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Nathan J. Morissey


* * * * *


Nathan J. Morissey on Smashwords

My Alpha Wolf: Book 1

Copyright © 2013 by Nathan J. Morissey

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My Alpha Wolf: Book 1

Nathan J Morissey

Copyright 2013 by Nathan J. Morissey

All rights reserved. No parts of this book shall be reproduced, stored or transmitted by any means.

This work of fiction is the product of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to real life characters, places and events are unintended and purely coincidental.

Blog: http://www.nathanjmorissey.blogspot.com

Facebook Fan Page: www.facebook.com/NathanJMorisseyAuthor

Mailing List: http://thesolutionsreporters

If you liked this ebook, please leave a review on whichever site you found this on. Good reviews help other readers a lot, which help me out too.

Table of Contents


Volume 1


After moving to Montreal, lonely 25 year-old Julien has trouble meeting men…until Hunter shows up.

Dark, brooding, strong, masculine, tall, ripped - Hunter embodies all the sexy traits Julien likes in his men. He even claims Julien as his mate.

But the hunky alpha wolf is in the middle of a dangerous pack leadership war. And as for the ancient demon chasing him, that’s only the first of his problems.

Can Julien find happiness with an exciting yet dangerous shapeshifter after being rejected by human men all these years? Or is he forced to go through life lonely and isolated once again?

Please note: This is not your typical gay werewolf shapeshifter story. The author has bent all rules of conventional gay werewolf shapeshifter stories in order to be more inventive, imaginative and creative. He hopes you will enjoy the end result.

My Alpha Wolf: Complete

Volume 1

Desire. It’s a funny thing. We want someone and won’t be satisfied until we have him. It’s a part of human nature, this desire to be with someone.

It’s certainly a paradox. On the one hand, we really really want to be with someone. It’s an innate desire to want to give ourselves completely over to someone else and there’s nothing we can do about it. On the other hand, too much of being with someone can cause suffocation and you’d do anything to get away from him.

Lucky for me, I didn’t have to worry about the latter problem. It was being unable to find a man that had been frustrating me lately.

Too many times have I received a disappointing text message after a first date.

It always goes something like this: Hey Julien, Nice to meet you, but I don’t see anything romantic happening between us. Let’s just be friends. Best of luck to you.

But at least they had the courtesy to reply. Very often, I text the boys that I had gone on a wonderful first date with but they don’t even bother to reply.

I mean, what the fuck, right?

Was I so ugly and stupid and retarded and smelly that they wanted nothing to do with me?

What’s wrong with me? I’m a nice guy. Is there something fundamentally undateable about me?

I’m generous, kind, thoughtful, considerate. I even volunteer in a nursing home once a week because I love seeing the smiles on the faces of the old folks.

And I know I’m not ugly. My face is symmetrical enough to be considered handsome. My nose is high, but so are the noses of all people of French descent. I have high-cheek bones that I had long since considered to be my best features. My ears might be a tad big and maybe even floppy, but I say they give me character.

Other than that, I have short brown hair styled up, intense green eyes that have received more than their shares of compliments, and a lithe, well-muscled body that can hold its own.

I swim and lift weights and run three times a week. I’m in excellent shape.

It can’t be my height and weight either. I’m 5’10 and 170 pounds, both a respectable height and weight for a 25-year old city guy.

I’m stylish enough. I may be gay but I act so masculine and straight that people I meet never have a clue about my sexual orientation unless I choose to reveal that particular piece of information.

So if it’s not my personality or my appearance or my behavior, then what the fuck is it?!

Argh! It just makes me so frustrated that I can’t meet a cute guy that’s also into me.

Do you have any idea what it’s like not to have any of your sexual needs satisfied? It’s painful. It’s depressing. It makes me want to kill myself.

And that was exactly what I was planning to do that cold wintry Montreal night.

I was standing on the rooftop of the low-rise apartment building I lived in over on Avenue Papineau, about to end it all. I imagined diving head first into the cold unforgiving concrete road that was crawling with busy impersonal and uncaring cars and their even colder drivers. What would it be like to have my body splatter onto the hard pavement? What would it feel like to have my body being hammered and slammed into by those unfeeling cars?

Painful, I gathered. And that was the only thing stopping me from doing the deed. That was why I was hesitating.

As for the reason I was seriously considering killing myself, well…for what seemed like the ten millionth time, I had gone on a wonderful first date with this guy, only to get a rejection text after. It was just so fucking typical.

I know it might sound a tad melodramatic. I might even be overreacting a little, but this kind of rejection had happened to me over and over again.

You see, I had just moved to Montreal, Canada from Orlando, Florida, USA. I needed a change from the same-old routine of being a lowly nurse, so I decided to make the move to Canada to make a fresh start.

I had been in Montreal for a week and I was feeling lonely, so I went on one of those gay dating sites. I met this cute guy named Tyler who was a student of English Literature at Concordia University. We started chatting and discovered that we really clicked and liked each other. I asked him to be my tour guide around the gigantic city of Montreal and he agreed.

