Claimed by the Beast

by Natasha Knight

  No sound came from her but she did step backward, dropping the other bag as she reached for the door knob, intending to close the door, knowing it would not keep the… thing… out. She stared at it, all nine feet of the creature. It was terrible, the most terrifying sight she had ever seen. She trembled all over as she took in its long limbs covered by patches of dark hair, its thick body and neck, its face, its strange, strange face with the eyes that looked as trapped within as she felt standing in her doorway.

  It stared back at her all along, its brown eyes on her almost pleading with her in one moment, completely animal the next. The creature made a sound and momentarily showed its teeth, breaking her out of her stupor and forcing her to act. She slammed the door closed and took the phone out of her pocket as she ran for the basement, for the safe room there. Her hands shook too hard to do more than one thing at a time, and it had broken through the front door and was on her heels when she reached the basement door. She managed to open it though but couldn’t get it closed after her. He was only a step behind and by the time they reached the bottom, she felt its giant hand on her shoulder and screamed a scream that bounced off the walls and could have woken the dead. She turned fast and pushed its hand from her but managed to back herself into the wall. Her phone dropped to the floor but she didn’t even glance at it, she couldn’t take her eyes from the creature. It couldn’t stand straight up in her basement; it was too tall and had to crouch down but it was no less menacing. Perhaps more so in fact.

  She was out of space and it stepped closer, taking up more of it. It made a strange sound, a quieter sound than she would have expected from such an animal. But she realized in that moment what it was that was so strange, so frightening about this thing. Its eyes—they were intelligent, almost human eyes. But this creature wasn’t a shifter. It couldn’t be. It looked too… different. Too terrible.

  It stared at her then reached out a hand to touch her face.

  She gasped, her entire body shaking as it ran a finger over her cheek, her chin. It brought its face closer to hers and she had to close her eyes. It was too frightening to look at it. Tears wet her cheeks and she listened as it inhaled close to her ear, her neck. She felt its breath on her but when the hot tongue licked her face, she felt her knees give way and crumpled to the floor, passing out from fear of the monster standing before her.

  Chapter Eight

  When Lance woke up, he was lying at the top of the stairs on his back, naked.

  “Fuck!” he muttered, sitting upright, running a hand through his hair. He looked at his hands and was glad to find no blood on them. Turning to his bedroom door, he found it slightly ajar, the lock and handle both having been ripped from it. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, trying to remember.

  Last night when he had shifted, he had been alert for more of it than he had when it had happened in the past. He remembered the pain clearly, this time more than as simple memory. In fact, his head throbbed a quiet beat even as he sat here now. He went downstairs to get aspirin as he went through the rest of the events.

  The tearing of clothes, the look of his hands and arms as they changed before his eyes. They had grown longer, thick tufts of hair covering his flesh. His legs too. All of his clothing had been torn from him and for a moment, he entertained the idea of stripping off next time he felt this happening.

  He shook his head and snorted an exhale. What a trivial detail.

  Finding the aspirin in the cupboard, he swallowed two with a glass of water, noting for the first time the unfamiliar scent in the house. He had smelled it upstairs too where it had been stronger, but hadn’t paid attention. His senses were all heightened since the injection. This was probably just another new scent he had picked up as his sense of smell grew more acute.

  He set the glass of water down and unlocked the basement door to go to the lab and watch the video from last night. He would at least see what had happened to him, what he had changed into.

  Settling behind his desk, he switched on his computer and brought up the camera. When he did, he narrowed his eyes and looked again at the screen. He checked his watch, checked the time on the video. It was recording now. While he watched. It was filming the girl who lay motionless on his bed.

  Lance stared in horror at the screen. What had he done?

  * * *

  Rachel opened her eyes and blinked several times. She turned her head, looking around the unfamiliar, messy room. She sat up slowly, remembering what had happened the night before. The last thing she had seen was the creature—the thing that seemed to have sought her out. It had been almost gentle with her and there wasn’t anything about the creature that looked gentle. She remembered its eyes, soft eyes, human eyes.

  Panic struck and she swung her legs off the bed. It was a shifter, but it was different than Marcus or Elijah. It was somehow wrong. She patted her pockets, instinctively checking for her phone but remembering it had dropped to the floor in the basement last night when she had been running to get into the safe room. There was a cell phone on the bedside table. She picked it up and dialed Elijah as she walked quietly to the door, not sure if she was alone, betting she wasn’t. If the animal was in the house with her, she wouldn’t be able to escape it on her own. She peeked out into the hallway, but when she heard the sound of footsteps, she retreated back into the bedroom just as the call connected and she heard it ring.

  She listened as footsteps slowly climbed the stairs and backed up, going to the window, trying to open it with one hand.

  Another ring.

  “Pick up. Pick up!”

  “Bad idea,” a voice said as it grabbed the phone out of her hand.

