by Derendrea
Skinwalker ~ Native American Paranormal Erotica
Skinwalker ~ Native American Paranormal Erotica
Midpoint
SKINWALKER
NATIVE AMERICAN PARANORMAL EROTICA
DERENDREA
This is copyrighted work. Do not replicate it or distribute without written permission from the author. Brief quotes may be used for a review or critique.
Cover is commissioned, copyrighted artwork © 2014 Derendrea Stories
SKINWALKER
© 2014 BY DERENDREA
The earth is cold beneath my feet, while the rest of my body burns. My lungs feel full of birch bark, my muscles ache from the strain. My chestnut brown feet slip on the wet, decayed leaves on the forest floor.
They caught me gathering black cherries behind Smoky Ridge. I shouldn’t have wandered so far from the village by myself. Like my mother always told me, Kimimela, you flutter like a butterfly. I knew as soon as I spotted their painted faces under the shadows of the boxelder trees, I was in trouble.
I sprang into flight, catching a glimpse of the three Crow scouts in pursuit. The thick black and red lines painted on their faces and their stiff, bristled moose hair headdresses made their battle-worn faces that much more threatening. They began to hunt me like an injured doe.
Jumping over rough, moss covered boulders, I scold myself for not wearing my moccasins. The cool dirt felt so soft against my bare feet this morning, I decided to leave them inside our tent. In my haste to avoid the chasing Crow, the soles of my feet suffer each stone and twig across the ground.
I don’t know how much longer I can run. The three men are closer, whooping at me with arrogant confidence, just to scare me. They are herding me farther and farther away from my village, towards the open territory of the grass plains where there’ll be nowhere for me to hide.
Something moves in the forest ahead. Has one of them managed to get past me? If they surround me, my capture will come swift and harsh. I try to veer to the right, to put space between what lurks ahead and what follows.
Ahead is a patch of briars. If I am nimble enough I might make it through, hindering my pursuers enough I can get away.
But a figure leaps into my path. It’s not a Crow wearing animal skins, as I first assume. It is the skins, a large animal with thick gray and brown fur. It turns its large head towards me. Though I’ve never seen one this close, I know what it is.
A wolf.
My bones feel hollow. The wolf crouches down, growling with many sharp white teeth. I sense my impending death in the animal’s very bright yellow eyes.
The hairs on its back stand on end, stiff and bristled. It leaps like a flash of a spear, and I cover my face with my arms, but truly I have no defense.
Collapsing in fear, the wolf’s damp fur brushes over my shoulder and my cheek. I cringe, expecting next to feel the animal’s claws scrape across my flesh, but the wolf jumps over me. I turn around, slow as if I had just woken from a deep sleep.
The wolf is attacking the Crow warriors. I should be able to hear their shouts and cries as they fend off the wolf with war hammers. I should be able to hear the growls and lashing of the wolf, but everything is muffled.
I have never seen a wolf act this way. With agility at odds with its mass, the wolf avoids their blades and blows. It sinks its teeth into one of the Crow’s legs, then jumps away before being hit with the blunt stone of a war hammer.
The wolf snarls, blood and saliva dripping from its fangs. The Crow back away.
Run away. My body is too stunned to act, but a voice in my head wills me to stand. I turn from the scene, walking into the briars. As blood starts pumping in my stiff muscles, I move a little faster.
The sounds of the fight fade behind me. I’ve lost track of my direction. I know I just need to get away from the Crow, from the wolf. I have the distinct feeling that whoever wins the fight will be coming after me next.
The forest leads me downhill. It doesn’t feel like I’m heading towards the plains, but going deeper into the wood. That offers me some solace, perhaps I can escape from them still. When the sun begins to set, I can follow it back home.
But I’m not alone. My hairs should prickle when I sense what follows me, but instead I feel a sense of calm. Like a deer, submitting to its fate within the jaws of its killer.
It’s the wolf. Silent on the pads of its feet, it comes to my side. I continue to walk, with naïve hope that the animal won’t attack me... if I keep going as I was.
