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Alivia Trevelius lived on her own, in a small cabin just outside of Whiterun, peaceful and quiet as you like with no neighbours to disturb her. For years, the young Imperial had seen no trouble except the odd wolf or bear, and they were easily chased off with a fireball or two. The tundra nights were the most beautiful in Skyrim, and it was a hobby of hers to sit outside with her pipe after a day’s hunting and watch the lights illuminate the sky.
Last Seed was upon her after a hot summer, and the night was still boiling as Alivia stretched hides out over racks to leave them to dry, her pipe in her mouth. Apart from the sound of elk, the evening was quiet, and she was enjoying the peace, when a blood-curdling howl rent the air. The Imperial froze, turning around seconds later. Across the tundra, near to the tower, something huge was pacing around. Ice filled her veins and when the creature turned to look at her, eyes gold in the darkness, Alivia turned to stone. For a moment, nobody moved, and then she dashed inside, dropping her pipe outside, as the howling came again, bolting and barring her door, throwing furniture against it as her heart pounded desperately.
She wrapped herself in her hide armour and red woollen cloak and grabbed her bow, pulling back the string and aiming at the door. Silence fell. Alivia’s body was locked into place, hearing movement outside, and then a scratching came at the door. There was a pause, and more scratching, and then the creature began to pace around the house. Alivia moved, slamming shut all of her windows and locking them, unwilling to see whatever it was that had her so scared. At the sound of wood on wood there was a bark, and then a heavy thumping that seemed to slowly get fainter. Was it moving away?
It seemed to be.
The Imperial didn’t move all night, sat opposite the door with bow in hand, and when morning came she was a wreck, her skin grey, dark rings beneath her eyes, shivering in fear. When the cock crowed, and sunlight streamed through the gaps in her shutters, only then did she begin to move the furniture from the door. Still wrapped tightly in her armour and cloak, she reached for the door with a shaking hand, unlocking and unbolting it, finally turning the handle to expose torn-up grass mussed with prints and dew-covered ground. The sun had just risen, and it was still a little bit cold, but Alivia welcomed the fresh air as she forced herself on trembling legs to investigate the surrounding area. The terrain around her cabin was well-worn by animal prints, huge ones she’d never seen before. A trail of broken sticks and messed mud led away towards Falkreath, and in one of the prints, she found her pipe.
The howling came again the next night, bleeding into Alivia’s sleep, but the beast didn’t knock down her door, nor did it approach the cabin. The Imperial dreamt of flashing teeth and grey fur, but there was no death in her dreams, and she woke, restless and shivering, to a knock on her front door. The bleary Imperial took a second to acknowledge that animals didn’t knock, and then got up, opening her door to a courier.
“Important delivery for you,” he said, and pushed a letter into her hands, sprinting away. She watched him go, returning to her bedroom after closing the door, and opening her letter. It was from her grandmother, an eccentric old woman in Falkreath who shunned human contact as Alivia did. They got together every other month to express disgust at the people of Tamriel and drink bitter tea and eat Cyrodiilic sweetrolls so wonderful that the thought of them made Alivia’s mouth water. The woman was something of a hedge witch, and she made some killer potions and poisons that Alivia stocked up on whenever she could. It was time for their next visit, and Alivia smiled. It went as quickly as it has appeared as she considered the creature from the last few nights. It seemed to be focussed on her, which suggested that it might follow her. She didn’t think she could fight it off either, so how was she going to get there without getting stronger?
The answer was simple. She’d hire a Companion. She was on their doorstep, and she made enough trading with merchants and such to be able to afford to hire the services of at least one of them. So Alivia gathered her coins, packed her food, locked up her valuables and secured her house, heading towards Whiterun to hire some muscle.
The mead hall of Jorrvaskr was full of the smell of cooked meat and ale, and Alivia felt something of a comfort in the scent. When somebody cleared their throat behind her, the spell was broken, and she turned to see a tall, older Nord man watching her with one eye, the other blind.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“I need to hire a Companion for safety,” she said. “I have enough money.”
“Safety?” he repeated.
“I…I think I’m being stalked,” she admitted. “By an animal of some kind. I just need to get to Falkreath and back to visit my grandmother, it’s not a huge journey…”
“It’s 600 septims as a flat fee,” he told her. “Plus, I keep what I kill.”
“That sounds okay,” she mumbled. “Do you want your money now?”
