by Zoe Perdita
The big wolf knelt down and slipped the sweats over Wild’s dangling feet, his large hands gentle as they guided the material over the cast. The little wolf stared at the edge of the man’s cheek, smoothly shaven, and the little lines of age around his eyes. The shock of pale blond hair looked just like moonlight falling through the forest’s canopy on a night in the dead of winter – all silvery and cold.
“Scoot up,” the changeling ordered, and Wild lifted himself as the man slid the sweats around his slender waist. “You’ll have to tie that. I don't have anything smaller at the moment, so they’re a little big.”
A little big was an understatement. The omega could go swimming in the sweats if he wanted. The man was a veritable giant compared to him, though Wild knew he’d grown over the last five years. He had to be taller than he was at thirteen!
He pulled the drawstring as tight as it would go and looped it into the only knot he could remember how to tie. Then he got briefly lost in the T-shirt, and the big wolf had to help him find the proper hole for his head and arms.
“I didn’t need clothes in the wild,” he muttered when he was finally dressed.
“You will need them here. Want me to carry you to breakfast or would you like to try the crutches?”
His cheeks heated again at the idea of being pressed against the man’s muscular chest. But he shook his head. “Crutches. I can do it on my own.”
The wolf raised an eyebrow; his wide set eyes boring into Wild for a long moment before he said anything. “I suppose you’ve been doing a lot on your own.”
“Yeah. Everything.”
“Everything but freeing yourself from a wolf trap,” the man reminded him and handed the omega the crutches.
Wild’s eyes stung, and he took a deep breath. Pathetic. Useless. No. He’d survived this long. But now he was in this wolf’s debt – a changeling who might as well be the mightiest alpha he’d ever seen.
“You didn’t have to save me if you didn’t want to. I didn’t ask for your help.”
“No. You didn’t. I wonder what that says about me. You going to get a move on?”
The crutches dug into his armpits, and the clothes itched and weighed down every movement he tried to make. But he wasn’t asking for any help. Wild hobbled after the man all the way into the kitchen. Every step jarred his injured leg, and he bit his tongue to hold back the whimpers.
Caleb pulled out a chair for him, and the little omega collapsed into it, his fingers shaking as he set the crutches aside.
“You’re stubborn as all hell, aren’t you?”
“No! I’m just used to doing things on my own.”
The smell of cooked meat made Wild’s mouth water, and he stared at the pile of steak and eggs Caleb set in front of him.
“Well if you want, you can go back to the woods and take care of yourself on your own.”
The omega froze, his hand outstretched toward a large slab of venison. Did the big wolf mean it? Did he want Wild to leave? Probably. That’s how his pack felt too.
“I’ll leave if you want. I’ll find a way to survive out there without your help or anyone else’s,” he said, though his stomach rumbled.
Caleb sighed. “Shut up and eat your food. But you’d better tell me your story. You can start with your name, Whelp.”
The little wolf devoured a whole steak before he answered. “Wild,” he said around his final bite.
The man ate slowly, cutting his food with a knife and fork, and raised an eyebrow. “Your name is Wild, and you're a wild wolf?”
How did he explain it to the changeling? A man who never grew up in a pack? “It – I changed it when my pack kicked me out. I didn’t want the name they gave me, if they didn’t think I was good enough for their stupid pack in the first place.”
The man’s brow furrowed, little wrinkles marring his smooth forehead. “How long ago was that? And will you use a fork with the eggs. You’re getting food everywhere.”
Wild obliged. “About five years now.”
“Five years? Your pack kicked you out when you were just thirteen?”
Wild nodded, and the man’s eyes burned with a fire he hoped to never be on the other side of. “They said I was too weak to feed. But they were wrong! Look how far I’ve come in five years. I made it all the way from the Cascades. I like it better over here anyway. It stays cold longer, but I don’t mind. My coat is warm enough . . . usually.”
He’d never told anyone that before. Hadn’t spoken a word since his former pack abandoned him. Now this wolf, with the startlingly handsome face and icy eyes, got him to say everything he’d bottled up for years. Why?
The man’s jaw tensed, and he set his fork on the side of his plate and leaned his powerful elbows on the table. It creaked under the weight.
“What?” Wild asked. Was the man angry with him? Was he going to kick him out now that he knew the truth?
“And you think changelings aren’t proper wolves? I’ll take care of my kind – protect them – if they deserve it. Not like your pack. This is why I live alone. No good comes from that kind of mob mentality.”
Either the big wolf was being kind, or he was taking pity on Wild. He could stomach one but not the other. He glowered at the man. “I don’t need you to feel sorry for me. I can handle anything, even if I’m an omega. I’m not weak. And I’m not a whelp!”
For a moment, he thought the man would bare his great fangs, but his lips twisted into a smile instead. His pale eyes lit up. “If you say so. I still think you’re a whelp, but that doesn’t have a damn thing to do with being an omega. It’s on account of how young you are.”
Wild took a long drink of orange juice before he started on his next steak. “Eighteen isn’t that young. How old are you?”
A shadow fell over the man’s face. “Older than you, that’s for damn sure.”
