Wolf Slave 26 – Alex Ankarr


Photo in the public domain by Jack Kurzenknabe

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Wolf Slave 26 – Alex Ankarr

Penn knows, pretty much, that he’s in trouble. He’s not quite sure why. It seems odd, and more than that, unfair: with all the things he’s done, even at this early date, to merit reproof, and got away with it. And now, when he isn’t even sure of what it is that he’s accused, he’s for it? For the high jump? He shakes his head: and that’s what seems to do it. At the very least it brings Ree loping over to his side, sharp and heavy both, his footfalls shaking the planked wooden flooring. He stops up short just ahead of Penn: and with the fluid ease of an alpha, he changes back to human-form.

In wolf-form Penn could well tell that Ree was displeased: but in human-form it’s rendered that much more clear, his human face and its expressions more comprehensible. Ree is furious. With Penn. Who takes an abrupt step back, then stills, because neither staying nor going, holding his ground nor retreating, seem a wise move. At least he can accelerate the fall of the axe, though: because this apprehension is its own form of torture.

‘Sir,’ he asks – because Ree has not yet invited him to use his given name, though in days past he’s seemed on the very verge of it a dozen times, and Penn could swear he’s practically seen it hovering on the wolf-kin’s lips – ‘What is it that I’ve done? If you will tell me then perhaps I can make amends, can make an effort to repair my fault. But not to know…?’

He looks as helpless and meek as he can possibly manage: though it’s hard to summon up, because even against a werewolf – even against this werewolf – his first instinct is to stand and argue. He’s always had terrible instincts, for a slave. It’s designed to placate: but he doesn’t think it’s worked too well. Ree just ranges in close again, closer than he was before and his face still darker, wilder. And with his human nose, he takes a great lupine sniff at Penn again, then gets a hold of his tunic and pulls him up so that they’re torso to torso.

But his voice is very quiet. ‘Who was it?’ he asks, and the penny drops at that, for Penn. But he adjudges it the wiser part to play dumb, for all that.

‘Sir?’ he manages. ‘I do not quite understand…’

And something in Ree’s face is calmer, counter-intuitively, at the lie. His grasp on Penn’s shirt grows less fierce: though he doesn’t quite let him go. With his other hand he touches Penn’s shoulder. Then his face. Wolves, they are tactile creatures. Even a slave they treat as half-pack (though the lowest of the epsilon low), half-possession. ‘Yes, you understand, Penn,’ he says, his eyes roaming from Penn’s dropped eyes, over his face and hair, down to his own hand that still holds Penn close. ‘Who did you fuck, while I was gone, out in the hills and woods and roaming like any wolf. You can tell me, for I’ll do her no harm.’ He leans in and sniffs, again. ‘For it was a woman, wasn’t it? One of the serving wenches. I can tell: what’s the use to lie to me?’

© Copyright Alex Ankarr 2013  All rights reserved to the author. No inspirations for characters drawn from real-life individuals, no resemblance to real individuals intended.


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