Please, please, please keep in mind that when Blaine claims Kurt, it is non-consensual and fairly violent. Their dynamic will not always be like this, but as expressed in the first chapter, the claiming is rough and non-consensual for multiple reasons. I really don't want to trigger anyone here, so keep that in mind, as well as the fact that some of this will be dub-con in future chapters, until Kurt comes to term with his instincts and his new lifestyle. If you have any questions about it before reading, feel free to ask in a review or pm me, and I'll do my best to answer. Also, know that when Blaine bites Kurt, he turns Kurt to a werewolf. The bite is very disorienting at first.

Let me know what you think, and as before, please don't hesitate to ask me any questions.

Kiara had never quite mastered the art of sleeping on trains. Her bobbing head slammed against the window every time she leaned tentatively against the cold glass; resting her head in the opposite direction involved resting it on the greasy-haired man who sat beside her; leaning forward or back left her a bit too vulnerable for the subway. She thus sat back on the seat, ankles crossed demurely, head tilted to gaze out the window. Ohio wasn't exactly much to look at. Rolling fields, a few forests, and that was about it. She had been a girl of New York City before the pack abducted her, so the view was a bit unsettling, quite unlike the dark, lively night and flashing lights she had grown accustomed to during her teenage years. Despite the fact that she was hundreds of miles away from her former home, she had still slicked back her hair and tugged a hood around her face to avoid recognition. One could never be too careful when venturing into human society. She had once considered dying her hair a dark brown to appear more like the other werewolves, but Denyth had been staunchly against it, finding the rare copper shade all too alluring to give up so easily. She supposed a bit of it was that her alpha enjoyed the uniqueness, of showing her off to the other wolves. Alphas, as she had come to understand, were possessive creatures. Not that she minded. His claiming arm around her waist, the way he hated the way the other wolves looked at her… maybe it was instinctive, but she had come to enjoy it.

As the train came to a halt in a small town, Kiara quickly made her way off of the train. She had already made a cursory glance at her fellow trainriders, but none were really worth a second look. Not for the type of boy that her son had in mind, anyway.

"Excuse me, ma'am!"

Fuck. Someone must have recognized her. But there was no way that one of her old friends from the city was here, in the middle of nowhere… Still, Kiara pretended not to hear and tugged at her plaid skirt anxiously, trying her best to disappear into the crowd. Until she felt a tap on her shoulder and slowly spun on her toes. A pamphlet was thrust into her hand, and she looked up in surprise to see a short, dark-haired girl standing before her, bobbing confidently on painted toes.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry to bother you," the girl chirped. "But I'm here to support to McKinley High Glee Club. Now, as you may or may not know, our school has been cutting the funding for the arts. I know that must be surprising to you, given immense amount of talent – myself, of course, very much included – but if you'd consider coming to our fundraiser at the mall right over there, it would be very much appreciated." She finished breathlessly, dark eyes aglow.

It had been too long since her interaction with humans, and Kiara was a bit rusty. Their instincts and charm now seemed foreign, and she fought through her tangle of thoughts to muster a reply. "That's… that sounds lovely. I'll definitely keep it in mind," she smiled falsely.

"Thank you so much, ma'am. We-" Kiara waved a hand at the girl and headed into the town. The pack needed her, and she needed to do this as quickly as possible to get back to them. She really didn't have time for some silly song-and-dance routine.

A tall, pale-skinned blonde boy carrying heaps of bags brushed against Kiara as he strode quickly towards the mall, with an African American girl rushing at his heels.

"Boy, you know Kurt's going to kill you if you're not back in time with all that crap he wanted for the show," the girl called out.

The boy didn't respond.

"Sam!" she said, clearly frustrated.

"I'm doing my best to get back, 'cedes," the boy – no, Sam – spoke quickly, heading towards the mall.

Kiara followed in their tracks. Sam. He wasn't as thin as Blaine had wanted, but the skin was the right shade. His personality had yet to be determined, but he seemed as though he could be strong enough for the pack. Maybe a bit lacking in the innocence, though, but there was a chance he would do. As she reached a stage towards the middle of the building, she hid behind a curtain and struggled not to cough from the dust that clouded about her face, keeping her ears alert.

"Okay, first of all, that's not the blouse I asked you to pick up." The voice was distinct, melodious even in its harsh brevity.

