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Gideon sat on the couch, head bowed, water dripping onto the tile floor. Her boots lay in their own puddle near the door. She was sure her wet jeans were making the couch cushion soggy. The room was so quiet she could hear each splat of water as it fell from her hair, her nose, her chin, into the ever-growing damp spot around her feet.
Perched on the arm of the opposite end of the couch, in a pair of grey-and-black pajama bottoms and a loose baggy T-shirt that hung off one shoulder, staring at Gideon with a guarded, expressionless glare, was someone she never thought she’d see again: Harrowhark motherfuckin’ Nonagesimus.
“So. Let me see if I’m understanding this correctly,” Harrow said, small black-socked feet pressing into the cushion. “You run away from Drearburh, get mixed up in some gang—”
“Pack,” Gideon corrected.
Harrow sighed loudly and re-centered herself. “Pack… though, honestly, whatever you call yourselves, it still sounds like gang activity.” Gideon shrugged, and Harrow moved on. “But things get out of control—”
“I was bitten!”
“Stop interrupting or get the fuck out of my house right now.”
Gideon strained against her natural contrarian urge to immediately interrupt. Finally, she nodded and remained silent. The rain poured down outside.
“You get mixed up in some trouble,” Harrow continued, “so you do what you do best. Run away. Run away from the problem and bring all your baggage and shit to my door.”
Gideon couldn’t help but protest this unfairness. “It’s just a backpack!”
“You absolute clod! I’m not talking about your fucking backpack. I’m talking about leading criminals to my door! What were you thinking, coming here? We’re not even friends. We’re barely acquaintances.”
Gideon wrung her hands nervously. “Please, Harrow. I—I’m begging here. Please don’t kick me out. I have nowhere to go. You’re the only person in this world I can even ask. If you kick me out, they’ll—” She rubbed her face with her hand. “They’ll kill me.”
“They’ll kill me too, if they find me with you!”
“They won’t find you—us—er, me,” Gideon said, lifting her head to stare into Harrow’s eyes, trying to convince Harrow of her earnestness. “I used a fake name when I bought my bus ticket. I used cash. They didn’t know I was leaving. I was careful.”
“Like you were when you left Drearburh?”
Gideon flinched, her shoulders up to her ears.
“At least you’re good at something,” Harrow said scathingly, slipping off the couch and heading to the tiny kitchen, which was just a corner of the front room of the apartment. Gideon wilted in place as Harrow started the kettle. When the water boiled, Gideon noted hopefully that Harrow poured two mugs of tea, instead of just one for herself. She was freezing in her wet clothes. She must really look like a sad wet rat for her discomfort to be that apparent.
Harrow carried the mugs back and plunked them down onto the coffee table before resuming her place on the arm of the couch, as far from Gideon as she could get.
Gideon gripped the mug gratefully between her hands. It was painfully hot, but pain didn’t really bother her anymore. She fiddled with the paper tab on the end of the string. “I won’t be here long, okay? Just ‘til the full moon. I just need a safe place to plan my next move.”
Harrow said nothing, but studied Gideon from her perch, eyes squinting. The silence grew as the minutes passed, broken only by Gideon slurping the too-hot tea with a noise she knew Harrow hated.
“Right,” Harrow finally said in decision. “Werewolf pack.”
“Yop.”
“You were turned into a werewolf, but things went south, so you ran back to me?”
“You got it.” Other than the fact that it had absolutely nothing in a million years to do with Harrow, and everything to do with the fact that there was nowhere else for Gideon to run.
Harrow took a careful sip of her tea, set the mug down gently on the table, and fixed Gideon to the spot with her dark stare.
“So, Griddle. Gas, grass, or ass?”
Gideon blinked, stunned. This was not the direction she anticipated this conversation would be taking. “Uh… what?”
Harrow sighed and steepled her fingers. “I have found, in my own time away from Drearburh, that very little in this life is without cost. The world doesn’t follow the rules of the Church. It follows the rules of the Capitalist. So I ask again—” a smirk twisted her features— “gas, grass, or ass?”
Gideon floundered, mouth opening to speak, only to shut again. “Uh—”
“Perhaps some guidance,” Harrow suggested. “I know such deep critical thinking is difficult for you—”
“Hey—”
“So let me elaborate. Do you have fuel for my car, money in trade, or any illicit substances to make the time which we will share together more bearable?”
“... No?”
“Well, then,” Harrow said, holding up three fingers. “If you have no gas—” one finger folded down— “and no grass—” the second finger folded, leaving only her middle finger still standing and a wicked grin on her face. “Then it’s your ass.”
