Hour of the Wolf – Chapter 5

He had not slept that well in months. Despite the injury to his chest and his still sore ankle, exhaustion played a big role in ensuring that Baxter fell asleep very soon after his moment of passion with Calhoun. Though in all fairness, his release had likely also played a significant part in making him fall asleep much faster than he would normally do. But it wasn’t just that he didn’t thrash and kick or struggle to find a comfortable position that didn't make him either too hot or cold. The large hairy arms around him somehow made him feel safe and warm throughout the night sure, but they seemed to also have made his dreams mild and soothing. Baxter didn’t dream of demons who wore the face of people like a gentleman wears a coat, and changed just as easily; or creatures of pallor and fangs who survived by drinking the life of humans through their blood. Indeed, he had no idea what he had dreamed about mere seconds after waking up because the sight of Calhoun’s naked body was immediately caught in his sight. He admired his firm, slightly hairy buttocks as the hunter stood by the workbench and seemed to be chopping something with a knife. Then he bundled the diced potatoes on the wood block to toss them into the bubbling cauldron over the fire.

The cabin windows were fully open, letting in the morning sun and breeze, but even then they were too small for the interior to be brightly lit. But it was enough light that Baxter could see every detail on the body of the man he had sex with the previous night. The concept, somehow, felt more surreal than the idea that Calhoun was capable of turning into a wolf-like beast. Baxter had seen plenty of dangerous things that changed skin and stalked the night, but Calhoun was the first person to show that warm attention and want for his company. He took a deep breath and moved to sit on the bed, feeling his ankle already hurting less than the day before. Enough that he felt confident about standing and walking on it. Though he didn’t try, not for now. He was acutely aware of his own nudity, and he wondered what it was that a man said to another after a night of sodomy. And then he realised how foolish it was to seek ‘proper manners’ to deal with a situation that anyone concerned with manners would deem inherently improper. The thought was freeing, in a way.

“Good morning, Calhoun.”

“ ‘Morning…”

Calhoun was his short-for-words self, but Baxter could swear he heard more warmth than usual in the man’s stoic greeting. And he felt a fluttering in his stomach and a small pulse in his cock. There was a vague soreness still in his rear, from their nightly activities, but that didn’t bother him much. The pleasure in the memory associated with that pain was more than enough to offset it.

“You’re… Making us breakfast?” Baxter asked, almost timidly, as he watched Calhoun take a couple of dried sausages from the wall, cutting them free from the bundle with his knife and placing them on the block.

“I’m making food,” Calhoun said in a tone of correction, “you can eat if you like.”

He tossed the sausages into the cauldron where the potatoes were floating and Baxter felt a flush rising to his cheeks that had nothing to do with his own nudity or Calhoun’s. He might be too proud to admit that he was cooking for Baxter, and treating him like a guest, but he was. And that was one of the kindest gestures that Baxter had ever received. Gideon would pay for room and board, but he wouldn’t cook. If cooking was needed, that was a task for the apprentice, and that part of his master-apprentice relationship never bothered him; but it was really nice to be on the receiving end of that sort of care for once.

“Thank you,” Baxter decided to say, even if Calhoun wouldn’t admit it.

Stubbornly, Calhoun shrugged his shoulders and continued the process of chopping ingredients and adding them to the pot. Slowly, the heat and water acted upon them and the alchemy of cooking began, melting the fat in the meat, softening potatoes and causing aromas to mix and transform into something greater than the sum of its parts. Baxter admired the preparation for a moment before he started to look around for his pants, thinking he very much would like a short walk in the woods now that his ankle didn’t hurt that much - and now that there were no beasts around - but he couldn’t find them.

“Looking for something?”

“My clothes…” Baxter said.

“I’ve put them to soak,” Calhoun explained. “Outside… I’ll hang them and dry them. Then tomorrow you should have something mildly presentable.”

“But… What am I to wear until then?”

Calhoun didn’t answer, merely turning around and placing his hands on his waist. Baxter couldn’t resist a lingering gaze at his bulky physique and the undeniable presence of his cock, hanging low, but thick and long even in its flaccid state, but eventually he turned away.

“Really? After last night?”

“It’s not…” Baxter began, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the word ‘proper’ in that context. Not anymore. “…something I’m used to.”

Calhoun surprisingly didn’t mock him for it, instead just turned around to begin organising his cooking bench now that ingredient chopping seemed to be done with. And that silence, the absence of a mocking tone or a taunt, spoke louder than most words that Calhoun could’ve said.

“Nobody comes around these parts,” he said in a tone that sounded suspiciously close to reassuring. “No one will see you, or me…”

“I know, this is just something that I have…”

“I understand,” Calhoun interrupted him softly. “I just want you to know that we are alone here. The two of us.”

Baxter felt his heart racing. Any sane person would understand those words, coming from the mouth of a meat-eating beast in man-form, as a threat. Or at least a grave warning of danger. But Baxter couldn’t process them that way anymore. Instead, that sounded more like a promise, a comfort. He knew it was foolish, but he wanted to be alone with his beast. His wolf.

