Chapter 1: Killing
Tristan and the other wolves were trying to scatter the tail-end of the flock of sheep – not so easy to do, especially with the big rams around. They kept hollering at the young ones to head back to the main flock – which sheep are wont to do anyway – and no wolf in his or her right mind wanted to tangle with a ram. Luckily, one of the lamb-boys didn't seem to listen too well, and kept veering closer and closer to the edge of the wood. Tristan decided that that one would be his kill, so he split off from the team-work of the pack to pursue the lamb on his own.
The kid was a pretty fast turner – but he was too young to be confident about which way to turn, and when, so Tristan kept getting closer and closer as they zig-zagged near the edge of the meadow. Eventually the lamb-boy panicked and went into the woods – abandoning hope of getting back to the flock altogether.
It was stalking time, now. Good. Tristan liked to stalk, and was good at it. He entered the wood.
It wasn't hard to find him – sheep have no idea how to behave in woods – and this one was trampling through leaves and bushes, making all kinds of noise. About the only thing the kid wasn't doing was screaming. Like that would save him anyway. Yer in the woods now, kid. Not even the rams will come in here... it's wolf territory.
And Tristan needed a kill – he hadn't had one for a whole week now – the other predator kids were starting to sneer at him, suggesting that perhaps he should go see what's on the grass-eater line at the cafeteria at school. Or perhaps some carrion was more his speed – dead things don't move so fast.
Thing was – Tristan could move fast – as he proved weekly on the soccer field. He just wasn't all that interested in killing lately, for reasons he couldn't explain. He knew all about the Balance and the Law and all that... but somehow, it seemed like a shame to go around killing people just for food. There were animals for that. Didn't people have some sort of right to live? Well... not if they then proceeded to over-populate the Town... The arguments were old and true. Predators should kill, and prey should be killed. Get the Balance out of whack, and they'd both eventually starve to death.
There he was – over by that tree, trying to make himself small and invisible by curling up on the ground and not moving. A blob of bright white on the otherwise dark and drab forest floor. Didn't the boy know how much he stood out? What the hell was the use of being able to see color if they couldn't even manage to hide themselves appropriately?
Tristan pretended to saunter by, as if he were interested in something else, as if he hadn't seen the boy – that way the kid would stay there, and not run away. When he got right in front of him – he suddenly turned and lunged for the boy's throat. Too easy.
Sheep-boy – he was probably what, 10? 11? - tried to get up, but Tristan was too fast, and the sheer momentum of a 16 year old wolf rolled the lamb backwards. Tristan had his jaws around the other boy's throat before his back hit the ground.
But he didn't bite.
Oh, he would bite, sure... but there was no rush – sheep have virtually no defenses to speak of, especially not when they're that young. Tristan wanted to savor the kill, make it last. He wanted to remind himself why this was a good thing. And the boy was frozen in the terror of imminent death anyway, unable to move, unable to scream, unable to do anything. There was time to enjoy the moment.
The wolf could smell the fear, taste the oils in the boy's fur, feel the beating of the lamb's young heart as the arteries pulsed against Tristan's canine teeth. Teeth that would soon pierce those arteries, and then rip them out. All Tristan's senses were attuned to the boy now – he could feel the boy's body heat. He was set for the kill, and it felt good.
Actually, it felt real good. Actually, it felt delicious. The boy would be delicious. When eaten, that is. After the kill.
No. The boy was delicious now. After the kill, the boy would be - meat. Just meat. Tristan opened his jaws and removed his mouth from the lamb's throat. He stared down at his victim, vulnerable beneath him, pinned. He was pretty cute, for a sheep. Well, most sheep were pretty cute – all that short white fur, the big eyes, the adorable little puppy-like snouts. But this one was striking Tristan as especially... pretty. And he sure smelled good. And felt good. And tasted -
Then the boy, his death-shock wearing off, turned his head and opened his eyes, looking up into Tristan's own.
To Tristan, those eyes only looked uncommonly bright – he couldn't see that they were blue. And those bright eyes seemed to say - "I'm your kill – go ahead and take me."
Prey were weird like that – how they were so ready and willing to die. Like they knew they had to. Like they thought it was right. Tristan had never understood how anyone could be like that... Well, of course not – he was a wolf, after all. The predator. And lamb-boy was his. His to kill – or not. His to... do with as he pleased. That was his right, by Law.
And what would please him, right now, was this boy's body. Alive and warm and, yes, helpless. The wolf's arms were pinning the boy's legs back as they stared into each other's eyes. The lamb's arms were uselessly trying to push on Tristan's chest – but those arms were just too young and too weak. Tristan wasn't about to budge. Tristan had an erection.
Tristan wanted to fuck him.
The boy struggled, but only for a little while, until he figured out what was going to happen. Then he seemed to relax, resigning himself to it, even pivoting his hips up a little more, but the wolf didn't see that. His eyes were staying locked with the lamb's, for some reason. Those big, bright eyes... When Tristan entered him, the boy had barely let out a whine. When Tristan came – so did he, and their eyes were still locked together. As he panted, spent, Tristan's saliva dripped down into the lamb's open mouth.
It had been... good. It had been... beyond words. But... why? But...
But it was Wrong! A sheep. A prey. Tristan knew it was Wrong: Law #4: Never sex with anyone too different from yourself. That they were both male was of no consequence – people did that all the time. But to cross the species line... that was unforgivable. Not just a different species – but a prey species! Two laws broken. And even if they had been the same species, this boy was... well, just a boy! A kid! Three laws. More than enough to be branded a Criminal and kicked out of the Town.
Well, no matter, no one would ever know. The boy wasn't going to be telling anyone what had happened from inside Tristan's stomach, now was he? And besides... the boy had been irresistible. Or maybe the situation was making him irresistible. Look at him... who could not want to screw a kid this... this... whatever.
Now it was time, though. Now it was time to finish it. The Law required it – as did his own guilt.
That's when the boy broke The Law for himself, and spoke: "M-my name's T-Taylor..."
He'd said his name. It was bad enough that he spoke at all, but to say his name? To his predator? Tristan was taken aback for a moment, then he realized that the boy probably didn't know The Law that well, at his age. Besides, as long as he didn't speak – he still had the right to kill.
Kill this... boy. The lamb's arms weren't pushing against the wolf's chest anymore – they were around his shoulders. Holding onto him. When did that happen? And those eyes were still looking into his.
Kill this boy? Tristan was still inside him! Connected to him... Tristan had gotten off on – and in, and with - him! How could he kill the boy now? You can't kill someone when you're inside them... He should...
He should get out of the lamb's body, is what he should do. Except... he didn't want to. At all.
"Tristan." he said.