“Um—” Gideon’s brain was coming back online after its shock. She set her tea down. Sex with Harrowhark? She couldn’t be serious. Part of the reason Gideon had left their shared dorm room and moved into a single was her growing desire for Harrowhark, as puberty had hit her like a Mack truck. At their failing Catholic boarding school, run by Harrow’s awful parents, she had been lucky to get out alive. Now, after all that, Harrow was demanding she pay for her stay with a lay! On the other hand, that Catholic-school crush hadn’t exactly disappeared… Why not add another level of fuckery to this already ridiculous night? “Sure,” said Gideon dryly, “sounds great.”
“Wonderful,” Harrow said in a calm tone, picking her mug up and taking a sip. “I do have one more bit of interest I should bring to your attention.”
“Wassat?” Gideon said, still half-distracted by the not unpleasing idea that Harrow wanted a piece of this after all.
“The full moon is tonight.”
Gideon had just taken a cacophonous slurp of tea as Harrow spoke. She sucked in the burning liquid halfway to her lungs then coughed it back out into the cup, eyes watering. Tea: one. Gideon: zero.
“No, it’s fucking not!” She shook her head. “It can’t be!” She slapped at her pockets, trying to remember which one she had put her phone in. Jacket. Jacket pocket!
“It is, though. Idiot.”
Gideon pulled her phone out, looked at her calendar, and cursed. She’d been looking at the wrong month when she planned her escape. She swiped to the correct month and, sure enough, the full moon was tonight. In just a few hours. Her stomach sank and a cold sweat broke out on her skin.
“Oh, no. Oh, fuck me!”
Harrow cracked a sly smile. “That’s the plan, remember?”
“Harrow, goddamnit! This isn’t funny!”
“I beg to differ.” Still smirking, Harrow slid off the couch and crossed to the kitchen with her half-full mug. “Look, Griddle, I don’t know what cult you joined or whatever, but it won’t save you rent—”
“Harrow, listen!” Gideon followed her into the kitchen in a panic, holding out her hands in supplication. “In a few hours I’m going to be a monster, and I won’t be in my right mind! I could hurt you! Fuck! I might kill you!”
Harrow rolled her eyes and pulled two Styrofoam cups of instant noodles out of the pantry. “As if you could. I’ve won every fight we’ve ever—”
“This is different!” Gideon sidestepped.
“Because now you have superpowers?”
“Yeah, dipstick. I do.” Gideon snatched Harrow’s mug out of her hand, held it over the sink, and crushed it to pieces in her fist. A shard wedged deep into her palm and she cursed. Maybe that was not the best display of her incredible strength. While she worked the shard out with her teeth and spit it into the sink, Harrow gawked at her.
“I can’t believe it!”
Finally, Harrow was going to listen to—
“That was my favorite mug, you dick!”
“What?!” Gideon pulled at her hair. “Are you serious? How do you think I crushed it without super-strength?”
“You work out all the time,” Harrow said impatiently, waving off Gideon’s stunt with two forks in hand. “Don’t think I forgot. And you owe me a new mug. Since we’ve already discussed your lack of funds and how your debt is to be paid—” Harrow’s eyes raked over her sodden form before returning to her face— “I’ll add it to your tab.”
Gideon blushed down her neck at the thought of what else was already on her tab, but followed her reluctantly back to the couch and sank back onto her soggy seat. Harrow set the noodles on the coffee table alongside the forks and plopped down onto a throw pillow, pulling one of the Styrofoam cups toward herself.
“I don’t believe this,” Gideon said, taking the other cup and fork.
“Then we’re of one mind. I don’t believe it either.”
They slurped at their noodles in silence.
After a bit, Harrow said, “Did you bring a change of clothes in your backpack?”
Gideon nodded mid-slurp. “Yeah. N’some other stuff.”
“I presumed. The bathroom is through that door. Change into those and I’ll put these—” she gestured to Gideon’s attire— “through the wash.”
“I mean, thanks, but I’m going to change into something altogether different in a couple hours,” Gideon mumbled through a mouthful of noodles.
“Griddle, you’re not a werewolf. They’re not real.”
Gideon swallowed her mouthful and yanked off her jacket, tossing it to the floor. She pushed up her shirtsleeve and held out her forearm. “Look! If they’re not real, then how do you explain this bite?”
There upon Gideon’s forearm were a collection of raised gnarled scars in the clear shape of a canine bite.
“You got bit by a dog.”
“You know what?” Gideon said, standing and jerking her sleeve back down. “I hope I do bite your face off. I’m just disappointed that I won’t remember it.”
“Go change.”
“In a couple of hours, I won’t have a choice!”
Gideon snatched her backpack off the floor and trudged through Harrow’s dark room to the closet-sized attached bathroom. The overhead light was already on. She dumped her bag on the counter, taking a few moments to spy through Harrow’s medicine cabinet. Harrow still had her period (tampons), her headaches (pain pills), and was still a loony (psych meds). She had once believed in fucking ghosts, but couldn’t believe that Gideon was a werewolf? How the fuck did that work?
