Love of the Wild

This novella is dedicated to the real Jim, who has been a wonderful, supportive fan and who inspired this story of an older man finding his wolf mate and love everlasting.

Thank you kindly.

“W
HA
—
”

Waking up, unsure of how long he’d been unconscious, Jim blinked several times, trying to focus his hazy gaze.

Then he felt the strain on his arms, shoulders, back, and groin.

And to make matters worse, his feet weren’t touching the ground. In the dark of the night, he couldn’t detect much clearly, and he knew he was in serious trouble.

Finally able to see a bit better as his mind cleared and his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Jim realized he was hanging some thirty feet above rocky earth loosely covered with a mat of pine needles and moss. His parachute was caught on the branches of densely packed pine trees, and the only thing keeping him from hitting the dirt was his harness.

And it was a long way down.

“Fuck.” Cursing didn’t help, though.

Trying to steady his heavy breathing, Jim looked up at the harness. It was intact. So he wouldn’t fall to his death anytime soon. He was, however, completely stuck. Even rough winds wouldn’t shake him loose, and the wind was definitely picking up.

He had only three choices. One, hang around and do nothing but wait for rescue. Two, scream his head off, hoping someone in the wilderness would hear him, a ranger or a hunter, maybe. Or three, cut his harness and fall down thirty feet, breaking something in the process for certain. Then he’d be at the mercy of whatever beasts roamed the Wyoming wilderness.

Jim always had a knife on his belt and another in his boot shank. Both blades were kept sharp, so he
could
break free. But the fall? He was forty-four, after all, going on forty-five. His bones and muscles might not bounce back from this.

He inhaled deeply, pondering the dangers of yelling out loud in a deep, dark forest. If the bears and wolves didn’t get him, some of the mythical beings roaming in wildernesses might.

A crack of dry wood caught his attention, and he peered down into the darkness.

A pair of golden-brown eyes stared up at him.

Jim swallowed hard in instinctive fear.

It was a wolf. A huge gray wolf. Bigger than any wolf he had ever seen; bigger than a horse. Like jewels, its eyes glowed with inner fire. A low growl emanated from it. Jim didn’t know if it was hungry or angry, but neither boded good fortune for him.

“Shoo, shoo…,” he barked at it, but the wolf merely cocked its head, as if trying to assess how to reach him—and which part of him to devour first.

Suddenly, a sharp rustling sound made by some other animal sneaking softly through the night woods pierced the air.

The wolf turned and slunk away into the shadows.

Jim breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh God…. This is the worst day of my life.” In truth, it was far from the worst he’d ever experienced, but he surmised this was an opportune moment for a little hyperbole. “Okay, stay calm. You can figure this out.”

His fingers were getting numb, but he reached for his pocket and the cell phone inside, his intention to dial 911. As the screen lit up, he saw he had maybe 20 percent battery life left, but there were no bars showing, so no signal. He must have been too far out of range from any cell towers.

He sighed and regrouped. “What the hell am I supposed to do now? If I stay here, when they find my rotting carcass or mere skeleton hanging from a tree, I’ll be the stuff of urban legend for decades. And that’s way too embarrassing.” Speaking to himself aloud helped Jim maintain his sanity and self-control. It was reassuring to hear a human sound in the dark.

Even if that sound was his own.

Abruptly, another crack of dry wood caught his attention. Was the wolf returning? What if it brought the whole pack for a midnight snack? Jim shivered. This was not what he had planned at all. Could wolves climb trees?

Then a massive, shadowy figure emerged from the dark. It was a man, taller than any Jim had seen, big and brawny. He wore a gray cloak of some kind, the weirdness of which barely made a footnote in Jim’s diary at the moment.

“H-hello…?” Jim called out, his voice quaking at the relief of being found. “Can you please help me? I’m stuck. It’s a really long way down.”

The only light came from the stars and the waning crescent moon, not enough to illuminate the man standing under the trees. What’s he waiting for? Jim wondered, starting to become afraid again.

The man cocked his head. “Cut the harness. I will catch you.”

Though panic spiked up and down his spine at the thought of falling, Jim felt arousal course through his veins as well. The man’s voice, deep and hushed, so serene, made his cock go rock hard. At his age, that almost never happened anymore.

Shaking his head to break out of his sudden lust-filled thoughts
and
to refuse the idea, Jim called back, “It’s over forty feet. You can’t catch me. You’ll break your arms or your back. Can you climb up to get me?”

The strange man let out a chuckle, brief like the fickle wind, but it made Jim swallow nervously. “Trust me. Cut the harness. I won’t let you fall to your death.” His tone suggested he wasn’t going to be argued with.

And Jim was feeling the strain on his body. “O-okay. Gonna cut now.”

He slipped the knife from his belt holster, brought it against the straps that connected his backpack to the parachute tangled in the branches above him, and started cutting. With every strand of fabric torn, Jim’s fears escalated. He couldn’t look down to see if the man was indeed where he had promised he would be.

The left strap broke, and Jim dropped to an awkward skewed position, hanging from the sole strap left. At least he still held firmly onto the knife.

“Okay, almost done,” he hollered hesitantly, trying to rein in his trepidation about the whole plan, such as it was. And from his dangling position, he couldn’t even see the stranger anymore.

He slid the knife across the remaining strap, the fraying material yielding under the metal, one fiber at a time.

Then Jim was falling. Shouting, because he really couldn’t help it, Jim tossed the blade away so it wouldn’t hit his rescuer. He heard it land somewhere in the dark bushes.

And then strong arms stopped his fall, gathering him close as if he weighed nothing.

“Oh God…,” Jim whispered, his heart hammering in his chest, unable to open his eyes.

“You’re all right,” a voice said above him.

