Ezra woke ensconced in darkness. Warm, breathing darkness. Surrounded by a scent he recognized. It was a scent he knew by heart, that he carried with him, that identified him as one of the pack and lately more. It was… familiar, soothing, warm. And so, so intimate. His very soul seemed to relax into the strength the scent held, into the power everywhere.

It was Chris. Pure Chris. The wolf and the man. It was…

His eyes snapped open.

Black fur.

There was black fur around him.

His ears picked up the loud, furious howls of mother nature at her best. Something rattled viciously and there was a banging sound, as if something heavy had just crashed somewhere.

Where…?

How…?

And Chris?!

Pain made itself known, centering deeply in his side. With the pain came the memories. A drunk Josiah, the attack, making a run for it, then… flying and crashing.

It didn't explain Chris.

Ezra blinked, biting back a moan as the pain pulsed again, muscles protesting every move. His wings were like foreign objects, and he was barely able to lift them.

Wings.

Aw, hell, fuck, no!

His wings were out.

For everyone to see.

For Chris.

Who now knew he had wings.

Oh lord. Ohlordohnononono!

His shifter hindbrain suddenly realized what had happened and he almost froze in horror.

Panic spread through him, pushing away the pain, overwhelming his mind, instinct battling with human rational thought. He quickly assessed his situation. He was in what appeared to be one of those emergency stations, an ERSS, there was a storm raging outside, he was injured, weak, and he was alone with Chris Larabee, his team leader, his alpha… his... whatever.

The man who now knew that Ezra Standish wasn't just a normal shifter.

The panic turned into fear and then into terror.

He was going to die.

And if not die, then…

The pressure behind his forehead rose.

Ezra knew what happened to crossbreeds who were discovered by the 'normal' shifters or humans. He had seen others like him get beat up, hunted, chased, nearly killed. He had been told of ancient stories that spoke of his special kind as witch breeds, as evil spawns, as dangerous and impure. Even today, with civilization as it was, the old stories stoked fear, spread night terrors and let people act rashly.

He's going to kill me! ran through his muddled, almost feverish mind. End it. End me. Chase me away. Leave me. Packless.

A tiny part laughed hysterically. A packless fox. Right. But was he really a fox? No, he was everything. He was nothing. Like his mother had always told him.

Nothing.

He was not wanted anywhere, belonged nowhere, was something to be hunted. Larabee might just chase him away, bite him out of the pack, but what about the others?

Josiah's attack tangled with horror visions of the others and Ezra felt his brain short-circuit, mixing past and present.

He was going to die. Right away or later on, broken and bleeding, left alone. Ezra felt everything inside him constrict at the very thought of leaving Four Corners Territory, leaving the six men, leaving Chris… Chris of all people.

Because…

His mind stalled, creaking to a painful halt.

Extricating himself from the warmth and comfort of his pack leader, wings dragging along like they didn't belong to him, he suppressed a pained whimper. His side burned, his wings were too heavy for his weakened muscles to move, and he had no energy to spare to make them go away, let alone shift to human form.

He had to get away from here.

Run.

Had he been in a better state of mind he might have questioned the fact that he was in a protected environment, waking with Chris curled like a living shield around him, but he wasn't in that state of mind. He was panicking and while Ezra P. Standish didn't do panic, the exhausted, battered crossbreed did.

Again something banged loudly against the station that was their safety.

But it wasn't safety for him.

Chris was a purebred wolf, the old kind, part of an ancient Fenris line that ran deeply. Fenris were leaders. Strong. Relentless. Fierce. Perfectly able to work alone for a prolonged time. In tune with their instincts. They didn't necessarily need a pack, but when they formed one, it was as strong as them.

And trouble.

The Fenris line showed in Chris' very presence, his power of command, his size and his ferocity. The way he handled the pack, how all members had grown in their individual abilities and strengths. They were all respected members of the town and the whole Territory.

Until now.

Ezra doubted Chris would want anything to do with him after this discovery.

The panic was like a swamp, dragging him under, tearing him from rational thought, and the fox desperately tried to find a way out of the station. He tried to reach for the latch that secured the inner door, but he barely had the energy to even lift himself on his hind legs.

There was another lance of pain and he almost collapsed, his mind scrambling for control for a second as he breathed through the pain. Hot, deep stabs in his side, burning along his abused muscles. Ezra clenched his teeth to suppress the whimpers, but still harsh gasps escaped. The very floor seemed to grow all wavy and twist around him.

