been a while since I haven't tried to pull away
A hollanov werewolf/monster hunter au for you! I hope you like it!
Please reblog and leave a comment over on Ao3!
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Shane Hollander is the best hunter in the Canadian wilderness. And he's after game bigger and a hell of a lot more dangerous than elk.
At least he used to be the best. At least he used to be a hunter.
Now he's not sure what he is.
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Shane supposed he should wonder why the most dangerous place he knew, the place he’d been trained to fear, the place he was the first and only line of defence against, was the one place he thought of as home. Why the place with the darkness that pressed in on him from all sides, the place with a thousand eyes watching him hungrily, the place where no one would hear him scream, was the one place he felt safe. He should ask himself why the place he’d always known would kill him one day, the place where his body would rot until the moss was growing between his bones, was the place where the air tasted sweetest. Where he could take a full, deep breath and feel a relief that he could never find in the real world, the safe world. The world he was supposed to belong to.
Shane should wonder. But he didn’t really want to know the answer.
The forest around him was quiet and calm but he knew better than to believe it. Other hunters, ones who joined the game for the thrill of it, who just wanted to hold a gun and feel some sense of power over the things they didn’t understand, they quickly went mad in the stillness the forest offered. They let it get a hold on them, they let every cracking branch and rustling leaf become a monster, until their nerves were frayed and they couldn’t find any peace in the world. They died fast, those hunters. Drink or drugs or their own silver bullets, even one from another hunter if their gibbering paranoia threatened the order’s secrets. It was a mercy, really.
More of a mercy than they’d find from the real monsters, the ones who watched from between the trees and waited until the fear had saturated their flesh to make them taste all the sweeter.
Shane had been trained better than that. He’d been trained knowing exactly what his purpose was out here, not revenge or blood or thrill. He’d been trained to be the best.
So he sat on the felled tree, calmly sharpening the already razor edged knife laid across his knee. He kept his shoulders down, relaxed, tapping his foot lightly on the carpet of leaves underneath his battered hiking boots. He was sure he looked exactly like some townie kid, someone who’d grown up in a rural Canadian town with one bar, one grocery store, one cop and thought that meant he knew the wild. Someone who’d wandered just a little too far on a camping trip, who thought the old jumbled kit in his rucksack would keep him safe, someone who thought his quiet life on the edge of the forest was painfully boring, sure, but never unsafe. Never deadly.
It was a carefully constructed lie, as much a part of Shane’s arsenal as the wolfsbane powder and the silver chains and the butane torch buried deep in his rucksack underneath all the more normal camping gear. One of the best ways to survive as a hunter was to look like prey until the last possible second. That and knowing not to leave it too late, or the lie would become reality pretty fucking fast, no matter what was in his bag or up his sleeve or sewn into the inside of his parka.
Shane exhaled slowly, watching his breath mist in the freezing air, reminding him that no warm blooded thing should be surviving out here, that he was in a different world built for things that weren’t human any more.
So why did he feel so calm? Why had he been waiting for this for weeks, counting down the seconds until he could be right here, sitting on a dead tree in the middle of nowhere, miles away from any other human being?
Why had he lied to Coach, telling him he was on a hunt up near Great Bear? Why did none of the other hunters, his brothers, the only people he was supposed to trust in this world, know where he was right now?
Shane knew exactly what his purpose was out here in the wild. He put down monsters, he kept people safe, he preserved their blissful ignorance so they could live their boring lives never knowing just how much danger was out there in the dark. That was part of why he’d always loved it out here, why he loved the hunt. The moment he stepped out of the glow of the towns and cities, he no longer had to question himself, he had one job and one choice. Do it or die trying. It was a harsh reality but Shane had never cared about that, he’d cared about it being clear. And it was, as clear as the river he’d washed his face in on the hike up, sharp as glass and cold enough to burn.
And now the riverbed had been kicked up, that clarity he’d enjoyed so much left muddied and swirling, abandoning him to the currents. And Shane had no one to blame but himself.
He knew what his purpose was. And he knew just how badly he was failing to live up to it.