The wolf doesn’t want to hurt me. I don’t know how I know, I just do. Panting, it nudges my leg. It slows, keeping pace with me, trotting beside me with limber steps of its long legs. Its back comes just above my hip, covered with thick fur.
Not sure why, I place my hand on the coarse, damp fur above the wolf’s shoulders. I stare at the patterns of white, brown and gray across its back. I feel strangely safe, the smooth cadence of the wolf’s muscles beneath my palm.
The wolf turns slightly to the left, towards a ravine, and I follow. I’m moving slower, the earth slick with dew, and the fear of being chased by the Crow starts to weigh on me. The wolf stays with me, steadying me.
There’s fleeting movement through the trees. Have the Crow followed us? The wolf perks its ears and looks to the sound, but seems to stay calm and continues to walk forward. If he’s not agitated... I don’t think I should be afraid. It’s almost as if he’s protecting me.
Off to the right I see something else. This time, I catch enough of it to see it is another wolf. My companion again turns and looks that way, but otherwise does not react. I nervously look around, sensing, though I can’t tell exactly, three maybe four other wolves surrounding us, following us across the ravine.
We pass through a grove of spruce trees. I spot the other wolves at times, all colored the same as my companion, though none as large. My apprehension gradually fades. Nothing in how they act suggests they will hurt me.
The ground seems to pull at my feet, and I lean heavily against the large wolf. The clean scent of the spruce trees drifts on the breeze. We start up a hill, and it is difficult to walk.
The muscles of the wolf move beneath my hand... they change. I must be going mad... from the strain or exhaustion. My hand lifts as the wolf’s body lifts. He can’t be this tall. I feel dizzy...
Arms wrap around me. No, it’s not a man, it can’t be. It’s a wolf. Have I lost my mind?
Smooth, solid arms lift me off the ground, carry me up the hill. A face looks down on me.
It is a man, with the skin of a wolf over his head. I swear it was a wolf, a living wolf. I saw it...
The man looks down to me. High, proud cheekbones gleam with smooth brown skin. An earring with a symbol for maka, earth, hangs from his ear, beside leather-braided hair, with eagle feathers tied into it.
This must be a dream. I fell asleep beside the black cherry bushes against Smoky Ridge, and this is all a dream.
The man pulls me against his bare, warm chest, and part of me wants to close my eyes and sink into his protective embrace. Blinking, I make myself stay awake, taking in his earthy, pleasant musk. A long, lonely call of a wolf echos in the distance.
Carrying me in his strong arms, I realize what he is. Mani-ha, a skinwalker. A man who can change shape into any animal.
But those are just child’s tales. Something the elders would speak of when the embers of the fire grew dim. There are many great mysteries in this life, but I didn’t believe the Mani-ha to be one of them.
I relax against him. Shape shifter or not, he has captured the attention of my entire body. Each subtle pull and flex of his muscles flutters across my skin.
Where is he taking me? He saved me from the Crow, am I now his prize?
He stoops down to pass beneath a thicket of branches, and we enter an open area within the rock of the hill, disguised behind the trees. It’s almost a cave, surrounded on three sides and above with gray mountain rock. Enough light filters through the thicket that I see it’s more of a den than a cave.
I feel my pulse quicken as the stranger takes me inside. Where does a wolf sleep? Fearfully I look around, but instead of finding other wolves, I see supplies. Haphazardly piled against the rock wall, leather and wood containers and tools seemed to have been placed there and forgotten. We step around a small hearth, a circle of smooth stones with charred wood within, but it doesn’t appear to have been used for days or more. Is this his camp?
He takes me to the edge of the cave and I spot a pile of straw mats and furs. As he lays me down, my dreaminess evaporates like fog scared away by the morning sun. I don’t know who he is, and I don’t know what he wants with me. He’s careful as he lays me down on what feels like bear skins. He doesn’t meet my gaze but I catch his eyes, and they are not the startling yellow of the wolf’s, but very deep brown. His skin is smooth and unblemished.
