Wolf's Tale

"I don't suppose you have any Djinn sitting around?" Cole quipped.

Matrov grinned toothlessly. "If I did, I would already have proper funding for this dig and Nicole Kidman serving me breakfast in bed."

They laughed. But Sam couldn't take her eyes off the relief.

*

Cole had introduced her to the others, two men and two women aged from twenty to forty, brought her food and drink, and showed to her a stark room piled up with suitcases and crates, obviously a storage area turned into a makeshift sleeping quarters for the additional guests. "There is not much here, but-"

"I'm not complaining. Everyone has been very hospitable. Especially you." She looked up at him, then rose to her toes and kissed him on his stubbly cheek.

He blushed charmingly. "Good night, Samantha."

"Good night, Cowboy." When she was alone, the room lit by a small oil lamp, she emptied her mind, having missed her lover – but then thought that perhaps this wasn't the right place.

After a moment, she slipped out, down the hall and into the courtyard of the fortress. Nothing was locked – there was no one around for hundreds of miles but the animals – and so she ventured out and into a patch of wilderness, near a collection of twisted, rusted metal bars like the skeleton of some long-dead beast. Moonlight cast the ground and the distant buildings with a sepulchre glow, and further away, wolves howled. Before, she was scared. Not now.

She emptied her mind of distractions, focused on the image of her lover, on his form and sound and scent, as oft-spoken words quickly escaped her lips. "O Powerful Fenris, son of Loki and Angrboda, I, your consort, conjure thee on this night and at this hour here, to order firmed affairs with thee..."

And as the wind whipped and charged with electricity, she began breathing hard, her hair dancing about her. Once, when she had first performed this ceremony, it had required specific times, paraphernalia, required tremendous amounts of her own personal energy and effort. But she had changed so much since those days, six years ago – as had her relationship with her god. Her lover.

Samantha...

His tongue, unseen, lapped at her face. She laughed, reached out and stroked his fur, as his form seemingly emerged from the shadows around her. "Beloved."

It has been too long...

"Agreed. I think I've found the Source-"

Later. Lie back.

"You gods, you always have one thing on your minds." After a moment of quickened breathing, she obeyed, sinking down to her rear end, and then back onto her elbows. She still wore Cole's T-shirt, jeans and trainers, and the cold air reached her skin, but for someone used to practising witchcraft naked in places like Scotland and Belarus, it was nothing.

She looked up and saw Fenris in his full glory: a wolf the size of a bear, with pointed ears and a long muzzle on a huge head mounted on a thickly-muscled neck, his fur thick and ash with black waves, his teeth gleaming, his pointed ears swept back, and his blood-red eyes, slitted with black, fixed upon her. The claws on its massive paws dug into the earth as he regarded her, leaning over her, licking her face once more with a rough, hot tongue, before nuzzling into her neck, sniffing her hair. I had almost forgotten all your human scents.

"Oh?" she gasped, shivers of pleasure running through her. "All of them? You mean I have more?"

Of course. You're a feast for the nose.

"Flatterer."

He moved his muzzle to under her arms, sniffing and making her laugh, before he moved down along her belly to her groin, vibrations running through her pussy as he drew back. There is a strange man's scent on those clothes.

"What did you expect? I didn't exactly end up in the woods with my suitcase."

Remove them.

"You think you can get into my knickers so easily?" she teased.

Well, I think I can rip them off if you don't.

"Good point." She smiled, pulling her T-shirt over her head, kicking off her trainers, and then reaching for the tab on her jeans. As she slipped out of her jeans and boxers, she watched his features shift before her eyes, producing less lupine and more humanlike characteristics, rising onto his hind legs, ash-grey fur patched with black around his neck, at the joins of his wrists and ankles, at the base of his bushy tail, and dipping down his belly to collect around his shaft, long and thick for her.

Sometimes they hunted each other, sometimes they play fought, often leaving Sam cut and bruised like she'd been dragged tail-first through a hedge. Tonight, though, it was a gentler encounter. Sam pressed her mouth against his chest, nipping at his furry flesh and making him growl with delight at her action. He nipped back as they fell into each other's arms, his own incredible strength kept in check, still licking her. A delicious heat radiated from her as the base of his palm pressed against the pouch of her sex, feeling the wiry hairs of her bush, the heat of her pussy and the folds surrounding her clit. He massaged it, making her squirm and moan, her own hand reaching for his shaft, stroking the wet sheath of skin surrounding it. "Y-Yes- Beloved, take me... now..."