The hand holding the sharpener suddenly lost its grip, skidding along the wicked surface and nearly costing Shane the tip of a finger. He hissed sharply, waiting for the bite of pain and the welling of blood but it never came. Shane was almost disappointed. It would have been a fitting punishment, one to chase him back down the mountain, away from this place and back to the one he belonged in. With a very visceral reminder to stay the fuck away.
For a hunter, lessons often came with scars. Shane had plenty under his many layers of clothing that weren’t quite enough to keep the chill out, enough that he’d never forget that. It was a point of pride that he had more scars from training than from actual hunts, Coach had left more marks on him than the beasts, there was very little he’d had to learn twice.
Except for this. And the scar Shane got from this lesson was going to be much worse than losing the tip of a finger.
He was so lost in his own miserable thoughts, in the things he was very much not supposed to be thinking about, that he almost missed the shift in the air. Almost. If he wasn’t the best. But he caught it, even if he didn’t let it show in his body language. He just picked up the sharpener and kept going, matching his breathing to the long, slow strokes. He even began to whistle, softly. Beckoning, almost.
It was huge, that much was obvious. Shane could feel it in the way the wind suddenly died, like the mountains themselves had shifted around him, the landscape itself stalking him. Shane tracked that enormous silence, felt the hairs on his arms lift as it circled through the trees behind him, caught a single, split second inhalation as his scent was snatched from the air. He didn’t need to turn to feel the eyes on him, they were burning twin holes in his neck, right where Shane knew his pulse was thrumming. He tilted his head back, turning his eyes up to the stars he could glimpse through the thick leaves.
The rumble was low, so deep and thick it could have been part of the land itself. It ran up Shane’s spine with a frequency just at the edges of his hearing, not a growl just yet but something made to tug on the oldest instincts buried in his brain and freeze him in terror. His hands stilled, eyes still focused on the stars, his breathing quickening without the steady rhythm to anchor it. A countdown began in his mind.
Five.
The sound rose in pitch, resolving into something real and very dangerous. A scent filled Shane’s nose, something wild and hot and musky that spoke of mammal but how could a mammal be that large, the human brain hadn’t been built to accept it for thousands of years. There was an iron edge to that smell too, something way too close to fresh spilled blood. It was ancient, otherworldly, severing any lingering ties to the world Shane knew.
Four.
A wet sound accompanied that thick, predatory smell, the sound of jaws opening and a tongue lolling out in anticipation. Shane could imagine the way the moonlight caught on long, slick teeth, teeth as long as his forearm and sharper than the knife in his hand could ever hope to be. He remembered studying sketches of those teeth in journals and holding the old, yellowed examples passed around the young hopefuls to show them what they would be up against. But nothing was like the real thing, nothing prepared you for the sight of them running with spit and set in deep red gums, alive and vital and inches from your flesh.
Three.
Shane heard a single, long exhale. Satisfaction, anticipation of hot blood and rich meat and a successful hunt. They’d see about that.
Two-
Shane moved without hesitation, vaulting over the log and thrusting the knife forward with a precision that only came from years of practice. The beast snarled in frustration, rearing up to avoid that deadly silver point, jaws snapping shut far from target. Shane didn’t hesitate, carrying the momentum forward and rolling between the monster’s legs, narrowly avoiding the enormous paw that slammed down, trying to spear him on the tip of a bristling claw.
Scenarios and plans flickered across Shane’s vision, his years of training and experience welling up and showing him a hundred different ways to go. But none of them would matter if he didn’t move fucking fast enough. And that was hard to do when the thing you needed to be faster than had four legs thick with muscle and reflexes much sharper than his.
Shane made for the nearest tree, Coach’s voice barking in his memory that he needed distance, he needed height, fucking move or die, Hollander. He sprinted, boots slamming against the leaves that were mercifully too dry to become an ice rink just yet. He could hear the guttural snarl behind him, building as the beast and its hunger drew closer. Bark biting into his palms, one branch, two branches, three branches, climbing as fast as he possibly could, leveraging his smaller size and greater mobility. He felt a gust of hot air rush up his leg as those teeth came within centimeters of his heel, closing with the force and finality of a bear trap.
Shane felt the beginnings of triumph, a crazed grin spreading across his face. So of course the next branch he seized snapped off in his hand and sent him plummeting, balance shattered.
