Unnatural Instinct: Blood Run

The growling intensifies from both of them until it echoes in the silence. They're like a couple of bears preparing to kill each other. The growling turns to snarling. One of the smaller trees ahead where your mate remains concealed tilts, then bends. Its leaves rustle. There comes a loud crack! Then the tree straightens again.

The growling and snarling continues. The man-beast behind you exits the shelter, hunched over, his hands clawed in front of him as he snarls at the trees. He looks more like an animal than a man now, with his disgusting hair and bulging muscles and snarling face. His manhood stands like a log between his legs. You pull back into the corner of the shelter, not knowing what to do. Then, finally, he reveals himself.

You give a little cry at the sight of him. It's like you haven't seen him in years. Compared to the beast who's kidnapped you, he looks so ... human. His warm hazel gaze seeks you out. His eyebrows lower over his eyes and he frowns. You want to cry. He's worried about you. He's come to save you. And it's more than just because you're a female. You're more than just an orifice to implant his seed into.

So much more.

You clutch at your throat as it swells with tears. There are so many things you suddenly want to say, even if he won't understand. Your body aches to be in his arms again.

As he turns his attention back to his opponent, his eyes flash with fury. His frown turns to a snarl. He's gripping a thick branch covered in sticks and leaves. So that's where the loud crack! had come from. He's snapped it off from the tilting tree.

Definitely more than a stupid beast. He's come prepared.

Your wild kidnapper growls at his weapon. He doesn't seem to be afraid of it. Perhaps he's too stupid or too fearless. His size probably gives him more confidence than it should. Your heart leaps with hope—and fear. What if the branch isn't enough? What if he gets hurt?

What if he ... dies?

There's no more time to worry because they're suddenly upon each other, roaring and bellowing and snarling. You scream as they clash, turning away just as your mate swings the branch and the man-beast counters with his fists. Huddling amid the hides, you hear thuds and whines and more roars. The shelter shudders as one of them falls against it. You quickly scuttle into the opposite corner. It's the older man-beast. His nose gushes blood. He staggers and lurches, gripping at his side. Something yellow and hard is poking out of the top of his shoulder. It takes you several moments before you realise that it's bone. Your mate appears uninjured, his branch spattered with blood.

The man-beast shakes his head, at first growling, then whining as he slumps to his knees not far from where you're hiding. With a snarl, your mate lifts the branch.

'No!' you cry.

The branch comes down right on his head, again and again and again until blood spatters your mate's face and chest. You turn away too late as his opponent's head squashes like a desiccated pumpkin beneath his strike. You hear his body hit the ground with a heavy thud, then grunting and sputtering as he slowly dies.

Apparently, he's not dying fast enough. You look back with a choke as your mate continues with his attack, pulverising his flesh. His teeth are bared. His eyes are bright. He continues to growl and snarl. He's no longer angry—he's enjoying himself. You watch in horror as the spattering blood turns thick and gluggy. It wets the ends of his hair and drips from his beard.

You duck with a cry, covering your head with your arms, as some of it flies towards you.

That's it. You've had enough. Your mind seems to separate from your body as you flee the shelter. Your pumping legs are out of your control as you race through the trees. You have no idea where you're going. All you know is that you have to get away. Your bare feet burn against the sharp forest floor, but you hardly notice the pain. All you can think of is how wild he looks, how furious and out of control.

He's no animal. He's certainly no human.

He's a monster.

20.

You slow to a walk, the pain in your feet quickly catching up with your racing mind. The trees crowd around you as you stagger and lurch, tears pouring down your cheeks. You swipe them away, angry at yourself. You shouldn't be crying. You should be running!

Your feet slap through puddles. Leaves shower you in water as you push through branches. The forest is eerily quiet, the monkeys doubtless taking shelter against the spitting rain. Your hair is plastered to your head. Your skin is covered in goose bumps. Now that the panic has worn off, you can feel the air's icy chill burrowing into your muscles.

You turn with a gasp at the sound of a snapping stick. You freeze, listening hard for several moments, but whatever it is, it isn't what was once your mate.

