Lycan's Run 2 (Patreon)

Rhaegar Targaryen sat at a small table in his royal tent, staring down at the missive in front of him. This tournament had been all but an unmitigated disaster. Lord Stark's daughter, Lyanna Rhaegar thought her name was, had been raped in the woods with neither hide nor hair of the rapist having been found. The Starks had packed their things and left the very next day. If that wasn't enough, there'd been scattered reports of a large dog of some kind biting drunk knights after the events for the day were finished. The sheer number, nearly five score, were the only reason that Rhaegar had been told. Then the raven had arrived.

He lifted the missive again, and once more scanned the contents. The letter had arrived earlier that morning, from one of the nearby holdfasts, describing how the smallfolk had found a ruined wheelhouse and the savaged remains of three men, two of which were wearing gold cloaks. The conclusion was obvious: his increasingly unstable father was dead, and he was to become the next King of Westeros.

Sighing, Rhaegar ran a hand through his hair. He wouldn’t be able to leave to return to Kings Landing for a few days, the Royal Contingent was simply too large to leave quickly. As he sat there, lost in thought, he heard Ser Arthur Dayne clearing his throat at the entrance to his tent. "Come in," he said, not looking up from the note in his hand.

The Sword of the Morning entered, closing the tent flap behind him, “Is this the raven you received this morning?”

“Yes,” Rhaegar said, dropping the missive onto the small table. “You have heard, I am assuming?”

Arthur Dayne nodded, “Yes, Your Grace. Preparations are already underway. Your wife and children will be departing tomorrow, alongside Ser Barristan, Ser Gerold and Ser Jonothor.”

Rhaegar leaned back in his chair with a deep sigh and steepled his fingers, “Will there be anything here that will require my presence?”

There was a moment of silence, as Rhaegar's friend considered the question, “I do not know.”

Rhaegar stood and turned to him, “Find out. If there is not, I will be departing with my family for Kings Landing on the morrow. I feel that something is amiss, though I do not know what.”

Ser Arthur bowed, “Of course, Your Grace. If there is nothing else?”

“No, I wish to be alone for a time,” Rhaegar replied. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Ser Arthur said, then exited the tent.

As soon as he was alone, the king-to-be sat down again. His father's death had left a hole in his heart. Rhaegar and his father had not always gotten along, and Aerys had been far from a good father, but Rhaegar had loved him regardless. As much as Aerys's madness had made him see enemies everywhere, he was still Rhaegar's father. He knew his father had been turning into a monster, but he still remembered the times when he was a child, Aerys comforting him after he had a nightmare. It was those memories that were so difficult. The good memories, when he had a father that could be called such.

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Rhaegar rode alongside the wheelhouse that Elia, Aegon, and Rhaenys were in, giving his little girl a wave through the window, making her giggle. As the party moved closer to the capital, Rhaegar had become increasingly convinced that there was something wrong. He couldn't put it into words, but there was something off. The feeling got so bad that after a week he'd started riding with his armor on, even while traveling. He'd just about given up on the idea of the feeling being anything other than nerves when the horses started to behave erratically, some rearing up so suddenly they threw their riders.

Rhaegar pulled the reins on his own horse, “Ser Barristan!” he yelled. “Guard Elia and the children!”

Barristan the Bold nodded, and took his place at the rear of the wheelhouse. Rhaegar's blood was running cold, and as his party continued to move closer to the city, the horses were becoming more and more unruly.

He saw a figure on the road ahead, dressed in rags. Rhaegar spurred his horse forward and rode past the wheelhouse, his hand on his sword as he approached the ragged man. As he came close, Rhaegar could smell him, like the man hadn't washed in weeks.

“Who are you?” Rhaegar asked, pulling his blade slightly from its scabbard.

“I am a messenger, Your Grace,” the man replied.

“From who? Speak quickly, before I run you through.”

The man looked up and when he saw the man's eyes, the hairs on the back of Rhaegar's neck stood up. His eyes were a deep yellow, and there was a fierce, wild savagery within them.

“I come bearing a message, and a warning.”

Rhaegar glared at the man, “What warning? Speak or die.”

The man smiled, revealing a mouth filled with sharp teeth that brought to mind a wild wolf, “The Age of Man is nearing its end. There are those seeking to bring about the downfall of all humanity. Your father was merely the first to fall.”

Rhaegar’s mind went to the prophecy, of the Prince That Was Promised, “Who are you?”

The man’s grin widened, “I am the harbinger, the first wolf.”

Before Rhaegar could process what the man said, he leapt towards Rhaegar, his rags falling to the ground as his body shifted. Before Rhaegar could blink, the man had turned into a wolf the size of his horse.

The massive black wolf leapt at him, jaws wide open, and Rhaegar reacted. He pulled the sword from its scabbard and thrust the tip at the beast. To Rhaegar's shock, the blade bent, folding nearly in half, to the point that he was afraid the valyrian steel blade would snap. It didn't, but he had no more time to consider the matter before the massive wolf slammed into him, knocking him from his horse onto his back.