Earlier that day, we had walked around the Rosemont-La Petite Patrie neighbourhood, talking and laughing. It was a very cold day and at one point, I had even slipped my arm into his, but he didn’t reciprocate. That was when I knew he wasn’t really feeling it, that he wasn’t really into me.

We had met at 1 pm, and he had said he could hang out until 5 pm, but at 2 pm, he made up some excuse that he had to leave early for work at a Thai restaurant, something about getting new uniforms and some coworker getting sick and having to cover for him.

We walked back to Sherbrooke Metro Station and we gave each other an awkward hug. I even kissed his cheek, but he didn’t reciprocate.

A few minutes after he had gone into the metro station, I sent him a text message: Hey Tyler, it was great to meet u. Thx 4 being such a wonderful tour guide. I’d love 2 c u again.

But I never received a similar text from him. Maybe he was still underground on the metro and the reception was bad, I tried to justify.

And so, a few hours later, at 5 pm, I sent him another message. Try not to work 2 hard @ work. lol

Still nothing.

Maybe he was busy at work, I reasoned.

4 hours later, at 9 pm that night, I thought I’d give it one more try. I know, it was stupid and silly and desperate of me to text him even though he never bothered to reply to the 2 text messages I had sent, but I did it out of loneliness and desperation.

Hey Tyler, I wrote. I get the feeling you weren’t really feeling it today. That’s a shame, cuz 1 hour isn’t enough time to judge someone. I mean, we haven’t even seen each other naked yet. How about this? You come over and we get naked and if you still don’t feel anything, then you could leave, no questions asked. I won’t be offended. I know, aren’t I naughty? :P

I tried to end it on a light and naughty note. I didn’t want to reek of desperation, even though I clearly did.

And 3 hours later, still nothing.

It was funny how quickly things changed. We had spent 5 days texting each other, the content of which were all kisses and hugs and affection and flirtation.

It’s a cold night tonight, I had texted him a few nights earlier. I hope ur nice and warm.

I will be, when ur arms r wrapped tightly around me, Tyler had texted back.

Do u like to cuddle? I asked.

I love 2 cuddle, he replied.

So how did he go from wishing that my arms were around him to ignoring my texts? It made no fucking sense!

But then again, I could tell that from the very first moment we had met at Place des Armes Metro Station that he wasn’t interested in me. I could just tell. It was an instinct that everyone possessed. He was cute enough though: a short feminine-acting half French-Canadian, half Iranian gay boy. And I knew I was hot enough too.

Maybe he liked my hot pics online, but in person, I looked too different. But how could people fall in love with a picture yet dislike the real live person?

I guessed I shouldn’t be too surprised though. This kind of shit happened to me all the time. But just because it did didn’t mean that I wasn’t absolutely fed up with dealing with that kind of bullshit from other boys. It made no sense whatsoever.

If it was the picture thing, he should have known that people in person usually don’t look exactly like their pics online, especially not in cold weather. My pics online showed me in a tank top muscle shirt, showing off my sculpted chest and biceps. I looked hot. But in person, I had to wear a thick fucking ugly winter coat due to the ridiculously cold weather. And it wasn’t even winter yet. It was only late November. Stupid Montreal weather.

During our text exchanges, I found out that we were both straightforward boys who didn’t like to play games. We always meant what we said. But if he was so straightforward, then why didn’t he at least send me a text saying that he wasn’t interested in me romantically?

Or maybe I should be thankful that he didn’t. Silence was better than outright rejection, wasn’t it?

What do you think hurts more? Silence or rejection?

Or maybe they both hurt just as much.

So now, how should I deal with his stony silence? To be honest, that was what I was afraid of. I always hit it off with boys online and via text, but when it came time to meet in person, I never made a good impression. I always felt such pressure to perform when I met boys in person. I felt the pressure to be a witty and funny master conversationalist. I felt the pressure never to allow a single silent moment between us, because that would mean we had run out of things to talk about and therefore, I had failed to impress and attract him. I felt the pressure to be someone else and not myself, or rather, the pressure to be an ultra enhanced and improved version of myself, which was entirely unrealistic and difficult to sustain over a long period of time.

As all those thoughts zoomed through my mind, I tried to rewind the day with Tyler. Maybe I should have been more charming, more funny, more intelligent, more caring, more affection.

Or maybe the problem wasn’t me. It was him. Maybe the problem was that he was a fucking asshole jerk who didn’t deserve my time, affection and attention.

I stared out at the twinkling lights of the city.

It was the first of many snowfalls of the season and the icy snow was blanketing my reddening face.

As the frigid and angry wind blasted my cheeks, I felt an ache inside. It was an emotional ache that had become physical. It was the ache of loneliness in a big and foreign new city whose default language was French, a language that I didn’t speak very well. Two semesters of intermediate college French only went so far.

So how do I fill this achy loneliness in me? Do I go to the Latin Quarter, Montreal’s Gay Village along Sainte Catherine Street East and dance and party in the gay nightclubs and strip clubs? I had already done that the first night I arrived. I had taken the Metro and gotten off at Beaudry station and wandered past Apollon Nightclub and Club Unity and the Sky Complex. I didn’t want to go in because I wasn’t looking for action. I was looking for love and a boyfriend to give me that love. I didn’t think I could meet a decent man in a gay dance club.

