"We'll let you live this time because you're a pup," the gravelly voice in his ear said.

"But if you ever, ever step foot on our territory again... We will kill you."

The man's tone was matter-of-fact and the wolf holding Kit down punctuated the words with another hard bite that the youth almost didn't feel, he only heard the crunch. He was so numb.

"If you want admittance to any pack lands, wait at the scent markers and ask for permission the proper way. We kill intruders here. If you weren't a pup..."

He paused for a moment.

"So you better run, little rouge. And never come back." 

The voice left his ear and Kit could hear it speaking from further away.

"Leave him by the main road. He won't be able to travel far."

And then rough hands grabbed his fur, picking up his battered, limp body.

It had been dark, and he had been ambushed, bowled over and shaken like a rag, toyed with and bitten by - wolves. Huge, co-ordinated, ferocious wolves. 

Werewolves. That was the word for them.

And...for me?

One of them had closed his teeth over Kit's neck as he growled and struggled, had pressed his face into the dirt. 

Another set of fangs had crunched down on his side, piercing skin and cracking ribs, tearing through his fur. Wetness had trickled down his flank, the blood matting in his fur.

Dirt had rubbed into the cuts when they pressed him into the ground and Kit had growled, but cut the sound short when he felt a set of jaws at his windpipe.

He had heard sounds - cracking, popping, twisting sounds - and then heavy human footsteps, boots kicking Kit's side as he tried to angle his body away.

The taste blood in his mouth, being able do nothing but curl up and hope they stopped before they killed him, fuck he hated this feeling - 

He cried out as he jostled along - the large, looming human figures carrying him were being far from gentle - and had to clench his jaws shut to stay silent.

Every heavy step sent pain slicing though his torso. 

My ribs must be cracked...or broken.

The many bites stung, matted with bloody fur. His muscles ached from the strain and throbbed with new bruises all over his body.

Kit had tried to fight, swirling and whipping around instinctively, lunging jaws snapping shut on empty air when they attacked him.

But he didn't know his lupine body - it had taken him 10 minutes to learn to run in it, goddammit - and he didn't know how to use it, fight in it.

His limbs had responded to his thoughts, but his paws couldn't punch, his legs bent differently, his jaws must be powerful and his wolf fangs itched - but how was he supposed to fight with just his teeth?

In this body his fangs were all he had and the other wolves obviously knew how to make good use of theirs.

It had taken him years of stubborn practice, of refusing to give up, to learn how to best handle his small, quick human body in a fight.

But facing huge wolves, dark, swift shadows weaving in and out among the trees to lunge at him, he had no idea what to do with his new four-legged body.

What do I even look like..?

Finally he fell with a dull 'thud' onto cool, even earth, landing face down. A dry twig dug into his cheek.

Another man whose face he couldn't see, a stark silhouette in the dark woods, crouched down to growl into the small wolf's ear.

"And stay out, rouge."

Gladly.

Then, mercifully, they were gone, footsteps fading away among the trees. Kit lay still where they'd dumped him, focusing on breathing through the pain.

Hold still. Breathe in. Breathe out.

After a while he tried to move -

I have to get away...

- And managed to roll onto his side, head pounding, pain radiating out from his side. He gasped for air and that made it worse, made him freeze and curl up slowly. 

Trying to take slow, steady breaths, Kit assessed the damage.

Did he have any internal injuries? 

He'd tried to tense his abdominal muscles when they kicked him, but if a floating rib had broken and pierced something... Kit could die here, like this, bleeding to death inside. 

His vision blurred and sharpened, having trouble focusing, and he felt nauseous. Concussion, maybe. So no liquids, don't fall asleep. Stay alert.

But he felt so tired...

Kit's eyelids were heavy, body sluggish and dragging him under now that he was finally alone and the shock kicking in, leaving him numb. 

There was a risk of hypothermia even if it was summer and he had (Jesus, I really have ) fur, alone without shelter at night, heart rate dropping due to shock - 

But even as Kit fought sleep, his body heated up. The broken ribs burned where they pressed against his front paws, skin feverish through the thin summer fur.

He whimpered, sound coming out as a low whine. Kit didn't like this... Now what was happening to his body?

Was any of this really happening, or could it be - was there still any chance - that this was just a hallucination? That he was sick or tripping?

Feels pretty goddamn real. I know I didn't take anything, nothing that could have caused this.  

He groaned as he felt a liquid burning sensation running through his limbs.

No, wait, c'mon -

And his whine cut off in a gargle and hot blinding pain shot though his ribs and torso as his body morphed, cramped, and shifted into longer human limbs, fur disappearing.