Calhoun’s stew was hearty and delicious, though maybe Baxter's recovering body was just too hungry and anything he tried would taste delicious as it sated a deep hunger within him. And just as the food nourished his body, Calhoun’s presence seemed to nourish his spirit. After eating, he boldly dared to walk a lap around the cabin without any clothes, and being nude in the woods was both freeing and primal, but also mortifying. His mind knew that no one was likely to be peeking from the woods, but he still felt exposed and watched. He forced himself to finish his walk, and concluding both that his ankle was healing and that the breeze against his parts felt rather nice, he returned to the cabin interior.

He wasn’t sure when it started again, but not too soon after, he and Calhoun found themselves in each other's arms. And then their hands went searching for the soft and the hard parts of each other's anatomies, and their bodies were soon pressed against one another, sweating, panting, writhing and pumping. After that came the caresses, the lying on top of Calhoun’s chest and feeling his hands caressing his back, his thighs and his buttocks. Baxter liked that part almost more than he liked the sex. But only almost. And they did more of it before dinner, and right after.

Baxter wondered what it said about him that when things like clothes and the scrutinising eye of society were removed, he was so eager and happy to embrace those things which had been sinful and taboo. And it wasn’t just sufficient to do so with a man, but also with a man that wasn’t purely that. Yet, even if those questions emerged in his mind, they did not linger, because tasting Calhoun’s tongue or feeling the scratch of the woodsman's beard against the soft skin of his neck, had a way to dissolve those thoughts.

Baxter spent that day and another night in the cabin, and in Calhoun’s arms, and besides eating, they didn’t do much else beyond enjoying each other's bodies and presence. Most of it was wordless, unspoken. Words felt cumbersome and unnecessary in those moments, and when they emerged, it was mostly Calhoun making sure Baxter was willing, feeling good, or not hurt. And Baxter told him that yes, he wasn’t hurt, he felt good and he was so very much willing.

But time passed as it had been known to do and the next morning came. And with Baxter's chest wound basically closed, as Calhoun concluded in the changing of bandages, and his ankle recovered, it was time to put on the trapping of society, both metaphorically and literally, and head to town. Baxter washed beforehand, as a day and two nights in a cabin with another man, doing all they did and as often as they had done it, had a way to make one smell rather musky in an obnoxious way. Baxter took the advice of course, and after washing in a shallow wooden tub outside, drying and putting on his clothes, he and Calhoun began the long walk to the Golden Hind.

And now, without the constant aching pulse of their naked bodies pulling towards each other, there was finally time to talk, much to Calhoun’s apparent chagrin.

“So…” Baxter began, “I’m sure you know this but I simply have to ask.”

“You don’t actually have to,” Calhoun corrected, impatiently, as he led them through a narrow trail across the Briarwold.

“No,” Baxter admitted, with an impish smirk, “it’s purely voluntary.”

Calhoun didn’t seem to appreciate his words being turned against him as he grunted and pursed his lips for a moment, then continued stoically ahead. He was wearing a long dark green tunic, with a belt, and had his rusty musket slung across his shoulders. The same pants and boots that he wore the first night Baxter saw him, and he didn’t seem to own too many other clothes.

“Were you born like this?”

“Tall? No, I was rather small,” Calhoun answered, infuriatingly.

“You are aware plenty that was not my meaning… I’m asking if you were born… Half beast.”

“I am not ‘half’ anything, Baxter. I am what I am, fully one thing.”

“And what is it that you are?”

“That, I do not know. Not by name, at least.”

“I see… And were you always that?”

“No, I was not…” Calhoun explained. “I lived in a village far from here, and when I was twelve, I met with something in the woods. It bit me, and I thought it meant to eat me but, for reasons I cannot know, it didn’t. It left me here.”

“Oh…”

“A month later, I transformed for the first time. Was not voluntary and… I killed many of my dad’s sheep. I woke up naked, covered in their blood and wool…”

“That sounds awful,”

“Could’ve been worse. Nobody saw me, and I managed to run away. But my father was heartbroken about his sheep. A lot of money was lost when they died, and while he would bounce back, it would mean the family was in for a lean season or two. That was when I knew I couldn’t stay… Even if I managed not to hurt anyone, I’d destroy their living, which seemed just as bad…”

“So, you… Ran?”

“Never told my pa why.” Calhoun nodded. “Just took off. I transformed the next couple of nights, but I was in the woods and managed to hunt some deer or rabbit. After that, I started to learn how to control it.”

“You can control it?”

“To a point, most of the time, yes,” Calhoun said.

“So… It’s not you who has been attacking the sheep and the hunters?”

“No… But it might be my fault. A while ago, perhaps three months ago, even… I ran into a group of three young men, challenging each other to go deep into the Briarwold. I was in beast form then, hunting… Letting it out sometimes makes it easier to remain in control…”

Baxter nodded as Calhoun spoke.

“They saw me, and usually that’s enough for them to run but one of them had a gun and decided to be brave. I bit his arm in my attempt to disarm him and…”

“You think you turned him? Like the other beast turned you?”

Calhoun nodded, quietly and with an expression heavy with regret.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Wait… You… Cut into my chest with your claws in the woods back there, does that mean..?”

“Sorry about that, I was trying to pull you from falling into the ravine. But to answer your question, no… I don’t think so. I think the curse can only be passed during a full moon.”

“How do you know that?”

