He inhaled, relishing the fragrances of wood and winter and cool earth that filled his lungs and infused him with a sense of rightness and well-being. His mouth watered at the sweetness of the fresh air, a little shiver running down the length of his spine. His heart soared and, with it, his mood. Unable to resist giving in to his lifted spirits, he picked up his pace and slid through the forest at a long, gliding lope.

Suddenly, a movement caught his eye – another living phasma of shadow and darkness slid toward him through the stately oaks. Light danced and shifted, auroralike, over the planes and curves of her body in subtle ribbons of blue and silver. Eyes like green lightning flashed and glittered, and Atticus was breathless with admiration. His Alphess, his queen. As she drew nearer, his head swam, his heart danced and quivered in his chest, his blood simultaneously sang and roared in his ears. The sweet fragrance, that heady perfume that had him so drunk, it was her. As she approached him, quipping a friendly greeting, he flashed her an embarrassed grin as he felt his cheeks flush beneath his black fur. Her choice of words recalled to him the bantering jokes they'd exchanged (mostly at Peregrine's expense) on the day he'd been accepted into the pack. But more than that, now more than ever, he was keenly aware of exactly "how it was hanging".

"Hi, Hawkeye," he replied, a smile dancing on his lips and in his eyes. "It's uh...hangin' quite nicely. It's…well hung." He couldn't help it. There was a gentlemanly side of him that wanted to strangle and beat the crap out of himself just then for being so vulgar, but the other side of him? The foul-mouthed Redleaf side? Just couldn't let that opportunity go to waste. He chuckled, embarrassed and thoroughly ashamed of himself AND YET SO PROUD, and stepped forward to lick his Alpha's chin in a show of respect, adoration, and deference. "How're you, lately?"

He chuckled at her retort, his mirth rumbling deep in his chest and his tail waving affably behind him. He liked her quick wit and her sharp tongue; there was something alluring about a feisty, fiery woman who could hold her own among a bunch of obnoxious, classless males. An electric sort of energy hummed through her, almost seeming to vibrate out to the very ends of her whiskers. Atticus felt it too; his heart fluttered, fickle and birdlike, within the cage of his chest and his insides quivered and shook. He felt both cold and hot, terrified and fearless, as though he could rise up and, spartanlike, wrestle the very universe to the ground at his feet if only he could crawl out from under the rock under which he hid.

This beast, this hurricane, this force of nature that was Hawkeye…he stood before her and he was nothing. He was a leaf in the wind, a tattered flag in a gale. He could not possibly hope to rise up and meet her, for she was so much more magnificent than he'd ever be.

And that made him want her all the more, like the cowboy lusts after the wild, fire-eyed mustang. He knows he cannot tame it, yet that knowledge only makes him covet it all the more.

"Trouble," he replied, his dark baritone voice almost a purr, relishing the word as he spoke it. "Is what we do best, I am sure you know. But I have spent much time considering how best I might serve you, my lady." He realized, belatedly, that he could have made a great pun with that.

The knowledge that his brother courted this woman lingered in the back of his mind like a dark cloud, a shadowy specter he tried to ignore. Courting did not mean mated. Not yet.

A tiny, smirking smile crept into the inky line of her lips and Atticus seized on it, taking delight in knowing that he had put it there. He felt like a teenager, a fumbling, punch-drunk juvenile experiencing his first moment alone with someone on whom he had a raving-mad crush. He'd never before experienced the allure of a female in her season, and while he did not know that was what was going on, he was nevertheless ensnared in her web.

He licked his lips, daring to say, "I would...ask my Alphess how I might please her the most." It was the most loaded question he'd ever asked anybody in his life, but she could interpret it however she wanted. He swallowed nervously, his lean body tense and nearly quivering with the excitement that her presence ignited within him.

At her burst of laughter, Atticus felt a hot flush come over his cheeks and knew he was blushing ridiculously red beneath his dark fur. Thank goodness for black fur. He felt a fleeting moment of embarrassment and annoyance, but quickly dismissed it, instead allowing a goofy, crooked smile to come over his face. He giggled with her, his chuckle coming out more like a deep, rumbling purr than an actual laugh, and bright, glacial light shimmered merrily in the depths of his eyes. "Maybe," he answered with an overdramatic shrug of his shoulders. "So what if I am?" he asked her teasingly, a slyness creeping into the smile he still wore and his tail waving playfully behind him

He gazed into her eyes, brilliant pools of verdigris set in her dark, noble face like shimmering gems. But beautiful as she was to behold, he could not hold her gaze for long. The power that lingered there, the majesty and greatness that made her his Alpha and Queen, was too much for a mere subordinate to brazenly look upon, and so he glanced away with each fleeting glimpse he dared to steal. Her words came to him like a branding iron, making him burn and sear inside with the subtle heat they bore. He had not expected her to reciprocate his feelings or his advances, and yet…here she was, doing exactly that. She truly was a creature of mystery and intrigue, a living shadow every bit as secretive and surprising as true darkness itself.

