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When the tide swelled against the rocks and the frigid stars drew close, the wolf blood rose within him. Then the scents sang more sweetly. The muffled patter of a rabbit’s foot sounded like a thunder. And his magic ran hotter, warming the red blood in his veins.
A distant woman-kin of his had been the one to alter form and run with the wolves. She became pack, and when the child was born, it blended the traits of the wolf-sire and the human mother. Over the generations, the wolf-blood had dimmed but not disappeared. The magic clung to it, and in Merlin, the two blazed to life.
He looked human, but the villagers knew the truth of the matter, and whispered it round their fires as they cast uneasy glances towards Hunith’s home, perched on the very edge of the common. They drove him off with shouts and stones whenever he drew near their sheep pens or cows. And when howls split the night, they muttered angrily. Finally, during a long, harsh winter, when the wolves overcame their fear of fire and slipped into the village to steal ewes and rams, the villagers forced Merlin and his mother to leave. The wolf-blood took him for a moment, and he snapped and snarled, but his mother calmed him. They collected their few small belongings and set out into the night.
“I can make fire,” Merlin said as they halted at last, weary from trudging through the deep drifts. “But it won’t be enough.” He hung his head. “I’m sorry.”
“We’ll be all right,” his mother said. “We’ll go to Camelot. I know the physician there. He will help us.”
“But they burn sorcerers in Camelot,” he whispered, and fought down a howl of fear at the thought of flames licking his flesh.
“We’ll be careful,” his mother assured him. She hugged him tightly. “It will be all right.”
He smelled the scent the moment they drew within bow-shot of the walls of the city. Elusive, it tickled his nose. He wanted to search out the person who belonged to the scent and…claim them. As pack. As his own. Because the smell spoke of home and the hunt and the clean wash of earth after a rain and a warm closeness that hinted at other, half-desired things.
And then he found out to whom the scent belonged. Later, lying on the moldy straw in a cell, he wondered if the gods were laughing at him.
*
Nevertheless, a bond grew between him and the prince.
On the nights when the tide swelled and the stars drew down, he had to flee the castle for the forest. And there he scented the moonlight and let his magic course free and howled the name: Arthur. Letting the world know that the prince was his and that he would allow no other to claim him.
He hunted Arthur’s enemies.
He fought at Arthur’s side.
He made Arthur king.
And then Arthur discovered his secrets.
In that one, terrible moment his beloved scent changed, and the sharp, bitter smell of betrayal stung Merlin’s nose. Whining, he cowered on the ground.
“G-get out,” Arthur stammered, stumbling away. “Get out!”
Merlin ran.
*
He ran, but he couldn’t leave. So he haunted the forests outside the castle. Listening, watching, waiting. And every night he let his magic carry the howl out of his throat, singing up to the window where Arthur stood.
Until, on a night when the tide swelled and the stars drew near, Arthur stepped into the shadows of the forest.
He waited, quiet, and at last a slight figure appeared. Ragged and wild, but familiar for all that. Steadily, Arthur held out his hand, palm facing upwards.
Wary still, Merlin sniffed Arthur’s hand. It smelled of Arthur—the old scent he had followed for so long. The tang of betrayal was gone.
He pushed closer, nuzzling along Arthur’s neck now. His scent was intoxicating as always. He licked the edge of Arthur’s ear and nosed at his hair.
Arthur laughed. “Oh, Merlin,” he said and put a tentative hand on his shoulder, holding him back a little. “Forgive me?” he asked softly.
Merlin nodded, and then tried to crowd in close again. Arthur let him with another laugh. “You’re like a puppy,” he said, and then shivered a little, for Merlin’s breath was hot against his skin.
Merlin caught the shiver and felt an answering one crawl over his body. “Your smell. It calls to me,” he explained. He rested his head on Arthur’s shoulder, content for the moment to press little licks against his neck, wet and quick.
“Merlin,” Arthur said again, voice hoarse. “W-what are you doing?”
“It’s the wolf,” Merlin whispered, feeling hazy with want. “I’m sorry. You have to—have to leave, Arthur.” He couldn’t move himself, limbs heavy and torpid.
“The wolf,” Arthur replied softly, “is you.” He carded his fingers through Merlin’s hair. “I’m not afraid of you.”
Merlin’s hand crept through the laces of Arthur’s tunic. “You’re warm. I want…” He raised his head, managing to shake off the languor for a moment. “You’re my king. Always, Arthur. Always.”
