Title-- Lone Wolves
Rating and Warnings-- PG for nongraphic demi-communal nudity; warnings include said nudity, angst, and pain.
Species and Characters-- Species = werewolves! :D The chars are a white female wolf, Fakhi; a big male wolf who hunts those humans that hunt wolves ("hunter of hunters"), Hashu; and a tan/brown male wolf, Sjarrin. Also mentioned is a red-haired male whose shidbit is here. Hashu is a key player in the Denaith Series, and Seyah (a country alpha) is mentioned in here too.
Summary and Notes-- This is the second installment of Lone Wolves, which is an enjoyable offshoot of the Denaith Series that I've been posting. I absolutely love writing this ongoing story, and I've heard good things from those who have read it. Info on Denaith as a world is here; and here are the first, second, and third bits of the Denaith Series (cowritten with gileonnen) that I've posted. The first installment of this plotline is here. This mini-series is strikingly beautiful and highly emotional; at the risking of sounding way too Narcissistic, I think you guys should read it. =D


Morning in the rain-washed city found the two lone wolves entwined and in their human bodies once more. The male was the first to awaken, accustomed as he was to the signs of sunrise even so deep within a ramshackle old building into which little light reached. His head lay on the woman’s stomach and his arms were about her waist, and the rest of his body was curled as best it could be, considering his long legs (and those of the woman, which hooked around his own). Dark grey eyes closing once more, he relished the so-rare heat of a living creature--it felt as though his cheek burned where it touched her smooth skin.

The white wolf slitted open her eyes as she felt the caress of breath across her flank and hip and the weight of the male on her stomach. For a moment, every nerve flamed and screamed at her to twist away to a safe distance--then, she exhaled. She was as safe as she would ever be with this wolf, and to throw him away--especially after the friendship and temporary home he had offered--would be far from wise.

Nor, as the adrenaline faded, did she particularly want to move.

The male stirred and lifted his head, shaggy dirty-blond hair tickling her skin, then propped himself up on his elbows without releasing her waist and glanced towards her face. The white wolf eyed him through barely-opened eyelids, every muscle in her body still tired and still sore, and simply didn’t move. A little smile, weary and knowing, flitted across his rough lips, and the brown wolf pulled his arms away and disentangled his legs from hers and sat upright.

There was nothing to be said for a long, long moment.

Then, with a shiver for the loss of the heat source that was her fellow lone wolf, the woman sat up as well and pulled her knees up to her chest. The makeshift den was cold and gloomily dark and despondent, but it still smelled like the male’s home, and that wolfish tag comforted her as much as the morning did. She had survived the night and suffered no lasting effects from it, and the male looked to have managed the same feat. The day was good, for she was alive to enjoy it.

The white wolf’s pensive stare to the far wall was broken as she blinked at the weight and warmth of a hand on her upper arm. She glanced at the male, half-startled and still half-asleep in her body’s weariness--he smiled again, a wry and rueful expression. "My name is Sjarrin," he murmured in a deep voice that was broken and rusty with little use.

The silver-haired woman didn’t respond for several slow seconds, but then, she exhaled in a silent sigh, and a tiny grin appeared on her pale, thin lips. "I have almost forgotten my name, so seldom is it needed. But I am called Fakhi." She inhaled, exhaled, and then added, "Thank you, Sjarrin."

Gold communed with iron-grey as their eyes met, and his acceptance of her gratitude passed between them without any more words. Just like last night, went his thoughts as he dropped her gaze at last. She isn’t used to languages, be they of the body or of the throat. She speaks with her eyes. Sjarrin slowly rose, steadying himself for a split second with a sturdy hand against the wall, and padded over to the pouch in which he’d carried his clothing. He dressed with equal slowness, deliberately not rushing himself as he felt the lingering stiffness of the cold and rain that plagued his bones.

Fakhi watched him in silence, arms about her legs and chin resting on one knee. He was a lean man, slightly taller than average, and without an ounce of fat on him--due to his lone wolf nature, of course--but he didn’t look as gaunt or as filthy as most of the city’s lone wolves. His hair was unwashed and tangled, but there were no fleas in its blond mess, and there were no rats or roaches in his den. (He had probably eaten all the rats when he first claimed it.) His skin was very dark, suggesting that he spent considerable time in the sun on a daily basis, but unscarred from fights or the like. But then, not many wolves bore scars.