Maybe Chris wouldn't kill him right away, might just keep him alive to throw the book at him. Whatever kind of book. Probably something old and worn, filled with lies about crossbreeds and how they were evil. Ezra might end up in some kind of special hell, a prison cell just for him. Escape proof for crossbreeds.

Wings dragging along uselessly, he limped away from the door, seeking another exit. An air vent. A drain. Anything but the door. It was an insurmountable obstacle. He would need to be human for that. And he had no strength left. Every muscle seemed to ache, every breath hammered through his lungs, and his staccato heartbeat pulsed through his head as well.

He had to get out of here, ran through his head. Find safety. Hide. Runhiderun!

Hide from a pack that would surely hunt him down the moment they knew the truth.

There was movement behind him. A powerful shift, one he had gotten to know over the past months he had been part of the Larabee pack. Ezra turned, terror rushing through his body, muscles locking up, his heart stuttering, feeling like the whole world was tilting sideways.

Chris Larabee was an imposing sight as a wolf, so much larger than normal wolves, larger than Buck could ever be, or JD could hope to grow, and the yellow eyes were a clear outward sign of the Fenris. Eye color shifts were rare in wolves and always a sign of the Fenris. With a black fur that seemed to be darker than dark, the thick neck ruff and his posture, he was awe-inspiring.

And terror-inducing.

A black, vengeful spirit. His Death.

Ezra scuttled back, ignoring the sharp stabs of pain, cursing the heavy wings, as his claws scrabbled over the floor. The injured one was starting to ache abominably.

"Ezra," Chris broke the silence, voice calm and deep, hitting a nerve.

Touching something.

Pack.

And more. So much more. Something private, personal, intimate, something only between them.

Ezra felt dizzy, the world starting to swim, and he swallowed hard. A tremor ran through his wings, through his body, and muscles cramped briefly, bringing forth a breathless whimper.

The wolf came closer and he moved back automatically, swallowing down on nausea. Hard, corded muscles shifted underneath midnight fur. Those paws alone could tear him to pieces.

This was his alpha. Chris. Fast, deadly. Relentless energy boiling beneath a deceptively human surface.

He was no match.

Had never been.

The Fenris was raw power and danger, a dark, ferocious, volatile power that ran untamed under this human guise.

He was at this man's complete mercy.

Ezra didn't want to die. He had done a few wrong things in his past, yes. Larabee and the others knew he was – had been - a con, a thief, a liar and a cheat, and he had used his given talents, as well as his many forms, to their advantage ever since becoming part of a regulator pack. They had never known about the shapeshifts, only that he was skilled, a born undercover operative.

But he wasn't a creature of darkness. Being a crossbreed didn't make him evil. He wasn't evil!

He didn't want to die, but die he would. Either at the massive claws and teeth of his pack leader, the man he had trusted so much of himself with, had shared more than just his body. Or Chris would simply lock him up, throw away the key. If he was lucky. He might just kick him out into the storm now.

All that clamored through his exhausted brain, swimming together, making it hard to catch a rational through. He weakly bared his teeth at the hulking form, ready to at least give a token fight, even if nothing short of another Fenris might take down this one.

X X X X

Chris regarded the skittish fox calmly. He tried to make himself less ferocious alpha, less untamed wildness. He knew he wasn't good at handling babies and puppies, but he tried. He wasn't a reassuring presence on his best days like this, his heritage making it difficult, but he had hoped Ezra would be able to see past it. Like he had before. Ezra had never been impressed by the massive black form, the sharp teeth and glowing eyes.

But the fox was nervously eying his surroundings, close to just making a run for it, even if he didn't stand a chance. The terror in the green eyes was hard to stomach, especially when those eyes had reflected a whole different set of emotions not too long ago.

Ezra had never been scared of him. So absolutely terrified, so sure of physical harm coming his way.

This was a man convinced he was about to die. Torn apart by a Fenris, by his pack leader.

The wolf could smell the pain, was aware just how badly off the other shifter was, but Ezra was in flight mode and the adrenaline was pushing all that back. There was no hint of Ezra trying to attack him, despite the weakly lifting lips, baring sharp little teeth. It was hardly a challenge. Standish wanted to run from a perceived threat. The way he twitched, the way his muscles coiled, he would make a run, even if couldn't get any further than maybe a foot or two in his condition.

