Feral Mate

Over the years, werewolves had been slowly seeping further and further into myth and legend while humans continued to live on in glorious ignorance. The werewolves, however, lived in sweet secrecy from the outside world; building communities of their own in the form of packs that varied in strength and size. Wolves were blessed by their moon goddess- Selene- with soul mates that the males would protect with their lives and vice-versa with the females. Some wolves, though not very many, took human mates as true mates, leading to offspring that could either be wolf or human. Then there were the rogues; a breed of wolf that formed as a result of leaving or being kicked out of a pack. Your typical outcasts or loners. It had been this way for many centuries... until a new breed emerged from the shadows of their dens. *** The White Crest Pack was out on their morning run in their beast forms that ranged in colour; from a pale, snowy white to a black as dark as pitch; an earthy, muddy brown to a rusted red; when one of their older female pups broke away to a different direction. She followed her nose to a clearing just in front of the sheer cliff face that rose a good two kilometres into the air before flattening out again. She shifted into her human form, completely bare. The emerald green grass reaching to her mid-thigh. It was there that she saw the most beautiful male she had ever laid eyes on, and when the breeze blew his scent her way she was surprised at the authority and power and... strangeness it contained. The male turned to face her and she knew her mate was standing there. He shifted to his wolf form and made his way towards her. He. Was. Huge! His wolf was able to look her in the eye without having to strain. She heard her pack arrive at the tree-line just behind her. They watched as her mate brought his muzzle to her neck, expecting him to mark her. He did indeed bury his teeth in her flesh, but when he retracted them, her throat came along too. Killing her.