Gideon closed the medicine cabinet and started undressing. Some part of her was pleased that Harrow was even taking medication. It hadn’t been allowed at Drearburh. If you suffered, it was because you were meant to suffer, and if you were meant to suffer, it was because you deserved it. She was happy Harrow had gotten help. Even if she had refused to when they lived together. And now Harrow even seemed to be into her a little bit! Enough to want to do her, anyway. But if she wouldn’t listen about the danger she was in, there might not be a chance for them to explore that idea together before Gideon ended up eating her for dinner—and not in the fun way either.
Frustrated, Gideon threw her wet shirt in the tub, followed by her sports bra and socks. She emptied her pockets and shucked her pants and underwear into the tub with the rest, stowing her wallet, phone, and some spare change in her backpack. Finally, she pulled on boxers and a loose T-shirt. No reason to change into real clothes—her shift would destroy them both anyway. Cheap bulk underwear and T-shirts only for her.
She exited the bathroom and dropped her bag at the end of the couch, sitting back down in the wet spot. It had been covered in a towel in her absence. Still hunched over the coffee table, Harrow now had her laptop out and was typing away.
Gideon said wearily, “Do you at least, like, have a room you can keep me in overnight?”
Harrow huffed, not looking up from her laptop. “It’s a one-bedroom. If that’s your way of trying to take the bed—”
“Harrow! That’s not it! Okay? Is there a way you can lock yourself in your room or something? Push a bookcase up against the door?”
“If anyone is pushing a bookcase up against my door, it will have to be you, as I would not be able to shift it. That would put you in the room with me, since I will not be relinquishing my bedroom to you alone.”
Gideon put her face in her hands. “You’re the worst. I’m literally going to kill you.”
“You are literally out of your mind right now, Griddle. I’m glad you came to me.” Gideon just stared back, gobsmacked. Harrow continued. “I understand what it is to believe in an altered reality. You may stay with me for now and we will find you help.”
“I don’t even know what to say,” Gideon said. “If I stay, I’ll probably kill you. If I leave, I might kill other people. This is the worst trolley problem ever.”
“While you strain your synapses with that, I’m going to run the laundry. Tidy up and meet me in the bedroom.”
Gideon’s heart rate picked up. “Harrow! I’m kind of in a crisis. I don’t have time to bone you down right now!”
Harrow stomped her little black-socked foot, which was pointless and cute. “Griddle! Just—” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “We’ll talk about all that later. Tonight, I think you could use a good night’s rest. Take your backpack and wait for me in my bedroom. I will only be a moment.”
Gideon watched as Harrow padded to the bedroom door, disappeared within, and reemerged with her wet clothes. She saw Gideon still standing there and shot her an exasperated look. “Now, Griddle! My god.”
Gideon scooped up her backpack and retreated to the dark bedroom, fumbling for the light switch for a moment before taking in Harrow’s room in all its glory. When they had shared a room at the school, Harrow’s side had been bare in the extreme, the walls unadorned except for the holy figure of the Body above her bed. The rest was nothing more than the old creakity-ass wooden furniture all the kids got: a bed, nightstand, dresser, desk, and single chair. Gideon’s side produced graffiti at a mysterious and alarming rate, pictures ripped from magazines and taped to the wall (that would be removed by one of the stodgy nuns later), and a collection of magpie trinkets: buttons, stubs of pencils, even a sword-shaped letter opener. Just little things Gideon had collected to call her own. Harrow had had none of those things.
How times had changed for the better.
The room was illuminated by a single lamp in the corner draped in a purple scarf, softening the light to a cool glow which fell upon the bed, dresser, and desk. There still wasn’t much decor, but what there was had a spartan, gothic atmosphere that was completely different from Harrow’s old dorm room. The duvet, for example, was black with accents of black. The main feature was obviously the dresser, which was covered in bits of… was that bone? Various skulls and bones polished to a shine littered the dresser’s surface, arranged just so. What a freak.
The desk was obnoxiously tidy. The bed was a stupidly large king-size four-poster with too many pillows. Gideon dropped her bag, then herself, down upon it. She was face-down in the pillows for a minute or two before she realized Harrow used really great laundry soap. What was that? She inhaled a deep breath, trying to pin down the familiar scent, when Harrow came in, sliding her laptop onto the desk.
“Don’t sniff my bed, Nav.”
“Smells nice. What soap do you use?”
“Unscented.”
Gideon lifted her head from the pillows with a tinge of embarrassment, cheeks warming as she tried to ignore that she hadn’t just been huffing Harrow’s laundry detergent, but the sheets that she had slept in. Harrow herself marched straight past her into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Suddenly, a wave of heat flowed through Gideon’s body, far stronger than her embarrassment—uncontrollable. The change was starting.
“Harrow?”
Harrow turned and looked at her expectantly, still brushing.
“Harrow,” Gideon said, fear coloring her words, “it’s starting.” She could already feel her face starting to flush a dull red.
