Victor added before Owen could ask. “He wore it two days ago and it was fine. Snug, but not—this,” he finished, gesturing.
Owen admired Gerardo for a moment, then realized Victor was giving him a shrewd, penetrating look. “What?” he asked, genuinely confused, but Victor just raised an eyebrow.
Then it clicked. Owen felt a slow, wicked smile blooming across his face. Gerardo caught Victor’s expression first, then Owen’s, and froze. He looked at Owen doubtfully. “What are you doing to us?” Gerardo asked, and Owen could already detect an edge of excitement in his voice along with the concern.
Owen grinned wider. “Heck if I know,” he said honestly. “But I can’t wait to find out.”
They found a dark blue button-down for Gerardo to wear over his tee and, once Owen was dressed—with Owen noting silently to himself that his clothes seemed a little tight, too—they’d tromped down the highway shoulder to the lonely-looking Denny’s in the midst of nothing but farmland, Bandit trotting sedately behind them, even though when they got there he elected to wait outside. Why he hadn’t just waited at the motel, Owen didn’t know.
There were, surprisingly, plenty of cars in the parking lot and a fair quantity of people inside, including a number of families who seemed to come here periodically. The waiter, a tall, skinny guy with a lot of wavy, blond hair he kept having to comb back with his hand, even knew the two brothers. “Hey, Ger,” he said amiably. “You’re looking good. You too, Vic,” he added, a little less genially. Then he fixed his eyes on Owen and actually gave his lips a long, slow lick. Owen couldn’t decide if he’d done it unintentionally, or if he’d known exactly what he was doing. “So,” the blond said, staring hard, “who’s this?”
Owen gave him a feral grin. “Trouble,” he answered.
“Mike, this is our friend Owen,” Victor said in a cautioning tone. From how close they were sitting on either side of him in the U-shaped booth Owen was sure it wasn’t hard to guess what kind of friend. “Can we get coffees first?” Victor added.
“Sure thing,” Mike said distractedly, before reluctantly tearing his eyes away from Owen to go fetch the coffee carafes.
“Buddy of yours?” Owen asked Victor pointedly.
Victor rolled his eyes. “He’s Ger’s ex,” he explained.
“He’s not my—” Gerardo started to say, sounding exasperated, before starting over. “We dated for a while, but he… wasn’t a lot of fun. You know… sexually.”
“He was bad in bed,” Owen translated with a smirk. He knew he didn’t have that problem.
Gerardo blushed a little. “Yeah. Plus he wanted to be exclusive. And, well, the pack…” He trailed off.
“He’s not one of us,” Victor explained in an undertone. “You can fuck around outside the community, but you’re not supposed to get serious with anyone.”
“Uh huh,” Owen said, scratching his beard. He looked at the brothers in turn. “So,” he said, “is me being around going to be causing problems for you guys?”
To his surprise, Victor’s grin was as big as Gerardo’s. “Fuck yeah,” he said. Under the table, he squeezed Owen’s mostly dormant dick through his faded jeans, and Owen suppressed a yelp.
“We’re not letting you go,” Gerardo added, and in his eyes Owen saw that he meant those words absolutely.
“Not ever,” Victor agreed. He sounded almost fierce about it.
It was Owen’s turn to blush a little.
“What are we talking about?” Mike asked cheerily as he returned, turning up the carafe to pour steaming coffee into Owen’s waiting mug.
“Fucking,” Owen answered. Mike’s hand jerked, splashing coffee onto the table in front of Owen.
“And other stuff,” Gerardo added. He glanced cautiously toward Owen from under his lashes.
Owen’s heart pounded at the sight of Gerardo giving him a look that was so furtive and yet brazenly hopeful. He gave him a soft smile. “Yeah,” he agreed. “And other stuff.” Victor’s hand gave his dick another squeeze, then moved to Owen’s meaty thigh and rested there.
Yeah. And other stuff.
There was a beat as the three of them sat there together, pondering possibilities. “Let me just get a rag real quick,” Mike said dejectedly after a moment. He set down the carafe and disappeared.
“So what I guess I don’t understand,” Owen said after a moment, pouring them each coffee, “is—if you two are local, why are you staying at the motel?”
“We were sent here,” Gerardo said with a shrug that strained his shirts. He started pouring sugars into his coffee, two packets at a time. “The three of us were. I guess for you, but we didn’t know it at the time. We were just told there would be something strange out here, and maybe dangerous.”
Sent here? By the pack, Owen guessed, watching the sweetening continue with amusement. Strange, and maybe dangerous. His lips quirked at the description.
He turned to Victor, who confirmed, “One of our pack elders has dreams, and he—”
“You mean, like the one last night? At the lake?” Owen blurted out, without thinking. He was about to retract this statement—of course, the brothers wouldn’t know anything about what he’d dreamed last night—but then Gerardo gasped, and Victor paused, frowning at him.
“You… were at the lake?” Gerardo said, amazed.
“With you two,” Owen agreed, turning to him. He leaned forward conspiratorially. “I threw your brother in.”
Gerardo’s eyes widened, and he snorted a laugh. From his other side Victor said, “I knew it!” When Owen turned to look at him, though, Victor was smiling. “You are nothing but trouble,” the wolf shifter said, but he said it fondly, like that was one of the things he was starting to appreciate about Owen. The hand on his thigh felt to Owen like Victor was trying to make sure Owen stayed there and didn’t take his trouble over the horizon anytime soon.
Owen nodded unrepentantly. “I am,” he said. Then he bit his lip. “Then, that stuff in the dream—was that… real?”
Victor sobered. “Sort of,” he answered. He wrinkled his nose, like it wasn’t something that was meant to be explained or understood. “It’s like an echo, and it’s like an abstract painting of something real, and it’s like ‘yes’ and ‘maybe’ and ‘not yet’. It’s true, but it’s…” He foundered.
“It’s the wolf dream,” Gerardo said, sipping his coffee with another small shrug. “It just is.” Owen looked at him, thinking Gerardo probably navigated the dream a lot more intuitively than his brother. Gerardo added, “Elder Sam, though—he sees more in the dream than we do.”
Gerardo seemed to think that this Elder Sam saw things Gerardo didn’t particularly want to see. Owen started to ask if he was really going to cause a lot of problems for the brothers and their pack. But just then Mike returned, trying very hard to be all business, and Owen didn’t let himself ask after that. Instead he sat back and enjoyed breakfast with his men, Gerardo sitting close and Victor with his hand on his thigh whenever he didn’t need it for eating, and thought about the road ahead. Whether it was a dream or a reality or an alternate truth, he was going to try to find that lake again, and when he did he was bringing his pups with him.
They walked back from The Loneliest Denny’s with their bellies pleasantly stuffed with multiple servings of crispy bacon, thick buttery pancakes, sweet, pulpy o.j., and lots and lots of smooth diner coffee. Even Bandit was loping beside them in a contented food langor, Gerardo having brought a tall, syrupy stack of flapjacks out to the oversized dog where he was standing watch outside near the front door. He’d snarfed it down with gusto even faster than the wolf brothers had done their own first servings, licked the plate spotless, then looked up and grinned at Gerardo, much to the latter’s amusement.
As they walked, Owen strategized with them. Victor and Gerardo had only met with the elders in the wolf dream so far, so it was more a matter of impressions than anything concrete, but the brothers were sure of two things. Reaction to Owen’s presence in wolf-people territory was, to put it charitably, mixed; the brothers had sensed cautious curiosity from some, apathetic indifference from others, and teeth-bared hostility from the rest. And if they found out the depth and strength of the bond that had already formed between them, the elders’ reactions would only intensify.
Owen was not much put off by all the potential belligerence being aimed his way. He’d been drawn in to the shifter world through Max and Glenn and had seen their protectiveness of the mountain that was their world first hand. Glenn was a sexy and genial stud, but he was not the type to tolerate interlopers, especially powerful ones with their own agendas—and Owen was self-aware enough to see that the wolf-people’s leadership would see him as exactly that. Protectiveness, he could understand. He was feeling it himself, for the first time, and he found it suited him deeply.
From Victor and Gerardo he learned that there were three clans of wolf people loosely scattered through the lush, secluded Adirondack valley north and west of the lake, and each clan had a married pair of elders and a third elder to counterbalance the couple’s position. The shifters minded their own business and mostly lived apart from the humans; a few humans knew the score, but most of the local farmers and small businessmen were under the impression their tall, dark forests were inhabited by actual wolves, and there was even an occasional push, regularly put down by those in the know, to market the valley to tourists as New York’s own Northern Wolflands. As it was, the tourists were largely kept apart from the humans and wolves alike, congregating in the delineated camping and hiking patches up the eastern ridges, two very popular ski resorts (essentially dormant in the summer), and boating communities down by the lake. No other shifters had dwelt the valley woodlands in pack memory, which, Owen gathered, sank backward through the wolf dream a considerable ways—possibly, in some indistinct form, to the first settlement of these woodlands by the original wolf-people clan, long before the arrival of white folk like Owen and the other wolf folk that found their way here to join them.
Victor and Gerardo belonged to the youngest and smallest clan, which had migrated up here by invitation of the two older clans after human development crowded them out of their ancestral Long Island territory. Unfortunately, that meant that even if Victor and Gerardo’s clan elders supported him—and Gerardo had the distinct sense that their Third at least, Elder Manuel, was one of the ones who’d be angling to drive Owen out—their clan’s junior status within the pack leadership might limit the help it could give him.
Still, their First, Elder Lucas, the brothers’ uncle, was probably their best bet as a starting point, they decided. He had a reputation for being reasonable and slow to anger, and had been kindly and supportive when Gerardo was dating Mike. Gaining one of the elders’ support to start out with seemed less daunting than facing them all at once, or waiting from them to decide to act; but Owen was sure there was rough road ahead no matter what.
“It’s going to be a big mess,” Victor sighed as they left the shoulder of the barren highway at last for the seamed and faded motel parking lot. He glanced up sidelong at Owen. “I mean, I wouldn’t blame you if you decided—”
“Not a chance,” Owen broke in with a growl before Victor could even finish his thought. Owen wasn’t going anywhere. It was now an unquestioned fact for him that this was where he belonged, with Victor and Gerardo. In a sudden, swift move he turned as they walked, grabbed the densely muscled young man up by the waist, and tossed him effortlessly over his shoulder. He then continued across the mostly empty parking lot toward the motel as though completely unburdened, while Victor squawked in protest.
“Hey!” Victor yelped, beating ineffectively on Owen’s broad back, though he was barely suppressing his own laughter. “Let me down, you Neanderthal!” Owen grinned wickedly down at Gerardo, who was staring up at him wide-eyed with a huge grin, while Bandit trotted delightedly around them in a circle, laughing.
Catching something in Gerardo’s dark eyes, Owen impulsively bent and scooped him up as well in a single fluid motion, hurling the younger brother over his other shoulder. Gerardo squealed as Owen resumed his tromp across the lot. “Hey!” he giggled. “Put us down, you brute!”
“Not even if you’re good,” Owen said smugly, wrapping his powerful arms tightly around them, making sure to cop a feel from their amazing muscle butts and strong, sleek thighs as he did do. “And you’d better not be good,” he added as he walked, making his steps extra bouncy just to torment them.
“Stop it!” Victor demanded unconvincingly through his laughter. “Bandit, do something!” The big dog, however, just continued trotting around them in happy circles, watching the three shifters with his tongue lolling out.
“Bandit knows who you belong to,” Owen said airily, jouncing them some more as he shifted their position. They were exceptionally heavy even for a pair of well muscled guys in their early twenties, though Owen’s own strength was barely even tested by their weight. “Holy smokes, how much did you guys eat?” he teased.
“Yeah, you won’t like it so much if I barfed down your back!” Gerardo shot back with a grin in his voice.
“Please,” Owen said, slapping Gerardo’s butt as he walked. “Your stomachs are probably empty already and bitching for more. I bet you could eat another stack of pancakes a foot high!”
“As if you couldn’t,” Victor snarked. He’d given up beating on Owen’s back and was now stroking the planes of muscle through Owen’s tight, straining tee shirt. Gerardo quickly started doing the same, as if Owen’s body was simply irresistible to them. Or maybe, Owen mused with a twisted grin, they thought that turning Owen on even more than he already was—the brothers had him on a constant, half-hard simmer of arousal just from the excitement of their presence—might somehow turn the situation to their advantage. Well, he’d show them exactly what turning him on could accomplish.
“Hey, is there bacon with that foot-high stack?” Gerardo put in, still stroking Owen’s back and no longer even pretending to be mad. “Cause I could totally go for more bacon.”
Owen barked a low, throaty laugh.
As they approached the motel building a pair of women in their early thirties was getting out of an old station-wagon crammed full of camping gear, parked a few spaces down from the brother’s room. The women stood frozen next to their car doors, watching slack-jawed as the huge, hairy, olive-skinned bear of a man strode insouciantly past them with a handsome, thick-muscled hunk slung over each shoulder, while an unusually large chocolate lab danced amusedly around them.