Arthur’s hand shook when he pressed it over Merlin’s. “I know.” He paused and then added, “Can you smell what I want, Merlin?”
Merlin drew a deep breath. “Oh. Oh, it’s stronger. You—you want…” The wolf-blood frothed to a boil on the hot edge of that scent. A growl rumbled deep in his chest, and Arthur’s breath hitched before smoothing out again. “You want me to claim you.”
Arthur curled their fingers together. “I’m already yours.”
*
In Arthur’s bed, clothes stripped, half-crazy with the scent rising around him, Merlin fit careful teeth into Arthur’s shoulder. Pressure, and Arthur went limp under him, submitting. It soothed the wolf-blood, and Merlin relented, licking along his spine.
“M-Merlin.” Arthur’s voice trembled.
He slid his arm under Arthur’s chest and held them together, cheek against Arthur’s. “I have to get you ready for me,” he murmured. “Relaxed.” He suckled on Arthur’s earlobe, then nipped. “So you can take it.”
“You mean…?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, gods,” Arthur groaned. He panted into the pillow and reached a hand around, grasping and squeezing at Merlin’s arse. “You’re growing thick for me, aren’t you?”
Merlin whined, eager, rutting a little, showing him. Arthur groaned again and crooked his knee up, opening his legs.
When Merlin worked a finger in, Arthur made a noise high in his throat, and an answering howl yipped from Merlin.
Arthur choked down another noise. “You’ll bring the guards, if you keep that up.”
His magic flashed out, angry, and the wooden bar fell in place across the door. Then he eased in another finger and crooned to Arthur, a sing-song melody, half-wolf, half-witchery.
He found a place that made Arthur’s scent spike with arousal, so he stroked it, and Arthur writhed under him.
“Please, please,” Arthur begged.
Merlin bit Arthur’s neck lightly, holding on until Arthur whimpered and then fell silent, obedient.
“I’ll hurt you otherwise, if you’re not prepared,” Merlin whispered, slowly fitting in a third finger. He licked the red mark of his bite. “Soon. I’ll take you soon.” He kept fingering him, running his other hand down Arthur’s side, watching Arthur twitch restlessly, hair sticking sweaty to his forehead.
At last, he tugged on Arthur’s hips, urging him to his knees. He gave Arthur’s cock a hurried stroke, but the imperative to mate was overwhelming him. He guided his cockhead to Arthur’s heat and pushed. The well-oiled channel opened to him, and he slid deep. Grunting, he held Arthur still and started fucking.
Arthur scrambled at the sheets, resting his head on his arm and breathing out little “uh”s of sound each time Merlin’s cock pricked his pleasure. All those muscles, honed on the battlefield—he could take a hard fuck, and Merlin felt a sing of pride at his mate. So beautiful. So strong. In will and body.
When his knot began to swell, Merlin slowed his thrusts, nudging his cock deeper with little snaps of his hips. He pressed close, nuzzling at the crook of Arthur’s neck again. Arthur was making soft, distressed noises, trying to muffle them in the pillow.
“Shhhh,” Merlin hummed, letting a warm pulse of magic seep out of his skin and into Arthur’s, drawing away some of the pain. “Almost there.” The knot pushed in, locking him into Arthur’s body. “Ah, here, here it is,” he gasped, panting against Arthur’s back, almost insensate from the pleasure. “Here.” His cock pulsed in orgasm, come streaming out.
Arthur breathed out in little jerks, hiccups of bliss. His fingers clenched and relaxed each time come spurted into him from Merlin’s cock. With a clumsy hand, Merlin found his arousal, fondling it until Arthur crested, come soaking the sheet under them. It drew more of his seed from him, feeling Arthur clench around him. He gnawed lovingly at Arthur’s shoulder a moment and then let them sink down into the bed, still tied together.
Arthur turned his head for a kiss. “My wolf,” he murmured. “Although you’re really more of a puppy, Merlin,” he added and chuckled at Merlin’s affronted growl.
When the knot softened enough for Merlin to slip out, he scooted down, licking at where they had been joined, tasting his seed and Arthur’s sweat. Then he laid his head on Arthur’s stomach, letting Arthur run idle fingers through his hair.
“So all those times we went hunting, you were just pretending to be completely hopeless, weren’t you?” Arthur mused.
“Mmmmm—I’m much better at it than you,” Merlin said over a yawn.
“I doubt that,” Arthur challenged, and Merlin nipped at his fingers, chasing them up to his mouth for a kiss.