Because Chris had seen his wings. Because Chris knew. Because Chris knew he wasn't normal.

"Ezra," the black wolf said softly, voice dropping into a soothing range, using the power of the pack leader.

The fox winced, but a part of him reacted to the pack alpha.

"Relax."

The storm howled wildly outside and Ezra's ears turned like little radar dishes, scouting for an escape. As much as his instinctive reaction was to stay close to the protection and strength Chris offered, a very primal part was all for survival, which meant running. Finding an escape route.

There was none.

"Ezra," Larabee repeated patiently and slowly stepped closer. "You are safe here."

The fox warily watched his approach. The wings quivered, too weak to retract, absolutely useless right now. Just a tell concerning Standish's emotional state of mind. His whole body was trembling now. His whole self-confidence had been stripped away, baring his heart and soul for everyone to see. For the alpha to see.

::Ezra::

Using the pack link had the crossbreed freeze and stare. He was panting, in such panic and pain that Chris wanted to just curl up next to the terrified shifter and calm him.

::Nothing has changed:: Chris murmured.

Emotions were gathering thickly between them. He felt the stubbornness, the terror, the need to survive coupled with absolute hopelessness. It was all running through Ezra and it was all clear for him through the pack bond.

No, not the pack. The private, more intimate connection they had within the pack. The one reserved for those who were more than pack mates.

::Everything has changed:: was the weak protest, the voice filled with barely suppressed hysteria. ::I'm dead. I know I'm dead. Don't drag it out. Just end this misery and be done with it, Mr. Larabee::

The wolf closed more distance one slow step at a time. He didn't want to startle the other man more than he had to. Chris tried to ignore the words that told him just how deeply ingrained the fear of a crossbreed was when it came to discovery and their fate afterwards. It hurt him to hear how convinced the former con man was that he would die today. Ezra believed he was about to kill him, simply because he was a crossbreed. It was such an outrageous, outlandish notion, so foreign and far from Chris' mind…

::Ezra…::

By now the fox was pressed against the wall, shaking. The desolation was like a living, breathing thing hanging over him. All his control had gone out the window, the pain and terror clear for Chris to see. And the embarrassment, which only fed the anxiety levels and turned everything into a vicious circle.

::You are still you, Ez. Wings and all::

Chris was towering over him, but it couldn't be helped. He was a lot bigger than the other shifter. Ezra had never been impressed by size or sheer strength before. It had impressed Chris in turn. Ezra had gone up against much bigger opponents, had brought them down with swift moves and a lot of skilled fighting. Sure, he had been at the receiving end of a fist or two in an altercation, but he had never cowered down.

This… this was unnatural.

He lowered his snout, tongue gently licking over one dark ear.

::You are mine. My pack and mine::

The words had Ezra freeze, the green eyes going comically wide. The words, simple as they were, cut through the haze of fear. He abruptly sat down as his muscles refused to work any longer, the wings sliding down like a feathery cape. A breathy, broken whimper escaped his lips and fell against the wall with his good side, eyes sliding closed for a moment. It had been a tremendous effort on his part to stay on his paws all the time.

Surrender.

Absolute surrender.

It pained Larabee to see and feel it, because Ezra Standish was far from submissive. He might be pack, but he never submitted, which had been a challenge in the past. Sometimes a daily challenge in those first months. A pack didn't have the hierarchy many thought, more of fluidly moving positions, but everyone listened to the pack leader.

Chris had enjoyed himself more than he had ever confessed to anyone, though Vin had known. The challenge had kept him on his toes and Ezra had been a source of renewed life for him.

"Chris…" the fox breathed, almost pleading. "I… please… I'm…"

"I still want you," was the soft reply. "And I want to know about you. All of you. When you're better. We will talk, Ez. Really talk. No lies."

The fox was gaping. Truly gaping. The usually so vivid green eyes, sparkling with mischief and delight, were clouded with confusion. But there was hope. Tiny, tiny sparks of hope.

Chris nuzzled against him, silently amused at rendering his little gray fox speechless, then licked over the snout. It was as close to a kiss as a wolf could get in this form, and still it meant something more than simply a kiss could relay. He bathed the fox's head in calming licks, over one eye and along an ear, feeling the confusion, the hope, the want.