When I am settled he stands, turned away from me and looking toward the pile of supplies. He is tall, slender, his black hair hanging halfway down his tan-skinned back.
He’s removed the wolf’s head. It rests atop a stone beside his supplies, where he’s looking for something. I recognize the patterns of gray and brown on the fur. But... that can’t be real.
I sit up, feeling dizzy as I watch him pull a leather gorge from the pile. He looks me over with a neutral stare, his gaze lingering on my legs. I feel a flutter of embarrassment, wondering what has caught his attention. Then I look down.
My shins to my feet are cut, scratched, and bleeding. Thorns stick in my skin from the briars. I had fled so quickly... I didn’t realize how hurt I was.
The man opens the gorge and pours cool water down my right shin. The cuts sting and I bite my lip, hissing from the pain.
He makes a low hum, almost close to a growl. I have no other way to describe it. Pinching my skin, he pulls out a thorn. Why did I run through the briars? All of the cuts start to hum, pulsing in pain with my heart beat. My eyes glisten, and I tremble when he lifts the gorge again.
It stings too much. In reflex, I knock the gorge away.
He grabs my wrist so fast I hardly see him do it. He holds me tightly, his eyes locked onto mine. I forget about my wounds, overwhelmed by a flush caused by his hold.
I want to resist him. Not because I’m afraid, but because him holding me feels so good. I try to pull away and he twists my wrist, not so much that it’s painful, but showing me he’s in control. He hums a growl again, giving me a stern look. He places his palm against my chest and gentle but firmly, he pushes me back.
I’ve never felt a thrill like this before. My mouth waters and heat flushes to my cheeks. He makes me lie back, sinking into the soft furs. He stays above me, his pelvis near my pelvis, his leg bent beside my thigh, holding himself up.
He keeps his hand pressed on my chest, making sure I don’t try to sit up again. After several minutes of being locked under his unblinking stare, he relaxes. Nimbly he moves back to my legs and resumes cleaning and caring for them. It still stings, but my attention stays on the heat he created in my body.
A few times my legs jerk from pain, and he grips my thigh firmly, almost painfully, keeping me still. Soon the sting begins to numb. Even as he moves to my feet, which I feel have some of the worst cuts, I barely feel it. It’s almost as if he’s placed stones on me, making my limbs heavy and my breath shallow.
I must have fallen asleep. He’s moved away from me, starting a fire in the hearth. It’s darker beyond the thicket, and I hear movement rustling beyond the trees. Or maybe I just imagine it.
The man sits across the soft glow. The curves of his face are reddened from the flame. He holds something... and as he begins to play, I realize it’s a wooden flute. But I’ve never heard one played this way. So slow, wistful, like a delicate forest stream.
The fire warms us against the coming night. With his music carrying me through the forest, across mountainsides, through canyons and valleys... I fall asleep.
I wake, warm under thick furs, but breathing in chilled air. The fire has all but died out. Weak and trembling, my arms slowly manage to sit me up.
Scanning the cave, I find the man is gone. It is dawn, judging by the smell of the air and the happy chirping of birds outside. There’s a soft gray glow filtering through the thicket.
Was what happened yesterday real? I remember my legs and expose them to the chilly air. The cuts have been cared for, but my skin is bruised and tender. I dare not look at the soles of my feet, but I suspect they are worse than my legs. Walking home is going to be difficult.
Foolish Kimimela, wandering like a butterfly.
My mother’s voice in my head makes my heart sink. They would be worried for me. They may have sent search parties out. Even our best trackers won’t be able to find me here. I wiggle my feet, flinching at their soreness.
My senses go on alert. Something’s outside. An animal. I search for the wolf skin the man left on the rock, and find it still there, staring forward with empty eyes.
He’s not wearing the wolf skin. I focus on the sound of shifting earth and crunching brush beyond the thicket. The animal is large. Is it one of the other wolves? Will they leave me alone, as they did before? Or now that the Mani-ha is gone, will they act by their animal instincts?