Harrow looked at her in a way she didn’t understand. Almost like she felt sorry for her. But Harrow had never acted as if she felt sorry for anyone in her entire life. She spat out her toothpaste and came over to Gideon, pressing the back of her stupid bony skinny hand against her forehead.
“Oh… you are hot.”
“Thanks,” Gideon said, a little surprised. “You’re lookin’ pretty good yourself these days.”
Harrow rolled her eyes and snatched her hand back. “I meant you have a fever, idiot.”
“Oh.”
“Tuck in. I’m taking you to the doctor tomorrow. Scoot over.”
“You’re just trying to get me in your be—”
“Get in the bed, Griddle!”
Gideon kicked her backpack to the floor and took one side of the enormous bed. “Why do you even have such a big bed? You’re, like, four feet tall—”
“I am not four feet tall!”
“Oh, did you shrink? That’s some major spinal compression—”
“Shut up. Please just shut it.”
Harrow climbed in on the other side of the bed. There was basically a twin bed’s worth of space between them. Harrow clapped twice and the light in the corner turned off.
Gideon held it together for a beat before letting out, “Ffffffbt! You have a clapper for your light? Are you serious?”
“Shut. It.”
Gideon did shut it. She lay in the dark next to her old schoolmate-slash-friend-slash-enemy-slash-definitely-not-crush, and considered her options. She felt the fever of the change fluttering stronger in her chest, pounding in her head, pressing at the inside of her fingertips and toes. It made her feel disoriented and drunk.
She would shut herself in the bathroom. It probably had a lock, right? It was better than nothing. If she stayed, she’d change right on top of Harrow and probably just eat her for dinner. If she was enclosed in a space where she couldn’t see Harrow, maybe she would wait out the night?
She knew it wasn’t true. She’d rip and claw her way out toward the smell of a kill… or a mate?
“Harrow?”
“For fuck’s sake—”
“Harrow, please listen, okay?”
The sound of two hands clapping called light into the room like the word of God. Harrow sat up and looked at Gideon in exasperation.
Gideon had to get her to listen. Swallowing hard, she reached out and gently placed her hand on Harrow’s where it lay on the bed, giving it a sad, pathetic, begging squeeze. “Please?”
Something in Harrow’s face twitched from annoyed to annoyed-but-also-concerned. She reached over and pressed her palm to Gideon’s forehead. “Your fever is getting worse.”
Gideon’s hand shot out faster than the eye could see and pressed that cool palm to her cheek, eyes holding on to Harrow’s like a lifeline. “Please! When I change, you’ve got two options, okay?”
Startled by the speed of her movements and the intensity of Gideon’s stare, Harrow listened, although she was clearly only doing it to humor her.
“There is a hunger. A drive that… pushes. Forces. It’s hard to—” She shook her head vigorously. “It will push me to take you. Consume you…” Gideon’s eyes unfocused and she shook herself again, blinking hard. Sweat rolled down her temples. “Take your life and eat… or take you and make you—” Her hips rolled up off the mattress. “Make you mine… In one way or another…”
She sat up, fisting her hair, pulling hard, the pain helping her focus. “In my pack. The knife. Use it if—if I—”
Gideon could feel her eyes glossing over. Harrow, now visibly worried, cupped Gideon’s cheek with one hand and smoothed back her sweaty hair. “As much as that appeals, I think we’ve hurt each other enough already,” she whispered, but Gideon could barely hear her over her own hard breathing. The light in the corner was growing brighter and brighter, burning her eyes.
The room was silent but for Gideon’s ragged breathing and the shuffling of Harrow’s hand, carding through her hair.
Then Gideon’s jaw bone snapped loose with a sickening pop and she scrambled off the bed, away from Harrow’s comforting touch, away from the light in the room, into the dark bathroom. She closed and locked the door with trembling fingers that had already started to bend unnaturally.
There, in the pitch blackness of Harrow’s bathroom, Gideon’s joints popped and her bones shrunk and grew. Teeth sprouted and skin peeled, fur emerging from beneath. Gideon sucked in a wet agonized breath and screamed.
Harrow chased after Gideon as she escaped, but got tangled in the covers, delaying her long enough to let Gideon lock herself in the bathroom. Harrow still attempted to turn the handle, even though she knew it wouldn’t. Her desperation was making her act like an idiot.
She had delighted in watching Gideon squirm with discomfort while she had described what the cost of staying the night with her would be. It had felt good to make Gideon suffer, just a little, for leaving her behind. But now she saw that she had taken it too far. Gideon had entered a state of psychosis and honestly thought Harrow meant her harm. She could hear whimpers from inside the bathroom.
“Don’t be afraid, Griddle. I was only jesting before about paying rent. I promise I won’t hurt you. Open the door. Please?”
The scream that answered made Harrow’s heart skip a beat as it iced over with terror. As the jolt of adrenaline faded to a dull throb of fear, she banged her fist weakly against the door.