"I thought you wanted the peach one?" It sounded like Sam, the boy from before, though now the new voice was what had caught her attention.

A dramatic sigh, obviously stressed. "The peach tones were for the lights. Everyone knows that my skin is pale enough without a peach-colored blouse to accentuate it even further." Pale skin. Despite its impatience, the voice was sweet and pure, and Kiara found herself leaning closer, pressing against the curtain.

"Sorry, I can just take it back, maybe-"

"That's alright, Sam. The fundraiser has to start soon, anyway. Maybe I'll switch with Mike – he has that nice emerald green shirt, and hopefully the peach won't look too bad on his skin under the stage lights." The boy could be calmed. At least, he seemed level-headed, once he got his emotions in check. He still had the authority to earn others' respect, though, which was of utmost importance in an omega.

"Thanks, Kurt. Sorry again."

"I suppose we've gotten through worse problems at the last minute," Kurt dismissed before issuing a flurry of costume and lighting orders to those surrounding him. "And tell Rachel that the house is getting pretty full, so she can get back here with those pamphlets."

The boy was definitely a bit fussy, but Kiara herself had been as well. And Blaine always enjoyed a challenge. Still, physical appearance remained an issue. If her son wasn't sexually drawn to the boy, the relationship between the two would lack the call of instinct and be essentially disastrous.

Carefully, Kiara poked her head from behind the curtain, one green eye making itself visible. She followed a little lilting hum that must have come from... Kurt. Yes, Kurt. She caught a flash of alabaster skin shining in the shadows and smiled softly. The boy was all long, pale limbs and deep chestnut hair, quiffed perfectly above his forehead. He was clearly muscled, though his form was practiced and lean, perhaps that of a dancer, from his graceful movements. She most definitely sensed a distinct air of innocence and purity about him, though she couldn't quite place where it came from. Perhaps it was because the slight harshness of his exterior, in the way he calculated his movements, seemed like a mask. And he was tall, but still easily controllable by Blaine's strength and will. He would be a piece of work at first, definitely a bit high-strung, but as Denyth had said, the best humans were never easy to win over.

Besides, Blaine liked a challenge. And with that thought, Kiara slunk out of the auditorium.

.oO0Oo.

Excitement hung heavily in the humid summer air. The past few days had flown by in a shiver of happy anxiety. As soon as Kiara had informed the pack of her choice, they had grouped together to venture into human society, and with a whiff of carefully brewed herbs and bark and honey and a knock to the head, the boy was unconscious and left in the middle of the forest to await the claiming of his alpha, alone, afraid, and unaware.

It was the evening of the claiming. The day had passed quickly for Blaine, filled with knowing looks from the elder wolves, the occasional suggestive eyebrow raise from his friends, a warm hand on his shoulder from one of the women, and plenty of sexual "advice" from several of the men, leaving the young alpha a bit flustered by it all.

"You ready?" his father murmured, slipping into Blaine's ample portion of their dwelling and creaking the door closed behind them, safe from the ears of the rest of the pack.

"A little anxious, I guess," Blaine admitted sheepishly, letting his guard down in front of the older alpha. In front of his father, he was at least free to express his worries, not having to keep up the constant air of confidence and dominance needed to control the rest of the pack.

"I was the same way, you know."

"But the way you are with mom, though, it seems so natural. Like she was made for you."

A soft chuckle. "Sometimes I like to think that she was, Blaine. But I trained her that way too, though, you need to realize. And you'll train this boy – Kurt is his name, I believe – to respond to you as well."

"I don't even know where to begin with… you know, the claiming." Blaine murmured. "I mean, your friend Mulvp gave me some – I'm hesitant to even call them tips, but I'll settle for that, for lack of a better word, and…" he trailed off, mocking the gesture that could only be described as obscene, and allowed himself to fall into a steady, comforting rhythm of laughter with his father.

"You're nervous now, Blaine," Denyth smiled once they had settled down. "But it will all come to you once you smell his scent, once you search for it in the air. That scent, his natural human scent, is the beginning of your bond with him. You'll understand it, you'll want it, want him, like you've never wanted anything in your life."

Blaine's eyes widened. "What does Kurt look like?" he asked suddenly, softly.

"He's beautiful, Blaine. Everything you wanted, I believe. There's something special about that boy. Treat him well." And with a wink, Denyth headed outside to rejoin his omega.

