Elaninde was tall and that was the only thing about her that Arnbjorn liked. The werewolf rarely was able to look someone in the eye without practically bending in half. As an Altmer, it was natural for Elaninde to be tall. It was also natural to have a cocky smirk on her face that made Arnbjorn wish she wasn't so easy to make eye contact with.

Ever since her first day in the Brotherhood, the Altmer Dragonborn had been exactly the type of person Arnbjorn hated. She was arrogant, smelled of cloying perfumes and oils, and was a mage. The Nord could recall the exact moment he laid eyes on her for the first time. Babette was in the middle of retelling one of her kills so the family was gathered around her to listen.

The overwhelming scent of lilacs and jasmine assaulted Arnbjorn's nose forcing him to look away from the vampire child to Festus Krex and Gabriella. Standing between them was the new arrival, personally picked by his beloved wife Astrid. Her stance clearly indicated that she considered herself the master of the room and the others were merely guests she tolerated in her home. Instead of being the newest, Elaninde exuded an aura of mastery. Typical for her race and one of the things Arnbjorn agreed with the Stormcloaks about eliminating from Skyrim.

Elaninde's face could only be described as vulpine, all angles and far too clever for her own good. Her skin was a light golden color common to her people with forest green eyes that the healthiest of the summer's leaves would envy. Most unusual was her hair; it was red like snowberries and fresh blood. Instead of the usual pale gold or pure white of many High Elves, Elaninde's hair flared like fire burning past her shoulders to the middle of her back. She typically kept it in a pragmatic twin bun style, but often Arnbjorn would see her sitting by the whirlpool while that damned fool brushed it faithfully.

That was another slap in the face to the Brotherhood. Almost as soon as the Keeper arrived—a huge disappointment that had been too, with Astrid discovering he was literally a mad fool who obsessed over a corpse—Elaninde proclaimed that she was the long-awaited Listener. Cicero had practically orgasmed on the spot. It was bad enough that the others had to suffer her attitude of being a superior race, now they must pretend to acknowledge that she had power to be the Brotherhood's savior too.

The only good side effect was that Elaninde had Cicero in her pocket as her personal pet. The Fool doted on her constantly and she seemed to revel in the attention. Arnbjorn thought it was personally sickening to watch as the Imperial fawned over her every night by the waterfall. The little man would scurry back and forth fulfilling every whim of the much taller woman. Often he would be on one knee massaging her feet, painting her nails, or forever brushing that wild hair.

"Why don't you ever go anywhere else, ham hock?" Arnbjorn growled. He wanted to work at his forge, but it was almost impossible. Even with the heavy clang of his hammer and the smell of melting metal, Arnbjorn could not push out the scent of oil and perfume from the elf or the high pitched constant chatter of the Fool. The werewolf briefly thought he should be grateful neither of them favored blue or he would suffer from headaches constantly.

Both of the newcomers' clothing was exotic to say the least. Cicero was well known with his unique jesters outfit while Elaninde wore what Arnbjorn thought of as whore's clothes. Thin, wispy cloth that barely clung to toned golden flesh. Arm straps with clung to the sides while strips of skirt allowed long legs to spread out from under them hiding nothing from the imagination. For someone who came from the Summerset Isles, the High Elf gave no indication of being cold in the brisk Skyrim air. The only protection she wore against the cold was a huge red heavy woolen cloak with a hood that hid her face when she had it pulled up and she only wore that when she went out on her kills.

"Because it pleases me to sit by the waterfall," the elf said with her cultured voice. She never seemed to get angry or frustrated, but merely slightly bored or inconvenienced at best. "I refuse to go into that greasy kitchen, the common area is for the others, and poor, dear Cicero's room is simply too cold and lonely. We prefer it here with the company of passersby of the Family. Isn't that right, my dear Fool?"

"Oh yes, Mistress," the clown purred. He placed his head on her lap and rubbed it like a domestic dog. Arnbjorn could have barfed.

"Go to the Alchemy room then," Arnbjorn snarled.

