Jala and the Beast

It didn't matter. Only Jala could save him. If she could not have what she desired most, then she would settle for that. With effort, she returned her mind to the present. She closed her eyes and knelt, hands on her thighs, breathing slow but steady. As she exhaled she released her tensions and fear. As she inhaled, she drew in the spirit of the land.

Jala did not have the second sight, not truly, but her masters had taught her that everyone had a third eye that could sense things just beyond sight, and a soul that could commune with the spirits. She allowed her muscles to relax, only maintaining enough tension to remain upright. She felt the land as it rose under her feet, heard the sound of the trees drawing up water from the depths, tasted the cool clouds far above, and touched the searing heat of the magma far below the sleeping mountain. And then she felt the beast.

The beast was awake. That was not a good sign. Feral ones were supposed to be less intelligent, less active. They preferred to come out at night, and then only to hunt and to breed. But this one was awake, and alert, and prowling. He was not moving recklessly, but softly, quietly, on the other side of the mountain. He was miles away, but he would easily be near the Druid's house by nightfall.

By midnight, when the lunatic rage was truly upon him, he could be in the valley below. That must not happen.

Jala's eyes fluttered open. Tored stood a respectful distance away, eyes placid, a bag over his shoulder, and a small vial in his hand. The bag clinked as he set it down, revealing the ceramics within. He handed Jala the vial.

"This is the potion that I described to you. It will grant you endurance and make you heal faster. It will last perhaps a few hours, and you will be tired afterwards."

"Thank you," Jala said, setting it in front of her.

Tored went through the bag and drew forth a few small clay pots, sealed with cork and wax.

"These are unguents that will make you more...appealing, to the beast."

Jala laughed.

"Perfume for a shifter? What do they smell like? Blood?"

Tored smiled back.

"They themselves have little scent. They will amplify yours. This beast knows you, yes? He will come to you?"

Jala felt the heat rise to her face. Why did the old man have to be so...so direct?

"Yes. I think he will. Unless he's forgotten about me."

"I doubt that he has. You did not come all this way for a mere acquaintance."

"No."

"Very good. I think he will come to you, and then we will see. There is one more matter which we must discuss. The beast is more active than I expected."

Jala merely nodded. Tored continued.

"I thought that this could wait until the next lunar cycle, but...should you fail. I will have to stop him from entering the valley. I will try to ward him away without hurting him, but...should needs must, I will kill him."

Jala stood up, all peace gone from her heart, closing with the old man, who did not flinch.

"You forbade me from hunting him yesterday! You said he was under your protection! And now you are saying you will kill him?"

"He is," Tored agreed. "As is the village, below. I promised the beast that he would have safety as long as he was no danger to the village, and he made me promise that should that change, that I would slay him. I will be quick and merciful, assuming that he does not kill me first."

Jala closed her eyes and calmed herself, with effort.

"Yes. Of course he would ask you to do that. He would never want to hurt anyone. He is...was a good man."

"Perhaps he will be again, young one. Don't despair. I will stay back and give you time to do what you must, but I will not...directly observe."

Jala chuckled as Tored turned around rather stiffly and walked back to his hut. At least she would have privacy when she died. Jala began to strip.

The cool air on her bare skin both woke her up and brought her senses into sharp focus. She opened the small pots and warmed the sticky ointment in her hands , then she began to apply it to herself. First her arms and then her legs. Then her sides and as much of her back and rear as she could reach. Then her neck and breasts and belly. It wasn't unpleasant, although she wasn't used to the lotions that the burghers' wives or noblewomen might wear. She considered the many scars, small and large, that she had picked up over the past few years of her service. If anything, the Wardens had been exciting. They had, unintentionally, prepared her for this.

Jala caught her own scent then, that of her body, and that of her arousal. Despite all of it, the fear for both herself and Rurik, she felt a deep anticipation at their reunion. The danger didn't matter. Jala dressed herself, but not in her full clothing. Only in her underthings, cotton shirt, and deer hide pants. She thought that maybe the latter were a little pointless but she felt ridiculous being half-naked in the wilderness.