Shane’s curse was lost in the lurch of his own stomach, the world lost in a blur of green and black until it all snapped back way too fast when he hit the ground. He gasped, more dazed than hurt, trying to figure out how to get his limbs to move when a terrible weight settled on his chest. A low rumble seemed to shake the ground underneath him, there suddenly seemed to be two moons in the sky as a pair of glowing yellow eyes stared down at Shane, the whole world swallowed up by the dark, furred shape pinning him down. Lips drew back to show those teeth, the ones that weren’t going to miss Shane’s neck twice. One snap, one jerk and he would be gone, the forest finally drinking its fill of him.
Shane finally dragged some air into his lungs, managing to wheeze out, “Draw…”
Those yellow eyes narrowed, a huff of air blowing Shane’s hair back. The idea of communicating with something so wild and otherworldly seemed impossible but there was obvious indignance in that expression. A comedic level of are you joking?
Shane smirked, shifting his hand so the knife, the one he’d managed to keep hold of the entire time, was more obviously pressed against the wolf’s broad neck, deep in the thick rusty fur and just a slight press away from the jugular. If the beast had taken that killing blow, it would have been enough. They’d have died together in a wash of blood, both of them feeding the roots of the trees.
“Draw,” Shane rasped firmly, “Again. Now get off me before you break a rib.”
The wolf chuffed again but he took his weight off of Shane’s body, stepping back and shaking himself to get rid of a few dead leaves clinging to his fur. Shane eased himself back onto his feet, feeling the wolf’s eyes follow him.
“I’m okay,” he reassured him, sliding the knife back into the sheath on his hip, “I didn’t fall far. Nothing bruised but my pride.”
Like he’d only been waiting for that reassurance, the wolf rushed forward, pressing a cold, wet nose against Shane’s face and snuffling eagerly. Shane laughed, screwing up his face in mock disgust and groaning, though he couldn’t deny that he was glad of it. He’d missed him just as much.
“I was worried you weren’t coming,” he admitted in a small voice, wrapping his arms around the wolf’s neck and burying his face in the deep brown fur, inhaling that scent greedily, “I thought it had been too long.”
The wolf rumbled, the sound enveloping Shane, washing him in that comforting noise. It was like it rattled his whole body back into alignment, chasing the anxious fog from his brain. Of course he’d been coming. Of course there was no distance too great to keep them apart. How could he deny it when the whole world thrummed with its truth?
Shane stepped back, letting himself have a moment to admire the wolf, his wolf. He was so beautiful, Shane thought even the creatures that met their end on his teeth or claws must think so. The old teeth and the pelts and the journals didn’t prepare hunters for how dangerous their enemy was but it also hadn’t prepared Shane for just how beautiful they were. For that, you had to stand and admire one, you had to feel how soft the fur was under your fingers, try to count the colours that ran through it when it caught the light, you had to watch those muscles shift and tense, you had to look them in the eyes and see the awareness that shone there, that brilliant, strange light.
No other hunter let themselves see this, Shane thought with a pang of sadness. Maybe if they did, they’d understand him. They’d know why he was out here, breaking every rule their order had.
Maybe they wouldn’t both be risking their lives for this.
His morbid thoughts must have been written on his face because the wolf suddenly licked a broad stripe up the side of his face, giving him no choice but to fall apart laughing.
“You’re disgusting,” Shane scrubbed the mess off his cheek with a sleeve, giving the wolf a grateful smile, “You’re right. We should go.”
The wolf’s huge body shivered with excitement, bowing low on his front legs like a puppy asking to play.
Shane eyed him warily, “Come on, you know I can walk…”
Quite how an enormous wolf managed to look so smug was beyond Shane. And yes, fine, he couldn’t move as fast as his wolf could, not by a long shot, but he didn’t have to look so damn pleased about it. Whatever, he was in the mood to indulge him tonight.
“Alright…just go gentle, yeah?” Shane sighed, swinging a leg over the wolf’s broad shoulders, burying his hands deep into the thick fur around his neck, “I don’t fancy slamming into a tree at fifty miles an hour.”
The wolf huffed dismissively, as if the idea was ridiculous and Shane was fretting for no reason. And Shane would have argued, if all the air wasn’t suddenly knocked out of his chest as the wolf leapt into the darkness like a streak of lightning. He felt like that really made his argument for him.
