Chapter 1: The Wolf Pack's Special Order
The air in Raven’s shop always smelled like candle wax, incense, and something else—something metallic and old, like the scent of a storm about to break. Ridley Gruff pushed the creaking door open, the bell above jingling with a sound that was too cheerful for the dim, crowded space. His soft yellow fur, with its black highlights, seemed to glow in the light of a dozen flickering votives.
“She said it’d be on the counter,” Ridley said, his voice a gentle rumble.
“She said a lot of things,” Finnian Fletcher muttered, sliding past his friend. His smaller fox frame was a bolt of fiery red in the gloom. He dodged a shelf loaded with jars of dubious fluid. “She also said she’d have my money two weeks ago. I’m not holding my breath.”
The shop was a labyrinth. Grimoires with cracked spines shared space with taxidermied creatures that had too many eyes. The lone neon sign in the window, buzzing and sputtering, cast a sickly pink glow over the words "WISH HERE". From behind the heavy velvet curtain that separated the back room from the shop floor, a low, rhythmic thump of bass music leaked out, a stark contrast to the usual ethereal chants.
“Maybe she’s with a client,” Ridley offered, his dark goat eyes wide with characteristic optimism.
“At ten PM on a full moon? It’s Raven. Her clients are the weirdness.” Finn’s ears twitched. He heard other sounds now, beneath the music. A wet, sucking noise. A grunt. A low, approving growl that raised the hackles on his neck.
They exchanged a glance. Ridley’s was curious; Finn’s was deeply suspicious.
Finn moved first, padding silently to the edge of the curtain. He hooked a claw in the heavy fabric and pulled it back a sliver.
The air that wafted out was warmer, thick with sweat, musk, and perfume. The back room was lit by a single red lamp, casting everything in a hellish, intimate light. Raven Blackwood was on her knees in the center of a Persian rug that had seen better centuries.
Her long white hair was a mess, spilling over her shoulders and sticking to her glistening skin. She wore a black lace harness and nothing else. Her body, all pale curves and taut muscle, was slick with effort. And she was busy.
Three wolves, massive and shirtless, their fur a mix of greys and charcoal black, loomed around her. They were easily seven feet tall, muscles corded under coarse fur. The one directly in front of her, an alpha with a jagged scar across his muzzle, had his hands tangled in her hair. His hips were pumping slowly, relentlessly, into her mouth. Raven’s lips were stretched obscenely around the thick, veined length of his cock, a low hum of approval vibrating in her throat as she took him deep.
She wasn’t just using her mouth. Her hands were occupied, too. One was wrapped around the rigid cock of a second wolf, stroking him with a practiced, twisting motion. Her other hand was behind her, fingers working between her own legs, shining with her own wetness as she pleasured herself in time with the rhythm.
The third wolf watched, idly stroking himself, a hungry grin on his canine muzzle. “Told you the full moon package was worth it,” he growled.
Raven’s piercing blue eyes, glazed with a professional sort of lust, slid from the alpha’s stomach toward the curtain. They locked onto Finn’s. She didn’t stop. She didn’t even falter. She simply winked, a slow, deliberate gesture, before closing her eyes and taking the alpha deeper, a gagging sound followed by a satisfied groan from the wolf.
Finn jerked back as if scalded, letting the curtain fall. He stared at Ridley, his own face hot beneath his fur.
“What?” Ridley whispered. “Is she okay?”
“She’s… working,” Finn breathed, his voice tight.
“Working on what?”
“On them. All of them. At once.”
Ridley’s brows furrowed. He stepped forward, pushing the curtain back open with a blunt hoof before Finn could stop him. He stared for a full five seconds. His jaw went slack.
“Oh,” Ridley said, his voice loud and unnaturally calm in the hushed room. “She’s multitasking.”
On the rug, Raven paused her ministrations, the alpha’s cock sliding from her lips with an obscene pop. She glanced over, irritated. “Boys. You’re early. Amulet’s on the counter. Take it and fuck off. Can’t you see I’m with friends?”
The alpha wolf turned his head, his yellow eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. A low rumble started in his chest.
“Right! Yes! Sorry!” Ridley chirped, giving a little wave. “Don’t let us interrupt your… project.”
Finn was already at the front counter, his paws scrambling over piles of parchment and dusty crystals. His heart hammered against his ribs. There it was—a twisted piece of iron shaped like a crude eye, pulsing with a faint, warm light. He snatched it up, the metal cold and heavy in his hand.
“Got it, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go,” he hissed, grabbing Ridley’s arm.
Ridley was still peeking. “It’s just… really impressive coordination, Finn. The manual dexterity alone—”
“Now, Ridley!”
They stumbled out of the shop, the bell jingling madly behind them. The cold night air hit them like a physical slap. Finn leaned against the brick wall, taking deep, heaving breaths.
Ridley adjusted his shirt, looking thoughtful. “You think she gets a volume discount on lube? With that many customers, it seems like she’d—”
“Shut up,” Finn gasped, pressing the cool amulet to his forehead. “Just. Shut up. Forever."
The shop door clicked shut, muffling Finn’s horrified whisper. Inside the red-lit back room, the moment hung suspended. The alpha wolf, Krall, glanced from the swaying curtain back down to Raven. His thick cock twitched against her cheek, gleaming with her spit.