“Ladies,” Owen said as he passed. The gaping women said nothing, but one of them, a slim redhead in a kerchief, lifted up her phone almost as if in stunned, autonomic response to a social-media-worthy moment. Owen offered her a feral grin as he passed.
A moment later they were standing before the sloppily red-painted door of room 113. Fishing the room key out of his pocket with only a little jostling of his charges, Owen unlocked the door. He glanced down at the dog, but Bandit, clearly knowing better than to come into the room at a time like this, sat down on the concrete walkway outside the room, watching them intently.
“Okay, seriously, you can put us down now,” Victor said, adopting a long-suffering tone.
“Never!” Owen said grandly. He sidled through the open doorway shoulder-first, kicked the door closed with a loud slam, and then, defying his words, threw them both unceremoniously on the nearer of the two beds. The impact had them bouncing uncontrollably and they yelped and pretended to glare up at him, then shrieked in genuine alarm as Owen threw himself on top of them with a playful roar, clambering out of the way just in time and then piling on top of him the moment he hit the mushy mattress.
“Now you’ll get yours, caveman,” Victor said, pinning Owen’s massive shoulders hard against the bed as he straddled the larger man’s narrow waist. Gerardo climbed on behing him, bouncing on Owen’s butt.
Owen wanted to moan. He was now fully turned on with a raging erection, and he could sense equal heights of arousal from the brothers. His whole body felt wildly stimulated, as though the brothers’ feverish need for him was generating feedback throughout his powerful, muscle-swollen frame, making the very hairs on his body stand up in lush, heated stimulation. And he could tell, he was doing the same to them, the three of them stoking up each other’s arousal higher and higher with every passing second of contact. Fuck, and our clothes are still on, Owen thought as he writhed a little under the brothers’ very pleasant weight.
“So what are you going to do to me?” Owen said with a pretend sneer. He could probably throw the two of them off easily—although they were pretty strong, and getting stronger. They were definitely heavier than they looked. It didn’t matter—right now, Owen wanted them exactly where they were.
Victor bent close to his ear, his heated arousal seeming to come off him in intoxicating waves. Owen could smell everything about him—his hairy muscles, his need for Owen, and most of all his big, uncut, leaky, iron-hard boner. The long-haired, densely muscled Latino was clearly trying to regain the upper hand after being carried like a sexy sack over Owen’s shoulder, and Owen found that to be both kind of cute and incredibly hot.
Victor squeezed Owen’s brawny shoulders as he bent close. “Maybe you should be the one getting fucked for a change,” Victor whispered, his voice low and hungry.
Owen growled low in his throat.
“Yeah?” Victor responded in a rasp, correctly interpreting Owen’s reaction. He brought his lips even closer to Owen’s ear, so that his soft goatee brushed against Owen’s cheek. “You like that?” he whispered softly. He sounded a little surprised, but also eager to find out just what it would be like to top a brute like Owen.
Owen licked his lips. “I’d like it even better,” Owen said huskily, his heart pounding loud in his ears, “if you did me… while Ger does you.”
The words hung heavily in the arousal-scented room. Then he heard Gerardo mutter, “Fuck, Owen,” from where he sat on Owen’s hard, round ass, his torso automatically pressed tight against Victor’s back, one strong arm wrapped firmly around his brother’s waist.
“Yes,” Owen agreed. “Fuck Owen.” He twisted his head so he could meet Victor’s dark, lust-saturated gaze, then, over Victor’s shoulder, Gerardo’s, which was filled with more awed desire than seemed humanly possible. “Fuck Owen,” he repeated. “And then… Owen will fuck you right back.”
This time, it was the brothers that growled, and the sound of their unison rumbling went straight to Owen’s balls.
The plan to go see Elder Lucas right away—once the blinding imperative of sex and showers was seen to, of course—was temporarily derailed when one of the shoulder seams of Gerardo’s brick-red “I Heart New York” tee shirt suddenly ripped wide open as he was shrugging into it, exposing a broad expanse of meaty, dark amber deltoid underneath.
Gerardo looked sheepishly at his towel-clad brother, who paused in the act of blow-drying his long hair to stare at him the the mirror, and then at Owen, who was still shirtless and staring open-mouthed at the results Gerardo’s unintended shirt-busting. “Ooops,” he said.
Owen reached into his increasingly snug pants and straightened out his never far from hard dick. “Dios mío,” Victor swore under his breath. Clicking off the hair dryer he set it down and rounded on Owen, stepping toward him. Owen caught Victor’s look and raised his hands, palms out.
“You have to stop growing us,” Victor said.
“I don’t mind,” Gerardo said easily. Victor glanced back at him, frowning, as the younger of the two brothers started tugging experimentally at his skin-tight shirt on the other side just below the opposite seam while shifting and squaring his hefty shoulders. He’d hardly started before that seam suddenly tore open as well. It was just an inch at first, creating a quarter sized hole, but Gerardo kept wiggling his mighty shoulders, barely needing the extra encouragement his pulling at the fabric provided before the seam opened up completely, showing so much dark, faintly striated deltoid and trapezius muscle pushing through the ragged opening that it looked like Gerardo was literally bursting out of his clothes. Gerardo looked up and aimed a dark-eyed, salacious grin at his audience.
“Holy fuck,” Owen said reverently. He was all the way hard now. He was so hard right now, he thought wryly, he could made iron envious and stone weep from wanting to be like him—and this after cumming twice up two separate, super-tight wolf-brother asses.
Victor turned back to face him. Owen could see his cheeks were a little red as well, and his heavy cock was pushing out against his towel—he was just as turned on watching Gerardo bust out of his shirt as Owen was. Victor brushed his hair back impatiently, his upper arms bulging impressively. Owen stared at him. Victor was bigger all over, too. The effect was greater on Gerardo, but everywhere Victor’s dense, hairy muscles were harder, more cut, and all but emanating a deep, masculine potency. Even Victor’s lush, midnight-black hair had lengthened some since the day before, Owen realized—it was now falling fully onto Victor’s bulging bare shoulders where it had only been brushing them before, and it dropped into his face a bit in front as well. Gerardo’s hair had grown too, Owen saw, and both their swaths of dark stubble had bloomed overnight into three or four days’ growth of beard around Gerardo’s long sideburns and Victor’s increasingly ragged goatee. It was as if Owen’s “man juice” had made both of them more manly in every way possible. Why Victor would object to that, Owen didn’t know.
Victor was glaring at him, as if he were guessing Owen’s thoughts—more likely they were written on his face, as usual, he corrected himself. “Don’t you see?” Victor said, pushing his hair back again. “This is only going to make things worse.” At Owen’s knitted brows he added insistently, “This is our world. Right? Our pack. They’ll see you changing us as a threat.” Owen started to respond to this, then stopped, biting his lip. “Nothing,” Victor persisted, “will make them close ranks against you faster than you charging into our lands and just blithely making the two of us more like you.”
Owen considered this. He did understand, once Victor explained. He had a frame of reference, after all, and he’d seen first hand how Glenn had reacted when outsiders—or even other bear folk—expressed an interest in messing with what he saw as his. Owen had only gotten away with “messing” with Max because Max had accepted Owen as “his”, at least for a while, and so Glenn had too, even standing up for him as if he were part of Glenn’s family group. Owen thought of the “boytoy” exchange in the little jail in Stark and felt his lips quirk at the memory.
Victor eyed him narrowly. “What are you smiling at?” he asked.
“Vic, c’mon, lay off him,” Gerardo broke in worriedly, coming up behind him and laying a hand on his shoulder.
“This is serious,” Victor said, turning his head toward him while still facing Owen.
“If you boys think I’m not serious about you both,” Owen said, “you’re wrong.”
Victor met his eyes, and Owen saw all kinds of conflicting emotions there. “We know,” Victor said. “We’re serious too. That’s why you can’t just… grow us!”
Gerardo snorted suddenly. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation,” he said, smiling brightly.
Owen smiled too. “So what do you want me to do?” he asked Victor. “Stop fucking you?” There were only inches between them now, and Owen could feel the heat cascading off both his men, and smell the sweet musk of their consuming arousal. He stared deep into Victor’s eyes. Victor started to say something, but Owen barreled on. “Because right now you’ve got a giant, roaring, juicy erection that I very much want to wrap my hot mouth around. And you want that too, because I can feel it. Just like I can feel how badly you’re aching to take my hard cock again all the way up your tight ass. Which, just so we’re clear,” he added with a fierce smile, “is very much mine.” He looked at Gerardo over Victor’s dark, brawny shoulder. “Both of them.”
“Fuuuck,” Gerardo breathed. “I think I just came a little.” His hand was gripping his brother’s shoulder now, hard.
Victor’s breathing was ragged, but his voice was steady. “I… can’t argue with that. Any of it. But—think, Owen,” he said. “You have power over us. You made Ger shift—both ways. No one can do that. You’re doing this, too. And—fuck, you said it yourself, when all this started. Control. Right? You have to control the power you have over us.”
Owen blinked at him. “Maybe that’s why I’m here,” he said slowly. “Maybe… that’s why we all met.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Victor agreed.
“I felt something like that in the wolf dream,” Gerardo said, resting his dark-bristled chin on Victor’s shoulder where the curve of the trapezius met the surging roundness of the deltoid. “I know there’s something here for you find, and it’s not just finding… you know, you.”
Owen nodded at both of them. “I’ll find what I need to find,” he said, because there was no point in not going forward. Owen just wasn’t that kind of guy. He smiled crookedly as he added, “I’m going to need some help, though.”
“We’ll help you,” Gerardo said instantly.
“We’ll always help you,” Victor said. “You know that.” Owen smile spread into a wide grin. “And not just with your monster-sized butt-hungry permaboner,” Victor added dryly, cocking a brow at him as if despairing of Owen ever not thinking about sex.
“Yeah, not just with that,” Gerardo said, also grinning.
“You’re so cute when you’re trying to be serious while you’re turned on,” Owen said, bending—a little less than he’d needed to yesterday—to plant a deep, sensuous kiss on Victor’s full lips. Then he turned his head and kissed Gerardo for a long time, the two of them playfully groping each other around Victor as if he weren’t there. All three of them were so aroused that they were soon exploding in yet another orgasm, spraying endless amounts of spunk all over Victor and each other, while Gerardo and Owen panted, red-faced, into each other’s gaping mouths and Victor clung to Owen’s colossal boy-beast body, huffing into Owen’s broad neck.
“We… just showered,” Victor got out, still shooting his last spatters of cum into the rough, white motel bath towel trapped between them.
Owen kissed his neck. “You complaining, pups?” he asked, holding both of their muscular bodies close to his own.
“Hell no,” Victor said.
“Not even a little,” Gerardo said, nuzzling Owen’s stubbly cheek.
“Good. Because Ger will definitely need to change that shirt now, if we want to be presentable for Elder Lucas and all.”
“But this was the last one,” Gerardo whined. “All of the others were even tighter on me.”
“I don’t think the blue shirt I was wearing before will fit me now, either,” Victor confessed quietly into Owen’s nape.
Owen squeezed them both tightly and then stepped back, eyeing them appraisingly. Then he shrugged. “I got a couple of extra shirts in my room,” he said. “They’ll be too big for you, at least for now,” he added with a wink. Victor gave him a look, as Owen had intended. “I gotta warn you, though,” he went on, “I haven’t had a chance to wash ‘em, so they’ll smell like me. A lot. You won’t be able to keep your dicks down while you’re wearing ‘em, I’m guessing. Might even cause a few spontaneous orgasms—you never know.”
“Fuck yeah,” Gerardo said, low and throaty.
“Maybe… the Walmart in Sweets Crossing is a better idea,” Victor said judiciously, though it sounded like his reason was warring with the same urge to be wrapped up in Owen-smelling Owen-shirts that Gerardo had embraced with gusto.
“Oh yeah?” Owen said. “They let you walk around all big, hairy, and shirtless in the Sweets Crossing Walmart?”
Victor shook his head, but he couldn’t hide a slight curve to his lips. “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”
“Nope,” Owen said, beaming. “I’m enjoying this just the right amount.” He turned and, snapping up the key to his room from the bureau, tossed a quick “Back in a jiff” over his shoulder before opening the door and heading out into the bright summer morning, huge, shoeless, and shirtless, like some primal form of the human male. He turned and disappeared past the still-open door, Bandit trotting curiously behind him.
“Shit, even the dog that hates everyone loves him,” Gerardo said. He was still holding Victor close to him, his half-hard cock rutting idly in the smeared mess of the release he’d sprayed all over Victor’s back.
“Imagine how smug he’ll be when he realizes just how much we love him,” Victor said sourly. “We’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Like he doesn’t already know,” Gerardo said. “It’s like we’re all already fucking mated or something.” He started kissing Victor’s neck. “Fuck, bro, I’m still so horny.”