He released his hold on her, enough to let her move about onto all fours, raising her rear to him. There had been times when they had fucked face to face, like humans do, and those had been sweet, wonderful interludes. Now, however, she offered herself in the way she knew he preferred, the way that made his shaft rise and thicken further as he mounted her from behind. And as Fenris gripped her hips, claws digging into her skin, offering her short, rapid trusts into her hot, wet, waiting pussy, she buried her face in her crossed arms and let herself surrender completely, strings of climaxes shooting out from her, until his seed filled her.

They lay together for a time, he wrapped around her from behind, his immense body warmth keeping her from growing chilled as he growled softly, sending trills through her until she gently elbowed him. "Come on, or you'll want more, and I won't be able to walk." She rose and dressed again. "What do you know about Djinn?"

Fenris rose on his hind legs, ears twitching as he listened to the distant howls of his mortal brothers, looking ready to join them in wolfsong. Filthy creatures.

"What, the wolves?"

No, the Djinn. Immortal cast-down parasites of smoke and fire, feeding off human life and spirit while promising their victims everything. Some have potential for good, but most are irredeemable, deserving of their fate.

"What was their fate?"

A human king named Sulayman bound the most dangerous into physical objects - lamps, pipes, rings - and had them cast into the sea- Then he looked at her. There are tombs here?

"Yes, though I haven't seen the lowest levels yet. Do you think some of those objects might have survived?"

We shall see. His red eyes glowed bright as he proceeded to the fortress.

She quickly caught up with him. "There are people in here, good people. I'd rather not frighten them with a two-metre high wolfman."

Wordlessly he shifted in form, shrinking in size until he appeared as a normal-sized four-legged wolf. Better?

"Yes, thank you."

But will you still love me like this?

"Well, maybe not physically, but I might let you hump my leg-" She dodged the playful nip he took at her ankles, as she led him back inside the fortress grounds, and into the main building. It was quiet, except for some distant music and laughter in one of the common rooms, and as they found the way down a narrow, winding stone staircase into the lower levels, the noise, and the light, disappeared. "Fenris, I can't see."

I can. Wait here.

She heard him pad away, and suddenly she felt the urge to call him back, as stupid as that was. She had a god nearby; what could happen?

Nothing, answered the voice in her head. I will return quickly.

She grunted. "Are you sensing anything?"

Of a sort.

"How powerful were the Djinn?"

I have never fought one.

"But are they more powerful than you?"

She heard him sigh in her mind. I cannot measure such things, Samantha.

"But they can grant wishes?"

They grant illusions, illusions so real their victims will remain close enough and long enough to be drained of all spirit, of all life. Nothing good has ever come from wishes granted.

"Tell that to Cinderella."

I am not familiar with that name.

"No, I suppose you'd be more of a Little Red Riding Hood fan. Are you sensing anything?

Now she heard something like annoyance in his thoughts. Something is near, but impossible to grasp.

A cold thought made her ask, "You mean... like smoke?"

That comparison disturbs me...

"Miss Stephens?"

Sam jumped and turned to see the frail form of Matrov descending, holding an old-fashioned oil lantern in one raised hand. "Professor, you startled me!"

He hobbled down to meet her. "Forgive me, my dear, but I heard voices. Sometimes the others get drunk, and I get worried that they might damage something valuable down here."

"No, it's just me."

Samantha...

Matrov handed her the lantern. "Take this a moment, would you?"

She did, even as she tried to mentally communicate with Fenris to stay back and stay quiet – until the Professor reached up suddenly, grasped her face in his hands and pulled her into an open-mouthed kiss.

For a second, she thought he was just trying in some incredibly clumsy way to make advances on her.

Until she felt the smoke pour down into her lungs, not choking her but blanketing her insides.

SAMANTHA!

