Unnatural Instinct: Transform

7.

You attempt to jerk back but he grabs your head so you can't move.

Bite him. Bite him! But you don't. That terrible helpless shock still has you firmly in its grip. Instead, you let him kiss you. Maybe if you give in a little, he might give you some freedom or even let you go. Maybe if you pretend to submit, he might give you time before he ... before he ...

You can't think about it. Don't think about it!

Releasing your head, he takes your chin and brushes the hair out of your eyes. His gaze has turned dark. His lips are slightly swollen and pink. His horns are so close you can see what appears to be veins of a lighter colour running through the rest of the bone.

Bone. A monster. You're going to be raped by a monster!

He stares at you and you stare back.

'Kiss me,' he breathes.

You don't respond, unable to respond.

'Kiss me,' he repeats.

You can't move, glued to the bed. With a growl, he mashes his mouth against yours. He wants to use his tongue this time. It slides across your bottom lip. Just before it enters you, you squeeze your lips shut.

He withdraws with another growl, his bottom lip pulling back like a dog's, revealing those terrible canines again. Only this time he's not smiling. You scream as he pounces, pinning you to the bed. He's straddling you, his knees buried in the sheets on either side of your hips, his big fists wrapped around your wrists. His hair dangles in your face.

'It's pointless to resist,' he says in a voice more wolf's than a man's.

He leans in again, this time pressing his mouth to your breast.

'Stop!' you cry.

He swirls his tongue. He sucks your nipple. Then he engulfs your breast entirely.

'Get off! Get off!'

Focused on his pleasure, he loosens his grip enough that you manage to slide out your hands. You grab onto his horns in an attempt to thrust him away but his head is so heavy, and he's too damn strong. You pull and yank and push but it does nothing. All he does is move onto your other breast.

You fall back in defeat, still gripping his horns. He's sucking loudly. His wet mouth is hot. Against your will, a not unpleasant burning sensation starts to seep through your body. You gasp. Your hips give an involuntary buck. What's happening to you? Stop it. Stop him!

You try to shout, you try to scream, but all that comes out of you is a moan. Your eyelids flutter. Thrusting up your breasts, you pull him down by the horns so he can suck you even more deeply.

It's repulsive. You're repulsive. He's a kidnapper. A rapist. A monster. You disgust yourself. This isn't right. This is foul!

How many other women might he have done this to? Maybe their bones are stacked up in a cupboard somewhere or buried in the castle's foundations. Maybe he wears their skins for clothes. Who else has owned a castle and murdered people? Vlad the Impaler. And he was human! He was real.

This isn't real. It can't be real. He's not a monster. Maybe he's just a disgusting man with a huge ego. Those horns can't be real. Those eyes ...

Plenty of people have had surgery. That's it. It's all fake. He's just a man. He's just a stupid man who's taken his fantasies too far. A big man and an ugly one. Don't be afraid of him. Don't listen to him!

Don't let him take you for a fool.

A jumble of thoughts and feelings and emotions makes the room spin. It's hard to make sense of anything, of what to believe and what to deny. You shout 'Stop!' again as you slide out a leg from between his knees. You kick out hard, connecting with the only soft part about him.

He jerks away with a sharp suck of breath, throwing his head back as he clutches at himself. For a moment you can't help but stare at him in horror. With his canines bared, his horns upraised, his massive red body gleaming against the firelight, tensed and bulging with muscle, how can he be anything but a monster?

You escape from the bed, only to trip over the sheets and fall in a heap to the floor. The monster doesn't notice, spluttering and gasping in the middle of the bed, still clutching at himself.

Your first instinct is to race to the door but quickly change your mind; instead, you race over to the fireplace. You pick up the iron poker and turn back to the bed.

The monster is quiet now but you can see the strain in his muscular back. He's tensed up like a bow—and it's not from the pain. Now you start to panic. What have you done? You should have stuck with your plan. You shouldn't have made him angry. Now he's going to make you pay. What are you against someone like him? He could tear out your throat. He could rip you apart in his bare hands.

You don't like how quiet he is. You really don't like it.

He turns his head. You go cold as what little courage you have suddenly extinguishes. Flinging yourself behind the couch, you grip the poker so hard your knuckles ache.

What do you do now? You bite back a cry as you hear him leave the bed. You heart pounds at the sound of his footsteps. His breathing is ragged, and you can tell he's not walking right.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you hunker to the floor in a foetal position, gripping the poker in both your hands now. It's the only thing you have between yourself and probable death, as useless as it likely is. Aside from his strength, remember his leathery skin?

He's standing at the chair. You can feel it like a tingle down your spine. All the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. In your mind's eye you can see him gripping the back of the chair, glaring down on you, his face filled with rage, his horns the size of a bull's, his canines as big as a tiger's.

What's he going to do?

He walks away. That's what he does. You can't believe it. Are you hearing right? Surely it's just your imagination. He must still be there. He's trying to trick you! No. There's the sound of the door opening. He's going away!

You release a shuddering breath. The door slams shut, and you sag into a blubbering heap, weeping and clutching at the poker like you're never going to let it go.