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The characters of the Southern Vampire Mysteries belong to Miss Charlaine Harris. No infringement on my part is intended. The characters on True Blood belong to Mr. Alan Ball. No infringement on my part is intended.
I have no BETA, editor, or other such charming person. All mistakes are my own.
This story is rated M.
Red: Chapter 1—Enter the Wolf
I have been called a lot of things: thief, murderer, rogue, villain, and my all time favorite being the lying, disruptive, no good underbelly of society.
Also, dirty, hairy, flea-ridden, fast on my feet and fast to get a woman into bed; taking my time with her once I get her legs wrapped around my waist.
The above, all true, I might add.
By trade I am a huntsman; tall, strong, agile. Fearless. I carry an axe with a sharp silver blade, numerous knives about my person, and a bow of yew that has been blessed by a priest with arrows that has been dipped in holy water. The menstrual blood of a virgin works best for the arrow head…maiden head…blood to blood…see the connection…but you know how rare those virgins are who cycle with the moon…precious gems they are and worth a king’s ransom to a huntsman or a vampire.
By day I hunt the horrifying and the unimaginable to these poor, backwards folk. I go with their blessings shouted from windows while they toss flowers at my feet and bid me to go with God and they have a marriageable age daughter if I return alive.
But on the night of a full moon I am an Alpha Were. That would be a Were-Wolf. Yes, I sniff my own butt and the butts of others. And maybe a crotch or two…and when I am wolf, I am the charmer and the ladies think I am a dog and when I sniff their crotch they tell me good boy while they try to push my head away. They also let me watch them while they bathe in the creek.
Another plus, I can lick my balls, something I cannot do as human, and pride myself on just how fast I can chase my own tail. I hold the record in this part of the mountains. I heard that there was a Were in Prague that is faster than me, but stories get stretched in the telling and who is buying the next round. Perhaps he is faster, but most assuredly, he is not bigger. When I pleasure my partner, she is always screaming about my size as she faints from her mind numbing orgasm. My sexual prowess has made The Huntsman a much sought after treasure.
As Were, I can fetch, speak, sit and roll over and kill and devour my own meal in about twenty minutes or less, depending on its size. Perchance, if you see me lazing about in the woods, if you would please, just scratch my tummy and continue on down with your hand to my balls while I am on my back with my feet in the air like a dead insect and maybe I won’t take a great big bite out of you with the great big teeth that I have.
The day’s work is finished and the work of the dark has not yet begun. It has been a pleasant day. The evening looks just as promising. I love walking at night. Be it in town or woods. But I love sleeping in a bed even more with perhaps a companion. Good, the village springs up in front of me like a mushroom after a summer rain.
The shutters are latched for the evening. Since I have just arrived, I need to find the town fathers and check in. Even though there is a full moon, the torches are lit and provide the insects a fine funeral pyre. I enjoy walking the cobble stone street and know that if these crude building shall fall, these Roman built roads shall stand.
The Wide Gate is my destination. It is up ahead. There is no mistaking the smell. Food, alcohol , sex. You can find all three here in abundance. Opening the door to the pub, it is lively tonight. The local drinking establishment always is the nights of a full moon. The entire village, though not Were, acknowledges that there are many mystical and magical things that happen when the goddess of the night sky is full and heavy and drips the milk of the Were so that we might all suckle and grow in strength and courage and fierceness.
Passing through the room, I nod in acknowledgement to the other Weres that are present tonight and having a tankard before they go out to run. These Weres are not the smartest of the lot. The farther you get them from any type of civilization, the phrase, dumber than Were-shit really starts to hold true. Just since entering the door, I have seen two…yes two…try and lick their own balls as human.
Fortunately, this is also a bawdy house and no one thinks horribly bad thoughts about you. However, word is going to pass among the girls that you like things just a bit differently and when you get one of the serving wenches up against the wall it is going to cost extra. Just make sure that you pay her whatever she asks because no matter how big your teeth are, she has a knife and your penis will end up on the floor. Just ask Richard the Less. He speaks from experience. He now understands that coin can purchase a lot of things but it cannot stick your dick back on.
Pulling out my chair, I sit with my back to the wall. Here in my dark corner, I am able to sit and watch and drink without calling attention to myself. The owner is roasting a pig in the fire and even I admit that it smells good as the night wind at times pushes the fat enriched smoke back into the room. There is a brisk nip in the air and leaves have begun to smell like winter.
Winter…it brings the slaughter of cattle…and grannies.
Well yes, grannies. The reason I am here is because there is a Were that has gone rogue. Breaking into homes, pissing on the front door and eating a granny if she has been left there by herself. Honestly, if you value your grannies, do not tuck them into bed and go drinking and whoring. No matter how much fun it is or how much money your wife makes by lifting her skirts. Grannies….not really a good mouthful but they don’t put up much of a fight so on the nights of full moons, rogue wolf or not in the area, grannies have a tendency to go missing.
As a Were, the things my brothers of the lick-your-own does…these things do not bother me for we are Were and a slow granny or two helps to cull the herd. The granny nourishes the Were young and with granny removed from the human household, there is one less mouth to feed during the long winter. I see this as a win-win situation.
But as a huntsman, this Were that has gone rogue, I will hunt him and destroy him for it does provide me with coin of the realm and a warm bed with a willing body or two after I have lifted high my prize and roared in victory to the village. I am just glad this Were decided to go bat-shit crazy before the first snow of winter which is fast approaching.
Today while I was walking here, I was watching the beetles in the afternoon sunshine. They would sit upright on their butts with their legs crossed and shake their fists out into the universe. I have not seen beetles this pissed off since the autumn of ought-eight followed by the non-stop blizzard of ought-eight and nine. Soon, the snow is arriving soon. It will be called freakish so early in the year and many will wail and to them it shall be a sign and a wonder. I just call it fucking good luck. Snow makes it easier for me to track my next payday and when I get ready to leave, the snow should be melted and I will have an easy journey returning to my mountain and be tucked into my own snug home before the onslaught of howling winds and cabin high snows.
Good, my ale has arrived. Along with a haunch from the pig. And on the air floats something…something so fragile and delicate, I must be imagining it! It is a menstruating virgin!
Here comes the owner of this fine establishment! And with him is the flower of my heart, carrying a loaf of bread and a crock of butter and a pitcher of beer. It is time to be Mr. Charming and be her escort home and meet her granny. Before I ravish the beautiful creature and hear her screaming my name in ecstasy, I have a quiver full of arrows I need her to bless.
“H-m-m-m,” Sookie eyed Eric. “I can run with that. Pam, what say you?”
Chuckling wickedly, the oldest child smiled. “There has never been a granny with my tits and ass. Game on.”