What was once your mate. You bite your lip tearfully.

It doesn't ease your fear. You know he's going to find you, just like every time before. Perhaps you should take a leaf out of his book. You try to snap off a branch but any that's thick enough to be useful as a weapon withstands your strength. It doesn't help that your muscles have seized up and your fingers are numb.

You look around you, unwilling to give up, before finally picking up a large, heavy rock. You shiver as you look over your shoulder, recalling the shocking incident. Despite all he's done to you, you didn't think him capable of such a thing. He's killed his own kind. He is a murderer! And you can't help but wonder as you gaze down at your rock: Could you really do the same thing to him? You are the same species, after all. You must have that same violent streak in some deep, dark place you've never dared explore. If you've learned anything over the past few days, it's that you're more similar to his kind than you've ever thought possible.

You remember how you licked him. You remember how you stroked and touched him and ached to have him inside you.

You turn your face away, trying to forget. The rock weighs down your arms and you quickly realise that it's much too heavy to be of any real use. So you replace it with one that fits into your hand. It's jagged on one side. You stroke its sharp tip with your thumb.

The rain has started to clear by the time he catches up with you. Like before, you sense him before you hear him. Your skin prickles. Your heart lurches. You turn around.

And there he is, watching you between the leaves. He steps towards you, revealing himself fully. He's still blood-spattered, made worse by the rain. Red water drips from his nose and trickles down his abdomen. Clots of it even stick to the hair of his groin.

You step away, hiding the rock behind your back. 'You stay away from me.'

He frowns. 'Cold.'

You're shivering, your teeth chattering, but it's not from the cold. 'No.'

He looks you up and down. 'Hurt?'

'No. How—' you lick your lips '—how could you do that?'

His frown deepens as he pulls his fingers through his wet beard. 'Help.'

'You didn't have to kill him! What is ... what is wrong with you?'

He shakes his head. Holding out his hands, he takes a step towards you.

'Stop!'

He doesn't listen.

'Stop! Or I'll ...' You raise the jagged rock. 'Don't come any closer.'

He pauses his approach, looking at the rock, then at you as he lowers his arms. You're breathing heavily and your hand is so numb you hardly feel the rock at all.

His eyebrows lower over his gaze. He shakes his head as he pounds his fist to his chest. 'Love.'

'No.'

'Help.' He points at you.

You shake your head, taking another step back. 'You're a ... you're a monster! You didn't need to do that. You didn't need to kill him.'

Shaking his head again, he takes another step towards you. Then another.

'Stop,' you say, thrusting out your empty hand. Your mind tells you to swing the rock, but your arm remains frozen in the air. 'Stop,' you mumble as he continues with his approach. The rock slips from your limp fingers. 'Stop,' you whisper as he takes you in his arms.

What is wrong with you? Fight him. Fight him. It's no use; all you do is sag. He holds you against him, your hips pressed up against his as your back arches over his arm. You're completely flaccid as he holds you up with his astonishing strength. You stare up into the canopy as he lowers his face into your breasts. With a little whine that fills your eyes with tears, he rubs himself against them.

You grab at his head, knotting your fingers in his hair as you will yourself to yank him away, only to fail, simply holding him as he begins lapping at your nipples. You gasp as he wraps his mouth around your right breast.

You're sticky. You're wet. You're hot. Your heart pounds but no longer in fear.

What's wrong with you? All thought has fled. You can't move. When he picks you up, you don't resist, lying uselessly in his arms as you gaze up at him. Blood drips from his beard but it doesn't disgust you. More trickles down his arms from the ends of his hair but you think nothing of it. You try to recall why you ought to hate him.

Nothing. Your mind is blank. All you know is the burning between your legs and the warmth in your chest. Something's happening. Who are you? Where are you? How did you get here?

Does it matter? You touch his chest, curling your fingers through his hairs. He lowers his face to look at you and his hazel eyes have never seemed so bright. Those little gold flecks almost seem to sparkle. He speaks to you. And for the first time you can understand him. His grunts and growls, once so empty and animalistic, suddenly start to make sense.

