Unexpectedly, he lunged towards me, pressing the venom coated knife against his chest, bringing us face to face as we locked eyes. "If bringing me to death's door is the only path to reconciliation, then so be it," he declared defiantly.
"Because I know you won't allow me to perish afterwards. Your heart isn't made like that."
His words echoed in my mind, stirring up conflicting emotions. On one hand, there was a glimmer of truth in what he said. I had never been one to let someone suffer if I had the power to help. But on the other hand, his assumption that I would automatically come to his aid irked me.
I remained silent, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a response.
His demeanor left me utterly perplexed; his eyes held a wild, almost deranged look, sending a shiver down my spine. A sense of foreboding washed over me.
"What's the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?" I demanded, my voice laced with frustration and concern. His behavior was unsettling, and I couldn't shake the feeling that he was harboring a hidden agenda. I refused to be manipulated by him.
His next words sent a chill down my spine as he leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper, dripping with an ominous intensity.
He created a small force field around us, his eyes glinting with an unsettling intensity as he leaned in closer.
"The Beast God told me about you," he murmured, his eyes boring into mine with an unsettling intensity. "Something of great interest to me. And I will not let you go now that I know. Now, let's have a little chat, shall we?"
I found myself tuning out any other words he had to say, consumed by the foreboding presence emanating from him.
His gaze held me captive, and I felt a wave of unease wash over me. In that moment, he seemed more like a predator than a friend, his intentions cloaked in darkness. It was as though I stood before someone intent on draining me dry and keeping me imprisoned until my demise.
As he began to pull my wrist down that held the blade, his touch grazed one of my mate marks, triggering a surge of power within me.
Suddenly, I was granted a glimpse into his sanctuary, where he knelt in prayer, murmuring fervently. Then, in a sudden burst of energy, he was flung across the room, crashing into objects before rising with an unsettling laughter, bowing mockingly as he exited.
With my power inadvertently triggered, I knew I had to escape before it fully incapacitated me, rendering me vulnerable to his influence.
Summoning all my strength, I activated my mate power, pushing him away and darting towards the edge of the tree.
"Horace!" I screamed, but before I could reach the end, my powers to see in his pass came into full affect and slowed me down, thwarting my attempt to leap to my mates.
Wilbard appeared unfazed as he was thrown into the tree's side and crumpled to the ground. However, he quickly regained his footing, reminiscent of a scene from a suspenseful thriller.
Urgency colored his voice as he addressed me, as if genuinely surprised, "Imara, that wasn't what it seemed. What just happened?! Did—"
As the tension thickened in the air, a sudden movement caught my attention. Horace emerged from the shadows, swift and silent, like a phantom materializing from the depths of the night. His form, cloaked in darkness, exuded an aura of power that resonated deep within me, drawing me in like a moth to a flame.
With each beat of his wings, a green hue from his eyes, trailed behind him, leaving a mesmerizing glow in his wake.
Everything seem to move in slow motion, he descended upon Wilbard, his sharp claws glinting ominously in the dim light. With a swift and precise movement, he pinned Wilbard to the ground, his eyes ablaze with an otherworldly intensity.
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Imara Diversifies The Beastmen World
FanfictionAfter 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...