I had even wandered into Campus, a gay stripclub. A fat and ugly dancer with bad breath had stroked my arm and informed me that a lap dance would last one song (3 minutes) and would cost $20. I had politely refused and left.

And to add insult to injury, the only men who hit on me online are those I’m not the least bit attracted to: old fat men with sagging skin. They always send me messages like you’re handsome. Of course, I never reply, because I don’t want to give them false hope. Cruel fate! Why is life so unfair? Crap always happens to me!

So you can imagine my extreme depression as I stood there on the rooftop in the freezing cold.

Soon, my thoughts turned to Jean-Pierre, a nice French-Canadian man who I let suck my cock my first night in town. That said, I couldn’t get over the age difference. He was 52. He was old enough to be my father. Online, he said that he was 45, but the truth finally came out when we were cooking pasta together. He claimed that people would ignore him when they found out his real age, so he put 45 because he could pass for 45. I can’t say I blame him. I probably would have done the same thing.

I had met him online even before my move from Orlando. I had wanted someone to welcome me to the city and there he was, all nice and sweet online.

That first night in Montreal, he brought me back to his apartment, hugged me hard and pretty soon, we found ourselves rolling around on his bed. It didn’t take long for clothes to come off. We then became entangled in heap of naked limbs and bodies as we frolicked around.

But as he was kissing me and caressing my neck and telling me how soft it was, I realized that I wasn’t really attracted to him. He was well kept for a 52 year old man. He had even gone to the gym prior to our meeting. He said he liked to run on the treadmill and it certainly showed on his trim body.

And although his lips were soft and moist, I found myself in a state of unarousal. It wasn’t that my body wasn’t responding to him, because my cock sure was hard as he snacked on it. It was that my heart and mind weren’t responding to him. Of course, that’s the key ingredient in every relationship. Your heart and mind must react positively to your partner, or else the relationship would fall apart. Basic logic, right?

He was going to Toronto for a business trip the next day, so he had to go to bed early. Although we rolled around on his bed, the farthest we went was oral sex, just a blow job. He sucked me. I never sucked him. Neither of us came.

He walked me to the Metro Station, gave me a hug and that was pretty much it.

My mind was undecided about him. On the one hand, he owned his own condo, which was a big deal to me. I had just arrived in Montreal and money was tight. On the other hand, I just wasn’t attracted to his body. Sure, I liked his personality. He even cooked me dinner (penne with chicken, onions, mushrooms and pasta sauce) after our hour-long sexy time, but the physical attraction just wasn’t there. He was fit enough. His brown hair was cut and short. He was a little on the short side, but he wasn’t big and tall and strong, like how I like all my men to be.

But still, he was my only prospect so far and I wanted to be polite to thank him for the good time and the pasta dinner, so I texted him when I got home.

Thx 4 the dinner. Let’s chat when u get back from ur biz trip.

But he never replied.

Yeah, I know. Typical, right?

He was a lot more enthusiastic when he was sucking my dick.

I know that this was only two incidences in Montreal, but believe me, this kind of shit happened to me all the time back in Orlando. I was just getting sick of it.

A rustle behind me interrupted my train of thought.

Jumping into fight-or-flight mode, I turned around. “Who’s there?”

My breath almost got sucked into my lungs.

Standing behind me was the most gorgeous man I had ever had the privilege and pleasure of laying my eyes on.

And the best part was that he was naked from the chest up.

The moonlight shone onto his perfectly-sculpted chest. The muscles were defined as hell. I could spend an eternity describing the perfection of his musculature and physique, but let’s say just that his enormous pecs made me want to reach out and feel them, as though to confirm they were real; his abs were at least a ten-pack, if not more; and his broad chest and shoulders screamed soldier and warrior.

I quickly took my eyes off his slightly hairy chest and examined his face. With high cheek bones, a chiseled nose and deep brown eyes, he looked like a Abercrombie and Fitch male model. There was a little dark scruff on his face, by his chin and around his mouth. It was sexy as hell. I always loved my men to be a tad scruffy. It made them reek of masculinity.

My eyes wandered down to his legs. He was wearing blue jeans, but I could still see leg hair poking out of the ripped parts. His leg muscles were so big that they bulged out of the pair of jeans.

As I took in the whole package, my immediate reaction was desire. I wanted to fuck him and to be fucked by him. I know. I’m such a horndog, aren’t I? I can’t help it. I’m gay. Yet, at the same time, he looked like he would make a good boyfriend. He seemed like the type I could really fall in love with, the type that would cradle me and comfort me and provide me with a genuine sense of security.

His dark brown hair - almost a sensuous black - fell down in a swooping pattern by his face. It was tousled, as though he had just awoken from a deep slumber. It looked seductive on him. I fought the urge to brush it aside for him.

He took a step forward, growling a little.

A green substance dripped from his chest, falling onto the ground of the rooftop.

And that was when I realized I had failed to notice a very important detail.

I had been too hypnotized by his impressive physique to notice that he was bleeding from the sides.

The green substance was now splattering onto the ground.