"I do not think so," Elaninde said as she held up a manicured hand to examine Cicero's work. "It smells from Festus' constant spell components and Babette's alchemical reagents. We are happy here and here is where we will stay."

"Unless the mistress wishes loyal Cicero to oil her," the clown interjected. His look was far too sly.

"Oh, but that does sound heavenly," the elf smiled toothily. "You promise to do a thorough job?"

"Every blessed inch of the Listener's body," Cicero swore, "just as Cicero does with Mother."

"Oh, you flatterer," Elaninde laughed politely with her hand covering her mouth. Arnbjorn had to admit that it was a pleasant sound like the rest of her voice when she wasn't being so gods damned condescending. "Maybe later after dinner. You know how I do not like to dress afterwards and ruin my clothes. In the meantime, finish with my hair."

Today Cicero had adorned the hair with wild flowers. A chain created a crown and was accented with petals here and there in the cascade of hair. Elaninde leaned back into the fancy throne-like chair she had moved into the practice area for these occasions while Cicero deftly added more flowers into some elaborate pattern. Disgusted and accepting the fact he would get no work done with those two about, Arnbjorn stomped up to the planning room near the front of Sanctuary.

"What troubles you today, husband?" Astrid said from her position by her war table. She didn't bother to turn to look at who had huffed angrily up the stairs, no one else in Sanctuary behaved in such a manner around their leader.

"Niblet and the clown," Arnbjorn growled as he threw himself into the chair by the table. "I can't work with those two constantly lollygagging in the practice area." No matter how hard he tried, Arnbjorn could never ignore Elaninde if she was in the room. His attention was drawn to her like a moth to flame.

"We have plenty of weapons and armor," Astrid said practically as she carefully moved pieces around the map. No one save Astrid had any idea what each piece represented, which is how the blonde liked it. "It would do you good to go out for a bit. You've been downright snappish lately."

"I know a better way to work off stress," Arnbjorn smiled wolfishly. He stood behind his wife and ran hungry hands up her side while nuzzling her soft neck. It had been weeks since he had last lain with Astrid. Normally they rutted at least three or four times a week; a fact that made the others grateful their leaders had a private room away from the rest of Sanctuary. Astrid wasn't a screamer like some women, but Arnbjorn always left her more than satisfied.

"Not today," Astrid said. She shifted her position so she was away from her husband. Arnbjorn frowned. He didn't care to be ignored even by his wife who he loved more than anything and he was getting tired of her always putting him off. "I want to, I swear I do, but we have so much going on right now. This assassination is the most important thing the Brotherhood has ever undertaken and I am determined to get it done right. We would have Skyrim in our grasp again!"

After proclaiming herself Listener, Elaninde had said the Night Mother had given her a contract. Ignoring Astrid's command to wait, the Altmer immediately rode to the ruins of Volunruud to meet the contact, a man named Amaund Motierre. He had told her he wanted the Emperor dead with a few extra bonus kills. He had provided more than enough gold to grab their attention for a retainer fee and with the promise of more when the job was completed.

Astrid started pulling in every favor she had managed to accumulate over the years to get this job done with as much flair and glory as possible. The last time an Emperor had been assassinated was over two hundred years ago with Uriel Septim and that particular honor had gone to the gods damned Mythic Dawn, a huge blow to the Brotherhood's pride.

"I suppose I could go on patrol," Arnbjorn said grudgingly. There were few contracts available since Nazir was focusing on finding people who owed them favors instead of scraping up rumors of petitioners performing the Black Sacrament. With the Night Mother talking again, everyone had expected for her to give them more contracts, but so far the only one she had deemed to give was the one for the Emperor.

"Sounds good," Astrid said absentmindedly. "If you can, bring back some fresh meat. None of that bear or sabre cat. Good elk would be a nice change."

"Sure," Arnbjorn grumbled as he left. Astrid didn't even turn to say goodbye. Arnbjorn could remember a time when she clung to him with hugs and kisses any time he even mentioned the possibility of not being by her side. But that had been when she was young and not the leader of the last Sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood in all of Tamriel.