“The same way I know how to turn into the beast, I just do. It just feels right when I think and say it.”

Baxter pondered for a moment on those words. He could think of a few things that rang true to himself when he said them, even if he couldn’t explain where they originated, or why. The same way he thought about the Grover boy's sweaty body and his arms around him or Calhoun’s, and his whole self was filled with warm tingles, but the same didn’t happen when he thought of a woman. Nothing that he could come up with could explain this strange deviancy, yet it lingered there, as true as any other instinct. Did it feel like that for Calhoun too?

The trail eventually led them out of the main thick parts of the Briarwold and into the open meadows and the more usual trails to cross them, towards the road, and eventually, towards the Golden Hind. Seeing the tavern emerge in the distance, in broad daylight, seemed a little dream-like and surreal to Baxter. How could both of these worlds be true at the same time? How could the world in which he spent two nights making love to a gorgeous, strong man be the same one where his stern master and father figure awaited him?

And then Baxter had the much-delayed realisation that once he returned to Gideon, his mission would surely include having to hunt down Calhoun. And how could he do that knowing now that he wasn’t the danger that they thought he was? Baxter’s heart started to ache and feel heavy like lead, beating against his rib cage in a dull pain, even before they crossed the threshold of the door leading into the inn.

And sitting there in the main room, an hour past noon, was Gideon Payne. His bony, stern features focused on a book open in front of him, while he had a ledger of notes and a more detailed map of the town spread around the inn’s round table. Papers held in place by a tankard of ale, a dagger and a small pistol, fingers stained with drawing charcoal and an expression of impatience. He didn’t turn to the door immediately, not until Baxter cleared his throat, stepped forward and called:

“Master…”

Gideon lifted his head partially startled, and then his eyes fell upon Baxter and on Calhoun, which stood a few feet behind the smaller man, as if not to interfere with the reunion.

“There you are!” Gideon said with a bit of dry chiding, “not content with disobeying me and getting lost in the woods, you managed to injure yourself and cost us two good days of hunting…”

Baxter lowered his head and took a deep breath, accepting the scolding that he knew was much deserved, before he turned and looked towards Calhoun, and then back to Gideon.

“I got injured chasing the beast… And this man brought me into his home, cared for me while my foot recovered, and then escorted me back here.”

“I see, I see… I heard all about your injury,” Gideon said, reaching into his pocket and taking out two silver coins, which he handed to Baxter and with a wave of hand, signalled him to give them to Calhoun. “Thank you, stranger, for caring for my reckless apprentice while he, hopefully, reflected on the consequences of his actions.”

Baxter's cheeks burned with shame as he stretched his hand to give Calhoun the coins. But the stubborn man simply shook his head and denied his reward.

“Call it good Christian charity. No recompense needed.”

“I see… Well, call the recompense charity as well, and take it,” Gideon said with slight harshness in his voice.

“No, thank you,” Calhoun said in a very final tone.

Baxter's chin could’ve fallen to the floor at Calhoun's plain and dry refusal of his master. People didn’t usually refuse Gideon, and when they did, they did so with ceremony and a healthy dose of fear. Even those that didn’t know he was a hunter, who had killed things worse than any wolf, man or bear, they could tell that he was not to be trifled with. But Calhoun, he seemed immune to whatever it was that made Gideon so scary. And Gideon himself was a bit stunned, and it was in that window of opportunity that Calhoun chose to leave.

“Well, I must return home now, if I am to make it before nightfall. Take care of yourself, Baxter Payne.”

And with that, with just that, he left. And it took Baxter every fibre of his moral being to resist the urge to cry at the sight of Calhoun’s back as he departed. He wanted to call him back, but what was there to say that could be said? What was there to do that could be done? Nothing. Anything he could come up with was clearly a flight of fancy, a fantasy of a world that couldn’t be. And he swallowed all that to turn and find a frowning Gideon.

“What a rude man,” he said simply. “Very well, then. Hand me back the coins, Baxter.”

“He’s not rude, he cared for me…” Baxter said as he returned the coins.

“Be that as it may… We have more important matters at hand. We have a beast to hunt…”

Baxter was thinking about how he would break the news that they had two beasts at large in the region, but only one of them was dangerous. Gideon would meet both of those news with scepticism and be likely to be especially dubious of that last claim. And that was when Baxter realised, he did not have to say it. If they managed to hunt down the smaller wolf, perhaps that would sate Gideon. How likely was he to realise they were not the same beast that they saw in the barn? Baxter wasn’t sure but he had a sense that without seeing them side by side, it would be easy to mistake one for another.

“We do, master…” Baxter took a seat.

“Now, while you were convalescing in the woods, I’ve recovered our equipment and studied our trap. We are unlikely to ever be able to lure to beast into something similar, it’s far too smart for that but… Fortunately, I have a different plan in mind.”

Baxter shifted uncomfortably to the news. Would that new trap be different enough that Calhoun might fall for it? Or perhaps, knowing the hunter was about would be enough to dissuade him from coming out in beast form at night.

“That’s good… What’s the trap this time, master?”

