Where You Lead I Will Follow

It's like she was made for me.

Ben Striker had thought of his ex-classmate while he had been plugging wires and running tests on the system he was setting up at his client in Smallville during the next day after the incident.

She was one of the few who didn't sneer at me. One of the girls who looked at me.

High school had been a nightmare, even with the few friends he made, and college had been almost a relief. An intense two years away in another town, where he had considerably more success, with women and with school, graduating near the top of his class, and starting right away with a company that closed only one year after he started there, caught in the local mafia scandal.

He'd come back to his hometown jobless and disillusioned and his friend Kyle, who'd been working in programming but had improved his business skills, had examined the precious experience he'd already gained and offered to start up a security systems business with him.

Kyle was like a brother to him. They started right away. Within two years, they had become pretty successful, traveling the country far and wide, gaining in experience and contacts, occasionally meeting girls along the way. Gaining more experience.

Kyle had become attached to a few of them and started setting up a regular route. Ben hadn't. He was carefree and would remain that way as long as he could.

And then that fateful night in Mexico happened and his life changed forever.

That wolf had blue eyes,

he remembered, 'El Lobo Magnífico'. During his stay in the local hospital, an old lady had visited him, a woman he didn't know. She had been there during the fever-dreams, patting moist towels over his brow and murmuring words he didn't understand in a sing-song lilt.

In the dreams, he had become a wolf.

A month later he had suffered the first change. It was only luck he had been on the road again, work helping him get through the grief of losing his best friend Kyle. Contracts had been signed, and the insurance money would keep him afloat, so he fulfilled them on his own.

And he remembered when, looking out the car window, he looked at the full moon and thought it was strange.

It was pink.

He'd stopped the car. He was shaking, nauseous. He opened the car door and threw up on the road. He got out on shaky legs, walked around to the back, the cool night air helping him. He thought the crab salad he had eaten had turned out to be a mistake. He walked back to turn off the ignition, and by the bright moonlight he saw a little inroad into the thick woods and sat down there, unable to walk anymore. When he fell onto his back he saw the moon again, it was blood-red.

He didn't remember much of anything about that night, except for pain, and running naked through the woods on feet calloused like thick leather, and finding a fawn. He remembered his first taste of blood.

He remembered waking just before dawn, naked, only a few feet away from his car, hands covered in blood, blood on his face, quickly dressing up in spare clothes and washing up with water from the canteen. His face hurt. Everything hurt.

He checked into the motel where he had reservations and when he undressed again to get into the shower he saw the most horrible change.

His cock had warped.

The past three years had been lonely. He'd been rejected more times than he could count, and it had been highschool all over again. He'd eventually paid for sex, dull-eyed women who had gagged at the sight of him but performed nonetheless, and he'd at least learned a few things about it that way: how to 'present' it, what it could do, the knot. It had cost him, though, mostly in dignity, and he'd eventually learned to just keep it in his pants.

Coming back to himself, he watched the light-hearted brunette walk ahead of him, messy ponytail swinging with each step.

But Lana, I think she accepts it. She certainly likes me. She likes what I can do for her.

But she didn't know the half of it. He looked up into the sky, sensing more than seeing the full moon.

*

Ben Striker is only passing through,

Lana reminded herself.

There's no pressure.

It took a few hundred meters before she regained her senses enough to start up a conversation about her work, and how she used her free time to write short stories, some of them fairytales. Some fanfictions on shows based on fairy tales that had struck her with characters that particularly fascinated her.

"Stories like the tales of Arthur, with wizards and fae and witches-- " she told him, "and magical monsters." She continued when he nodded, "there's this story with a Manticore, he's such a monster... but I think there's something more to him..." she let it trail, wistful. "Oops, are you okay?" she asked when he tripped at that,

Her phone rang, it was the sheriff's office, they were waiting for her to come in, but as they spoke she gave them the address and he would come meet her instead, and did she need anything?

When they reached the cottage, Ben told her he had some other client he needed to check up on.

