When the Aliscowri had began rising up, she had stamped out the campfire and in the process knew that all the smoke might give away their location there in the forest. The undead were -everywhere- swarming over the land like a swarm of army ants marching from one nest to the neck. The survival of this particular young Fae lay in the hands of a Lycan who wasn't the brightest of people, but one thing she knew, he would protect her. Even if meant their separation or even one of them potentially losing their life.

She was determined to not see that happen.

So many had died, she had felt it, deep within herself. The Grand City and surrounding farms and homes on the outskirts of the city would feel the impact of this war for a long time. As much as she wanted to just race home and cling to her parents necks, she knew that she couldn't lead the enemy to her doorstep. Living out in the wild with a Werewolf was as fun as it was exciting and dangerous. While she taught Melvin things he either never knew how to do, or wasn't very good at, he did the same. In many ways, she lost much of her innocence; especially when it came to death, life, survical, striving to live in a war-torn world.

There was far more laughter than there were tears on most days, but during the times they had to fight, Melvin rushed into the fray with fangs, talons, and fists flying. He would rip apart anything he thought was a threat to HIS 'Lil Bug'. Any Aliscowri, thieves, highwaymen thinking they could make a go for them and their supplies, met the wrath of a very pissed off Werewolf.

While Melvin relied most on physical brute force, she would try magic or even simple trickery. Heck, she even tried reverse psychology if she thought it would work.

Farms they came upon were thoroughly searched for survivors and those whom were dead, the bodies were burned and a short prayer offered to the Gods to care for the fallen ones souls. Seeing dead children and babies was hardest of all. Ita no longer cared if she was filthy, had dirt under her nails, all over her face or in places she thought dirt couldn't get. Surviving was all that mattered, so they could get to her Valley.

Where before she had some courage, she now had even more.

Far as Melvin's many quirks and phrases went, especially the ones about his balls, she often giggled or found herself blushing, or both. Sometimes she'd swat him if he got too fresh or crude, but she'd always gently correct him if he needed it. When she grew tired, she often curled up right next to him or even on his back if he walked a while as she rested. Simply put, the two had grown inseparable. She had told him of her parents, her siblings, all about the farm and valley when they had to either hide or rest.

She didn't like hiding most of the time, but she knew she wasn't big enough to take on a grown person physically. Magically, maybe she knock them down a few pegs, but she was still learning her powers; one day, she'd be a true force to be reckoned with! Being away from home for so long, she was sure to be in trouble when they got there, and while she dreaded the potential punishment, she simply longed to be home again. Now with everything seemingly calming down, she could return home to check on her loved ones.

Knowing how nervous Melvin was, she did her best to comfort him, scratching along the scruff of his neck. All injuries had been tended too from any fighting they had endured, and she had demanded they rest for a while before they ventured further. So they were camped out near a creek again, with her nestled against him, careful to not aggravate any injuries either of them sustained. Her worst one was a twisted ankle, plenty of bruises, and scratches, plus general weariness from using up so much energy. Her wings barely fluttered, which proved how weary she was. Heart-sickness and grief from all the surrounding death left her feeling quite frazzled.

----------------

Do you think its over?" she whispered while head rested against his chest. "Do you think we can finally go home?" Dainty pale fingers twirled through his fur while she hoped they could venture home at last. She had to know everyone was alright before she even thought of maybe trying to help out in the city. "Will you have a home to go back too? Or will you have to find a new one?" she asked. From where they were, all they could see was smoke rising into the air, and it reeked. The whole world seemed to stink of death and decay. "Will this horrid stench ever be gone?"

Rain, they needed some rain to wash out the stench from the world; to make all the blood and gore go away. "I don't think I can eat..everything stinks of death." The wind carried the stench -everywhere-. Whatever remained of their food, she wouldn't touch it for a while probably. Turning her head a bit, she placed her ear over his heart and sighed softly. "My wolf...have I told you how proud I am of you?"

That's right, he was HER wolf!