“Hopefully, something you won’t manage to screw up… But just in case, listen closely, boy…”

***

Baxter crouched behind a low bush, clinging tight to the heavy crossbow he had once again in his hands. The weapon was drawn, but he had not yet fitted the quarrel into the rail, and wouldn’t do so until it was nearly time to fire. The sheep in the centre of the clearing bleated as it tried to move, only to find a limit give by the rope around its neck. The white wool had been painted red with blood, and the poor barn animal seemed to have a sense that something terrible was about to take place. Baxter was uncomfortable too, though he understood the need for live bait after the butcher refuse had already been employed. He couldn’t tell Gideon that only one of the beasts knew about the trap, without revealing that there were two of them. So, Baxter watched the poor sacrificial lamb, in a very literal sense, and tensed in discomfort.

Gideon wasn’t far from him, and he had his long rifle in his hands. But this time he had pulled a different tool from his arsenal; a wheelock pepperbox pistol, capable of firing six rounds before needing to be reloaded. The weapon wasn’t as powerful as the rifle, but the slower velocity of the projectile meant that it could hold some of the wolfsbane oil it was soaked in after being fired, and hopefully that alchemical aid could offset the lack of punch.

They had set the trap right at the heart of the Briarwold and had dared to hope that nothing would come of it. For many reasons, not the least of which was how much he didn’t want to witness the killing of their live bait. But these hopes were far-fetched; Gideon had understood the beast’s hunting pattern from his witness account and knew well when and where it was likely to search for food. And any last drop of doubt that the trap would work was put to rest by the distant howling coming from somewhere north of where they had set down their ambush. It could’ve been a regular wolf, but Baxter doubted many packs were still roaming the Briarwold, as they would have needed to compete with two larger predators for any shot at decent prey. It was far more likely that any pack of wolves in the area had migrated to greener pastures, so to speak. So, that meant that howling was one of the two beasts. Whether Calhoun or the other smaller but more vicious one, Baxter couldn’t tell by howl alone.

Gideon grunted, spitting towards the floor and gripping tighter on his rifle. He looked towards Baxter and gave him a nod to be ready, and then he turned with more focus towards the distraught sheep. It bleated in fear, and before either Baxter or Gideon had heard any sound from the woods, it seemed to grow agitated, trying to move and pull away from the rope. And that could only mean one thing. In a matter of seconds, they started to hear the sound of leaves being crushed over padded feet and something heavy but with a soft stomping galloping towards them. It grew closer and closer, louder and louder and suddenly a blur of fur crossed from the treeline and into the clearing, tackling the sheep with such force that the rope snapped.

Baxter could’ve thrown up at the sight of fangs sinking on the jugular and the sickening wet noise of bones breaking, but he took comfort that at least it was quick. Lifting his crossbow, he lined the quarrel and trained it towards the beast, careful not to move too abruptly and taking his time with aiming, controlling his breath, knowing that if he missed this shot, Gideon would be nothing less than furious. With time to study the beast, Baxter realised that it wasn’t Calhoun; this one had longer and more sinewy limbs and a leaner and smaller physique. And it tore into the lamb, ripping chunks of flesh and bone in large bites and then crunching them in its mouth with sounds that would haunt Baxter's dreams for months to come, he knew already.

But he was relieved that it wasn’t Calhoun, and so he lifted the weapon to take aim right at the centre of mass of the beast, and slowly, he began to squeeze the trigger, to make sure he didn’t mess with the aim until the quarrel had left the weapon. Slowly but surely he felt the pressure increase until the grip on the string was released. The metal arms of the crossbow unfolded and the bolt was hurled at incredible speeds towards the animal. Baxter had shot that weapon against wooden planks and watched as the projectile moved cleanly through it. He had fired it against dummies covered in hides, carapaces, bones and all sorts of natural armour, and it never failed to penetrate deep. And this time it was no exception. The broad head of the bolt, coated in wolfsbane, entered the beast right above the right arm, in the junction of its haunches and shoulder and sunk almost all the way to the fletching.

The beast growled in pain and staggered back, as it was hit. And then it whimpered and tossed itself on its back, to roll on the floor in a frenzied fashion, at the same time as it clawed against the bolt on its shoulder, trying desperately to pull it off, but lacking the dexterity to do so, and in the process tearing its own skin with its claws. Baxter found himself almost feeling bad for the creature that had tried to kill Calhoun. Almost. Gideon smirked at the sight of the creature writhing and got up from the bush to raise his rifle and begin to carefully line up a shot. Sure to be the killing blow.

But the beast thrashed too energetically and fast, and Gideon was struggling to train his barrel towards its head. Anything else would mean a waste of a shot, and the older hunter was starting to squint in anger. The darkness didn’t make it any easier to take aim. And then Gideon decided the beast was helpless enough that he could advance from the bush towards it, and in that moment, he didn’t need his cane. Baxter could even imagine him twenty years younger, seeing how purposeful his steps were, without hesitation or trembling, and how full of vigour he seemed to be. The adrenaline of fighting had a way to rejuvenate a man, Baxter reckoned, thinking about how his ankle pain seemed to almost disappear when he was fighting for his - and Calhoun’s - life. And then Gideon stepped closer. And closer. And the beast writhing seemed to fade in energy, its loud whimpering becoming quieter as it panted and finally looked towards Gideon.