The stress of the situation really was too much. Before he knew it, Jim had passed out cold from shock alone for the first time in his life.

“E
VERYTHING
’
S
ALL
right.”

Warmth engulfed Jim as he made his dazed way back to full consciousness. A fire crackled nearby, and the scents of pine and resin tickled his nose. His jumpsuit was gone, and in its place was a woolly blanket that covered him from head to toes. He had lost his goggles even before he had hit the tree, so losing more of his equipment didn’t seem like a priority.

“Can you open your eyes for me?”

A familiar, deep voice echoed inside Jim’s head.
My savior
, he thought.

Making his best effort to comply, even while his eyelids felt heavier than lead, Jim blinked, his eyelids fluttering. Slowly, his eyesight improved. What had been blurred images and shadows dancing turned into the cozy interior of a small log cabin and a man unlike any Jim had ever seen.

God, he really was big, practically a giant, or a giant’s love child. He looked to be Native American with dark skin, high cheekbones, a long, straight nose, and sculpted features. He was beautiful, a winner in the genetic lottery. His long, long straight hair fell around his face, down his back and chest in pitch-black and silver-white strands, half-and-half. His brown eyes appeared dark, yet hazel, with a bit of green and gray, but the flickering light made it hard to tell which predominated. Determining the man’s age seemed difficult as well, since he was so fit and muscular, but Jim would have guessed anything from midthirties to early fifties. In any case, he was gorgeous.

Jim stared, rapt.

Then he realized he was staring, and he looked away, blushing.

“Feeling better?”

To his surprise, Jim did feel much improved. His muscles didn’t ache, his back wasn’t spasming, his arms and legs felt well rested. He nodded. “Yes. How long have I been…?”

“A few hours. I don’t know the exact time.”

Suddenly, Jim felt very awkward and embarrassed. The mere voice of the man made his cock harden and swell under the loose blanket. His face fired up, but he hoped in the dim light of the cabin the man wouldn’t notice.

“I’m Jim Faulkner,” he introduced himself formally.

“Yes, I know.”

Jim looked up, frowning in confusion.

“I found your ID tucked in your jumpsuit.”

That made sense, naturally. Jim was grateful. There were people who would have left him for dead. “Oh. Right. Of course. And you are…?”

“You can call me Dak.”

Just that? Jim felt his instinctive curiosity stir within, but he held it in check. “Dak.” The man nodded to confirm the name. Jim decided it was time to move things along. “Um, do you have cell phone reception here? Have you called an ambulance?”

“No to both. I don’t own a phone. Yours didn’t make the landing, I’m afraid. But you aren’t seriously injured, mostly just scrapes and bruises. They will heal.”

“Where am I exactly?”

“Connor’s Crossing is the closest town, about thirteen miles away down the mountain. I will take you there in the morning. For now, you must rest.”

Dak offered Jim a cup of something steaming hot, and Jim reached out.

The second their fingers brushed, Jim felt desire pound its way inside him, straight to his dick again.
Why me?
Yanking his hand back, Jim was drenched and burned at once when the hot liquid landed on his arm.

“Fuck!”

Dak grabbed the cup from Jim’s hand swiftly and then wiped Jim’s arm with a clean cloth, never saying a word.

Embarrassed, Jim cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Dak said coolly, placing the cup back in Jim’s hands. This time Jim held on to the mug firmly. “If you like it, I can make more.”

Jim took a cautious sip. It wasn’t coffee or tea, but it was strong, pungent, and tasted divine. Jim felt rejuvenated and in high spirits. Briefly, he considered whether the drink might be some kind of drug but pushed all suspicious thoughts aside. They may have been out in the boondocks, but this was real life, not the movie
Deliverance
.

“This is awesome,” Jim praised with a courteous smile.

Dak bowed his head in acknowledgement of the compliment, but his expression didn’t change. In fact, thus far Jim had not seen the man smile once. Not that he had to smile for Jim’s sake. Dak’s features were carved in stone, godlike and aristocratic, chiseled to perfection. His masculinity felt like the tip of a blade, dangerous and unlike any other.

Jim was certain he was losing his mind. Maybe he had hit his head as he fell. He had, after all, passed out.

Dak took the mug from Jim once he was finished, moved around the small space with the elegance and grace of a big wild cat, silent, and finally sat down in a wicker chair in front of the fireplace. He stared into the flames, seemingly in deep concentration. Jim didn’t wish to interrupt the man’s meditative serenity, so he leaned back on the couch, snuggled under the wool blanket, and watched the man who had saved him. Light and shadows danced on his dark skin, so smooth it was almost unnatural. No facial hair, no scars, no blemishes, not even freckles or moles marred its flawlessness. Again, Jim tried to guess at Dak’s age. The gray in his hair was not enough of a clue, but Jim placed the estimate tentatively at forty-something. It was clear from the bulging muscles all over that Dak worked hard for a living, maybe with his hands. Those strong hands with their long, artistic-looking fingers that would feel amazing on Jim’s….

J
IM
HADN
’
T
realized he had fallen asleep until the sharp shriek of an owl on the hunt startled him awake. The fire was low but still burning. The cabin was empty. Dak was gone. For a moment, Jim felt afraid of what that meant, but when he saw the first light of dawn through the small, square window, his fears dissipated. It wasn’t like a dark wood was anything to fear; the darkness within a man was much more terrifying.

Rising up to sit, Jim looked around, mainly searching for his jumpsuit but mostly just taking in Dak’s humble domicile. Apart from the bed tucked against a wall, a fireplace, a chair, a table with two bench seats, a washbasin and ewer on a stand, and a small wardrobe, there wasn’t anything in the one-room cabin, not even a bathroom or a toilet.

And Jim himself occupied the bed. He wondered where Dak had slept.