It did feel good to be outside. The crisp autumn air burned Arnbjorn's sensitive nose pleasantly. The Nord moved away from the Black Door and to a niche in the ground that he had made years ago. He quickly shucked his clothes and left them hidden in the earth for when he returned. Now unrestrained by leather and cloth, Arnbjorn released the beast.

Skin tore and bone stretched. Sharp canine teeth ripped through gums replacing the pathetic blunt human ones. Claws lengthened into killing knives ready to rend and slice tender flesh. Arnbjorn's senses exploded as a new spectrum of color, smell, and sound was made available to him. Falling to all fours, the werewolf ran through the forest marking it as his own.

Life as an assassin was good; life as a werewolf was better. Many children of Hircine didn't remember their time as wolves when they first transformed. The first experience was the most intense and pure, much like sex. Too many emotions and sensations to be properly recalled and categorized, but many would give their soul to feel that way again.

Arnbjorn had lived with the curse of lycanthropy for decades, ever since he had been so graciously inducted into the inner Circle of the Companions. He had long mastered his control of his wolf form so that he remembered everything he did and often was able to think as a man if necessary. Not that he wanted to; it was a joy to be a wolf both in body and spirit, but sometimes one needed the clarity of humanity to get a job done.

The moons were high in the sky as Arnbjorn ran. He reached a cliff and stopped to howl his dominance at the stars. To his surprise, Arnbjorn heard a responding howl. It was too sharp to be a wolf's cry, but too intelligent to be that of a normal animal. The wolf growled and ran towards the direction the howl came from to investigate.

The scent of female canine hung heavy in the air when Arnbjorn got to the forest clearing. Arnbjorn snorted heavily at the musky smell. Trees were torn up from claw marks indicating the female's claimed territory. Arnbjorn hiked a leg and let loose a stream of hot urine to reclaim the place as his.

This was not the first time Arnbjorn had to fight for the land around Sanctuary from other wild creatures. There had been other werewolves in the past whose pelts the Nord had kept as tokens. Yet, there was something different about this female. Her scent and call weren't right. Not wrong, but different.

Nose low to the ground, Arnbjorn moved to follow the scent. Tufts of russet fur were other marks of claiming territory. Brow furrowed, Arnbjorn wondered how this female had managed to so thoroughly mark this land without him noticing. As he had grown older, he did tend to spend more time in Sanctuary at his forge, but he was no Alpha male whose muzzle was so gray he had to step down for the next youth.

The trail led to a burrow obviously recently dug. Arnbjorn stuck his nose into the opening to get a better sniff. His body was halfway into the hole when suddenly pain from tooth and claw raked down Arnbjorn's back.

Fuck! The trail had been a trap and he had blindly walked into it like a pup with its eyes closed. Large paws dug against the earth trying to escape the rending claws and tearing teeth, but the hole was too small for his large form and it was impossible to back up without exposing his vulnerable neck or stomach. There was only one thing to do.

Arnbjorn gritted his teeth and reverted to human form. The cold night air slapped his bare human skin, but it was better than standing there while the female tore him to pieces. Before the other creature could keep attacking, Arnbjorn threw himself deeper into the burrow. Loose earth tumbled under his hands and bare feet, but he made good time as he half crawled deeper into the earth. The Nord desperately hoped that the tunnel would widen into a proper den and was not just a half-dug lure to trap him indefinitely.

It was completely dark in here with only human eyes to see. His senses may have been magnified with the werewolf blood, but there were limitations to their ability with a human body. Arnbjorn could still feel the cool, wet earth and smell the musk of the female, but he could sense little else. Unless you counted his ragged breath and the huff of the female hunting him.

Arnbjorn almost yelled out in surprise when he placed a hand before him and found nothing but air. Without anything to support his weight, the Nord found himself sliding forward and down an incline for about fifteen feet. It looked like there was a den here after all for it wasn't just packed or loose earth under Arnbjorn's feet. He could feel a combination of straw and furs.

The assassin was already halfway through transforming back into wolf form when the female landed nearby. Arnbjorn's eyesight had improved enough he could make out her red fur accented with a white undercoat and tip on her tail. A werefox? Those existed?

