-So my last update was on Halloween... I guess you could count this as a pre-Thanksgiving chapter? *awkward grin*

Anyway... this one's a good four thousand words or so. I hope you're all happy. I should get a cake or something. Something good, like red velvet or cheesecake. But not coconut...gross.

Enjoy, peace and meat sticks,

-Cryptika

The stiff-bristled brush glided easily across Aurox's gleaming white coat as Azkari'a tended to the stallion, glowering to herself as she was lost in her thoughts. The huge ivory horse, however, was blissfully unaware of his mistress's disgruntled emotions, happily shoving his muzzle into the trough of hay that sat by the far wall of his stall.

Az had hoped that spending time with her horse would take her mind off of her chaotic thoughts. Although the smell of hay and saddle leather soothed her nerves slightly, altogether, her plan was failing. It was simply too quiet for her mind to settle, despite Aurox's crunching and the sounds of the other horses in the neighboring stalls.

Why she had even brought Farkas to her castle, she had no idea. Perhaps there was some part of the honorable Nord in her that felt the need to repay the man for helping her heal those arrow wounds so many seasons ago.

Regardless-and as usual-the man had shown nothing but contempt since he had awoken from his unconscious state. She sincerely hoped that he would be gone when she went back inside. She could only imagine the turmoil that would arise when Riisahviing arrived.

She paused for a moment to listen, trying to pinpoint the dragon's whereabouts. She could faintly hear the echo of a distant roar, meaning the mighty dragon was getting closer to the castle. He often flew towards Markarth to hunt, picking off elk or bear or Forsworn members from the hills and valleys of the mountain range in the Reach. Then he would return to Castle Grey, perching on top of one of the massive stone structures or landing in the courtyard to speak to Azkari'a. Often times he would prefer to sit on the walls and watch the construction progress of the Keep that was being built for him, under the secretive orders of Azkari'a.

And if Farkas attempted to attack the dragon, he'd find himself roasted into a nice, crispy werewolf.

Azkari'a scowled to herself again. She wouldn't even try to stop him.

Farkas paced up and down the hall outside of the library and the conservatory, his stride absolutely restless and his face seemingly frozen in a frustrated snarl.

Azkari'a had given him the option to leave. Given him a full, more-than-enthusiastic invitation, in fact. She wanted him gone. And he wanted to leave. But he couldn't.

He didn't have his sword, and he had no idea exactly where Azkari'a had put it. It was probably in the armory that she'd refused to bring him into, but if it was anything like the other rooms she had shown him, he could spend hours looking for his weapon. He also didn't have his armor-he had been dressed in a loose white shirt and black trousers that were slightly too big for him, hanging off of his hips a bit. He briefly, angrily wondered if Azkari'a had undressed him, but shook the thought quickly out of his head. Such a chore would be far beneath her, he thought bitterly. She probably hadn't been the one to see to his wounds, either. The she-wolf had seen him naked before, he knew, and they both regretted the entire experience.

Farkas resumed his pacing. He couldn't just leave without his weapons, or his armor. And he was willing to bet his next ten tankards of ale that the moment he got out of this castle-turned-personal-prison, that damned dragon would swoop down and carry him off again.

He came to a halt outside the doors to the armory. The door had a heavy lock on it-there were probably some very valuable weapons inside. Treasures she's collected from the people she's slaughtered, Farkas thought bitterly. His sword had to be in there somewhere. But he couldn't get in, and he knew nothing about picking locks. He thought briefly about asking one of the many servants to open the door, but dismissed the thought quickly. They had probably been dually notified by Azkari'a about her feelings towards him.

He'd just have to wait until she came back.

The fire felt decidedly too hot tonight, Azkari'a thought dismissively as she lounged in front of the crackling heat in the fireplace. The only sounds came from the fire; the rest of her quarters and the castle were blessedly quiet. The fire cast a soothing glow around the room, throwing shadows up to dance and bathing Azkari'a in a golden-orange light where she sat on a wide chaise, her legs tucked up under her and her chin resting on her upturned palm.