Blaine checked his hair in the mirror one last time. After a moment of indecision, he decided to leave his shirt off. It would need to come off anyway during the claiming, and the breeze was soothing against his sweaty skin. He cast a last-minute glance about his room to ensure that he wasn't forgetting anything and then stepped outside.

Everyone's eyes were immediately drawn to Blaine. They were subdued, controlled at seeing the young alpha before them, poised and confident, but there was a light of excitement in their eyes, so anxious to witness the event so that rarely took place. They didn't view the actual claiming, no, that took place at night, between only the alpha and the human. It was not for their eyes. Still, though, waves of primal excitement washed through their bodies, streaming through their blood. They were creatures of tradition, and the ritual of it all flooded them with emotion and restlessness.

"Come here, Blaine," Denyth murmured, the laughing eyes from just a few minutes ago now solemn. Kiara stood beside him, holding a teal scarf delicately between gloved hands. What would come to pass was not to be seen by the betas, who gazed after the three werewolves until their figures could no longer be seen through the fog of the forest.

"This scarf has the boy's scent on it," Denyth said as Kiara held it before Blaine, all three pairs of eyes gleaming and alert in the dark of night. "Once you take it from us, we're not allowed to help you. You're on your own. You're to locate him by his scent, claim him, and return him to our dwelling. Any last concerns?"

"No, Dad," Blaine said seriously. The night air sent a rush up his spine as the father handed him the scarf.

"Wait to smell it until your mother and I have fully left your sight. Then begin. Good luck, Blaine."

Blaine could have laughed at the seriousness of his parents' tone, of the somberness even in their footsteps as they walked away, because serious was the last thing he was feeling. It almost made him laugh, that after all the build-up, he was just... here. By himself, feeling nothing but at ease. Giddy, even. So it was with a happy, relaxed, sigh that Blaine bent his face to the scarf and inhaled.

His body - no, his entire being, jolted, overwhelmed with the heady scent of baby's breath and spices and lilac and Jesus, it was so damned beautiful, and how could that be anyone's natural scent? And beneath it, he could just catch a whiff of sweat. Not werewolf sweat, no - this was more delicate, more musky than that of his own species. The boy's sweat. His boy's sweat. His. The trees seemed to spiral down around him, swirling in the blackness as Blaine lost himself in the intoxicating, obsessive need to hunt, to claim what was his. He squeezed his eyes shut against the faint moonlight, blocking out the sensations that enveloped his body - the rich soil yielding to the weight of his toes, the rough tree bark he clutched clawlike beneath calloused fingers, the earthy water dripping from leaves above, settling in droplets in his hair. Surrounded by nature and overcome with need, he sought out the faintest scent of his boy, the boy he had smelled on the scarf. Unleashing a growl into the empty night, he sprung into life, into action, tracing the boy. It was only a matter of time before the claiming.

.oO0Oo.

The forest blurred through a disoriented Kurt's tear-streaked eyes as he stumbled through the forest, clutching his foot in agony when he caught on another tree root. It was dark - no, fucking black, outside, and it must have been an hour since he'd awoken in this hell. He had panicked at first, racing back and forth, clawing at the earth for any sign, any trace of his phone, his clothes, his possessions, anything. He had been in school, last he knew, and opened his eyes to the forest at dusk. He couldn't have gotten here of his own accord, that was for certain, and he'd eventually come to the realization that someone must have brought him here. It obviously wasn't someone who loved him, who cared for him - not that there were many people who did - and he had been lead to the natural conclusion that Karofsky and the football team had left him here.

He hadn't been panicked, not at first, at least once he had gotten over the initial shock. It was a cruel prank, yes, but they must have been hiding just around the corner, ready to pop up and scare him, do something rude and demeaning but something that he had grown accustomed to.

But now it was fucking dark and he was fucking scared out of his mind, rushing in every direction, body scratched and bloody, dripping with sweat, desperate to find a way out but constantly changing direction. Something must have gone wrong, they must have forgotten him or something, but it was getting cold, and there were animals in the woods, and he didn't know where he was, and he couldn't even think straight, and tears were coursing down his flushed face, and the painful swelling bump on his head seemed to be increasing exponentially in size, and was that an owl or a ghost or...?

.oO0Oo.