Rhaegar tried to bring his sword up, but the wolf had his arm pinned to the ground with its forepaws, and was snapping its jaws at his throat. Rhaegar's left hand fumbled for his dagger, pulling it free. The blade was nowhere near the size of his sword, but it was valyrian steel, and the edge would be keen. Rhaegar swung, the blade bit into the wolf's throat, but nowhere near what it should have. The wolf tossed its head, the dagger catching in its fur and ripping it out of his hand.

The Kingsguard were rapidly approaching, despite the apparent and obvious fear of their horses. The wolf snarled, before fast as lightning, reached down and bit down on Rhaegar's arm. His armor prevented the teeth from meeting skin, and the beast's forepaws on his chest kept him from being thrown, but when the beast snapped its head out...and took Rhaegar's arm with it. Rhaegar stared, uncomprehending, as the wolf leapt off him to engage with the Kingsguard.

His arm lay dozens of feet from his body, but he felt no pain. He didn't even feel the loss of the limb, as he tried to get to his feet, the world was spinning, and Rhaegar found himself back on the ground. He turned his head and looked back to where his arm lay, and the world went black.

He had no concept of how much time passed before his vision cleared and his breathing slowed. His chest felt like a horse had landed on it, and he looked up at the sky. The clouds were moving fast, the wind whipping across his face. The ragged man's face, from before he'd turned into a wolf, stepped into his vision, holding a torch with a cruel grin on his face.

“I’m not ready to let you die just yet, mad prince. Let’s see if you can hold on long enough,” the man said, before he lowered the torch.

Idly, some part of Rhaegar’s mind noticed that the torch was just a broken piece of wood, without any kind of fuel for the fire to burn from. Then, his world was pain, originating from his shoulder, where the wolf had torn his arm off. He couldn’t even scream, the pain was so great.

Finally, it was over. He didn't know how long it took, but the pain finally ended, and Rhaegar could think again. He looked up at the night sky, and heard...Elia? Turning his head, Rhaegar's eyes widened in shock and horror. Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon had been taken from the wheelhouse. Aegon was in his sister's arms, the older girl with a bleeding bite mark on her face. Even coming out of his delirium, Rhaegar could tell that if the wolf had wanted to, it could have easily bitten his daughter's head in half.

But the true horror was Elia. The wolf, for who else could have done it, had torn her clothes from her body, leaving her dusky body on full display as it mounted her.

[hr][/hr]

Fucking Elia was different from fucking Lyanna. It was more than the fact that Elia was something like a decade older and had given birth to two children (though I will admit, the fact that she’s a MILF was a plus). It wasn’t like one was better than the other, just different.

I’d bitten both of her children, just enough to ensure that my saliva, and thus my lycanthropy, passed on to them. Now, I was directing the entirety of my attention to the desert MILF under me. More specifically, the way that her pussy was clamping down on my cock, milking it like her life depended on it.

I looked over at the children, and grinned, before turning my attention back to their mother, and fucking her harder. Her pussy was a thing of beauty, and I was enjoying it more than Lyanna's, at that moment. She was also louder, her moans were music to my ears.

As she came, and her juices flooded her cunt, her entire body tensed, and she pulled me close, her arms wrapping around me as her eyes closed and her tongue hung out, panting as her cunt squeezed the life out of my cock. I couldn't resist, I leaned forward and kissed her, tasting her tongue.

It wasn't love, it was raw, unadulterated lust. The fact that her husband, whose sword arm I had ripped from his body before cauterizing the wound, lay on the ground not twenty yards away, as my cock drove her wild was the icing on the cake.

I considered tossing Elia up onto my back when I was done with her, turning her into the first member of my pack and leaving Rhaegar to deal with his children turning into werewolves when the first full moon comes around. But no, I wasn't that cruel. I would finish with Elia and then leave.

As the Dornish princess came, her cunt squeezing my cock, I growled, and pulled out, before forcing her to her hands and knees and mounting her from behind.

She screamed, as her body stretched and nearly tore around my massive wolf cock. And it was glorious.

As my knot grew inside her, I leaned down and bit the back of her neck, my sharp teeth digging into her spine. She tensed, and as I forced my knot into her, she came. Her entire body went limp, and her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Her cunt was trying to squeeze the life out of my cock, but with my knot inside her, it didn't have a chance.

I came inside her, my cum flooding her cunt and womb. My cock pulsed and throbbed inside her, and as I finished, I licked the side of her face.

Withdrawing from her, my knot tugging at her walls, I walked around her and looked into her eyes. They were dull and unfocused, and her face had a goofy smile on it. I stepped away and watched as her arms collapsed, and she fell to her side.

Her eyes were still open, though barely, and her face had a content, happy expression. I smirked, and some part of me wished I had something to ensure that my seed took in her womb. Either way, thanks to my lycanthropy, she'd recover and be even more full of health and vigor than she ever had before.

“I do need to begin forming a proper pack,” I mused to myself as I took off into the countryside.