It had been a week. A whole week, and Farkas still hadn't left Castle Grey. He wanted his sword and his armor back, but Azkari'a had been loath to return them. The armory had remained locked up tight, save for the come and go of the blacksmiths and the servants in charge of cleaning. If she gave him back his weapons, surely he'd attempt some sort of 'righteous vengeance' against her. She did not want an attack in her own castle. The guards would be all over him like buzzards on a carcass, and Riisahviing would likely blow a hole in the ceiling to come to her aid. Farkas would be down in a matter of seconds.

She couldn't have that, somehow.

Her train of thought shifted tracks when she once again came across how silent the castle was. Farkas had likely gone to his guest quarters, which is where he spent most of his time, sulking and probably plotting against her. Usually she could hear the bustle of the kitchen servants, cleaning up from the evening meal, and the bards were normally playing in the ballroom where the off-duty guards and help relaxed at this time of the night.

But tonight, there was silence.

Azkari'a fidgeted. Where was the usual nighttime bustle? Where were the-

She froze.

The fire felt too hot, her skin had been prickling all day, she was fidgeting, there was a craving that nagged her mind like a thorn…

She wanted to slam her forehead against her palm repeatedly, cursing her absentmindedness. She was a wolf. A female wolf. And female wolves went into heat.

That's why the guards and servants weren't bothering her, or even near her chambers for that matter. She had forgotten completely that it was the mating season. Soon, her wolf side would claw its way to the surface and howl for her to mate with any available male. Luckily, none of the males in the castle were werewolves-

Shit, Azkari'a swore to herself, Farkas.

He was still taking up residence in the guest room, and didn't seem intent on leaving until he got his sword and armor back. Something about specially-forged Skyforge steel…

She had to keep away from him, or get him out of the castle. She was still in the early stages of her heat cycle, and already there was a thorn of lust beginning to fester in her. Her wolf would take over once again, and she remembered quite well what had happened the last time she had loosened its leash. And this wasn't a simple one-night of full moons. Her heat would last at least a month.

She snarled, leaping up and stalking to the doors, locking them with a sharp click. She had endured her heat cycles before… but never with another male werewolf in the vicinity. Never with another male who would sense her heat, and would be drawn to her by his own wolf, clambering to mate.

She paced around the luxurious expanse of her chambers, past the huge four-poster bed set upon a raised dark-wood platform and draped in silk curtains. She paced past the large black-wood desk that held several important maps and scrolls and a dragonfly in a jar. The fire threw her moving shadow on the wall as she past it, dancing like a wraith released by a necromancer.

She would just have to wait until her season ended, and avoid Farkas as much as possible. She would lock herself in her chambers if necessary, and have a servant bring her meals and whatever else she needed. Hopefully, she would keep enough control of her wolf to endure her heat cycle.

Hopefully.

Farkas paced the floor of his room. It was late-the only light was the cracking fireplace set into the wall. And Farkas couldn't sleep.

He was restless-or rather, his wolf was. He could feel it, ruffled and agitated, making his eyes shift from yellow to storm-grey and back again. Something was amiss, but he did not know what it could be. There was a sort of…prickle, just beneath his skin, almost like his fur was preparing to burst through. His muscles twitched of their own accord, adding to his restlessness. There was a scent in the air, toxically sweet and somewhat musky, calling to the beast within him. It beckoned him, tempted him to follow that scent and find its source.

Farkas snarled to himself, demanding control over his senses again. Wandering around Azkari'a's castle was not something he wanted to do, especially when he did not know the whereabouts of both her and her dragon. He had not seen the beast in his entire week-long stay. He did not know quite what he would do when he was finally confronted with the thing-from what he could remember, attacking it alone would not be the best of options. What was the damned thing's name…? Riisahviing. Essence of phantom wings. A new breed. He had no idea the strengths it possessed, but he could assume that they were greater than the average dragons around Skyrim.

The werewolf halted his pacing, throwing a glance to the large bed that seemed to draw him in with its plushness and warmth. It was still spring in Skyrim, and if it were not for the fire burning, there would most likely be a bit of a chill in the room, seeping off the grey stone.

