Wolf’s Cub

Prologue

Lycan looked around the dimly lit room for something, or someone, to catch his interest for at least a few minutes. He was bored.  So were his men. It was time to leave the city, he decided.  They needed to train and he needed to crack a few heads. He caught Bran’s eye and signaled. Ten more minutes. A raised eyebrow and a jerk of the chin conveyed the message that some of the men had made their way into the back room. That was the area where the cage dancers plied a different trade than the alluring strip teases that kept most of the rough crowd entertained. Lycan rolled his eyes but Bran just grinned.

Lycan had brought his pack into the harbor city of Breslin, as he did every year around this time, to trade for goods they’d need in the harsh months that lay ahead. He also did it because he knew it was good to let the men expend some of their excess energy and high spirits before settling in for the long winter spent in close quarters. Personally, he couldn’t wait to get back into the wild, back to the woods and mountains they called home. But, many of his men looked forward to this last trading week all year and he indulged them–within reason.

Biting back an exasperated curse, Lycan started to make his way through the raucous crowd.  A very tall man, with broad, muscular shoulders, he had no trouble convincing even the rougher element that frequented the Rusty Nail to clear a path for him. He exuded an aura of menace that made most men avoid him instinctively. Before he reached the longer of the tavern’s two bars, which doubled as a dance surface, there was a slight stir at the doorway opposite him. Even with the loud noise of the tavern surrounding him, his sharp ears picked up the telltale sounds of government guards on the chase. Ever cautious, he looked around, gauging escape routes, trying to locate as many of his men as he could. He gestured for Bran to continue into the back to round up the men while he stayed on guard in the front.

He almost missed seeing the two youths enter. They moved so swiftly into the shadows of the room they could have been two of his own, but there was more to their stealth than mere agility and light feet, he surmised. The beefy looking Breslin man who guarded the door didn’t even look down when they entered beneath his very large nose. Mind-twisters, Lycan guessed, perturbed, even though his kind was generally resistant to their tricks. They probably cast a mild spell as they came in to prevent the bouncer from seeing them. Certainly such a ploy would be useful if they were the ones the government guards were seeking. Not his concern, of course, unless they brought their trouble to his feet.

Which, in a sense, they did. Lycan continued to watch as the two young men–identical as two cubs at the teat– conferred quickly then separated, one toward the dancing platform and the other toward the wall where Lycan stood. Before his eyes, the one who jumped lightly onto the platform went from having dark curls and golden skin to straight blond locks and skin of creamy fairness. He also went from being fully dressed in well made, but plain clothing, to having only a scanty bit of cloth covering his loins. The watching men cheered lustily.

The other youth kept his original coloring–and his clothing– intact. Perhaps he was not as skilled a mind-twister, Lycan supposed, or it could be that he was aiding in his companion’s illusion. He did not have that thorough an understanding of how the mind-twisters’ magic worked. No one did who was not one of them. It was only by virtue of his own...talent...that he was not as affected by their skill as the other men in the tavern. As it was, he could see the illusion as it took form, but once it was achieved, even he had difficulty discerning the reality from the pretense.

Just when the dark-haired boy had almost reached him, six government guards burst into the room, guns out.

The boy took advantage of the crowd’s startled surprise at the disruption to close the distance between him and Lycan’s position by the wall. Once there, the lad fell gracefully to his knees in front of the big man, who raised a golden eyebrow.

Shapely lips lifted in amusement as eyes of the deepest violet looked up at Lycan. “This is your lucky night, M’lord, trust me.”  With that, long slim fingers busied themselves, undoing the lacing on his leather breeches.  Lycan couldn’t help being amused at such brazenness. His own lips quirked upward.

“My lucky day, is it? Assuming those men do not find you thus engaged, and interrupt your efforts, I take it?” At the boy’s questioning look, Lycan nodded his consent, and then settled himself more comfortably against the wall. Meanwhile, his member was taken out with a level of confidence that bespoke experience even if the face looked young and innocent. Perhaps he would wait and see what developed, Lycan decided. From beneath his thick lashes, the young man was giving him a cocky look–no pun intended, he thought, and smiled, thinking that Bran would be envious. The boy really was quite comely, for a mind-twister. Of course, it could be that this was the illusion and the blond hair the reality. Somehow Lycan didn’t think that was so. This felt real. His companion was looking at his smile curiously. When he saw he had Lycan’s attention again, he returned his smile with his own winning one, and motioned toward the loud guards as he spoke in a low voice.

“You look like a man who wouldn’t let his pleasure be interrupted by just anyone...and they are just run of the mill any ones, not worthy of your attention at all.”

