by Piper Rayne
It is a blessing to have somewhere to call your home. It is a blessing to have somewhere to belong, but even a home can feel like a prison when you stay there all your life.
I knew how this felt from a lifetime spent in the small farming village of Fairfront. By the time I was ten, I knew every face, every family, every blade of grass. I was never a child who particularly longed for adventure, but even so, there had been the tiniest kernel of excitement in my chest when I’d been selected to be the town sacrifice to the Beast of the Fair Forest.
What would happen beyond the wall of trees? I’d wondered. What will I see? What will happen if I manage to break away? I’d had visions of an entirely new life when they marched me through the borders of bushes that separated the mouth of the forest and the village.
Of course, I never would have guessed that the new life I’d find would be lying on the rug of the most handsome man in the world, stoking his hearth, my body still bearing evidence of our nocturnal fucking, my virginity less than twenty-four hours gone…
“One day, when I was an impetuous teenager,” Gawen continued, “I decided to leave. The forest would be fine for a few hours without me, I’d reasoned. I would just go find a new lake to fish in, or wander through one of the village markets. I had every intention of coming right back.” He shook his head at the memory. “I barely made it beyond the trees before it happened.” Gesturing to the fur on his face and body, his muscles, his fangs, he gave me a sheepish grin. “Turned into a beast before I could even walk beyond the shadow of the bushes.”
I blinked, processing what he was telling me. “So … you were punished for trying to leave.”
“By the forest itself,” Gawen said.
“Or Mortas,” I pointed out, my chest twitching with rage at the very idea, but it sounded just like something that old deceiver would do. Trapping someone inside a boundary, tying Gawen up with an enchanted rope, as it were, and whenever Gawen tried to walk past the wards, he explained, he was transformed back into the beast.
“I tried it a few more times,” Gawen confessed, “and every time, I couldn’t make it past the wards without being turned into … into this.” He hung his head down low, and, staring at the fire, said in a shameful tone, “The last time I was like this? Was the day you arrived in the forest.”
Somehow I managed to keep the shock off my face—how close had I come to actually being fed to the Beast of the Fair Forest? Had Mortas known this when he tied me to the tree? Had he been counting on Gawen to be in this monstrous form when he’d delivered me into the forest?
A thousand questions, and yet none of them had any answers yet, but the most important one surfaced in my mind, and I blurted it out.
“But you didn’t leave the forest. And you are still here—why haven’t you changed back?”
I knew the answers, though, even as Gawen said it. “Mortas,” he replied glumly. “He cursed me. I don’t know when I’ll be back to my old self—if that will happen at all. Maybe I’ll just keep getting more and more beast until there’s nothing left of me but animal.”
I studied the face of my lover—even with the fur on his skin and the fangs in his mouth, Gawen was handsome, his bone structure shapely. If I had met him alone in the woods in the dark of twilight, when all predators are hungry and stalking their evening meal, I would be terrified—but this was Gawen … for now.
From the look of the dream he’d had earlier, and the way he’d lunged for me near the birch tree just after Mortas had struck him with this curse, we didn’t have much time before the beast took over Gawen’s body entirely, and he no longer recognized me as anything but prey.
We had to figure out how to remove this curse from him, but how?
The adrenaline had long since drained from my body, and outside, the sun was beginning its descent, casting a rich orange light in Gawen’s yard. The willows and the sycamores threw long shadows on the hut, and I pushed myself up to standing, suddenly wanting to do something useful, something other than brooding by the fire.
“All right,” I said. “We’re going to rest tonight in the hut, and tomorrow morning, we’ll go check the border spells. Perhaps there’s something amiss with one of them, causing your … your transformation to last longer than it should. We’ll also look for Mortas. Is there some sort of summoning spell he taught you, for when you were in need?”
Gawen shook his head. “He always showed up at random; sometimes it would be months between his visits.”
My fists curled at my side, thinking about Mortas, bringing a poor orphaned child into these woods and leaving him to fend for himself. What are you up to, Mortas? I thought. What is your endgame? Surely you were not merely being charitable to Gawen. Surely there is some larger plan at play here.
But I didn’t know what that could be. Not yet. Not without more answers.
I slipped outside and spelled the yard, just in case Mortas tried to visit Gawen’s hut and cause more havoc. When I came back inside, Gawen was standing over the table, pushing flour, salt, and butter together with his furry hands, but his eyes were watching me, curious.
“You’re getting better,” he told me when I inquired as to what, exactly, he was staring at. “I didn’t teach you how to put up wards like that.”
I shrugged, but inside I was bursting with pride, so delighted that I had won his approval. “No, but you did teach me how to listen. Listening to the forest, that’s all I need to do. The trees tell me what to do next.”
Gawen glanced up at me, a gleam in his golden eyes. “And what are they telling you to do now?”
Heat flooded me, and I went wet between my legs. “The trees are not talking to me right this second,” I said as I came around the table, putting my arms around his body. “The trees are not listening either. In fact, the trees are far too busy to care about what happens in this little hut tonight.”