Riding on his wolf was like nothing else, a glimpse through eyes humans could never have. The world around them melted, becoming a watercolour smear at the fringes of Shane’s vision, nearly lost in the racing of his wild heart and the steady rhythm of the wolf’s breath. Trees became a formless streak of green and brown, they vaulted logs and rocks without a pause, the moon soared above them, blinking in and out of view through the leaves, trying to keep up. It was more like flying than running, a dizzying rush that was almost too much, almost more than he could take. All he could do was hold on tight and trust in his wolf. When they were already trusting each other with their very lives, it was easy to do.
They reached their destination too soon and not soon enough, all at once. The trees gave way to a clearing and a tiny, one room cabin cradled within their dark, wooden fingers. Shane jerked hard as the wolf skidded to a stop in front of it with a spray of leaves and pebbles, nearly tumbling off his back completely. The wolf seemed to find this funny, rolling anyway, whining in delight as he and Shane wrestled in a tangle of limbs and fur.
Shane laughed breathlessly, once again flat on his back with a lot of muscle and fur pinning him down, conceding defeat and rubbing his forehead against the wolf’s, “If I throw up on you one of these nights, it's your own damn fault…”
The wolf barked, louder now they were deeper in the woods, in the place they felt safest. Shane could feel the excitement running like electricity through him, like he was about to burst at the seams. Like he’d been waiting for this too, just as hungry for it as Shane was.
“Can you change?” he murmured, voice softening, “I want to kiss you.”
The wolf’s eyes turned from yellow to gold, giving Shane’s cheek a last lick with that raspy tongue like he was trying to taste his freckles.
Every time it happened Shane watched so carefully, trying to track the flow of it and actually understand what was going on in front of him. He’d tried replaying it over in his mind, he’d tried to sketch out the stages in his journal, the secret one he kept hidden under the seat of his truck. But he could never fully comprehend it, his mind slid away from it like, instinctively, he knew it was something he wasn’t supposed to see. It was magic, there was no other word for the way the shape of the wolf shifted and changed and became something else. Became someone else.
Became Ilya.
He had always told Shane he thought of himself and the wolf as two separate entities, two minds having to jostle for control over the same point in space. It reminded Shane of how other hunters, the ones who’d gotten deep into drugs or drink to cope, how they talked about the version of themselves who’d downed another quart of vodka or spent the last of their dollars on a bag of powder. Something that took over their body, got hold of the reins, ruined things while their back was turned.
But Shane saw so much of the wolf in the man who crouched over him. It was in his toothy smile, the energy flickering endlessly in his eyes, the tawny curls the same colour as that thick, soft fur. Even when Ilya talked about himself as though he were something wrong, something mismatched and disjointed, Shane wondered if Ilya was more whole than he allowed himself to see. Despite everything he’d been told about shifters, he couldn’t help but think that Ilya had been made exactly how he was supposed to be. He couldn’t look at his lover and see anything but perfection.
“Can I have my kiss now?”
Ilya’s voice was always raspy after he’d been in his wolf form, the way Shane’s did when he was on a long hunt and hadn’t spoken to another person for days, staggering into a gas station to buy snacks with far too much sugar and frighten the poor, stoned cashier. It always sent a shiver down Shane’s spine, the idea that Ilya had saved these words for him, that he was the first thing Ilya had wanted to speak to in who knew how long.
Shane thanked him for them by wrapping his arms around Ilya’s bare shoulders, holding on as tightly as he had when they’d been flying through the forest. He kissed him hard, trying to turn it into all the kisses he’d wanted to give his lover in the months they’d been apart. Ilya’s mouth was warm, warm enough that Shane couldn’t feel the cold anymore, all the numbness in his fingers fading as his tongue slid past his lips.
“Missed you…” he gasped out, needing Ilya to know that more than he needed air in his lungs.
“I missed you too…every day…” Ilya’s thickly accented voice was a rumble, like an avalanche roaring down the mountainside to sweep him away, “Even as a wolf. Felt the pull, all the time.”