Victor turned in his embrace, letting the cum-soaked towel drop away at last and clasping Gerardo to him with his powerful arms in a messy, cum-slicked hug. “Get used to it,” he said, and let his mouth cover Gerardo’s in a long, hungry kiss. Eventually they separated, and Victor added, “I feel like this is only the beginning.”
Gerardo met his brother’s eyes. “You scared? About that ‘power’ he has over us?” he asked.
Victor considered, then sighed. “I’m starting to realize something,” he said. “There may only be one way to deal with our Owen and all the crazy that happens around him.”
Gerardo’s dark brown eyes danced as they looked into Victor’s, as if anticipating what his brother might say next. “Yeah? What’s that?” he asked.
Victor smiled softly at his brother’s obvious happiness. “Roll with it,” he admitted. Gerardo grinned, and Victor kissed him lovingly, their tongues wrestling playfully as they held each other, their heavy, uncut, and apparently tireless cocks swelling and hardening all over again between them.
Sweets Crossing proved to be a surprisingly well-populated town about fifteen minutes’ drive from the motel. They decided to go ahead and check out, so Owen brought down his few belongings from his room, shared a couple of his spare shirts with the boys, dressed in jeans, his boots, and a fresh tee himself; then, once they were all squared away in the office, he packed his stuff away in his travel compartments, mounted his trusty Ducati, donned his helmet and shades, and followed the brothers’ scuffed, bottle-green Accord out of the lot and onto the lazily winding local roads through low foothills on the western side of the valley. He rode the whole way with a smile on his face, knowing that the brothers were wearing his scent and it was probably doing their heads in, not to mention swelling their balls and straining their hard cocks with every mile they drove. What Bandit thought of all this, lounging in the back seat of the Honda and wondering at his charges’ odd behavior, he couldn’t even guess.
Sure enough, the brothers were red-faced and agitated by the time they all pulled into adjoining spaces in the sprawling, half-empty Walmart parking lot, and, Owen couldn’t help observing as he turned off his motorcycle and watched them climbing out of their car, they were very obviously also sporting massive, tube-like bulges in their criminally snug jeans. What really struck him, though, was how huge they looked, even swimming in two of the loose extra shirts Owen had bought recently in response to his own swelling form. He pulled off his helmet and shades for a better look.
Owen had always been big and bulky, more so lately; but the brothers’ muscles were thick and hard, to match their tight, lanky frames. Their shoulders, pecs, arms, abs, asses, and legs all looked like they were packed with twice as much brawn per cubic inch as Owen’s; and as they clambered out of the Accord, fully revealed in the bright late-morning sun, it was breathtakingly clear that Owen’s recent growth-stimulation had only made them look more than ever like they’d been chiseled from fucking iron, just a lot more of it. The too-big tee shirts Owen had lent them, ruffled now by the gentle breeze wafting through the lot, did little to hide their concentrated, hard-packed physiques—all while simultaneously suggesting, in the way the thin cotton fabric hung over their pecs and clung to their delts and bis, that these Owen-sized shirts might not be too big for long.
Owen marveled at them, feeling like his dick was actually swelling a little just from taking in the sight of them as they slammed their car doors and stalked around to stand in front of him, each of them wearing comically identical scowls. He tried to make eye contact with Bandit, now sitting up in the back seat on the side nearest him by the half-lowered window, but the big dog was looking primly ahead out the windshield, wanting nothing to do with the shapeshifters and their sexual antics.
Owen tossed the brothers a cocky grin, which got him a rough-voiced “Fuck you” from Victor.
“Yeah… fuck you,” Gerardo said, crossing his powerful-looking arms over his bigger-than-yesterday chest. Owen held back a laugh—Gerardo had let a lot more of the double meaning of the phrase leak into his tone than Victor had.
“We’re never going to get your smell out of the car,” Victor said. “We’re going to be popping boners every goddamn time we get into that thing.”
“Your stink is pretty intense, man,” Gerardo seconded. A whiff of the scent in question seemed to catch him just then, whether from the chocolate-brown borrowed shirt he was wearing or from Owen himself, and Owen’s vision focused on Gerardo’s flaring nostrils and darkening pupils. Victor seemed to be exercising more self-control, but the plain cobalt-blue tee he was wearing was clearly affecting him just as strongly.
Owen looked them both over, amused at being confronted over his own capacity to arouse. They wanted to play? He could play.
“I can smell your hard dicks, right now,” he said, his voice low and clear.
They stilled, their attention riveted on them, and when Owen opened just enough to lightly moisten his lower lip they followed his tongue’s every move.
“I can smell the hot, musky precum you both just let seep into your boxer-briefs,” he continued relentlessly, staring them both in their dark, hungry eyes. “I can smell how much you want me, every second we’re together,” he said, “and I know it’s the same for you. That’s us now. My stink on you. Your stink on me.”
He let his smile widen into a carnal smirk. “It’s like foreplay we get to do all the time, until the moment comes when we can all fuck again.”
Gerardo was breathing a little heavily. “Now,” he blurted out darkly, loosening his folded arms and letting them fall as if freeing up his hands for imminent action. “The moment is now.” He tore his eyes away from Owen and started scanning the dense woods beyond the parking lot that reached around behind the Walmart, as if assessing whether their thin, noontime shadows could make a viable fuck venue.
“Mierda, Owen,” Victor gritted out, genuinely aggrieved under his towering arousal. “It’s too much. Can’t you… tone it down?”
Owen’s expression softened. He climbed off his motorcycle at last, letting them see the bulge from his own massive erection. Standing before them he placed a hand on both their shoulders, half-wondering his palms weren’t seared from the heat of their aching, molten-hot arousal.
“That’s not my power over you,” he said steadily, looking them both in their chocolate-brown eyes. “That’s… just how much you want me. It’s the same for all of us, Vee. Exactly the same.”
Victor responded to the nickname as if something within him was pulled in that much closer to Owen, but before he could say anything Gerardo spoke. “It’s hard to believe you want us as badly as I’m craving you right now,” he said. There was a bit of a quaver in his voice, as if he were worried by the intensity of his feelings.
“Believe it,” Owen said, staring him down. Gerardo stared back, eyebrows lifting like rising balloons, and Owen got the feeling he was sensing truth in Owen’s words.
Victor shook his head slightly. “Then, I guess… it’s not just you that needs to learn control,” Victor concluded reluctantly. He sounded as though he wasn’t sure he was up to the challenge.
Owen considered him. “Kiss me,” he commanded. Victor immediately moved toward him, helpless to resist, but Owen added, “Softly. Quietly.” Victor paused, and Owen met his darkened gaze. “Control it,” he insisted. “Less hurricane, more… ducks out for a swim.”
Victor huffed a laugh. “It’s not that simple,” he protested.
“Maybe not.” Owen shrugged and offered Victor an easy smile. “Give it a try.”
Victor hesitated, then leaned in. Their kiss was gentle and sweet though still passionate, but after it Victor whispered, “Need more.”
Owen just smiled at him and turned to Gerardo. He was crowding in close. “Now you,” he said. “Remember,” he added warningly, eyeing him.
“I know. Soft.” Gerardo snorted. “Like there’s anything soft about any of us right now.” But to Owen’s surprise Gerardo’s kiss was like his brother’s, slow and tender. They ended with a second, brief kiss, then Gerardo pulled back only an inch and echoed his brother. “Need more,” he all but growled, though he said it with a salacious grin.
There was a low woof. The surfaced quickly from their lust-haze and turned to look at Bandit. He was still staring out the front windshield, but he was now doing so with focused wariness. They turned to see what he was looking at, and frowned.
A couple of very seedy-looking locals, one with stringy hair and a stained black tee and the other in a flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off, were standing the next row over, watching them with disgust. They seemed headed away from the store but had no shopping bags, making it look as though they’d interrupted their aimless wandering of the parking lot to stop and gawk at the homos. Flannel guy’s disgusted sneer revealed the ruined and missing teeth of a meth-head. The space between the two groups was empty—Victor had parked at the end of a line of cars, and the spaces opposite both the Accord and the Ducati were vacant—and with no one else around the scene felt to Owen a little like a bizarre showdown. Owen thought that was kind of funny. He wondered how many shootouts in the old west there’d been where one side was just a couple of total losers everyone hated.
The seedy locals started pelting them with verbal offal, demeaning them with every insult and swear word their stunted brains could conjure up.
No one talked to his pups that way.
Both brothers growled low in their throats, but Owen straightened and said, “I got this.”
He took a single step past the brothers, toward the two men. Instincts intruded on his thoughts, telling him to charge and maul, but instead he took one more step and… rose up. It felt to Owen like the way a massive bear might rear up on his hind legs, terrifying his prey into stillness. Only as Owen was already on his hind legs it was more that Owen’s shape expanded upward. Hair bristled. Muscle swelled. His massive back and shoulders rent his shirt open like tissue paper, and his jeans strained as his thighs thickened with size and strength.
The two bigots were gaping dumbstruck up at him, their eyes wide, round, and horrorstruck. Their faces were sheet-white. Owen took another long, heavy pace forward, looming over them despite the several feet still separating them. He craned his head down toward them.
“GO. FUCK. YOURSELVES,” he snarled, in a voice a good octave lower than normal, so that it seemed to shiver through the very asphalt around them.
No more words were necessary. The two men gaped at him for another second, then broke suddenly and hared off at a dead run down the parking lot. Owen watched them clamber into a dented white pickup that looked like it had already seen some unknown Apocalypse, and a moment later the miscreants were tearing recklessly out of the lot like a horde of Viking berserkers were after them, leaving a trail of unhealthy white exhaust behind them.
Then everything was quiet, and Owen was breathing loudly in his own ears. The sound of rushing blood seemed to engulf him.
He felt the brother’s hands on him. That was good. Calming. He didn’t need to be mad now. It was just his pups. The men he loved.
“It’s okay, O,” Gerardo was crooning softly in his ear as he stroked his arm. “It’s okay.”
“You can come back to us, babe,” he heart Victor say, and the worry in his voice made his heart ache.
He blinked hard, and again, and then he was standing between Gerardo and Victor as they slowly stroked his arms and shoulders. They were grouped together in the empty space in front of the Honda, Owen now exposing parts of his hairy chest and back thanks to the half-destroyed tee shirt he was wearing like he’d been after a doorbuster in a Black Friday brawl. He caught sight of Bandit, still watching attentively from the back of the Honda, but not looking alarmed or panicked. Well, that was a good sign, Owen thought. His own heart was racing and he was feeling a very slight sheen of panic himself, but the protector-dog’s equanimity and the brothers’ efforts at soothing him eased his mind and slowed his galloping pulse to a more normal level.
He gave the brothers a sheepish grin. “Sorry about that,” he said finally. “Uh… what just happened, exactly?”
“You half-shifted,” Gerardo said. He sounded a little awed.
“Giving those assholes something to remember for the rest of their lives, that’s for sure,” Victor added dryly.
“Us too,” Gerardo grinned. “Though for different reasons.”
Owen wished he could have seen it—he was filled with an abrupt, wistful desire to watch his own transformation. Maybe he’d get more of a sense of what it was like through his guys next time. They were still slowly stroking him, like there was a chance he wouldn’t stay normal without help. He thought he should tell them to stop, that he was okay, but he was still putting his thoughts together, and it felt nice. Instead he bit his lip and looked at them in turn from under his lashes. “I’ve… never actually shifted before,” he admitted shyly. “Not even half.”
The brothers exchanged a look, their hands slowing so that they were just holding his arms and shoulders in a firm, gentle grip. Then Gerardo’s face split in a huge grin.
“What?” Owen asked him, surprised.
“I cannot fucking wait for the full moon,” Gerardo replied. “You’re like nothing anyone around here’s ever seen before. You’re going to change everything.”
Owen looked at Victor. The older brother didn’t say anything, but Owen knew him well enough now to see the apprehension in his eyes Gerardo’s cavalier pronouncement had entailed. Owen, as usual, opted for breezy de-escalation.
“Starting with this tee shirt, it looks like,” he said ruefully. He aimed a smile at Gerardo. “You’re not the only one who can bust out of his shirts, huh, pup?”
“And how,” Gerardo said, still beaming.
Wrapping his massive, hairy arms around his boys, Owen turned them around and together they headed for the store entrance. He thought about the day ahead. Clothing, then food, then potentially hostile wolf elders. Just like on the football field, there was a way through most of the time, even if the gains were short. He could handle that. With his pups at his side, he was starting to think he could handle anything.
Milton glowered at the parking lot east security feed for a long moment, his mouth a hard line under his unimpressive mustache. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was he’d just witnessed, but he was damn sure what it wasn’t: local. Whatever it was that had chased away Clyde and Otis, and good riddance to them, it wasn’t any of the local animal stock, though it had two of the snouts with it. No, that… that was an outsider.
He stood up from his desk in the little office behind the service counter and spoke into his radio. “Lenny to the security office,” he barked. Someone else could watch the security feeds for a few minutes.
He had to make a call.