He glanced at her again, a veiled mixture of desire and wariness in his eyes, and continued in a voice just barely above a low, dark whisper, "I suppose maybe I like it too." He quivered with anticipation, dying to reach out and touch her but fearful that to do so would somehow disturb and break the suspended magic that hung in the air around them.

The energy between them sizzled like a downed powerline, and just when Atticus thought he might spontaneously combust from the heat and pressure within him, she took a step forward.

Toward him.

He did the same and suddenly, they were touching.

A white-hot lance of lust and desire broke free from the coiled mass of anticipation in his throat and raced down the length of his belly to embed itself firmly in his loins. A very uncomfortable fire began to kindle in that general area and Atticus – virgin that he still was – blushed hotly. He closed his eyes and nuzzled her neck, trailing downward to leave a stinging kiss on her shoulder. The enchanting fragrance of her, so clean and wild and savagely female, drowned him and swept him away.

He felt the shock of a toothy kiss planted upon his hot skin, the heat of her affections burning through his obsidian fur as if it were not there. He felt her tongue, soft and warm, upon his neck and a deep, dark, purring growl rose up within him to meet her own. He traced his muzzle down her side, relishing the way her thick, plush coat felt as it glided past his nose. She was muscular, strong, a truly majestic creature of power, grace, and untamed beauty. She was a thunderstorm, and he the leaves tossed and blown in her wind. His teeth found her hip and nipped her softly, carefully, his body tensed like that of a snake handler who fully expected his viper to strike.

And sure enough, the viper struck. She whirled on him, breathtaking black lightning, and before he knew what had happened, he was lying on his back. Glittering fangs, white as the pallor of cold, stony death, pressed into his throat as thunder rumbled dangerously over her tongue. A line of vicious kisses followed, trailing over his chest and down his belly. It was too much. He couldn't take it anymore. With a violent snarl he pulled himself up from the ground, pushing her back from him as he did so. He was on his feet, quick as a cat, and pulling himself onto Hawkeye's back. He grasped her nape savagely in his jaws and encircled her taut waist with his forelegs. The thunder he'd heard in her seconds before now resonated within him, a ceaseless snarl muffled in the ebony fur between his teeth.

It was funny, the way things sometimes worked. It was as if Peregrine himself had suddenly swept down upon them, for at nearly the same instant that Hawkeye suddenly changed her mind, so did Atticus. Perched precariously atop her, face buried in the lush fur of her mane, shapely waist firmly gripped in his arms, embarrassing parts of him sticking her in just about every place except where it was supposed to go, Atticus had a moment of clarity and realized with horror what he was doing. He had no qualms about screwing a chick he'd only known a few days. He was a wolf. That was what wolves did.

He had a problem with screwing his brother over, though.

She abruptly sat down, but before her rear even touched the ground, he was already pushing himself away from her. His ears were firmly flattened against his skull, his tail tucked in shame, anger and confusion ablaze in his eyes. "What the f—!" he shouted, his voice harsh and irate. Quickly he looked at her, and his tone softened…a little. "Not you. I mean. What the hell am I...are we…doing?" He couldn't understand what had possessed him so completely to take his brother's girlfriend without even a casual thought to Peregrine's claim on her. Had it been any other male, it wouldn't have mattered. May the best man win, mothafucka. But with his brothers, the rules were different. This was Perry. "Holy shitballs. Hawkeye. I'm sorry, but…I don't even know what happened." He looked at her with wide eyes, imagining that she felt very much the same.

He just stared at her, shell-shocked and stunned into momentary silence, as she did her best to stammer out an awkward explanation. "No, I'm sorry," he replied when he finally gathered his wits enough to speak, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head vigorously. "I know better. This is my brother, for fuck's sake. My best friend." Quickly, he rose to his feet and, with completely deferent, submissive body posture, licked her chin — a display of respect from subordinate to Alpha. "I won't breathe a word of this. Perry would probably kill us both anyway."

He held her gaze for a moment, faint tendrils of the energy they'd shared moments ago drifting between them once more. There was something between them, a strange sort of chemistry, that no other male's claim upon her could break. But it would have to stay buried within him, caged securely inside, where Peregrine would never see it. His brother knew of his feelings for Hawkeye, but he did not know how far down the roots of those feelings went. Atticus had a feeling that if Peregrine ever found out exactly where those "roots" had almost been, what followed would not be so different from what had brought him here in the first place.

He swallowed. Or, more accurately, gulped. "I care for you, Hawkeye. I can't change that, regardless of who courts you." His voice was soft, a tenderness in his eyes that he rarely showed to anybody. If he showed this side of himself around his brothers, Peregrine swiftly labeled him "gay" and proceeded to joke him about it for hours afterward. "If it were any other man, I would ravage you senseless. But…" He half-smiled up at her, the sly, sexy wickedness undeniable on his face, though it did not reach his eyes. "We'll pretend this never happened. Perry doesn't need to know. It's better that way." Thinly-veiled sadness lingered in those pools of blue ice.