Jala took the small vial with her, but left her sword and bow as she strode with what she hoped was confidence further into the wood. Even in the middle of the wild, she wanted privacy for their meeting. She wished that she had the time and the letters to leave a note for Rurik, in case she did not make it but he did. She supposed that Tored would tell him how much she cared for him, should it come to it.

Finally, Jala found a large flat outcropping of rock, still warm from the late day sun, even in the twilight. She sat on it, cross-legged, and strangely relaxed. There was nothing to do now but wait.

* * *

Jala had closed her eyes and entered what her master had called 'the waking dream'. Far from its exotic name, it was simply a technique to gain rest while still remaining aware and, to an extent, awake. It gave her time to do something that she did not enjoy much in recent days: think and remember.

Jala had visited her home village first. She had a sack of silver which would have served as the dowry to any burgher or knight's daughter, much less the son of a carpenter, even a very skilled one. She looked forward to demonstrating to both Rurik's father and mother that she was worthy of their son, that she had made a life for herself, and that she was a good match.

Before she had arrived, Jala's concerns were all very mundane. What if he had fallen in love with another? Years had passed. It would be understandable. What if he simply wasn't interested in her. She was no longer youthful and fresh, and had many scars marring her body. And that was to say nothing of how she compared to the women that she had met at inns all over the frontier, who seemed to be overflowing out of their dresses. Jala was compact, athletic, and spry. Rurik was great and strong and gentle, and in her mind he would have his pick of the village women. Still, she had told him her intent, and if he had waited, then perhaps there would be a chance. Neither had vowed chastity to each other, although Jala had avoided all romantic and sexual entanglements. There simply wasn't enough time in the Wardens, and who wanted such drama when your life hung in the balance? Not her, in any case.

Still, in the long lonely nights where she would camp alone on the side of the hill, she always ended up using her agile fingers to bring herself to one orgasm after the other, with only one man on her mind.

The horror that Jala felt when she arrived home was something that she could never forget. Rurik was gone, and maybe he was beyond rescue. The signs had all been there. Haela had simply not wished to see them, and she passed suddenly of the fever before Rurik truly started the Change.

First, Rurik had the dreams of fear and passion, then the blood sickness, then the inexplicable mornings where he would find himself in the woods, and finally the transformation itself. Jala had learned a little about such things in the Wardens, and had interrogated Rurik's father about them when she had returned home to find Rurik himself missing. Andan, for his part, had shared the scrolls of Rurik's grandmother, the wolf-priests, and that had filled in most of the rest of the details.

The village did not understand what had happened. All that they truly understood was that their livestock had died and Rurik vanished soon after. They blamed angry spirits,

Jala wondered, idly, what manner of beast he was. She supposed that it did not matter much. She would prefer that he not be part serpent or bird, but she would still undergo the rite in any case.

Jala was well past the point of pretending that she would do anything else. And there he was. Not within physical sight, but within the gaze of her third eye. The great beast that made the whole mountain tremble was approaching, tracking her scent. He was accelerating as he came closer, growing more excited. She found her own breathing speed up, and not out of fear.

Yes, she thought, come to me, my love. If we can't have it any other way then let this be our wedding. This bride needs neither garland nor temple and her groom requires no escort or ring. She smiled, despite her own cynicism at the thought. At last, after so many years, she would see him. No matter his form, he would still be hers.

Jala looked around, and saw that the moment had come. Twilight had just tipped from day to dark, and the moon was visible rising over the peak itself.

Jala stood, unstoppered the vial, and drank the druid's potion in one swift gulp. She winced. It was bitter and somehow sweet at the same time, and the smell was acrid. Her stomach roiled in rebellion for a moment, but then stopped. She felt warmth spreading through her limbs, and a tingle that joined with what was already present. She felt a sudden ache, a need to be filled. She wondered if the potion was an aphrodisiac as well.

Then again, Jala had suppressed her desire for so long. They had been inconvenient for her in the performance of her duties. Though her feelings for Rurik had helped her through some difficult spots, her need for him had been impossible at the time, so she had put it away. Now, even in this moment of fear, that need was coming back full force.