Sjarrin turned around again, now clothed in a worn but whole outfit of a brown tunic and rag-hemmed leggings, poorly-made leather shoes on his feet. His gaze fell upon the woman’s nude form, then trailed over to another corner of the grey-lit room. "I have an extra outfit. It would likely fit you. We seem to be built much the same," he added, another hint of amusement passing through his steel-hued eyes as he strode with the cautious gait of a lone wolf over to the corner. Fakhi followed his path with her eyes alone, then reached up one hand to catch the tossed bundle of dirty grey fabric.

"Most lone wolves are built much the same," came her quiet, belated remark as she stood on long, lean legs and stepped into the pantaloons, then buttoned the sleeveless vest about herself. It must have been baggy on the brown wolf, for she had ample room in it, and the pantaloons felt as though they would slide down her slim hips if given the chance.

Sjarrin felt his body slow and calm as, once more, yellow met grey in gratitude and understanding. He managed a shallow nod, struck by the power of a simple gaze in place of words, as the woman shifted her weight onto one hip and tucked her thumbs into the too-loose waistband of her pants. "They’re baggy on me, too," he muttered, a little sheepishness creeping into his voice. It had been so long since he’d gotten close to any other wolf--his red-headed companion in the lone wolf "pub" hadn’t wanted to risk the storm again, and Sjarrin wondered what the woman thought of that third seated wolf who had not joined them. But even the red wolf was no more than an acquaintance, an ally on dangerous nights and just another shadow on all the rest...

Fakhi abruptly spun and fell into a fighting crouch, lips drawn back to reveal all-too-human teeth in a silent snarl, gold eyes wide and locked onto the one entrance into the basement room. Taken by surprise, the blond male threw himself backwards and snatched a long, heavy staff from its place against the wall, hefting it with unexpected strength in his lean arms--

Danger, everything in the two wolves screamed. Danger!

My den!, the wolf in the man cried out, bristling furiously, and terrified of losing its home.

Wolf hunter!, the wolf in the woman snarled, though she knew not who approached yet.

Sjarrin slid forward to join the woman, wolfish strength and grace saturating even the smallest of movements, his lone weapon clenched white-knuckled in one fist with the other extended in readiness. Fakhi’s fingers dug into the hard stone floor, lean muscles in stark relief against her pale skin as she crouched, ready to spring and attack.

Defend the den, said both wolves. Protect kindred. Kill the intruder.

The sound of solid, heavy, booted feet stomping down weak, unsteady stairs rang loudly in the pair’s ears, and two hearts pounded hard in unison. Neither would be a challenge, so caged in one room and so unprepared, to an experienced wolf hunter. Together, they could kill a regular human or another lone wolf, but if the intruder were armed with steel, Sjarrin’s staff would be rendered useless and blood would pool on the cold floor.

Yellow and grey met briefly once again, just before a hand touched the outside of the rickety wooden door. Protect kindred.

The door swung open--the two lone wolves didn’t move for a split second, blinded by sudden torchlight and unable to identify the intruder.

"So there you are," a faintly familiar voice rumbled, thunder in its rhythm and arrogance in its words. "I’d wondered if you two fools survived the night." A pause, and the torch was thrust closer to the two--they withdrew, blinking, with a snarl from the white wolf. "I’ve already found three wolves dead on the streets. Oh, they didn’t follow your foolhardy examples, but they hadn’t reached shelter in time. Seems you two--"

Sjarrin’s eyes had finally begun to adjust to the light, and in a movement swifter than might have been expected, he pressed the rounded end of his staff against the intruder’s throat. Deft fingers relieved the huge man of his torch and passed it off to Fakhi, who held it as though she would use it as a weapon.

Then, there was the song of steel escaping a leather-lined sheath, and both wolves knew fear.

"Mange-brained dogs," the intruder growled, the leading edge of ferocity roughening his already-gravelly voice. "I’m not here to fight you." A loud clunk as the blunt edge of his longsword swiped the staff away from his throat. Then, Hashu sniffed the dank air of the room. "So you live here, eh?"

"Get out of my den," Sjarrin snarled liquidly, his entire frame tensed to attack again as he readied his staff.