Elder Lucas Fisher and his wife lived a good hour’s drive to the southwest, which, Owen already knew, was exactly the wrong direction to get to anything like civilization in these parts. It seemed strange at first: if he were the head of a wolf clan, he thought, he’d set up shop in some kind of central location so that his people could find him when they needed him, and he could easily come to them.
But as he purred down the narrow, winding county road, his attention mostly keeping up with the brothers’ dusty green Accord (Gerardo, it turned out, had a bit of a leadfoot, especially on roads he knew well), he noticed the scattered farms giving way to knots of tall trees, then fragrant stands of verdant woods, then to acres and acres of lush, sprawling forestland, and Owen started to get the idea. He could like it out here, away from everything.
They came to a turnoff marked only by a simple metal-bar gate, with neat store-bought vinyl letters spelling out “No Trespassing” along the top bar. The unpaved track beyond this gate led them deep into what Owen later found out was a private, fifty-acre preserve that the clan held for the sole use of its own wolves, the occasional visiting wolf from one of the other two packs in the area, and unclassified invited guests like Owen. Or—he started to correct himself, sure that a visitation from someone like him would be unique. Would it, though? He suspected, or felt, that there was no one like him anywhere. But he had to have come from somewhere. Maybe his kind, if he had a “kind”, existed in the past, even if he were alone in the present.
Owen drew in a deep breath, casting off the stray thoughts. The warm summer air was rich with a hundred woodsy scents, and his usual smile surfaced again. An image came into his mind of Gerardo and Victor gamboling through these woods in wolf form, dodging around the boles of great, towering trees and playfully nipping at each other’s flanks as they plowed this way and that through the underbrush, and the smile bloomed into a huge grin across his bristly face. Just the thought of his wolf-lovers experiencing pure, uncomplicated happiness made his heart ache in that new way it had when he thought of them.
He was already sure that the brothers were not merely good to have around, but necessary to his soul, and he to theirs. It was a mating bond, whatever he’d felt in the wolf dream about the impossibility of such a link between bear and wolf. Fuck the rules, if there were any. The way the brothers’ energy dwelt in his heart and, he thought wryly, his balls as well, and in his very blood and sweat—that, he could not regret. But he realized now, as he wound slowly through the dappled, rolling forest of his lovers’ clan-home, that something in him chafed over the fact that his having set foot in this valley had complicated their lives. It bugged him, and he wanted to do something about it.
That was always his impulse. He acted. Most of time it worked out. It was a joke on the football field, that his gut was the smartest player on the field. Heck, it was how he’d started playing the the first place. He hadn’t sulked when his ex-footballer father called him useless: he’d gone up to a buddy down the street, a junior on the team named Davey, and demanded to learn the game. His tendency to act had worked out well in other areas, too. After all, he hadn’t just stared at Maxfield Sheridan’s mouth-watering lips and thick bulge, either: he’d cornered Max alone and made sure that a man’s mouth was what he wanted on his full lips and mighty cock. Even this “quest” he was on had been a weird, sudden urge that he’d followed without question. The characteristic confidence and exuberance everyone knew him for all derived from trusting his instincts to steer him where he needed to go.
Only now, his gut impulses had ramifications not only for himself but for Victor and Gerardo, too. And maybe for entire clans of wolves he’d never even met. Should he be worried about that? Max would, he figured, if it were him. But Max had been methodically transforming himself into someone who took burdens onto his broad shoulders with all kinds of stalwart, firm-jawed nerve. Just like his dad.
Owen snorted at the picture he had of the son and father on their mountain. Max and Glenn, they were serious dudes. Owen was just Owen. Good ol’ Owen. Part time quarterback, part-time boytoy, full-time—what? What was he, really?
They pulled up in front of a large, yellow two-story farm-house, parking at the nearer end of a grassy field that showed signs of regular vehicular use, next to a high-end pickup and a cyan SUV that Owen guessed belonged to the elders that lived here. To Owen there was a clear sense that this was where cars, trucks and bikes stopped, and all beyond was for foot and paw. Victor and Gerardo sensed his troubled mood, saying nothing as they got out of the Accord, let Bandit out of the back, and came around to him where he sat on his silenced bike, taking a moment to stare into the pristine beauty of the woodlands all around them. Bandit sat back a bit, watching the three of them. The moment was still and tense.
Gerardo reached up and gently stroked his upper arm, and Victor did the same. Owen closed his eyes and drew in a breath. Their scent filled his nostrils, and for a moment he felt a raw twinge of guilt at the deep, soul-mending pleasure he took from it. But the feeling passed, leaving him basking in contentment and reassurance—his own, and, he realized, the brothers’, too. He was sharing his strength with them even as they gave of themselves for him, only it had passed beyond giving and taking. Only in this moment did he fully grasp how their empathic connection now fell naturally and automatically into a beautiful, profound equilibrium, a wealth of comfort, confidence, and prowess that they three possessed as one.
He smiled at them, and they smiled back. His doubts were gone. He was ready to act.
They walked around to the front steps still in silence, the brothers to either side of him, Bandit trailing calmly behind. He was tempted to take the brothers’ hands in a defiant claim of possession, and let the clan snarl and wail if they didn’t like it; but there was no need. So strong was the bond between them that any wolf would see it just by looking at them. Any wolf, any shifter, any ordinary man would sense it. Even his father would pick up on in the moment he walked into the store, he thought wryly as he mounted the wooden steps to the broad front stoop.
Gerardo rang the doorbell, whistling tunelessly. Owen smiled at him. They waited, drinking in the loamy, leafy forest air. An American flag hung a foot to the left of the porch flapped gently in the light summer breeze.
Owen looked his men over, trying to see them as their packmates would. They were… big. Definitely big. And, more to the point, bigger. Though they still looked more like densely muscular, extra-hairy gymnasts than pro bodybuilders, there was no mistaking their having been visibly boosted in size and—what? something like potency—in the time since Owen had first met them in the motel parking lot. Everything about them was thicker, more potent and solid, but still graceful and somehow… vivid, like the world and everyone in it was this endless drab charcoal drawing and they were full-color, deft-lined, bright-eyed, master-class real, ready to leap off of the page at any moment.
And gloriosky, were they beautiful. More beautiful even than when he’d met them, at least to his eyes, and he’d been bowled over by how effortlessly hot Gerardo had been, walking up to Owen as he’d made friends with their guardian-dog, and again, like a second punch, by the dazzling, dishy handsomeness of his sweet, protective brother. Was his perceiving them as having become better looking just his own lust-goggles, or was it objective fact? No, it was the same as with their bodies, he was sure. They had been strong before, but now they were stronger; generously endowed before, but now they were truly, unnaturally hung; vibrant before, now radiant with life and energy; good-looking before, now beyond good-looking, passing captivating and headed for mesmerizing. They had talked about the power he had over them, but the transformations he had stoked in his lovers were slowly giving them an unstoppable power over Owen as well. Hell, when had his cock swollen to aching erection? When had theirs? This was not the time!
I want to kiss you, he thought, staring helplessly at them.
Gerardo blushed, ducking his head slightly while still keeping eye contact, and Victor smirked. Which one of us? Owen heard in his mind, and he wasn’t sure whether the question had come from Victor, Gerardo, or both.
Owen shook his head at them, his smile crooked. Of course, it would be like this between them. You know the answer to that, pups. It was both. The answer was always both. I want to take you somewhere. Beaches and blue skies forever. Mai tais and suntan oil.
Cabana boys? Gerardo teased.
Owen grinned. You two can be my cabana boys.
Now Gerardo was smirking, too. Owen tried glowering at the younger of the two darkly handsome hunks. Did you have to wear that shirt? he asked, nodding down at one of their recent Walmart purchases. It was an XXL tee shirt in dark chocolate brown, with stark white lettering that read BEARS DO IT IN THE WOODS. The moment he’d seen it he’d immediately whipped off his borrowed, oversized Owen-scented tee shirt, taken one last whiff, and pulled on the new shirt right there in the store as if he intended never to take it off (all to the actual squees of a cluster of random teenage girls already gathered at the edge of the menswear section, drooling over the three of them as they shopped for tees, shirts, and jeans).
Unrepentant, Gerardo just smiled wickedly up at him, and the lust in his brown eyes was so intense they seemed almost to be sparking with it.
Owen glanced at Victor, who was wearing a perfect-fitting dark green tee that hugged his muscled physique so snugly it looked like part of a superhero outfit. At least your brother—he started, but at that moment there were noises from inside, and the front door finally opened.
Standing there regarding them with an imperious coolness was a tall, sturdy woman of indeterminate age: her hair was white but her face was unlined, and her hazel eyes were as clear as any he had ever seen. She took in the two wolves, then Owen, and her mouth was a hard line as she did so. Despite the warm afternoon she was dressed smartly in slim, dark trousers, low-heel walking boots, a white top, and a dark exercise-style jacket that matched the trousers.
This must be Elder Eirene, Lucas’s wife. Owen forced down his abashed reaction and gave her his most winning smile.
“Aunt Eirene—” Victor began, but the Elder cut him off.
“Who are you?” she demanded of Owen.
Owen’s stomach fluttered, as if signalling danger. He knew that Gerardo had “called ahead” in the wolf dream the previous night and Lucas had agreed to meet him and hear him out whenever he was ready. He just had to come over. There was no way Eirene didn’t know who he was, and Owen suspected that her question had a subtext more along the lines of “What are you?”, just as the brothers had demanded of him at their first meeting. Or perhaps it was “Who are you to come here?”, like he was trespassing on their very existence.
Or maybe it was “What kind of a pervert are you?” She was very pointedly making eye contact with him and not lowering her steely gaze, but he knew she must sense his (rapidly degrading) state of arousal, and the brothers’ as well.
He decided to answer the question asked. “My name is Owen, Elder,” he said. He hesitated only a second before adding the name his father had left for him on the breakfast table, on that morning long ago on the other side of the world. “Owen Burke.”
Owen might have missed the way Eirene flinched almost imperceptibly at the name had he not been watching her closely. She immediately composed herself as if she had made no reaction. Interesting, Owen thought. That name does mean something. The brothers were glancing at him curiously, too, in his peripheral vision. Did they know the name, or was it just that Owen hadn’t given one until now?
She watched him coldly for a moment, then stood aside in mute invitation. Owen, Victor, and Gerardo passed into the house, then she swiftly shut the door before Bandit could enter behind them. Owen heard the dog bark once and scratch at the door, but Eirene ignored his protests and conducted them from the small foyer into an airy living room with large windows, high ceilings, and a cozy-looking rust and red plaid sofa and love seat before a large stone fireplace in the center of the long interior wall. The floors were polished hardwood except for a large carpet with blue, tan, and brown abstract designs framing a conversation area bounded on two sides by the couch and love seat, a low coffee table at its center. A large archway beyond the fireplace opened onto a darkened dining room.
“Please sit,” she commanded. They sat gingerly on the couch, Owen in the middle, the three of them exchanging worried glanced. She remained standing, the stone mantel directly behind her as if to frame her cold expression and body language.
“Aunt Eirene where’s Uncle Lucas?” Victor asked.
“He said he would be here,” Gerardo added uncomfortably.
“Elder Lucas will not be joining us,” said a rough voice. “He was outvoted.”
Owen looked over toward the dining room with a start. While his attention had been on Eirene a well-built, silver-haired Latino man in a thin flannel shirt, jeans, and straw cowboy hat had appeared in the archway, pointing what was unmistakably a long-boled, air-fired tranquilizer rifle directly at Owen’s chest. Four more feathered darts stuck out of the man’s shirt pocket, he noticed, ready for instant reloading.
Owen rose to his feet, staring at the weapon. He felt the brothers stand also and sensed their fear and anger, but for the moment he was fixated on the rifle. He had no doubt that whatever it was loaded with, the payload had been calculated to take out an unusually large bear, not just a man.
“Sit down,” Eirene ordered them. Owen and the brothers ignored her.
“Where is Elder Lucas?” Victor demanded again. He was shocked and afraid, but the dominant emotion pouring off him was a defiance born of a fierce need to protect Owen and Gerardo. Owen approved.
“Why are you doing this?” Gerardo cried, his energy dark with cold fury, but Eirene shouted over him.
“Silence, outcasts!” she bellowed viciously. Stunned, the brothers stilled, staring at her, sliced open by the word cast at them, as no doubt had been her intent. Owen glanced over at her. She looked like she was done with the lot of them, her ageless face contorted in a rictus-like sneer.
“Outc—” Gerardo whispered. Eirene again spoke over him.
“You have brought an amaxo among us,” he said in a low, disgusted voice. “You have betrayed your people, and,” she added, looking them up and down, “you have betrayed yourselves. The pack must be protected.” She looked between the newly grown brothers with contempt. “Your mother would be ashamed.”
The brothers gaped at her, dumbstruck and horrified. Owen felt a strange smile curl one side of his lips. He liked it when people clarified how he should think of them. It was so much simpler, now, knowing he could despise this woman, clan leader or no, for treating his men like this.
Knowing he and the brothers had been insulted didn’t help him to understand, however. He reached out to the brothers with his thoughts. Amaxo?