He left and after she'd had some lunch the sheriff drove in. She met him outside, noticing the dead hare had been claimed by its captor while she'd been gone.

"That Ben Striker guy, how well do you know him?"

"I don't really, only that he's real nice, and he

saved my life,"

she accented, annoyed with the questioning. Were they really thinking he had 'provoked' Dale?

"Dale said he caught him with you. That he heard you cry out." Sheriff Karley was frowning at her now, very intense, and it was all that Lana could do to keep from laughing out loud.

Yeah, he heard me cry out,

she thought,

like he never heard me cry out before,

now she was furious.

"We broke up six months ago because he was a damn jealous bastard," she started, her voice rising with every sentence, "Always checking everything I was doing, who I was doing it with, where I was going, and he was

not worth it!

Ben Striker was nice to me, and Dale pulled a gun on me. On

me!

" she finished, yelling.

"Calm down, Lana!" Karley told her, "It's just, this guy, you know, he had a suspicious accident a few years back and..."

"Suspicious? You think he planned on his best friend falling asleep and ditching the car where he could get attacked by wolves?"

"By wolves? The report we got -- translated as best as we could -- said his partner had been killed by a local man. A naked man. But there were dogs, because Striker did get bitten by them."

"A naked man?" Lana remembered the rumors about Kyle and Ben... maybe... not another jealous boyfriend story! She shook her head.

"Listen, I don't know anything about that. All I know is that Dale attacked me in a jealous rage. That's it. What Ben Striker did before has nothing to do with me. He's only here a few more days. If I'm lucky, you'll have caught Dale --

that you let escape!

-- before he leaves.

She sighed with sudden sadness. Then he'd be gone, and she'd be stuck in a trial.

"And before you ask, I am

definitely

pressing charges!" she spat. When she saw confusion in the sheriff's face, she added, yelling again: "Against Dale Durbanks, goddammit! What is it with you stupid men!"

She stalked into the cottage, slamming the screen door, making one of the roof tiles clatter down.

Sheriff Karley stood on the gravel drive for a minute, then got into his car and drove out.

Women

, he thought,

go crazy when they get good sex. And they hate you when they don't. Still, gotta keep in mind that Ben Striker could be the type that goes both ways, a deviant. As hairy as that other dead guy was in the picture, he was definitely naked. 'El Lobo Magnífico'... some strange alias.

*

Lana spent the rest of the day cleaning more of the cottage, Answering a few messages with short text explanations, then took a break to finish her book. When that was finished, she started thinking about what the sheriff had told her.

A naked man. Ben had said it was a wolf.

It didn't make much sense that the mexican police would have let Ben go home if there had been a possibility of murder.

The way he jumped on Dale, I'm more inclined to believe he tried to defend his friend -- his boyfriend? -- against someone else, than attack and make up some crazy story about wolves.

The Mexican police was known for being corrupt, but in this case it was most probably just a case of incompetent clerks.

They must have sent the wrong file.

Lana had a vivid imagination, and the wolf attack had it running in a track inside her mind, by the end of the day, she had started writing a new story in her notebook.

*

She startled when she heard footsteps outside the door.

Who was it? Dale? She slid off the chair silently and padded to the restroom -- a room that locked -- with a window just big enough she could squeeze out if things got tense.

"Lana?" the deep voice called and she breathed in relief. She opened the door for him. The sun was just above the horizon; absorbed in her writing she hadn't seen time pass. She hugged him as soon as he came in. She wondered why they hadn't traded phone numbers yet.

Like he had at Denny's diner, he looked around the little cottage, taking in the solid but slightly moldy construction, the gas lights and stove, the faded curtains but one new window, the trapdoor in the floor, everything.

"You didn't have supper?" he asked.

"I totally forgot! Did you?"

"Yes, I ate already. I brought some dessert, though," it was some of Sally's carrot cake, moist and sweet, and always in too-big servings, but this time just right for two. Lana took out two plates, and two glasses for milk, but Ben shook his head and told her she had to sup first. So she dug out leftover pasta and warmed it in the oven, and he squeezed a lemon to make some lemonade, claiming milk made him fart.

