Title-- Lone Wolves
Rating and Warnings-- PG for nongraphic nudity; warnings include said fanservice 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. No names are mentioned in this bit, though. Also cameo'd is a red-haired male whose shidbit is here. Hashu is a key player in the Denaith Series.
Summary and Notes-- This is the first 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.


Wolves might never tire, a black-haired man thought to himself as he ran steadily down the rain-slick and night-darkened city streets, a grim little smile on his lips, but neither do wolf hunters. The incredibly fierce thunderstorm that had plagued the city for the entire day let loose an ear-shattering roar of thunder, and the wind picked up and howled like captured wolves being burned alive.

After all, the man knew the sound well.

Cloaked in a black parka that glistened wetly when few and far-between oil lamps cast spontaneous light upon its shiny surface, the wolf hunter turned corners upon corners, knowing exactly how pursued, frantic wolves try to lose hunters. And, occasionally, a few white hairs caught on a rough brick or floating in a grimy puddle verified his course.

Crafe Inno knew werewolves inside and out--literally. He had discovered, captured, and killed more of the abominations than he could count on all his fingers; he was one of the finest hunters in the region (and he fancied himself one of the best in Denaith itself).

He ran on, muscular legs propelling him in a mile-eating lope, which the wolves themselves also used--it didn't occur to him that such a gait was more bestial than manlike. The cold rain pelted him harshly in wind-driven torrents, and the lightning burned overhead like ribbons of heavenly flame, and Crafe Inno smiled coldly into the night.



The wolf trailed the hunter silently, sopping once-white fur plastered to its long-legged, powerful, skinny frame, slick with the soot and grime that cities produce. Golden eyes, shadowed by cold and apprehension and weariness, reflected no light, for the wolf allowed no light to fall upon her one-hundred-fifty-pound frame--she kept to the shadows and to the rain, invisible without fire and open spaces to betray her. She had outrun the wolf hunter more than an hour ago and had circled back to make sure that he kept to her misleading trail.

He must be one of the over-confident ones, the woman in her thought--the wolf in her knew the hunter for naught but a fool, albeit a dangerous one. The werewolf had bested the human in this game of life and death, at least for now.

The man, dark strands of short-cropped hair slicked with rain to his forehead and rivulets of water running down his strong-featured face, paused only briefly to finger a tuft of white fur caught on a crumbling block on the side of an old, unkempt building. An icy smile set on his lips, which hid from the world under a thick black moustache, he kicked into a steady run again and turned the corner.

The wolf stopped once the hunter took the third planted clue on her false path, panting and shivering. She was tired, and though it was summer, she might well catch ill on such a vicious night in concrete hidey-holes, so wet and cold. But the slums of the city were near (for a wolf, who would run miles a night), and they were a refuge to all lone wolves, offering them safety and a place to hide--things that a packless wolf desired even more than food itself. Alone in the city, unique in and of itself, a ramshackle building offered shelter to lone wolves in particular, and no human had ever found it--and lived to tell the tale.

She would go there, and she would sleep.

The wolf turned, huge paws splashing in the soot-swirled puddles, and forced her bulk into a cautious trot, staying in the deepest shadows and using the most ill-reputed areas and streets and alleys to avoid humans, who wouldn't be out in such places on such a night. Above her, the thunderstorm worsened.



The sounds of shattering bones and ripping tendons were drowned out by another crash of the sky, and a woman stood where a wolf so recently crouched. Water was cascading down her pale skin even before she stepped out from under the gutters and into the downpour, but there were no torches or oil lamps to illuminate her shivering, naked body in this part of the city. Head high and steps steady, despite her exhaustion, she crossed the pitted cobblestone street and pushed open the shadow-hidden door that led to her one and only refuge. She slipped inside and shut the heavy wooden door behind her to keep out the sheets of rain that the wind so viciously hunted, and to keep in the light and warmth.

The woman turned around to face the main room of the ex-inn--it was smoky and filthy and stank of too many beasts and their diseases, but there was fire and food, and upstairs, there might be a bed made of straw and moth-eaten blankets that she could claim as her own for the night. The wolves that glanced over or looked up at the sound of the door were all too thin--many were drunk, and some wore only tattered blankets. Upon seeing her nudity, they all ignored her, secure in the fact that she was wolf and not man. No human walked the night streets without clothing.