No sooner was that assurance offered than those mischievous lips settled around his cock. The sudden sensation of moist heat was intoxicating and he thrust deeper reflexively, causing the lad to choke a bit. He pulled back and tried to regain control; with an apologetic smile, his young friend went back to work with a will. Lycan decided that, if nothing else, he was no longer bored. He put his hands on the curly head and kept a gentle hold on it, reminding himself that this was not a seasoned professional for all that the boy was enthusiastic in his efforts.

To distract himself from the desire to push ever deeper into that willing mouth, Lycan turned his attention to the government guards, who were making their way through the tavern. They were blustering and threatening the dancing boys and their patrons indiscriminately. He looked toward the backroom and saw Bran standing at the ready. He glanced down, then up again.  Bran nodded. Lycan then looked toward the blond on the stage and tipped his chin.  Bran nodded again and started to make his way over to the blond, keeping his approach casual.

It was turning out to be an excellent blowjob, after all, so the least he could do, Lycan felt, was ensure that the young man’s companion– surely they were brothers– was not taken while this one was so profitably engaged. Lycan thought it possible that the blond disguise might not be enough if the guards knew they were seeking mind-twisters,. Any smart guard should know that they were able to disguise their appearance at will. Of course, the Government's Guards were not chosen for their brains.

The Government, which employed the Guards, was comprised of stewards who represented each of the major towns along the trade routes. Breslin was one of the largest, and had the second largest number of stewards appointed to the Government.  Candone was the largest member City. The Authority, which took the form of a higher Council that ruled over the Government, was based there. Lycan was not quite sure who sat on the Council as its doings seemed to be shrouded in mystery. He knew Council members were not elected democratically, as the Government stewards were, nor were they entitled to their positions by virtue of birth, as the Royal Ones were.  The Royal throne had been empty for fifteen years, ever since the assassination of the much loved King Adam, and the purging of the three kingdoms. It was then that the Council ascended to power over the Government, filling the void left by the absence of the Royals.  Lycan had always understood that they claimed to be regents of a sort, claiming “Authority” until some member of the royal family should return to claim the throne.

The affairs of cities and their people were not Lycan’s concern, so long as his people and his mountains were left alone. Still, when he saw grown men with guns chasing youths–it wasn’t in his nature to ignore it. The young of any kind deserved protection–it was the way of his kind. 

From opposite sides of the room, Lycan and Bran watched over the blond dancer while the guards drew close to him. Since he appeared to the guards’ eyes to be garbed in only the scantiest of loincloths, he was subjected to some rude groping and slaps but then the guards went on past him. As soon as they did, Bran pulled him down, whispering something in his ear to keep him quiet, reassuring him that they were not with the guards, Lycan surmised.

He and his new “friend” did not have it as easy but Lycan had no love for government bullies and was more than willing to lend his aid to the escape. Also, as the young man had gleaned, he was not a man to tolerate his pleasure being interrupted. He was just beginning to lose himself in the warmth of that eager mouth when he felt a gun against his chest.

“You...big man. See anyone run in here in the past couple of ....”

With a growl, Lycan moved one of his hands from the boy’s curls, (the other he buried even deeper in their softness to ensure that mouth stayed right where it belonged) and used it to force the gun barrel up and away.

“I’m busy,” he said in his deepest, most menacing voice.

The guard paled. “Uh, sorry sir, but we’re searching for....”

Lycan ripped the gun from the guard’s grasp and threw it like a javelin, soaring high above the crowd, across the room, and through the doorway.

“Leave me to enjoy this in peace or you’ll be sailing through that doorway next,” he growled menacingly.

The guard swallowed hard and hesitated. Lycan narrowed his golden eyes. He could tell the moment the man had processed exactly what he was up against, his eyes moving from the long brown hair with its streaks of gold and red, the broad chest and shoulders, the arms that were more thickly muscled than a normal man’s legs.

“You’re a....”

Before the thought was voiced completely, a slightly glassy look came into the man’s eyes. Lycan glanced down impatiently to see that his new young “friend” was tucking him back into his breeches, the “job” incomplete.

“I seem to have lost your attention,” the curly headed lad said in mock apology.

Lycan cocked an eyebrow at the guard who was wandering away. “As I did yours,” he said dryly. That quick grin appeared.

“Which I regret more than you do, I assure you. But, I will have to owe you as this looks to be the best time to leave. Your men in the back room seem to be drawing their attention admirably. My thanks, M’lord, I do hope we meet again.”