It was a moment before Victor managed an answer. A legend. A Beast. An amaxo is… the legend is of an evil spirit in the form of a huge predator, like a bear or a large panther. It debauches members of the pack in order to gain power over it and destroy it.
It uses sex to take over the pack?
Gerardo broke in. It’s not real. They don’t really exist. This is… there’s no such thing as the Beast. There’s no such thing!
Victor must have been thinking ahead to what would happen next, because he added, According to the legends, an amaxo must be destroyed with… it must be destroyed with fire. Alive.
No—! Gerardo’s emotions were still of cold fury, but underneath that was raw, untamed anxiety, not for himself but for the man to whom he had already given his life and soul.
Owen would protect them. There was no other possibility. And himself, because, let’s face it, their days of world-class fucking were not going to be cut short by something like this.
Eirene was glaring at him, her malicious intent toward him clear. Owen stared right back at her, lips still curled in a half smile. So, they were going to march him at tranq-point to his own funeral pyre where he was to be—what? Burned alive? And with who knew what intent for the brothers? Yeah. Not happening.
Owen felt the moment come over him, as it had a hundred times before. His blood flowed fast and hot, but his mind was calm and cool, and his muscles loosed, ready to act. His feet took a step forward of their own accord, toward this women who had vilified his men. But motion to his right made him look quickly over to where Manuel had stepped aggressively into the room from the archway, the tranq rifle now raised high and pointed straight at Owen’s head. “Don’t,” he growled. Owen held his ground, his consciousness of his surroundings raised to hyper acuity, so that the room, the house, and the forest all seemed like a panorama around him, awaiting his next move.
Owen kept his eye on the pack’s Third Elder, who seemed to be trying to repress a nervous shiver as he kept his weapon trained on him. But he spoke to Eirene, his hands loosely at his sides. “You’ve got this all wrong,” he said calmly. “We don’t mean you any harm. We just came to talk.”
“I do not speak to evil,” she said with icy conviction. Then she added, “Or to the corrupted.”
Though his eyes were on Manuel, who was staring now at Owen as if he had never seen tall, massively muscled young man with a crooked smile before, he felt Eirene turn to the other Elder. They were about to end the parley phase of these proceedings. It was down to him.
Owen centered himself, drawing a deep breath. He knew what he had to do: get himself and the boys out of there safely, and Bandit too. That meant his first task was removing the tranq rifle from the equation.
Victor spoke, drawing Eirene’s attention. “This is not right, Elder,” he said hotly. “Under clan law I demand I hearing before the full—” Owen tuned him out, concentrating his thoughts on Manuel. The Elder shifted nervously. He might fire at any second, and the dosage would probably kill him. Owen had to get this exactly right, and he wasn’t even sure he could do it at all.
What do you need? asked Gerardo urgently. Victor was listening too.
Help me focus. It needs to be all at once.
Gerardo did not answer. He just took Owen’s hand. He probably did not need an actual physical connection, but it was a nice reinforcement of their shared bond together. Victor took his other hand at the same time.
Focus, he told them, while Eirene raved about how she would never subject the members of her clan to the Beast’s corruption. The pack must be protected! Owen felt his senses, his capability, his confidence and being melding with the two brothers, their strength intertwining and multiplying. The thought thrilled him, and though he roared inwardly with power, lust, and unslakable need, he pushed all that aside.
Eirene’s denunciations faltered. “What are you—?” she asked, from somewhere in the still otherness beyond Owen-Victor-Gerardo and their prey.
They stared hard at Manuel as one. The elder’s eyes widened in fear. Owen wasn’t intending to psych him out, but he wasn’t sorry. His heartbeat seemed to synchronize with the brothers’. Thump. Thump. Thump. He timed himself to the slamming of their single pulse, gathering their united strength.
“Manny!” Eirene was shouting. “Manny, now! Protect the pack!”
Thump … thump … thump
Lust and desire flooded Manuel. His fangs dropped, and then, all at once, he was a dark gray and black wolf in flannel, jeans, and boots. The rifle clattered noisily to the floor.
Go! Owen shouted mentally to the boys. From the front stoop, Bandit barked three times.
They released their hands as Victor, who was closest, turned and pelted for the front door. Eirene was still turning to gape at Manuel, Owen and Gerardo right behind him. As Victor ripped open the door, almost pulling it from its hinges in his haste, Owen spared a single glance back at the tableau in the living room. Manuel, the wolf, was staring up at Eirene, dismay in his dark gold eyes. Owen knew the two elders were having trouble wrapping their heads around it: an alpha, unwillingly turned, and not even by a stronger wolf, a mega-alpha, but by something else entirely. He also knew the shock wouldn’t last.
They’ll be on us in a minute, he told the brothers as they tore out of the foyer and through the door onto the small porch, Bandit bounding ahead down to the grass below. Gerardo pulled the door shut behind him with a slam and the three of them scampered down the steps toward their vehicles—and stopped short.
On the other side of the grassy clearing the clan used as a parking area was the gap though which the lane that led back to the road passed through the forest that surrounded them. A beat-up red pickup and an old black sedan were parked directly across the gap in the forest, barring their only way out. Two young, long-haired men, one a pony-tailed dishwater blond, the other mouse-brown with a goatee, were straightening up from where they’d been leaning against the pickup, casually sharing a joint, and were staring at them, wide-eyed. Goatee pinched the spliff and picketed it as they stared. Then their eyes narrowed, and the two of them started toward them at a dead run. Owen saw that Pony-tail had a gun in his waistband, and it didn’t look like a tranq. Fuck.
“Idiot! Go!” shouted Eirene from inside the house. The sound of boots clattering across the hardwood floors was joined by the skittering of paws, all of it getting closer. They’d be through the front door in seconds, and Owen had no doubt Eirene had not left the tranq rifle lying abandoned on the living room floor.
Fuck, they’d have to make a run for it in the forest. Could they shake a bunch of wolves on their own land—? Well, he’d had to dodge attackers on hostile turf before. Though this time if he made the wrong choices he was risking more than possession of a football.
Bandit barked again at them, then twice more. Owen turned and saw the big dark-chocolate lab a hundred feet away at the edge of the lush woods. He was eying them over his shoulder, urging them to follow him.
Easy call. “Go! That way!” Owen said aloud, pointing toward Bandit. The three of them took off at top speed, much faster than ordinary humans, the boys ahead, Owen behind them. Owen wanted to laugh. He could have used a bit of inhuman speed like this a couple times on the field. The door of the house burst open and Eirene screamed her mantra: “Protect the pack!”
They hit the treeline and threaded fluidly through the deciduous trunks without even slowing, trusting Bandit to lead the way. The woods were mostly clear of underbrush apart from the odd dropped branch, and there seemed to be relatively few jutting roots, so the three of them could run almost flat out around the trees. Owen took note of the gentle incline and tried to guess where they were, but he’d only glanced at the brothers’ maps before they’d headed out and didn’t know the area.
From behind them came shouting and curses as the others crashed into the forest, hot on their trail. Manny the wolf sent up a howl, and Owen wondered if there were other wolves roaming the preserve to heed the call and join the chase. He wondered if he should turn the brothers so they could run and fight as wolves. He wondered if he could turn himself.
He’d started to, in the Walmart parking lot. He’d felt that uncanny pleasure-pain rush, the wild sense of becoming. Muscles shifting, bones thickening, his very self twisting into something new and immensely potent and him… only, not him.
No, that wasn’t right. It was him, it wasn’t not him. Owen. An Owen. The Owen. Owen, un-Owen, ultimate-Owen, true-Owen. An Owen that was an entire universe, kept from engulfing him by a hard wall, by the merest, most gossamer membrane. He could fall in. He could become. He could be lost, or found, or both.
Maybe he’d backed down. Stepped back. Before, at the parking lot, he’d stepped back.
Maybe he shouldn’t do that next time.
Was he ready? It didn’t matter. He needed to know.
He heard the shouting behind them, close. Someone fired a pistol, and the concussive sound echoed loudly through the vast, quiet forest. Owen started as he ran, picking up his feet and trying to speed the boys ahead of him. Protect the pack? Fuck them if they didn’t think he was going to protect his own pack.
Maybe that next time was about to be now.
Ahead of then, Bandit took a sudden left toward a tall, wild-looking dark green holly hedge that seemed to appear from out of nowhere and which looked, to Owen’s eyes, weirdly out of place amongst the towering oaks and ashes. The big lab burst through the hedge and disappeared from view. The boys pelted after him, and Owen, forearms up to protect his face from leaves and branches, followed at a run—
—and slammed straight into Victor and Gerardo, who’d stopped for some reason directly in front of him almost as soon as they’d cleared the hedge like tourists gawping at Times Square. The impact sent all three of them crashing to the ground, Owen’s elbow jabbing into Victor’s back so hard he almost through he’d punched through his chest and out the other side.
“Owwww!” Victor cried out.
“Watch it, you big, hunky oaf!” Gerardo complained, spitting out a mouthful of sand.
“I’m not the ones who stopped in the middle of the road,” Owen said, disentangling his limbs from the brothers’ and trying to situate his knees on solid ground so he could get to his feet. “C’mon, get up,” he said, looking up, “they’re right—”
The trees were gone. The forest was gone, and all of upstate New York with it. Before him stretched what looked like an infinite curve of unspoiled, white Caribbean beach. The sky above was saturated cerulean, the sun high and bright, the blue-green ocean to his left rippling but placid. No angry wolf elders, no stoner reinforcements, no surly Denny’s waiters with a past claim on one of his guys, nada. Not a single soul was to be seen.
The surf sloshed rhythmically along the idyllic strand, its sound like the embodiment of calm reassurance.
Still on his knees, he twisted to look back from where they’d came. The vista was the same in the other direction. Jungle, beach, ocean, sky. No forest, no wolves—and no inexplicable man-high holly hedge.
“—behind us,” he finished distractedly. A cool ocean breeze wafted over them, riffling his lengthening hair.
Victor had stood already and was now pulling Gerardo to his feet, looking around as he did so. “I don’t recognize this place,” he said.
“I do,” Owen said. “Not this place specifically, but the idea of it.” He glanced around, confirming there were neither people nor habitations anywhere along the beach or inland toward what looked like a dense jungle. “Though where we’re going to get mai tais from—”
“Fuck,” Gerardo said, understanding. He met Owen’s eyes, then Victor’s. Then the brothers looked at Bandit, who was dancing around them in happy circles, leaving a ring of paw-prints around them in the fine white sand.
Owen tilted his head at the dog. The dog stopped and grinned at him. “C’mere,” he said. The dog trotted over. “You did this? You brought us here?” he asked.
The dog sat on his haunches and looked back at him, tail wagging in the sand behind him—smug as all hell, Owen thought. He was very, very tempted to say “Good boy,” just to wind the guardian-dog up a bit, but he was too genuinely grateful for what he’d done to protect his boys. Instead he offered a hand. Bandit stuck out his paw, and they shook. “Thank you, buddy,” Owen said.
He couldn’t resist needling the dog a little. “You can lick my face if you want,” he said, jutting his chin out as if offering his face for doggy-kisses. Bandit lowered his muzzle, stilling his tail and glowering at him. “Okay, fine, I’ll lick yours,” Owen said, leaning forward and lolling his wide tongue out as if to actually do so. Bandit jumped to his feet with a huff and scampered off. Owen chuckled.
“I didn’t know he could do something like this,” Gerardo said as Owen got to his feet, dusting sand off the knees of his jeans.
“We don’t know much about the guardians,” Victor agreed, watching Bandit gambol along the surf with a smile. “He’s been around the pack since we moved here, but I’ve never spent much time alone with him until Elder Lucas and Elder Sam from the north pack sent him with us to find you.” He looked at Owen. “They are not shifters. They have a kind of magic I’m not sure any of us understand.”
“And a sense of responsibility,” Owen said, and they turned back to look at Bandit playing with the frothy water’s edge as it rolled in and then sucked back. He remembered Tyrant, the guardian-dog from Max’s mountain, and how serious and dignified he was when it came to sorting out trouble for the “mountain folk”—shifters like Max and his dad, who’d belonged to that mountain land since the days of their ancestors.
“With great dog-power comes great dog-responsibility, I guess,” Gerardo said with a fond smile.
Owen was very aware of the intensely alluring young men standing before him, alone with him in a nowhere place of his own imagining. His large hands found their shoulders, then their backs, and they did they same, admiring Owen’s broadness with their hands even as they all watched Bandit’s antics along the surf. Their touches along his hard body tingled through him, begging for him to seek more contact, deeper intimacy, total union.
They were pretending they weren’t all getting aroused, and that sensing each other’s arousal wasn’t feeding off itself for each of them. The air was tense, waiting for something to transpire, as the tide splashed in slow cadence with the universe.
“So where are we, exactly, do you think?” Owen said musingly. “Is this like the wolf dream, or are we really here? Wherever ‘here’ is.”