Shane knew what he was talking about. He spent so much time having no idea where Ilya was, what he was doing, whether he was a wolf or a man. But he always knew when he was moving further away from him because, god, it hurt. It ached, deep inside him, in a way he hadn’t felt since physical pain had become such a presence in his life. He thought he was used to it by now, numb from years in the cold, able to switch off the part of his brain that registered aching, stinging, burning. But Shane hadn’t felt anything like the pull between him and Ilya, the tension trying to drag him back towards his wolf. It felt as though, if he tugged too hard on that tether, all his skin and organs would wrench from his bones, his skeleton left behind while the rest of him sloughed to the ground.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, feeling sick at the realization that Ilya had been in pain too.
Ilya shook his head, pausing their frantic kissing to gently butt Shane’s forehead with his own, the same way he comforted him when he didn’t have the right vocal chords to speak, “No. Is worth it. Is how I know you are still out there somewhere when I can’t believe this is real.”
Shane felt his lower lip wobble dangerously, biting down on it to try and hold back that tremor. He couldn’t fall apart now, not when their time together was so short. He refused to waste a moment of it holding on to Ilya and sobbing over having to part again, how it just wasn’t fucking fair that this was all they’d ever get.
However much he wanted to.
Instead, he gave in to the desire rattling against his ribs like the bars of a cage. That pain was sweet, all consuming in a way Shane was grateful for, he wanted it all to burn away and feed the hunger he had for Ilya.
“It’s real,” he promised, breathless, “Take me to bed and I’ll prove it.”
That brought back the crooked grin Shane had been missing. The world lurched and suddenly Shane was being carried in those strong, thick arms, enjoying it far too much.
“Hey!” he yelped, because he had to put up a fight for the sake of his dignity, even as he pressed against Ilya’s bare chest more than necessary, “Put me down!”
Ilya laughed, bridal carrying Shane up to the porch of the sagging cabin, “Are you sure you can manage? Don’t want you doing something stupid like falling out of a tree.”
Shane winced, he had been hoping Ilya had missed him enough to forget that, “Shut up. How was I supposed to know the branch would break?”
“You looked so cute. Like a squirrel.”
“I’ve changed my mind, can we go back to when you couldn’t speak?”
As much as the cabin looked like it was one strong breeze from disintegrating completely, Shane felt warm and safe the moment Ilya nudged the door closed behind them. There was a fire already snapping and chattering away in the hearth, all the dust covers had been swept from the furniture and folded away so the bed was ready for them, all the pillows and blankets piled up on top.
“You got it all ready…” Shane whispered, blinking in wonder as Ilya set him down.
“I did not want you to be cold,” Ilya’s voice had softened, holding a gentleness he clearly wasn’t used to yet, even if it hid behind his usual humour, “You do not have a lot of body hair, even for a human. Is concerning to me.”
Shane was grateful for the excuse to elbow him lightly and scoff because if he didn’t, he would just start crying over his wolf making everything just perfect for him, spending who knew how long turning the run down cabin they’d discovered last year into more of a home than Shane had ever known. Even though he could do that simply by standing in it, looking at Shane with those soft, hazel eyes with their naked adoration.
Ilya wasn’t good at hiding his feelings, once he knew what they were. He spent too much time as an animal, where emotions were plain and simple, undeniable. He’d told Shane once that the very first time he’d seen him through the wolf’s eyes, he’d known he loved him. As sharply as he’d felt the rough dirt under his paws and smelled the blood in the air, he’d known Shane was his mate, the one he would be bound to for the rest of his life. A strange thing to realise when Shane had been pointing a shotgun full of silver bullets between his eyes and Ilya had Shane’s leg between his teeth, ready to snap it clean off and shred his femoral artery. But there it was.
Shane would never stop being grateful for Ilya’s certainty, he wasn’t sure he’d ever have been brave enough to feel this love without it. And the least he could do was repay it now. He would never hide anything from Ilya, he would never hesitate.
So he stepped back, shrugging out of his coat, his jumper, the thermals underneath, everything he needed to keep his blood from icing over out there in the wilderness. He took it all off, every scrap of armour he had, leaving far more than fabric puddled on the floor by the time he was done. Finally, he stood in front of Ilya in nothing but his own skin, as vulnerable as he’d ever allowed himself to be since the scars littering his body had taught him it was wrong, it was weakness.