Jala stretched briefly, readied herself and waited. She knew the direction he would be approaching from, and now, unaided by special Warden techniques, she could hear the chatter of frightened and angry birds, as well as the snapping of twigs and...much larger branches. It was coming.

He was coming.

Jala stood motionless on the gentle slope amongst the swaying pines. The night had fallen, but the light of the moon rendered everything easily visible to her well-adjusted eyes. Upslope, she saw the ground-squirrels running for cover. Even a deer bounded straight at her, but she did not move, and the doe went around her to the left. Jala was not something to fear that night. Not when the beast was running.

And finally, after years, there he was. Jala's breath caught. It was not fear but love that did it. Terrible, unfulfilled, and sorrowful love. She did not want to die but far more than that she wanted Rurik to live. She felt her calm demeanor shake, first at gut-wrenching emotions that she felt upon seeing him, and secondly at the awe of him.

Rurik, for even in her mind she could no longer think of him as an 'it' or 'the beast', stood huge. As a man he was well over six foot but in this hybrid-form, he was easily ten feet tall, his head brushing the low branches of the pines. No one would mistake him for an animal, any more than they would a man. He stood straight and walked on two legs, if a bit hunched over. His fur was deep, rich brown, and as he approached Jala could see the wind ruffle it. She wondered if it would be rough or soft. His ears protruded from the top of his head but the outline was not sharp. His fur outlined his muzzle, no longer man-like, but still somewhat stubby compared to what she had expected. Most unnaturally, his eyes gleamed a deep red. And then there were his claws. Easily inches long at the end of still-functional hands, they were terrifying, black, and straight as the sword that Jala normally carried. A part of her wished that she had it now, although her voice of reason told her that such a thing, a toy really, would be of no use against Rurik. Only as he began to stride towards her did his gait trigger an understanding of what he truly was. It was a mix of his normal walk and...

Of course he would be a bear. Great and strong and capable of vast destruction, yet also protective and gentle. Nothing else would have fit Rurik. Jala smiled despite her fear. He was magnificent. And then she saw the rest of him.

Rurik was close now, she'd let him get far too close in her shock and love and terror. Between his legs swung something that, to Jala, looked far more like a weapon than an instrument of pleasure and creation. She almost laughed out loud. How on earth would she, a virgin who knew much about hunting and killing and wood craft but almost nothing about sex, take something that size inside of her? It was impossible? It was folly. It was terrifying.

Right up until that moment that she saw him, Jala wasn't truly sure what she would do. She had some ideas. She'd read someHaela's old scrolls, and they gave her some general advice, but there wasn't truly a ritual. She thought she might first try and calm him, perhaps sing to him. As silly as it sounded now, Rurik had always loved her voice.

When she saw him, hunched over as he was, eyes and fangs gleaming in the moonlight, great breath huffing steam, she knew only one option. So, at last, even as Rurik could almost reach out and touch her, she turned and fled.

Although she was not panicked, Jala was afraid. She had become friends with her fear, and it had saved her life before. Now, she channeled it, drove it into her. She ran to escape death, but she also ran to attract it.

Jala was short but she was sure-footed, fleet of leg, and more agile than anyone she had yet met. She bounded over a fallen log and then ducked under some brush. She ran up onto a rock ledge, and then leapt ten feet down, rolling and springing to her feet naturally and smoothly as a river running its course. She ran almost as fast as the deer that had passed her less than a minute prior.

It did not matter.

Behind her, the storm of crashing and snapping branches and brush told her that her love was giving chase, and he was not bothering to leap or jump. He did not need to. He only had to move forward. The world would either get out of his way, or it would break.

Still, Jala ran. At first out of fear but now something different possessed her. She knew, beyond any doubt, that Rurik would catch her. But he was her mate. She was certain of it. She would die to prove it. So she would run, because what could be better foreplay for the kind of love she sought?

Jala hoped that, even in the animal cunning that she had seen residing in the eyes of the beast, that there would be a touch of recognition. She thought that there had been, but she couldn't be sure. She knew, however, that the one thing a true predator like him could not resist was the chase, either for prey or for a mate. And wasn't she both, in the end?