Puzzled, I said, “What’s that?”

“Blood,” he said.

His voice was deep and rich, more like an animal growl than a human male voice.

Still, it was sexy and made me want to press my ear against his mouth and have him whisper sweet nothings to me all night long.

Brushing those amorous thoughts aside, I tried to focus on the task at hand.

I started to say, “Blood? What do you…”

And that was when he started to fall head-first onto the ground.


Lucky for him, I caught him just in time.

He fell into me, a tangled mess.

His hands brushed against mine as his head fell toward my chest.

I grabbed onto him. The weight of his body pressed onto me, arousing me. I imagined this was what it’d feel like if we ever made love. All 6’2 and (from the looks of it) 200 pounds of muscle pushing onto me from above, crushing me under his weight.

But I could only hope. A man as masculine and as hunky as he was couldn’t possibly be gay, right? But then again, there were a lot of manly gay men out there.

My face just a mere inch from his, I whispered, “Hey, you alright?”

No answer.

There was nothing but the sound of his heavy breathing and of course, the silence of unforgiving cold.

He looked so cute with his eyes closed I just wanted to reach out and kiss him. His lips looked so moist, so inviting…

Stop it! I scolded myself. A man’s life is in danger here. He’s in need of help. Don’t you ever stop thinking of your cock?

Bringing myself out of fantasy and back into reality, I could now see it was all up to me. And as a medical professional, it was my job, nay, my duty to ensure he was alright.

A frigid blast of winter air pelted me as I headed back into the apartment building and back into my suite.

I dropped the man down onto my bed, hoping that he was alright.

Then, not doing what to do, I stood there, deep in thought.

My first thought: lucky me! I desperately wanted a man and there he was. It was as though God Himself personally answered my prayer for the first time.

My second thought: what the hell is that green substance oozing out of his sides?

He said it was blood, but what kind of man bled green blood?

There must be something he’s not telling me, I thought.

But either way, I knew what to do. Years of nursing school taught me to clean the blood first with sterile alcohol, and then try to stitch up the wound, if it was deep enough.

I fetched some sterile wipes and gauzes from my medicine cabinet and then returned to my bedroom.

There the hunky mystery man sprawled, his legs dangling over the end of the mattress, his thickly-muscled and bronzed arms resting by his sides.

Oh my, I thought. I could barely catch my breath. The vision of this sexy man was making me forget my medical training.

I stared at him for a good minute.

The desire in me knew no bounds.

I wanted him so badly I was weak in the knees.

I may even have been drooling. I had no idea.

The vision of this stud was turning me into a babbling, drooling moron.

Stop it! I scolded myself again. You can ogle him all you want after you tend to his wounds. A man’s life is in danger here. He could bleed to death.

So I shook myself out of my self-induced trance and knelt down beside him.

Trying not to look at his muscular chest and his chiseled face, I wiped away the green substance (I still couldn’t bring myself to call it blood) with sterilized wipes.

Lucky for both of us, the wounds on both sides of his ribcage weren’t deep enough to warrant stitches, so I merely put large bandages on them.

When I was done, I took a moment to inspect him.

In the brighter light, I noticed a couple things that I had missed.

For one, the wounds looked like he had been in a fight.

It was really arousing to think that he had been in a fight. Only real men fought. That was the way things were. The most masculine ones fought to defend themselves or their families or their pride or their territory.

It definitely confirmed why he oozed of masculinity.

But upon closer inspection, the lacerations looked like they were from a wild animal, like a dog or a wolf.

Had he been attacked by animals?

I didn’t know.

And there was something else that I hadn’t noticed in the relative darkness of the night.

There was a tattoo of a green phoenix arising from the ashes on the lower right part of his abs.

In fact, he had two tattoos.

The other one, featuring a wolf and a jaguar reaching up with both paws, was on his right forearm.

What do these tattoos mean? Did they indicate his membership in some kind of gang? And what had he been doing on my rooftop?

There were a lot of unanswered questions, but one thing was for sure: the tattoos merely increased my animal attraction toward this mystery man. I had always thought that tattoos were incredibly sexy on a man.

I sat there by the foot of the bed, thinking.

In the meantime, I treated myself to another once-over of his body.

His muscles were truly God’s gift to the world. I had never seen a man so ripped in all the right places. His magnificent chest made me want to lay my head on it. And that collar bone really accented the shape of his chest. His bulging moist pecs were truly tempting. I wanted to reach out and touch them.

The sweat from his forehead dripped all the way down to the place between his two pecs.

His broad chest was heaving up and down.

He looked so sexy just lying there and resting.

Slowly, even before I knew what I was doing, my hands reached out toward his massive pectoral muscles.

Julien! I scolded myself. How low will you go? The guy’s not even unconscious. It’d be like violating him in his sleep.

No, I told myself. Withdraw!

Using all my willpower, I withdrew my hands.

The hunky guy then started to mumble something.

I couldn’t hear what he was saying, so I leaned in closer.

“What?” I asked.

“Paimon,” he muttered gently in his deep voice. “Paimon, no! Don’t come any closer!”

“Who’s Paimon?” I asked.