Ilya didn’t move, fighting the clear hunger in his eyes, waiting for Shane’s permission to close the gap between them. He was already naked, clothes never survived his shifting between forms, and Shane had a full, gorgeous view of his cock getting thicker, heavier, with every piece of clothing he shed. But still, he waited. He held himself in place, chest rising and falling more rapidly, jaw working like all his instincts were screaming at him to pounce on Shane and take a bite. He stayed, as tamed as a wolf would ever allow himself to be. God, it made Shane’s heart pound faster than any hunt ever had.
“Here,” he finally broke the tension, reaching for Ilya, begging him to take everything he was offering.
And Ilya did, crashing into Shane before the word was even fully out of his mouth. Shane felt his naked back collide with the bed, not even sure how they’d crossed the full room in a split second, deciding he didn’t care once his senses were flooded with Ilya pinning him down into the softness, growling in delight at the taste of him. He felt his lover’s tongue everywhere, following the hard lines of tension in his neck, tracing his collarbone, teeth sinking possessively into the flesh of his shoulder. He arched up into that pressure, begging for more.
Shane hadn’t been on a real hunt in months, not since he and Ilya began whatever this was. But the marks he left on him were an amazing cover when he was forced to report in, when the others were showing off their battle scars around the bonfire. He couldn’t deny there was a smug satisfaction to it, as much as lying to them all and bringing Ilya even an inch closer to their minds still twisted his stomach a little.
Ilya moved down his body, Shane’s legs parting for him, every cell in him willing to rearrange itself into whatever he asked. His lips seared a trail down the flat, hard muscles of Shane’s belly, the kind of muscles you got from a hard life. But under Ilya’s careful attention, with that rattling, rumbling purr and those hands stroking down his hips, Shane felt beloved, he felt taken care of. He was more than happy to turn soft and pliant as a fir in a strong wind, wishing he could purr right back so Ilya could know how good it felt when he nuzzled at the base of his cock like that.
“Careful,” Shane’s voice was strained, ragged, “Not gonna last long tonight.”
“We have more than tonight, moya lyubov,” Ilya reminded him, eyes sparkling with joy at the words, “We have two whole days together and I will be taking you apart many times. We can take what we need, yes?”
Shane couldn’t keep the stupid grin off his face and he didn’t try to. Two whole days, together in the cabin, away from the world. Two days of warmth and rest and every inch of Ilya there under his hands, two days of threatening to splinter the wood of this old bed, of sitting out on the porch and watching the smoke from their joints disappear into the stars, of just talking, openly and honestly without having to check every word before it left his mouth. Two days of freedom. Lying there at the beginning, it could feel like an eternity.
Shane cried out, loud, unashamed, as Ilya’s mouth closed around his aching dick. He wasn’t quite sure if he was trying to get him off or eat him or if he even cared which one, it felt so good. Ilya’s tongue was quick and clever, his teeth nipped just the right amount, his hands gripped his ass and forced him deeper. Ilya claimed every part of him with just his mouth, yanking an orgasm out of him at exactly the moment he chose. Shane emptied into Ilya’s eager mouth, feeling like a weight had been lifted off of him.
“Fuck…” it was he only word he had, rushing out of him like the first gasp of air after being underwater for just a little too long, long enough for it to start getting scary, for that first breath to burn.
Ilya grinned, eyes warm and smugly satisfied, lolling with his head on Shane’s thigh, “Missed the taste of you.”
Shane reached down with shaky hands, brushing curls out of Ilya’s face, unable to bear anything blocking his view of him, “Missed everything about you. Want you to fuck me so hard the bruises last until I see you again.”
The look that flashed through Ilya’s eyes at those words was all wolf, his whole body shifting from relaxed to a predator’s focus in less than a breath, “Shane…”
The way he said his name like that, unapologetically possessive, made Shane’s spent cock throb, too soon to not ache but he didn’t care. He tugged lightly on his handful of Ilya’s curls, urging him to pounce, desperate for it. Ilya gave him exactly what he needed, kissing him as fiercely as they’d fought, snagging his lower lip between his teeth and nipping.
