After an accident, Imara, a 28-year-old plus-size black woman, ends up in a strange rainforest world from a bittersweet novel she read. This wild jungle is full of mysterious and dangerous beastmen, just like the stories she used to read.
To stay al...
That was my signal. Flanked by Harvey, Horace, and Nicholas to my right, and Gabriel and Frank to my left, we began our approach towards the front, my focus locked on Winston.
The crowd parted for us, a path clearing as we moved forward, the anticipation building with every step. My heart raced, not just with the excitement of the moment but with the realization of what was about to unfold.
Electricity charged the air, time seemed to slow, and the beat of my heart thundered in my ears. It felt as though an invisible force was pulling me, and I willingly surrendered, being drawn straight towards Winston.
As we advanced, I could feel the eyes of the entire assembly on us, a mix of curiosity, surprise, and, for some, recognition of the change we were bringing to the traditional proceedings.
Winston, still in his majestic white tiger form, watched us approach.
The intensity in his gaze was so present, a reflection of the complex emotions and thoughts surely swirling within him.
As Winston rose and made his way towards me, the crowd parted like the sea, creating a clear path between us.
In that moment, he transformed into his human form, revealing a figure that was nothing short of breathtaking.
Standing at an imposing 7ft 5in, his muscular physique seemed to command the space around him, making my heart leap from my chest to my eyes in awe.
He stood there, more ferocious in appearance than any beastman I had ever seen, his body radiating a real, explosive strength.
I absorbed every detail with an insatiable thirst, as if I were parched and he was the only source of sustenance.
His platinum white hair fell to mid-length, framing bold facial features that were the epitome of masculine beauty. Winston was divine, exuding a potent masculine scent that underscored his powerful presence.
The claw scar that marred his left face, trailing past his eye and narrowly missing the corner of his lips to reach his jawline, only added to his allure. It prompted a kink I knew I had been had what a shame I wanted more scars.
The scar's presence hinted at a dangerous past encounter, suggesting that a mere inch could have cost him his eye.
Despite this, the scar had healed into a distinctive mark, resembling welp skin, and I found myself fighting the urge to trace it with my fingers in silent wonder.
Our eyes met, his a striking grey-blue reminiscent of precious stones, and the intensity of our gaze was undeniable, felt by everyone present.
In that moment, all else faded into insignificance, leaving only the magnetic pull between us, a connection that seemed to transcend the ordinary and venture into the realm of the extraordinary.
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