  Rachel screamed, not sure what she was expecting to see. When she turned, she saw a man. She looked at him, her back pressed against the window, her hands gripping the sill. He was a normal, human man, almost as tall as Elijah, with a similar build. He stared at her, studying her just as she studied him. She had calmed a little when she had turned and found this man; she had been expecting the creature from the night before.

  “Where am I? Who are you?” she asked, letting go of the window sill and taking a step to the side, giving herself just a few inches of space between them but not willing to back up, not willing to show fear.

  He held out his hand. “I’m Professor Lance Weston,” he began. “And you are?”

  She looked at his hand, then back at him. “How did I get here?”

  He smiled. “That is quite the mystery, isn’t it?” he asked. “Your name?”

  “Rachel.”

  “Rachel what?”

  “Rachel Maren,” she said. When she still refused to shake his hand, he dropped it. “Where am I?”

  “What do you remember of last night?” he asked, ignoring her question.

  “Nothing,” she began, knowing she should lie. Play it off as if she remembered nothing at all and maybe he would let her go. “I must have had too much to drink. Did we… um… do… anything?” she asked, trying to look shy and embarrassed, gauging the distance between him and the door, wondering if she could outrun him.

  He studied her, searching her face for a while before taking a step closer, his expression hardening a little.

  “So you don’t remember anything?” he asked.

  She knew from the tone of his voice that he didn’t believe her but she shook her head anyway. “Listen,” she began, looking at her watch. “I’m going to be late for work. I’ll just go…”

  “I don’t think so,” he said, trying for a smile that didn’t quite work.

  She took a step to the side but he took it with her, blocking her exit.

  “Not before you have a cup of coffee with me,” he tried that smile again.

  “I don’t drink coffee,” she said for some reason. “I called my friend, he’s on his way.”

  “On his way where? Where are you?” the man asked, taking another step.

  Rachel turned and reached for the lamp
by the bedside but before she had even picked it up, he grabbed hold of her wrist, stopping her, turning her so her back was to him and holding her there.

  “Let me go!” she yelled, fighting him when he took her other wrist and gripped them both hard. He dragged her backwards to the closet. “What are you doing? Let me go!”

  “I’m sorry but I can’t let you go,” he said, his voice calm, frighteningly so.

  She looked around the large walk in closet. It had been destroyed, clothing lying everywhere, shelves broken. He pushed her against one of the walls and took a tie from a shelf.

  “I think,” he began, wrapping the tie around and between her wrists, securing her tightly. “You lied when you said you didn’t remember anything about last night. I think you remember quite well.”

  “I don’t. I swear! This is just a misunderstanding. Please let me go!”

  He turned her around but his hand on her faltered as he blinked in what she thought was pain. He squeezed his eyes shut and made a sound, but it must have passed because in the next moment, he straightened again, his face strange, his expression dead serious, his eyes far away.

  His eyes.

  She stared at them. “You’re it,” she managed, goose bumps covering every inch of her. “You’re the thing from last night.”

  “I told you remembered,” he said. He pulled her along, his hand painful on her arm, her wrists bound too tightly.

  She opened her mouth to scream for help but he was faster, pressing her up against a wall and covering her mouth with one of his huge hands. He stood with his body pressed against hers.

  “Don’t scream. Don’t make me gag you. Just…” he paused. “Please don’t make me mad, Rachel.”

  She stared at him wide-eyed. That pain flashed in his eyes again. He was desperate, she could see it, and that made him dangerous.

  “If I take my hand away, you’re not going to scream, do you understand?”

  She made a sound and tried to nod. She would have to wait for Elijah. Hope he checked his phone and noticed the unknown missed call. Hope he could find her.

  “Be good and you won’t get hurt,” he said, easing his hand off her face.

  She nodded again, breathing hard, her heart racing.

  “We’re going to go downstairs. You’ll be safe there,” he said.

  She hesitated with every step, looking around her, trying to see if there was any way to escape him, trying to see if she was close enough that someone would hear her if she did scream before she pissed him off.

  He didn’t look at her as he led the way down, his grip hard on her arm, pulling her along, tugging harder when she resisted. He led her to a heavy door, the only door that didn’t fit with the rest of the surroundings. He turned on the lights and led her down the stairs into the basement. It was a large, wide open, and almost completely finished space. On one side stood a large desk and what looked to be a science lab—a long counter with beakers and other things she couldn’t identify. The other side of the basement was unfinished where the laundry machine and dryer stood. He took her in that direction and set a wooden chair in the middle of the space. He pushed her down onto it and untied her wrists only long enough to rebind her to the chair. Once he was finished, he stood back and looked down at her.

  * * *

  She was a pretty girl. Young and quite petite. Her long straight dark hair was tangled and he could see from her eyes that she was afraid. Good. If she were frightened, she would be more likely to behave.

  Behave.

  What was he doing? What had he done?

  He turned away and ran a hand through his hair.

  “Please, just let me go. I won’t say anything. I don’t know anything,” she begged.

  “Shut up,” he said quietly without turning. He needed to think.

  “Please,” she continued. “I…”

  He turned. “I said shut up!” he snapped.

