Unnatural Instinct: Blood Run

You're not home!

Walls made of branches and animal hide. A roof made of thatch. One side of the shelter has no wall, opening onto a small, bubbling stream. You're somewhere high up and the vastness of the forest is stretched out below you.

You quickly snatch up the pelts with a shriek, covering your nakedness. He's staring at you, that monstrous male who kidnapped you. He's crouched before a small, smoking fire, poking a stick at a slab of meat hissing and steaming on a flat rock. You remember it now—how he snatched you right from your bed. You remember Annie screaming as he carried you away.

It is an increasingly uncommon but not a rare occurrence. Despite the village's defences, the more desperate males generally discover a way inside, snagging the nearest fertile female they can find. You wrinkle your nose; you'd been menstruating heavily that night. He probably smelled you from miles away.

Your stomach stabs with hunger again. Frowning, you stare at the sizzling meat. You no longer eat meat. None of those in the village do. You've evolved beyond that. Your stomach turns at the sight of the dead rabbit hanging from the roof. It's strung up by a rope tied around its little ankles. It slowly turns, revealing a great gash in its belly and its empty insides. You swallow down a surge of vomit. It slowly turns some more, showing its back. The sight of its fluffy tail brings tears to your eyes.

'How can you do that?' you say. 'How can you just murder something like that?'

No response. Using his stick, he flips over the meat. You look away in disgust, but your mouth waters and you turn back. He picks up the hot meat in his fingers and drops it onto a piece of wood he's smoothed into a board. Next, he grabs up a sharp knife from a string of netted bags hanging down the wall. The blade is made of some kind of bone or tooth. Lowering your face, you surreptitiously study the netted bags and their contents through your curtain of matted hair. There are several knives: some big, some small. All sharp.

From there, he begins sawing through the meat. Blood weeps into the wood and you look away again, only to watch him from the corner of your eye. The muscles in his arms bulge so much. Your muscles don't do that. They're like little hills, wreathed in veins. His thighs are big too, corded and tense as he crouches. He's turned at an angle slightly away from you, concealing his intimate parts, which you're grateful for.

Finished with his task, he slumps onto his arse and drops a chunk into his mouth, chewing with his mouth open. A second follows soon after, which he chews with gusto. You can't help but get the feeling he's teasing you. You lick your lips. Your stomach groans. If that's what he's really doing—it's working. He picks up a third.

Finally, you can't take anymore. 'Can I have some?'

He pauses as he dangles the third chunk of flesh over his mouth. A bead of blood trickles down his fingers and around his wrist. Lowering his face, he holds it out to you, his dark eyes bright beneath his thick eyebrows. Blood and grease make the hair around his lips glint in the sunlight.

Holding the pelts tightly against you, you stand into a half-crouch (the shelter is low) and shuffle over. You're still wearing your shoes and they're still sopping wet, squelching at every footstep. You stop just within reach of his arm and no more. Snatching it from him, you hastily return to the bedding. He licks the trickle of blood from his wrist as he watches you eat.

It's tough and leathery and its bloody stink fills your sinuses, but you're too hungry to care. When you're done, you lick the grease from your hand. You look again at the rest of the meat he's cooked, only partially sated. He watches you, waiting.

You stand again and make your way over. He's not holding it out to you now, so you will have to get up close. Just out of his reach, you pause uncertainly, watching him as he watches you. You reach out your hand. 'Give me another.'

He doesn't move.

'Give me another, please, I'm hungry.'

Silence.

His legs are crossed. His hands lie limp in his lap. There's his mass of hair between his legs but his manhood appears to be tucked away. He's sweaty and dirty and the smell of him makes you wrinkle your nose. There's a streak of blood down his right side. For a moment you wonder how he's hurt himself—you don't remember seeing the blood yesterday—until you suddenly realise: it's not from him, it's from you.

It's day two of your period, one of your heaviest days, and he'd been carrying you over his shoulder without underwear or a sanitary pad for some time. Even now you can feel the pressure in your hips. You can feel the warm, wetness between your thighs. The pelts are probably streaked with it. If they are, it doesn't seem to bother him as he continues to watch you closely, slouched over his lap, ropes of hair dangling in front of his face. To all outward appearances he looks relaxed, far from someone prepared to attack.