Baxter saw its eyes, and he could almost see the man behind the beast; he knew he was done for. He was on his back, with a gun pointed to his face. His own demise quietly approaching him in the shape of Gideon Payne, a monster hunter with decades of cold efficiency and experience. Baxter tried not to empathise with the creature, but it was hard knowing that was likely a scared village boy, albeit one covered in lamb’s blood, and sure to kill someone soon if not stopped.

Gideon stopped two paces from the creature, and it stopped squirming entirely, allowing him to point the gun straight between the beast's eyes. And in that moment of calm before the execution, he said:

“May the Lord take your wic-“

The sentence was never finished. As suddenly as it had stopped moving the beast leaped into motion, pushing itself to its feet. Gideon fired as it began to move, but not in time to readjust his aim. As the bullet sunk into the ground with a cloud of dust and broken leaves, the beast was mid-air, slamming both of its hind paws into Gideon’s chest and pushing itself against him. He flew, both his feet leaving the ground as he was pushed four or five paces and slammed his back against the broad trunk of a primal-growth oak. The large tree barely shook as it absorbed the shock. Baxter dropped his crossbow and raised his pistol, but it was too late. Falling onto the floor after kicking Gideon, the beast quickly rose and took a gallop out of the clearing. The apprentice hunter rushed forth to try and take aim at it, but it was gone into the darkness before he could find a firing angle.

“Gideon! Master!” He rushed towards him, to find him conscious, clutching his chest and stomach with one hand as blood poured through his fingers. His hat had been knocked with the impact, exposing his sparse white hair.

He grunted as he saw the young one approach, and reached into his belt to pull the pepperbox pistol out.

“It will c-come back, Baxter…”

“I don’t think so, master… I got it pretty good with that bolt. It is going to go lick its wounds…”

“Boy, listen to me…”

But Baxter wasn’t listening. Fighting back tears, he crouched, meaning to grab Gideon’s arm and lace it around his neck to help carry him to town.

“Don’t be stubborn, master, it’s gone, we can…”

But Gideon shoved Baxter back, a bit harshly, and then raised his gun into the darkness. Baxter was inclined to think the man knocked his head a bit too hard on the oak before he heard that familiar dark gallop across the trees. Gideon was right, the beast was coming back. But it knew it was a trap so the only reason for it to return, was to kill the hunters. This was no longer about food. Come morning, they would be dead, or the beast would. There was no other way.

Baxter raised his gun too, trying to trace the gallop, but he couldn’t see the beast moving in the dark, and its movements were too fast. It seemed to be circling the clearing in a run, maybe seeking to confuse or tire them. And then, there was a sudden silence, for half a heartbeat before the sound of the ruffling of leaves came from a tree across the clearing from them. And that was the last thing they heard before a long stretch of silence, broken only by sounds of the night and the ominous creaking of a thick branch.

“It’s… In the tree…” Gideon said with a weak voice.

Baxter had concluded as much, lifting his gun but finding the canopy shrouded in darkness. He couldn’t even begin to divine the shapes of the beast within the branches, but he knew it lingered there. So, he held his aim and waited, for a hint of movement, or anything else that could help him make a shot. And he caught those twin specks of light moving side by side, and he knew it was the beast's eyes reflecting the vague moonlight. He squeezed the trigger and the muzzle flashed and smoke prevented him from knowing if he had hit anything. The sound of gunfire echoed thunderously across the silent woods for the second time that night, and by the time the smoke cleared, something was coming towards him from behind it.

Baxter never knew he had such reflexes, but he ducked in time to avoid the pounce of the beast, who moved through the void left by him and it crashed onto the ground past the apprentice. But without missing a beat, it shifted itself back to its feet, awkwardly, but fast, and then turned to charge in a predatory rush towards Baxter. He tossed himself to the side this time, falling on his ass and avoiding the beast a second time. Though narrowly. But he knew that with his behind flat on the ground, he would not dodge it a third time.

The beast turned for another attack when another crack of gunfire echoed through the woods. The pepperbox pistol smoked as Gideon fired a round, and then moved his hand to rotate the next barrel in position. The bullet, coated in wolfsbane, sunk into the vicious monster's hide and it whimpered and staggered. It wasn’t down and it would charge again, but Gideon was quick to line the next barrel and then point and fire again, slamming a second bullet on the target. The creature fell to one knee in a surprisingly human posture before pushing back up.

Gideon had had no time to line up the third shot, and the mass of fur, claw and teeth descended upon them. Baxter's pistol was empty and there was no point in even trying to load it, so he dropped it and drew his knife. A pathetic, futile gesture given the forces arrayed against him, but he still pulled the blade and prepared to die beside his master. Like a hunter.

And then he heard a sound that seconds before would’ve chilled his soul, but now was like the horn of the archangels; the dark gallop of padded feet across the forest floor. Calhoun, in beast form, emerged from beside the oak on which Gideon was slammed, and much like he had done before, intercepted the beast charging towards Baxter. Gideon seemed utterly confused as he watched the two massive creatures lock into a frenzied ball of movement. Claws and teeth flashed from the mess but it was hard to say where one began and the other ended. There was growling, whimpering, sounds of tearing flesh and snarling of fury.

