Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to BBC.

Notes: This was originally an 'original story' but then I thought, hey you don't see many werewolf!Merlin or Arthur (why would you when dude, Merlin is magic) but I thought it would be interesting and I have an unhealthy love for werewolves and vampires any so...

Only six chapters and is really just a beginning story with an unnecessary sex scene between Merlin/Other which I want there because I want to practice writing sex scenes and don't want to screw up on the main pairing so there we go. Sorry. No Merlin/Arthur action except kissing in this one, and probably a bit of feeling up. In the sequel however (which is seven or eight chapters. Not sure, I may need to split a chapter) there will be :) The "Hunters Arc" of this universe will have four stories including the two mentioned, chapters ranging from five to fifteen probably. I haven't gotten the last two planned out yet. There will be another, hopefully as least two more arcs that will consists of two to four short stories much like this one.

I will say that at times the characters may seem OOC, how could they not when they also have the wolf persona and stuff. So they may be rough around the edges :)

Hope you enjoy.

Chapter One:

A lone wolf loped amongst the undergrowth. The trees towered over it like majestic kings as it snuck through the darkness, their leaves a deep black-green in the subdued moonlight. A whispering wind caressed all in its path, heavy with the promise of rain.

The creature slunk in the shadows, weaving past trees and under low hanging branches with caution. It wasn't a remarkable creature, no bigger than your usual wolf with deep amber eyes and a matted coat that was a deep brown. Twigs snapped underfoot and the wolf tensed, long, firm limbs tense in apprehension. It paused for a beat before it eased forward once more. Its nose scuffed along the ground occasionally, as if reassuring itself of its path before it continued.

There were quiet scampering of nocturnal creatures, a scattering of stones or a murmur of brushed leaves that caused hesitation before the wolf would snort, shaking its head and carrying on. It had left the city far behind, the decadent stench of pollution, greed and stale food bleeding into the comforting smell of the rain and wind, of the musky earth beneath its feet and heady scent of the trees. It caught the distinctive scent of other animals: there a rabbit, there a badger. It cared little for those insignificant details, however. Let the rabbit run afoul of another beast, the only prey this wolf was hunting was human.

Following the scent, the wolf limbered up a trail well known to dog walkers. The slightly familiar scent of various breeds teased the wolf's nose but it wasn't distracted by the primal annoyance that another intruded upon what was, at the moment, its territory. Beneath the scent of its cousins, there was the tang of humanity – perspiration, general daily grime, the bitterness of coffee. It was not the trail it had hoped for, but it continued nevertheless, the underlying trace of depravity exactly to its taste.

The woods were as silent as a wood could be. Overhead an owl hooted, a low, loud sound before it flicked its wings and dashed off from its branch. The wolf's eyes glanced up, studying the fleeing creature as it melted into the black before returning its focus to the task on hand.

Finding the humans.

It followed the trail for a bit longer, quietly prowling the trees, ducking its body low when needed, and navigating the woods as if it had grown up there. It had paused for a moment, resting against the thick rough bark of a particularly old tree, when it heard them. There in the not too far distance was the baying of another wolf. There was a chorus of them, howling into the sky and raising the hairs on the wolfs' neck. It bristled, hackles rising. It backed up against the tree, slipping around it and into a small ditch. The strange wolves were coming closer – their panting breath, thundering paws and baying howls were a crescendo of noise and the wolf growled low in its throat at the interruption.

The wolves, tens of them, bounded past its hiding spot. It crouched low in the dirt, careful to avoid the unwelcome companions. The scent of wolf, of brotherhood, almost sent a whine of longing tumbling past its lips. So close were its kin, they thundered past it. Their lithe long bodies were a blur of predatory motion. The wolf couldn't detect the prey, but it knew on runs like this there didn't need to be one – simply the urge for freedom, a yearning for the taste of nature.

It had to tense and lock its limbs to keep itself from rising to join them. The last few stragglers loped past it, among them a youngling – a mere cub if its gangly limbs and thinness were anything to go by. The wolf watched the cub pass, a whimper of distress at what it represented choking it before tumbling into the quiet.

One of the wolves accompanying the cub stopped, ears pricked and eyes wary and narrowed. An elegant head twisted to survey the area for an enemy, snout quivering for a scent but only picking up the muddled smells of the wolves before it loped after the others.

The wolf in the ditch relaxed, muscles loose in a moment of relief before it righted itself in one swift movement. Staying crouched, the wolf climbed from the hole and stared for a moment in the direction the other wolves had headed. The wolf blinked, shook its head viciously, and set off on a trot straight ahead.

The scent of the humans had thickened with freshness and the wolf would not allow the opportunity to pass for frivolities.

The wolf stepped over a felled tree, body curving with elegance as it moved. Its nose twitched, the musk of the other wolves had long since faded and now all it could smell was the stench of diesel fuel and human perspiration. It edged closer. There were the rowdy, rambunctious jeers of the humans, loud laughs and ugly sneers. Bottles clinked against each other and the radio of their vehicles bawled out popular tunes from scratchy, near broken speakers.