When he didn’t answer, I realized that he was talking in his sleep.

I didn’t know much about this man, but I did know two things: he had been in some sort of fight and he had been chased by someone named Paimon.

I felt a pang of sympathy for him. He was definitely in danger, but he had escaped.

As a nurse, I was naturally a nurturer. It always pained me to see someone injured and probably still in danger.

This man was certainly a mystery. I was filled with the desire to know more about him.

Since I had leaned in closer to hear what he was saying, I was merely a half-inch away from his face.

His body heat filled me with raw carnal desire. I wanted to make love to his hunk of a man so badly.

And his scent. Oh, Lord have mercy.

He smelled sweaty and raw and masculine, almost stinky, but in a very manly kind of way. There was also another scent mixed in there, a kind of cologne that could only be described as a lemony spice.

Whatever it was, the effect it had on me was magical and magnetic.

I didn’t trust myself to be around him. His mere masculine presence brought out a sort of base instinct in me. I wanted him to pound me nonstop.

My eyes traveled down his body, toward his ripped jeans. His jeans were torn by his knees on both legs. Bronze tanned skin was visible. I could even see his golden leg hairs.

Oh god! I thought.

My cock was gently stirring.

He was making me lose control of myself…and he wasn’t even conscious. I felt so weak inside. I didn’t like the feeling of yearning for someone that badly, yet at the same time, it was a pleasure to desire a hunk like him.

So what should I do now? Take him to the hospital where I worked for further examination and treatment? Or leave him on my bed until he woke up? Maybe it sounds selfish, but I didn’t want to share this gem of a man with anyone else. I wanted him all to myself.

I stared at his face.

There was a scar in the shape of a triangle on his left cheek.

Whoever he was, this guy sure got in a lot of fights. He struck me as an aggressive alpha male, some kind of leader for sure. He had the scars to show for it.

At that point, he opened his eyes.

I lost myself in his deep maroon eyes.

He sat up. “Where am I?”

“You’re safe now,” I said. “Were you in a fight?”

“Yes, I think so…” he trailed off.

“You don’t remember?” I asked.

“It’s all been a blur,” he said. “I was knocked out by something just a little while ago.”

“You called out the name Paimon in your sleep. You told him to stop chasing you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Paimon?”

“Yeah,” I said.

He truly was breathtakingly gorgeous.

I could stare into his eyes all day. And as for the dark hair that fell casually into his eyes, well, the nurturing part of me wanted to reach out and brush it aside for him.

Suddenly, he coughed loudly and then grabbed his massive naked chest.

“Oh shit,” he said. “I think I’ve been poisoned.”

“Poisoned?” I echoed. “By who?”

Before he could answer, he pointed at his crotch.

My face turned red when I saw an enormous bulge in that area.

“I need someone to get rid of it,” he said.

“What?” I said, hardly able to believe what I was hearing.

Unabashedly and unashamedly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, he quickly zipped his jeans and then took off his pants.

Then, he pulled down his tight white briefs to reveal a cut erect cock that was at least six inches long and one inch wide, criss-crossed with throbbing veins.

“I can feel the poison coursing through my body,” he said. “The only way to get rid of it is through here.” He pointed at his erect dick. “Would you help me? Please?”

Oh. My. God. I thought to myself. Is this really happening?

Excitement coursed throughout my own body.

“Uh,” I said, unsure of what to say or do. “Do you want me to jerk it out?”

With a straight face, he said, “It’s better if you suck it out of me. It’s faster that way.”

I stared at him with my mouth open.

Was he freaking kidding me?


Still in a state of shock and arousal, I sat there on the foot of my bed, dumbfounded. Was this guy for real? Did he really want me to suck his delicious-looking cock?

“Hurry,” he cried. “There isn’t much time. You’d be doing me a huge favor.”

I took a look at his throbbing sausage and became so aroused that the base part of my animal brain took over.

Immediately, I clamped my hungry mouth over his pulsating cock, lapping at it greedily. I had never tasted such a sweet dick in all my life and believe me, I’ve sucked a lot of cocks before.

The meaty and fleshy feel of his cock made me want to swallow it whole, but of course, unless I bit it off, that was impossible.

From down by his crotch, I snuck a quick look at him.

He had his eyes closed and was clearing enjoying the physical stimulating and pleasure that my mouth was giving him.

My tongue wrapped around the shaft of his cock. I then sucked it hard, so hard that the crown of his delicious dick hit the back of my throat.

He reacted by moaning slightly and then exhaling, as though to signal sweet release.

Encouraged by his reaction and emboldened by the distinct kind of pleasure my mouth was giving his cock, I sucked it some more.

While I was down there, I inhaled the primal scent of his cock. It smelled kinda gross but also very sexy.

Pre-cum leaked from his cock and into my throat. I tasted its saltines as its crossed my tongue on its way.

He let out another soft moan.

His sweaty body began to quiver and then shake uncontrollably.

That was when I knew he was ready to come.

Normally, I would have swallowed his cum, but since he said it was poison, I pulled out quickly.

His cock popped out of my mouth with a loud pop.

I could plainly see my saliva coating his shaft.