Fuck that hurt.

Air hissed out between his blunt human incisors and Kit curled up into a little ball on the forrest floor.

He needed to call an ambulance. Probable concussion, broken ribs that might have punctured something, and now he was lying naked on the ground in the woods.

Kit should call. And he could absolutely not fall asleep. Had to stay awake.

Twisting his head, he spotted his bag a few feet away and his clothes scattered around it. He needed to crawl over to it, get his phone.

Stretching out his hand, wincing as sharp pain cut through his side... Kit felt drowsy and dizzy - his eyelids were getting so heavy...

Don't fall asleep. You lose consciousness now and you might never get it back.

He fought to tuck his knees in under him, pushing up on aching arms.

But the moment he started to crawl he tipped over, the treetops spinning above him. Kit wrapped an arm around his torso and groaned.

"Shit. Shit! Shiiiiit!!!" he whispered, fists beating weakly against the ground.

Fan-fucking-tastic. 

"Great. Just...great..."

His words faded into a mumble through thick lips, his throat numb.

Crackling black and white spots, like static on an old TV, were crowding in from the sides of his vision and eating up the sight of the treetops above him. He felt his muscles tremble, hot burning.

Have to stay awake.

But static clouded into the edges of his mind, soft, soothing.

Stay awake, Kit. Don't you dare fall asleep.

As Kit slung out an arm and groped one last time for his canvas bag, the darkness overtook him and he flopped down, dead to the world.

Light stung his eyes.

Rich sunlight was filtering in through the treetops. It must be late morning, judging by the sun, and the air was already heating up.  

This time Kit really hadn't been certain he would ever wake up.

Did it really happen?

Then the pain caught up with him and he realized that yes, it definitely had.

But something was...off.

Firstly, he didn't feel half as crappy as he should after the beating he took. 

And secondly...

He was hard.

Groggy, aching, but with a dull throbbing that was almost enjoyable, insistent arousal curling in his gut, images from last night flooding back - mixing with traces of warm dreams full of skin, of lips - 

Coloured, skewed by how hot he was feeling now, how badly he needed release...

Cock aching, pressing into his stomach where he lay curled up, arms wrapped around himself and his hoodie which he must have managed to pull close in his sleep. 

Kit remembered teeth pressing into his neck, a growl in his ear. Remembered faceless figures crowding close, when the woods had been dark and threatening - not light and peaceful like now. 

Letting one hand trail up along his hard length, the other reaching between his legs to brush over his puckered rim underneath the flimsy cover of his oversized hoodie.

He'd been through things he didn't care to remember. And maybe getting off on this stuff - on pain and danger, that adrenaline rush, should make him feel ashamed.

But he had decided long ago that feeling ashamed over how fucked up he was was just a massive waste of time.

Guilt, yes. He deserved that. But shame, no. Screw that.

Kit could stop, or he could let himself feel and savour this specific type of agony, torturing himself just a little, through the filter of his imagination...

He let go of himself to snag his shoulder bag and drag it over, grabbing a tube of slick salve and squeezing some out into his palm, spreading it.

As he pushed one finger up into himself, writing on the ground, soil rubbed into his skin and stung the half-healed bite marks.

Were those men still nearby? Watching?

Fuck, just the thought made him bite down harder on his lip, muffling a moan. He should get out of here as quickly as possible, should stay quiet...

But in case they were watching...

They would get a show.

Rolling onto his back with a hiss of pain, Kit let his hoodie slide off, digging in his heels and arching up his spine. 

Pushing in a second almost as easy as the first, wincing from the stretch but associating this type of pain with the pleasure he knew was coming. He yearned for it to hurt. 

Kit scissored his fingers, straining to reach that one spot, panting, pumping them.

He thought about those dark, musky smelling figures from last night kneeling over him, pulling his legs apart while one of them still had his teeth dug into the soft skin of his neck.

Kit had been a wolf when he fought them, but in his fantasy long canines dug into his tender human flesh and a blunt, thick cock prodded his entrance, unprepared, demanding entrance.

The little werewolf whimpered into the damp earth next to his face, letting go of his dick to dig his fingers into the purple and black bruises on his side. Right where they'd kicked him.

Lights popped before his eyes and he thought about his hole clenching, flinching away, before being spread open, shoved full, mercilessly pumped.

He imagined being fucked again and again, held down and filled up with cum, more and more trickling out of him, running down his thighs to leave him sticky and dirty...

"Fuck!" he gasped, nails digging into the cuts their boots had made over his ribs, prodding his prostate so hard his whole body spasmed and grasping his cock again, pumping fast, flicking his wrist at the top and squeezing the base just a twinge.

