Primal Promise

Thirty*

She'd been practicing more than the traditional binding ceremony vows in the weeks leading up to tonight. She had spent every free moment running. Through the woods, on the treadmill, every day down the long drive to collect the mail, training for this moment. 

She was ashamed, and probably always would be, that she was deficient. As much as she loved him, as much as she wanted to be what he wanted and needed, she was never going to be like he was. He would never know what every other member of his clan who had bound themselves enjoyed. His beast would never have a match. It would always have to be satisfied with the man's mate. She would do her best, however, to ensure that she was as challenging a human as he could find

The cheers faded as she whipped through the forest, staying on the trail for a while if only because the smoother path made it easy to get distance quickly. She shed the robe and tore at it, letting the scraps catch on bushes or saplings as she turned and darted into the trees. She ran round in wild unmarked circles, figure eights, a trail that lead around itself like a Gordian knot. Then, she lept up and pulled herself into the trees themselves.

This was slow going, moving from one large bough to another in the neighboring tree. Then, the clearing. The knotted rope she had left days ago was lowered quietly and she slid down, hand over hand, and at the base, pushed off the trunk and swung across the empty space to drop down. She tied the rope around the remnant of her robe and threw it to swing back across and dangle at the base of the tree. A pause taken, listening for any sound, then, she turned and bolted.

The sound of cheering and laughter was unwanted! He could not hear her movements. Oh, but he could smell her. The scent so familiar to the man and its connotations translated perfectly. She was heated and sweet and there was a note of acrid in it. Afraid. Not like before. Not terror...just fear. She should be afraid. He had waited so long. Too long. There was nothing the man could do but help... or shut up. 

 A snap of his teeth and he sank low to the ground, his face almost nuzzling the mark of her foot in the dirt. This would be too easy. Every muscle coiled and the hairs stood on end as with a surge of power, he jolted forward on her trail.

It was almost sad how easy she was making it. She kept to the trail, even the man could have tracked her. He was there, telling him to be gentle. To be soft. No. No softness but hers would be allowed tonight. He would make her scream and beg and bleed for him, accept him. Fill her with his seed and breed her under the moon as was his right. Over and over.  

Only then he would drag her back to some quiet den and perhaps then... he would surrender and let the man be soft with her. Her footsteps veered. He almost howled in exaltation that she was trying. Poor soft, sweet, wet thing. She was trying. It was .. what was the man word? Cute? Endearing? No. Useless. His claws rent the dirt and he plowed into the bushes and the ferns, the slip of her was so close, then he stopped.

The smells were heavy and yet thin. She had come this way twice? Was she lost? Why would she waste her time to go somewhere she had been. He felt the man like a shiver in his brain. Laughter. She was doing it to turn him about. To make him chase his tail. To defy him! To deny him what was his. 

 He did howl then. Let her hear, he threw up his head and inhaled deeply. Among the layered smell of her, he sought a new one. The stinging note of real fear. He knew she was afraid. Let her become more so. The new note would make fresh trail easy to find. None came. She was too far. He growled and lashed out in petulant fury, a wide chunk of bark flying free of the trunk of the tree to skitter and explode into a dozen woody chunks.