initiala:

The Werewolf of London
On AO3

A CS Halloweek monstrosity that’s actually too long to post all on Tumblr, it doesn’t let me, I’m so sorry/you’re welcome..

He doesn’t smell familiar, which matches the British accent; it takes a gust of wind for her to realize it, but she breathes deeply and tries to pick out his scent. The surface scent is almost like home, the smells of an old city, but this one has earthy undertones and… salt? Sea salt. And then there’s his unique scent, the wolfscent that’s different for every pack but still makes her think of fur and fangs and how it feels to sing with her packmates.

“You got permission to be here?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest and hoping the wind doesn’t change. Her body likes his scent, likes how it compliments her own so well – this is a city wolf, not some bigshot from the ‘burbs who thinks he’s hot shit – and she doesn’t know how she’d respond if it turned out his body liked hers too.

He grins, slow and a little bit dangerous. “Your pack leaders are aware of my presence, yes.”

“Good,” she says, “because I’ve got places to be and I don’t have time to get wrapped up in bureaucratic nonsense because some London wolf wants to slum it.”