There were times when Melvin thought his life might be better, or rather easier, had he stuck with Elijah and his werewolf brothers. When these rare moments of musings travelled through his brain, Melvin would peer at his brave and beautiful Ita, his Lil Bug, and thank whatever gods that bothered to listen to his prayers that he had encountered her.

Ita was his everything. She made life bearable. She tolerated his insufferable crudeness, his fleas and ticks, the rude noises that would erupt from one end or another, and secretly Melvin knew that despite her protests regarding his impressive Mandingo, Ita would sneak glances from time to time at the hanging globes that contained many, many future Melvins…and uh, Melvinitas?

So when they came across the filthy Aliscowri who threatened his beloved small breasted beauty, Melvin, who was normally mild tempered and easy going, went into a blind rage, frothing from his fangs, his mighty clawed hands tearing, breaking and pummeling anything and anyone who would dare harm one shining pale curl on his newfound love’s wee head. Melvin’s gifts sadly were not in the intelligence or common sense department, but what he lacked in brain power, he more than made up for in brute strength. His dark eyes would flash in his fury, and without a thought for his own safety, Melvin would roar his battle cry of “MELVIN SMASH!” before beating the savage cannibals to a bloody death, leaving them little more than a pulpy smear to blend into the earth.

When they managed to travel to the relative safety of nearby farm lands, more death awaited them. Though disgusted with the sight of the unnecessary deaths, the corpse trail did not affect Melvin as it did Ita, who would sob and bury her head against his matted fur. Those moments broke Melvin’s heart, to see his Lil Bug cry. The dim-witted werewolf did his best to comfort her, even offering to bury the bodies of the men, women and (eep!) children. His fairy beauty was so brave as she wrapped the tiny bodies in whatever blankets and rags she could find, her face was of an angel despite the tears and snot that she would wipe from that dainty nose of hers on the back on her hand. Even at her worst, all puffy and red-eyed and dejected, Melvin thought she was the most glorious creature he had even had the fortune to lay eyes upon.

They sought shelter in the now empty farm homes, tending to each others' wounds; to his surprise he found he had plenty. His little beauty had her own share of battle injuries, mostly minor from what he had seen, but her ankle was swollen and tender and would pain her to walk on. Melvin was all too happy to scoop Ita up and set her upon his shoulder, or simply have her curl up in one of his arms as they traveled. She weighed nearly nothing, so it wasn’t a hardship, never complaining save for the moments he had to squat and do his wolfy business. At that point, Ita would gag and scrambled from his downright sexy beast form to throw up rather unladylike. Hell, she didn’t even bother to hide her projectile vomit-fests any longer, simply letting whatever undigested food fly from those rosebud lips of hers as he grunted and wished he had a newspaper to read.

He was so proud of her!

The werewolf never missed an opportunity to make up for his sewer-like stench and foulness by parading around, strutting like the sexy bitch that he was. His various poses, flexing and prancing would leave Ita giggling, not to mention the awesome bouncing balls trick he would treat Ita to from time to time. The rare moments he’d let his sack swing in a circular motion would set Ita off into fits of uproarious laughter, and though he’d wince and limp later on, cradling his precious behemoth jewels later, to see her eyes light up with joy, the beaming smile she would wear for hours later, was all worth it.

Nights were especially pleasant when his bug curled up beside him, braiding and twirling his fur between her small fingers as he petted her hair, listening to her tell her tales of the family he knew she longed for. Melvin wasn’t a complete idiot, not really. He knew how odd, and rather perverted and probably illegal in certain areas of the land, for an adult werewolf to be traveling with a child sized fairy girl. Melvin would often allow his thoughts to travel back to when he was human once (and if memory served him correctly, he had spent close to thirty summers as a man) before the attack that would lead him to the magnificent hairy hotness that he was today. How long ago had it been since the attack? Werewolves didn’t age like regular humans, so after about an hour of counting on his clawed fingers and toes, had surmised that fateful (or most awesome, depending on how one looked at it) day came about two decades ago. In nearly twenty years, Melvin the werewolf had refused to change into his human form. Sadly, he couldn’t even recall if it was possible for him to do so anymore. Ita had questioned him once or twice, and embarrassed and shameful of the matter, Melvin hadn’t responded, merely struck another one of his dead sexy poses and soon the conversation was dropped.