Your jaw set, you lower your arm. Danger, danger, rings in your head, but you're so hungry you need to take the risk. Besides, he already has you. If he wants you, he'll take you whether you eat or not.

And he does want you. You can see it in the little quirk in the corner of his mouth. For a moment, he looks surprisingly intelligent.

You try to be quick but his reflexes are astonishing; you shriek as his hand whips out like a snake and seizes your wrist. The next thing you know he's dragging you along the ground like you're something tasty he's caught and is about to devour.

God help you.

5.

Screaming, you twist and thrash in his grip but he's astonishingly strong. With a final heave, he deposits you back in the pelts. Dropping to his knees, he straddles your hips. And for the first time that morning you see his long, hard manhood in all its sickening glory. It looks so huge the muscles in your hips clench painfully.

Screaming and pleading, you throw your head from side to side as you flail your fists against his chest. Inevitably your feeble defence does nothing to deter him from his task. He's just too damn big.

First he pins your right wrist to the ground, then your left, before leaning over you to snuffle at your face. His long dirty hair tickles your forehead. You shiver in revulsion as he breathes against the nape of your neck with his rabbit-murdering breath.

Closing your eyes, you turn your head away. You feel him pull back. He releases your left wrist. Swiftly, you rear up and punch him hard in the face. Pain burns through your fingers as your fist slams into his jaw. He jerks his head back with a roar. You yank your right arm free from his grasp and almost manage to scramble away, until he grabs you around your waist and throws you onto your belly. How you hate this position! Now what can you do?

'Don't!' he grunts.

You freeze. There it is again. That word. He did say it. He does know! 'Let me go!'

'No.'

You try to kick him, but it's almost impossible in your position, and he pins your ankle down easily. He crawls over you until he straddles you again, knees on either side of your backside as he presses down on your shoulders so you can hardly move. You wince, feeling the hard heat of his erection sitting along the length of your crack. It feels worse than it looks.

'No,' he repeats. 'Calm.'

'Calm!' you exclaim. You turn your head, straining your neck as you try to look at him. 'You want me to be calm? Are you nuts?!'

'Calm,' he says more quietly, dragging a warm, broad hand down your back. He growls softly as he reaches your backside. Pressing his hands against your round, fleshy cheeks, he emits a second growl.

'What are you doing?' you say helplessly, your voice muffled against the pelts as your heart thuds in your chest.

He smooths his hands around your hips.

'What are you doing?!'

In one quick motion, he hoists your arse up into the air. With a gasp, you straighten into a kneeling position but he shoves you back onto all fours again. Like an animal. Like a dog. Gripping your hips painfully tight, he shoves your thighs open wider. You're confused and terrified and all you can think about is that giant, wagging log between his legs. This is it. He's going to put it into you. He's going to put it into you!

But this isn't right, you think to yourself, as you begin to shake violently. You still have three more days! Everyone says they don't try to mate with you until you're ready to be impregnated. Then again, who's to say one male thinks like the next? This is the wild. There are no rules.

The muscles in your back and hips clench tightly as you brace yourself for the agony. Your breath hisses between your teeth as he repositions himself behind you, only to feel the last thing you expect. You jerk against him with a cry: his tongue again—soft and wet and smooth—right along your slit, just like the last time.

Startled, you shout, 'Stop it!' as you straighten into a kneeling position and twist around to face him. With an impatient snarl, he rears up and shoves you back down again.

Back between your legs, he licks you again and you lurch forward with a shriek. Gripping your hips more tightly, he presses his face in deeper and continues, and all you can do is let him. Your arms tremble and your heart thunders madly as you burn; burn between your legs and up along your spine until the heat of it feels your cheeks. Even your nipples feel like they're on fire.

You gasp and lurch, gasp and lurch, and each time you do he tightens his grip and licks you harder. He keeps startling you as he explores you all over: along the thighs, down your slit, deep inside. And you suddenly realise that he's not licking you—he's lapping at you. Your blood. He's lapping up your blood. Just as the thought turns your stomach, you feel a thrill of sensation; your body tingles, then electrifies. And soon you no longer resist him—nor the pleasure of it: spreading your thighs wider, resting low on your arms so he can access you more easily. You continue to tremble but for different reasons. You no longer shriek or protest. Except for the sound of your gasping breaths, you become very quiet.

