That Night I Got Dragged Home By A Werewolf

Author's note: Hello and thanks for reading my werewolf smut. A new chapter will be released every Sunday night. BUT, you can read each chapter two days early by subscribing to my Ko-fi. And if you enjoy this story, you might also check out my other werewolf romance, here. For further updates on my writing, feel free to join my Discord. The next chapter will be released on September 8. 

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Sitting on the edge of a bed where I’d been assfucked by an absolutely shredded butch, I should have felt a lot of things. Elation, because of the aforementioned activities. Horror, because the butch, it turns out, was a werewolf. Confusion, because I’d just been called her mate. Any number of these things SHOULD have been running through my brain. 

Instead, I wondered if Mars kept coffee in her kitchen and wrestled with an unknown emotion burgeoning inside my chest. It wasn’t something so simple as joy, nor anything negative like revulsion or fear. No, this feeling shook itself clean of anything easy to understand. 

My mind poured through the strange emotion, and it felt like I was examining a geode under a microscope. 

Ah, yes. I thought. This feeling is comprised of 87% gratitude and 13% fear. Quite an elementary compound, really. 

That last bit of my mental voice came out like Femmedict Cumberbatch, and I snickered. 

Mars seemed to take this as a good sign and stepped a little closer. 

“Watcha thinking about, Little Cottontail? Besides the obvious, I mean,” she said. 

I shook my head, giggling. 

“It’s really stupid.” 

“Try me.” 

Shrugging, I sighed. 

“You asked for it. What do you call a trans Sherlock Holmes?” 

Mars’ expression scrunched up, and she cocked her head to the side like German Shepherds did when they were trying to puzzle out your words. 

Oh fuck, I thought. I’m going to be comparing everything she does to dog behavior now, huh? She’ll kill me if she finds out. Can mates read minds? 

That last thought flew around in my head like a deflating party balloon someone tossed into the air. 

“Okay,” she puzzled. “That’s not what I was expecting you to be thinking about. But I’ll play along. What do you call a trans Sherlock Holmes?”

I couldn’t help but snicker as I said, “Femmedict Cumberbatch.” 

And we both just sat there laughing our heads off like a couple of goobers. Was the joke that funny? Or were we both still too overloaded from the amazing sex and a post-orgasm monster reveal?

Shivering as another wave of afterglow ran through me, I felt my brain go a little fuzzy. 

“I mean — I should be freaking out.”

“You should,” Mars agreed. 

“But I’m not.”

“No?” she said.

Suddenly, that emotion that’d been inflating my chest made total sense. 

Goddamn. Post-nut clarity is real after all, I thought. 

It was gratitude for being desired and fear that the being wanted would fade at any second when Mars realized her supposed mate was someone. . . someone that. . . well, someone who was like me, Lilith Chambers. 

Being called the mate of a werewolf would normally be enough to get someone committed to an asylum (or at least launch their future career as a monsterfucker author). And here my subby ass was asking dumb questions like, “Someone actually wants me?”

Dating as a trans woman typically consisted of get-togethers that might end with me feeling satisfied for a few hours before the crushing realization that I was alone in this world fell upon me like rubble on a Lannister. But it would more likely end with me walking away from a woman’s house or car or the bar bathroom in tears. And THEN I’d be crushed by the realization that I was alone in the world. It was a fun coin toss, truly. 

Now, here I was on the bed of a woman who made me feel like a million bucks (which, thanks to inflation, wasn’t worth as much as it used to be). And not only was she refusing to rush me out the door, but she was actively telling me I was her mate. The partner of a werewolf. Lilith Chambers, the once and future monsterfucker. 

Gratitude was a damn weird feeling in this scenario. But fuck was I lonely. So, maybe that explained a thing or two. If Bloody Mary climbed through my bathroom mirror and said I was now “cursed” to be her girlfriend for the next century, I’d probably have been pretty grateful for that as well. Transfemme touch starvation was real. 

Of course, the other half of the equation was fear, fear that Mars would regret discovering her mate was a trans girl with a penchant for stripey socks, cheap Spamazon skirts (that go spinney), and giant shark plushies. 

“Okay, you’re the expert here, Mars. Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking about all this mate business?” I asked, looking up into her once-golden eyes. 

She rubbed her chin for a second and then grinned, “Well, my initial thought is I mated you pretty damn good.” 

My cheeks flushed as I recalled the feeling of her hands on my hips, pulling me toward her with gentle but undeniable strength. 