You're safe with him. He's telling you not to fear. It's so startling a tear trickles down your cheek.

The rain starts to ease. By the time you reach the shelter, the sun is drifting brightly between the clouds. After easing you back to your feet he turns to the little stream and starts washing himself off. You watch him for a while, feeling numb, then eventually turn your eyes to the rest of the scene. You blink. Everything seems so different, like you're experiencing it all though somebody else's senses. You can see things, smell things, hear things; things that you've never noticed before. There are so many smells on the air. You can smell yourself. You can smell him. You look above at the sound of flapping wings, only to see empty sky, the birds high up and hidden behind the clouds.

Impossible.

You look down at your feet and twist them in the grass. The ground is wet and yet it has never felt so warm. It seems to vibrate through your soles: earthworms, grubs, ants—you can feel their rapid, busy movements. The ground vibrates harder again against the thudding of his footsteps. It seems so impossibly loud in your ears.

You lift your face to his. 'What's happening to me?' You clutch at your throat. Your voice doesn't sound right. It doesn't sound like yours at all. And the words—though they make sense in your brain, seem so queer and are hard to understand out loud.

He grunts: Don't be afraid.

You tighten your hand around your throat as you grunt back: I'm so afraid.

Smiling, he pulls you into his arms.

21.

You grunt and growl, trying to snap your legs shut, but he doesn't listen. The other male didn't rape you, he doesn't need to investigate, but it seems he needs to know for sure.

Thrusting your legs back open, he presses his nose to your groin. You twitch with a little giggle at the tickle of hot air as he sniffs at you. Gently, he pushes his finger inside you, then pulls it back out. He sniffs at it, squints, then pops it in his mouth. The wrinkles in his forehead relax.

'Told you,' you say.

But he's not done yet. Grabbing you around the hips, he flips you over and starts sniffing through your hair, down your back and along the crack of your arse. He spreads you open, then releases you with a grunt.

He pulls away and you roll onto your back.

You have a headache. It thuds behind your eyes. You're still numb and in a daze as you try your best to take it all in. Nothing makes sense anymore. The world seems so different. You're so different.

What's happened to cause such a sudden shift? Is it from the trauma of your almost rape? Is it from the horror of seeing such a terrible death? Or is it simply because you've spent so much time with him it's only inevitable that something has finally switched in your brain?

You're not you anymore. You're someone or something else.

Now that it's stopped raining, he returns to marking his territory. You watch him, studying the big muscles in his shoulders and the graceful arch in his back; the tight cheeks of his arse. The backs of his thighs are hard and taut. He's so strong-looking that you bet he could run down almost anything. As he turns, your eyes fall to his penis: the way he holds it, the way it looks in his hands. For reasons you can't understand, your mouth starts to water and your cheeks start to ache.

He gives it a final shake as he finishes with his task. He turns in surprise at the sound of a growl.

It takes you several moments before you realise it's you. You're growling. It doesn't shock you. It doesn't even concern you. How you suddenly know how to do it, you don't know. It doesn't matter. Nothing much matters anymore except what you want.

And you want him.

Your headache is gone. You're far from dazed, focused now. Your fingers curl into claws as you bare your teeth. The hair on your arms and legs stand up. Your growling deepens as he makes his approach. He's no longer flaccid between the legs. As he walks, it flicks from side to side, growing longer and thicker at every footstep. His eyes are bright. His mouth pulls into a half-snarl, half-grin.

Now he's growling too. Just like he and the other male had done earlier, you growl at each other. But this is not the same. This is something very different.

He joins you in the shelter. His wet hair sticks to his shoulders. His teeth are white between his snarling lips. The muscles in his abdomen tighten as he drops to his knees in front of you. When he reaches out, you swipe his hand away. When he reaches out again, you shove him against the chest. You're willing but he has to work for it. No more just lying there placidly with your legs spread open.