The very sight filled me with a perverse thrill.

My cock, coated with precum and already hard, was now painfully stiff.

I was filled with the desperate need to come, but I ignored the feeling and focussed on the gorgeous man in front of me.

He exhaled a breath and then his entire face shivered.

“Oh fuck, man,” he cried. “I’m gonna come.”

And come he did.

He tugged his erect cock frantically and soon, a whole river of cum exploded out of his cock, splashing onto my chest.

But the color of his cum was off. Instead of a clear color, it was purple.

That must have been the poison.

“Thanks a lot,” he said, his sweaty muscular chest heaving up and down. “You saved my life.”

I wondered what kind of reward I’d get for saving the life of a sexy stud like him.

“Are you OK now?” I asked. “That purple stuff, the poison is all gone?”

“Yeah,” he said, as he began to clean up and then put on his underwear and pants.

“I’m Julien,” I said.

“I’m Hunter,” he said. “I bet this isn’t how you normally meet guys.”

How did he know I was gay? I wasn’t the least bit obvious.

“No,” I said. “Not at all. So who poisoned you?”

He squinted, as though racking his brain. “I don’t recall.”

“How did you end up on my apartment’s rooftop?” I asked.

“All I remember was that something was chasing me…”

“Something?” I repeated.

“Yeah,” he said.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

I used the silence to take it all in. That he was the hottest guy (or even girl) I had ever seen in my life was clear. But what wasn’t clear was who he was, how he had wound up here and why his sides had been bleeding a green substance.

But my thoughts were distracted by the wonderful smell of sex and cum oozing from Hunter.

Hunter. What a name. It evoked such masculine roles, such as leader, predator, and commander.

I eyed the little drop of cum that was drying on his shirt and it took all my willpower not to lap it up. I wanted some of that ultra masculine seed in me.

“So let me get this straight,” I said. “All you remember is that your name is Hunter and that something was chasing you?”

He nodded.

I asked, “Could it be Paimon?”

He nodded again. “Maybe.”

He stared at me.

I was hypnotized by his brown eyes.

He murmured, “Thank you.”

Then, he did something completely unexpected.

He reached over, wrapped both arms around my back and pulled me into him.

The heat of his skin on mine sent electrical charges down my spine.

My heart pounding heavily, I wondered what he was going to do.

Then, he grabbed my cheeks with both hands and gave me the best kiss I had ever had. His soft lips passionately yet gently massaged mine.

I closed my eyes and revelled in the sensation.

His tongue then slashed against mine sloppily and I reciprocated.

It was like we were mating or breeding, this exchange of saliva, of pleasure.

His soft hair brushed against my forehead, tickling it. Following his example, I grabbed onto his cheeks with both my hands and pulled him in even closer to me.

We kissed for what seemed like forever, just enjoying each other.

All too soon, he pulled away.

His bedroom eyes had a dreamy quality to it.

He looked relaxed, calm, serene.

He looked breathtaking.

“Wow,” I breathed out, blown away by the passion and intensity of his kiss.

It was like he made my dreams come true. I hadn’t expected even to touch him that night, let alone kiss him.

The best part was that Hunter was clearly gay too, but he wasn’t one of those effeminate queens. He was a manly he-man who happened to like cock. Yet he remained a man, more so than any straight guy I knew.

In a husky voice, he asked, “You been in Montreal long?”

“Just a few weeks,” I replied.

“Oh,” he said, with a smirk. “Bienvenue. Welcome to Montreal.”

What a welcome, I thought.

Then, he did something that was equally shocking.

He scooped up some of the semi-moist cum that was on my chest, spun me around, pulled down my pants and forcibly rammed his cum-coated finger down into my achy asshole.

I felt the moisture coat my rectum as he rammed his finger down.

I let out a moan of surprise but also of pleasure.

“You’re mine now,” he declared. “I’ve claimed you. You’re all mine now.”

“I’m yours now,” I repeated, barely understanding what that meant, but aroused as hell. It really turned me on to think that I was his.

In a firm voice, he said, “You belong to me now.”

“I belong to you now,” I said, almost as though in a trance.

His voice was very hypnotic and made me want to do what he commanded. It made me want to follow him to the ends of the Earth and back.

I found it very alpha-male and masculine of him to take his own cum and ram it into me as a way to mark his territory and stake his claim.

I wanted nothing more than to be his. I wanted nothing more than to belong to Hunter.

He leaned in and sniffed me.

At first, I was confused by his action, but then I realized that smelling was also a way to claim me.

And so, I leaned in and smelled him too.

He smelled wonderful. That spicy lemony scent would haunt me for the rest of my life.

Eying the bandages on his sides, he put a gentle hand on my cheek. “You took very good care of me. I claim you as my mate now.”

He then kissed my lips softly.

I had no idea what he meant, but I would willingly become his mate. That said, I wasn’t quite sure what it meant. For one, did it involve making babies? And if so, how was that biologically possible?

It felt a bit strange, but also stirred something very primal and base in me. It turned on the animal part of my brain. I wanted him to make love to me. I wanted us to fuck like bunnies.

My cock stiffened even more painfully than before. Pre-cum was once again starting to leak out.