He, on the other hand, is noisy, as though he's enjoying it: grunting, growling and smacking his lips. Finally, until you think there can't be any more of your blood left, he pulls away. You stay as you are, unable to look at him: embarrassed, terrified, disgusted—at yourself. Both at once you pray he's finished and hope he hasn't.

With a light push, he makes you roll over. Sprawling on your back, your knees up, your thighs wide, you stare at him in a daze. His beard is wet, his breathing ragged. Your eyes lock with his glinting hazel gaze as he licks his lips. Then he dives between your legs again.

You should fight. You should fight him! He's released you now. He's in a vulnerable position. You can do something! But all you do is moan and open your thighs wider until they rest flat against the pelts. Staring up at the thatch ceiling, heart slamming against your ribs, body burning like it's on fire, you let him lick you clean.

When he's finally done, he lurches to his feet and, half bent over, makes his way to the little stream. Crouching before it, he begins washing his face, dragging his fingers through the matted knots of his beard and hair. As you watch him, you're not sure what to feel or think. Somehow he doesn't look so mean anymore, nor so frightening. Even that thing between his legs doesn't fill you with such dread as it once did, though it's never looked so big.

The other kidnapped women have never spoken about this. All they've ever spoken about is the horror and pain and humiliation. Are you experiencing something different? Something unique? Is this man-beast different from the others? You begin to wonder as you watch him bathe, as you watch his muscles tighten and relax at each little movement. His hazel eyes are bright.

Were they lying? Are they truly frightened of these male predators, or more frightened of themselves?

You can understand that. You're frightened too.

You wonder ...

6.

You're panting. Your breasts are heaving. Your hands rest up by your head, limp and useless. Even though he's done with you, your body continues to burn. Water splashes as he washes himself. The fire sputters. The smell of the rabbit flesh fills your nostrils, tightening your belly with hunger pangs.

What the hell just happened? What the hell have you done? You're no human, you're an animal, just like he is.

Soon, he's done washing and your thoughts slowly coalesce from a fuzzy haze into something that makes sense, and that's when you suddenly realise that you're still completely naked with your thighs wide open. He can see everything. You feel the rush of the warm morning air cooling his saliva. Quickly, you snap your legs shut and roll over as he returns to the fire, sitting on his heels as he stokes it back to life.

Pulling a pelt over yourself, you sit up. Though he's openly staring at you, you can't look him back in the eye. Clutching at the pelt, you lower your gaze to your lap. You don't know what to say. You don't know what to think. All you know is fear and disgust. It tightens a knot in your stomach. The smell of the rabbit's flesh starts to make you feel sick.

Clearly, he knows nothing of your conflict, holding out another chunk of meat with a grunt.

You shake your head. 'No.'

He grunts again.

'I said, no!'

Your voice echoes through the little shelter. He narrows his eyes and you swivel around so your back is facing him. You hang your head, thinking of Annie, your family and friends. Never before have you hated yourself so much. If they could see you now ...

You hear him moving behind you and you suck in a breath, jerking away, as he rests a hand on your shoulder. 'Go away!'

With another grunt, he rests his hand on you again.

'Leave me alone!' Twisting around, you shove him away and scramble to the back of the shelter.

He's frowning, crouched amid the pelts. He stares at you and you look back into your lap, your hair dangling in front of your face in long, twisting ropes. He growls. You lift your eyes, looking at him through your hair. He's baring his teeth in a snarl. He looks wild and deranged—like a hungry wolf. Your heart begins to pound.

He's always so quick. You stagger to your feet but he's already snatched at your wrist and yanking you back to the fire before you know what to do. You clutch at the pelt desperately as it slips from your body. Pushing down on your shoulders, he makes you sit. Next, he thrusts the board of meat towards you with a grunt. You look away. He snorts. You continue to look away, staring at the netting of knives hanging from the wall. He grabs your knee and you kick out your leg, connecting with his shin. With a growl, he gets to his feet, snatches up an empty dish and leaves the little shelter. Further up the stream, where the water rushes fast and fresh, he fills the bowl.