Hashu looked at the male--saw his strength and speed, and the veiled expertise in the way he held his seemingly-useless weapon. His eyes switched to the silver-haired woman--he saw the grim little smile on her lips and her grip on the base of his torch, and he knew that she’d throw it down to plunge them all into darkness should fangs be further bared.

The hunter of hunters threw his head back and roared a laugh, sheathing his sword with a flourish. "You little fools," he chuckled, further amused by their warily surprised expressions. "I said that I would talk to you, and I do not lie. Sit down. You don’t seem to have else to do, eh?"

The big wolf’s dark eyes suddenly widened, then narrowed irately as the butt of the staff again half-closed his windpipe. "Get out of my den, hunter," Sjarrin growled, storm-hued eyes slitted. "We will not speak with you, and I will not tolerate you here. Leave."

Slowly, Hashu reached up one broad hand to close around the staff and ease the pressure on his throat. "Fine," he rumbled, thick brows furrowing. "Throw away your chance at a pack and a home. No fur off my flank." He paused, anger warring against a rare emotion of brotherhood, then gripped the staff more tightly as Sjarrin made to jerk it from his grasp. "One thing before I go, and this to her, not you, flea-infested cur," he growled. His dark eyes fell upon the silver-haired woman who stood so ready to fight him, fingers tight around the torch and golden eyes narrowed. Why do they not take this opportunity? Why doesn’t she?! "Crafe Inno, the wolf hunter... is still searching for you."

Fakhi sucked in a quick, shallow breath, face losing what color it had once had--but her voice was low and steady when she spoke. "How do you know?"

Hashu smiled grimly. "He approached me today and asked if I’d seen a white wolf, since I had the look of a wolf hunter. I told him the pickings had been slim in this city--had we been in a less well-lit street, I would have gutted him then and there." The mirthless expression faded from the man’s craggy features as he added, "This one, though, is one of the skilled ones. He wouldn’t be easy for even me to kill." Silently, he added, If he finds you, you won’t be able to survive, my beautiful wolf. "Yet another reason you should consider my offer. I have more important things to do than to target one sole wolf hunter when so many have infested this area. I am not paid to save the lives of outcasts, you know."

Sjarrin’s expression darkened, and he risked a glance at his fellow lone wolf. Her face betrayed no emotions, her lips set in a thin, uncompromising line. So proud... His gaze returned to Hashu, who met his eyes in a mutual understanding. She should come with me, the hunter’s look said.

Unexpectedly, the brown wolf leapt out and pushed the human mind aside. She is not yours, wolf-Sjarrin’s return look said, and he bared too-human teeth aggressively.

Hashu growled, a sound like the distant earth shaking apart as lions roared their fury.

Fakhi flicked her wrist and the torch gyrated wildly, shattering the tension between the two males with madly dancing shadows and waves of heat in a cold room. Brilliant yellow eyes locked onto Hashu’s strong face, and her voice was unwavering as the flame cast color and shadow across her sharp features. "I have my pride, hunter of hunters. That was my answer last night, and it remains my answer today."

Sjarrin grinned wolfishly at the other male, pride for his companion briefly overriding his worry for her life. "Now, hunter, leave my den," he muttered, giving his still-captured rod a brief jerk for emphasis.

Hashu slowly shook his head, dark hair swinging loosely with the motion, and released the butt of the staff. The tawny wolf took one step backwards, angled his weapon properly, and did not rise from his ready-to-fight stance. "Fine, you naïve little bitch," the big wolf snarled, but his voice was more tired and resigned than angry. "I’ll hear of your death in a few days, and I alone will remember that a wolf such as you once existed in this city. You fool! Remember this as you flee your inevitable death--I offered you life."

The amusement vanished from Sjarrin’s face, and he made as though to strike--but Hashu spun and seemed to fade into the shadows of the doorway and vanish up the stairs again before the other could actually attack. Startled, the blond man paused, then shut the door and set his staff against it, turning to squint past the torchlight at the white wolf’s emotionless face. Once again, her eyes rather than her lips spoke of veiled fear and of desperation and of pride, and it was all Sjarrin could do to nod mutely and understand.

After all, they were, both of them, lone wolves.



"If the hunter will not be shaken so easily, I will flee." Fakhi’s voice was cold and quiet as the two wolves sat cross-legged in the relative safety of Sjarrin’s den. "I am not just a city wolf." She paused, wrinkled her nose, and added, "I move between city and countryside as the need arises."