Then he picked up his fork again, and the familiar twinge stirred inside Wild’s stomach. The wolf might be a changeling, but he was also right. His former pack shouldn’t have kicked him aside like that – proud wolves would never abandon a member to the forest.
But this wolf hadn’t done that. This wolf saved him. After years of being alone, he found someone who didn’t want to be rid of him immediately.
“Your name is Caleb, right?” he asked, and hated how light his voice got.
The man nodded. “Yeah.”
That was a nice, strong name – it suited him. “And you don’t have a pack at all?”
Caleb wiped his lips with a napkin. “No.”
“Never?”
The big wolf’s eyes flashed, and he pushed his plate aside. “Never. I’ve been alone for a long time, just like you.”
“What about the wolf who changed you?”
Caleb’s shoulders tensed, and he gritted his white teeth. “He’s dead, and we never were a pack. Are you finished?”
For a moment, it seemed like the big wolf was happy; then his face closed up like a door slamming shut. Wild grabbed the last steak and chewed while Caleb carried their plates to the sink.
“How do you hunt without a pack?”
The other wolf snorted. “I don’t need a pack to help me bring down big game. If you think I’m large now, wait until you see me transformed.”
“So you’re an alpha? I thought so!”
Caleb frowned and leaned against the sink, crossing his arms over his massive chest. “I’m not. Just like you’re no longer an omega.”
Wild stared. He was no longer an omega? But why? That didn’t make any sense!
“How come I’m not an omega any more?”
“Because you don’t have a pack, Whelp. Can’t be the lowest ranking wolf if you live on your own. Who are you ranked against?”
The little wolf opened his mouth to answer, then closed it because he didn’t know what to say. He’d never considered that before. Being an omega was embedded in his bones for as long as he could remember. He’d been an omega from the moment he was born. He was the smallest – the w
eakest – the runt of the whole pack. It was inevitable.
“What about while I’m here. Aren’t I the omega?”
Caleb ran his fingers through his fair hair. “No. We’re not a pack. I’m just helping you until you heal.”
For some reason, the words stabbed Wild in the heart – just like a hunter’s crossbow. Of course this wolf wouldn’t want anything to do with him once he healed. The man said he lived alone. He probably liked living that way. Wild should too. He’d been alone long enough. But being around someone was better, or maybe it was just Caleb that made it seem that way.
“So I have to leave once I’m healed?”
Pale eyebrows shot up the man’s forehead. “You want to stay?”
“I didn’t say that. I just want to know what’s going to happen. I can leave if that’s what you want.”
Why was he saying those things? Putting himself on the line like that? If the man shot him down, which he would, it’d only hurt worse. He should just focus on getting better and returning to the woods. Wolves and humans be damned!
Caleb’s lips thinned into a line and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “What the fuck am I doing?” he muttered under his breath. “Look. I’m not a charity. You have to work for your keep, and you can’t go living in the woods again. You’ve got to be human at least part of the time.”
Wild’s heart leapt into his throat. “What kind of work can I do? Dusting? Your house needs it.”
The man’s mouth quirked. “Damn. You don’t even have a high school diploma, do you?”
The little wolf shook his head.
“Dusting’s a start. If you want, you can help me with my business. I guess I could use an apprentice.”
“What business?”
“Hold your horses. Let me finish the dishes, and I’ll show you.”
After all that time alone, Wild never imagined anyone would ever take him in – especially another wolf. He watched the muscles on Caleb’s back move as he cleaned their dishes. The man’s shoulders were at least twice as broad as his own. His shirt was tucked into his jeans, his waist as narrow as his hips. And the pants did wonders for the man’s ass – it hugged them in all the right places.
Wild had never met a wolf that caught his attention like that. Static electricity rose across his skin, and his groin tingled when he studied the man’s powerful build.
“You don’t have a mate, do you?” he asked, suddenly curious. If the wolf didn’t have a mate maybe that’s why he felt this way.
Caleb’s shoulders tensed. “No. No mate.”
Wild bit back the words he wanted to say. The wolf’s musky scent tickled his nose, and he watched the man’s shoulders shift under his shirt as he scrubbed each dish clean.
When Caleb finally finished, he turned and pointed outside. “My workshop is back in the woods. I don’t think those crutches will do you much good in the mud.”
Wild glowered at him, but his stomach turned an acrobatic flip all the same. “So you have to carry me?”
The man sighed. “Only if you want to see my work.”
The little wolf pursed his lips. If his paws sunk into the rain-soaked ground, those crutches would be useless out there. “Fine,” he mumbled.
Caleb didn’t smile as he bent to gather Wild into his arms. His breath caught in his throat, and his heart beat just that much faster, his large hands tenderly gripping the smaller wolf.
Wild willed his cheeks to remain a normal color, but he knew they wouldn’t. Whenever the big wolf touched him it felt familiar and new, all at the same time.
The man trudged outside. His home was right on the side of the mountain. Maple, birch and ash, all sprouting new growth, stood interspersed with the larger pines and cedar. A little stream ran behind the home, its current quickened by the spring rains. A lean-to was pressed to the side of the cabin and reeked of deer blood. A smoke hut stood in a little clearing, and another area, where the trees opened to the sky above, was fenced off and cleared for a garden. Otherwise, the surrounding land looked like the rest of the woods, thick with ferns and moss.
