The air outside the Hall of Sunder was thick with the scent of ozone and sizzling silver, a metallic tang that clung to the back of their throats and coated their tongues. Beta Kevin stood with his back to the great hall, arms crossed over his chest, his jaw set in a hard line. The silver fumes in the air, imperceptible pieces of the toxic metal coding his skin, were an irritation—but nothing bothersome enough to have him in tears like the pathetic, spoiled Alpha's daughters beside him.
Amelia, the older of the two sisters, hacked out a series of dry, painful coughs. She stumbled, a hand pressed to her chest, reaching out for stability. Kevin didn't move an inch. Her sister, Maya, ultimately caught her, holding her close to her side as Amelia's body trembled with the effort of breathing.
"Kevin, please," she choked out, her voice raw. "We can't... the fumes. My skin feels like it's burning."
Beside her, Maya's face was a mask of tears and smeared grime. "I want to go home," she whispered, the words lost in a small, desperate sob. "I want to go home."
The few Silver Bite Pack members walking around watched the two girls create a scene.
They shook their heads in a silent show of disappointment and disgust at their weakness, turning away in shame of the girls' lack of ability to withstand the pain.
Kevin didn't move. He didn't offer a hand, didn't soften his gaze. "Stop whining and crying," he said, his voice a low, steady rumble that cut through their misery. "As Alpha daughters, you should know better. You're here to further connections, not to embarrass your pack."
Amelia's eyes, red-rimmed and watering from the stinging air, flicked toward the Sunderhall's massive doors. "But... they didn't even speak to us. They don't want us near them."
"That shouldn't be a problem," Kevin said, his words like a stone dropped into a deep well.
"Our pack has the most alliances, the best spy networks, the most capable. Are you unaware of what you have to bargain with?
The Council needs to know the value of our loyalty, and the Queen will need guidance and information that only we have. It's not a hard sell."
He crouched down to meet their eyes, ignoring their tears. "Every shard you've inhaled, every piece of silver that has pricked your skin—it is not pain. It is your key. The council is the lock, and the Queen is the prize. Prove yourselves. Now, dry your faces."
The two girls made quick work of wiping away any trace of tears, but the evidence of their struggle was clear as day. They tried to stand straighter, even as the toxic fumes in the air made them cough and hack, their bodies hunching over in pain every few moments as their lungs tried to expel the foreign danger.
Just then, Philip left the House of Sunder, a slow grin forming on his lips as he fell in step behind a woman. Amelia stepped forward, ready to intercept him and speak about the value of her pack, but Kevin's arm extended, stopping her before she could get too far.
"Pick your moments wisely," he said, shifting his eyes from Philip's retreating form to
Amelia, who looked up at him like a lost lamb.
"No man wants to talk to a woman when he could fuck another one instead," Kevin said, uncaring of the naive girls who knew nothing of intimacy between men and women.
Their faces flushed with embarrassment, not expecting Kevin to speak so bluntly about sex. They were forced to watch as Philip and the mysterious woman walked into a small building, the door swinging shut behind them.
A single fireplace glowed bright in the room, bringing a heated intensity to the air. Sweat clung to their skin, bringing their awareness and sensations to the very surface of their existence. The wood floor bit into the soles of Philip's feet. A soft, bare-skinned pelt lay beneath his back as he lay facing the ceiling, his body bare.
"Breathe," Flint said, placing her hand on Philip's lower stomach. "From here, deep and concentrated." She was guiding him through their sacred ritual.
Philip focused on his breathing, feeling grounded as his senses sharpened. He was not quite his wolf, but no longer his normal human self—an evolved realm between the two.
"Good," Flint appreciated his dedication. He was a quick study. She sat cross-legged, her upper body bare, exposing the various areas where bandages held silver inside her body. This was what made her strong.
A profound quiet permeated the room, holding no tension for what was to come. Philip was aware but fully at ease with his surroundings.
Unlike herself, Flint didn't push the arrowhead through his skin. Instead, she placed it on his abdomen. She watched as his abs engaged and his stomach began to hollow. His breathing became uneven, a large gasp leaving his throat. She fell into the rhythm of his body, chasing his guidance.
"This isn't about fighting. Follow the feeling. Do not fight it. Your strength is known. There is nothing to fight. The silver is a part of us," she spoke in a low, soothing voice, her fingers circling the area that held the arrowhead, creating a pathway of sensation for his body to follow, for him to focus on. They didn't simply fight silver; they followed it. They let it guide them.
"Remember, breathe from here." Again, she placed her hand on his lower abdomen, reminding him to focus on the path his breath would take in and out of his body. Her fingers never stopped tracing lines and forming pathways for his breath to follow. All of it was centered around the arrowhead but not stopping there.
Somehow, Philip found himself relaxing into the sensation. The silver burned his skin; the sizzling sound was in the air, but his body was calm, relaxed, and felt light. It was like his senses were bypassing the silver arrowhead laid on his chest. It was there, but it wasn't important. With well-practiced hands, Flint placed another arrowhead on Philip's chest until there were three more pieces, all spread out.
Crawling until she was sitting above his head, she leaned over him, her fingers tracing the paths between the arrowheads, guiding his breath and sensation past the pain of the silver and on to a greater awareness and understanding.
Philip wasn't sure if it was the breathing exercise or the large pair of breasts just inches away from his awaiting mouth, but either way, both methods were distracting him from the silver that was sizzling his skin.
"You're a fast learner."
The air between them was thick with a new kind of tension, a shared breath that was both reverence and raw hunger. "My teacher is wise," Philip responded, his eyes, now a deeper, darker brown, locked on hers.