“Griddle! Gideon?”
Harrow pressed her ear to the door, hearing nothing. Then suddenly a wet crunch made her jerk back in horror.
She hurried back to the bed and fumbled in Gideon’s backpack. Between wadded-up underwear, junk food, and an adult magazine, there was a taped bit of cardboard with a silver handle sticking out of it. She pulled the crude sheath off to reveal a butter knife that had been sharpened to a point.
Another guttural cry came from the bathroom, and the hair on the back of Harrow’s neck stood on end. It hadn’t been a scream. Screams were something humans made. That wasn’t a sound a human throat could produce.
She edged back toward the door, straining her ears to try and deduce Gideon’s condition.
It went quiet.
There was a snuffling noise through the crack under the door, and she felt hot air blown across her toes. Harrow leapt back with a shout as clawed hands—were those hands?—reached through the gap and scratched at the wood in frustration.
The door handle shook and, even though she knew it could only be Gideon, Harrow found she was terrified to see what waited on the other side of the door. The handle shook again, then jerked, twisted, and smashed away from the other side, leaving a jagged hole in its place.
A massive clawed finger wrapped around to the front of the door through that hole and slowly pulled the door open.
Out stepped the biggest wolf she had ever seen in her life. But it wasn’t a wolf, was it? The limbs were the wrong length and the joints bent in incorrect ways. Paw-like hands splayed out on the floor as it moved closer. Closer.
As it moved further into the room, she could see the fur was a dark rusty color. Its amber eyes were trained on her. It crouched on all fours, keeping low, stalking. Even so, it came up to her chest. It sniffed, black nostrils flaring wide. Its head lifted a little and its ears swiveled forward with interest.
Then it stood on its hind legs, pointed ears brushing the ceiling, impossibly big. Fur rippled and muscles flexed as it towered over Harrow. Its lips pulled back, revealing dangerously sharp teeth. Harrow’s mouth went dry.
Amber eyes shifted down minutely, focusing on the knife still clutched in her hand. Its ears flattened against its head and it let loose a low, rumbling growl in warning.
This thing really was Gideon. The knife in Harrow's hand felt heavy despite its size. Gideon had told Harrow how to kill her, rather than let Gideon do her harm. And Harrow had not listened. She had thought that there was no way Gideon could do her any real harm, worse than what Harrow had already done to her. She had felt that she had already hurt Gideon enough. She hadn’t understood. Now she understood.
She understood, and she made a choice.
Carefully, keeping her movements slow so as not to startle the creature, Harrow retreated back to the backpack lying at the foot of the bed and crouched down to place the knife back within it. She rose slowly, holding up both hands to show they were empty. She took a slow step back toward the beast—toward Gideon.
“Griddle?” she asked softly. Taking a deep breath, she dared to reach out with one hand.
Gideon dropped back to all fours and eagerly moved forward, bypassing Harrow’s proffered hand and invading her space. She sniffed and snuffled her body. She shoved her nose between Harrow’s legs. Harrow pushed her heavy head away. “Hey—”
At her raised voice, Gideon’s head whipped around to growl in her face, hot breath blasting over her skin. Harrow raised her hands in surrender. After a charged moment, Gideon relaxed and went back to investigating Harrow’s body with her nose.
Gideon licked at her neck, seemingly finding something delicious there. The long, warm tongue lapped its way up her neck and across her face. Gross. She attempted to keep her yelp to herself, so as not to raise Gideon’s ire. Gideon snuffled her way down Harrow’s baggy T-shirt, her breath puffing against her skin, billowing the shirt out.
Harrow fumbled to push the bulk of muscle and fur away from her body. “G—Griddle! Get—get out of there!” The fur between her fingers was warm and thick. She took a fistful of it in each of her hands and hauled, pulling Gideon’s head back an inch or two. Gideon pulled her great head out of Harrow’s shirt, shook it, and sneezed directly into Harrow’s face.
“Ah! God! Gid— That is fucking disgusting, you—you mongrel!” Harrow sputtered, reaching down for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her face to wipe the mucus off her skin. She froze at Gideon’s growl. She felt her shirt hem jerk upward, between teeth, she thought, but with the shirt pulled up and held above her head, she couldn’t tell. Gideon shook her side to side with a deep snarl, and she lost her balance and fell. She was dumped on her ass, now half-naked, and treated to the sight of Gideon, ears pinned back, killing her shirt a few feet away.
Gideon bit and tore at the offending garment, shaking her head back and forth to subdue the threat. Once the shirt had been shredded, Gideon’s ears perked back up, and she looked back to Harrow, tongue lolling out to the side with pride at her work.
Harrow would have mourned the loss of her favorite shirt for a moment, but her attention was taken up by the terror that she herself would be next in line. A growl made her flinch. The great rusty beast’s eyes shrank to pinpoints and her teeth gleamed with intent at Harrow’s pajama bottoms. Harrow held up her hands, palms out. Talking was obviously doing nothing. Maybe Gideon would understand her better through body language.