There was a rush to her head, like the first time she had tried marijuana as a teenager, but the rush swirled and grew in her head, suffusing her muscles and petrifying her. She was awake, but unable to move, unable to do anything but stand and watch as Matrov took the lantern back from her, throwing it into the darkness until a wall of heat and flame erupted, far exceeding what should have happened with earthly oils and fire.

She watched Matrov survey his work with satisfaction, before turning back to her. "Follow me."

Her body obeyed. She tried to fight it, but it was as if she was wading through molasses – that smoke, it had to be related to the Djinn Fenris had mentioned. Beloved! Where are you? Her mind reached out, even as her body was walking away from the flames behind it. But he didn't come, didn't answer. Was he dead? Bound? What had happened???

She wanted to say something, do something – but all she could do was follow the old man. They walked down the corridors of the building, Sam wondering what happened to Cole and the rest of Matrov's group.

Her question was answered as he led her back to the relic room, and she saw the five of them, sprawled about the rug, as if having fallen asleep where they stood after a drunken party. Matrov looked to her again; anticipation grew bright in his eyes. "They're alive, my dear, and quite happy, I can assure you." As he studied her, he added, "You may speak – but not to summon your god again."

Sam's jaw worked, and despite what the old man had said, she tried to summon Fenris, but the incantation wouldn't leave her mouth. She tried to think it, but even the thoughts wouldn't form for her. Desperate, desperate for answers, she asked, "Professor? What's going on? How are you doing all this?"

"Sadly, Professor Matrov died tonight - and in a way it was your doing; the arrival of a being of power such as your little god stirred me."

"Then... you're a Djinn?"

He smiled, lifting up an angular, battered brass lamp in his hands, watching the flame dance at the tip. "Call me Al-Dhib. The Professor had the misfortune of using my prison as a vessel to burn his homeopathic oils, wishing that the arthritic pains in his back and legs would end. I was able to grant his wish - after a fashion. And it was easy to bring the others in, read their thoughts and give them what they most desire." The smile dropped as he set the lamp on the floor before her, and stared at the hands of his newly-acquired body. "But my spirit still remains locked in its prison. I must be permanently free of the lamp."

"What did you do to Fenris?"

He smiled. "He's being kept... busy."

"Professor - whoever you are - for your own sake, free me from this... you don't know him. When he returns, he will seek vengeance- I have seen his wrath-"

But the old man with the older spirit appeared confident. "I have stood in the presence of God; your dog lover's power is as nothing compared to mine. Now, disrobe."

"What?"

"Undress. Take off your clothes. The act should be familiar to a witch performing spells."

Sam swallowed, feeling herself burn - not from a sense of modesty, but from a suspicion about what she knew Matrov – or Al-Dhib - wanted from her. She tried resisting, but it was as if it was another set of fingers moving over her clothes. She removed her T-shirt and jeans, and bent down and slid the boxers over her legs and feet, before straightening up again.

"Good," Al-Dhib murmured, looking her over directly, with undisguised anticipation - though she couldn't tell if it was for her, or for what she could do for him. "You may resist me now, but once you have energised my release, I will grant you your fondest wish."

"I-" she gasped, wishing she could raise her hands to cover herself. "I have no wishes-"

"Liar. I have dealt with humans for millennia, and have long since learned all of you desire something, especially if it's something you can never have." He smiled, stepping over the prone figures around them, indicating each in turn. "Sofia here is dancing at the Bolshoi. Stefan is enjoying the beautiful women in his Hollywood mansion. Benil is flying in a starship fighting an evil Empire. Tania is young and beautiful and desired by the men around her." Now he indicated Cole. "And Kolya's wife didn't leave him three years ago and take their child to America." He tilted his head, as if listening to something. "Now, yours will be interesting to weave."

"N-No-"

"Now hush, and get on your knees."

Her body obeyed, distantly thankful that there was a rug. She watched as Al-Dhib retrieved the lit lamp and set it down half a metre in front of her, his words magnetic, hypnotic now. "Stare at the flame, focus on it. You feel yourself growing hot. Hot with desire."

Sam tried to fight his commands, desperately sought distraction, but the smoke breathed into her seemed to have crept into her thoughts as well as her body. Arousal blossomed within her, gnawing relentlessly within her.

She blinked to realise she was squeezing her thighs together, feeling the wetness between them. Her body, accustomed in the past to producing orgasms for energy to power certain spells, seemed ready to comply again now.

