Wolves of Gomorrah by profoundly_grey

“Intriguing arguments, Lupin, but you have a long way to go in convincing me that those wizards you think so highly of will pay heed to anything of the sort,” a scarred man with a permanently menacing glare and throaty voice answered.

Greyback listened in on their conversation, fascinated at how adamant this new wolf was about the “good” side. For the last week all the wolves, those neutral and opposite this man’s side, had been debating about rights of wolves and who was right and who was wrong. Greyback couldn’t help but roll his eyes and scoff at Lupin’s determination to win the argument, though he knew, deep down, that none of his words would penetrate these werewolves already made-up minds. They just didn’t hold water.

Taking a swig from the bottle of vodka in his hand, Greyback turned around and walked out of the tunnel, not flinching in the slightest at the underground’s draft. He could not continue to listen to Lupin’s pathetic attempts to sway his pack. Greyback had these wolves practically brainwashed. They were well versed in their words, something which Greyback was quite proud to admit. He had let the omega know upon sheltering that his wolves would not be so easily reversed in their opinions.

Navigating his way out into the forest, Greyback sat by the small, murky lake not even a mile away from what he considered home. The lake was purple in the moonlight, with a couple large rocks decorating it like ugly sequins. He watched as a few werewolves - particularly those one or two females who lived here - bathe in the lake’s murkiness, showering their lovely feminine wiles with water from their cupped hands. His favorite one, a buxom blonde who harbored quite a callous attitude towards most anyone, attentively tended to each breast, holding one with a hand while using the other to circle the areola and pinch the pert nipple. He couldn’t help but to let a satisfied, wolfish smirk distort his usually unsavory glare.

Looking round once more, he noted a couple other werewolves had found their way out of the Den and had occupied spaces around the lake, many of whom were drooling and even masturbating as the two females bathed in the water. Greyback couldn’t be involved in such distasteful behavior, finding long ago that he much rather be fucking the she-wolf than ejaculating to their sultry movements. He figured though, that they were still young and didn’t know where their true priorities lay. They would know soon enough.

Hearing footsteps, the elderly werewolf turned to see that Lupin had crossed behind him. The omega nodded his head in false respect at him and proceeded toward the small waterfall where he awkwardly shed his clothing, crossed his arms defensively (or because the wind had picked up), and tiptoed into the water.

Greyback was quite intrigued at how attracted the blonde one seemed to be toward the new wolf; it didn't sit well with him that she was. She had stopped mid-bathing, and confidently strode to where the omega shyly washed his upper body. He dropped the soap bar he washed himself with into the water at her intrusion, but had calmed down when she began to massage his shoulders in a manner that clearly said to Greyback that was wished to mate with him. A grotesque scowl creased the older werewolf’s rough features.

When Greyback had first established the Underground, he had not anticipated the place to become so primitive and instinctual. He understood the wolves’ needs to fulfill their bodily functions and drives, but with so few females at their disposal, the two that currently lived with them were their only source of sexual release. Although Greyback didn’t condone homosexual behavior, he somewhat envied the benders. Of course, he also felt lucky that he himself had lost much of his own sexual drive, as old age had crept itself upon him. His mission to infect was much stronger.

His thoughts drifted to a particularly fond memory of a woman he had gruesomely razed into only a few months ago. She had been the wife of a man who had dared to speak out against him, and to return the favor, Greyback had positioned himself in their back garden, waiting for the moon to rise and for his incisors to lengthen. When the moon’s light had finally reached its height, his muscles tingled in anticipation and his lips upturned into a feral grin. His entire body quivered and his bones dislocated, enlarging and becoming stronger as he soon found himself on all fours at the woman’s back door.

He could smell his prey inside and he used brute force to break the door in, where the scent became stronger and intoxicated his senses. His ears perked up when he heard the soft footsteps of the occupant and lowered the front half of his body, biding for her approach around the corner. When a dainty foot toed the floor and the woman turned in the hallway, the color drained from her face and her shriek could be heard from kilometers away. Her legs couldn’t move fast enough, and Greyback lunged for her.

The next morning Greyback remembered the Daily Prophet had described the act as “inhumane” and her body as “unidentifiable.” A sadistic smile creased his grizzly face at having dismantled her limbs from her torso and slurping her organs through his teeth. He had used his claws to carefully slice the skin from her muscle and gouged her eyes out of their sockets. He had left her husband nothing but the bones he’d spit out and a mass of pureed tissue.

The old werewolf gruffly guffawed and contemplated other ungodly acts of violence, finding that recently he preferred to leave the non-werewolves alone when they didn’t have any children for him to inflict his Lycanthropy upon. The murder of the petite, nubile wife of the Unspeakable had brought on a pleasure that not even a masochistic romp with one of his slags could compare. This malcontent suited him in his mission to infect the young and naïve, a satisfaction he could not attain by other means, and he hoped that the werewolves he raised would one day feel the same.

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