True Wolf of the North (Patreon)

XxXxX

Inferno rushed forward, swallowing Jon before he could so much as gasp. Flames stripped his armour and skin, charred his muscles and boiled his blood. His death, gory and sudden as it was, had been mercifully quick.

Jon stopped thinking before the grief and rage and sheer bloody disappointment with the woman he thought he loved could register in his exhausted mind.

His soul, tired and battered, left the mortal coil, its passage noticed only by the last greenseer - Brandon Stark. The cripple’s eyes widened as he felt with senses that few mortals knew about, much less understood, countless futures unraveling, tapestry of Things-to-be irrevocably changing forever.

But beyond it all, beyond concerns for the future and worries about things his Greensight could not foresee, Bran’s heart and mind were dominated by sadness.

“Jon.” Bran thought, his eyes clouded, observing as his brother’s soul was claimed bit by bit by the collective will contained within Weirwoods. Bran couldn’t remember the last time he felt so...vulnerable. “Please, don’t leave me!”

Jon Snow….For all that they’d been raised to think of him as a bastard, was as much a brother to Bran as Robb and Rickon. Countless memories of distant, happier memories of their childhood rushed by, followed by other more tragic memories of Bran’s family leaving him one by one.

Father...Robb and Mother...Rickon...and now Jon….

No. Bran couldn’t, wouldn’t allow this.

The present was already happening, it’s tyranny too solid for Bran to save Jon with time manipulation. His brother’s body was gone and could no longer support his soul.

A foolish, bad...desperate idea flashed in Bran’s mind.

It was risky, it was unlikely to succeed...but what did Bran have left other than grief and desperation?

Brandon Stark narrowed his eyes, exerting all of his will and pouring all of his emotion into the move that would have given the previous Three-Eyed Crow a heart attack. For his astral form Bran abandoned the image of a crow that he usually favoured, choosing instead to become a giant squid, so reminiscent of the Greyjoys’, of Theon’s banner.

His tentacles snatched Jon’s soul before it could be completely absorbed by the Old Gods’ collective. Alas, Bran should have acted with more haste - Jon Snow had already started fraying at the edges, bits and pieces of other Old Gods’ worshippers fused to him.

Still, not all was lost.

For a brief instant Bran regarded his brother’s astral form - a massive wolf with snow white fur, so similar to Ghost.

Ghost….

Bran had planned to shove his brother’s soul into a body of another man, but as it was now, Bran doubted Jon’s spirit would be able to inhabit a normal human body.

But who said the body had to be human?

Bran cast aside all caution, and, blind to the real world around him, rushed through the Green, Jon’s spirit safe in his clutches. His destination - True North.

“Why did you have to leave Ghost behind?” Bran muttered, annoyed as he struggled to push through the currents of time and space to find his brother’s direwolf companion.

It was no simple task, made worse still by the lack of weirwood trees this far South. Perhaps weirwood paste….

No. Bran immediately rejected the notion, a vague sense of nausea confounding him. Not after...not after Bran had found out what else was in that paste.

He was Brandon Stark, the Three-Eyed Crow. Success was bound to be his without human sacrifice and cannibalism.

“There!” Bran exclaimed, doubtlessly worrying those surrounding him in the Real World. It didn’t matter - Bran found Ghost!

It was...not as far North as Bran would have thought. Still quite a way from Winterfell, but not even close to the Wall. And what were those other spirits-

Bran was out of time. He could feel Jon’s soul slipping from his grasp with acute certainty. This was no time for doubt.

Having gathered all of his remaining strength, Bran shoved his brother’s spirit into Ghost’s body, supplanting and merging the direwolf’s spirit.

Once Jon’s soul was firmly bound to a mortal coil, Bran could finally relax and take a breather.

It was then that he realised the mistake he’d just made.

XxXxX

Jon was in Hell.

No. This word ‘Hell’ was too mild to describe the bastard’s current predicament.

It had all begun when he woke up.

This alone had been a cause for concern. As far Jon knew, one didn’t simply survive a stream of dragonfire to the face. Much less in a wolf’s body.

This was a second sign that something went incredibly wrong. It took him a while to realize, but his new flesh was far too furry to be human. Not to mention the height difference, paws, better smell and lack of colours in his vision.

Jon still wasn’t used to the last two.

Ironically enough colour blindness was causing him less problems between the two. Upsetting, yes, but it’s not like North was rich in colour to begin with. Sense of smell on the other hand….