Blaine's breath, his very essence, caught in his throat. The boy was beautiful, gorgeous pale limbs exposed and gleaming in the moonlight, his body torn and snared beneath gnarled tree roots, silky hair draped over his delicate forehead. He wanted to stop and admire the boy, his boy, but his feet kept moving, his long toenails digging into the earth, until he flung his body atop the sobbing boy's from behind, covering him, enveloping him with his scent and his desire.

He heard a high-pitched mewl resonate against the shadows of the trees and grinned darkly, his erection grinding against the struggling boy from behind.

"Kurt," he growled against the expanse of flesh, and fuck, it was so damned supple and fragile and soft, porcelain stretched over taut, lean muscles. He felt the tugs, the strains of Kurt's toned body against his own, but his frail pulls were no match for Blaine's muscled, practiced, arms that pinned the boy beneath them.

"How do you - ungh - know my name?" the boy made out between whimpers. "Get off," he choked, legs flying in every direction until Blaine wrapped a strong hand around them, burying his face in the boy's neck.

The scent was even stronger there in the little pool of sweat and blood on his collar bone, and it was so intoxicating that Blaine couldn't even think. "Because you're mine, Kurt," he managed, gasping at the feel of the boy's warm, soft ass cheeks against his erection. He couldn't help himself, grinding further against the flesh, eyes aglow as the musk and heat became overwhelming.

"Leave. Me. Alone!" Kurt screeched through tears, crying and struggling against Blaine's grip, firm around his delicate wrists.

"I wish I could, lovely," Blaine grunted, one hand making its way down to the boy's cleft. Kurt's hand came free and reached behind him to claw at Blaine's face, ripping desperately at his hair, which only aroused Blaine even further, his heart rushing, sending torrents of rich, warm blood through his body. "But you're too damned beautiful for me to just leave you here like this, so innocent and pure and unclaimed."

"Unclaimed? Get OFF of me!" Kurt's entire body jerked when he felt Blaine's teeth sink into his neck, all flailing limbs as he was pinned to the ground beneath him, before his body went weak, his cries turning to mumbles and weak pushes against Blaine.

"That's it, angel. Just relax, you'll be alright," Blaine murmured, overwhelmed by tenderness at the boy's murmurs before thrusting his hips hard inside of him. Blaine forced himself to still for a moment just to relish the feeling, the intimacy, the way Kurt lay writhing beneath him, fully claimed, droplets of blood dripping from his neck, his intoxicating scent just surrounding them. And he was so hot, so tight, his walls pressing back against Blaine's cock, almost like he wanted this. His hips moved quickly, violently, of their own accord, unable to get enough of the friction, the heat, welcoming and open beneath him. His sweat mingled with the boy's, their scents mingling headily, and it was all he could do to not lose himself in the waves of pleasure that wreaked his body, crashing upon him again and again and again. He was wound up so tight he could hardly breathe, burying himself in the boy beneath him and feeling the sting of the nail marks on his back, crying out Kurt's name as he uncoiled and released himself inside him.

It took Blaine several minutes to recover, his face buried comfortably in Kurt's hair, panting in lust and adoration and possession as he held the unconscious boy's body tightly against his own.

He gently pulled out, whimpering at his sensitivity, and pulled Kurt into his arms, flipping the boy over to gaze into his face. His eyes were closed, teardrops glistening prettily on his face. Blaine dipped a cupped hand into the river and allowed the water to run over Kurt, cleaning his scratches and carrying away his blood and tears as it made its way over his body. His skin was soft, ever so soft, and shone beautifully in the moonlight, and Blaine couldn't help but curse himself for allowing his instincts to take control, for treating this human-turned-werewolf, this magical work of nature and of art, so harshly, so aggressively. It was in Kurt's best interest, he knew, to turn him as quickly as possible, to allow their instincts to bond them, but he still felt his heart ache as he ran a hand achingly over the boy's face.

He cradled Kurt's cleaned body in his arms, wrapping the turquoise scarf around his delicate neck to hide the bite marks from the chilled night air, and gently carried him back to the pack. The boy's gentle puffs of breath fell against his neck, and as he laid him in bed, Blaine couldn't help but pull his omega's cold body into his arms. He rubbed at his cold limbs, watching as a light, flushed, pink color returned to them. He pressed his lips tenderly to the boy's temple before wrapping an arm around him and drifting off to sleep. There would be hell to pay in the morning, he knew, but for now, he allowed himself to drown in drowsy excitement and affection.