"Remember the last time your lover had been with you," Al-Dhib continued. "How he smelled and felt when he took you."

She remembered; it was barely an hour ago, and her body remembered. Her thighs parted.

"Let your hands go where they need to go, to raise that pleasure."

Her hand snaked down a well-worn path, tentatively exploring between her legs as if for the first time. She was damp, and as she drew forth her clitoris and massaged it delicately, but insistently, even as a part of her mind continued to fight for control. Fenris, Beloved, help me!

But even as she tried to reach out to him, to come rescue her, she also thought of the times they had fucked. She nearly clamped her thighs together against her hand, such was the potency of the memory of his fur against her naked skin, the velvety tongue and sharp teeth nipping her as he thrust into her.

"Yes," Al-Dhib purred, as the flame in the lamp grew brighter, hotter, seemingly threatening to engulf her and everything in the room. Sam shifted slightly, aware of the beads of sweat running down her body now, as the lips of her sex swallowed first the tip of her finger, and then almost the full, curved stem, enveloping it, literal fulfilment. Exquisite! Her mind and body was awash with the sensations invoked, and with utter shame she turned her full attention towards her release, cursing Al-Dhib, and cursing Fenris for leaving her to this ordeal.

"That's it," Al-Dhib encouraged, "Good little witch. Give yourself the relief you deserve. Faster now..."

Oh God, she felt her body responding, close to climax, so close- she tried to think of something else, something to put her off, anything- if she came, with her innate power, here in this place-

But her control weakened, and her hand quickened its pace, working her clit roughly until her body galvanised, pushing her finally over the edge- Fenris, Beloved, please...

Her eyes were blinded by the growing light; it was as if she were in a furnace. She collapsed, her will returned as she rose to all fours, ignoring the heat from her sex as she realised she had been freed of Al-Dhib's influence, and focused on the image of her lover, as the words quickly escaped her lips. "O Powerful Fenris, son of Loki and Angrboda, I, your consort, conjure thee on this night and at this hour here, to order firmed affairs with thee-"

The air crackled, but there was only the skeletal form of Matrov – but not him, not anymore, the energy soaking his frail frame, making him look dead and alive at the same time.

The Djinn's voice touched her mind: No, my dear, no time for that. But you shall see him soon, as your fondest wish reshapes the world...

And a light burned brighter, as if she'd just looked into the heart of the sun from just a few centimetres away. She shielded her eyes, lost-

Lost

Lost

Lost

Lost in wonder, Samantha blinked up at the spires of what was surely the greatest city ever built, a clean, sprawling metropolis of minarets and towers, offices and gardens, fountains and statues, vast and spectacular courtyards, and gas lamps lighting every street. There were so many people here, merchants and travellers, soldiers and scholars, freemen all.

She was in the capital of the Kingdom of the Wolf Lord.

She was home again.

The streets teemed with activity, the lower castes on foot or driving wagons, and the upper castes carried about in boxes. None seemed to notice her arrival, which was how she preferred it, shunning the adulation of the people based on her status alone.

She was on horseback. Behind her rode masked guardsmen, her protectors, wearing traditional leather armour, helmets and capes, and carrying curved swords at their sides, and beyond them, the wagons and the rest of the entourage that had accompanied her on her mission of diplomacy.

Ahead of her rode their commanding officer, a Paladin; he wore a fleece-lined longcoat and clothes, and warm trousers tucked into knee-high felt boots, an officer rather than just a warrior, his rank exemplified by the superior short sword he wore at his side. He turned to look at her, the three-clawed symbol of his Lordship tattooed on his right cheek. "It is good to be back, is it not, Milady?"

Samantha smiled back. "Yes, Kolya, it certainly is." She looked out at the statues and fountains, the Legation Quarters and Botanical Gardens, and the Imperial Hall. It would take ages to get home at this rate. She rode up beside him. "Paladin, what would you do if I broke protocol and raced ahead to the Palace?"

He sighed. "I would remind myself of the futility of arguing with one of your spirit, Milady, and instead endeavour to keep pace with you."

She smiled, reminded of why he was her favourite of His Lordship's knights. "You're as wise as you're brave."