How could Ezra believe Chris would ever hurt him like that? Take his life over the discovery that he was a crossbreed? No alpha would do that. No pack functioned on fear and a reign of terror, death sentences and capital punishment. All Larabee had ever asked for was loyalty and respect, openness and trust.

Ezra started to relax involuntarily, the power of the alpha surrounding him. It was a familiar power, a familiar scent, and Chris was also all too familiar with getting this obstinate man to surrender at least for a moment.

::Never lied to you:: came the pained, despairing whisper. ::Please believe me that I never did. I didn't… couldn't… I promised… I did…::

Chris knew that. Not after the wily little thief had joined his pack. Ezra had always been truthful, but he had never opened up to anyone without asking. Even then the words had led everyone astray, deflecting and obfuscating.

::I know, Ez::

::I promised. Never to lie. Never to run out on you again:: He sounded desperate, close to frantic, shaking like a leaf. Like this was all the time he had left, just a moment to set things right. At the end of his emotional rope and physical endurance.

::And you didn't. You haven't run from a fight yet:: Another lick and nuzzle. ::Trust you, Ezra. Absolutely. I wouldn't have taken you in otherwise. I trust everyone in my pack::

Something collided hard with the ERSS's outside and Ezra flinched. Chris took the opportunity to nose against the gray head and push him gently but firmly back to the bed. He went as far as taking the protesting shifter by the scruff of his neck and help him up. The wings dragged by his side like foreign limbs. When the black wolf curled around him, nose and sharp-toothed jaws arranging the extra wings, Ezra stared at him.

"You don't mind?" he asked, voice a shaky little whisper, filled with hope and disbelief. Almost like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Chris to become violent.

"No."

"But I'm… I…"

::You're a crossbreed:: Chris confirmed calmly when the other stopped. He nibbled one ear. ::Don't care. You're mine::

The possessive feeling racing through him should be shocking, almost embarrassing, but wasn't. It was the truth. Ezra was his.

Ezra closed his eyes, still shaking minutely. He visibly hated the loss of control, the openness caused by his confusion and the physical pain.

Chris really didn't care. About who and what Ezra really was, about his perceived weakness, about his loss of control, about anything. Not right now and somehow, not ever. Here, within the confines of these reinforced walls, he felt like everything was alright with his world. With their world.

"Ezra," he coaxed. "I won't ever hurt you."

It got him an almost violent flinch.

He met the green gaze, forced the small fox to hold his eyes. "I would never become violent with one of my pack. I would never hurt you over what you are. I'm not a savage and I'm sure as hell not some simple-minded, backwater, opinionated, rabid zealot."

There was another tremor and Chris smelled the fear recede, but not completely. He pushed his snout against Ezra's.

"Did I ever give you reason to fear me?"

"No," was the soft answer. "But you never knew about me. I lied. I promised to never lie to you. I'm a man of my word. I broke it," he added, voice so low it was barely audible.

"I never asked if you are a crossbreed, Ezra Standish. You never told me, true, but I also never asked." He let amusement bleed into his voice. "I am not a violent person, despite my bloodline. I don't tear out anyone's throat on a whim. No one of this pack would have done anything to you."

Ezra looked away, radiating distress and exhaustion. Chris was aware that this secret, being a crossbreed, wasn't something Ezra would have shared lightly.

He curled around the smaller shifter, feeling the tension slowly drain out of the fox as he surrendered to the calming presence of the pack alpha, and finally Ezra sighed and buried into the dense, black fur.

::I still want you, Ezra Standish:: Chris whispered. ::As part of this team. As part of me::

Green eyes cracked open, met yellow ones. There was hope warring with disbelief. Chris nuzzled close.

::You bear my scent. My mark. You are part of the Larabee pack and you are also mine:: If the last was said possessively again, Ezra didn't comment and Chris refused to analyze his feelings.

There was a shaky sigh, but no words. Chris gently tugged the wing closer, marveling at the taste and smell of it. It was pure Ezra, so new and still familiar. The moment his teeth had closed over the trembling limb, Ezra had stared at him, fear mixed with something else in his eyes, but he had no strength left to even tug the wing away.

Did he really think Chris would harm the wing? Break the bone? The very thought had Larabee want to throw up.

::Sleep, Ez. We'll talk later::

The fox still stared at him, but he finally did relax completely, sliding off into sleep.

tbc...