“Yes, well, that’s not quite what I meant,” I coughed, looking down at the fur blanket I sat on. “But I can’t help but agree with you.” 

Mars walked over and grabbed my chin. 

“You’ll get used to that,” she said, winking. 

Her strong fingers grasping my chin sent all kinds of inappropriate thoughts shooting through my mind. I was almost panting again. 

“I — I’ll get used to what?” I stammered. 

She smiled like she wanted to eat me whole. 

“A great many things, most of all agreeing with me. I am not only your mate, but your alpha. And from how you smelled as I took you over the side of this very bed, I get the feeling you’re inclined to enthusiastically agree with powerful women who give you commands. Is that about right?”

More memories of our time together raced through my mind like electricity running down a power pole. I squeezed my legs tighter together. 

Mars pulled my head forward and buried her nose in my thick black hair, taking a huge whiff and then several smaller sniffs along the side of my noggin just above my ears. I couldn’t help but giggle. 

“Oh yes. You’ll do just fine as my mate. I’m rather excited to see what other noises I can coax from you,” Mars half-growled and half-whispered in my ear while she lumbered over me. “That is, assuming you consent to future fuckings.” 

I’m pretty sure I consent to all activities where you’re concerned, ma’am, including repeatedly running me over with your pickup truck,

I thought. 

Mars moved her face down my neck and to my shoulders, pausing to lick the spot where she’d bit me. The werewolf lapped up the blood she drew while I shivered and moaned all over again. 

“Why am I so horny for your tongue?” I asked with my eyes closed, leaning entirely into the alpha. 

“You’ve just been awakened to your mate. Congratulations, Lilith. You’re officially in heat for me. And you will be for the next week,” Mars said. 

I swallowed nervously. 

“Wow, that is so hot and disturbing. What happens after the week is up?” I asked, almost pleading for her to lick that bitemark again. 

She seemed to know what I wanted and obliged me as I softly moaned, falling entirely into her body as her tongue ran over the wound her teeth had opened. 

“Nothing much. Your cravings for me drop from insatiably horny to mildly horny until the next month rolls around, and you go into heat for me all over again.” 

The room did feel hotter with Mars licking me.

When she finally showed me mercy and pulled away, I was still vibrating with giddiness at her touch. 

“And when do you go into heat for me?” I asked, opening my eyes again. 

She smiled. 

“It doesn’t work that way. I’m the dominant one here. I’ll always want you, but your body is the one that calls out to mine.” 

I shrugged. 

“Fine by me. I still have about a million questions, but the one at the top of the list is. . . do you regret that your mate, the one whose body calls out to yours, is trans? Fucking me for a night is one thing. Being metaphysically bound to someone like me seems like a much heavier commitment, one you didn’t get a choice in.” 

My heart quivered asking this, but I figured there wouldn’t be a “right” time to ask it later. We could sort out all the magical bullshit in the days ahead. But if I was going to be horny for this werewolf for one week out of every month for the foreseeable future, I needed to know how she felt about my body. 

I braced myself for a noncommittal answer or a joke. That’s what I’d be tempted to do in this situation. Sidestep. Dodge. Avoid. The harder questions always came with an urge to evade. 

Tears welled up at the side of my eyes as I thought back to real things other women, both trans and cis, had told me through the years. 

“Look, we had a fun night. Let’s just leave it at that.” 

“Sorry, I’m not looking for anything serious.” 

“I’m not really about that at this point in my life. Are we cool?”

“Don’t get me wrong. I just don’t feel that way about you. It was just sex, ya know?”

“I just don’t think we’re all that. . . compatible. Look, it’s getting late, and I gotta go. I’ll text you later, okay?”

Mars would probably be in the same boat. Why wouldn’t she? Fated or otherwise, how could someone be okay with reaching into the grabbag of mates and drawing me? No one else had wanted me beyond a night or two. Why should Mars be saddled with the girl everyone else said “no” to?

It was the difference between being served a hot bowl of made-from-scratch ramen at a restaurant and the stuff that masquerades as ramen in the package that costs 33 cents and needs a kettle of hot water and artificial flavoring to imitate the real thing.

While the werewolf considered her words, I started looking around for my gaff so I could get dressed and leave. Maybe there was a pill I could take to ease off the horniness for the next week. Or I could just skip my progesterone dose over the next seven nights. 