That scent still tugged at his primal side, promising great things if he found its source. He ignored it determinedly and a bit bitterly, sitting down on the edge of the bed, his weight sinking into the pile of furs. He would just have to ignore the pull and attempt to get some sleep.

Throughout the following week, Farkas could do nothing more than fight for control over his beastial nature, prodded and battered with that same intoxicating scent and that strange pull he felt deep within, where his wolf side resided. He wanted nothing more than to leave Castle Grey, justice served or no, but every single time he walked out the grand front doors, his beast snarled and howled and forced him to turn around. At this point, he could have cared less if he had his armor and his weapons-he'd walk out only in the black trousers and loose-sleeved white tunic, and armed with a butter knife if only he could.

So once again, Farkas was splayed on his back on his bed, hands firmly pressed against his temples and eyes clenched tightly shut in an attempt to drown out his senses and the beast clattering around within him. Azkari'a had not made a single appearance all that week, but he'd be damned to Oblivion if he went to her for help anyway.

But that scent… Dark, seductive, dangerous…calling him. Where was it coming from? Throughout the week it had grown stronger, more deadly in its allure, lacing the hall and the bathing pool room. It settled like a heavy fog, over the rooms and his senses, and he could barely ignore it.

With a snarl to himself, his eyes rapidly shifting to wild yellow, he lurched off the bed and stalked out the door. His nostrils flared as they were filled with that intoxicating scent, his wolf on full alert and overwhelming his senses. He was quickly losing control over himself.

Far more in-tune to the scent than before, when his beast side was somewhat more contained, Farkas's nose led him directly to the tall, richly carved doors up the stairs at the very end of the hall. Azkari'a's door.

Growling to himself, he curved clawed fingers around the handle and pushed. Locked. The snarl building in his chest grew as he spontaneously threw his weight into the door, rumbling as he heard a satisfying snap of the lock breaking. He threw the doors open, prowling inside.

-.-.-.-Graphic Warning! Stop reading if hot werewolf sex is not your thing...-.-.-.-

He was met with a sight that possibly would have terrified him, if he had been more man than animal. Azkari'a, as naked as the day she was born save for a black cloak gracing her shoulders, was crouched like a hunting predator on top of the wide mantle of her still-burning fireplace. Her inky black hair was wild around her, flowing down her back in an ebony cascade and shielding one glowing silver eye from view. As Farkas stalked into her quarters she opened her mouth and snarled, nearly every single tooth now sharp and pointed. Farkas stopped and pinned her with his gaze, a low, commanding growl rumbling in his chest.

"Get out." Those were the only human words that came from Azkari'a's fanged mouth amidst a string of dangerous snarls. The male werewolf snarled back at her, his posture suggesting dominance and the growls rolling from his throat demanding submission from the female. His wolf understood every facet of the situation: here was a female wolf, within his range and in heat, ready for him to dominate. And he was fully prepared to accept the challenge.

He stalked towards the perched she-wolf like a hunting sabre cat, those low, commanding growls still resonating deep in his chest, both aiming to placate the female and demand her submission. Farkas was long gone; the wolf was in control and fully taking advantage of the situation.

Azkari'a stayed crouched atop the mantle, her clawed fingers gripping the stone harder as Farkas drew closer. Her eyes glittered like silver stars, burning with white fire. Her pupils were contracted into tiny points of abysmal black, the silver almost seeming to swallow the darkness. She was not afraid of his presence-she was threatening him back for his own good. She roared at him again, loud enough that the guards might have come running, if they had not been notified previously of Azkari'a's condition and forbidden from coming into the chambers.

The she-wolf recognized the feral beast that was approaching her predatorily. His eyes were burning yellow in the dim light, fixated on her. Teetering on the edge of control herself, Azkari'a was not sure of what the outcome would be if her wolf side was to take over. She hoped it would resort to an attack, rather than the somewhat inevitable alternative. The low growls rumbling from Farkas's chest were calling to her wolf side, coaxing it to answer, although she had voiced her opinion of his proximity several times before.