One day Melvin knew that he would have to shed his bestial beauty for the frail man form he despised. In his humble opinion, his werewolf form was far more mighty and powerful, far more appealing than human weakness…and lameness. As the wolf, he was faster, stronger and way cooler than the scrawny pathetic Melvin he had been. Melvin. What a stupid name it was. His mother named him after her father, whom from what he could recall of the fat drunken loser, was a total zero anyway. Only fitting for mommy to name her only son, her only child, after someone who often came home reeking of urine, feces and his own alcohol induced vomit. Right on, Mom!

“Do you think it’s over? Do you think we can finally go home?”

Ita had questioned as they traveled once more to what he hoped was the location of the villa he and his brothers had previously ransacked. Melvin had grinned his toothy grin and assured her that nothing would stop him from taking her back home. He was apprehensive about introducing himself to his potential in-laws, yet excited at the same time. Surely they wouldn’t find him weird or gross. Surely they wouldn’t reject him, hopefully appreciate how truly fabulous Melvin really was.

“Will you have a home to go back to? Or will you have to find a new one?”

Had Melvin been sporting a four inch hard on, it would have deflated in that moment. His heart sunk into his distended stomach as Melvin had hoped that his place would be with Ita. He had assumed, stupidly, that her family would accept him, beg him to live with them so that Ita would never leave his side again. What a foolish Melvin he had been, but he was a brave Melvin. He would not whine or cry or beg. He would face his rejection bravely, his hairy head held high as he brought his beloved Bug back to her people, leaving with his tail tucked between his legs.

“I promise you, Ita, I will see you safely home. I’ll protect you and keep you safe,” Melvin vowed as he shifted Ita on his shoulder, and he would. He would occasionally sniff and wipe gobs of snot with his paw, offering his sad excuse of allergies to cover up his sadness. Ita then muttered her revulsion regarding the stench that seemed to surround them, and Melvin began profusely apologizing about his odor, until he realized she was referring to the dead. “Oh,” he smiled sheepishly as he began fanning the air near her sweet heart-shaped face, hoping to make breathing easier for her. She was so unbearably sweet and lovely, but growing thinner from her lack of appetite. Melvin gently placed her in the crook of his arm so that she could lay her head upon his hairy, but oh so mighty, chest.

“Don’t worry Ita, my angel. I know it smells like old cheese and a bad case of the runs, but it will soon get better. In fact, I think I…” Melvin stopped walking, his keen eyes fastened upon something that caught his interest in the distance. Was it? Could it be? It was! It was the villa! Melvin was almost positive it was the same villa that he had thrown the deer carcass at, hoping to hit that little girl with the shrill voice. He was about to inform Ita of what he found when she spoke up, her soft voice filled with weariness, yet somehow she managed to smile.

“My wolf…have I told you how proud I am of you?”

Melvin’s heart, and his balls, swelled and he puffed himself up with great pride. Her wolf. That’s right haters, jealous bitches of the world…he was her wolf! Melvin forgot his sadness at the thought of leaving Ita, instead focusing on the bright side. Ita adored him! How could she not? He was fanfuckingtastic! He was the King of awesomeness! He was the Duke of uh…testicular greatness! Melvin planted a wet and rather slobbery kiss on Ita’s nappy curls, leaving loads of drool in her hair.

“Ita, my fairy princess! Look!” He pointed off in the distance. “I think that’s the villa that harpy woman lives at with your girlish uncle! It’s home, Ita! HOME!” Melvin began jumping up and down with excitement, his heavy ball sack swinging to and fro with his movements.

Ita was proud of him. She loved him, he knew it! He was taking her home, just as he promised. As Melvin began picking up the pace, he considered actually changing to his sad-ass human form just for her. Maybe, just maybe, if he did that he’d get some sexy-time from his juicy little fairy o’ love! FISTPUMP!