“No,” he began. “You pay me at the end. If I fail and you die, I take it off your corpse anyway.”
“Ah,” she muttered. “How…honest.”
“When do we leave?” he asked.
“Well, today,” she replied. “I need to get to Falkreath, after all, and it’s a trek…”
“Then pack food and potions,” he told her. “We leave when you’re ready.”
Her new protector was called Skjor, a veteran of the Great War and victor of many skirmishes. Bar answering that one question, he said very little, and the beginning of their journey, which led them across the tundra towards the mountains in the distance, was quiet, almost awkwardly so. They were beset by bandits twice, and Skjor proved his worth as protection both times. The inherent Nord warcry that startled foes into fleeing had rung through the fight the first time and Alivia had felt it pass through her, causing her heart to pump and her breath to catch. She found herself on edge, jumpy and filled with adrenaline as arrow after arrow was loosed from her bow. The sound had sent tingles down her spine and pooled deliciously between her legs, and she tried to ignore it as they fought.
When their enemies were dead, the warrior had shouldered his sword like it was nothing, and they had kept on walking, though Skjor kept sniffing the entire way to the mountain pass that would take them to Falkreath. She offered him a cloth to blow his nose on and he just laughed at her, his eyes widening briefly as he took another deep breath. When tundra grass became forest green, they made their way up the road into the southernmost hold, and Alivia paused to study a map. Her grandmother lived west of Lake Ilinalta, and she pointed to their place on the map and Skjor gave an understanding nod.
It was getting close to evening when they finally stopped by the lake, and her Companion made it clear in no uncertain terms that they should stop there and rest for the night. Alivia protested – with him there, they would surely survive the mile trip to her grandmother’s – but Skjor insisted.
“Creatures don’t like fire,” he reminded her. “They might brave a single torch, but multiple torches and a big fire in one place would scare anything off except robbers, and I’m here for that.”
So they laid out bedrolls and made a fire, and Alivia cooked supper as they watched the moons rise. They were huge, both of them full, and they cast a beautiful glow over their humble campsite. Skjor seemed restless, fingers drumming on the blade of his sword, stretched across his lap, his breastplate unstrapped from his chest but by his feet. She’d seen him demonstrate how quickly he could get it on, and she wasn’t worried. Still, he seemed agitated and fidgety, very different from the calm, stoic demeanour he wore this morning.
“You’re restless,” she announced. The Companion shrugged.
“All the better to charge into battle,” he replied.
“Away from the fire, too,” she noted. The man was sat close enough to keep warm but not to be seen, and he would have melded into the shadows if not for the light shimmering off his armour.
“All the better to blind my enemies,” he explained.
“Not worried about cutting yourself on the sword? It’s sharp,” she added. The blade glinted with a deadly shine and she wondered what he used to get such an edge on it.
“All the better to kill whatever beast you’re afraid is after you,” he said.
“And you aren’t afraid of huge, golden-eyed monsters stalking the tundra?” she asked.
“All the better,” he replied. “They’re good trophies to take home. Do I get to inquire into you now, or is this employer’s luxury?”
“If you like,” she responded with a shrug. He leaned forward and so did she, testing her bowstring as she did so.
“A bit young to be living alone in the wild, aren’t you?” he stated.
“I don’t like people,” Alivia told him. “They smell and act badly.”
“And why the red cape?”
“Easier to be seen. My grandmother weaved it for me when I was younger.”
He actually laughed. “How much younger? You’re quite young anyway.”
“On my eighteenth, which must have been…four…four years ago? It’s kept me warm and stops hunters from shooting me, and most animals won’t see the colour anyway.”
“You’re slender enough,” he noted. “Is it diet or personal preference that you stay that size?”
“Both,” she replied. “Why? Do you like this size?”
His replying grin had a little…too many teeth. It sent a small tremor through her body, and she crossed her legs and looked down at her strung bow, twanging the string uselessly.
“We should…we should work out the patrols,” she said eventually. The warrior nodded, and stood, picking up his sword.
Skjor took the first watch, pacing the camp restlessly as the Imperial fell asleep wrapped in her bedroll and red cloak. It was still warm, especially down in the forest with the trees pressed close, and she slept easily for several hours. Her dreams felt uncomfortably warm, wet, and she kept stroking fingertips down her own body until she realised that it wasn’t her doing that.