The fox gave a shrill bark before launching at Arnbjorn. He sidestepped the creature as he finished his transformation. He howled laughter as he grabbed the smaller canine in his huge paws. Now that he wasn't trapped and unaware, she was his! Another pelt would join his collection as well as a bragging story for the others.

The red fox flipped onto her back and raked her back claws against Arnbjorn's chest as he tried to wring her neck. The Nord used his heavy weight to pin her down so she couldn't continue her attack. As the female bucked under him, Arnbjorn realized something.

She wasn't trying to kill or maim him. This wasn't about territory; it was about mating! The bitch was in heat. The epiphany made Arnbjorn breathe in the female's scent and it almost drove him wild. He had gone too long without feeling a female and in his wolf form his mind was at its most primitive.

For a brief second, Arnbjorn's human side almost won. "Astrid!" he screamed, but the beast side mentally backhanded him into unconsciousness.

The wolf pinned the fox easily so her claws would not tear as he pushed his muzzle into her crotch. He breathed deep of her sex reveling in the musky tang of desire. A pink tongue darted forward tasting and wanting more. The female barked her approval and thrust her hips against his mouth.

Arnbjorn flipped the female onto her stomach so she was presented to him. She swished her tail coyly inviting him forward. The wolf sank his fangs into the back of her neck grasping her tightly before roughly pushing into her. The heat and tightness of her body almost undid him immediately. It had been a long time for him as a man and much, much longer as a wolf. There had been no one but Astrid since they had married. But Arnbjorn was a Nord and Nords never do anything half-assed.

With his teeth still firmly holding the scruff, Arnbjorn grabbed the female's hips with both paws. She panted in pain and pleasure as he rammed into her as deeply as possible. Wolves don't worry about the comfort of their partner; they only had to worry about strength and control. It was intoxicating to not have to think about if his pleasure was harmful to his partner.

As Arnbjorn raked and thrust, the fox arched her back to meet him. She barked and screamed her pleasure as blood ran down her neck from his bites and fur flew from his claws in her sides. Her own claws tore grooves in the earth, scarring the ground below them.

When he couldn't take it anymore, Arnbjorn released his jaw from the fox and howled as he spilled his seed. He felt the female tighten under him as he finished. She collapsed and he fell with her. The two of them were a tangle of limbs and fur onto the straw strewn floor. Arnbjorn pulled the fox into a possessive hug and licked her face, one final act of marking as his own, before he passed out.

It was morning when Arnbjorn woke. There were weak rays of light coming into the den from above and gave just enough light to see by. The Nord was stiff and sore. Even with his amazing regenerative powers, other lycanthropes could leave lasting scars and wounds. The female hadn't been trying to kill him, but her attacks on his flank still smarted if dully.

Speaking of the female, this was his chance to see who exactly it was. Maybe she was a villager from Morthal or one of the seemingly endless adventurers who seemed to find their way into Skyrim. Arnbjorn rolled onto his side and gasped.

"Fuck me," was all Arnbjorn could manage to say.

"I believe I did just that, my darling," replied the refined tones of none other than Elaninde. The High Elf was casually lying on her side completely naked and comfortable in the den she had made. Her wild red hair flowed around her like a stole while one lazy manicured hand ran lazily up and down her bare flesh. The other hand propped up her head as she rested on her elbow. "However, if you are ready for another round, I am more than eager."

With seeming uncaring, Elaninde straddled Arnbjorn's hips. The soft whisper of her skin against his caused a reaction Arnbjorn wanted to stop. It was bad enough to have betrayed Astrid while a wolf, but that was at least forgivable. This would and could never be!

"Stop," he growled. His calloused hands grasped the soft, supple skin of Elaninde's hips. "I'm married."

"Please," the Altmer snorted daintily, "just because you are stronger as a wolf does not mean you have any say as a man." Her fine boned hand slid between them so she could wrap her fingers around his erect member. Although her touch was cool, there was quickly heat as she slowly stroked Arnbjorn's cock. "If Astrid wants to fight for you, I welcome the challenge. It's about time she showed interest in you again. And if she will not, then you should at least enjoy the attention of someone. Do you not deserve it after so many years of loyalty and dedication to that woman?"