Please wait. Wait. Wait.
Gideon’s eyes stayed fixed upon her legs, but the growl quieted to a disgruntled huff. Quickly, Harrow shucked her socks, bottoms, and underwear. In an attempt to buy favor with Gideon, she dropped the clothes to the floor and gave them a stomp or two in order to kill them. Victory over laundry, at last.
That did seem to please Gideon, who visibly relaxed, fur settling, tail wagging, and ears perking. She shoved into Harrow’s space once more. As her heart rate slowed, Harrow could really get a good look at the thing Gideon had turned into.
Gideon as a young, fit musclehead was impressive enough to behold on her own, not that Harrow would ever say as much to her. But this thing, this wolf-and-human thing that was neither wholly one nor the other, was something else completely. Fur rippled as her muscles flexed and slackened. Feet that looked more like paws, and hands that still ended in digits, but with newly grown pearl-white claws. The thought of what those claws could do to her sent a shiver racing down her spine.
Gideon’s snout twitched toward her and the glowing golden eyes took her in unhurriedly, head tilting to the side. Those were Gideon’s eyes, but… baser. An untamed, wilder thing. Harrow let out a breath in amusement at realizing that her Griddle had become even more bestial than she had previously thought her to be. Gideon huffed right back and pressed closer, sniffing and licking at her neck, her shoulders, her exposed chest.
Harrow pushed the velvety-soft muzzle away, but Gideon only shook off her efforts and resumed her leisurely exploration of Harrow’s body with her tongue. One heavy paw came up to press and tweak her nipple between dark padded fingers, sharp nails tickling her skin. A warm, wet tongue licked across her nipple, and she fisted her hands away from her body against the sensation.
This was wrong in so many ways. It was beyond taboo. But should she resist, or fight back, she was certain she would be doomed. She thought again with a shudder of those claws, that strength, and those terrifying, sharp teeth. She remembered what Gideon had said earlier: consuming her, in one way or another. Well, if she was to be consumed no matter what, she might as well enjoy it. This beast was Gideon, and Harrow had wanted her since she knew what wanting was. If this was to be her only opportunity, so be it.
She relaxed her arms and wrapped them around Gideon’s head, threading her fingers through the fur, urging her forward.
Come here. It’s okay.
A contented gurgle sounded as Gideon’s agile tongue licked and slurped around her breast. With a gasp, Harrow was pressed to the ground beneath the huge creature. Fur brushing across her exposed skin made her shudder. She shouldn’t be enjoying this so much, but her complete powerlessness sharpened each sensation and made every inch of her skin prickle. Gideon was being gentle now, but her long, sharp teeth still brushed against Harrow’s skin with every lick. The fear of what would happen if she resisted made the pleasure of Gideon’s tongue almost more intense.
As Harrow whimpered, she hoped silently that, if she and Gideon both lived through this, Gideon would not remember what had happened, or else Harrow would never hear the end of it. She could feel Gideon’s whiskers prickle against her skin between licks as her soft muzzle moved steadily down her body. Harrow’s hands still fussed and fisted in the dense fur on Gideon’s ruff, unsure of where they should go. They appeared tiny against the great bulk of Gideon’s head and neck.
Gideon gave no pause of consideration, nor breath of anticipation. Instead, on her path downward, she backed up just enough to shove her snout right into Harrow’s cunt, nose huffing in deeply and tickling through Harrow’s pubic hair. Harrow’s hands clenched amidst the sea of fur as Gideon’s tongue slid out and over her, tasting, testing.
“Oh! God…” Harrow didn’t know if she was pleading to an uncaring deity or praying for courage at the precipice of the inevitable. No matter how she felt about it, Gideon’s tongue began its relentless work.
Gideon lapped first with wide exploratory licks, mapping out Harrow’s topography by feel, her wet nose now smeared with Harrow’s own juices, pressing with maddening inconsistency against her clit. Once Gideon got a taste, she pressed ever forward, tongue pressing and snaking into her cunt, a demanding, devouring thing. Teeth ghosted across Harrow’s skin as Gideon’s maw surged forward too strongly, and she almost screamed.
She felt herself gripped tightly, sharp claws pressing into her hips, all but breaking the skin. She was both lifted and tilted up, suspending her lower half off the floor, leaving what little weight wasn’t supported by Gideon’s arms to rest on her shoulders as they pressed to the floor.
Once Harrow was helpless to move between Gideon’s sharp claws, the beast consumed her fill. Harrow resisted in her mind as long as she could, gripping on to the solitary remaining shred of dignity she still had. But soon she lost even that, as the sensations being forced upon her and the lecherously squalid noises that accompanied them made her heart beat faster. Her body felt hot despite her nudity, and she felt out of control of her own faculties, moaning and gasping, head turning this way and that, unable to find relief from the onslaught.