As I stood up to better search for my gaff, Mars gently sat me back down on the bed. She cupped my cheeks with her firm hands and looked deeply into my eyes. I could have sworn I felt my pupils dilating, and the oxytocin ramping up in my brain the longer I remained in her gaze. 

I blinked away the tiny drops that had been welling up at the edges of my vision but didn’t break eye contact with the werewolf. With as soft a voice as she could manage, Mars said, “I’m sorry others have mistreated you, Little Cottontail. But you need to understand something. You’re mine now. That bite you’re so thirsty for me to lick will never fade. It marks you as the mate of Mars Camilla Paulson, alpha of the Katahdin Pack.” 

“. . . ‘Kay,” I muttered, still reeling from the amount of love chemicals sloshing through my noggin.  

“Do not believe for a single second that I feel cheated or disappointed over my mate being trans. From the very first moment I awakened romantic desire, your soul was linked to mine. Fate wrote the name of Lilith Emily Chambers on my heart before either of us knew it. And now that I see you, smell you, and taste you, I know what it feels like to be made whole. You are everything I’ve wanted since I first knew that I wanted someone to call my mate.” 

It was getting harder to form words as the gratitude finally kicked fear from my chest. Nobody made these kinds of declarations willy-nilly. If you said shit like this, it was because you damn well meant it.

“You really want me?” I managed to squeak out. 

“Want you? Lilith, I have you. The question you should be asking is if I’m ever going to let you go. And before you do, understand that the answer is no. Unless, of course, you don’t want me. Do you want me?”

Nodding before she’d even finished the question, I felt my skin twitch where I’d been bitten. Desire came alive in a renewed way. 

“This is wild shit,” I said, panting. “Are you sure you didn’t spike my beer?”

“No. But I’m willing to spike you again if you desire.” 

“Oh, I desire. I desire very much,” I sighed as she kissed me. 

And then, she took me again. 

 

***

 

I showered and threw on a pair of plaid pajama pants and an oversized gray t-shirt with the words “Mothra Slut” written across the chest. 

Holy shit, I realized. I’m the eepy girlfriend wearing my partner’s oversized shirt and pajamas. 

Gender euphoria flooded through me as I grabbed my cheeks and relished every moment I could still feel the raw elation. 

I walked out of the guest bathroom and into the hallway, heading back toward bed. Exhaustion and contentment filled every muscle in my body, and I felt loose and at ease for the first time in years. 

Before I grabbed the doorknob, Mars’ hand lightly took my wrist. 

“Where are you going?”

“To. . . bed?” I asked. 

Mars raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh, no, the bed is for fucking. Along with many other places we’ll work our way through in time. But the den is for sleeping.” 

We sleep in the. . . living room? I thought, bemused. 

Instead, Mars led me into the back of her farmhouse where an honest-to-god conversation pit big enough to hold a king mattress lay in waiting. 

“Wow. I thought they got rid of these in the ‘50s,” I mumbled. 

“They’re surprisingly popular with werewolves. In the Wolfout subreddit, at least half of the members have one, and another quarter are building them.” 

The pit must have descended into the floor about five feet, with all sides consisting of a fuzzy red sofa and cushions. Tons of large pillows covered couch cushions, along with a mess of fuzzy blankets. 

I started to shiver as I stepped into the direct line of an A/C vent. While the bedroom was warm, I noticed the den was a fucking ice box. Blackout curtains covered all the windows. A long table with two antique lamps provided the only source of light. A ceiling fan spun at max speed above us. It swung back and forth as the blades rotated fast enough to propel a plane. 

A large painting of a white wolf napping in a patch of sunlight covered one of the walls opposite the lamps. 

This part of the farmhouse smelled a little older and a bit more musky. But I kind of liked that. Like, this was part of the original home’s core. 

Turning back to Mars, I asked, “Wait — did you say there’s a subreddit for werewolves?”

She nodded. 

“Yeah, it’s a private community. But there’s a few thousand of us posting on any given day from around the world. We talk about werewolf safety, custom home modifications, hunting techniques, and more.” 

My eyes widened. 

“So if r/wolfout was ever exposed, all your fellow werewolves would have to. . . PACK up and leave?”

Mars rolled her eyes. 

“And you thought being trans would be the biggest barrier to my acceptance of you as my mate. When in reality, you should have been much more worried about your awful jokes.” 

I bumped my hip into hers and said, “Hey, from girldick to puns, you’re the one who said I completed you. So, are we sleeping on the cushions or. . .?” 