As he kneaded the loaf of bread on the table, I slid my hands down the front of his body, minding how it had changed in the transformation. Gawen had already been a man of pure muscle, a comely wild thing with a sexy figure that made my body ache with desire, but now in his beastly form, he was solid as a brick wall, capable of tossing me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and it was like my lust for him doubled.
That, and the feel of his lengthening manhood, growing hard under my touch as I reached around the front of him and let my hands wander.
Gawen stopped kneading the bread, touching my forearm. “I don’t… I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
My stomach fell, and I walked around the table again, giving him some space. He went back to kneading the bread, folding the dough, over and over, and when he finally slammed it into a pan and stuck it in his wood-burning oven, he glanced up at me with something unrecognizable in his eyes—frustration, longing, sorrow. “I just—I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” I assured him, my hands curling around the top of the chair. “I know you won’t.”
“No, you don’t,” Gawen countered. “Not even I know that. Look, when we were back near the tree, right after Mortas cast his spell on me… I wasn’t myself anymore. There was nothing left of Gawen inside of me. I looked at you, and I didn’t see beautiful Rosaline, love of my life. I saw … meat.”
I knew I should be afraid.
I knew I should listen to what Gawen was telling me, heed his warning, but last night, when the two of us had shared his bed and I had taken him into my body, and he’d made me climax until my toes curled… That had been the most sacred, special moment of my life.
I wanted to—no, I needed to have it again. I needed to see if it was something that could even be repeated.
I needed to see if our bond could break past his curse.
So with my heart pounding, I moved around the table again, finding his hands in mine; they were covered in flour still, the dough clinging to his fur, but I set them on my breasts.
Gawen closed his eyes, a sound coming out of his throat that was halfw
ay between a gasp and a growl. For a moment, I thought he was going to tug his hands away, storm out of the hut altogether, but he gently squeezed my chest, kneading at me with the same tender motion he’d just used to make our bread.
“Rosaline,” he whispered when he opened his eyes, and I shushed him with my kiss.
“Let’s just try,” I told him, “and if it’s too much, we’ll stop.”
“What if I…?” Gawen’s question, unfinished, hung in the air between us nevertheless.
What if I scratch you?
What if I kill you?
What if I disappear and the beast inside of me devours you whole?
All risks I was willing to take if it meant I have another gorgeous, red-hot union with Gawen again—and I tried to tell him as much with my lips as he kissed me, kissed me deep, kissed me hard.
Kissed me not like a man in love, but like a beast.
Chapter Eighteen
GAWEN
The scent of her skin.
The sound of her wetting her lips with her tongue.
The feel of her hands along my fur, bristling it, the plumpness of her breasts.
Every sense heightened by my transformation.
I tried to think of my new form in this perspective, with this sort of positive spin on it, but as Rosaline kissed me, I couldn’t help but be terrified.
Terrified that I would lose control.
Terrified that being this close to her would trigger some sort of animalistic response, that the curse would rear its head, and I would step back from her body, realizing I had just gone full beast and torn her apart.
But, gods, she was soft.
She was already slick with desire, and I could smell the heat rising off her skin; I could sense her readiness.
And the part of me that was still Gawen… I longed to penetrate her again, to make her entire body crumble with pleasure, the way I had last night. I longed to taste her.
“Gawen?” Rosaline suddenly whispered, pulling back to look at my face. She’d thought I was losing myself when I was really just losing myself in the thought of our union.
I could do this, I told myself. I could stay Gawen long enough to fuck the woman I loved. As I leaned back into Rosaline and deepened my kisses, I centered myself on this very thought.
My desire for her, the most human thing I knew—kept me centered.
There was nothing that I wanted to do more than fuck her again, and I let that need guide me as I gently led her back into the nest of blankets on the floor.
“Your hands,” she chuckled when I reached down and tugged up the top of her tunic. I’d coated her with flour, and there were two particularly incriminating marks around her breasts where I’d fondled her—proof of my love for her.
I lifted off her tunic, wiping my hands of the globs of bread dough and the worst of the flour in its fabric, and greedily began lapping at her breasts—so full, so soft. I felt myself groan as soon as I made contact. Rosaline was so sexy, so utterly gorgeous, and I wanted to worship her in my arms.
I wanted to have her at least one more time before … before…
Banishing all thoughts of my curse, I focused instead on her every pleasure—the way her skin prickled with goose bumps when I ran a single finger down her spine, the way her cheeks flushed pink and her breathing heaved when I swirled my tongue around her hardened nipple.
The way her eyes rolled back in her head when I kissed my way down her belly and, after taking off her pants, tapped my tongue against that fleshy little button, her clit—
“Gawen,” she breathed out, arching her back—I wanted Rosaline to lay back, enjoy this, and I couldn’t stand her saying my name like that. It made me so hard, I could have rocketed right through her—
And I wanted to take my time.
When Rosaline was positioned and comfortable, lying back on a pillow on the floor, her legs spilling open to either side, I bent my head down to her warm, wet slit and I began to feast.