Caleb trudged behind the cabin, mud staining the cuffs of his jeans. A wooden bridge stood over the creek, and he stepped across it. Rain slipped through the trees, dotting the big wolf’s pale hair so it sparkled. Wild fought the urge to nestle his head into the man’s welcoming chest.
Then Caleb sat him down in front of a building. An ancient yew hugged it, and without his heightened wolf senses, it’d be hard to see. It had wide, sliding doors, and Caleb dug into his pocket and unlocked the padlock holding them shut.
The scent of cut wood and sap flooded out as the other wolf opened the doors, and Wild squinted into the darkness right as light spilled over everything inside. The room was filled with tables, chairs and dressers in various states of completion. Two long workbenches were pushed into the walls, and the center of the room housed several huge saws with dangerously sharp blades.
“Furniture?” he asked and looked at the man’s massive arms and his strong, calloused hands as he hefted Wild back up and carried him inside the woodshop.
“Among other things. I’m a carpenter and a whittler. Think you can learn to do this?”
The little wolf stared at the smoothly carved tables and the intricate designs decorating the back of the chairs. How did he do fine work with such large hands?
No one ever asked if the smaller wolf could do something – they usually just assumed he couldn’t. But he’d proven them all wrong, for the most part. Looking at the beautiful things this wolf made, Wild nodded.
“Yes. I can,” the little wolf said, and set his jaw into a determined pout. If that’s what it took to earn his keep, he’d do it.
Wild’s leg healed over the next month. Caleb said something about werewolves having superior healing powers compared to normal humans, and the little wolf decided the man knew more about such matters than he did. He’d only ever been a wolf.
Caleb kept him as busy as he could with a knife and scraps of wood. The man worked in his woodshop, sweat beading on his brow, and Wild watched him with keen fascination. Would his own arms and chest ever grow so massive, or was Caleb simply built like that?
The man’s heady musk tickled his nose, and something stirred in the little wolf’s groin. It happened almost every time Caleb was near, and Wild wondered if the big wolf felt the same ache.
As they sat by the fire in the evening, the flames crackling and sending shadows crawling across the walls, the man taught him how to whittle. His breath blew across Wild’s cheek, his hand hovering above the little wolf’s nimble fingers, which adapted to the work well.
“Good. Now try to shave a little off the side. Not too hard. You want a smooth edge there.”
Wild stared at the man’s lips and took a deep breath as the knife slipped across the wood. Heat radiated off the big wolf, and a drop of sweat ran down Wild’s back. Any time the man got close to him, he could hardly breathe or think – the only thing he wanted was something he didn’t know how to ask for.
When Caleb’s chilly eyes caught his own, the big wolf stared at Wild for a moment before he backed up and sat in his own chair.
The little wolf frowned, and his chest welled and ached with disappointment. But what was he disappointed about? He didn’t know.
Caleb cooked every meal, but he roped Wild into helping him with simple things, like cutting vegetables or cracking eggs. At first, the big wolf did most of this in silence, but after the first week he started talking to Wild about things – from his woodworking to the spring garden preparations. He told the little wolf about his human neighbors and about the valley pack.
“A bunch of Russian brothers. It’s a good thing you didn’t run into them.”
After hearing about them, Wild agreed.
The man never skimped on food either, letting the little wolf eat his fill at each meal. It didn’t take long before Wild’s slender frame expanded, his muscles tightening as his leg healed. Once he was rid of the
cast, he’d hardly look like an omega at all.
Caleb taught him how to do human things he didn’t have a need for in the forest, like shaving his face at least every other day and washing his hands before he ate. Even when the little wolf messed up, the man was never impatient and never raised his voice, unlike Wild’s old pack. Finally, someone who thought he was worth something, and it was a changeling lone wolf, of all things.
Every evening was the same. After their nightly bathroom ritual, the big wolf helped him settle in bed. With the covers pulled over his chest and the dim light tinting everything yellow, Caleb took a long breath through his nose and patted Wild on the hand. The touch sent a jolt through his body – a shiver that made him long for something more.
It clicked into place one night, two weeks after he first met the big wolf. Caleb was his mate. He had to be – why else would Wild feel that way? He’d dismissed it at first since he’d avoided other wolves for so long. But this was different than even the slight crush he’d had on a human boy in his sixth grade science class – this was his body telling him not who he wanted, but who he needed.
“Call if you need anything during the night,” the man said and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Curling in bed, Wild wondered if it was his fault Caleb didn’t notice his scent – or maybe years of being alone meant he’d tuned it out. Maybe changeling senses weren’t as strong as those who were born as wolves. Or maybe Wild’s own senses were mistaken.
Was that possible?
Could he be mistaken about the most important part of his whole existence?
No. They were mates – the ache in his heart told him so.
When Dr. Richards came over to remove the cast at the end of the month, the pain was almost a memory. Wild thanked him; despite the fact the man was a were-rabbit. He felt strange, thanking something that could be his prey in animal form, but he did so regardless. Caleb probably expected it.