She laughed, it was an intimate thing to share, and it told her how comfortable he was with her. He hadn't brought any alcohol with him. After supper, they shared the cake and then it was dark and it was obvious he would stay the night.

Lana was nervous: he hadn't asked, they hadn't discussed it. When he went to his SUV she saw him push down the back seats and she understood he was getting ready to sleep in his truck.

"You can sleep inside the house," she told him, firmly. Maybe a little too firmly.

He backed out of the car and looked at her, a funny smile on his face: "Yes, ma'am. Ok." And just like that, she had someone for the night.

He brought in his bag instead and announced: "Nexflix and chill?" and she laughed because of course there was no way they could watch TV in the middle of the woods, but he brought out his laptop and they could.

He let her go through his selection of favorites while he washed in the little basin (no sink, he had to hand pump the water from the well to the kitchen sink). The toilet was a chamber pot to be emptied in the morning. It was...

quaint.

When he came back down to sit with her, she'd made the best choice of them all and he was totally charmed: a 2014 French Adaptation of 'Beauty and the Beast'.

"Oh!" she told him excitedly, "I never got to see this one!"

She cried during the movie of course, and rejoiced at the end, and then she pulled him out of his pants and took him in her mouth.

No one had done that for him in ages, no one he hadn't paid to, and her willingness made all the difference. He played in her hair, caressing her softly, and as she bobbed her head up and down on him, taking him as far as she could, before the knot, he made all kinds of unvoiced promises to her in his mind. Bittersweet promises he knew he couldn't keep: that he would settle down, marry, have children. Give up being a werewolf.

When he got close he warned her, and he felt her hesitate, saw her shrug, and continue. He was having the best evening he had had in a long time. Well, since Sunday.

"It's a lot," he warned her again, and she nodded and then he tensed and came in her mouth.

*

It

was

a lot, she realized, and finally renounced swallowing all of his cum, as it fountained out of him onto her quickly removed shirt.

The blue-red cock had a wild taste, even freshly washed, and if she had been able to take most of it in her mouth at first, that bulge had quickly limited her when it swelled. She petted his hairy balls, the hair almost like soft fur, her face buried in his crotch, inhaling the deep musk he exuded, and hearing the wonderful moans he was making for her. He gently caressed her hair, not pushing down on her like her ex, and she slid from the couch to kneel directly in front of him, expressing just how

grateful

she was.

She continued to stroke him while he came, milking him, and dipping her head to catch another stream, while his beautiful thighs tensed, and then she saw just how big he could swell, and how that

knot

had formed inside her.

She was ruined for any other man and she knew it. So she removed her pants and mounted him.

He looked up at her, dark-brown eyes soft with pleasure, and let her take him in, and she raised herself to bring her breasts to his face so he could lick and suckle on them, and that mouth of his was

made

for licking and sucking a woman's flesh. One hand reached up to cup and fondle the breast he wasn't sucking, while the other reached down behind her to caress her buttocks, and between them, and with all the juices that had spilled from him, he had no trouble rubbing pleasure from her ream while she rode what she could of him.

She closed her eyes, and felt the ring of muscle relax just as her pussy clenched on the short, stubby cock that was impossible to completely take in now, though the stretch of trying made her cry out in jolts of exquisite pain.

"You can't take the knot like this, sweetheart," he told her, himself breathless from over stimulation.

She broke their kiss, bit his lip, and he heaved and grunted, and for a wild moment she thought he might

make her

take it.

"Ok," she answered, and put her fingers to her folds to help reach her own climax. Rubbed in front and in back, she was so very close, and she realized she was ready for yet one step further, so she reached for his hand and pressed his fingers to go further. She said, blushing with her boldness, "Put it in. I never... but put it in, I want it."

He didn't need coaxing, but gathered more slick from her pussy just in front and rubbed her hole firmly, making her groan, before slowly pushing one thick finger in.