One particularly sharp growl of demand from Farkas tipped her over the edge. Snarling defensively, Azkari'a leapt down from the mantle with the grace of a true predator, intending to lunge at the wolf-man in front of her. He anticipated the move, however, his hands grasping her shoulders and forcing her back. The fiery ochre of his eyes burned into her as he drove her against the wall beside the fireplace, turning her in his rough, clawed grasp and pressing her front against the tapestry that hung in front of the cold stone. The snap of her jaws went unnoticed as his nose came up to trace the slope of her neck, inhaling her wild scent and growling possessively into her ear. The male wolf pressed against the female's back, his hands holding her arms at her sides, claws digging into her heated flesh as he nipped at the concealing line of the cloak at her neck. She continued to snarl at him, the sound vibrating her body against his. Unfortunately for Azkari'a, the effect was quite the opposite of what she had intended, as Farkas growled pleasurably and ground himself against her ass. Her snarls caught in her throat as she felt the hard bulge rubbing against her. A low whine escaped her throat, the she-wolf recognizing the act of dominance as the male behind her continued to lightly bite at the side of her neck. She knew the meaning of those growls in his chest. Be calm, they said, but also: submit to me.

Farkas's nose skimmed up the expanse of the slope of her neck again, drinking in the delicious scent that drifted off her flesh. That scent had called him there, he knew. He had followed the call of the she-wolf to her chambers, and was now satisfied that he had her where he wanted her. One clawed hand left her arm to press against the wall, caging her in on one side. His body effectively prevented her movement, his teeth pressing warningly into her flesh when she attempted to wriggle out of his grasp. This female was in heat-the peak of her heat, the wolf knew. She needed a mate, to be mated, and he would happily accept nature's orders. He pressed his aching arousal against her cloak-covered ass again, grinding into her until she whined again. She did not show her throat to him, as he wanted, but continued to answer his demanding growls with low snarls of reproach.

With another sharp, commanding growl, he tore the cloak from her body in one quick movement so she was bare beneath him, her front spared from the cold stone by the tapestry he pressed her against. She snarled at him again, nearly a bark, but did not struggle as his other arm left hers to wrap tightly around her waist. He tugged at her, forcing her to arch her back so her rear pressed harder against him. He inhaled deeply again, this time catching the heady, wet scent of her arousal-and was fiercely spurred into action.

Tearing his own bothersome clothes from his body, Farkas pressed himself flush against the she-wolf pinned between him and the wall. Her sleek, heated flesh met his and he growled with delight, rewarding her with a sensual lick beneath her ear. She rumbled back at him in reproach but did not struggle-at least, not until she felt the thick head of his cock press against her from behind, one of his legs forcing hers open. She writhed against him, although neither really knew if it was because of trepidation, or anticipation…

There was barely any patience for foreplay between the wolves in human skin. Farkas licked and nipped and bit at Az from her shoulder to the shell of her hear, eliciting shivers and growls from the she-wolf pinned against him. His hand dropped from the wall to grasp his throbbing erection, rubbing it against the now-exposed wet heat between Az's thighs. She rumbled something long and low, in no decipherable language, arching back against the male as her clawed hands came up to brace against the wall, no longer fighting against Farkas's touches. The werewolf dipped his head to brush his lips along the soft ridges of Az's shoulder blades, then down along the gentle, supple curve of her spine, thrown into shadow by the dancing fire. Her juices coated him in wetness as he continued to tease her with his cock, growling to her as she tensed against him, her supple muscles rippling as her overly sensitive body was slowly brought to the edge of ecstasy.