Neither of the brothers spoke for a moment as the surf roared and the wind played with the brothers’ lush, shoulder-length hair. Owen was fully hard, his blunt, bigger-than-ever club of a cock pushing against his pants like it wanted to rip them open, and he could feel that the brothers were just as hard and just as turned on as he was, or more. “I think both,” Gerardo said at last, drawing out the words as if he weren’t quite sure. “This place feels… elsewhere, like the wolf dream, but—” He looked uncertainly at Victor.
Victor looked up at Owen. “We did not come here as we come to the dream,” he said, sounding sure. “We are not here only in spirit.”
“You mean, we just popped out of reality for a quick breather, and into whatever dreamspace one of us happened to be thinking about?” Owen said, his lips quirking.
Gerardo bit his lip (adorably). Victor shrugged and nodded. Owen grinned. “Good,” he said. He looked behind him to where the holly hedge wasn’t. “That’ll confuse ‘em. Serves those fuckers right. Do you realize they shot at us?” Then, realizing he wasn’t being completely tactful, he turned back to them, ducking his head apologetically. “Uh, sorry. I know they’re your elders—”
To his surprise, Victor shook his head. “No,” he said flatly. “They stopped being our elders when they turned against us.”
“That’s right,” Gerardo growled. “What she did—what she was going to do—!”
“C’mon, she was right about one thing,” Owen said with a smirk, trying to defuse the tension and get back to the sexy stuff. He wiggled is eyebrows and added, “I did corrupt you, after all.”
Gerardo’s expression hardened into stony anger. He glared up at Owen. “That’s not funny!”
Owen sighed. He turned his caresses into a gentle hug, bringing them closer. Victor’s arms slid around Owen and Gerardo, while Gerardo drew his hands in, sliding them up Owen’s tight, granite abs through his shirt as the others held him. “No, it’s not,” Owen said, as he looked out into the dark, rippling ocean. “But it’s true. You heard her. What is an amaxo? Someone powerful who takes the form of a great bear, and uses sex magic to seduce—”
Victor pushed back from him to frown up at him. “You are not evil,” he said, adamant. “You are not the Beast.”
Owen met his gaze unflinchingly. “How do you know, Vic?” he said softly. “I took you from your pack, changed you. Corrupted—”
“Shut up!” Gerardo said suddenly. He hit Owen in the chest with his fist, hard. “Shut up!”
Gerardo rested his head on Owen’s thick-muscled chest, splaying his hand next to it across the other pec. “Don’t you get it?” he said. “You didn’t do anything to us. It was the three of us, together. We joined with you, because we’re soulmates. Because we love you.”
Owen’s heart was pounding. “But—you don’t know—” he protested.
Victor’s hand slid up Owen’s back to his nape, then he pulled Owen’s head down until their foreheads were resting against each other. “Listen to me,” Victor said, and Owen closed his eyes, letting the man’s warm, soothing baritone seep through him. Gerardo snaked his arms around their waists, holding them tight. “Ger’s right,” Victor said. “You joined with us, and we with you.” He took a steadying breath, and Owen joined him, feeling his resolution, and Gerardo’s too. Owen continued. “Even if you are an amaxo—if you are,” he emphasized, “all that means is that others of your kind might have once used their powers for evil. Whatever the truth of that, that is not you. That—is—not—you.” He pushed up and joined his lips to Owen’s, and Owen kissed him back gratefully, all worries that he might somehow hurt his men lifted. It was an impossibility, like the sun rising in the west, or Gerardo and Victor not turning him on so much he could blow a colossal load just watching them buy groceries or wash their beat-up old car.
Gerardo shifted his head and joined the kiss, which went on for quite a while. Then he pulled back and smiled at them. “I am so in love with both of you,” he said softly. Then his smile twisted into a leer as he added, “And? I am so fucking hard right now.”
“As opposed to other times,” Victor smirked, humping his own larger-than-yesterday boner against Owen’s leg through their jeans.
Owen grinned and took several steps back from the pair, looking them over from a good six feet away. Victor rolled his eyes, but he was clearly just as turned on as Gerardo, who was stroking his hairy melon pecs through his BEARS DO IT IN THE WOODS tee shirt and licking his lips in a parody of go-go-boy seduction. Both of them had huge erections in their pants, angling up along their hips—toward each other, as it happened, as if their cockheads wanted to nuzzle. The wind was picking up, as if the whole dreamscape were being excited by their need for each other. The surf throbbed noisily beyond them in relentless encouragement.
Owen suppressed an urge to grab his own tool and checked for Bandit’s position. Whether out of prudence or obliviousness, his surfplay had taken him far down the beach, so that he was a dog-shaped spot along the lapping ocean. “You know,” he said, “we should kill some time before going back.”
“No sense letting all this go to waste,” Gerardo agreed.
“Exactly,” Owen said. “And since this is my dreamscape, and the product of my imagination, I wonder…” He eyed the bear-fucking joke tee Gerardo was so proud of. “That shirt will have to go.” He concentrated, but nothing happened.
“Hah, just because you suggested this world doesn’t mean you have genie powers here!” Victor taunted.
“Says you,” Gerardo countered playfully, pulling off his shirt in one swift move and tossing it aside onto the sand. He exhibited his hairy, uncannily exquisite torso as proof of Owen’s abilities. “See? See?”
Owen took a moment to appreciate Gerardo’s densely powerful, perfectly athletic physique, then turned his leering grin on Victor. “Your shirt seems to have gone away, too,” he announced with calm assurance.
Victor huffed a laugh. “Fine,” he said, then whipped off his snug tee shirt. Rather than tossing it away, though, he made a point of folding it neatly and tucking it into his waistband behind him.
Gerardo scoffed. “Like you’re going to be wearing those for much longer either,” he said. The brothers moved toward each other automatically, as if it was simply instinctual that Owen should ogle them together. Owen was glad to oblige. They slid their arms around each other’s powerful backs, teasing him and inviting him all at once. Owen’s pulse sped up, and his club of a cock made a good, honest try at ripping open those pants.
He felt their next approaching orgasm building slowly between them, and vowed to make it wait. He was going to make this so good they’d all be soaring on the euphoria for days. Weeks. Songs would be sung about this orgasm, and epics penned, and terrible blockbuster summer movies made with so much domestic box-office they’d be able to buy this island in real life and fuck here 24/7.
They watched him, wanting it as much as he did.
He grinned, wide and feral. He started languidly toward them, their eyes fixed on him. “Ever fuck an amaxo on the beach before?” he asked, before pulling off his own shirt and letting the wind take it away.
Victor watched him move, pure lust in his gaze. Gerardo, though similarly unable to look away, was already unbuttoning his straining, cock-tented jeans. “Ask us again tomorrow,” he said.
We have to go back.
Victor voiced the thought only in his own head, not quite ready to speak it aloud. But Owen’s low, throaty growl and his brother’s muttered “Fuck you” were evidence enough they heard it anyway, even without the powerful sense of connection he could feel now at all times to them both, a psychic circle that bound the three of them as one. He could feel their love, their pride, their intense and unslakable desire, and, right now, their sullen annoyance that one of them had finally elected himself the voice of reality and reason.
Victor smiled. I love you guys too.
Night had fallen in their neverwhere island paradise. They were lying naked and momentarily sated on the still-warm sand under a moonless sky thick with a million stars. As he stared up at them they seemed as bright as tiny diamonds, undistorted by atmosphere or distance, as though they lay on a precipice overlooking the entire universe. Past his feet the waves churned endlessly in a constant rolling roar, and soft, salty ocean air gamboled lazily around them, an occasional cool breeze sliding over them like a thrill and raising a swath of gooseflesh. An afternoon of luxurious, nonstop fucking stretched behind them, and now, despite a constant, adamant need to touch, they sprawled a few feet apart on the empty strand, as though they were strangers sharing the beach by chance. Victor wasn’t sure whose idea it was. It felt like it had arisen in their minds all at once, an unconscious plan spread simultaneously across their shared connection. Perhaps they’d all been thinking it.
It was a simple test of their connection. Their physical craving for each other was so intense that touching, holding, pressing their bodies to each other was a aching, unrelenting imperative. But… did it have to involve literal touching? The raw, primal completeness of flesh on flesh, muscle on muscle, lips on lips, cock on cock—could they unleash it through their empathic bond alone?
He and Gerardo had naturally focused their combined attentions on Owen, using their minds to work their way up his hairy, tree-trunk legs, from his thick ankles to his hefty calves and then his powerful, granite thighs, and it hadn’t taken long for Owen to achieve a new, rock-solid new erection—this despite their tireless amaxo lover having blasted so many loads that day Victor could almost pretend the noisy ocean below them was made of Owen-jizz. Ger had then ghosted his mental attentions in a circuit around Owen’s heavy balls, which, Victor knew from personal experience, was his signature pre-blowjob move; but Victor had hauled him past Owen’s towering prick and along his furry, carved abs, slowly making their way up Owen’s body while leaving his cock ignored. Owen retaliated in his own typical fashion: he brought his mental attentions down hard on the brothers’ own rigid shafts, pleasuring them mercilessly with caresses far more intense than a mouth or hand could manage—and because of the link between them, Victor could feel Ger’s ecstatic enjoyment of this maneuver on top of his own.
When the brothers dawdled around Owen’s sensitive, pebbled nipples, Owen upped the ante, shoving his psychic love straight into their well-used asses while at the same time intensifying his work-over of their massive, leaking erections. Victor could feel Owen grinning as Gerardo started to lose control, tearing Victor down with him into a heated maestrom of desire and need. Abandoning all coyness they descended together on Owen’s cock and ass while somehow managing to mentally caress and stroke every inch of Owen’s extra-large muscle-beast body, while Owen fucked them and stroked them harder and harder until orgasm suddenly erupted over all of them all at once and they came again as if they hadn’t fuck at all that day, cumming and cumming and cumming until they were each covered in sweat and spunk, melted and spent against the sand without every having moved or touched.
The seagulls probably think we’re being fucked by ghosts, Gerardo had thought after the long, shared-contented calm that always followed their mutual release.
Or incubi, Owen had suggested, amused.
They’d stayed quiet for a while, enjoying the mild, salty wafting of night ocean air and the steady, undulating roar of the surf. Victor felt a brush of sensation on his lips. Gerardo was kissing him through their connection—no, he was kissing Victor and Owen both. Owen, stirring slightly from a half-trance, returned the kiss, and Victor could feel Gerardo and Owen kissing him at the same time, their mouths overlapping on his. And he could feel his brother’s pleasure too, and Owen’s, the joy of their languid, deepening kiss multiplied many times over by the recursive nature of their unifying bond. It felt so good Victor’s blood was heating and his pulse was quickening all over again, and then his extra-large cock was thumping against the sticky, drying cum coating his abs and filling the cuts between them. He felt Owen’s big, wide tongue slide into his mouth, then Gerardo’s long, hungry one joined it. Victor followed suit, feeling his own tongue in his brother’s hot mouth and in Owen’s too, almost like he was kissing himself while at the same time both of his partners were fervently kissing him. Suddenly Victor was cumming again, bring the others with him, and this time it was so soon after their big psychic fuck that the payload was only a few desperate squirts, and his balls screamed in protest.
Owwww! laughed Gerardo over their connection as he spit painful spurts over his own ripped abs. Victor was chuckling too. Owen seemed unaffected but amused. Maybe he really was insatiable.
Now they lay there quietly, still a little apart from each other, content to merely be together. He could still feel Gerardo gently kissing him, though. It occurred to Victor that Gerardo, having discovered this new method of making out—something he loved—without having to actually touch lips together, might just find himself unable to stop, and would be kissing him and Owen 24/7. That would be… interesting. His exhausted prick twitched at the thought as he let himself imagine the possibilities. They might be walking through a grocery store, picking up staples and talking about mundanities, or watching a movie or playing video games, even sleeping, and Ger would be kissing him the whole time. He’d switch it up, too, starting out slow and sultry, then shifting suddenly to deep and sloppy, or the brushing of soft, closed lips over his. Diving down occasionally to his bearded jaw, or that sensitive spot on his neck, before working back up to his eager mouth. Languid, passive kisses that suddenly heated as their pulses sped and their cocks responded to their need.
The idea was impossible—beautifully impossible—and Victor had to admit it was a big turn-on for him. Ger was an amazing kisser, passionate and playful and loving and uninhibited, and the idea of Gerardo kissing him literally all the time was the kind of fantasy he’d never even known he’d had before Owen had turned up in their little fold of the world and all this had started happening.
All this. All this meant meeting Owen, whom he and Ger loved infinitely and unconditionally. It was a completeness he’d never known was possible or necessary. All this meant a bond so powerful it changed them, growing him and Ger, strengthening them and their wolves, even as they unleashed the hidden beast that had lain dormant in Owen. All this meant the coming of Owen to their shifter perserve, and the horrifying, inexplicable reaction his arrival had spawned in his tribal elders.