"A white wolf who hunts at night is easily seen by prey," the tawny wolf noted.

"Yes." Fakhi considered her next words. "I have traps that I set, and I have a hole in which to hide. I eat as much by hunting in the woods as I do by scavenging in the city. It is enough to keep me alive." Long, slim fingers tightened slightly on the hem of her thick, too-big vest. "And the hunter will not find me so easily in the country."

Sjarrin’s arms were folded across his thin chest; he was leaning back so that only his shoulderblades connected with the cold wall. "You are running a dangerous game, Fakhi," he said quietly, eyes downcast and aimed at the general vicinity of the woman’s ankles. "White wolves in shadows, whether the shadows be cast by buildings or by mountains, are more visible than all the rest." His gaze rose and briefly met hers, and he stifled a shiver at the cold clarity in her golden eyes. "I offer you what I can, but I have no food, and I have found none for the past two days." The admission of his own weakness hurt. The prospect of starvation hurt worse.

Fakhi nodded slowly, instincts warring with caution in her chest--then, she jerked her head to the side, as though to shatter her own thoughts against the walls of her skull. "You offered me your den for a night." She paused for several seconds, eyes half-lidded and breathing silent. Sjarrin was becoming accustomed to her long silences. "I... the wolf hunter is skilled. I know this by watching him. He may track me to this place."

Gold met silver, and Sjarrin shivered. Fakhi nodded as though she understood--But she has never seen her own eyes piercing her soul... "I do not want your kindness to be the cause of your death." How can she speak so calmly of such things?! Thoughts chasing their tails in dizzying circles, the young man said nothing, only watched her in silence.

A pale hand rose and tucked a silver ringlet of hair behind one ear, and the white wolf lowered her gaze. "Sjarrin, I have a shack in the woods. It is no den, but it isn’t on claimed territory, and it is safe. There are traps filled with small animals by now--I was last there on the full moon--and I will share it with you." Her eyes closed entirely and her lips thinned to a fine, hard line. "I am in your debt, and you are in danger. Come with me for a few days into the country, and I will give you food and shelter... as much as I can."

Sjarrin wondered at her words at the same time that he cursed her generosity. They were lone wolves! They had no food that they could afford to spare...! But he was starving, and she was right. His stomach had become an empty pit, and he was beginning to fancy that he could feel tiny teeth tear at him from the inside. If he did not eat soon, he would die, and the storm had drowned anything edible that he could have found in the trash.

He jerked slightly as he felt a cold hand upon his, and his eyes met hers again. "Sjarrin. You cannot be so proud that you die," here a tiny smile curved her lips, "although I am far from one to say such things."

The brown wolf exhaled gustily, and the white wolf could smell defeat along with a noticeable lack of food scents on his breath. "...I will hunt for myself while I am there," he murmured, and then had the grace to look offended when she laughed.

"You are a city wolf, and you will hunt in the black wooded nights?" Fakhi shook her head, a little light in her eyes finally shattering the ice in her gaze. "But you will come, and that will ease my debt to you." She paused, and the smile faded from their lips. Thank you, the white wolf said to the tawny wolf, and the tawny wolf again accepted gratitude with no words spoken.

Their gazes broke, and Fakhi took her hand from Sjarrin’s. His skin tingled. "I will take you there when the light grows dim, but we will not go as wolves. I will not leave a trail of white hairs for the hunter to follow."

Sjarrin bared his teeth in a predatory grin. "Even if he does, I cannot think of many men who would like to meet two wolves in the woods at night, bearing steel or not."

Fakhi laughed mirthlessly.



Sjarrin stopped as the dying rays of the sun lit his storm-hued eyes for the last time, filtered as they were through heavy branches weighed down by damp, dead leaves and rotting fruits. Summer was dying as swiftly as the sun, he felt, and he might not be a country wolf who puts faith in the cycle of the seasons, but he felt this death in his own veins. "Fakhi." His voice was a whisper of wind among the crinkled remains of once-green life, a tiny rivulet of rainwater rustling amidst the pebbles. The brown wolf was unperturbed at being immersed in nature’s death, but the man was afraid.

The grey-clothed woman paused in her wary yet secure gait and angled herself in a half-turn, casting her gaze over one bare, pale shoulder. "Sjarrin, fear not." The white wolf looked to the brown wolf, but she could not reach the man to comfort him.