Gideon pushed and pressed her muzzle against Harrow’s cunt, tail wagging, hips rutting forward. Harrow gasped and shuddered, sweaty fists still in Gideon’s fur as she was driven into an astounding orgasm. It rocked like a wave from her core out down her legs and through her toes, rolling back into her gut and chest, and still Gideon did not cease. She pulled feebly in an attempt to stop the lapping at her overly sensitive flesh, but it was to no avail.
“Fuck—Gi—ahh! Aah!”
Gideon had closed her teeth down around her, holding her cunt firmly inside that dripping mouth as that incredible tongue continued about its business. As Harrow crashed through another orgasm, she could feel something hot and wet trickling along her abdomen, along with burning points of pain. She looked up to see that it was blood. Gideon’s claws must have finally found purchase on her thrashing hips. Her cunt clenched hard around the hot invading tongue and she moaned. If only it was Gideon’s strap-on instead of her giant werewolf tongue, then she could feel normal about this. Not that she had ever seen evidence of Gideon actually owning a strap-on, but she’d bet her last dollar that if Gideon wore one, she would know what to do with it. Despite being actively eaten out by a werewolf, it was the mental image of Gideon confidently stroking a strap-on, human as she had been only half an hour before, that made her come again with a scream.
Gideon, furred and fanged as she hunched over her now, kept licking, but now she was lapping up the blood dripping off her body. Harrow’s muscles went limp as Gideon turned her over onto her stomach and continued to lick in soothing strokes, consuming every inch of blood and sweat in her tongue’s path. As Gideon lapped away, Harrow allowed herself to relax for a moment. Perhaps the taste of her blood, along with the taste of her pleasure, would be all that was required to satiate Gideon’s beastly state. She’d be lying if she said that a part of her—trembling, exhausted, frightened—wasn’t ready for it to end.
But Gideon didn’t seem satisfied. She pressed Harrow’s hips forward until Harrow rested on her knees, her chest still against the floor. Gideon shuffled her huge mass up against her back, enveloping her. The weight was soothing and the fur was warm against her skin, but Harrow froze. What now?
Something hot pressed against the back of her thigh and she stiffened. Gideon pressed forward again, this time nudging a hot length against the crevasse of her ass. What the hell was that?! Since when did Gideon…
“Griddle! What—” But Gideon shifted once more, finding her balance before sliding her cock into Harrow’s cunt in one go. “Oh! Fuck! Oh…” Gideon left no time for adjustment, hips jigging and pressing Harrow harder to the floor. Harrow scratched and flailed at the floor with her nails, trying to anchor herself as she was filled again and again. The stretch burned, but a surge of desire ravaged her body. Gideon was actually inside her, in truth this time. It wasn’t a lonely fantasy in the privacy of her own bedroom. Gideon’s cock was actually splitting her open. Harrow moaned aloud.
Gideon seemed to be enjoying herself too. She had found a rhythm. Heated grunts and huffs fell from her muzzle, and her claws dug into the wooden floor for traction. Her thick fur rubbed against Harrow’s back and legs as she pumped in and out in long deep strokes. The sound of their flesh slapping together was enough to activate Harrow’s clapper light switch, and the lights began to flick rhythmically on and off as she was fucked into the floor.
“F—fuck-uh!”
Gideon’s thrusts took on a frantic rate, hips pumping and tail tucking as she strained to shove more of herself deeper. Harrow now lay limp, cheek pressed against the floor, mouth agape, overstimulated, overpowered, and overwhelmed. The air was forced from her lungs with each downward blow, enough to leave her breathless and panting.
“Huh… huh… huh… huh…”
Gideon growled with each savage thrust, desperation evident in the frantic jerking of her hips. The lights flicked off and stayed off as Gideon’s hips stilled, leaving the room in darkness. Harrow felt herself stretching more than she thought herself capable, Gideon’s cock swelling within her, binding them together until there was no room to move. She cried out at the feeling. Gideon no longer pulled back with her hips but pressed ever deeper in… in… in.
The rocking, deepening thrusts as Gideon’s cock stretched her out sent rush after rush of unexpected pleasure through Harrow. She found herself coming yet again, her cunt fluttering around Gideon’s cock wedged as deep as anatomy allowed. A blush of warmth spread deep within, and she knew Gideon had come inside her. But the realization seemed far away—an issue for later, when she might be lucky enough to still be alive—and so she let her body roll and shudder through its orgasm, sheltered by muscles and fur.
They both lay still for a long while after that, tied together and panting. Gideon occasionally arched her head around to lick at Harrow’s face and head, mussing her short, sweat-slicked hair. The stretch that had driven her to such heights began to burn with soreness. She shifted her hips, but Gideon let out a pained whine and pressed closer, as if withdrawing hurt. She remained very still after that, only her hand moving to pet Gideon’s huge head again and again.