It was wolf mentality or at least that of the beast. Arnbjorn wanted to argue, but words had never been his weapon and he had embraced the beast blood too long to deny its simple logic now. Instead he took in the appearance of the Altmer.

From this angle, Arnbjorn couldn't help but admire the elf's full breasts sway as she hovered over him. Although she usually wore the barest of clothes, they had well hidden exactly how full of a figure she had, especially for an elf. Her fox blood had given her a much more fit form than her mage training deserved.

"I suppose it makes sense why you wear the clothes you do. Loose flowing clothes would be easier to change out of and less likely to tear if you couldn't remove them in time," Arnbjorn said trying to control his breathing. He would not give her the slightest reason to think she could seduce him. The only problem was since he was focusing on his breathing, Arnbjorn was breathing in Elaninde's musk and it was exacerbating the problem. Without all the perfumes, she smelled like den and wild and it was intoxicating. "But why the damn perfumes?"

"Do you think I enjoy smelling like wet dog?" the elf sneered. "I would not tolerate guards casually mentioning it to me like I was some common stable girl. Besides, I like how my jester's ointments smell for they remind me of home and court."

"The fool?" Arnbjorn snorted.

"Oh yes, especially that he is a fool," Elaninde's green eyes sparkled as she settled her weight onto Arnbjorn. The pressure of her against him felt good. All it would take was the barest of motions and he would be in her instead of against her. "Every proper court has a fool to speak what no one else dares. As the leader of the Dark Brotherhood, I desire only every consideration."

"Astrid leads!" Arnbjorn spat.

"For now," Elaninde admitted. She gently took Arnbjorn's hands from her hips and placed them on her breasts. She slowly ground against Arnbjorn's cock so it was soon covered in dampness. Her breathing deepened as she pleasured herself against him.

Arnbjorn wanted to stop her, but he didn't trust that if he did move he wouldn't end up doing exactly what she wanted. She was much too close and her scent filled him too completely. The bitch was still in heat, her lust not sated from their fucking. The Nord hated the sound he made in his throat was so close to a whimper.

"Oh yes, Astrid is the boss for now," Elaninde said as she ran her red lacquered nails down Arnbjorn's skin. The skin reddened from the pressure but did not break. "She will be allowed that privilege until I am ready to claim my rightful place as master. When that day comes, she may be allowed to step aside and follow me as the pack demands or she will fall under my claws.

"There is only one thing you must learn before that," Elaninde said as she leaned close to Arnbjorn's ear. "I always get what I want, even if I have to take it." The elf shifted so instead of rubbing against the Nord, she was riding him.

Arnbjorn gasped as he slid into the elf. His hands clamped down on her breasts, but this only seemed to delight Elaninde as she barked out her tinkling laughter. No matter of bucking shook her; instead she wrapped her legs tighter around his hips as if he was an untamed stallion she planned to break. He was horrified that he had allowed himself to be tricked into this, but at the same time he wanted it and more.

"If you want someone to fuck, why not your little Imperial toy?" Arnbjorn snarled as he suddenly sat up. He clamped his hungry mouth around a nipple and started licking and nipping.

"Cicero? Please," Elaninde laughed throwing her head back. "I would break him so hard he would never walk again. No, I need a strong man like you. We are alike, you and I. Both bound by beast blood. I have desired you since I saw you and knew what you were. I assure you the hunt has been satisfactory."

"You haven't caught me yet," Arnbjorn retorted. He grabbed the elf's hair and pulled it back so he could bite along her neckline. "I am still Astrid's."

"So he says as he ruts with me," Elaninde chided, "and rather eagerly at that."

"You'll never have my heart," Arnbjorn said defiantly. "That will always be Astrid's."

"Funny," Elaninde said. She grabbed Arnbjorn's jaw so he had to look up at her. She ran her nails along his jawline before kissing him roughly with tongue and tooth, "I do not seem to care. You will continue to lay with me as you are now. Not because you particularly want to, but because you need to. Because you are a beast by nature and every dog need a master."