We have to go back, he thought again. We have to find Elder Lucas. He might be—
In danger, I know, Gerardo responded sourly. Nonetheless Victor felt Gerardi’s psychic kissing intensify, as if he were trying to keep Victor from talking. Victor chuckled. You can’t shut me up with a kiss anymore, little brother, he thought back at him.
I could shut you up, Owen thought listlessly at him. He sensed Owen knew he was right about going back, but leaving utopia isn’t something you jump at.
Victor smiled. And I could make you forget all your words, lover-beast… again.
Owen gave him another little growl.
They lay there a while longer, drinking in their last moments in paradise, while Gerardo’s unseen lips gently kissed them both, as ceaseless as the rolling tide.
Owen smirked as he strode through the dense forest behind a very naked Victor and Gerardo, branches and even small trees snapping against their adamantine forms as they went. He’d never been more glad of his recently enhanced night vision, and not just for its help in finding their way back to their vehicles. The brothers were truly an impressive sight, especially from the back, their sun-warmed skin seeming almost to glow in the rich monochromes of the midnight world around them. Even with all the muscle they’d put on since meeting him they remained distinct in physique and bearing. Gerardo was muscled but still lean and lithe, like an aerialist who’d stoked his strength to uncanny levels by hurling himself from trapeze to trapeze; while Victor was packed with muscle so dense he looked stronger than any musclehead with twice his measurements, and carried himself like a man aware of his need to protect his partners. Both had dark hair that was down past their shoulders, Victor’s slightly straighter than his brother’s cascading locks, but while they’d both gotten a hairiness upgrade Ger was still the one with more body hair than Victor—though he was no match for Owen. For all they were a head shorter than Owen these days they seemed big and powerful, unstoppable even, and Owen’s heart swelled in lust and admiration. These were his men, and it wasn’t that he had grown them so much as that they had grown themselves for him.
Stop looking at our asses, Victor thought at him.
Shut up, bro. O, you can look at our asses all… you… want.
Owen’s smile widened. He could still feel Gerardo’s unending kiss like it was a new normal for them, and the thought inflamed his desire. He used their connection to cup the brothers’ hard, round muscle butts, then give them a little goose. Victor stumbled slightly and tossed a playful glare over his shoulder.
Watch out for poison ivy, Owen thought at them. I want to rub my hands all over your junk tonight, but not with Calamine lotion.
Gerardo smacked against a thick branch he hadn’t seen. It snapped off against the bole like it had been struck by a bulldozer.
Jeez, we must sound like an army of elephants stomping through here, Victor thought. I hope you’re right about everyone being gone, Ger.
After Bandit had led them out of Beachworld, Gerardo had volunteered to slip briefly into the wolf dream and see if he could surreptitiously gather news. He’d only closed his eyes for a few moments before he returned with the news that Elders Eirene and Manuel had called all the wolves of their pack to an urgent meeting in the bonfire glade, a large enclosed field that lay well to the south of the Fishers’ house. As Owen, Victor, and Gerardo had fled into the forest in the other direction, to the north, and they were returning the same way, there was every chance they could get back to the parking area by the house and collect their cars unseen. Assuming, Owen thought grimly, that Eirene and Manual hadn’t slashed their tires, or left a few shotgun-toting guards lying in wait to “protect the pack” from Owen’s “evil”. He hadn’t forgotten the brothers’ outcast status, or the bullets that had whizzed past them as they’d torn through the trees to get away.
Owen was starting to warm to the idea of him being here to change things. It looked like a few things needed changing.
Only… wasn’t one definition of “evil” the use of power to bend reality as you, and you alone, saw fit? He was sure he’d read that somewhere.
You’re not alone, came Victor’s reminder in his mind.
And if you start agreeing with Elder Eirene about being evil, I’m going to punch you really hard, Gerardo added. In the nuts! He wasn’t kidding, either.
Duly noted, Owen thought with a grin.
They emerged abruptly from the woods, Bandit just ahead of them. A security flood was mounted on the side of the house, aimed in the general direction of the front stoop and the parking area, and though it wasn’t pointed directly their way Owen’s enhanced ability to see in the dark had grown so strong he had to stop and blink a few times before his eyes adjusted. The brothers had stopped too, and they took a moment and stared.
The parking area was now filled with all kinds of vehicles—pickups, dusty sedans, SUVs, vans—even a semi cab, though with no trailer attached. Victor’s trusty green Honda and Owen’s Ducati were parked at the end of the makeshift lot closest to them, farthest from the road out, and there was no lane through the cars and trucks parked pell-mell across the space. When they’d left, they’d been blocked in by a couple of greasy stoners with a truck and a rifle; the guards were gone now, but they were just as fucked. There was no sign of any people at all, and though many had been here recently there was no smell of wolves present nearby other than Victor and Gerardo, whose scents were as distinctive to Owen as their voices or their smiles.
It wasn’t just the logjam of random cars that had arrested the brothers, though.
After a moment the two wolves started forward again, cautiously, as if they weren’t quite believing what they were seeing, and Owen followed, feeling stunned. Around them crickets chirped in a cacophonic wash of noise, as if the creatures sought to fill the silence of the night.
Owen should have realized.
Bandit had returned to them on the beach shortly after they’d given in and finally made ready to leave, and had led them out of the starlit Beachworld and into the deep dark of the forest. Owen had thought the guardian-dog had tossed a few odd looks over his shoulder at them, but he hadn’t been sure. At the time he’d had a weird sense that he was really towering over the dog, though it was hard to tell as Bandit tended to run ahead. Owen had put it down to still not being used to the few inches he’d gained in height and size since he’d come back from Maxfield’s mountain. Then he’d let himself get distracted by the brothers’ very fine and fuckable muscle asses shifting before them as they made their way back from the transfer point.
Now, though, he realized just how off his perspective had been.
As he watched, the brothers approached their car, and the effect was like that unnerving dolly zoom that goes with James Stewart looking down the tower stairs or Frodo shouting for everyone to get off the road. With every step Victor and Gerardo took, their floodlit forms seemed to get bigger, and the old green Accord smaller; but Owen knew, he knew, that what he was really watching was the slow realignment of two different scales of reality. One involved a car that was the size cars always were, and the other, three men who’d grown and grown without the slightest awareness of having done so as they’d all unwound and fucked in a pocket universe of their very own, far beyond the mundane world.
Victor and Gerardo reached the car, looming over it. The scarred hood didn’t quite reach their navels.
It was, Owen had to admit, an awesome fucking tableau, one he’d never forget. If they weren’t in danger of getting shot at and/or burned alive, he’d be turned on as fuck.
Okay, forget that. Even stunned and a little scared by the magnitude of how huge they’d gotten, the sight of his hairy, handsome, and horny muscle-packed wolf-partners towering comically over their car, buck naked, their thick, furry pecs casting harsh shadows on their sweet, taut abs below in the garish light, was making him flushed with arousal.
Owen looked beyond the brothers’ car to his beloved Ducati, still beautiful even when it was being lit like a scene from Cops. It looked… ridiculously small, even from where he stood, a good thirty or forty feet away. All he could think right then was that between his current size and his abnormal strength he could probably hoist the thing up on his shoulder and tote it around like a giant boom box. Hell, he felt so big and strong now, could probably go through this excuse for a parking lot and lift a few cars and trucks enough out of the way to make a path.
Owen couldn’t ignore the ramifications of what he was seeing. As hot as the brothers were, looming over the vehicles like they’d been composited in via green-screen magic, and as hot as it felt to be even bigger than they were, Owen knew that their situation was now considerably worse than before. As far as he knew, they were miles from anywhere: they needed the car and the bike to get out of there. No wheels meant no ready exit. And with the pack was aiming bullets their way, all things considered giants were probably a lot easier to shoot, being bigger targets and all that.
Giants. Giant werewolf boyfriends. Crazy-hot, hairy, muscle-stud shifter boyfriends that were suddenly too tall and too thick with hard, heavy, supremely lickable beef for their little green Honda. He snorted a disbelieving laugh, and the brothers looked over at him.
“Sorry,” he said aloud. There was a bit of comfort in the normality of ordinary speech, and Owen took it. “I’m sorry I did this to you guys. To us.”
Gerardo frowned at him. “This stopped being all you a ways back,” he said angrily. “Don’t you get that? This is us, all three of us. We did this, not just you.”
Victor rubbed his beard thoughtfully as he appraised the car in relation to himself and his brother. “The question is, can ‘we’ undo it?” he said. “Because I don’t think we’re fitting in there like this.”
“Huh. Not to mention you’re totally going to crush your little bike, O,” Gerardo added as he looked between the Ducati and Owen, who was even taller and heavier than the now-giant brothers.
Owen came over at last and stood next to them, trying to think through this, though the situation was, well, intrinsically distracting. The car… yeah. It seemed ridiculously small to him, from his present vantage-point, for him especially. Even if he rode on the hood, his current weight would probably crumple the thing. He remembered his early obsession with gaining muscle weight when he’d first started playing football, partly to improve his throw but mostly so the opposing team wouldn’t run him over like a herd of charging buffalo. Football would be a very different proposition now. Though it would be kind of interesting to play with a bunch of other guys as big as he was, if there were any.
“This growth thing… it isn’t one way,” he said eventually. “I’ve sensed that, I think, from the beginning. I’ve just been so into the idea of bigger, stronger, harder, even to the point…” He trailed off, embarrassed to finish the thought, but Gerardo did it for him.
“Even to the point of being a little too big,” the younger wolf said, and he was grinning as he said it. “And I know you know that wasn’t just you either.”
“Yeah, I’ll say,” Victor snarked, shaking his head as if supremely disappointed in his sibling. “That my sweet and innocent little brother should turn out to be such a total slut for—” He gestured at Gerardo’s beautiful, extra-large muscle bod. “—all this.”
“Like you aren’t.”
The brothers looked each other over, and Victor, either consciously or unconsciously, licked his lips.
As much as he loved watching his guys perv on each other, Owen thought he should get them all back on track. “We need to scale this back,” he said, then huffed. “Literally.” The brothers smiled up at him, and he shook his head and started over. “We need get back to something close to normal,” he said.
The brothers nodded, though with obvious reluctance. Being half again the size of a man—or more, in Owen’s case—was sexy as fuck but not practical. At least, not in their current state of crisis.
“It’s not going to be easy,” Owen went on. “I’ve—” He glanced at Gerardo and amended himself. “—okay, we’ve been doing this mostly instinctively. Unconsciously, even. This… would need to be deliberate. And, if we’re being honest, against our inclinations.”
Victor nodded. “We need a place,” he said thoughtfully. “Like a safe house. Somewhere we can hole up while we try to figure out the size thing. And maybe get some news about Elder Lucas.”
Owen looked at the brothers as they exchanged glances. He didn’t know these parts at all, so unless he suggested Maxfield’s mountain in New Hampshire this was down to them. He looked slowly around the mess of vehicles crammed into the small expanse in front of the Fishers’ dark and empty house, his brows drawing together. Something wasn’t quite right here. He tried peering into the woods beyond the car-packed clearing, but the blaring light of the security halogen defeated his night vision. His other senses were sharper then ever, though, and he was sure he’d caught a whiff of… he wasn’t sure what. Not woods, and not animal. Not wolf, either. Something that didn’t belong.
He gave up trying to see into the woods. Instead he glanced up, wondering what time it was and how long they’d been away. The stars overhead glimmered against the inky black, less dazzling than the deep carpet of stars they’d enjoyed back on the neverwhere beach but firmer, somehow. Real. This was reality. A strange reality, he thought wryly, but reality nonetheless. His fate these last days seemed to be in constant flux, and yet… it was clear he had an end-purpose here, beyond meeting the brothers. He hoped he’d figure out what it was before it was too late.
He scanned across the night sky, looking for constellations he recognized from Cub Scout camping trips and after-practice beers under the night sky with his buds on the team. It was all much the same up there as back home, he thought, but somehow when he was lying on the grassy hills behind the football field, staring up at the stars with his friends while they drank pilfered PBR and talked about how the scorability of various cheerleaders, he’d never felt connected to the stars, like they shone down on him. He’d never drawn in the scent of oak and pine and earth before and felt like it was a part of him.
It hit him suddenly that for all this deep-forested vale of werewolves and supernatural creatures was a new and unknown world for him, he hadn’t once felt homesick for Vermont, for his old town or the gridiron glory days he’d enjoyed for the simple rush of skill-brought success, even if he hadn’t trained and played out of a personal need to be a great quarterback. Thinking back on those days was like remembering a TV show he’d used to watch and felt no need to see again.
This was where he belonged. This place, and these men. The warm comfort of that profound certainty made him smile.
Gerardo’s mental voice intruded on his thoughts. You know who else lives out this way, the younger wolf thought tentatively, as though he didn’t quite want to speak the idea aloud. Owen drew his attention back to the brothers.
Victor met Gerardo’s gaze and seemed to understand. Shit, he thought back. You’re right. His place is, like, a mile and a half from here. Victor considered. And he’s outside the pack, he added.
