---Fenris' POV---

My fur stood on end but so far I wasn't growling. Yet. The pack of wolves was skirting around me, giving me a wide berth as if they realized I would snap if they invaded my personal space.

When I had agreed to go out on a hunt, I hadn't thought of the vast amount of pack members that were under Peter's guidance, or how many of said pack would be thrilled to hunt alongside me.

For whatever reason, they seemed to squirm on the spot, wanting to have my attention in any shape or form.

Currently several of the younger wolves were whining and whimpering, perking their ears and wagging their tails the second I glanced at them.

I only pushed on my paws when Cain approached, a sincere smile on his face. The smile wavered when I raised my hackles as he had extended his hand towards me.

I am not a dog to be pet.

A black pup didn't seem to mind, arching underneath Cain's hand and panting happily when he scratched the wolf behind the ears.

And for whatever foolish notion, I felt my stomach jolt awkwardly before I averted my eyes.

I stifled a growl, feeling my fur puff up in annoyance at myself, at the situation and at the stupid god's smirk that was aimed my way.

A huff escaped me, feeling angry at myself. I shouldn't want to be touched in the first place and most of me didn't. But there was a tiny part that longed for a gentle touch.

Last time I had been touched in a gentle manner was by my own father after all. When Loki had held me protectively in his arms, introducing me to all the Gods with a smile on his face and pride pouring from him in waves.

And all that time, the second I had flinched into his chest when one of the Gods had reached out or sneered down at me, Loki had been there.

Calm, loving and reassuring, a warm hand cupping around my ear to scratch behind it. The other arm wrapped securely around me, as if sheltering me, protecting me from harm.

After that, I had grown to admire Loki. To love and cherish him. Of course, at times he behaved more childlike than I did, with his need to trick and laugh at people.

But it had always been in jest, never malicious.

And one day, he disappeared. I had been waiting in our shared living quarters, eager for him to come home and play.

He never did. Instead Thor had arrived, plucking me from the floor by my scruff, anger clear on his face. I had barely managed to contain myself from wetting the floor at the murderous gaze he aimed my way.

I had been told to live with Odin and Thor for a while, to remain under their close supervision. With childlike awe and curiosity, I had happily agreed. Because I trusted these gods, after all. They were my family.

Family doesn't chain you up and torture you.

A jolt went through my body and I snarled at the hand that stilled in my fur. Cain watched cautiously, holding his other hand in a calming way.

It was only after I snorted, that I felt the warm liquid sluggishly drip down from my nose. I hated these damned flashbacks, they brought me nothing but misery and sorrow.

And somehow after each flashback, someone always managed to sneak up on me. This annoying god I couldn't get rid of, stuck to me like a flee hiding in my fur.

Cain chuckled tiredly in agreement and moved his hand on top of my head. A low growl rumbled through my chest, warning him not to press his luck too far.

But... the gentle warmth against my head, how his fingers scratched gently through the fur, parting any matted pieces with ease.

It brought a sense of melancholy.

The growls slowly diminished as I craned my neck, silently enjoying the scratches before I realized what I was doing and backed away with a snarl.

Cain's smile was understanding, if not a bit sad. The look in his eye was compassionate as he seemed to understand my struggle and decided not to address it, especially not in front of all these wolves.

And I was grateful for that. I didn't want anyone to know of my past, of what happened to me. It was already more than I could bare that the entire Norse pantheon hated my guts for something I had no control over.

The rest of the wolves didn't seem like they wanted to pry into the moment. Instead they gathered around Cain and Peter, both of them looking over the crowd of werewolves, be it human or shifted.

Everyone looked at them eagerly, shooting me an occasional glance before diverting their attention when I silently bared my canines.

"Alright everyone!" Peter clapped in his hands to gain attention, ears perking in the mass of gathered people as the hushed murmurs died out instantly.

"As always, the Hunt is simple if you follow the rules. Don't steal another's kill, don't fight amongst yourselves and don't be a dumbass by trying to show off. We all know what happened the last time someone tried to be cocky."

Peter shot a glance at one of the werewolves, who had the decency to blush and rub over his shoulder. "I wasn't really bragging, Alpha. 'T was just bad luck that the moose managed to clip my shoulder with his hoof-"

"Yes, it was bad luck that you were trying to take on a moose on your own. Certainly not trying to show off in front of your mate and friends that ended up with you fracturing and dislocating your shoulder and half your ribs." Peter agreed sarcastically, earning a few chuckles through the crowd.

The male pouted, an expression that instantly swept away when the woman beside him rolled her eyes and kissed him on the cheek.

"I want none of that this time around. Accidents hide in small corners and even though we're considered immortal, we're not invulnerable. Taking a hoof to the head is a guaranteed way to sustain lasting damage, if not death itself."

The pack seemed to hush down when Peter remembered them of their mortality. It's true that werewolves lived a long, long time. Technically forever, if they didn't sustain injuries that out sped their fast healing.

I blinked and stared at my paws, easily spotting the scars that were hiding in the fur. Is that why they bound a wolf spirit to me?

So I would be healed, no matter what torture I went through? To be cursed with eternal life, simply so I could spend every waking, and slumbering, minute being tormented?

I jolted when people started stripping left and right, making my hackles raise. As far as my experience went, someone stripping wasn't the prelude to a good time.

"Easy Fenris." Cain muttered beside me, placing a presumably reassuring hand on my scruff. Instead of calming down, I silently glared at him and bared my teeth even further.

Stop. Touching. Me.

He wisely backed off, holding his hands in the air as a sign of surrender before I snorted and shook out my fur.

Why did all the gods insist on touching me? Are they nothing more than mindless toddlers with their constant need to get their grubby hands on anything within their reach?

Cain barked out a laugh at that, surprising me for a moment before he sighed. "Well, let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

It seemed as if that had been the unspoken sign as wolves started to take off into the woods. It wasn't as if the pack hunted as a union.

Sometimes along the way, wolves would split off of the main group, either alone, in pairs or small groups whenever they spotted an interesting scent.

After a few strides, I didn't bother focusing on the pack or following in their tracks. I wouldn't be able to share a meal with someone else in the first place, so I slowed my pace and ducked under some shrubs, sniffing at the soil.

Even though I had been rather well-fed under Cain's care, which was already surprising for a god to do, there was still that lingering hunger.

The need to hunt. To chase and pin prey, to hunt and consume.

A soft rustling ahead in the woods drew my attention. Ears perking up and tail flicking through the air, my paws seemed to have a mind on their own.

I was only vaguely aware of the god silently trailing behind, his eyes at all times tracking my every movement.

The second I spotted the doe hesitantly moving through the trees, my muscles froze. It was instinct that made me still, instinct that made the doe freeze in her tracks, scenting the air as if she could detect me.

And then in a heartbeat, she was galloping away with me close on her tail.

It was only when I was standing overtop the doe, jaws clamped over her throat and feeling the last of her lifeforce drain away, that I halted.

There was part of me that protested against the killing of an innocent creature. Why did I need to hunt? I was getting offered meals on a daily basis, trice a day even.

But the wolf didn't care about that. It needed to hunt, to sate it's bloodlust. To feast on a fresh kill.

Even while I recoiled as the wolf started plucking away at the fur on the doe's belly, it paid no mind to my growing discomfort, only growling when Cain approached too close for our liking.

And I didn't want to deny it the chance to hunt. For centuries now, I had been contained, the inner wolf denied it's natural needs. To run freely in the woods, to hunt it's quarry.

I wasn't going to be like those cursed gods by denying it a simple need because I felt queasy. The day I became anything like those cursed gods was the day I would kill myself without a second thought.