"Astrid, I need to speak with you."

The blonde woman didn't recognize the voice that just spoke, which was very strange. Normally she could tell who was approaching her by their footsteps, the clank of armor, or even their breathing. There had been no indication anyone was in the room until the newcomer spoke.

Astrid turned and was surprised to see Cicero standing in the doorway to the planning room. The jester was holding his cap in his hands and twisting it restlessly. Astrid almost snapped at him for interrupting her until she noticed that the Imperial's face was solemn for the first time since she had met him.

"What is it, Keeper?" she asked suddenly feeling a need for formality. It had been the right thing to do simply for the smile of joy on Cicero's face.

"I keep the Tenets, you know I do," Cicero insisted. "That is why I am here. They must be honored by everyone, EVERYONE! Cicero spoke with the Listener and she did not listen. So faithful Cicero speaks to Astrid."

"Out with it," Astrid snapped. She felt nervous with Cicero acting so oddly, at least for him. Talking of the Tenets meant he was likely to speak about how she needed to swear herself to the Night Mother and Astrid had no patience for that today. "I am very busy."

"You have been betrayed," Cicero said looking miserable.

"By who?" Astrid whispered. Betrayal had always been her biggest fear. When she had caught Cicero whispering alone in the Night Mother's chamber, she had been unable to sleep until she had found out who his confidante was. Imagine her embarrassment when it was revealed that it was only the Night Mother and the very person she had sent to investigate had turned against her by claiming to be the fabled Listener.

"Elaninde….," Cicero whispered.

"I knew it!" Astrid crowed.

"And Arnbjorn," the jester finished.

"Get out!" Astrid yelled. She grabbed a nearby bowl and threw it at the redhead. "Get out with your lies and tricks, clown!"

"Cicero only tells the truth, no matter how much the Pretender wishes to believe otherwise!" Cicero yelled. He danced about avoiding each object hurled at him. "If you don't believe him, then go to the forge and see for yourself!" The jester stuck his tongue out at Astrid and tumbled away laughing madly.

Astrid followed ready to toss more items at the clown, but he was gone having fled up the stairs. Astrid turned to the downward stairs to see for herself what Cicero was babbling about. No doubt he had either misconstrued an innocent conversation or his mad mind had invented something fantastical or he was just trying her patience.

Astrid's steps came to an abrupt halt when she came into the open area. In the forge area, on top of Arnbjorn's workbench was Elaninde. The High Elf was sitting with her head thrown back and her legs wide open. Kneeling between them was Arnbjorn licking that bitch's thighs!

Rage coursed through Astrid as she watched her husband's infidelity. Her hand gripped her Blade of Woe ready to use it on the both of them. Logic ruled and Astrid stepped back. On wobbly legs, she managed to walk back up to the stairs to her planning room.

Things had been perfect before that elf came to Sanctuary. Before the Keeper and the Night Mother! Why did things have to change? Astrid would make it so everything would go back to the way it was before, when she ruled and everyone followed.

With a shaking hand, the Nord picked up a piece of paper that held the personal information of the leader of the Penitus Oculatus – Commander Maro. She would contact the man and make a deal with him. After she made sure he would be cooperative. The man had a son who was touring Skyrim to secure the Emperor's tour of the Holds. Maybe if he met an untimely death by the hands of a certain arrogant Altmer bitch, then Commander Maro would be more than willing to play ball.

Then Astrid would be rid of the betrayer and everything would be fine again. There could be only one alpha female in this den of killers and it would be Astrid. She was willing to bet her life on it.

A/N: I took some liberties with this story in that Tamriel does not specifically have werefoxes. However, I figured the Sumerset Isles may have some oddities that the rest of Nirn doesn't know about.

I figured it would take something extraordinary for Arnbjorn to betray Astrid. Using the beast blood seemed like the natural answer. Also, it helps explain "What the fuck was Astrid thinking when she made that deal with Maro?".

I hope you enjoyed!