Lycan’s arm flew out and grasped the lad’s shoulder before he could escape. He spoke in a low, urgent voice, for only their ears.

“What is your name? Who are you and the other boy? Why are the guards after you?”

That quick smile came back at him and then, with a maneuver Lycan had never encountered before, the boy escaped his hold. Into his mind came the words, “I am Nic, my brother is Rafe, and we are hunted for sport–wicked sport that is taken too far at times. Thank you for your help, now I must go and you must help your men.”

Lycan frowned. Damn mind-twister! Distracted, and more than slightly discomforted by his still throbbing cock, which was making his breeches too tight, he tried to follow the boy but he first had to take care of the guards.

“Lyc!”  Bran was calling him. Chace and Jax were fighting a couple of the guards while Bran was handling the tavern’s men. Lycan made short work of two more guards on his way to Bran.

“Where did they go?” Lycan demanded, trusting that there would be no need to explain himself to Bran, and hoping that he’d kept his mind clear of the mind-twister’s magic.

A jerk of his friend’s head toward the side door gave him his answer. Relieved, though he wasn’t quite sure why, surely he could have sought relief from another convenient mouth, he signaled for Bran to follow. The rest of the men were told to meet up with them at their lair when they finished, and to take the usual route north.  He and Bran took off, starting at an easy run. To the south, they could hear the sounds of the search continuing, in other taverns, with other guards.

*************************************

“I cannot believe you dropped to your knees like a two penny whore and started sucking that man’s cock, Dominic! He could have been diseased!” Rafael looked over at his twin, who was still smiling beatifically.

“He wasn’t. He tasted great. And he was huge. Bigger than....”

“I don’t want to hear this,” Rafe snapped. “Run faster. Now we won’t have just the government’s guards after us, we’ll have those monster sized men hunting us so he can get you to finish what you started.”

“I wish,” Nic said impishly. “And you’re the one who came up with the idea. ‘I’ll distract the crowd,' you said. 'you blend in over there, try to engage that tall golden haired man, they won’t want to annoy him.’ I was just following the plan.”

Rafe gritted his teeth and picked up the pace. He counted to ten before muttering to his incorrigible twin, “To engage means to strike up a conversation! It does not mean, take his cock out and stick it in your mouth!”

“Oh, my mistake,” Nic said innocently; he ruined the effect by licking his lips. Rafael had to laugh. Until he heard the sounds of pursuit. Close pursuit. The brothers’ eyes met.

“Faster!” Rafael urged, speaking mind to mind with his twin. He sent his thoughts out but could not determine who hunted them, which in itself was an oddity. He knew they were moving swiftly and almost invisibly, as they’d been taught. But the sounds drew ever closer. He looked around for an escape, a plan....

A rough hand was reaching for him almost before he realized the man was upon him, seemingly springing from the shadows; a second man already had Dominic in his grasp.

No!

Both brothers sent a mental blast at the man reaching for Rafe, causing him to stumble and fall hard to the ground. The bigger man turned toward Rafe with a roar of anger, releasing his hold on Nic.

Run, now, while you have the chance, he can’t focus on both of us and you can’t help me if you’re captured also.

Knowing that to be true but hating it with everything in him, tears blurring his sight, Dominic turned to run. The mental energy they’d expended to take down the one foe had exhausted their power for the moment and it would be several valuable minutes before they could attack, or defend, again. He needed to get away and regroup. As the elder, it was his duty to survive, just as it was Rafe’s duty, as the younger, to defend. They knew that; the lesson had been drummed into them from birth.

But, he hated it. He’d argued for years with their father until he had no more words left, trying different arguments but always coming back to the simple point that it was unnatural, the elder should protect the younger. Their father would usually laugh, and point out that twelve minutes of seniority did not create any insurmountable weight of responsibility or wealth of experience. More impressive were those occasions when he did not laugh, when their father, by his sorrowful silence, would remind them that he knew better than they what it meant for the younger to put his life on the line for the elder–and the pain when despite the most desperate efforts, a beloved older brother dies to an assassin’s blade.

Dominic ran.

*************************************

Seeing Bran’s still form on the ground, Lycan’s vision ran red with bloodthirst and rage.  He turned to the one he sensed was the leader of the attack, ignoring the one who ran away so cowardly. He’d get him soon enough.

Lycan forced himself to regain control, barely. He wanted to know what they did to Bran and make them fix it before he killed them. Mind-twisters could do many things to a man but not all of them were fatal.