The owner of the building rose from his table near the door and handed her a similarly ragged blanket; the woman took it and wrapped it tightly about her tall, lean frame. Shivering, she gave him a nod and secluded herself in a warm but dark corner, drawing her knees up and encircling her legs with one arm while the other clutched the precious cloth to her breasts. She refused to take a seat near a wolf whose hair was ratty with mange and whose skin crawled with fleas--a lone wolf she may be, but a prideless one she is not.

Several minutes passed, and the cold droplets of water on her skin dried in the heat of the burning fires, and the blue tinge faded from her fair skin. Her rain-cleansed hair hung in damp silver ringlets, pale and glistening like fine jewelry against the rough green blanket that barely afforded her decency. It didn't matter if she was covered, shouldn't matter amongst kin, but she trusted none of these half-starved, half-mad beasts who shared her niche in life.

The woman exhaled silently, pronounced cheekbone pressed to her blanketed shoulder--then pricked both too-human ears and fastened her amber gaze on the wooden door.

The thunder rattled the thin wooden floor planks as the door swung open, and the glow of cloud-smeared lightning silhouetted a tall, broad-shouldered man whose expansive--and likely expensive--cloak billowed in the stormwind.

For a moment, both wolf and woman were terrified that the hunter had been too smart for her trick and had found her. This was the only lone-wolf refuge still safe in the city...

But the man shut the door behind him, and when the barkeep thrust a torch closer, the stranger's eyes reflected the light with a dark shine. The barkeep nodded his recognition of kin, and the man grinned wolfishly with even white teeth.

"I am Hashu, hunter of hunters," the big man announced in a loud voice, and every wolf in the room looked 'round to get a glimpse of one of the few wolves who hunted those humans who hunted wolves. "I am employed by a city alpha who has instructed me to find a few lone wolves to hunt with me for a time. Should they survive, they would be given omega rank in his pack, with potential to earn subordinate status, or a trial of omega in a much more uncouth country pack." Hashu chuckled in a voice as deep and thick as the thunder itself. "Come and talk with me, each of you in this room, and I will see if any are worthy of such an opportunity."

The silver-haired woman curled her lip in a silent snarl, self-pride highly offended by his presumptuous commanding of those who suffered no alpha--but almost all of the wolves scrambled to their feet and crowded around the hunter of hunters like pups around a fresh kill. The woman cast her gaze around the room, feeling her skin burn with disdain and scorn, and only caught the eyes of two others--only those three together had not moved. The two men also exchanged glances, both wearing expressions of high annoyance and offended anger.

Hashu's deep, superior voice broke through the babble of the lone wolves: "You three, I will speak with you as well." One of the men, blond-haired but well-tanned, growled and flashed too-human teeth menacingly at the big hunter. Hashu simply laughed. "If you'd rather not protect your kin and try to earn yourself a pack, then leave," and he gestured mockingly to the sturdy wooden door that kept the storm from the wolves.

The two still-seated men didn't move, but the woman rose with tired grace and, tightening her grip on her rag-edged blanket, padded towards the door. She paused, hand hovering over the doorknob, when the sky outside split apart with the loudest crash of thunder yet and the entire building shook with fear. Then, she cracked open the door--the wind screamed through the slit and cast her blanket back so that it billowed like a cape, only held to her collarbone by one strong hand.

Hashu's dark eyes widened slightly and he took one step towards the woman, laughter gone from his face. "Hold it, wolf," he warned. "You'll die out there on a night like this." And he stopped when he saw the rage that burned coldly in her eyes as she looked over at him, the wind coating her nude body with frigid rain and drawing a pool of water onto the floor, never letting the blanket again settle against her leanly muscular body. This is no ordinary lone wolf, he swore to himself.

"I have my pride, hunter of hunters," she snapped, yellow eyes narrowing, and she stepped into the storm and closed the door behind her.



And my pride will be the end of me, the woman groused to herself as she forged ahead in the wind and driving rain, already shivering again. The rough blanket was swiftly soaked and her skin soon after--her hair had never even dried--and the storm raging far above showed no sign of lessening. The warmth that the fires had given was drawn from her body by the night, and as she walked barefoot and wolf-like down the unlit streets, she tried to recall a decent place in the slums in which to stay until morning.