Shane loved this, he loved when their fucking felt like their fighting, when it became desperate and primal and so beautifully simple. When Ilya raked his nails down Shane’s back, when Shane pressed his heels into the base of Ilya’s spine, when the two of them bit and moaned and grasped tightly. When the fact that they needed each other could feel like a fundamental, unshakeable rule, the way their hatred had been taught to them. When it became about proving something, not who was stronger, who was faster, who was a monster and who was the hero, who deserved to live, but just that they loved each other. That whatever they’d been told by everyone who came before them, this was real and it was right.
Shane exhaled shakily, suddenly completely and utterly convinced that he’d die without Ilya’s cock in him. He scrabbled blindly in the nightstand beside the bed, eventually coming up with a well used bottle of lube, the one he’d bought in a gas station in the middle of nowhere nearly a year ago, still insisting to himself that he wasn’t going to call Ilya, he would never see that demon wolf again, he was going to forget that one night had ever happened.
Shane had never been so glad to be wrong. He moaned louder as Ilya’s slick fingers stroked over his hole, just to prove to his younger self that he’d been an idiot. Ilya’s purr deepened in response, licking the sweat from the hollow of his throat, sinking two fingers into him the moment Shane’s body surrendered. He prepped him with tenderness that would surprise anyone who wasn’t Shane, who didn’t know the good, soft heart that beat in his chest, the one that loved harder than anyone he’d ever known. It was like he knew what these nights could cost Shane- his community, his safety, his life- and thanked him in every way he could, with every touch and kiss and every time he looked at Shane like he hung the moon he sang to.
Shane felt tears threaten to choke him at such gentle touch but he shoved them aside, they’d find him later. Right now he rocked his hips down on Ilya’s fingers, riding that sweet burn, feet planted on the bed so he could give as much as he was getting.
“Need it so bad, don’t you?” Ilya had barely been breathless after sprinting through the forest but his voice was ragged now, all of his energy and power focused on Shane, “Been waiting for me…”
“Only you,” Shane whimpered, voice breaking as Ilya’s fingers found his prostate, “Please, Ilya, please.”
“It’s all yours. All of it, all of me,” he rolled his wrist, proving his words before drawing his fingers away, replacing them with a cock hard as oak, “I’m yours, you’re mine…”
That word, said in the same moment that Ilya’s dick cracked him wide open, completed Shane’s ruin and left him with nothing but a strangled scream of pleasure.
He drew his knees up further, the last few inches until he was bending himself in half for Ilya, not caring how much it would ache when these two days were done, he’d hurt way more for way less. Ilya’s hard, densely muscled body pressed his own into the mattress, that constant pressure focusing Shane’s attention, fixing him in the moment. He felt his mate’s wild heartbeat, pulsing in perfect time with the deep thrusts into him, both too fast to be human, his own left to catch up.
“Ilya…” Shane moaned, clinging to his broad shoulders, tangling his fingers in the tight curls at the nape of his lover’s neck in case he had any thoughts about pulling away, as if the furious way he was fucking him wasn’t proof enough.
Ragged, desperate Russian poured out of Ilya’s mouth like there was some kind of leak inside of him, Shane understanding one word in ten but it was enough. Fuck. Mine. Tight. Love. And his name, over and over, like he was trying to make himself believe that was who was under him, clinging to him, moaning in his ear.
“I’m here,” Shane gasped, his body jerking on pure instinct, unable to lie there and take it from Ilya, everything had to be a fight, “I’m right here, sweetheart, oh fuck…”
And he was, right there, feeling the ground falling away underneath him, the blood rushing through his ears shifting pitch in that way that told him things were about to break. He didn’t want it, he never wanted it to end, he’d happily live in this agony if it meant he and Ilya could stay like this. Tears burned in his eyes, his voice broken, he dragged his nails down Shane’s back like he could physically hold them in place and keep time from slipping on.
But of course it was impossible. Everything good in their lives had to be fucking impossible. Ilya was clearly desperate for release, his purr becoming a fractured growl, his body tense and trembling under Shane’s hands. He couldn’t ask him to wait any longer. They’d both been waiting far, far too long.
“Come for me, sweetheart, give it to me,” Shane panted, burying his face against his neck, “I’ve got you.”