“Fix him,” he demanded, springing forward and knocking the young man onto his back. He straddled him, his arms on either side of the boy’s chest, his strong thighs pressing down on the slim hips. He knew he was hurting him, though the boy didn’t cry out. He didn’t say anything; just looked Lycan in the eyes, those strange violet eyes so much like the other boy’s, but without the mischief....

He felt his anger again, remembering how this pair had used them.  He roughly shook this one by the shoulder, bruising him.

“If you do not use your mind tricks to wake my friend, I will throttle you now.” Lycan moved his hand to the boy’s throat.

“I need a few minutes to rest first,” the boy said, somewhat breathlessly since the Lycan was applying no small amount of pressure to the slender throat.

“You can rest afterward...a long rest,” Lycan sneered.

“No doubt,” the boy rolled his eyes. Against his will, Lycan was impressed. Few grown men remained unshaken when faced with his ire, and this, this boy, was putting on a good show of fearlessness. He could smell the fear on him, of course, but as far as appearances when, the boy was holding up quite well and....

And stalling for time while the other one escaped, Lycan realized, ready to kick himself for allowing it. He decided he could not wait for Chace and Jax and the others to catch up to him before taking off in pursuit of the other one. He lifted his head and let out a howl that would bring his men to this spot as quickly as possible.

Looking up, Rafael found that instead of a large, angry man straddling him, he was staring into the golden eyes of an abnormally large, snarling wolf.

No wonder the mind blast had taken so much out of the twins, he thought, dazed.  Metamorphs were notoriously resistant to their powers. By the Goddess, he prayed that Dominic had not lingered, but was getting a message to Michael. This qualified as an emergency, was Rafael’s last wry thought before his world exploded in pain.

*************************************

Dominic ran, the tears rolling down his cheeks unchecked. Should he try sending a telepathic message to Michael?  Would Colin be better?  He was still debating his choices when he stumbled to his knees, his twin’s pain almost unbearable. 

He had to go back. Damn the Rules, damn the Protocol and especially damn the Assassin and the Advisor, he thought. Neither of them had ever been a mind-linked twin. They did not understand.

But, Rafe was and Rafe had ordered him to go on. Grabbing his head, Nic struggled to his feet. As he took a stumbling step forward, he heard them. The footsteps. Running. Turning, he saw the large animal silhouetted against the night sky.

His heart in his mouth, he turned and took off again, running as fast as he could. It was futile. He was a fast runner, for a man, but he could not compete against a wolf, he thought frantically, even as he increased his speed that much more, his breathing reduced to short gasps.

The heavy weight hitting him squarely from behind knocked his breath from his body and sent him sprawling painfully into the grass.

“Oof.”  Dominic tried to lift his head but he found that his face was being pressed into the dirt.

“Little coward, keep your face down in the mud where it belongs,” a familiar deep voice growled in his ear. He felt his buttocks being squeezed painfully by large rough hands and he tried sending the mental message to discourage that type of action. Not that he wouldn’t have been interested under other circumstances, he thought half hysterically.  But, given that his brother wasn’t responding to his mental calls, the government guards were probably still looking for him, and he had a furious metamorph on his back, this didn’t seem to be the time or place for romance.

Or rape.

“Seems like the perfect time to me,” the growling voice said, startling the hell out of him. The damn creature was resistant to suggestion but could hear his private thoughts?  What in the three kingdoms was going on?

“Uh, sir, this is not comfortable,” Nic said meekly, spitting out dirt.

“It isn’t intended to be,” was the only answer he got. But, the wolf/man did stand up, pulling Nic to his feet as he did so.

“Who are you?” He shook Nic roughly as he demanded his answer. Nic looked up at him sorrowfully and bit his lip. Then he asked,

“Is Rafe....” He changed his mind and asked instead, “is your friend all right?”

Lycan glowered at him.  “Can you help him?”

“My brother and I can,” Nic nodded confidently, deciding to assume that Rafe was still in some condition where he could help.

“Good.”  With that, Lycan swung Nic over his shoulder and took off at a run, going in a different direction than Nic had been running. Nic decided it was useless to object and while the position wasn’t very comfortable, bouncing against that broad back with every step, he was so exhausted from the evening’s events, he closed his eyes and dozed off. He didn’t wake again until he heard shouting.

“What do you mean, you left him?”

“The government guards were chasing us–a whole squadron of them, and since the boy seemed to be dead, we grabbed Bran and took off.  We left the other one there to delay the guards. He was what they were really after anyway so we thought....”

“Don’t give yourselves such credit!” Lycan roared. “You have no pretensions to the ability to think, you cretins!”  He dropped Nic to the ground. 