Returning, he pushes it into your hands. Head bowed over it, you stare at it. Giving another snarl, he tugs at your hair.

'Hey!' you cry, reeling back. He sits in front of you, so close your knees touch, waiting. 'You can't make me do what I don't want to do.'

You toss the dish at him, and he knocks it away before it can hit him in the face. Gritting his teeth, he clenches his fists in his lap. That's it for him. With a snarl, he grabs your arm and drags you to your feet as he stands. You fight him with all you have, kicking and scratching and biting while clutching fruitlessly at your pelt. He hardly notices as he pulls you to the stream.

'Don't!' you cry.

He shoves you into it and you shriek as you fall to your arse. The water is icy. He yanks away the now soaking pelt and you wrap your arms around your breasts. He pulls them away as he pushes you back into the water so that you're lying flat on your back.

'Don't!' you scream. It's so cold! You sit up. He shoves you back. You sit up. He shoves you back. 'Goddamn it, stop it!'

Sit. Shove. Sit. Shove. You shriek and cry as he continues with his stupid game. Soon, you've had enough and you stay down in the icy water, panting. Your body turns numb. Your teeth begin to chatter. Tears of frustration streak down your cheeks. And you realise that you're beginning to hate him. The fear is almost gone, replaced by a rage that bubbles furiously in the pit of your stomach. It isn't fair that simply by sheer strength he has the power to control you. What creator or god decided that was such a good idea?

He's crouched in front of you, no doubt prepared to push you back again if he has to. What's he going to do? What's his intention? To have you freeze to death? You turn your face away, hating the sight of him.

After several more moments, he finally straightens. 'Up,' he says.

'Why?' you say without looking at him. 'So you can just push me back down again?'

'Up.'

You purse you lips. Of course you want to get out of the water, but you hate the thought that it's only because he's letting you.

You sit up and you stare at each other. Icy water drips down your back from the ends of your hair. Something hard, probably a rock, juts into your backside. You look down at your naked body in humiliation. Your nipples are tight little knots from the cold. The hairs in your private region float in the water. Goose bumps ravage your now very cold, very pale skin. Before yesterday, nobody had ever seen your body, only your mother when you were a child. What does he think gives him the right?

You look back up at him. 'I hate you.' No wonder your female ancestors decided to split from their male counterparts centuries before. Why wouldn't they if they were treated like this?

He holds out his hand, offering to help you up, as though he doesn't notice your fury. 'Up.'

You glare up at him. Ignoring his hand, you roll over and push yourself to your feet, stumbling to catch your balance, your body numb. He reaches out to help.

'Don't touch me!' you snarl, slapping his hand away.

He takes a step back, his jaw clamped tightly shut. Narrowing his eyes, he twists his mouth. He nods at the shelter. 'Eat.'

'No.' You fold your arms.

His eyes flash. He nods at the shelter. 'Eat.' Then nods at the stream. 'Cold.'

You frown. 'What?'

He nods at the shelter again. 'Eat.' Then nods at the stream. 'Cold.'

He does this several times before you finally understand what he means. The fury surges from your belly and into your throat. You hiss at him between gritted teeth.

Eat or cold. Either eat or go back into the cold water. In other words: Do as I say or suffer the consequences.

You suddenly realise how wrong you are about him and how right the women from your village are.

He's got you cornered and there's nothing you can do about it.

7.

'You're a mongrel,' you snap. 'You're all mongrels! The stories are right about you!'

Turning away from him, you stomp back to the shelter. You attempt to grab up a pelt to cover your nakedness, but he stops you with another 'No'.

You turn on him. 'I'm going to dry myself off.'

He doesn't argue as you do exactly that, turning around for the tiniest bit of dignity you can salvage. When you're done, you drape the pelt around your body and turn to your shoes—or what's left of them. They've not had a chance to dry and the shoelaces are impossible to untie. Sitting down, you wrench them off. The socks you peel off. You wriggle your wrinkled toes in relief. You didn't realise how much your feet were aching. Making sure the pelt's safely in place, you stand and turn. You're about to sit down to eat—prepared to do what he says—when he stops you with another 'No'.

Your nostrils flare. 'You might be content to sit naked like an animal but I am not.'