And the small werewolf was tossed aside, hitting the oak above them and breaking free a few large branches before it dropped dangerously close to Baxter. It was still alive, but as it struggled to get up, Calhoun descended upon him, and Baxter felt as if he was nearly run over by a dark horse at that mass of black furs lunging just a few feet beside him. Calhoun tossed the injured smaller wolf towards the middle of the clearing, and with multiple gunshots, Baxter’s bolt on its skin and the weakening effect of wolfsbane, Calhoun managed to get the upper hand. His teeth sunk into the neck, and he violently shook the creature. A final whimper of pain rose from the mouth of the smaller beast before Calhoun’s maws clamped around its neck again and the sound of snapping bone echoed across the whole clearing.

“By the blood of Christ…” Gideon said, astonished.

Baxter agreed with the sentiment, watching a bloodied Calhoun drop the neck of the creature, which slowly shifted and shrunk, fur disappearing into pale skin, until under him there was the bloodied, cut and shot body of a young peasant lad, lying naked and dead in the centre of the clearing. Gideon pushed himself up and Baxter rushed to aid him, as Calhoun simply stood over the corpse, panting and breathing heavily, seemingly trying to calm himself down. Gideon stood with some struggle and Baxter’s mind was rushing to figure out what their next move ought to be. To move to the Hind, find a doctor to patch Gideon's wounds and hopefully claim the reward for the beast later. If they could believe them now that all they had to present was a human body. But it all could be sorted if…

The sound of a gunshot interrupted Baxter's thoughts, coming from really close. He smelled the gunpowder in the air, sulfuric and thick, as Gideon raised his gun and fired against Calhoun. The massive wolf turned with eyes filled with fury and roared as the wolfsbane-tainted bullet sunk into him.

“No!” Baxter shouted, but Gideon was already lining another shot.

Baxter slapped the gun away from his hand and a shocked Gideon looked at him with a mixture of confusion and horror. Baxter had no time to deal with it though. Calhoun was charging down at them. He grabbed a thick branch that had broken off from the tree, letting go of Gideon and trying to position it between himself and lupine maw moving towards Gideon.

It worked. In a way. Calhoun bit across the thick branch and Gideon was able to wobble, in his wounded shamble, out of the way as Calhoun pushed Baxter instead, until the young man’s back was pressed against a tree. He held the branch there, with two hands, trying and barely able to keep Calhoun’s mouth away from his flesh. Gideon looked lost. Baxter never saw him like that.

“Go…” Baxter shouted, “go to the town… S-Seek a doctor…”

“Baxter, this is-” Gideon started, trying to scold him even in his wounded state.

“Shut up, old man!” Baxter roared as he fought the beast. “For once in your life listen to me! Go!” And as Gideon hesitated, Baxter shouted louder, “go! Now!”

And he did. Without his guns at hand and bleeding profusely, he walked backwards a couple of steps and then looked into the wilderness behind him, and back to Baxter, before he began to walk, as fast as he could, away.

It was a Hail Mary at best, and Baxter knew it. Gideon was more likely to collapse and bleed to death on the forest floor, just as Baxter would likely end up inside Calhoun’s stomach. But a Hail Mary was the best shot they had. So, he held the branch there, as teeth sunk into the oak wood and it began to crack.

“Damn it, Calhoun! Are you… In there?” Baxter pleaded.

There was no sign that the creature had heard him or recognised him. It just kept trying to chew through the wood. Claws struck towards Baxter but the awkward angle of the oak’s trunk, more concave than flat, protected his sides.

“Calhoun! It’s me! Remember! Or wake up! Or whatever you do… It’s me! Baxter!”

He shouted and he felt the pressure on the branch reducing that time, and the snarling grew a little quieter. He was calming down, regaining control. And that was in good timing too because Baxter's arms were getting very tired of wrestling with the massive beast. When Calhoun backed out, he was still growling, and looking at Baxter in fury. Baxter's eyes went to the wound of the wolfsbane-tainted bullet, and then to the knife he had dropped to pick up the branch.

“The bullet… Right, it must be burning… Let me…”

He reached down to grab the knife and immediately the beast that was Calhoun snarled at him. Baxter raised his hand to show him the knife and his free hand, and then pointed to the bullet.

“Let me take it out… Alright? It will hurt less if I take it out… I won’t… Attack you, I promise.”

He wasn’t sure how much the beast could understand, how much of Calhoun was under there. It was still visibly angry, and growled as he approached, growling louder the closer he got, and snapping teeth at him. And he was almost pissing himself in fear, but he still pushed closer, telling himself that if the beast wanted him dead, then he’d already be so. The snapping of teeth caused him to wince.

Finally, he pushed the matted fur aside and looked into the wound. The bullet had not gone too deep. He could feel it with his finger, though pushing it into the wound got the wolf to snap very close to his shoulder.

“C-cut it out, Calhoun! I’m trying to help!” Baxter chided.

The beast huffed, and he used his finger to guide the tip of the knife, in the dark, into the bullet hole. He found the hard pursuit of lead and slowly angled the blade to extract it. The wolf furiously growled and Baxter held his breath and delivered a final pull of the blade. Crushed lead came out of the wound, and fresh blood too. That was good, washing off the residual wolfsbane.