Alivia shook off sleep to find Skjor leaning over her, unbuckling her from her armour, cloak on the ground around, and she scrabbled to sit up and he covered her mouth with his roughly, tugging off her boots. She whimpered into his lips, warmth spreading across her body as she feebly protested his large hands stripping her naked. He stroked her body, exposing her toned belly and uncovering her breasts, sliding her smallclothes down her legs. Still his lips had hers, biting softly and licking gently at the marks. She whined as he removed the last of his clothes, pinning her roughly to the red cloak as their bodies squirmed against each other. She pushed his shoulders, hard, and managed to pull her mouth away briefly.
“Skjor-what-” she breathed, and then fear locked her joints into place when she looked at his eyes and saw only molten gold there. It was him. “You’re-” she managed, and then he kissed her again, nipping her lips and jaw and pressing teeth against her throat as she wriggled beneath him, thumb sliding into her mouth. She stilled at the hint of teeth even, but he quickly moved, sucking on her breasts and swirling a tongue around each nipple until little squeaks of pleasure and protest broke from her mouth. Still she couldn’t talk, and she could only lie there as he kissed his way down her stomach to the patch of curly black hair between her legs.
“I could smell you,” he growled. “All gods-damned day, I could smell you.”
And then his lips were on her sex and the Imperial forgot how to breathe. Gods, his mouth and tongue were rough and hungry, mapping her relentlessly. He licked her slit greedily, sucking on her as he enjoyed her flavour, his arm curled around her leg to keep her exposed to him. The air was warm on her skin, but her body was quickly growing hotter with each lap. She wriggled like she was in a trap but to no avail. He was all muscle beneath the armour, not a mountain but no less immovable, and it shouldn’t have but the sensation of being pinned sent hot, dirty flecks of desire and arousal through her. Oh gods, it was terrible, and it was wonderful.
Her fingers curled around his head weakly, and her other hand stroked his wrist, thumb rubbing his pulse. It must have felt good, because the man between her legs moaned, and the sound travelled through her sex and her body tightened up. Was this what people did for each other? Alivia knew very little of pleasure – really, it wasn’t that important to her – but Mikael sometimes told sordid tales and she’d spoken with Ysolda once about Khajiit and tails and rasping tongues and she’d forgotten to talk properly for about a week.
Tails…Tongues…beasts…oh gods! Skjor was a monster, how had she forgotten that?!
She wriggled once more, trying to push him, but it spurred him – Nord, monster, whatever he was – into harsher and hungrier licks, and soon the pleasure leeched the strength from her bones and she was boneless, forced down into the red cloak as she was wound tighter beneath his lips. She whimpered his name beneath his thumb, biting weakly, and he forced it deeper into her. She sucked on it softly and he bucked furiously, grinding against the ground as he growled. Alivia was trembling now, panting wetly as sweat dripped gently down her leg. The arm holding her open moved away and his hand reached her slit, a finger pumping inside as her wetness swallowed him. He crooked it upwards as his mouth attacked her nub, the single finger sending wave after wave of burning heat into her until Alivia fought for breath.
When the heat culminated it spread through her groin, a wave of wonderful pleasure that debilitated her completely and left her vision blurry with pleased tears. Skjor worked her down from her high and pulled away, his golden eyes terrifying and arousing at the same time. His lips came down upon hers again as he took his thumb away, a finger still inside her, and he continued to crook it until her legs slowly jerked up to protect herself. He slowly removed it in a way that sent sparks into her brain, and sucked the digit into his mouth to taste her again. The Imperial, prone and dripping beneath him, could only stare at the sight with wide, wet eyes.
Skjor settled immediately between her legs, and when they pushed against his chest to move him away, uncertain, he simply grasped her ankles in one hand and moved them aside, pressing the head of his cock against her slit and slowly pushing inside. He would advance, thrusting gently back and forth, until he worked his way to the hilt. He dropped her legs to slide them either side of his waist, her pelvis angled as he grasped her thighs. Alivia couldn’t tell if she was scared, needy, or unsure – it felt like all three. He snapped upwards, beginning a jumbled rhythm of thrusting that moved between hard and soft, fast and slow. Each time he stretched her open, feeling an aching pain in her groin that slowly alleviated into pleasure. She heard their sounds, a wet mix of dirty slick noises and combined panting – hers high and stuttered, his low and guttural – that brought a blush to her face and caused her to look away. Skjor took her face in one hand as his hips met hers, their eyes meeting, and she burned at the ocular contact, his golden irises sending a flush into her body.