Owen nodded. There was no telling if anyone in the brothers’ pack could be trusted, now that two of the Elders had turned against them and branded them outcasts. A human ally might be a prudent choice, especially if it was someone unexpected and under the radar. Who? he asked them.
Gerardo looked up at him with a glum smile. Mike, he answered.
Mike? Owen blinked at him. Who had he met here named—?
Then he remembered. Mike, the skinny blond from the Denny’s.
Owen was taken aback, but only for a moment. Then a big grin blossomed on his face. Mr. Bad-in-Bed had thought he still had a chance with Gerardo. And if he saw Gerardo like this… Sitting on the sidelines while the three of them demonstrated how real fuckers took care of their partners while they made love, probably over and over again, sounded like a great plan for any guy who thought he had a shot at one of his men.
Milton watched the giant and his two snouts intently from his spot high up a sturdy poplar a few feet into the shadowed woods at the far side of the clearing, astride a convenient leg-thick branch close to the bole. Blacked up in face paint and night gear, utterly still from long years of training, Milton knew that even the stranger couldn’t possibly see him. A whole pack of wolves had passed right by him not thirty feet away, headed for their little bonfire, and not a single one of them had so much as looked up.
So predictable. The snouts saw only ever what they were looking for.
He adjusted his high-tech binoculars, trying to get a closer view. He’d been right to let Gardner monitor the pack meeting while he took his station here. His gut had told him the stranger and his acolytes would be back for their vehicles while the snouts were all fulminating away at their clan meeting, and there they were. Milton always listened to his gut.
He focused more closely on the stranger. His binoculars were recording video, but he took a still anyway.
On the security feed he’d actually seen the stranger blow up with size and muscle. Instantly and massively, like no shifter he’d ever observed before. The video had been too low-res and too far away to be sure, but Milton had gotten the distinct impression that the stranger hadn’t even fully shifted. The Reyes brothers had seemed to pull him back before he could finish, but… even in a cruddy video feed he had seen it and tasted it. There had been so much potency there. So much radiant potential, locked away within him, waiting for release.
His whole life Milton had watched shifters from the shadows, coveting their raw, unnatural, pulse-quickening inner power. This… this was far beyond anything he had ever witnessed. It was beyond anything he had ever dreamed.
And that was the security video. Now, staring at him at close range and in high definition, there could be no doubt what he was seeing. Down there in that clearing, with too-small cars strewn before them like the unwitting metal victims of a mad scientist’s shrink ray, stood three unshifted men, all larger than any human could ever be.
The stranger—Banks, the sweaty motel clerk had told him, once he had the point of Milton’s fat-bladed pigsticker under his chin—was definitely, unequivocally bigger now than he’d been at the Walmart. Huge. Even the brothers would tower over Milton now, like they towered now over their little POS. And Banks overshadowed them like a coming storm.
They were all bigger, and not just bigger than they were yesterday. They were each bigger than they had been only a few hours before, when the snouts had chased Banks and his boys into the woods with guns and teeth.
Milton pursed his thin lips. An animal war. That might please the others. He was no fan of bloodshed. Still, it would be intriguing to watch how it played out.
The three of them seemed to be regrouping, trying to sort out their next move. That was fine. Milton let his gaze wander down the stranger’s powerful form, his cut-from-stone muscles profiled in garish whites and blacks from the snout-alphas’ security lamp. The brothers might be in his thrall, seeing in him only what they wanted to see—god? deliverer?—but Milton perceived him as he truly was. Inhuman. It was in every part of him, every limb, every expanse. Those bulging shoulders, impossibly wide. Thick pecs so protruding, he could almost shield a child from a downpour. Legs like tree trunks. A cock like a weapon—even flaccid Milton could feel its deadly pull. Rippling arms that looked like he could pick up that out-of-state motorcycle of his and hurl it at Milton’s hidden position all the way across the clearing. A hard, unforgettable face, cold and beautiful, seemingly carved from rock like the rest of him despite a dark, living beard and glinting eyes.
A little thrill of fear trickled over him. That thing, that creature—Banks—he could do anything to him. Anything he wanted.
He adjusted his rigid erection with annoyance. He didn’t have time for that now.
Finally, the three started to move, and the snouts’ so-called guardian dog trotted back to rejoin them from its exploration of the various vehicles in the makeshift lot. Here was another unexplained curiosity. Milton was very curious to know how the stranger had swayed it to his side. It could not have been the erotic power he had used to bewitch the two brothers. Loyalty to the brothers, perhaps—but the guardian dogs protected clans, not men, or so said all of Demetrius’s lore. Fear? Betrayal? Ambition? Supernatural insight? He had no idea. He wished he could interrogate the cur. The intelligence and perspective would be both useful and fascinating.
They paused by the bike—Banks seemed to be considering rolling it out of there, or maybe just hoisting it up under his arm and hauling it out, but they seemed to think better of the idea. Wise, Milton thought. Don’t tell the snouts you were here.
Milton made a mental note. He would need to make sure they did not underestimate the stranger, or his boys.
The three brutes, naked and covered in dark hair like the animals they were, their uncanny muscles proclaiming their savage power, moved on, creeping silently around the tangle of cars and trucks that filled the clearing, the dog loping ahead. They soon slipped into the shadows near the woods’ edge, and Milton flipped on his binoculars’ night vision. In green thermal imaging they looked even more surreal, standing out from their surroundings like intruders into the realm of men.
He watched them go. He would have to wait before he could risk leaving his position—he couldn’t be heard, smelled, or spotted. The trackers he’d placed on the brothers’ car and on the Vermont-plated motorcycle were useless now, but it didn’t matter. He could still hunt. He was the best hunter out of all their group, and those brutes were his kind of game.
He waited motionlessly for long minutes as the night stilled, with only the sound of the crickets for company. He didn’t hear them. He stared after where his three targets had vanished into the dark woods, his thoughts reaching ahead, plotting what was to come.
For now, they were observing. The order would be given soon. Perhaps he would not wait for the order. He hungered to command the power Banks possessed, and he was not sure it was in him to share.
“The legends are true, as so many legends have proven to be. The Beast has come. The Amaxo is here.”
Aaron stared up at the white-haired Elder with wide, round eyes. Standing on a box, ringed around by her clan with the shifting light of a small bonfire playing over her, she had the eyes and ears of every man and woman present. She did shout or cry out, or harangue them with blistering rhetoric. She did not have to.
Her voice was as cold as steel.
“It has taken my nephews. Corrupted them with sex and sorcery. I have spoken to them and they are… they are gone. My nephews are gone. They belong to him now. They have become his creatures.”
There was some murmuring from the other young men around him, men who knew Victor and Gerardo. Aaron felt sick. Those beautiful young men, dark and suave, so unlike his own pale, swimmer’s form. He could see them easily in his mind. Victor, with his penetrating brown eyes, eyes that stirred something powerful in Aaron that he didn’t understand. And Gerardo, with his wicked smile. They always smelled of strength, and man, and the primal power of the first wolves. What kind of vile creature would cut such strong, amazing, mesmerizing men out of their beloved pack?
“It has taken Elder Lucas.”
More muttering followed this news. Aaron had wondered why only Eirene had risen and stood before them alone, against all tradition. This Beast had not started from the outside, picking off the weaker members and building an antipack of its own, as all the legends said. It was going for the jugular. Disgusting to think of something bad had befallen Elder Lucas. He was easily the kindest man Aaron had ever known. And a damned good pharmacist before he retired to the woods, always taking the time to talk with nana and discuss the side-effects of her medications.
The Elder’s tone became more ominous.
“And Elder Manuel, you ask? Elder Manuel, who has been with you on every step of your long journey?” She gestured abruptly to her right, into the dark woods. “See what the Beast has done!”
Out of the shadows stepped a brawny black and charcoal wolf, its dark gold eyes glinting in the firelight. Gasps erupted through the crowd. The wolf lowered its head. Aaron stared. What was the Elder telling them? Had this creature really—?
“The Beast force-shifted an alpha.” Aaron’s eyes snapped up to the Elder, aghast. She seemed to hold his gaze, then that of every member of the pack. There was no muttering now, no gasps, no sound at all but the cracking of burning wood and the creaking of uncounted crickets.
“The Beast force-shifted Manuel and he cannot shift back.”
Growling. Angry growling, low in a hundred throats.
The Elder waited, then spoke again.
“It laughs at us. It challenges us. It takes us, one by one. Even the guardian has been taken, leaving us vulnerable to forces of the world only he knows and understands.”
The Elder raised her chin slightly to one of her men, who handed her up a bough from the bonfire. It was aflame at one end. She did not raise it aloft, or shake it dramatically at them. It was enough that she held it. They all understood. Many were nodding.
“You know what must be done. You know what fate must befall such a Beast.”
“Protect the pack,” someone said. It was not shouted. It was snarled.
The call was taken up around the crowd, at first raggedly, then as a single chant. Protect the pack. Protect the pack. Aaron chanted with them. Protect the pack.
He would be the one, he decided fiercely, his inner wolf baring its teeth and demanding to be let loose. He would be the one to bring down this monster and watch it burn.
And he would save Victor and Gerardo. Somehow, he would save them.
It was pleasant, walking along the winding back road together. It didn’t seem to matter that they were naked and barefoot, and had had to leave the car and bike behind. There were only a few homes here and there out this way; right now all he could see was forest and road and sky. The tall trees shot up high around them toward the stars like protectors, and the scent of leaves and earth and his lovers filled him with peace and reassurance. The thought came to him again that he was at home here. He belonged to these lands, these forests… and these men.
Shall we shift? he asked them.
Victor and Gerardo both stopped and turn to look up at him in surprise, their eyes bright with excitement. Bandit, a little ways ahead, looked over his shoulder at them. When he saw that they were stopped, he turned and sat on his haunches, panting a little, waiting patiently.
Can you? Victor asked. I mean—are you sure you’re ready?
Owen bent and kissed him, tasting Victor’s ready lips over Gerardo’s ceaseless ghost-kiss. Then he kissed the other brother, and his giddy self-satisfaction at kissing Owen twice over riffled through their bond.
Owen straightened, hands on their powerful shoulders, and the brothers drew close, sliding their arms around each other’s broad backs. I’ve never been more ready for anything, he told them truthfully, looking at each brother in turn. I want to become more than I am. I want us to become more than we are.
Victor considered, exchanging a look with Gerardo. We are naked already, he thought reasonably. And it’s a nice run from here to Mike’s.
Gerardo grinned. Change us first!
Victor sighed. It’s night and there’s a quarter moon, hermano. We can shift ourselves.
Gerardo shook his head stubbornly. I want O to do it.
Owen smiled and shook both of them slightly. How much more could he love these two? We’re past all that, remember? Me changing you, me shifting you.
Gerardo didn’t give up that easily. He narrowed his eyes slightly at Owen and thought, You could shift us if you wanted.
Owen’s smile went lopsided. You could shift me if you wanted.
Gerardo’s eyes widened. No way. Even his ghost-kiss stuttered, though only for a moment.
Owen glanced over at Victor. You feel it, right? You both feel it.
Victor swallowed. He felt it. Both of them did. But, Victor thought uncertainly, you’re so much stronger—
We are strong. We. Owen smiled at his men. All of this was new to him, and so much was still hidden. But this much was painfully clear. The three of them were more than connected. The idea thrilled him, and he was eager to run with them—to become with them.
Gerardo and Owen both looked at Victor, who broke suddenly into a wide smile. Let’s do it, then. Let’s run under the stars.
They closed their eyes.
Owen felt something open within him. He’d felt this before, a taste of it, like a gust of warm air from a door slightly ajar. Now, he was entering a room filled with luxurious warmth, and everything was in vivid colors—blues and violets and indigos mostly, but reds and oranges too. And the room was infinite, and the door was gone, and he was not alone. His men were there—they were the reds and oranges, the fire and gold of the wolves, and it all strengthened and mixed and swirled together, swath upon swath of bear-Owen and wolf-Victor and wolf-Gerardo, woven and winding and intensifying, more powerful together then they could ever be alone.
He opened his eyes.
Two sleek, immense, gigantic wolves peered up at him, golden eyes filled with love and awe at what they were all feeling—shared energy beyond their imagining. Their tails wafted in uncontained excitement.
You’re beautiful, Victor thought.
Owen glanced down at his paws, which were huge compared to the wolves’. He had to be the biggest bear ever to prowl these woods, or any woods anywhere. He looked back up at the wolf brothers. He loomed over them in this form even more than he had as a giant human, but it didn’t matter. Everything that they were, all of the dark and bright fire that came with what Owen was and what the brothers were, flowed through all of them like a roaring river. They were brimming with it, overflowing. He—they—had to move. They had to act.
They had to run.
Bandit was on his feet. He barked once, tail flipping feverishly at them.
Bandit wants to run, too, Owen thought happily to the brothers.
Gerardo was dancing where he stood. Let’s go!
Owen leapt forward, the two wolves at either side. Bandit raced ahead, and the trees flowed past in a blur while the stars slid across the midnight sky.