With a deep snarl of satisfaction, Farkas suddenly plunged himself into the she-wolf's wet slit, pressing his fangs lightly into her throat to keep her still as a delighted, keening howl erupted from her throat. She turned her head to him to graze his tensed jawline with her own sharp fangs, rumbling and almost humming as Farkas sank himself to the hilt inside her. Her tight muscles squeezed him seductively and he growled, flexing his hips so a lovely half-moan, half-whimper escaped Azkari'a. He dragged his tongue up the length of her neck, pausing to suckle on the silvery scar in the shape of teeth resting on her golden flesh. The she-wolf purred in delight, pressing herself back against him so he sank even deeper into her, her claws scouring the length of his arm that was still clamped around her waist. He released his hold on her to run both hands up to her heaving breasts, his teasing thumbs finding her nipples hard from her arousal. He pinched the hard nubs with his fingers, feeling her low growls vibrating her chest, continuing to savor the feeling of being buried inside her as he palmed her soft breasts.

The little vixen she-wolf he held pressed against the wall was in no mood to be teased, though, and she knew just how to get what she wanted. She flexed those hot, tight, wonderful feminine muscles around Farkas and his moment of savoring the feel of her vanished like the flame of a blown-out candle. With a snarl he withdrew from her seeping core, just before snapping his hips and driving up into her with a resounding slap of flesh and bringing his mouth down to sink his fangs into her neck.

Another sensual cry tumbled from between Az's lips, parted in pleasure, as Farkas began driving into her like a piston, his thick shaft stretching and filling her over and over as his fangs dug into her flesh until she felt scarlet liquid run down her shoulder. Not long after, a hot wet tongue followed those droplets of crimson, tracing their paths across her heated skin. Farkas's hands dropped to her hips, claws tightening as he forced her to accept his wildly plunging body. His long black hair, which had grown and become silken with extravagant oils during his stay at the castle, mixed with Az's ebony cascade as he leaned against her back and rammed into her. Her low moans and high cries of pleasure filled his ears and stoked his already sky-high lust, his pace increasing until he felt sure he would bruise her inside. She didn't seem to mind though, her hips now rocking to meet his harsh rhythm, pushing her chest into his palm as he brought a hand up to tease a nipple again.

Her body eagerly accepted his plunging cock and her fangs sought whatever skin she could reach, sinking into his arms when he caged her against the wall or into the flesh just below his jaw when she tipped her head back to reach it after calling out her ecstasy into his ear. Sweat and blood clung to them both, their combined fluids sticky between Az's thighs. The she-wolf's moans mixed with the slap of flesh and Farkas's low growls as the two furiously fucked against the chamber wall, their combined shadows dancing on the wall. Although Farkas had demanded her submission, it seemed that the two were equal-meeting each other thrust for thrust and bite for bite.

In the midst of his wild thrusts, Farkas brought one hand down to find the little bundle of nerves hidden between Az's thighs. Oh the power that little spot contained-he knew it would make her come apart in his grasp if he used it right. And it didn't take long before he figured out just how she liked to be rubbed; he grunted as she tightened around him with a gasp as his fingers worked between her soaking folds, just above where his cock surged into her body. With a long, low, intoxicating moan, she shattered; the muscles of her core clenching around his shaft like a wet silken vise, milking him for his own climax. Burying his face in the curve of her neck, Farkas slammed himself inside her until his tip hit her limits and she was stuffed full before releasing himself with a long stream of snarls. White light enveloped his vision and her scent filled his nostrils as he came, one arm around her waist to hold her tight against him and the other still buried between her legs. His fingers kept working her, drawing out her orgasm until her muscles were quivering around him.

Finally he found the energy to leave her body, bringing with him a flood of their combined juices. He growled to her in satisfaction, seeking to communicate his approval of her acceptance using low rumbles that vibrated his chest. His chiseled muscles gleamed with sweat and blood, matching Azkari'a's own body. The wolf hummed, dragging his tongue up her neck as she panted for breath, her breasts heaving against his palms where he continued to massage them adoringly. He continued to lick the blood from her body, coating his tongue in the scarlet life essence as the wolf sought to clean his newfound mate. His hands rubbed the ache of his roughness from her muscles… at least, until the second round; and the wolf would make sure there was a second round, and a third, and a fourth…until that delicious scent left his nose.

-...Yeah, so that happened...