Then, he started sniffing me again, his nose brushing against the sides of my cheeks. Such wonderful feelings inundated me. It was like I was floating high on the clouds, completely lost.

A sudden scratch on the window interrupted our intimate moment.

A pair of paws was scratching on my bedroom window.

Alarmed, I stood up.

Hunter let out a growl. “Stay back. It’s gonna be dangerous.”

I peered out the window, desperate to catch a glimpse of what kind of wild animal was scratching at my window.

What I saw chilled me to the bone.

It was a jaguar.

Not a dog or a cat or even a wild wolf.

It was an actual yellow jaguar with two enormous eyes, a mouth full of sharp teeth and a lithe and athletic body.

Its paws were still scratching at my window.

At that point, the wind blew the window curtains wide open and moonlight filtered in.

Hunter stood up, towering above me.

Standing up, he looked much taller than the 6’2 I had him pegged at.

He then made a low growling sound, but it didn’t sound human. The sound came directly from the throat.

The full moon illuminated him and what I saw next would forever be etched into my memory.

Hunter, the hunky stud that had claimed me to be his mate, was transforming into a wolf before my very eyes.

His limbs became wolf legs and his hands and feet became paws. His body stretched out until he was on the ground on all fours.

His mouth turned into a jaw as his eyes changed into feral black wolf eyes.

A tail sprouted from his backside.

His sleek body was lithe, fit, muscular. His coat consisted of a gleaming thick grey fur.

Hunter in werewolf form looked every bit like the aggressive and athletic warrior that he was in human form.

He turned toward me and batted a paw, as though to warn me to stay away from the impending carnage.

And then, he let out a ferocious roar, making me quiver.

Goosebumps popped up on my skin as he let out another roar.

The jaguar roared back.

For a moment, the two wild animals stood their ground, neither willing to back down.

And then, before I realized what was happening, Hunter sprang forward from his hind legs and crashed into the window, shattering it.

My heart rate rapid, I stared with open eyes as he battled the jaguar.

The two feral animals went at it, each taking swipes at the other and then dodging when appropriate.

Amid roars loud as thunder, the two continued to duke it out.

Sweat flooded my forehead as I watched helplessly.

Did Hunter just transform into a werewolf before my very eyes?

And was he battling a jaguar?

Various emotions filled me. The excitement of the battle. The concern for Hunter. The thrill of watching my man fight to protect me.

Watching him fight like the alpha male (or in this case, the alpha wolf) turned me on.

There was something very hot and base and primal about watching an alpha male fight to defend my honour and safety.

The fight was an equal match until the jaguar had my mate pinned down on the ground, its paws at Hunter’s throat.

I desperately searched for something to chuck at the jaguar, but there was no need.

Hunter had slipped out of the jaguar’s grasp and then, with one smooth swipe, pushed the jaguar off the rooftop of the building.

A loud whimper filled the air as the jaguar fell a few stories down. We weren’t high enough for it to die, but it would definitely be injured.

Still alarmed, I bolted out the door and headed to the rooftop.

When I got there, Hunter was changing back into human form.

I hurried over to him. “Hunter! You OK?”

He was sprawled out onto the ground.

I knelt down beside him and held his head on my lap.

Apart from a small wound on his chest, he was fine.

“Yeah,” he said, breathing hard.

“What was that?” I asked.

“An enemy,” he replied.

I peered into his handsome face. His eyes had now changed back into a beautiful brown, now that he was back in human form.

“What are you not telling me?” I said.

“The jaguar Tyler is after me. The one we pushed down the building was one of his goons. We were battling for leadership of a united werewolf and were-jaguar pack.”

That would explain the tattoo of the jaguar and wolf on his forearm, I thought.

“I’m sorry to involve you in this,” he said. “It’s very dangerous politics I’m a part of.”

“I’m your mate now,” I said resolutely. “Whether you like it or not, I’m involved.”

I just wanted someone to belong to. I truly wanted to belong to someone like him. And becoming his meant that his battles were now my battles.

He smiled, blinding me with his beauty.

I went on, “Besides, a little bit of danger can be exciting.”

It was true. My life had been getting a bit boring until he came along.

He represented danger. He represented excitement. He presented passion. He represented sex. He represented love.

He put a hand to my cheek, a sign of contentment.

I asked, “How long have you been a shifter?”

“Five years,” he replied. “I was bitten by a werewolf when I was walking around Parc Lafontaine one night.”

“Can you change into wolf form and back into human form at will?” I asked.

He nodded. “Usually.”

He clutched his chest and began to cough.

Concerned, I said, “I’m going to take good care of you, Hunter.”

Like you took good care of my emotional needs, I thought, but didn’t dare say.


After that savage fight, Hunter needed to rest.

After patching up his minor wound, I stood there by the bed and watched him rest.

So many different thoughts swirled in my mind. For one, I still couldn’t quite get over the fact that he was a shifter. For another, he had now claimed me to be his mate, but I still didn’t know what that involved. I knew he was fighting for leadership of a united pack, but where did that leave me and us? How could we possibly be together when he had that other life, the life of a paranormal?

