by Leith Briar
Slowly, so slowly it’s almost a form of torture, he brings his eyes back up, and this time he stops at my mouth.
I bite down gently on my lower lip, suddenly feeling conscious of it all. Of my nakedness, of these new feelings that are a taking hold and pulling at me like a current. Of what we both know is about to happen, and the dangers that involves.
A girl is always nervous for her first time, right? That much is normal, I’m sure. But I’m not thinking about the things I spent my teens fretting over. Now those worries seem completely irrelevant. They all pale in comparison to the immediate threat.
The very real danger that I might not see the sunrise.
I look into his icy silver eyes, trying to find some assurance that there is hope for us.
But either way, I know I am damned if I do, and we are both damned if I do not.
If I don’t do this, my death seems much surer than it would be right now at his mercy.
Not doing it would be the end for both of us.
His expression is pained when he finally meets my eye. “I do not want to hurt you.”
I nod my head faintly, barely an inch. I think I believe him now. “I know that.”
It feels as though there are no more words to say to each other — none that would matter, anyway.
There is only action now.
Action that will answer the only question that is really important to either of us.
He finally bends down, stopping just short of my lips. His gaze flicks from one of my eyes to the other, and I let my lids fall closed. It feels too intense to keep looking.
So I close my eyes, deciding to let him do as he will.
Deciding to let the inevitable happen.
But all I feel is his warm breath on my cheeks. Slow and steady, in and out. I breathe him in, the scent of leather and woodsmoke mixing with just the faintest touch of alcohol. Slowly, carefully, as if I’m some precious piece of glass that will surely break in his hands, he snakes a hand around my bare waist and lets me fall back across his body.
I’m sitting on one knee, and hovering above the other one. My neck strains against the weight of my own head, and suddenly all I want him to do is hold my face to his. To wrap a hand around my hair and claim me. I can feel his warmth on my cheeks but I cannot feel him, and the wait is killing me. A frustrated sigh escapes my lips just as I open my eyes.
He is still staring at me, his expression unreadable. It could be lust, or pain, or confusion… I cannot tell.
I reach my arm up and wrap my fingers around his neck. He leans in closer, so close my lips tickle. Finally, when I think I can’t hold myself like this any longer, he takes a handful of my curls and forces our lips together.
His mouth is harsh against me, demanding. It’s not a kiss he takes, it is everything. He lets out a low moan in his throat, one that begins as a sigh of relief and then turns hungry. His fist twists in my hair, and now I fear I could not move, even if I wanted to. Encouraging me to open further, his tongue thrusts into my mouth and there is nowhere for me to go, no inch for me to retreat. The arm around my waist wanders lower, clutching at my hips and pressing so hard I know I will be left with bruises.
That thought should send me fleeing. It should send a chill of fear straight through me. If his fingers can do that to me, what would it feel like to have them turn into claws? My heartbeat thuds in my ears as I consider it, but I don’t think it is from fear.
No, it is not fear.
The thought of it is thrilling.
He continues his assault on my lips, his kisses turning harsher and more demanding with each passing second.
When I feel like I may pass out from lack of air, I let out a whimper. He pulls back, his breath quick and heavy, and then falls back on the bed, taking me with him and arranging me so I’m flat on his much larger chest.
I thought this might stop him, slow him down. I’m staring at the ceiling — our lips cannot meet, but he continues regardless. Now his hands have access everywhere, and he takes every inch of it. His lips move across to my neck, sucking and nipping and kissing while his hands roam free over my body.
It’s like he’s trying to learn every part of it, all at the same time. The way my hips curve, the way my stomach rounds and dips, the exact width of my shoulders. It feels like a game, where I’m constantly guessing where he will go next — all the while writhing and bucking from what his mouth is doing to my neck, and from the fire his touch is lighting over my entire body.
Two huge hands cup my breasts and he squeezes down with a force that rips a gasp from my lungs. He growls in response and bites down on my neck, seeming content with hearing me whimper.
“Colm,” I sigh, my head thrashing from side to side, trying to escape but not quite knowing why I want to. It’s a contradiction. It’s confusing and sore and at the same time, utterly delightful.
He says nothing, but another cry has his squeeze turning to a knead, and his bite turning to a kiss.
I enjoy those few moments of bliss, until he begins to trace a line down my stomach and part my dress open.
Sensing where he is going with it, a shiver of exited fear runs down my spine and pulls my back up into an arch.
But then his kisses on my neck turn sharper than ever.
His teeth.
That thought yanks me straight out of my lust-driven daze, and panic takes a hold of my body. Every muscle stiffens as the reality of what is happening sets in. The thought of it just a few short moments ago thrilled me. The reality of it…
He’s changing.
He is going to lose control.
I struggle with my skirts and the loose drapes of fabric that are cast all around me. I quickly realise my attempts to put some space between us are futile when I discover the fabric is also underneath him, anchoring me down.