“Friends of yours?” he growled, his voice gravelly with unused tension.
Raven leaned forward, not breaking eye contact, and took him back into her mouth with a slow, deliberate slide. She swirled her tongue around the head, tasting salt and musk, before pulling off with another soft pop.
“Neighborhood errand boys,” she said, her tone dismissive as she reached for the bottle of oil on the rug beside her. She poured a generous amount into her palm, warming it before taking the beta, Fen, in her hand again. “Don’t worry, darling. They’re harmless. And we have a transaction to conclude.”
She began stroking Fen in earnest, her grip tight and knowing, her thumb rubbing rough circles over his slick tip. Fen’s head lolled back, a whine escaping his throat. Raven’s other hand resumed its work between her own thighs, her fingers sliding easily through her wet folds, applying just the right pressure. She had bills to pay. A girl had to hustle.
Gods, males, she thought, a smirk playing on her lips as she watched Krall’s eyes glaze over with pure, dumb hunger. Whether you walk on two legs or four, have fur or skin, it’s all the same circuitry. A few pints of blood permanently rerouted from the brain to the dick. It was almost poetic in its consistency. The goat kid had looked shocked, then weirdly analytical. The fox had looked like he might spontaneously combust. Both reactions were just different flavors of the same basic, throbbing instinct. They saw a woman on her knees and their brains short-circuited into a binary program: fuck or flee. Sometimes, hilariously, both at once.
“Quit thinking, witch. Finish him,” snarled the third wolf, Moke, from where he leaned against the wall, stroking his own heavy erection. “I paid for a turn, not a fucking philosophy seminar.”
“Patience is a virtue, puppy,” Raven purred, but she picked up the pace. She bent forward, taking Krall deep again, letting him hit the back of her throat. She relaxed into it, swallowing around him, the vibrations drawing a sharp, guttural curse from the alpha. His claws pricked her scalp.
Her mind wandered even as her body performed. The amulet those boys picked up was for Old Man Hargrave, who was convinced his garden gnomes were hexed. The money was already in her lockbox. This… this was the side hustle. The full moon package. Wolves were always so pent up during the lunar peak, all aggression and testosterone with no outlet except fighting or fucking. She provided a safer, more enjoyable alternative. It was a public service, really.
Fen’s breathing became ragged. “Raven… I’m gonna…”
She knew. She always knew. She tightened her fist on his shaft, a punishing, perfect rhythm. “Go on then,” she murmured, releasing Krall’s cock just long enough to speak. “Don’t you dare make a mess on my rug.”
With a choked howl, Fen came. Thick, hot ropes of cum spurted over her fist and onto the towel she’d shrewdly placed below. He shuddered, his big body going slack with release.
Raven wiped her hand on the towel, utterly unfazed. One down. She turned her full attention back to Krall, who was throbbing impatiently. “Your turn, alpha.”
She didn’t just use her mouth this time. She rose up on her knees, guiding his rigid cock to her entrance. She was soaked, ready. With a slow, controlled roll of her hips, she sank down onto him, taking his entire, massive length inside her in one smooth, breathtaking motion. A sharp gasp escaped her—not from pain, but from the sheer, stretching fullness of it.
“Fuck. Yes. Finally,” Krall grunted, his hands clamping on her waist.
She began to ride him, a powerful, rising and falling motion that made the muscles in her thighs and abdomen cord and release. The wet, slick sound of their joining filled the room, syncing with the bass from the speakers. Raven threw her head back, her white hair sticking to her damp back. She worked him with professional precision, clenching her internal muscles around him on every upstroke, milking him toward his peak.
Moke watched, his hand a blur on his own cock. “Look at that. Takes it all like a champion.”
Raven’s eyes, half-lidded and dark with a calculated pleasure, met Moke’s. She was performing now, for the audience. She arched her back, presenting her breasts, pinching and tugging at her own nipples as she bounced on Krall’s lap. It was theater. It was physiology. It was paying the rent on this dank, wonderful shop.
Krall’s thrusts became jagged, desperate. His snarls were incoherent. He was close. Raven leaned forward, putting her mouth next to his ragged ear. “Come for me,” she whispered, her voice a husky command. “Fill me up, alpha.”
That did it. With a roar that was part animal, part man, Krall slammed up into her one final time and held her there. Raven felt the hot, pulsing flood of his release inside her. She kept moving, grinding against him, wringing out every last drop until he was spent and panting.
She lifted herself off him, his softening cock sliding out with a wet sound. She turned, not even out of breath, and crawled on her hands and knees toward Moke. A trail of their combined fluids dripped down her inner thigh.
“Your turn, big boy,” she said, her blue eyes bright and utterly mercenary. “You wanted the show. Now you get the main event.”
Moke didn’t need telling twice. He was on her before she could fully stand, pushing her down onto the rug on her stomach. His weight was immense, crushing. He shoved her legs apart with his knees. There was no pretense of foreplay here, just blunt need. He spat into his palm, slicked himself, and notched his broad tip against her already well-used entrance.
Raven braced herself. And they call witches unnatural, she thought, as Moke drove into her with a single, brutal thrust. This. This right here is the most natural thing in the whole fucking world. A hole. A pole. A grunt. A transaction. She buried her face in the wool of the rug, a laugh caught in her throat, as Moke set a punishing, selfish pace, chasing his own quick release.