There were so many questions, but almost no answers.

But still, there was one thing for sure. No matter who he was or what was going to happen, I had now been branded by him, claimed by him, taken by him.

Sure, I was given a choice and I chose to belong to him. I wanted to become his.

After years of being frustrated by the whimsical and sex-craved gay men I was meeting online, it was nice to finally meet a hunky man that was for real.

After all, he had already branded me by pushing his seed deep into my rectum and anus. And I liked it. What more could I ask for?

Stifling a yawn myself, I lay down next to him.

To be honest, I didn’t care who he was or who was after him or any of the politics he was involved in.

All mattered was that he liked me, no, loved me.

And that was good enough for me.

That night, I lay down on his bare naked chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing and heartbeat and smelling the wonderful lemony musk of my new mate, thinking of the rosy and amazing future with him that was sure to come.


The next day, I woke up to find myself alone in my bed.

I got up and inspected the apartment, only to find that Hunter wasn’t there.

Confused and devastated, I was beginning to think that maybe it had all been a dream or that I had hallucinated it all. I knew it. Someone like me was destined to remain alone for life. Having a mate would never become a reality for me. I might as well just face it. I was fated to end up alone. That was the way things were and I’d just have to accept it.

I went back into my bedroom.

The air smelled faintly of spicy lemons, Hunter’s scent.

Wait! I thought. Then maybe it wasn’t a dream after all.

My eyes scanned the bed and saw something on the pillow.

It was a note.

I picked it up.

It read:


You are so good to take such good care of me, but being around me is too dangerous for you. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you. I’m going to go away now and lay low for a while, for your own good. Don’t come looking for me. It’s not safe. I’m in the middle of a deadly pack leadership war and it involves dangerous politics. I’ll send for you if I become leader.



No, I thought in horror.

Hunter’s kiss last night saved me from a life without passion. It re-ignited the passion in me that had long lay dormant. It made me feel alive and I would do anything to feel alive.

Where had he gone?

I didn’t want to wait here like a damsel in distress. I wanted to go support my man. And I didn’t want to wait for him to become leader.

I was going to find him.

But where? I still had no idea where he had gone.

Maybe I should just stay put.

After all, it was dangerous.


Later that day, I went to work at the Montreal Grand Hospital, but instead of focussing on the patients, I could think of nothing but that amazing kiss Hunter gave me and how he had then shoved his cum possessively into my ass and claimed me for himself as his mate.

That, and of course, the fact that my mate was a werewolf in the middle of a bitter pack leadership battle.

Those facts set me on fire and ignited a desire for more.

But where had he gone? Was he alright?

He had said that he had to leave because he didn’t want to put me in danger. It was the sweetest thing ever, but totally bummed me out.

How I missed him! Not having him here was like being stabbed in the heart thousands of times over and over again.

My colleague Marie, a 22 year-old buxom blue-eyed blond fresh out of nursing school, tapped me on the shoulder.

“Julien,” she said in her adorable French accent. “The head nurse wants you to go to Room 639. A patient needs a morphine injection.”

In a daze, I took the elevator to Room 639, picked up a sterile needle from the table and inspected the patient.

A very handsome blond guy was lying on the bed, wearing a blue hospital gown. He had bites and bruises all over his arms and legs.

What was particularly interesting was that he had a tattoo of a jaguar with two raised paws on his right forearm. It looked exactly the same as the tattoo on Hunter’s forearm, except that the patient’s was only of the jaguar, whereas Hunter had both the jaguar and the wolf.

I grew suspicious.

The patient was dozing, so I picked up the clipboard with all his information.

Sam Stanton, age 27. Discovered by the side of the streets with moderate injuries. Suspected of falling off a rooftop, but he wouldn’t tell.

With a look of horror, I realized that this blond guy was the same jaguar Hunter had shoved over the rooftop. It was the jaguar in human form.

I glanced down at the needle and exchanged it for one filled with potassium chloride, otherwise known as the euthanasia drug. Too much potassium chloride in the system and the body shuts down.

I had an idea.

I was going to force this guy to tell me where Hunter was.

Filled with rage toward my mate’s attacker, I grabbed a glass of water from his bedside table and threw it in his face.

The patient woke up, sputtering.

I leaned in close and said in a firm and controlled voice, “Listen, buddy. You have a choice here. Either you tell me where Hunter has gone, or I stab you with this needle filled with potassium chloride. It’s a physician-assisted suicide drug.”

The look of horror on his face told me that I had won.

He swallowed hard and said, “Hunter usually hangs out in his lair: Alpha Cave. It’s in Parc Jarry.”

I smiled, put down the needle and punched Sam Stanton in the face.

He was knocked out cold once again.

Ain’t I a little bitch? See? I could be a hardass when it came to my man. Nobody messed with my man without messing with me too.

I looked out the window, at the faint winter sunlight of Montreal. We were overlooking a beautiful park filled with laughing children and strolling lovers.

Watching the lovers strolling hand-in-hand, I made up my mind.

Love was about supporting your lover no matter what.

I was going to go to Hunter and help him win his pack war.

Hunter, I thought. I’m coming to you.


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