I’m stuck, and it is not just due to the remnants of my dress. His right arm has crossed over my tummy, his forearm pressing me down while his fingers — now sharp and clawed — pull on the chain attached to my nipple. The other hand has found its way past the tangle of skirts and is trailing up and down the inside of my thigh.
Each time he does it he gets closer to the place I need him to touch, and the rational thoughts of putting space between us are quickly sinking down into the furs beneath our bodies.
Before long, recklessness returns. I need him to touch me there. I need it like I need air in my lungs. My skin is tingly, my pulse thundering. I’m grinding my hips against him, desperately showing him just how much I want to be touched there.
His hand cups around the space between my legs like a vice, forcing me to be still. “Hiy,” he mutters, his voice smoky. “None of that.”
“Hmm?” The sound comes out breathy and tense, his hand still right there and two of his clawed fingers pressing just beneath my very erect nipple.
“You start grinding against me like that, and I fear I will rip you apart.”
I swallow against the dryness in my throat and concentrate on breathing. Okay. I get it. We can’t both lose control.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, feeling my cheeks redden.
He shifts on the bed, lifting us both up and then laying me down gently amongst the furs. He takes his full weight on his arms and elbows as he stares down at me, a frown marring his handsome face. “Do not ever say that.”
“I didn’t know what else to say.”
“You will not apologise for something that you cannot control. This is my weakness. My burden. Not yours.”
“You need to tell me what to do,” I say. “How to act. How to make it easier.” I look up at him for signs that he’s struggling. His teeth are certainly larger, his canines now pressing into his lower lip. But his eyes aren’t glowing… his horns haven’t broken out.
That’s a good sign, right?
He leans down and kisses me gently on the forehead, before sitting up on his knees and undoing the large silver buckle of his belt. The long piece of plaid that was crossing his chest fa
lls from his shoulder, and soon the rest of it gets thrown lazily off the end of the bed.
I really don’t want to look.
I’m curious, of course.
But it seems too… invasive.
So instead I focus on his eyes, and then on his chest and the flickers of firelight that dance across it. I focus on anything but his… cock.
“It will no bite ye,” he says with a chuckle.
A smile plays on my lips and I stop fighting the urge to not look. Just a tiny glance, that I hope he doesn’t notice. I’m relieved to see that his… manhood is basically in proportion to the rest of his seven foot frame, and not monstrous like his teeth and horns. The second my eyes have settled back on his, he lowers himself on top of me, using his knees to split my legs apart.
He’s much lower than he should be, his face still at my height, his stomach nestled in the space between my legs. I let out a sigh as his mouth works on my neck, kissing and nipping, all the while his human hand creeps lower, trailing down my bare side and circling my hips.
I buck involuntarily at the sensation, tickling and yet not uncomfortable. His hand grips me there, rubbing away the itch he just created, and pulling me closer towards his body. Before long he’s worked me into a gentle rhythm, one that has my bare flesh rubbing against his hot stomach, one that has my breath hitching in my throat.
“I wish I could tell you every depraved thing I want to do you,” he whispers in my ear, the sensation of his warm breath sending tingles to my neck. “But I fear that would push me over the edge.”
I turn my head, so that now I’m the one breathing into his ear. “There’s time for that. I’m not going anywhere.”
He trails soft kisses across my cheeks before finding my lips and giving them a final press. “I am sorry, alright? And I wish… I wish I deserved you.”
And with that, he shifts up the bed, so far that my cheeks meet his chest and I have to turn my face to the side just to get enough air into my lungs.
He positions himself at my entrance and my whole body tenses, even though I know I shouldn’t.
Relax. Relax. Relax. I say it over and over again in my head like a prayer.
And then I feel pressure. Pressure and a sharp sting as he slides himself inside me and lets out a guttural roar that I feel reverberating inside his chest.
It sounds like he’s in pain.
Thoughts swirl around my head so fast I can barely make sense of them. Suddenly, not being able to see him, all I can think of is that he could change and I would not even know it until it’s too late.
My heart thuds against my ribcage and my eyes squeeze closed.
Within a beat, it’s not just pressure I’m feeling between my legs.
It’s somewhere else.
It’s in my mouth.
I let out a moan as the pain spreads to my jaw — agonising pain the likes of which I’ve never felt before.
It feels like someone is pressing my cheeks together in a vice. Tighter and tighter until I feel my teeth will fall out.
I open my eyes. I think I open my eyes, but the edges of the world are dark.
It gets darker.
The fire on the far side of the room is fading.
I fear what is happening.
And it’s not the fear of bees, or of never seeing my home again.
This is the fear of losing my life.
The same utter terror and panic that wracked my whole body that night seven years ago.
And then… like a string being burned until it finally snaps… everything fades away.
The world turns dark.
And I’m finally at peace.
Chapter 19
Colm
Something is wrong.
Something is wrong with her and I cannot fucking stop myself.
The part of me that runs solely on instinct is roaming free and I am struggling to rein it in. My thoughts rush around my head completely wordless — there are no words for them.