"These lands are dying, Fakhi." He shivered convulsively, and his hands fisted around the edges of his worn brown clothing.

"Autumn is born of summer’s demise." Fakhi turned and closed the distance between them, one deft hand loosening his desperate grasp finger by finger. "You have never been in the country before," and there was no lifting of her soft voice to indicate a question. But he nodded anyway.

"I am purely a city wolf," Sjarrin admitted, and for the first time, he felt ashamed of his lifestyle, of the place in which he chose to dwell. The filthy, trash-littered grey streets, and the soot-smeared, starless sky, and the cold rooms, and the tattered blankets, and the gutters that overflowed with human waste and rotting food.

"What of the full moons?" Her voice remained neutral.

"I hid in my den and did not emerge."

Sjarrin stiffened in surprise when she embraced him, and the brown wolf snarled and rejected the woman’s pity, shoving at her lean but strong body with too-human arms until she backed away. The white wolf snarled back in the face of his denial, but the noise rang dull and lifeless against the gathering cold mists, and the woman’s face still held sorrow in its fine lines and dew-streaked planes.

"You will not hunt on your own here," Fakhi said simply, and she turned and continued with a high, cautious step. The tall male, shaggy blond hair slick with sweat and fog, shook himself off and followed her, subdued by his own victory, every nerve tingling as night set into the woods and the trees seemed to stretch higher than even the clouds that obscured the stars.

Many, many minutes passed, and a few miles passed with them, until Sjarrin froze stiff and growled raspily in his throat. Fakhi didn’t even pause this time. "It is a country pack’s territory boundary. The alpha male, Seyah, knows that I cross his lands. He does not care--my shack is not on his lands, and I do not hunt here. But do not linger."

"Fakhi..."

She turned, naught now but a tall, slim shadow amongst other shadows.

"I... I cannot stand this." He shuddered and drew closer to her, instinctively hunching and rising to walk on his toes--had he fur at that moment, he would be bristling, and had he a tail, it would be ‘tween his legs. "How much farther?"

"A few miles, no more." Her cold hands fell on his, and he took comfort from her presence. But, with no more light to truly see, the white wolf could not speak with the brown wolf through eyes alone. "We could transform. It might be better for you that way. And we would reach my shack sooner on strong paws than on bare feet."

Fakhi felt Sjarrin kneel, and she knelt with him, dampness of the earth soaking through her thin leggings at the patched knees. He swiftly removed the pouch from his belt, set it on the ground, and shucked his clothing with more speed than a confident country wolf would have bothered to use. The woman facing him did the same, balling up the green blanket that she had worn about her waist and placing that with her clothing in the ample sack. Sjarrin tied the pouch shut, shivering already at the night’s chill touch on his vulnerable flesh, and swallowed the whimper that rose in his throat. "I am coming to hate the woods already," he whispered.

"You will not hate them for much longer," she replied, and he could barely see muted moonlight add a gleam to the ringlets of silver hair that pooled around her shadowed face as she looked downwards. Then, he watched in half-numb awe as the silver straightened and shortened and thickened and whitened, and a proud white muzzle replaced the fine features, and the rip and crunch of rending muscle and crumbling bone were unnerving to hear with unchanging ears. There stood a white wolf where a pale woman had been, and Sjarrin was stunned, for he had never before witnessed the transformation of another, not even his red-haired acquaintance from the lone wolf hidey-hole.

The wolf nudged his high cheekbone with a wet nose, and he realized that he should begin his own change, but no, it had already begun and a muzzle was emerging and so was thick, dry, gloriously warm fur and ohh, the night was no longer terrifying but safe and beautiful.

The tawny-furred, brown-legged wolf threw back his powerful muzzle and let loose a howl that cried his wonder and fear and very soul to the world, and as a second, higher voice joined his in that sacred song, the night embraced them both with arms of wind and mist.

Ghost, the man thought when his vision finally fell from the half-circle of moon and landed upon the white wolf, but the brown wolf thought huntmate and was pleased. All at once, Sjarrin found he had much he wished to say to her, and he touched her nose with his to catch her attention and anchor it to him.

Deep yellow eyes met those of fog-grey in the darkness, and the wolves understood each other perfectly.