Calhoun, however, overreacted to that last bit of pain and slammed Baxter down with his body, shoving the boy onto his back on the floor. And then he walked, hovering over him and pressing a snarling muzzle right against the nook of his neck as if to deliver the same jugular killing blow he had done with the other, smaller wolf.

“Calhoun…” Baxter called.

And the wolf sniffed then, and the snarling reduced, but didn’t stop. And that was when Baxter’s eyes moved down and he spotted something emerging from underneath the wolf, glistening against the faint moonlight. He didn’t need much imagination to guess what it was. He had seen dogs licking themselves before and could picture the massive, throbbing red tapered-tip cock emerging from the sheath

And then it was more than just a hint of a glistening form. Baxter felt its wet warmth touching his pants, and soaking through them. The creature continued to sniff his neck, licking his sweat and burying its muzzle there. A few loud huffs between sniffs as Baxter was feeling something weird in between being aroused and terrified.

Baxter tried to push the muzzle away, but the beast was too strong for even him to push with both hands to move it back. And then he just tried to turn around, to lay flat on his stomach and try to crawl away from underneath it. But as he did, he felt that muzzle pressing against his ass and his crotch from behind. The notion of sharp teeth so close to his now shamefully erect manhood gave him pause. Calhoun was a beast with no sense of decency, he reckoned, and he bit his lips, trying to pretend that such unimpeded animal lust didn’t turn him on.

And then as he tried to move away, a clawed paw grasped onto his waist. It lightly cut his thigh and sides in the process of shredding off his pants, leaving him naked from the waist down in but a few seconds. And then, but a heartbeat later, Calhoun’s fangs suddenly bit the back of his neck. They didn’t sink on flesh but applied enough pressure to pin him in place. Baxter found himself instinctively raising his hips. It was dehumanising, humiliating and yet so very intensely arousing to realise he was just a bitch in heat, presenting to a male. He thought he had lost all trappings of society when he spent a day and a night fucking Calhoun in his cabin, never even putting on clothes. But as he felt the tapered tip of the beast’s massive cock pushing against his rear passage and he understood he wanted it, that was when he knew he had truly shed the last sense of the self imposed by society. That was something no one would ever allude to in polite company. That was a denial of the man in favour of the animal. And Baxter knew then, he didn’t mind being Calhoun’s animal.

Baxter felt the monstrous manhood spearing into him, and he was grateful for both the tapered shape of it, not so thick towards the point, and also the thick, gooey substance that seemed to coat it and make it more slippery as it pierced deep inside of him. But even all that couldn’t really make up for the sheer massive girth shoved into his tight passage. And as he thought Calhoun had hilted himself inside him, he found with almost panicked despair that there was still more of the length to be slowly pushed in in the wake of the impaling thrust. And he felt his muscles being pushed to the very limit trying to stretch around it. His stomach bulged at the sheer volume of displaced flesh and Baxter felt his eyes watering from effort. But when he opened his mouth, besides the obvious grunt of pain, there was also a pleasurable whimper of delight. He felt himself completely stuffed by the massive presence of his lover, and even in monster form, he felt strangely complete like that.

But that was just the calm before the storm, and with those massive, monstrous and muscular thighs, as soon as he found good pursuit, Calhoun began to pump with his hips, mounting Baxter without any sense of build-up or restraint. Like a beast madly seeking to breed, to mate. Baxter felt his cheeks burning at that though. He knew that he could not be bred, but the idea of it was still enough to cause his insides to turn into molten goo, and his balls to tingle. To be made into this beast’s, Calhoun’s, mate. He cried out in pain and pleasure again, as the wolf orbs slammed against his and the creature finally hilted.

“C-curses, Calhoun…” Baxter protested meekly, hands clutching the dirt of the ground in the absence of sheets, as he was mounted and crudely slammed down onto the floor.

Jaws lifted from his neck, no longer pinning him down by it, but also no longer needing to. He couldn’t move with that huge cock impaled inside him. He doubted he would be able to move very well after, as his legs were beginning to numb, and Calhoun’s thrusting gave no sign of slowing down or relenting. With the bestial fury and without any sense of restraint, he continued to push the whole weight of that massive form into each motion, and all Baxter could do was to try and keep his wits about him. The pain never really stopped, it just changed from something that was purely uncomfortable to something more ambiguous, as a strange heat began to erupt from the pit of his stomach and spread across his body. That heat came with a tingle, pins and needles across his insides, and then Calhoun’s cock hit something sensitive. He felt it clearly, seeming like something inside him, just on the back of his cock. And that sensation was more overwhelming and sudden than anything Baxter ever experienced. Suddenly his pleasure shot like lighting across his spine and his cock, who was hanging half-hard and wobbling at the vicious thrusts, perked up and spilt forth his seed as a very abrupt orgasm crashed across his back. He kicked, jerked and writhed, but to no avail. Calhoun seemed to not even have noticed his release.

For a moment, Baxter wondered if he would be there until daybreak, wondered if the beast would ever finish or tire, because neither seemed to be coming close. But then he noticed a change in rhythm. More erratic, faster and some more clumsiness. That was just for a handful of seconds before Calhoun delivered a singular thrust, burying deep inside him and Baxter felt the thick eruption of the beast's seed flooding his guts. He gasped in shock, horror and erotic ecstasy. And then a sharp pain emerged from the tight ring of muscles around his rear. A part of Calhoun seemed to grow inside him, expand, bulge and form a bulbous shape that would prevent him from pulling out from Calhoun. Locking him inside the man like a dog might do with a bitch in heat. And as they were locked together, Calhoun’s seed continued to flow, now in slow pouring rather than gushes. And Baxter realised then that he was Calhoun’s. He was his mate. He was claimed in the more real, primal way possible.