A low, knowing chuckle rumbled in Flint's chest. She didn't comment. Instead, her fingers continued to trace the delicate path between each of the silver arrowheads still on his skin—the very path where the silver would eventually be threaded, a permanent sign that he had truly understood what it meant to conquer the poison. With a deliberate slowness, she lifted the first arrowhead she had placed and, at a new angle, pressed it firmly into his skin.
"Ah," Philip gasped, a sound of both pain and release. The bite of the silver was a jolt of pure energy, a pain that didn't just hurt but shocked his senses to a new level of awareness. Below, his body responded instantly, his erection hardening to a steel-like readiness. The pain hadn't simply transferred to pleasure; it had created a new, electrified circuit between them.
Flint inserted two more of the tiny arrowheads, the sharp press of each one a new wave of sensation. It was too much, too fast. His body, still unaccustomed to this new wellspring of sensation, shuddered. A sudden, shuddering climax tore through him, and he turned onto his side, his unexpected seed spraying onto the fur beneath them. He closed his eyes, riding the waves of euphoria, his body basking in the new awareness. He could feel the pathways of his breath, the subtle shift in his muscles, every nerve ending attuned to the silver, able to move through it and away from it all at the same time.
"Keep your eyes closed. Lay back. Focus," Flint's voice was a steady calm, completely undisturbed by his reaction. The skin where she had pressed the arrowheads had refused to heal, remaining as angry, open marks. Going back to his side, she leaned down, running her tongue over the flesh, using her saliva to begin the healing process.
Philip groaned low in his throat, a primal sound of a wolf coming undone. The burn of the silver, the wetness of her tongue, the overwhelming rush of his climax—it was a sensory onslaught. He couldn't take it anymore. With a speed most would be unable to comprehend, he pushed her back into the fur, his eyes darkening to obsidian, the wolf just beneath the surface. He was still in control, but only just.
A hypnotic stillness fell between them, the sound of their breathing matching in perfect sync. He reached for a loose silver arrowhead, his fingers reddening from the contact but refusing to sizzle. Transfixed, he ran the tip down the center of her breasts, loving the way her skin only slightly blushed, unlike the searing pain on his own flesh. With the same deliberate care she had used on him, he inserted the arrowhead into her left hip. Her eyes fluttered closed, and a soft moan escaped her lips as her head fell back, her breasts arching to his waiting mouth. His arm reached behind her, keeping her body bent toward him, a willing bow. He sucked on her breast, greedily biting her nipple as he fondled her chest, his own unsated arousal a burning need. With his free hand, he grabbed another arrowhead, pushing it even more slowly into her right hip, loving the way she shivered in ecstasy.
He captured her lips in a hungry, wet kiss, his hand fisted in her hair, holding her steady. His rock-hard length pressed against her center, the material of her panties a frustrating barrier. He deepened the kiss as he thrust his hardened member against her dampening clothes, a promise of what was to come.
With slow, methodical movements, he slid her black panties to the side, his thumb slipping between her warm lower lips. He felt her hungry heat, her muscles trying to clamp down on his thumb as if seeking the intrusion. The head of his cock pressed against her entrance, slowly sliding between her folds. He watched as her eyes, wide with hunger, eagerly awaited his entry. The tip of his head pushed through her entrance, and his body gave an involuntary lurch, pushing out one of the arrowheads still in his chest.
The small silver piece fell between them, resting on her pubic mound. With each slow, methodical thrust, the silver head poked into her belly, heightening her arousal. Every movement, every push, sent a fresh jolt of sensation through his own body, his core breathing from the lingering pain, finding new pathways of pleasure.
His thumbs pressed into her hips, exactly where he had inserted the arrowheads. He gripped her mercilessly, and her eyes went wide with euphoria at the sensation of his slow intrusion and the burns beneath her skin. The heat slicked their flesh; every movement between them was wet and wanting.
Philip's body racked with a sudden, overwhelming pleasure, and he came undone, spraying his seed deep inside of Flint. He hadn't expected to come so easily from such slow, methodical movements, but his body was overwhelmed with sensation. Pain and pleasure, neurons inside of him creating new pathways of strength and resilience that was its own kind of ecstasy.
Though he had enjoyed the slow, methodical sexual awakening, he was nowhere near done with her yet. Pulling out of her, he flipped her so she was on her knees, her ass high in the air, his cum dripping down her thighs. As another arrowhead pushed out of his skin, he used it to slice her panties away before thrusting back into her. This time, the movements were hard, violent, and relentless. He held her hips as he pounded into her, fucking her cunt roughly, the sounds of their skin slapping together filling the air.
Two more arrowheads pushed out of his skin as he roughly plowed into her, his hands gripping her ass painfully tight. The arrowheads bounced off her jiggling ass as they left his skin, leaving traces of his blood on her flesh. Reaching down, he grabbed another arrowhead, slicing into her back with a wild, instinctual thrill. He sliced down the length of her back, over and over again, with each hard thrust. Her pussy clenched his cock, and she came undone, screaming her climax. Her arms gave way as she fell forward, her face buried in the fur rug, but he was transfixed and nowhere near done.
Dropping the arrowhead, he leaned forward, licking at the mess he had made of her back, healing a few of the marks. His thrusts picked up in pace as he got closer to his climax. Just before he came again, he pulled out, spraying his seed onto the open marks of mutilation, leaving himself embedded under her skin in a way so permanent, he was transfixed by the act.
He panted heavily, watching as his cum slipped beneath the broken skin, only to be knitted back together by her body's healing property. Her body absorbed the gift he had given her freely. He had trusted Flint, and given himself over to the silver storm. And now he would never look at Silver the same way
Author's note: I wasn't so sure about this pack. But I really like writing this packs story. Fun bunch! Power stones, comments, golden tickets. I love them all.