No, it’s not a wolf. It’s too big. I glimpse a large, dark hulk through the branches. It makes a deep snorting sound, and I go rigid. I’m frozen like a sapling caught in ice, yet I know the only way I’ll survive is to escape. It must have happened upon this cave, or maybe it smelled my scent. Either way, I’m in no condition to run from a bear.
It’s coming through the brush. Steadying my heart, I resign to my fate. If these are my last moments, I will not live them in terror. The bear, mato, is the greatest of all hunting creatures. My end will be swift, and in accepting my death, there is nothing to fear.
It gives grunt breaths as it presses toward me. I see dark eyes flash through the leaves. Instead of a massive paw and bear claws, a hand reaches forward. A human hand.
Dark fur ducks beneath the branches, but it’s not bear fur, it is the man’s smooth hair. He has returned.
There’s something wild about him. His eyes are dark and deep, like the dark space between two stars, pulling me in. I clench my fists and hold my breath. The beast is here.
The man steps forward, and a stream of morning light catches his face. His eyes aren’t black, but brown as they were before.
The bear was here. I felt it. But now, it’s just the man. He stares at me as he straightens and comes inside. Before when I thought he was a wolf, he wore a wolf’s fur over his head. But there is no bear skin on him now. Then I see round his neck, a necklace of bear claws strung with turquoise and red beads.
He really is a skinwalker, taking a part of the animal he will change into. He approaches the fire, glistening fresh trout in his hand. But in the sides of each fish are deep gashes.
Teeth marks.
Laying the fish on the rocks of the hearth, the skinwalker looks back to me. I don’t know what to do. If I could, I would try to run away. He walks toward me, then leans down to my legs. I cower from his touch.
He pauses, studying me and lifting his hands in peace. His eyes are warm, like soft earth touched by the sun. He breathes deep and slow, and soon my breathing matches his. Like reaching for an injured bird, he lowers his hands to my legs. I relax at his gentle touch. He inspects my cuts with the caress of his fingertips across my skin. Avoiding the injured area, he pulls down one leg then the other, then covers them again with the thick furs.
He meets my eyes and I know what he wants. He wants me to lie down and rest. But I want him to touc
h me again. I want his warm, strong hands on my skin.
He wraps his hand around the back of my neck. I submit, letting him support me. He leans me back, laying me down against the fur. He props my head with a rolled straw mat then releases me. Seeing I am settled, he turns back to the hearth.
Drowsily I watch him stoke the fire and skewer the fish with sharpened, thin branches. Soon the cave fills with the smell of fatty, dripping roast. Half awake, I dream of a bear, stripping the white flesh off its catch, licking the juice off its claws.
The smell is right below my lips. I open them, and he slips inside a small morsel of fish. Chewing it my eyes water, not having realized how hungry I was. Piece after piece he feeds me, until I feel my strength slowly returning and the empty pit in my stomach fill.
I catch a hint of his smell when he turns away from me. He returns with the gorge, and gives me several drinks of the cool water. When he starts to turn from me again, I grab his hand.
I’m not sure what I’m doing. I’m just acting. I want to smell him again. I pull his hand to my face, and to my pleasure, he complies. I place his hand on my cheek his palm and wrist before my nose. Closing my eyes, I deeply breathe in his musk, and the smell of leather and the forest. I reach and touch his chest, it’s as smooth as it looks.
We meet eyes. He knows about women, I can tell by his expression. I hope he can see I know about men.
Of course, he’s not like men from the village. They have rules to follow, tradition. Before they win my hand, a man must obtain permission from my father. Must pledge himself to me, and I to him.
But not the skinwalker. He lives outside of our rules. I smile as his hand drifts down my face and through my hair. I wrap my hand around his muscled arm and pull him closer, delighted when, again, he follows my request.
He takes over, sensing my need. With wet kisses he moves down my neck, pressing his pelvis between my legs. He massages my breasts through my buckskin dress and slides under the bear skins, so all that’s between us are our clothes.