And Calhoun raised his head and let out a heartfelt, deep roar across the night, echoing throughout the whole of the Briarwold. In Baxter’s head, he was announcing to the whole forest that he had staked his claim to him. And that thought filled him with exhilaration. Almost enough to offset the pain of being locked with the beast. Almost.

It was the end of the next afternoon when Baxter entered the room on top of the Golden Hind, wearing clothes that were a bit too big for him, and held in place by the effort of belts and strings alone. Baxter closed the door and moved to sit on Gideon’s bed. The old man never looked so old and frail. His skin was greyish and pale, and glistening with sweat, and he was shaking. Baxter felt tears welling in his eyes from the sight of his master like that alone. Gideon seemed surprised to see him, but just for a second.

“Boy…” he called, “you made it.”

Baxter slowly nodded his head, moving his hand to caress Gideon’s bony one across the fingers. He was a bit cold. Colder than a man should be. That made Baxter even more nervous, but he took a deep breath. He had steeled himself for this moment, the best he could.

“You know… It’s not that tragic,” Gideon said, almost in a chiding tone. “I’m old. In a profession most don’t live to this age. I had enough time.”

“You’ll pull through, master.”

“Bah…” Gideon shook his head, dismissing the sentimentalism outright, and the encouraging words. “I… I just wish I was back at our place in Piccadilly. Or that I got to see the sunrise on the Thames again. But this? Suits me fine…”

“Master…”

“No, no… It does. We hunted the beast, didn’t we? Gideon Payne’s final quarry…”

Baxter wiped a tear from the corner of his eyes and squeezed his master’s hand tighter.

“Yes, see… Not so bad then.”

“Master, I…”

“You killed the beast… The second one, after I left, right?”

Baxter paused and looked into the man’s eyes. He bit his lips. He had never once successfully lied to his master. He knew Gideon would see right through him if he did. And yet, he lied anyway.

“I did, master. After you left. That’s how I’m here.”

Gideon's lips moved in almost a smile as he took a deep breath. He allowed himself a single, dry and joyless chuckle.

“Yes, you did,” he said, in a tone of complicity, more than credulity. “You were a good apprentice, Baxter. You’ll be a fine hunter.”

And then Gideon Payne let out an effortful grunt and his eyes blinked slowly, a couple of times as his head tilted to the side.

“I’m tired now,” he said, simply.

Baxter watched as his eyes closed, squeezing his hand tight. Gideon squeezed it back, weak at first. Then tighter. Then not at all. Baxter had seen enough death to recognise it, and the knot on his throat prevented him from talking at first. He didn’t want to cry, because if he started, he wouldn’t stop. So, he choked that knot down and managed to say:

“Goodnight, master.”

And he released Payne’s hand, lifting himself from the bed. There was much he had to arrange, and for once in his life, he had no one to arrange it for him. Much as he would want to stay and cry his heart out, he didn’t belong in Heatherdale. And neither did master Payne. They both needed to go home.

Epilogue

The sound of grinding steel and the loud train whistle heralded the breaking as the long metal serpent slowly came to a halt at King’s Cross station. Men and women began to immediately disembark, moving in a rush to secure a stage wagon towards their final destination, or to move towards the baggage cart and find their own steamers. Baxter was among the latter group, clutching to the paper that proved his property of the luggage, he stood to wait his turn to address the train worker in uniform. And then a large form loomed behind him.

“So, this is London, huh?”

“Well… This is King’s Cross. They just finished it last year. But yes, we are in London.”

“Smells a bit like shit,” Calhoun said, sniffing the air. “Horse shit.”

“It smells a lot like horse shit,” Baxter agreed, with a smirk.

Calhoun was wearing a tight shirt and a black vest, and he looked absolutely uncomfortable in anything not suitable for a woodsman. Baxter in turn, was dressed like any middle-level clerk, in a conservative grey suit. Hat taken off and held in front of himself as he waited in line. He looked at the luggage being unloaded from the cart and recognised the many trunks and steamers that belonged to him, and the unceremonious wooden casket with the words ‘human remains’ marked on the side. ‘We are almost home, Gideon’.

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” Calhoun admitted.

“You will, soon,” Baxter promised. “We have a place in Piccadilly… Once we are done… Burying Ma-… Burying Mr Payne, I can show it to you.”

“Hrm…” Calhoun said simply with a shrug.

“Either way…” Baxter turned his attention back to the luggage. “We won’t be staying long.”

“We won’t?”

“No… I asked one of Gideon’s contacts. There’s something sinister going on in a small village outside of York. We ought to check it out.”

“We ought to?”

“I mean… That’s my trade now, Calhoun.”

“Killing monsters,” Calhoun said in slight mockery.

“Only the bad ones,” Baxter said.

And that caused Calhoun to chuckle in a subtle way, and he nodded.

“Only the bad ones.”