“Ghost, come on.” Jon heard a gentle voice, just as her alluring scent wafted to his sensitive noise.

It was an aroma of pine and hay, of horse and winter breeze. By all the gods, Old, New and Essossi, it should not have cause such a reaction in him!

As Jon Snow, turned his old direwolf Ghost, trotted after a female version of him, he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly he had done in his past life to deserve such torment.

Somehow Jon had ended up in a strange caricature of his past life where there was no Jon Snow. Instead the role of Eddard Stark’s shame was filled with one Lyarra Snow.

And wasn’t that a difficult notion to swallow.

It hurt. It hurt so much to see his family smiling and happy and alive! Even Lady Stark was a welcome sight to him. And yet Jon could do nothing. This was not his family. Not really. Even if he somehow regained his human form, there would be no warm welcome for him here.

At best a cautious acceptance.

His friendship with Robb, with Arya, Bran and Rickon….even Sansa and Theon who never liked him much….

All of that was taken by Lyarra Snow.

It would have been better if Jon could simply be angry at the wench. Alas Lyarra couldn’t be more pleasant if she tried and the dominant emotion Jon felt towards her was bestial, overwhelming lust.

And for the past several weeks the only thing on his mind was mounting her like a bitch and rutting with her until he had no more seed left.

Gods, he hoped it would pass away soon. It  was getting far too embarrassing to hide his erections from his ‘mistress’.

XxXxX

Sleep didn’t come easy to Lyarra lately. She had no issue falling asleep. It was her dreams that made nights hard for the bastard girl.

They always started off easy and vague. Like swimming naked through the mist, it was hard to tell what was going on. Hard to be on guard when her pursuer pounced on her unprotected back.

Then she was no longer human. Lyarra became a prey and her direwolf - a predator.

The first time this happened, when she felt his massive bulk press her down and his clawed paws scrape against the soft pale flesh of her back, Lyarra woke up, her heart pounding and uncomfortable tension in her lower stomach.

Nothing had happened then. Her albino direwolf didn’t attack her or cause any problems save for his rapid growth. Lyarra had hoped this was just a nightmare.

She had been wrong.

For almost a moon now, every night the torment continued. In her dreams Lyarra would flee only for Ghost to hunt her down, pin her beneath his mighty form and do obscene things to her.

Lyarra blushed, even as her nipples stiffened remembering the things Ghost did to her in the realm of Dreams. It didn’t take long for his Dream-self to know her in a way no beast should know a maiden.

Lyarra bit her lip and squeezed her nipples, as phantom sensations flashed through her. Oh Gods, why did it have to feel so good?

There was no use denying it, not after so many nights fantasizing about it - Lyarra wanted to get fucked by her direwolf.

She had tried praying before the Weirwoods to rid her of this perverse desire. It didn’t help. What else could she do? There was no way she was going to ask a Septa or Lady Stark about it. Lyarra could just imagine their reaction. Or worse, father’s.

She would be lucky if they just married her off to someone instead of sending her down South to become a Silent Sister.

Lyarra glanced at her direwolf sleeping in the corner of her room. For all that he had been a runt of the litter, the albino pup didn’t take long to grow into a mighty fine beast.

He was just so strong and swift and...surely...virile?

Lyarra felt her maidenhood moisten as the sensitive nub of her clit rubbed against the rough fabric of her smallclothes. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to touch it just this once?

Her heart heavy with guilt and shame, Lyarra slid one of her hands from her breast down to her maidenhood.

The young lady bastard couldn’t muffle a lusty whorish moan that burst out of her mouth when she inserted one finger into her wet hot pussy. Her cunt muscles gripped her finger, desperate for any simulacra of a real deal.

Lyarra froze when she saw her direwolf staring at her, his crimson eyes burning with hunger!

XxXxX

Jon Snow was tired of denying himself. Of suppressing the urges that came naturally with his body. As if possessed, Jon moved from his prone position on the floor. In a few quick silent moves Jon reached Lyarra’s bed and hopped on it.

He could clearly hear the maiden’s heart beating wildly. In normal circumstances Jon would have attributed it to fear, but the scent of arousal painted a completely different picture.

Jon let out a low growl when the aroma reached his direwolf brain. It was a primal signal, a scent full of female pheromones that called to all virile males. It was clear as day to Jon’s wild instincts that the female panting before him was no Alpha, but just a bitch begging to be bred.

His cock, already half mast, surged with new strength, ready to fill Lyarra’s hungry twat.