Senses heightened.
My beast within, ravenous—and Rosaline’s sweet, salty wetness tasted like nothing I’d ever tasted before. I licked in long, steady strokes, savoring the way her body trembled as I brought her closer and closer to the edge.
My name fell out of her mouth, over and over, as she murmured her way to a climax, and when she finally came, shaking and gasping, it was with a gush of wetness that soaked my mouth. I licked it all up and barely had time to savor the sweetness of her release before she coaxed me up above her, fussing with the fastenings on my pants.
“I need you,” Rosaline stammered. “I need you inside of me now.”
Nerves prickled within me. I was absolutely hard, rock-solid, ready to slide into her—but pleasuring her with my mouth was one thing. Fucking her, having her tight pussy cling to my cock, feeling her quaking beneath me—that was something else entirely.
And I wanted to stay in control, always, stay in control.
“Gawen.” Rosaline arched herself up to meet my lips with hers, and her hands traced down my body, the rippling muscles of my beastly form, and wrapped around my manhood—
It had grown in my transformation—I had always been generously endowed, and last night, when Rosaline and I had gifted each other our virginities, I had been worried that my long cock would hurt her… But it had grown even bigger.
I feared that it would break her in half.
Rosaline seemed to read my thoughts, and she guided my huge, throbbing cock towards her opening. “Go slowly,” she murmured, her eyes gleaming with desire, “but put it in me, please. Fill me up.”
The beast within me wanted to shove inside her, thrust, fuck until I had my own release—
But somehow I managed to slowly, gently slide into her, and my entire body shuddered with pleasure.
I could feel it all the way up to the top of my head, in every cell—her pussy tightened around me, and I could see that my cock was big for her.
Perhaps if I had been this size last night would have been impossible—but she was no longer a virgin, and since I had already licked her to satisfaction, she was sopping wet, ready for love.
And I gave it to her.
Long and slow strokes, pressing into her, her hips spread wide, until I had reached the fullness of her pussy—she would gasp and cling to me with wide eyes, and I would pull back out, trying not to lose control, trying not to let the beast within me take over.
“God, Gawen,” Rosaline cried, tilting her head back, closing her eyes as if she just couldn’t handle it anymore. “This is so… You are—you are so…”
I smiled, triumphant. I had pleasured her to the point that she had forgotten her basic grasp of language—a good sign, I thought, especially for someone as whip-smart as Rosaline.
“And you are…” I started, and as I glanced down at her body I was too overwhelmed to complete this sentence. Her breasts floated above her rib cage, bouncing with every thrust. Her neck stretched back, long and graceful, her pulse visible. Her waist tightened, slim, and widened into her round, peach-like ass and I suddenly couldn’t take it anymore.
I wanted her to finish one more time so I could explode within her.
I had to feel her orgasm around my cock—and so I leaned down and kissed her neck, biting into it as gently as I could. “Rosaline, you’re so sexy.”
“Mmmm,” she purred against me.
“I want to make you come again,” I whispered. “Can I fuck you until you come?”
“Yes—yes!” Rosaline met my rhythm, lifting her hips, bucking against me; she reached for one of my hands and placed it on her breast. I used my finger and thumb to play with her pebbled nipple, and with a grimace of absolute pleasure, Rosaline suddenly convulsed around my cock, her head falling back, a cry coming out of her throat that was almost animalistic—
And my own cock couldn’t do it. Couldn’t hold out any longer—I thrust into her with everything I had and felt my release bursting up and out of me.
With a roar, I climaxed
, shooting my seed deep into her wet pussy, and when I was finished, I collapsed onto the floor.
My chest panting, my heart pounding, and next to me, rolling to snuggle against my chest… my love.
My life.
We said nothing as the sun finished its descent beyond the horizon, and the land grew dark.
Our bread finished cooking, and I brought the pan over to our little nest of blankets. We fed it to each other, tearing it with our fingers, and when the fire in the hearth was mere embers, we fell asleep like this, entwined in the blankets, folded into each other’s bodies, satisfied and safe—for tonight.
I felt as if I had passed a test, albeit a small one—I had managed to touch Rosaline in this intimate way without losing myself to the beast within and seeing her only as prey. But in the back of my mind, I knew there was a ticking clock.
I knew it was only a matter of time before the beast took hold, and I was desperate to remove the curse before the screams I elicited in Rosaline were ones of terror, not pleasure.
Morning arrived, and with it another despicable dream—again, I was chasing Rosaline through the woods, bounding over roots, darting between the trees, hungry for my prey.
I woke to Rosaline shushing me, pressing a damp cloth against my forehead. “You were growling,” she informed me when I was alert enough to understand that it wasn’t real, that it was only another nightmare. “And you’re pouring sweat.”
“I… I was running in my dreams.” I didn’t offer any other information—I didn’t want to give words to those images. I didn’t want to paint them for her, either—I took the cloth from her and cleaned my face as best I could, though I was aware of a very distinct animal musk coming from my fur.
“How long was I…?” I asked.