  She trembled and shrank away from him. But at least she stopped talking. He looked at the chair, wondering how long he could keep her bound like this, knowing he would need better equipment.

  He turned away again. What was he thinking? He had kidnapped a girl and brought her back to his house. But she wasn’t just any girl. She was the scent he had picked up earlier in the house and she smelled different than other women. Was that why he had sought her out? He could remember parts of the night and the one thing that was clear was the moment he had picked up her scent when he had been in the woods. He had been drawn to her like an animal would be drawn to mate. He had been unable to resist.

  He turned to her. “Are you a shifter?” he asked.

  She shook her head, her eyes still wide, scared.

  “You smell like one,” he said, recognizing her scent was similar to the samples he had been working with for so long.

  “I’m not.”

  “Then why do you smell like one?” he asked, coming closer.

  “Please don’t hurt me!” she begged, once again shrinking away from him.

  He winced with the sudden pain in the backs of his eyes. Was it happening again? So soon? Was he shifting again? He needed to get out of the lab, get away from the girl in case that happened. Once the pain subsided, he looked at her. “I won’t hurt you if you do as I say.”

  She nodded.

  “You obviously knew what I was asking when I said shifter. How did you know?”

  “I don’t know. I just said it.”

  “Don’t lie to me either.” The pain came again, short but sharp.

  “What’s happening to you?” she asked.

  “You’re going to need to stop talking,” he said, suddenly feeling very angry. His emotions were up and down, all over the place. He walked to the counter and opened a drawer. He took out a syringe and a vial of clear liquid, wondering all along what he was doing, why he was doing it as he prepared the needle.

  “What is that?” she asked when he came toward her, depressing the plunger so some of the liquid squeezed out until there was no air left in the barrel. “What are you doing?” she almost screamed as he squatted down by her side and held one of her legs tightly, stabbing her with the needle.

  “Ow! What are…”

  He emptied the stuff into her, knowing he was bruising her as he held her, but needing her to be quiet, needing her to be still so he could think. He pulled it out and stood, looking down at her. It worked quickly, the stuff. He’d probably given her more than she needed because within moments, he could see her eyes were losing their focus.

  “Just to help you sleep,” he said softly, caressing her face.

  She tried to pull back but her effort was clumsy. “What…” her head fell forward and she tried once more to lift it but was unable to.

  Lance checked her pulse, which was fine, but he knew she would be out for a while. Leaving her there for the moment, he went upstairs and retrieved a mattress from the guest room. He carried it down to the basement and set it in a corner near one of the support beams. He then went into the garage and rummaged through an old box, retrieving a pair of handcuffs an ex-girlfriend had given him years ago before returning to the basement. He untied her and laid her on her back on the mattress. He then cuffed her by her wrists to the support beam, ensuring some freedom of movement. He pushed her hair from her face and caressed her cheek, inhaling her scent once more. He was drawn to her for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. It was a base animal instinct.

  Chapter Nine

  Something wasn’t right.

  Marcus sat up and looked around the dark motel room. The clock read just after 6:00 a.m. This was a similar feeling as to what had happened the other night, although not quite the same. This was closer. He would need to shift to hear more, he knew it. Unless he picked up the phone and dialed Elijah, but he wasn’t ready to do that just yet. Besides, this wasn’t about Elijah. It was something to do with Rachel.

  He stood and pulled on the pair of jeans he had draped over the ba
ck of a chair. The last months had been worse than the previous of that year. He still missed her—that hadn’t changed. The way he was dealing with his self-imposed isolation, his chosen separation from Rachel, was what had changed. He had become freer and freer with himself, drinking too much, taking different women to his bed almost nightly, refusing to keep in touch with his brother. He justified not calling Rachel with the fact that he wanted her to forget about him. He wanted her to have a normal life. But it wasn’t working, at least not for him. And from what Elijah had said, it wasn’t working for her either.

  In fact, if he was really honest with himself, didn’t he have to admit the fact that he was being a coward by staying away? Not to mention the other things. It was time to face the past rather than run from it. The thought of seeing her again warmed him but it also terrified him. She would be angry with him and she would have a right to be. But now that he was here, what if she wouldn’t take him back?

  He opened the door of the motel room where he had spent the night and walked outside and around the back of the building. He walked off into the darkest streets, far enough that he wouldn’t be observed even if someone happened to walk by this time of night. There, he stripped off his clothes and, within a few moments time, he shifted into his wolf form.

  * * *

  Elijah woke early when he heard Clarissa begin to stir, hungry for her first feeding of the day. He quietly walked out of the bedroom to let Kayla sleep and went to pick up the baby. Her cries ceased when she looked up into his face, and he carried her into the kitchen to warm a bottle for her. Once he was settled, he took his cell phone off the charger. Four calls, three he recognized, a fourth one he did not. No message from that one. He looked at the number again. It wasn’t local, but it wasn’t out of state either. He set it aside and turned his attention to the baby in his arms.