Jon’s body wanted nothing more than to mount this bitch and rut her until she was impregnated with his litter, but he still had enough self-control left to choose a slightly different path.

XxXxX

Lyarra couldn’t help but obey the command and spread her legs giving Ghost full access to her sopping quim. She didn’t know how she could understand her direwolf’s unsaid commands.

“‘Her’ direwolf. What a joke. Soon enough there will be little doubt as to who belongs to whom.” Lyarra thought as she leaned back, lust and trepidation warring in her heart.

The Stark bastard bit back a moan when Ghost pressed his nose into her pussy. This little touch was enough to send a jolt of maddening pleasure up her spine.

Apparently Ghost had no desire to let her acclimate because without delay he started lapping at her cunt, his rough muscular tongue driving Lyarra insane. Her toes curling, Lyarra slammed her pillow into her face, desperate to muffle the wanton sounds she was making.

Lyarra doubted even the whores Theon so loved to frequent would have made such obscene noises as the ones she was making.

The Stark bastard didn’t know how, but she got a distinct feeling of smugness radiating off of her direwolf.

With every lap and every lick, Ghost was bringing Lyarra closer and closer to the abyss she wasn’t sure she would ever climb out off.

Inexperienced as she was, Lyarra had no idea what would happen if all of the delightful tension building up in her sopping cunt was released.

She just knew that she was very eager to find out.

XxXxX

A smug, proud sense of triumph shot through Jon when he heard Lyarra whine needily when he paused his oral ministrations.

No. His tongue wasn’t the appendage he was going to use to make this bitch submit to him completely.

The taste of her pussy juices was nice, but Jon wanted to feel Lyarra’s mind shatter when impaled on his throbbing direwolf cock, her cunt muscles spasming as he drove her to further and further heights of carnal ecstasy.

Looking straight into Lyarra eyes, half-lidded with lust, Jon sent out a command through the warg bond they shared. Jon was far more experienced in matters such as these, so Lyarra had no chance.

Sure, if she truly didn’t want him, Jon would have been unable to do anything about it. But as she was now, hot and ready to be fucked, Jon didn’t need to exert himself to have his new bitch flip on her belly, her nightclothes bunched up at her waist and presenting her waiting holes to him.

It was tempting to tease Lyarra a little bit, make her truly desperate. However truth be told, Jon himself was far too gone to care about such subtleties. His animalistic side demanded he rut and ruin this pretty fertile slut for all other males.

The fantasy of a Stark female heavy with a beast’s litter would have horrified Jon in his past life, but right here and now no fantasy could be sweeter.

Wasting no time, Jon mounted Lyarra, his clawed paws pressing the girl into the bedding. The former maiden let out a half-yelp half moan when Jon sank his throbbing cock into her waiting pussy.

A triumphant howl erupted from Jon’s throat as he felt Lyarra’s cunt muscles squeeze and caress his dick, eager to milk him dry of his virile seed. The two lovers froze for just a moment, content to savour this fateful moment and for Lyarra to get used to the massive member invading her sacred place.

Then, Jon started to move.

XxXxX

Lyarra was in heaven.

She felt Ghost’s dick go in and out of her cunt as they rutted, ecstatic to longer suppress their desires. With each new thrust it reached deeper and deeper into her, until his massive beastly dick was planting lewd kisses on the entrance to Lyarra’s waiting womb.

The young woman felt like she was going insane. Just a few days ago the idea of being impregnated by her direwolf would have repulsed her, but now she desperately wished to give her mate, her Alpha, a litter of strong offspring.

She buried her moans in her pillow, as Ghost’s iron hard cock made her into more of a slut with each forceful thrust. Lyarra still had enough of a mind left to know that being heard and discovered would not end in anything good.

Either for her or for her man.

That was the only thing she could do - keep quiet and hope for the best, while pushing her hips back to get even more of direwolf’s dick in her debauched cunt.

Then she felt it.

The swelling at the base of Ghost’s dick told Lyarra what was coming. With a growl, her direwolf thrust one last time, shoving his knot into Lyarra’s stuffed pussy.

The poor Stark bastard rolled her eyes until the whites showed, while her tongue lolled out of her mouth. She was fucked stupid and could do nothing more but whimper and moan weakly as Ghost unleashed load after load of his aggressive, virile semen on her vulnerable womb.

The pair of lovers laid on the bed, panting and content. After weeks of pent up lust it felt good to finally let go of all pretenses and embrace their beastial desires.

There was going to be a lot of nerve wracking worries and concerns, but those were for the future. For now they simply lay embracing each other.