Mars snorted and then started sniffing me again. I assume I’d get used to that since it came with the territory of having a werewolf mate. For now, it still gave me the giggles. 

As I stifled a laugh, Mars said, “Oh, good. You used my cinnamon soap.” 

“That’s good?” I asked, once again uncertain of her meaning. 

“Mmmmhhhhmmm,” she said, starting to rub her cheek against mine. “I want you to start smelling like me, and that’s a good start.” 

I closed my eyes while she continued to rub cheeks with me. Fuck. Even this was strangely comforting. What the fuck had happened to me in the three hours since I’d met Mars and left Wylde Night?

“I’m supposed to smell like you?” I asked. 

“You’re my mate, Little Cottontail. My scent will define yours so any other creatures thinking about making a tasty little snack out of you will think twice.” 

Cocking my head to the side, I asked, “And aside from you, there are how many other creatures in Pine Springs?”

She shrugged. 

“Way more than you know. I’ll teach you the basics tomorrow at breakfast. For now, just focus on being mine. And be warned that werewolves can be extremely possessive of their mates. Is that going to bother you?”

She’s going to be possessive of me? I thought. That might be the hottest thing she’s said so far. 

I let Mars continue to exchange scents with me until she finally led me toward the conversation pit. 

“I’m still just over the moon that someone wants me, Mars. You wanna be possessive? Go for it. I don’t think you’ll have any problem with other people making moves on me. I’m not exactly F1NN5TER, you know.” 

My mate pulled me into a tight embrace and said, “Like I said, we’ll go over the specifics tomorrow. But understand that your entire world is going to be different now. A werewolf’s mate can get into all manner of monsters and mayhem. That’s why I have to be possessive, to protect you.” 

As I drowsily took in her scent of cinnamon and dry leaves, I nodded. Go ham. Be possessive. It still sounded fucking hot to me. 

“And no, we don’t sleep on the cushions. The couch and pillows just form the outer walls of my den.” 

Mars walked down a small staircase on the left side of the conversation pit, and where I expected her feet to meet a floor, I was surprised to discover a large Japanese futon mattress. She pulled down a couple of the pillows and unfolded several large blankets before declaring her den complete for the night. 

When I nestled down into the mass of blankets, futon, and pillows, I had to admit, this felt pretty damn cozy. With the couch walls all around us, this really did feel a bit like a den that a wolf might sleep in, just with the modern human comforts of air conditioning and a mattress. 

Massive arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me into a spooning position. I laughed as Mars moved me several inches closer with all the ease one might carry a stuffed animal. 

“How fucking strong are you, anyway?”

Mars chuckled, and I felt it across my entire body. 

“Why? Are you imagining me snapping you like a twig?”

“I’ve imagined all kinds of things you might do to me over the last hour.” 

I could almost hear her smiling. 

“We’ll have to make a checklist, then. I can’t have an unsatisfied mate.” 

My body heat must have climbed a few degrees despite the frigid air outside the den. I think that’s one thing neurotypicals failed to understand about the neurodivergent relationship with heat. We didn’t want to be hot. We wanted to be cold and then made hot by a blanket. Or maybe a blanket and werewolf cuddles. 

“So why am I automatically the little spoon?” I asked, yawning. 

“Easy. Because you’re submissive and breedable as fuck. Oh, and so I can do this,” she said, nosing my hair out of the way and slowly licking the back of my neck. 

Shivers of pleasure and familiarity to my mate ran down my spine as I sighed. Being a werewolf’s mate was changing me in ways I couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Maybe we’d go over that during breakfast tomorrow as well. 

Just before my eyelids became too heavy to keep open, I asked, “Hey, Mars?”

“Yeah, Little Cottontail?”

“Where’s the rest of your pack?”

Her arms tightened around me, and I could have sworn I started to feel the alpha shake behind me. Oh fuck! What did I just do? 

But her shaking stopped after a few seconds, and she said, “That’s a long story, Lilith. Ask me again when you can handle bitter things.” 

Somehow, Mars found a way to squeeze me even tighter. And I found myself imagining all kinds of answers to my question. 

What happened to them? I thought. Did they die? Did they kick her out? Did they join the Wolves of Thunderclap? 

But no answer seemed to fit right in the puzzle, so my restless mind found rest in the arms of my new mate and the promises of more answers to come. And, of course, given that I was now in heat and in the grasp of Mars, answers wouldn’t be the only thing to come.