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The potion bubbled cheerfully in the black iron cauldron that hung precariously over the fire pit in the center of his tiny shack. Arthur glared, quelling the urge to kick it over in a fit of rage. These ingredients were rare, it would take forever to re-collect them for this potion if he cocked it up now. Reaching for the ladle he stirred his concoction a few times before taking a small pinch of powdered dragonfly wings and sprinkling it into the mix. He continued to stir slowly as the potion began to change from a light golden yellow to a darker green shade. He sniffed it wearily, but it smelled alright so far.
Dropping the ladle Arthur stepped back, relaxing onto a short stool beside the fire. He reached behind him for his mug of ale and stared out the only window of the shack, waiting, as he drank.
For the last year Arthur had lived here, in this tiny shack at the edge of this tiny village. Not many small villages like this one would have given a home to a traveler who right up front announced himself as a witch. It was a widely known fact that in small, poor communities witches were more trouble than they were worth. But Arthur suspected that the reason they allowed him to stay was simply that none of the villagers believed that he was really a witch at all.
His large eyebrows furrowed, creating a deep crease as he frowned. No one ever believed him. It got damned annoying after awhile! After all, since he had arrived here hadn’t he acted as healer and potion maker for these people? Was it really so hard to take those abilities into consideration and acknowledge him?
After taking another long swallow of his ale he stood, placing the empty mug back onto the table over flowing with books beside his bed. He stepped back up to the cauldron and with a wave of his hand he stoked the fire, turning up the heat. The potion needed to boil for a short while now.
Perhaps they didn’t believe because they had never witnessed him work any great acts of magic. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t a witch! Just because the other witches enjoyed flaunting their powers flamboyantly before the populace didn’t mean that he had too as well! He was just modest that was all.
However, the more likely conclusion was that they had never seen him with a familiar.
At the thought of familiars Arthur sank back onto his stool, his face in his hands. Of course it would be the familiar. It was always the familiar! The final true sign that one was a witch was the companion to your soul whose presence would amplify your natural powers tenfold. By their thirteenth birthday almost all witches had met their familiars. Arthur’s own brothers and sister had each met theirs before they turned ten.
Arthur would soon be twenty summers old and he had yet to meet his own familiar.
When no companion had presented itself to him by his fifteenth year, his family had chased him from their home in disgust. Having a useless witch around would only bring trouble they said. He would bring destruction upon their home. A witch without a familiar could not hide the presence of their magic and would undoubtedly draw those who would seek to use those powers for their own gain.
Jerking his eyes away from the window Arthur turned back to his potion and with another wave of his hand he floated the cauldron off of the fire. He covered it, careful not to burn himself, turning back to lower the fire. Then he got himself ready for bed.
He grabbed his nightshirt from where he had dropped it that morning and, after stripping off his loose tunic, he pulled the long shirt on over his head. His hand was reaching for the laces of his deerskin breeches when there came a quiet knock at his door. He sighed, adjusting the shirt as he went to the door. It was probably just a villager after a sachet to protect against the sniffles again. He swung open the door, prepared to address his visitor, and froze.
There was a man, and no man from the village either. His clothing was made from fine, heavy fabrics. His long hair was the golden shade of the sunlight. Arthur blinked, confused.
“Good afternoon Sir. Is there something I can help you with?”
The man laughed, a high pitched inane and slightly condescending sound that made Arthur frown. This man was clearly wealthy. Couldn’t he pay a court witch or someone else for whatever it was he needed? Why did he have to come bother Arthur? And why so late?
“Non mon cher, I merely have a question for you. The people in the village tell me that you are a healer. Is that true?”
Arthur’s frown deepened. A foreigner, from the continent it sounded like. What did he need a healer for? He appeared to be alone and didn’t appear to be injured himself. Arthur’s fist clenched. If this was another damn Frenchmen wanting a potion to prevent conception he was going to turn the bastard into a frog!
“No Sir! I am not a healer, I am in fact a witch.”
The foreigners’ eyes narrowed and his smirk turned vicious.
“Well, then today is my lucky day! Jeanne and I felt your casting as we were passing and I decided to jump on the opportunity.”