An unknown amount of time later, the soreness gradually subsided, and Gideon slid out of what was probably a terribly sticky mess. Harrow felt herself lifted and cradled against a warm, thickly furred chest. She was set down in the center of her king-sized bed, her weary limbs flopping down onto the blanket. Gideon crawled in next to her. She circled Harrow once, as if finding the softest spot on the mattress, and lay her bulk down. The bed squeaked at the added weight but otherwise held its cargo.
Harrow lay there in a daze, surrounded by soft warmth, Gideon’s big stupid head resting mere inches from hers. She closed her eyes and breathed in Gideon’s wolf-scent, surprised to find it calming and pleasant. Like tilled earth or wet stones. She’d made it. And neither of them had died in the process.
She drifted through her thoughts, her exhausted body still doing its best to thwart sleep. She would have to replace the bathroom door. She would ask Gideon to recount her experiences since they had seen each other last, and would pay more attention to her words, now knowing them to be true and not the ramblings of a madwoman. Not that she was one to judge others on the matter. Gideon could stay. They could figure this out together.
The first thing Gideon became aware of was a heavy warmth in her skin, the chill of the room on her back, and the press of someone warm at her front. Someone warm with sharp, stabby little elbows. Yellow morning light filtered in through the window, illuminating the end of the bed and the bone bits on the dresser. It took her mind a moment to put together where she was.
“Oh, fuck! Harrow?” With no small amount of alarm, Gideon pulled away from the radiating warmth to look down at the rudely awakened Harrow. A very naked Harrow, who glowered up at her, tiny fists curled under her chin. Gideon frantically patted at her, starting at the most vulnerable points. Neck, stomach, wrists… all seemed fine. Fine and adorably sheet-wrinkled from sleeping on top of the duvet.
“If you’re quite finished,” Harrow said primly and rolled onto her side, settling back down. There were some scratches and what looked like dried blood, but all in all, Harrow seemed all right. If Harrow was calm and relaxed and… very, very naked, Gideon could be calm and relaxed and very, very naked too.
“Harrow?” she said very calmly, relaxed, lowering herself to lay flush behind her friend-slash-rival-slash-landlord-slash-definitely-not-mate. “What happened? I mean… you’re okay! You are okay, right? Are you okay? … How am I okay? Did you stab me?” She started patting herself down, checking for stab wounds. All seemed fine. She was calm and relaxed. Majorly, majorly, so, so calm and relaxed. And naked. Eek.
As Gideon checked herself for injuries, she saw Harrow start to rally, build her wall up, raise her weapons—ready to lash out, the same way she had always done when they were growing up together. But there came a pause, a softening, and— Harrow’s hand reached out and took her wrist and wrapped Gideon’s arm around her like a blanket, pulling a shocked but pliable Gideon into big-spoon position. Harrow? The princess of the night? The dark temptation of her heart, snuggling? What had happened last night?
Lying together on Harrow’s actually really nice huge bed, Gideon could feel every bit of skin where they touched. When Harrow didn’t pull away, and she didn’t either, it became easier and easier to just not, and to enjoy the closeness. She could feel Harrow’s narrow fingers tracing her palm and knuckles.
“I am sorry that I did not believe you, Griddle,” Harrow said softly.
“Uh, I guess it’s cool? Are you okay?”
Harrow nodded.“Yes, Griddle. You were… well-behaved.”
“I was?”
“You did break my bathroom door, however.”
“I did?”
Harrow squirmed around to face her, tits—holy shit, Harrow had tits—to Gideon’s own. “Yes, Griddle. And I am truly sorry I did not believe you before. That poor decision put us both in a precarious situation. I would like to discuss our possible options for moving forward together over breakfast.”
“You would.”
“Griddle, please.”
“Sorry. Uh… yeah. I mean yes! Us? Together?” Gideon sat up on her elbow, peering down at Harrow who wore an honest-to-god smile on her face.
“Yes, Griddle. Us together,” Harrow confirmed. “And I was not being serious when I suggested that you pay me for my assistance. You are my oldest friend, and I would help you even at cost to myself.”
Gideon’s lip quivered in a laugh, and with no other mushy sort of emotion at all. “Aw, Harrow! You do care!”
“Think nothing of it,” Harrow wheezed as Gideon wrapped both of her python-like arms around Harrow and squeezed. They lay there quietly a moment more before Gideon’s stomach gave an aggressive growl. Harrow chuckled. Shit, that was a cute sound.
“Let’s get up and I’ll make you some pancakes,” Harrow offered, sliding out of bed, knees wobbling for a moment before her gait steadied. “Oof! And you can tell me everything that has happened in your life since I saw you last.”
“Pancakes!” Gideon yelped. “That sounds great! I’m ravenous. I could eat anything.”
And for some reason, Harrow blushed a deep, brilliant red.