Nic didn’t even bother trying to catch himself. His mind had fixed on the one idea–Rafael dead?  His mind reached out, searching frantically for his twin’s mind. Just when he thought he’d caught a glimmer of that familiar consciousness, his body was jarred again and he lost it. He felt like crying. Or screaming. Instead, he found that he was being lifted high in the air and shaken by the angry golden wolf/man.

“Look at what you did! You and your brother! Evil mind-twisters!”

Nic looked down and saw that the man in the bed had a badly twisted leg. When he’d fallen from the impact of Rafe's and his dual mind blast, he must have landed awkwardly. Nic frowned, distracted, at least partially, from his worry over his missing twin.

“We did not intend to harm your man,” he said slowly, trying to determine if he had recovered enough to attempt to fix the leg, and mentally reviewing what he’d been taught of such healings. He felt those large hands on his shoulders again as he was shaken violently.

“For not intending it, you did a fine job of it,” Lycan said harshly. Bran was as much father figure as brother and friend to him. Lycan was the leader of their pack, but Bran was his confidant, the only one Lycan could turn to for guidance. That he’d come to harm because Lycan had allowed his head to be turned by a pair of pretty eyes....

“I will heal him,” Nic said calmly. Lycan’s men murmured amongst themselves fearfully, some of them made the sign of the moon. Lycan stared balefully at them. He had to regain control of this situation.

“You won’t touch him, you’ve done enough harm,” Lycan said. Nic ignored him. He walked closer to the bed.

“How would a coward who leaves his brother alone to face his enemies’ wrath be able to do anything?” Lycan jeered, trying to unsettle this strange young man, who looked up at him, his violet eyes darkening.

“It takes more strength than you might think to do one’s duty under such circumstances,” Nic said simply, finally understanding the lesson Michael and Colin had tried to hammer into his head for years. “I must focus now. Would you please bring him closer to the fire?”

Lycan frowned, but he found himself giving the order to move Bran’s bed next to the fireplace. His injury was devastating for one of their kind. He would be unable to make the change as long as his leg remained broken, for the wolf would not be able to survive with such a badly broken limb. And they still did not know the extent of the mental injury since he’d remained unconscious since the attack. His only hope rested with this young man who was looking much more solemn now that he was on his own.

The young man rested his hands lightly on the afflicted limb. As he watched, Lycan saw beads of sweat forming on the young brow, the black curls drooping along his neck and forehead.

“Please,” the lad said in a low voice, “help me pull the limb straight...put your hands on mine and lend me your physical strength.”

Mesmerized as much by what he sensed as by what he was seeing, Lycan did as he was told.  He closed his large hands over the long slim fingers and together they straightened the twisted bones of Bran’s leg. He swore he could feel energy pulsing through his hands and into the limb, knitting the pieces of bone together.

When he was done with the leg, Nic moved their hands to Bran’s forehead. His face was still tense with his effort, and he still held Lycan’s large hands clasped in his own smaller ones.

“Call him now,” he whispered, looking from Lycan to Bran. “Say your friend’s name aloud for me so I can call him also.”  Beneath the tanned skin, Nic was pale with fatigue, but he was determined to right the wrong he and Rafe had unwittingly done. They had been fleeing the Guards of the Government. They’d no business harming others who were feared and hunted by the so-called Authority, especially this man who had helped Rafe.

Lycan did not know what to make of this young man.  Bran’s leg looked fully healed. Which should have been impossible, even for a mind-twister. And now he was using up the last of his energy repairing the damage that had been done, which was beyond noble, Lycan could acknowledge that fact now that he had calmed down. The boys had reacted in self-defense to what they’d seen as an attack by Lycan and Bran. The injury to Bran’s leg had been the result of an accidental fall. If Lycan had not been so angry at himself, he would not have reacted so violently. 

Lycan looked down at his friend, who seemed to be resting much more comfortably, now that his leg was healed.  He then looked into the violet eyes, which looked weary beyond their years.

“Bran,” he said in the quietest voice he’d used all night. “His name is Bran.”

A faint nod, and then, “Bran, come back to us, come back to your pack, come back to your pack leader.” 

Lycan heard the words in his head, as before, and he found himself adding to them, thinking along the same vein, “Come back to us, brother, the fire is warm, the meat is good, come back to your pack, come back to me.”

Bran opened his eyes just as the young man with the violet eyes collapsed in Lycan’s arms. Seeing his lifelong friend holding the slim body against his chest, Bran shook his head in resignation.

“You’re going to want to keep it, aren’t you?”

TBC

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