"Hah, ah, ngh..."

In his mind, clawed hands dragged his arms away from his face and stretched them out until he was spread-eagled, held fast, the grip on his wrists bruising.

He felt the looming, faceless figure between his legs drag his knees up over his shoulders, nearly folding him in half, muscles stretching and pulling.

Another velvety cockhead prodded at his mouth, slipped in between his lips that opened in a wordless cry of pain -

Kit came over his fist, twitching around the fingers he still had buried to the third knuckle inside himself, mouth falling open in a strangled, hoarse yell.

Laying still, he waited until the tremors stopped going through him.

Then he collapsed, groaning.

"Fuck..."

On one hand, he felt better. 

Besides the considerable physical discomfort - which he half minded, half savoured - he hadn't felt better in weeks. At last his cravings were satisfied, his itch scratched, his body loose and relaxed and aching all over.

On the other hand, he should probably get a move on now.  

Stiffly pushing to his feet, Kit cleaned himself up with some wet-wipes from his bag, rubbing disinfectant and then salve into the still open - but clearly healing - shallow cuts and deeper bite marks. He ripped pieces of woven tape off with his teeth and slapped them on all the open wounds. Later he could deal with them properly.

His ribs were still aching but not with the sharp pain he remembered. There was no other explanation for it: 

Over night they had started healing. 

Wonder if that's a - a werewolf thing?

Werewolf. That's what he was. He'd have to think about the implications of that later, but he was done denying it. 

Suddenly he remembered how quickly he had recovered from a dangerous amount of alcohol last month, just after shape-shifting.

How he had gotten punched in the face in school and barely shown a bruise...

How quickly his hickeys faded now...

But...only near the full moon.

Kit's head hurt.

Well, it can join the rest of my body.

As quickly as he could, he stared pulling on his scattered, dusty clothes. 

The pain from last night was still there. It was diminished, but still very real. He glanced down at the ugly bruises and taped bites covering his exposed skin.

Only the night before he had legitimately feared for his life. 

Now he was alive, able to move and think, with a sore body and a headache as if he had been in a minor bar fight and not just gotten beaten within an inch of his life.

That's...actually pretty useful.

Messed up, definitely. Freaky in a 'but how the fuck does that even work?'- kind of way. But still.

Useful.

I'll have to test it out once I get the Hell out of here.

All the scents around him seemed stronger and more recognisable now, even in his human form. What was he supposed to make of that?

Had he not turned completely back into a human this time, or had he just learnt to use his  senses better somehow?

Finally dressed, he headed towards the light strip of trees ahead of him, which must be the main road those men had mentioned.

This was nowhere near Muir Woods, that much was clear. 

You're not in Kansas anymore...

But where exactly he'd ended up, Kit had no idea. How far had he gone? How was he supposed to get back?

Last night...

As horrible as the beginning and end of the night had been, Kit suddenly felt a pang of longing for the middle of it.

Time had seemed suspended - his restless feeling finally satisfied - and he'd never even felt the hours passing.

Running like that... 

Kit had felt alive in a way he never remembered feeling. Alive and completely present, alive without restrictions or fears. Without thoughts or memories, night-time wildwood scents flooding his senses.

Just alive and free.

It had been intoxicating.

But now he could only limp, pain shooting though his chest with each step, although it still seemed like a miracle that he could even stand.

He was in the middle of nowhere. No busses, and it would take hours to walk back to the city.

"Aaarghhh! Fucking shiiiiit!!!"

Kit shouted at the dirt and trees. It hurt - of course it did, he had at least two broken ribs - and the little werewolf winced, bending over continuing to curse in a raspy whisper. 

"Shit... Goddammit..."

Groaning, he straightened up.

It felt better to rage. To yell at the stupid dead leaves on the ground.

But now, he had to move.

He had to put...whatever had happened last night out of his mind and focus on getting back to the city.

Put one foot in front of the other and think.

"Well, first thing's first - where the fuck am I?"

Kit had sand in his underwear and leaves twigs sticking out of his hair. All around there was only tarmac and trees...

Hang on. Further up - too far for him to see, yet he could almost make it out, felt his eyes straining - was a road sign. 

Limping towards it and digging out his mobile - yes, thank fuck, he had a bit of battery left and basic coverage - Kit opened his contacts. 

On a whim he tried calling the bar, hoping for Zach. But at this hour it was unsurprising that no-one picked up. 

Oliver didn't have a car. 

He couldn't walk all the way back in this state. There was only one person left to try.

"Damn it..." he exhaled, slowly closing his eyes. 

And pressing down on his uncle's number.