Just feelings. Just need. Chemicals and instinct.
The need to fuck her. The need to claim her. The need to tear her apart. The need to save her precious life. The need to stop.
I need to stop.
I tear myself away from her, pulling strength from a place I did not even know I had.
And the second I see her face, still as stone and lifeless, the thoughts that were swirling around my head cease to exist.
It is like the whole fucking world ceases to exist, replaced only with a stabbing feeling in my gut.
“Fuck,” I let out a cry. “Fuck fuck fuck.”
I say each word as I gently tap her face, the pressure increasing each time she does not respond.
She needs help — of that I am certain.
But who?
We have no doctor here — we have no fucking need of one.
The priest?
Ridiculous.
But why the fuck not?
I am off the bed in a heartbeat and making for the door, not caring a fuck that I am naked.
She is naked, or as good as naked.
I rush back, thinking to cover her up, and then I stop myself. Covering her up is not going to save her life, you fucking idiot.
“Colm?”
A breath. Just a breath and barely audible.
But it was her. It was my girl. My wife.
She lives.
I cross the room in two strides, grabbing her without even really seeing her and pressing her close to my chest. She is warm. She is moving. She is alive.
“Fuck, Sophia.”
I feel her hands against me, weak at first but getting stronger. Stronger than she should be. I lean back so I can see her, I have to give her some room to breathe.
And that is when I see it.
Her green eyes — usually deep and alluring — are brighter. Not glowing, not quite, but nor are they the same as they were.
They are sparkling.
And her teeth.
She has… changed?
Chapter 20
Sophia
Everything is clear.
The moment my eyes opened, it was like seeing for the first time.
It didn’t matter that the fire was casting the room in shadows. I knew what they were hiding, regardless.
And I could feel him. Not just his presence, not just his movements as he crashed across the room.
I could feel the concern in him just as clearly as I felt my own terror when the world turned dark.
And I’m feeling other things, too.
A tidal wave of emotions and urges and feelings all battering against each other and making them impossible for my mind to process.
I feel hungry. I feel addicted. Needy and angry and helpless and yet strong. Stronger than I’ve ever felt in my life. My muscles burn with the need to be used.
Colm is cuddling me, pressing me close into his chest and it’s too much. I’m too angry for that. I push him away, trying to see if this strength is merely a mirage or if it’s something tangible. Is it real?
He gives me the space I need, but I can’t stop there.
I look down at him… his hard body. His chiselled face. His thick thighs, his cock — still hard and glistening in the light of the fire.
The one emotion, the singular urge pushing above all else… need.
I don’t know if I need to fuck him or hurt him, or have him do all of those things to me. All I know is I need him now. I need to feel him.
I need to feel something.
He won’t stop looking at my eyes, a confused expression on his face. I wrap my fingers around his wide wrist and squeeze, and suddenly realisation dawns on his face.
My eyes tell him everything he needs to know. We stare at each other, him a mixture of confusion and need, and me daring him to take me. Urging him silently to do it. Change. Lose control with me.
He swallows, and I swear I think I can hear it. I can hear everything. The crackle of the fire on the other side of the room. His heartbeat mixin
g with my thudding pulse.
Do it.
He hesitates no longer.
Quicker than my thoughts can process, he’s tearing the remnants of my dress away from my body, the sound of fabric shearing like music to my ears.
He sits up on the bed, pausing for a second to look at my naked body, a smirk on his face and an appreciative growl escaping his lips.
And then the sounds of skin on skin as he pins me down forcefully on the bed, his sharp teeth pinching down on my neck.
I fight him, my restrained arms pressing upwards and my hips bucking — because it feels exquisite. The ache just adds to the ecstasy, the thrill that is coursing through my veins. He still overpowers me, but now it is not so blatant. Now he has to put the effort in. Now the muscles in his arms flex and harden, a sight that delights my new eyes.
This time he works my body up to a frenzy, and the more he rubs his body against my centre the more I want to touch him.
“Let me go,” I whisper urgently. “I want to feel you.”
He brings his head up, a smirk playing on his lips, and then shakes his head. “Not tonight, little princess. I am the predator. You are the weak and defenceless pray.” Working his way down my body, he licks and nips and sucks every inch of flesh until he finds my nipple, swirling his tongue in circles while I clamp my legs closed around him.
“I am going to fuck you senseless,” he says, bringing my hands down and holding them at my sides. “I am going to rip screams from your body.” He moves lower still, his lips pressing harsh kisses into my belly while I squirm helplessly below him. “I am going to mark you so well, any man who is not me would never dare to look you again.”
His head moves between my legs and I melt at his touch. My thighs wrap around him, his close cut hair like velvet against the sensitive skin, and my back arches as he swirls and laps at my center.
My fingers curl around the furs, trying to find something solid to grab onto, trying to stop the wave of pleasure from pulling me away.
He brings my body to the edge of an orgasm mercilessly until I’m crying out — begging — for him to fuck me.