The wolf crept closer, watched as grown man of various builds squatted around a deadened fire or gathered around a car. There were at least ten. A few were scrawny runts, handling shot guns and weaponry as if they were the Holy Grail. Those cubs were the newly qualified, the wolf recognised. They held a flicker in their eyes, a yearning for a taste of real action. Their movements would be hurried, overestimated by adrenaline and youth and lack of practice. They would be the easiest to outwit.

It was the others the wolf was wary of, the large men whose bodies were thick with muscle. Their rifles stayed close by their feet, ready for action if and when it should come. They knew patience, they knew the joy of the kill – unlike the boys who sought only their first kill, these men enjoyed the chase, the pain, the humiliation and domination. They would not be so easily tricked, least of all by a singular wolf.

Hidden from view by the large, dense foliage the wolf settled for a long night's observation of the men below in the clearing – it was too much to hope more would come of this night. It thought back to the others, kin in spirit if not blood, and knew why the men had gathered here. Before it had not thought of it, thought only of the answers they might possess, of the information they might have secreted away in their vans and minds.

The wolf shifted, a stone lodged uncomfortably in its flank. The stones beneath moved with it, tumbling down the side and knocking an uneasy tattoo onto the large rocks below. The wolf shrank into the dark as the men closest paused, encouraging questions from the others.

"What's got you lot jittery? Scared of a few wolves, eh?"

"Fuck you, Smithy. Those mutts aint nothing to be scared off," a scrawny boy nearest to the wolf jeered. But his black eyes still skimmed the area warily, peering into the shadows for the glistening fangs and glinting claws of their foe. The wolf glanced down at the boys' hand that clutched the gun – his fingers had tightened.

"If you jump at the smallest noise you aren't going to be any help to us, laddy," the man named Smithy replied from where he sat inside the car, twisted to the side so his feet were flat on the mossy ground. His bald head shined in the dancing fire light and elbows rested on his knees. The wolf ignored the vague smell of nicotine drifting from the cigarette in the man's fingers. The men surrounding the boy just watched the interaction silently, muttering amongst themselves, some in annoyance and others with jest and mocking.

Those closest to Smithy simply ignored him and continued their own private discussions.

"Fuck you," the boy intoned again fiercely, loudly. "I'm not scared of 'em. If one came close to me I'd blow its head fuckin' off before it could do anything." The wolf didn't doubt that the boy would be the kind to shoot in fear rather than freeze. Not one to be taken lightly, it noted. Smithy just chuckled into his cigarette, opening his mouth to reply when the chorus of howls started up once more.

The wolf tensed, head raising a little. Judging by the noise, at least some of the wolves from before had wound up on the other side of the men's campsite, as of yet unaware of the trouble they had roused. All the men in the clearing below had tensed. The boy who had so proudly proclaimed his courage had sweat beading on his forehead and his fingers clenched his gun in a white-knuckled grip. The wolf was unsure whether it was fear or excitement that thrummed through the boys' veins and, disgusted, figured it was both.

There was a flurry of movement below now. The men were scurrying to gather their weapons and devices, hurriedly throwing ammunition and blades to each other and a backdrop of vehicle doors being slammed closed. One boy crowed his delight as he loaded his gun with silver and another two men high-fived with wide grins and sheen of pleasure.

Smithy was addressing his men like a general, assuring that while there were plenty of wolves out there, there were enough men here to at least make a dent in their numbers. He wished everyone a happy hunting and the men departed, splitting into small groups of two to four, dividing off and disappearing into the darkness towards the earlier howls that had since quietened into nothingness. They stomped and stampeded through the undergrowth, louder than the wolf imagined hunters would've been, leaves rustling as they were harshly brushed by and branches groaning as they were shoved aside. The noise soon melted into the nothingness and the wolf knew it was only a matter of time before the first shot rang out.

The wolf blinked away the thought, this had not been something it had accounted for but it thanked its lucky stars. The remorse and regret that its luck may come to at cost of some of its kin was great but forcibly fleeting. Better wolves it had no association with than the wolf it was so desperately trying to find. Their lives, it thought harshly, with all the passion of one who had loved and lost, was a sacrifice it was more than willing to take.

The stern conviction in its mind was weak and faltering. The wolf chose to dwell on it no more.

It waited in the shadows until it was sure the area was clear of men before it rose from its crouch. It shook its hair free of crumbles of dirt and small flakes of stone before clambering down into the clearing, legs useless and slipping on the loose earth. It skipped to the bottom ungracefully, staggering a little to right itself before it gazed around the camp. It was a sorry sight. There in the centre was the carcass of a fire, the tinge of bitterness in the air. There were beer cans and bottles strewn across the grass, cigarette butts rolling in the light breeze. Wrappers rustled and crinkled, drifting across grass and under the cars. The closed car doors blocked entrance for the wolf and it narrowed its eyes, unwilling to even the odds stacked against it.