She felt like a rabbit in torchlight, caught and unable to move, as they looked at each other, and though her mouth moved, lips trembling as he slowly increased his pace, she didn’t look away until his thumb dipped between her legs and began to rub her. Alivia’s arms were crossed protectively over her chest, hands gripping her shoulders, and the man – beast? What was he? – slowly grasped her wrists and raised them above her head, pinning them into place and exposing her to his dangerous eyes. Alivia felt her legs lock around his hips, and without thinking she ground against him, panting and whimpering with each thrust as her pleasure rose again.
Sensing her new obedience, the Companion segued into a rougher pace, kissing her with eyes wide open as their bodies smacked together sharply. He dug his teeth into her neck, his body vibrating with a growl as he fucked her hard. Alivia didn’t dare struggle or scream, she just writhed in pleasure, whining and moaning each time he rubbed her inner walls. It stung a little still but it felt so good. He let go of her wrists to hold her hips tighter, one hand palming up her back to press her closer, more intimately. She wrapped her free arms around his neck and buried her face next to them, their sweat-slick bodies sliding against each other as he took her roughly. Her nails dug into his skin and he snarled like a wolf – a wolf! Of course!
Skjor was a werewolf.
Somehow the thought didn’t scare her so much as arouse her and why, why did it arouse her? Maybe because it meant Skjor wasn’t ‘people’, wasn’t the rowdy, smelly kind she avoided on purpose.
A nip on her neck distracted her, and he changed the angle he took her to catch a spot that drove her wild with three thrusts, diving her down the path of completion without mercy. Skjor didn’t stop, hammering away at her now that he’d made her come, her walls slick and quickly relaxing around him. He sat up, and Alivia, bleary and shaking, gazed at him in confusion.
“I’m not done with you, little red-cloak,” he growled.
She woke in the morning to hands running along her body, her legs sore from a set of hips smacking into them all night, and a deep, satisfied laugh vibrating through her. Her hair was a mess, out of its braid and strewn about her head. She sat up stiffly, and large, warm hands massaged her shoulders. They wrapped a red cloak around her, and Skjor sat up, still naked, shamelessly nude, his cock soft but still gleaming with her wetness from where he’d only just pulled it from her.
“Good morning,” he murmured. Alivia didn’t trust herself to speak without her voice cracking, her lips parting in a gasp as the man – Companion – werewolf – stroked between her legs softly, fingers on her nub to stimulate her. Her stamina was low, and it didn’t take long for a sweet release to climb through her, forcing her onto her elbows. “If we leave now, we can make it to your grandmother’s in good time.”
“And what will you protect me from?” she finally asked scathingly, trying to stand as he moved to the fire to build it up and make breakfast. “Yourself? Your rampant wolf? Why did you not tell me?”
“Bandits,” he began. “Warlocks. Wizards. This rampant wolf has eyes on you, little red. We’re not letting anything hurt you now.”
“What if I don’t want you around?” she hissed. “Last night, what you did…”
“Then I can leave,” he said carefully. “I wasn’t entirely in control…the wolf…”
“The wolf forced you?” she finished. He nodded. “Unlike you, I’d never had someone before last night. I won’t be treated as a toy for you to mock, so if you’re lying to me about this…”
“There are base urges,” he said, putting beef and venison and tomatoes in a pan with some water and herbs. “We’re pushed to act on them. You’d smelt of gods-damned arousal all day and it was twin full moons. I’m lucky I didn’t transform.”
She thought of coiled muscle beneath fur and glowing golden eyes and need zipped through her. She found fingers at her entrance, pressing inside her, and her legs opened as he stroked her to another climax.
“I smell your needs, your desires,” he murmured. “I can help you with them.” A thumb brushed her nub and she whimpered, squeezing him. “I can protect you as a wolf does their mate.” Her fingers coiled around the back of his neck as he touched her, and another slow, hot climax rocked her.
“You’re a beast,” she gasped.
“I am,” he agreed. “You think I’m ashamed?”
“I think you’re very proud,” she whispered.
“I’m powerful. I have strength few can best. I have pride in that,” he told her. “It’s yours, if you let me mate you more and keep you to myself.”
His fingers made thought so difficult, and Alivia opened her legs to let him in as the cloaked girl in red surrendered herself to the wolf at the door.