A large cat dropped down next to the Frenchmen from Arthur’s roof and, for a moment, he could only gape in puzzlement. Felt his casting? What did he mean by that? But realization struck as man and cat began to glow with a magical pink light, signifying a spell in progress.
This man was a witch as well! Arthur slammed the door closed as the first spell struck. Well fuck! This was horrible. Without a familiar every spell he cast was a beacon sent out to any witch in the area. Witches who would fight and conquer others just to gain even a sliver of extra power. And now, all on his own, he was a sitting duck.
The door rattled violently as another wave of magic smashed against it, the whole shack trembling under that oppressive force. Arthur ran and as another wave smashed the door into dust he raised his own hand releasing a spell of his own. Releasing a focused blast of power caused the back wall of the shack to collapse and as dust clouds filled the air he ran outside. He would disappear into the woods, there was a cave a little ways in that he could hide in. He refused to be a slave to some other witch!
But as he fled his home he felt a pair of arms wrap tightly around him, easily lifting him from the ground. Damn! The man had expected him to run! As the dust cleared he could see the cat in the doorway, smirking at him. It had been a trap. Arthur thrashed in his captors hold, thinking desperately for a spell to free himself.
“Mon petite Jeanne! Hurry here love, we need to seal this one quickly!” Then he leaned forward, his breath and tongue tickling the shell of Arthur’s ear. “Don’t fret mon amour, we will take good care of you.”
As he laughed lecherously, Arthur could tell that there were many hidden meanings behind his words. He fought harder, kicking and clawing as his eyes grew wet. The Frenchmen only continued to laugh as he held the struggling young witch tight against his chest. The cat began her transformation, changing into a young girl with hair that fell to her shoulders the golden color of wheat.
As she approached she bit a finger and blood welled up on the pad. She was going to draw a seal, forever binding him and his powers to them as a slave. Arthur's magic was going wild, flaring violently as he struggled. She reached forward, the Frenchmen still laughing and Arthur screamed with rage and terror.
And, in the distance, a vicious howl answered him.
All at once everything seemed to freeze, three sets of eyes turned in the direction that the howl had come from. Arthur’s heart was pounding in his chest as the sound resonated in his ears. Could it possibly be? Though he had never heard it before, the howl sounded so familiar, so welcomed. And so angry.
The fire pit in the shack roared up suddenly, turning Arthur’s small home into a huge bonfire. In the sudden light Arthur saw the foliage part as a pure white wolf thundered towards them from the forest.
In an instant the girl was gone, no longer a girl but once again a cat. But like no cat that Arthur had ever seen before. The two crashed together, like titans, all claws and fangs, flying fur and blood. The Frenchmen screamed, dropping Arthur and rushing to the aid of his familiar. The wolf broke away, dodging a fireball as it circled around to stand defensibly before Arthur.
Blood dripped from it’s muzzle and reflected brightly against it’s eyes in the firelight. Arthur gazed at it in wonder. Was this magnificent beast his familiar? Finally? He was vaguely aware that the French witch was fleeing, but he paid no mind. Instead he stepped closer to the wolf, which in turn turned and caught him in it’s gaze.
He was shocked to see that the wolf’s eyes were not simply reflecting the blood. It’s irises were the deep scarlet color of blood themselves. Overwhelmed Arthur fell to his knees. His familiar....they were finally together.
The wolf padded forward, sniffing his face, smearing him with blood. But, despite his usual fastidiousness, he couldn't find it in himself to care. He managed to find his voice and fought to keep it steady as he asked.
“Are…are you…are you my familiar?”
The wolf sat back on it’s haunches, satisfied that it had found no injury. Then it, he, sneezed playfully and replied.
“Well of course I am! Who the fuck else would I be to come out of the blue and save your ass like that?”
Arthur laughed, throwing his arms around the beast’s neck as his face was licked clean of blood. Finally! His own familiar! Finally he would be taken seriously as a witch. He could cast more powerful magic, make a name for himself. Indignation struck like a bolt of lightning and he pulled back, grabbing the wolf by the scruff of his neck and shaking him.
“What the bloody hell took you so long? I’ve been waiting for you for years!”
The tongue disappeared behind vicious teeth and the canine grin vanished.