Instead it simply nosed around the first car, trying to detect anything familiar – that faint trace of something of kin. It wrinkled its nose, snorting as it backed away. There was the harshness of drugs, the twang of alcohol and faintness of arousal. The wolf scrubbed its nose with a paw before darting around that vehicle to the next – a large white van that could be quite promising in the wolfs venture. One of the doors around the back hadn't been fully closed so the wolf, after a cursory glance around the clearing, nudged it open with its nose leapt inside. The back of the van and the right hand wall were covered with bolted down shelving. Stacks of ammunition, food and weaponry mounted the iron shelving. There were blades and guns and equipment the wolf had only seen in passing – skinning tools. The wolf hunched away from them, wincing.

Outside the first shot of the night broke the silent like a lightning bolt, setting off the nearby birds into a flurry of panicked motion, and there was a distant whine of pain. The wolf bowed its head for a moment before turning to his left to investigate the four cages; two stack on top of each other. They were just big enough to fit in an average wolf – they were filthy, blood stained the bottom, fur was caught in the corners of the bars and the wolf could even see a chipped bit of tooth in one and a broken nail in the other.

It ran its nose along the bars, twitching its nose against the dust and hair, snorting a little before continuing. Certainly wolves had been held here, but not the one it was searching for. It backed away from the cages, and moved instead closer to the shelves. A few large boxes littered the latter end of the van, stacked high and pressed close against the shelving too keep some floor space clear. It sniffed it curiously before pushing at one box with its head, nudging it off and to the floor.

It fell with a thump that had the wolf tensing, ears pricked and muscles coiled. When there was no further noise, the wolf padded over to the opening of the box, pushing the flap aside and ducking within. There was a heartbeat, the wolf then backed up hurriedly, tripping over its own legs in its haste to put distance between it and the box. The scent of wolf was heavy, but death overrode it, clinging to the wolf's sense as it shook its head.

Some of the boxes contents and followed it, caught on its claws maybe, or its own panic to be gone. It was wolf hide, fur matted but clean and preserved. A paw reached out limp pleads of mercy toward the wolf, claws still in place but blunted, paws probably stuffed. The wolf could only assume the head was also stuffed, intertwined with its death mate, because there was not the stench of just one wolf but multiple. Each of those three boxes had at least two wolf hides within, preserved for the highest bidder to decorate their floors.

The wolf swallowed. Whilst it was sure its pack mate was not within one of these boxes, it had caught the faintest of whiffs clinging to the coat that now spilled from the box. Wherever that wolf had come from, his pack mate was also.

The wolf whimpered a little in fear, backing from the van and turning to jump out, its legs were a little shaky with the discovery – it knew it had the right group of hunters, but what condition would his pack mate be in if and when it found it? Could the other wolf already be dead?

Voices, arguing noisy voices approached too quickly from the foliage, and the wolf could only stare as the men came into the clearing. There was a heartbeat of hesitation between man and beast before man regained his senses and lifted their guns.

The wolf bolted.

The men behind cursed and yelled but the wolf paid no mind. It streamed across the forest, skidding around trees, bounding over branches. It ducked and weaved, as the men blundered and trampled behind him. A shot blasted through the air and the wolf screamed as the bullet splintered into the tree just ahead of it. Bark shattered and the wolf scampered backwards changing direction slightly. Its heart pounded in it chest as it ran, its limbs burned and shook. Its paws slipped and slid on the loose earth, moss and its nails caught on peeling bark. Branches grabbed at its coat as it dashed past, legs stumbling as the men jeered at its panic. Another gunshot sped towards it and it ducked, shooting left and leaping a mite too early to clear a felled log.

It stumbled, regained its footing only to lose it once more. The men were chuckling, ugly bursts of pleasure. The wolf scrambled to its feet once more, quickly tiring. The men had fallen behind but they would soon catch up.

It staggered a little further, its back left hock flaming in pain from its fall. It whimpered, struggling forward at only half the speed, legs unsteady. The men were closing in and two shots rang out – the birds above scattered like shrapnel – and the pain electrified the wolf's flank and thigh.

The wolf screamed and fell, desperately using its front paws to try and drag its self to safety. Blood, coppery and slick, bloomed like a rose from its wound. The men were approaching quicker now, their whoops of joy cutting through the air. The wolf snarled and continued to try and drag itself, before finding itself at the feet of another wolf.

The injured wolf bared its teeth and growled defensively as the other simply looked at it. Then the wolf sidestepped the injured one, and the wolf spotted four others following. They stealthily moved into the darkness, the hunters having slowed their approach with no need to hurry. The injured wolf whimpered a little, agony blazed through its veins, shocking and numbing the wolf like an electric current. Black clouds were gathering in the corner of its vision, and it struggled to stay afloat but it was a one battled it would not win.

Giving into the pain and the darkness, the wolf expected not to wake up.

So what do you think?