In the end, her speed and will and agility wasn't enough. Jala heard him closing on her, could even smell his breath. She turned hard to the left, and he struggled to follow. Jala smiled as she heard him roar in frustration, back-claws digging for purchase into the earth, battling the momentum of his own huge form. But her victory was short lived. Without warning, he was upon her.

It wasn't like being tackled by a man. Jala had grappled, been punched, kicked, slashed, clubbed, and even stabbed, and this was still a unique experience. It was as though the mountain itself had tired of her games, and fallen upon her. Rurik crashed into her, chest and legs impacting her back and riding her into the ground. Contrary to her expectations, when Jala recovered from the shock of the impact, she found his arm around her, keeping her from falling. She was suspended against his chest.

No, it was not an arm. It was his hand. One hand, splayed out, almost covered the entirety of her torso, crushed her breasts, almost drove the breath from her lungs, pinning her to his own lower belly. And there, between her legs, protruding was the largest cock she had ever seen. Were her goal to truly escape, she would have attacked him there, knowing that, despite his size, that would probably be his weak point. But her goal was not that, and with her one free arm she reached down, stretched, and her fingers brushed against it.

It was so hot that Jala almost jerked her hand back, and Rurik, for his part, emitted a groaning growl that rumbled deep from his chest and shook her body. This was for her, Jala realized truly. Because of her. Rurik did not just want a mate, he wanted his Jala, as she had wanted him. Despite the situation, Jala was grateful.

This would be their mating day, even if it was her last.

Then Jala was falling, suddenly released. She caught herself easily on her hands and knees and rolled over smoothly, looking up at Rurik and pushing away from him instinctively, but not trying to rise. No, she was caught. The chase was over. Now it was time for her to be bred.

Rurik loomed over her, then stepped forward and dropped to his knees. For a moment, he hesitated, and Jala could see that something warred behind his gleaming red eyes. The man and the beast were fighting, she realized. For once, she hoped the beast would win. It did.

Rurik reached down and wrapped his hands around her waist, easily encircling it. Then, with ludicrous ease, he lifted her towards his cock, intending to simply impale her on it swiftly. Quickly, almost frantically, Jala spread herself as widely as possible while reaching down to grasp his cock-head and aim it in the correct direction. Rurik did not stop but when her small hand touched him, he growled. Jala was wet and swollen and ached for him, an almost-painful need. She was as ready as she could possibly be. Finally, he was at her entrance, and then...

Jala yelped. It was one thing to imagine laying with Rurik, as she had many times in her life. In some of her fantasies, she had even provoked the normally gentle man into pushing her down and fucking her roughly. This was beyond anything that she could have imagined. She felt stretched to her limit, close to being broken, and only his head had entered her.

"Gods, please!" Jala cried out, understanding that she was begging not to be hurt but also begging for more. Needing more of him. Rurik may have slowed down slightly, but he kept on going still, pushing himself inside of her. It felt like her whole body was changing simply to accommodate this huge invader.

Rurik stood and lifted her up, easily. He was, shockingly, supporting her back, although Jala still had to lift her head up to see him. She forced herself to relax internally as much as possible, sensing that were she tight when he started moving...and then he did.

Jala had heard other women talking fondly about being taken by their lovers, but this was something else. Rurik thrust inside of her, each stroke long and shaking her small form. She could hear him grunting with the effort, and somehow that aroused her further, to hear such noises. He used her, moving her back and forth on his cock like a little doll, a toy. It was terrifying, and Jala's whole body already ached, but still, it was what she wanted. If he finished with her, whether she lived or died, he would be man again. He would be in control.

"Yes...yes...please...please fuck me," she said. "Breed me..."

Jala did not expect the words to have any effect on Rurik, but to her surprise, he had some understanding. He increased the tempo, groaned with the effort, his great hands squeezing her body, the slick wet noises of their lovemaking the only other sound she could hear. Something built suddenly within her, and to her surprise, she came, harder than she had ever before on her fingers, harder than she had ever imagined.