“What took me so long? What the hell took you so long? I’ve been searching for you for years! Sniffling across this entire damn landmass for your magical signature, but every time I got close, every time I thought I had found you, you were gone by the time I arrived.” The wolf ripped out of his grasp and pounced. Gigantic front paws hit Arthur’s chest and he was forced back onto the ground as the wolf leaned his full weight against him. His image was becoming distorted, shifting between wolf and something, different.
“Most familiars have a simple time finding their witches. But no! Not Gilbert! Gilbert’s witch decides that he is going to be modest and barely cast any magic at all! Sure that way other witches can’t find him, but in the end, neither could his familiar!”
Arthur blinked, confused, and suddenly the wolf was a man, no longer a wolf. A man dressed in tight deerskin breeches and a loose leather vest. A man that was straddling his hips, hands harshly gripping his shoulders as he leaned over and brushed his lips against Arthur’s jaw.
“But that’s all in the past. Doesn’t matter any more because, I found you,” he growled the last three words, rubbing his hips sensuously against Arthur, who could’t resist the groan as he felt something beginning. Something magic and primal. The wolf, man, Gilbert’s lips parted as he dragged tongue and fangs across his witches soft and pale exposed throat.
“I’ve found you now and no one else can have you.” He felt the harsh bite, just enough to barely break the skin, at his collar bone. But Gilbert hips were still rolling, grinding against him, crushing him between his warm body and the damp grass and Arthur's breeches were too tight, much too tight. The pain of the bite went unnoticed as his green eyes dropped closed.
“No one but me. Because you are mine and I am yours and it will be like that from here to eternity.”
A hand slipped beneath his night shirt, tracing seals across his chest with the blood from his collarbone. Occasionally the clawed fingers twisted and tweaked at his nipples and Arthur arched up into the hand and those glorious hips, moaning and mewing and panting at the sensation.
His body shook with lust, adrenaline, and pure magical power. Gilbert laughed, a bark-like sound, tracing the line of his jaw with his tongue and the lines of the seal with his hands.
“Tell me your name.”
Arthur fought to find his voice, to regain enough control of himself to utter something besides a moan or a mew, something coherent. Finally he managed to splutter.
“Arthur.”
Gilbert smirked and sat up, causing Arthur’s eyes to roll into the back of his head at the sensation of the amazing friction at their centers.
“Do you, Arthur, take me, Gilbert, as your familiar? For protection, for companionship and everything that entails.”
Still quivering Arthur nodded, then finally remembering how to use his hands he reached up, threading his fingers into Gilbert's snowy white hair. He pulled, trying to force their lips together. But Gilbert only laughed and swatted the hands away.
The wolf dipped his finger back into well at Arthur’s collar bone and spread the blood over the witches lips. Arthur’s tongue darted out from between those lips, licking at those fingers, sucking them into his mouth. His eyes fluttered closed as he tasted himself and Gilbert all at the same time.
Above him Gilbert shuddered, rolling his hips almost violently as he quickly pulled his fingers back. Arthur watched as he brought them up to his own mouth. Tasted them with his own tongue, then bit into one and smeared the blood over his own lips.
Arthur could feel the very air shivering with him in anticipation. He was vaguely aware that they were glowing, a brighter red than the bonfire that used to be his home, his books, his life.
But none of that mattered now. Because it was the past. None of it mattered because Gilbert have found him and there were so close!
Gilbert leaned over him, causing another eye roll from the goddamn amazing friction, and paused long enough to smile, not smirk but really smile, before he crashed their lips together and the end came.
Arthur screamed, from pleasure and from pain, as his body burned. The bloody seal on his chest flashed white hot, sealing the witch and the wolf together forever and after as their powers slammed together, like the wolf and the cat earlier. But instead of claws and fangs, flying fur and blood it was teeth and hands, rough kisses and thrusts. Stars exploded behind Arthur’s eyelids and his muscles quivered.
Eventually, when he regained his senses, he blinked up at the smiling, contented face of the wolf. His wolf, his familiar, his Gilbert. Arthur couldn’t help but smile back. Gilbert pulled him close to his chest and Arthur fell asleep listening to his heartbeat and his quiet whispers.
“I found you, I found you. We won’t have to be alone anymore. We are going to be together and we will do amazing, awesome things together.”