I take a swig from my water bottle. I could just be dehydrated, causing me to consider these delirious ideas. If I let the monster in, would he ever leave? Or would he scrounge for every morsel?
The spinning hamsters inside my head are disrupted by a novel smell, one that reeks of beasts.
Outside the tent I hear rustling, coordinated padding across the pine needles. Too light to be human feet and there’s many of them. Too gentle for a bear, in these woods it has to be timberwolves. A pack looking for their next meal.
Boy, are they going to be disappointed when they find out there’s not much blubber on me, just lean muscle.
Fuck Austin, there are literal wolves outside your tent, now is not the time for your stupid humor.
I slow my breathing, trying to gather my composure, except my pulse is galloping a million beats per minute—like a wildebeest trying to outrun a jackal.
Fear begins to set in, and all I have for my last supper is a peanut-free granola bar. Fuck me.
Sweat beads from every pore, plopping down from my armpits. Then I hear the growl. A primal, bone grinding sound and unmistakable. Must be the alpha wolf, sniffing for weakness. It wouldn’ttake him long to find the lukewarm pile of it inside the tent, cuddling its sleeping bag like a bitch.
But what else could I do besides pray mercifully for the first time in my life? I bet there’s four or five of them circling the tent, eager to sate their rumbling tummies. Even if it is only one, I didn't exactly come equipped to slay wolves of the forest. It would be impossible to outrun them, even climb a tree. I’ve never done that before in my life and I don’t think I’ll magically pick up the talent in the nanosecond before they shred my ass to pieces.
I’m sorry Charlie. God, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have run away. I should have had the balls to tell you the truth about your brother, how much I wanted his disgusting dick, that I was over your sweetness. Tired of your sugar-sweet devotion that was giving me cavities, bordering on a root canal.
So now here I am, ready to meet an early grave, like the world’s worst camper. No eulogy or priest to bid me farewell, just a wolf’s snout gnawing at my thighs like a drumstick. A fitting exit for a coward. But I digress.
Maybe they’ll write a tribute to me in the front page of the newspaper:Pro wide receiver, son of Head Coach Brad Schmidt, mauled to death in a rare wolf pack attack. Sources say he was found zipped inside his sleeping bag resembling a koala clinging to its last patch of eucalyptus.
That would be quite a legacy to leave behind. Years of bruises, sweat, and tears culminating in a feast for the wolves. An ending that would surely make Drew snicker, while Charlie drowns the city of Minneapolis with his tears, filling all of the lakes to the brim.
Who would be a better lover, a silent lethal man that could penetrate your last defense with a glance or a golden charmer who’s ears are open for every minor gripe?
What a pathetic last thought.Maybe I deserve this.
I hear the wolves treading closer, ready to tear down the thin wall that stands between us. Their vicious growls increasing in volume, ravenous groans reverberating against the nylon, sending shivers through the shards my soul.
If only I would have climbed in the passenger seat, tasted Drew’s lips, allowing his venom to seep into my blood—I would live to see tomorrow. See another sunset, or Jackson’s smart-ass grin. Anything but the end, especially one ensured to be full of pain as they rip into my flesh, their sharp canines keen for every drop of my blood.
I hear a rip as one of the wolves paws at the tent with their sharpened claws, refusing to wait a second longer, their snarls more terrifying than ever. The muscles of my heart are galloping, cardiac fibers preparing to tear from the stress. That would be an infinitely more merciful way to go, than to embrace those snarling razors.
My lungs inhale one last surrendering breath as the pristine amber eyes meet mine, pointed ears welcoming themselves inside, irises wild and primal. All they see is helpless prey and a dinner buffet. Probably wonderingwhat a lucky treat we’ve stumbled upon.
Then a yelp breaks the chorus of the primal growls, the rattle of a gunshot follows, then another, followed by desperate whines from a wolf's snout. The amber-eyed beast withdraws from the tent, but not before offering me a menacing glare, realizing it has lost its free meal ticket.
I whisk in a breath of brisk air, wind twirling inside the tent, a wave of relief admonishing over me.
Who fired those shots? Is it going to be a more devious predator, more starving than the timberwolves? Or maybe it is a good Samaritan out hunting these woods.
I stay still, frozen as a stone sculpture. My ears pick up plods of sinister feet rambling towards me, each step growing in its intensity with no attempt of deception, the opposite in fact. They want me to hear them.
It must be Drew.
Before I realize it, he’s poking his head in the gash, his dark eyes ripping me apart, before his lips part. “You stupid boy.” He shakes his head, setting the rifle down. “You were on the verge of death, about to be ripped to ribbons by a pack of bloody wolves.”
I open my lips to speak—
“That’s okay, you don’t have to thank me. I would’ve shot them sooner, but I was enjoying them circle the tent, imagining how much you must be shitting your trousers, praying for the mercy of your savior.” He licks his lips, rolling up his sleeves to reveal his snakes. “You prayed, and I answered Lover Boy.”
Gosh, he is fucking full of himself. I can’t believe he would let these wolves gash my tent, they could have mauled me for fucks sakes. But the way his tongue smashes against those lips, full and heavy, prepared to do some damage.
How could I say no to myKing?
“Thank you, King,” I whisper, a strange mix of guilt and indulgence sparking inside my brain. It feels incredible to say it, like thesensation of watching the bombastic fireworks on fourth of July, but pair that with exquisite springs of pleasure rising in your cock. The shame melting away from my conscious as I let myself dissolve in his pitch-black pupils.