She found a black corner in an alley and knelt, willing her strong, tired bones to shatter and rebuild and her sculpted, weary muscles to shred and reform. The change was slow and when a white wolf emerged from the alleyway with a green blanket draped over her back, a slow ache lingered. She didn't have enough strength to transform again without sleeping first--a bad situation to begin with, and the storm only made it worse. She needed a place to hide and sleep.

Broad paws splashed in puddles once more, the gait unsteady this time--then the wolf froze and snapped her head around and pricked her ears up, gold eyes intent on the corner that she had just turned. The faint noise of steps in the rainwater was overshadowed by the thunder and rain itself, but the sound of pursuit stood out from nature's fury to one so wary.

The white wolf shrank into the shadows and silently bared her long fangs, ears flattening wetly to her skull, and waited.

A dark wolf-shaped shadow slinked into view, ears and muzzle angled directly at her--the lightning flashed and revealed a light brown wolf whose legs and muzzle were darker in hue than the rest of its sopping pelt. A small sack made from a parka dangled from its neck by a cord, and for a moment, the white wolf wondered at this one's recklessness in so clearly stating itself a werewolf and not just a stray dog--then, its size sank in. Both she and the brown wolf were far larger and more feral in appearance than any street dog or normal wolf, who wouldn't be in the city in the first place. There was no point in abandoning clothing to hide a fact that was written in every strong line of the stranger's thin but healthy lupine body.

She sniffed the wind and rain, and when the brown wolf took a step forward and the lightning flashed again, woman and wolf came together in the snap of recognition. This wolf was the blond man from the hide-out who had growled at the hunter of hunters.

So she wasn't the only pride-mad fool.

The brown wolf must have realized that she identified him, for he trotted up to her and touched his muzzle to hers, warily but with genuine intents. A sign of friendship, of tentative trust, of allies.

She had never before been offered such a gesture.

Then, the brown wolf nosed her powerful shoulder and tossed his head forward, then trotted into the streets again with far more ease than that with which she had previously moved. The white wolf followed, plumed tail low but head forcedly level and golden eyes alert, soaked blanket weighing unusually heavy on her strong back for its small size--the edges barely brushed the ground, and she stood just over three feet at the shoulder (just a mite taller than the heavier-built male).

After seemingly hours of dodging through shadows and puddles larger than small ponds, the two wolves neared another section of the city, and the brown wolf stopped. He tossed his muzzle, dipped it low and lowered his ears, and then realized that his companion was far from accustomed to such signals. So he stepped close and set his nose to hers and locked dark grey eyes with those of gold--and she hesitantly nodded, a jerky movement, when his point sank in like a dagger into her skull. Danger.

The brown wolf led the way through a network of clean, well-lit city streets, the flickering lamplight never highlighting a tawny-chocolate pelt, though it illumed ashed white fur on occasion. Then, once the covered oil lamps became fewer and dimmer, both wolves breathed a sigh of relief, and the brown broke into a swift trot. The white wolf was hard-pressed to keep up, exhaustion plaguing her muscles and tugging at her paws.

Soon, though, the brown wolf stopped at an uninhabited old building that was, quite literally, falling apart where it stood. The storm had not been kind to it, and pieces of roof and windows and walls littered the nearby streets. Picking a path around the debris, the brown wolf led the white into a small hole in the first floor and then down a flight of rickety stairs into a stone-floored basement.

The male's scent was almost overpowering in the enclosed space, and the white wolf realized that he had stayed here for quite some time, to judge by the accumulated trash of living and the ratty nest of blankets in the corner. She was in a den for the first time, and she wondered at how it would feel to have even such a semblance of a home.

The brown wolf stepped into a corner opposite his nest, shook off vigorously, then padded over to the blankets. The female dragged her own blanket off her back and left it rumpled in a sopping pile of green cloth against the stone wall, then she also shook off far from the dry pile of fabric.

The other wolf was already curled in a tight ball on his nest of blankets when the white wolf padded over to him, and she lay next to him and tried to ignore the odd feeling of pelt touching pelt in companionable, if damp, warmth. He wriggled closer and rested his proud, powerful muzzle on her forepaws, eyes already closed and body half-gone to sleep. She looked down at him for a moment, then surrendered to exhaustion and gently laid her muzzle on his thickly-furred neck.

The darkness of the hidden room was soon replaced by the blackness of deep sleep.