Their rhythm stalled and the world broke apart into white. Shane felt Ilya flood him, warmth spreading through him to the very tips of his fingers, until he felt like all the ice in his veins had melted away. His own scream of release broke, shattered, all the air in him stolen. He heard Ilya cry his name, sounding far away as his brain drifted in the ringing haze. He followed that voice, pulling it closer, following it like a lifeline until he snapped back into himself, panting raggedly with sweat drying on his skin, a dull ache between his hips and Ilya’s weight on top of him.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, saying it again because he did, thank fuck, he did. At least for now.
Ilya shuddered, pressing closer to Shane like he was the only warmth around for miles. Like he was afraid that any moment now, he’d be taken away and Ilya would realise he was alone, trying to sleep in the backseat of a freezing cold truck, nothing but white wilderness beyond the windows and nothing but a dream to cling to. Shane knew exactly how he felt.
There was so much he wanted to give him, so much he deserved, more than even Ilya knew. So much that was out of their reach and always would be, if they wanted to stay alive.
But he could give him this. He could give him a hand stroking through his thick hair, gently undoing the tangles from their flight through the woods. He could give him his lips, pressed gently to the crown of his head. He could give him his heart, thudding hard in his chest where Ilya let his head rest, relaxing for what must have been the first time in ages.
And he could give him something else.
“My mate…”
Shane had obsessively studied the old journals that were the hunters’ gospel back when he was training, realising he’d never be the biggest or the strongest amongst them but he could still be the best if he was the smartest. And as soon as he’d met Ilya, he’d realised they were full of shit.
There was nothing in them about soulmates, for one. Nothing about how sometimes two wolves would choose another and know their hearts were tied together in a way that couldn’t be pulled apart. That they’d know where the other was, no matter how many miles were between them. That they’d protect each other, keep each other warm in the cold, make their home together.
That the death of one would mean the death of the other. Because what would be left for that wolf, now that half of their soul had been torn away?
Because of course the hunters weren’t interested in how the wolves loved, only how they killed. They preferred to think them completely incapable, only mentioning it as a possible way they lied to humans and seduced them into prey. It was a mythic idea, even to the men who devoted themselves to wiping them off the face of the planet.
But Shane wasn’t listening to them anymore. He listened to Ilya, who said it with such awe, like it was ancient, precious, something he’d hoped for but never actually believed he’d hold in his hands. He believed Ilya when he said that the first time he’d caught Shane’s eye, even though he’d been staring at his own death a split second away, he’d known. And Shane had no choice but to believe him, the fact that both their hearts were still beating was proof.
Shane knew he hadn’t been born with the same instincts as Ilya. He’d lost his chance to love that deeply, that completely, when he’d lost his parents to a wolf and been left with the hunters to be raised on bitterness and hate. This was another gift Ilya had given him. He’d taught him what that word really meant and how to say it with every cell in his body.
“My mate,” Shane breathed again, pulling him up so he could see his face, “Mine.”
“My mate,” Ilya whispered in turn, his eyes burning intensely into Shane’s, golden fire against solid earth, no doubt at all between them.
Shane let himself sink into that feeling, into the overwhelming, all encompassing love that he’d once been so scared of, convinced it would drown him. He still thought it might, he just wasn’t so sure he minded anymore. Maybe that was the best he could hope for.
He wouldn’t think about that now, though. Thoughts like that were for the moment two days from now when Shane would force himself to slide out from under Ilya’s arm, avoiding the loose floorboards so he didn’t wake the snoring werewolf behind him, making the long, cold hike to his truck by himself because if he asked Ilya to give him a ride, he would never let go of him. Thoughts like that were for when he had to pull over because the tears had turned the road ahead of him into a blur and he couldn’t see any way forward that didn’t end in blood. Thoughts like that were for when he heard a wolf howling in the distance far behind him, the same sound as his heart breaking.
But this moment, right here, was for Ilya. For kissing him slowly, deeply, until sleep found them and pulled them under because this was the first time in so long that they’d been warm and comfortable and safe. For the next two days, every second would belong to his mate and to himself.
Shane should wonder why, of all the places, he found his love, his soul, his home in the one place he’d been taught to fear. He should wonder why he hadn’t found it in the real world, the one he was supposed to belong to, the one he was told he’d been protecting when he’d done terrible, terrible things. He should wonder why his life had become such a twisted, cruel joke, the monster hunter who’d fallen in love with a monster.
Shane knew he should wonder but he didn’t. He was just so, so glad it had.