Between the kissing, the hot length she was riding, her rubbing her clit and now that long finger penetrating her ass... she came undone with blinding violence.

*

They rested for a moment, her resting over his chest in a blissful stupor, he caressing her hair and back and wonderful curves, until he finally softened again. Then they got up on shaky legs, cleaned whatever mess they had made, and went to bed.

"I wish you could stay," she told him, curled up in his embrace, and his heart beat in his chest like a drum.

"I wish I could too."

When he felt her breathing deeply, he got up.

He had something to do.

Too many things were happening at the same time for him; he silently walked out to his truck.

He should have thought about working so close to his old hometown during a full moon. Should have realized it would make him vulnerable if he was recognized by someone.

He'd been foolish, accepting Lana's invitation. Foolish to touch her. To

taste

her. But it had been so

long,

and he'd just felt at ease with her right away.

And of course, there was no way I wasn't going to intervene when that guy showed up.

That was the part that damned him. Now he felt tied to her.

That's just instincts,

he told himself while he dropped his boxers so he could shift into his other form. He put them away in his SUV and then walked out of sight and at each step he changed a little.

Hair grew on him, all over him. His nose grew from cartilage into bone, elongating into a snout. His ears grew into points and he started hearing properly again. The bones of his arms and legs morphed, less painful now than the first year, especially since it was a full moon, making the transition almost spontaneous. By the time he had travelled a dozen meters, he was almost a wolf: only his hands betrayed his human nature, the transformation letting him keep his thumbs and most of the shape intact; he could run on all fours, but he could grasp objects if needed.

He blinked and the night lit up for him, revealing a landscape in shades of blue and white.

He could smell her on himself, her arousal and sweat, and he was tempted to go back in and mount her again, but he had a job to do, and as he trotted North, he thought of all the lies he would have to tell to keep his condition believable.

For now he had to focus on the hunt.

He called out to the local pack, a pair really, and he met the female at the edge of their territory. She offered to help, if he drove his prey far enough out of their territory, and he proposed to bring down a deer in exchange.

The female was strong but not in heat, and he was thankful for that avoided distraction. He'd mounted a few females in time, a strange experience, and he'd spoken with the old woman in Mexico about that when he tracked her down after a first year of confusion and terror at what was happening with him.

The local authorities had taken bad pictures of the werewolf that had bit him, and buried the whole affair as best as they could. It was a small town, and in a way, he had lifted the curse from them and carried it with him far, far away.

A few months into that first year, on a full moon, his woken hunting instincts had turned him from wild deer and hare... to humans.

His first kill had been a vagrant. He'd stunk of drugs and despair, and he'd taken the poor man's life, unable to control himself.

That loss of control had been terrifying. He'd almost killed himself right then. He sought and found the old witch instead.

"El Lobo Magnífico," she'd called him, poking a hard finger in his chest. "You have to be careful, when you hunt", she told him, "Not to spread the curse."

In broken English she had made him understand he could choose to fully become a wolf... if he mated with one and stayed with her. He hadn't made that choice yet.

*

He trotted alongside the grey female, and her mate joined them after she called him to her. Twenty kilometers North and West of Lana's cabin, they found the scent and followed it.

The next kills had been... better was a funny way to think of them. He understood the role the moon played in his life, how it pushed him further from humanity, into

inhumanity,

a few days each month, and he learned it

was

possible for him to resist the kill, if at great pains to himself.

He had rationalized the first kills, telling himself the vagrants were better off dead and killing them was a mercy, until one moon he had found the abandoned man he had killed had been hiding with his child. The man had smelled of shit, and piss, and some alcohol, but not terminally so. His last words had been "No! My son!"

Ben had stepped back at that while life-blood had slowed their spurt then ceased. Rooting through the man's things, he found an eighteen-month-old boy, quiet and staring in horror.

The boy was well-fed, almost clean, and dressed warmly. What terrible circumstances had brought this family to its knees he could only guess. For all he knew, it could have happened to him.