Hunted by a Wifwolf

It was all familiar.
The sound of crackling ice in the river.
The light of the moon just waning from full.
His breath pluming into the crisp winter air.
A melancholy and lonely heart.
He stood by the edge of the river and breathed it all in; somehow comforting and cozy despite the hollow he felt in his chest.
Maybe it was comfort of the familiar. This behavior had almost become a ritual. There was never any answer, but when he howled, he let go of some of it all. And his heart felt a little lighter.
He breathed in, deeply, filling his chest as full as it would withstand. Then he pushed the air out, hard, from deep in his belly, and made it a howl. It was a long and lonely sound, carrying the weight of his melancholy and isolation.
There was never any answer. But at least the scenery was beautiful, in the way of stark winter things.
The ice crackled, the moon shone, his breath made ephemeral shapes as it drifted into the formless start speckled sky.
He howled again.

And an answer came.
A howl. Higher pitched. And not far.

Confusion interrupted his solitary ritual.
Was it an animal? It didn't sound like a dog or a wolf really. It sounded like him, like an imitation of the real thing.
Was a person answering him? Speaking their loneliness into the night as well? Giving testament of their feelings into a witnessless winter evening?
Except there was a witness now.

Curiousity moved him, and he howled again. But it was no note of melancholy.
There was hope in it, hope to hear an answer again. Hope to speak to a person that could understand this.

And an answer did come. Closer than before. An answer that said "yes, I am here. Call again and I will come." without words.

Excitement. Tempered joy at the thought of the possibilities. Feelings made manifest in his call. A wordless desire to meet the other howler broadcast into the night.

Call and answer.
Call and answer.

And then a shape moved along the shoreline, up the bank, towards him. She, definately a she, there was no mistake with the silhouette; gave a quite little howl in greeting.

He finally used words. "Hi."
"Hello."

Her voice was rough, and carried an accent he could not place. A ponytail tried fruitlessly to contain a cascade of hair that spilled past her shoulders. He couldn't make out colors in the pale light of the moon, but he thought that hair must be red, as the only people he'd seen with skin as pale as hers were redheads.

She held out a pale hand "Jennifer"
He took it, shook, and was surprised by just how warm it was, compared to his own cold fingers. "Nate"
"You sound lonely."
"Yeah. You could say that. But less so now. Never thought I'd meet somebody this way."
"Life is full of all kinds of surprises. So, you just come out here to howl?"
Out of habit he was hesitant to answer. He always figured folks would think him looney for howling into the night. But then he reminded himself he was talking to somebody who had been doing the same. "Mostly. The scenery is nice. I feel better after. Not less lonely, but better though. Not sure how that works honestly."
She made a sound, something like a chuckle or a suppressed laugh. "Oh, I know lonely Nate. Doesn't really matter how it works though, so long as that hole in your chest doesn't feel like it's sucking so hard on the rest of you. Right?"

Yeah, she definately knew lonely. "Yeah. That. How about you? You come out here just to howl?"
She turned a bit and the moon finally lit her face well. It was unusual, not unattractive, but it was sharp for a woman. "Among other things. I enjoy hunting." Her hands went to the hem of her hoodie and pulled it off over her head, revealing the lack of any clothing beneath. Alabaster skin and the light orbs of small but prominent breasts shone in the night. "You should start running Nate. I enjoy the chase."

"What??"

The sound was just as disturbing as the unnatural movement of her body. Wet meat tearing and the crackling of shifting/breaking/reforming bones drowned out the ice on the river. Bulges that were just wrong slid along under her skin as her body changed itself in front of him. Pale fur almost exploded out of her skin as her skull elongated and flattened, pushing out a muzzle.

They call it a fight or flight reflex. But there's a third response that gets overlooked because the other two are so common: freeze. And that's what Nate did, freeze to the spot, unable to tear his senses away from the phenomenon unfolding in front of him, unable to believe what was clearly happening, unable to wrap his mind around it. Until there was a wolf where once a woman stood, and the animal growled at him. Finally, flight took hold and he ran.

Adrenaline surged, and despite the light his feet found purchase with every stride. He ran, faster than he thought he could. His lungs burned with effort and cold air. He ran for his car, for safety, for escape. He never heard anything following him.

His car was in sight. His fingers found his keys. And then, as if from nowhere, a wolf was between him and salvation. He skid to a stop. Fell on his ass. Recovered. Got up and ran with only the thought of getting away left.

Up a trail.
The wolf.
Off the trail and down the side of the hillock.
The wolf.
Back to the river and down stream.
The wolf.
He ran until his legs gave out, his chest was on fire, and his heart felt like it was going to explode. He could see his car. He couldn't lift himself up to take even another step towards it. He heard that aweful sound again, of shredding meat and grinding bones.

Jennifer stood over him. Naked. Beautiful. Terrifying. She squatted down next to him, wrapped a hot hand around his throat and squeezed a bit, just enough to let him know it was happening. "I fucking love the chase Nate." She wasn't even breathing hard. Her other hand went to his pants, pulled them down and freed his erection. She stroked it. "And I goddamn love a fear boner."

He tried to push her off of him, to roll away, get to the car, escape. But she just giggled and applied pressure to his throat, cutting off his air. "Don't fight it baby. It's gonna happen."

She straddled his hips, mounted him, used him like a dildo without letting him breath. Whatever strength he had left he put into trying to pry her hand off his neck. But even if he hadn't been exhausted and oxygen starved her grip was like iron. He'd never be able to move it.

She rode him until she howled out her pleasure. He had no idea if he came, or anything else his body did at that point, he was almost unconscious, still unable to breath because of her hand at his neck. And then it was gone and he gasped, coughed, gasped some more as his abused lungs tried to revive the rest of his aching body.

He had no idea how long he layed on the cold ground, just trying to find the strength to move again. Every muscle burned when he told it to do something. But at least they were listening again. He pulled up his pants. Rolled over, tried to get on his feet. He made it most of the way and almost fell over. Strong hands stopped his downward trajectory, kept him upright until he was steady. Hot hands. Jennifer's hands. He froze again.

She gigled, and carried him to his car, made sure he got inside. Before she closed the door she nibbled his earlobe and whispered to him, her voice hot and husky with unspent desire. "That was a lot of fun Nate. Come back. Make me less lonely."