He lashes out for your arm and this time you're not quick enough. He grips your wrist tightly, so tightly you snarl in pain. You strike out with your other hand, clawing at his cheek. You draw blood. It doesn't faze him. All it does is turn his eyes brighter. With a roar, he snatches at your other wrist and throws you onto your back, pinning you to the ground. Then he's crawling over you. You thrash your head from side to side, growling and snarling but otherwise don't make any real move to stop him.

He weighs you down with his body. Releasing one of your wrists, he takes your chin. As you look into his eyes, the human part of you raises her head. You touch his cheek where you scratched him and give a small whine. Taking your hand, he licks at your palm. You giggle, then whine, then giggle again. He leans in close and soon you're lapping at each other's faces, then in each other's mouths.

As he shifts his groin against yours, you open your thighs. This is it. No more resisting. No more fear or confusion. That part of you is long gone.

Trust me, he growls.

The hard hot tip of his manhood nudges against your opening. He's having difficulty finding his way. As he grabs hold of himself to direct it better, you grab a hold of him too. Slowly, you ease him inside together. You hiss through gritted teeth at the sharp stab of pain. He growls back. Releasing him, you flatten yourself into the pelts as he continues to push his way inside. You wince. You grunt. You arch your back. The pain only worsens as he swells bigger and pushes deeper.

Finally there's no more of you or him left. He grabs your head, looking into your eyes. 'Hurt?' he says.

You nod.

With a whine, he nuzzles at your neck. Then he begins to rock, pushing his way even deeper inside you. Pushing. Withdrawing. Pushing. Withdrawing. At each thrust you grunt and wince. Grabbing onto his arse, you claw your nails hard into his cheeks. In some dangerous part of your soul, you want him to hurt the way you're hurting. He doesn't notice. So you turn to his ear.

He jerks back his head with a growl, but when he sees the pain in your face, lowers his head back down, letting you gnaw at him.

He thrusts harder, you gnaw harder, until you're both grunting and growling and snarling in both pain and pleasure. He's close to the end now. You know because there's another sharp sting as he fills you up completely. He jerks, grunts, slams his hips against you.

Then it's over. With a groan, he gives a full-body shudder. You even feel it inside you, a wild pulsing that makes you gasp in surprise.

Panting, elbows braced against the ground, he looks down at you. His lips are all twisted up. A big vein throbs in the middle of his forehead. Blood drips down the side of his neck from his mauled ear.

The pain slowly eases and you begin to relax. You gaze back up at him.

'Good,' he says.

'Good,' you say back, reaching up to drag your fingers through his beard.

Smiling, he leans in to nuzzle your ear. You're still connected. You can still feel him inside you but not for long. Like an uncoiling rope, he simply falls out of you. His seed follows in a warm, wet gush. When you look down at each other, you're both glistening with your blood.

With a little whine, he pulls down between your legs.

22.

'You don't have to—' you begin.

But he's already started. You gasp, spreading your thighs wide as he laps at you. You groan as he steadily licks you clean. You're still burning from his penetration and it's an easy thing to stimulate you again despite the lingering pain.

He pulls back onto his knees, his hands on his thighs, to take a breath. Thinking he's done, you sit up, but he pushes you back down again. Before you can do anything more, you shriek in surprise as he lifts your arse up from the pelts and hooks your legs over his shoulders.

What is he doing?!

Arching your neck, you cry as he presses his entire mouth against you. And there he laps and sucks and tickles that little nub of skin above your opening, sending waves of hot, rippling pleasure through the entire length of your body. Not knowing what to do with your hands, you claw them in the pelts, holding on as he lifts you higher. You gasp as he penetrates you deeper, swirling and kissing and jabbing out with his tongue.

You're making a strange noise in the back of your throat. It's not quite whining, it's not quite growling, but something in between. You stare up at the roof. It's spinning again. You're spinning. The whole world is spinning. Closing your eyes, you tighten your fists in the pelts, tightening them and tightening them until your nails bite right through the material and into your palms.

You give a little scream as you spasm against his mouth, the walls of your channel contracting around his tongue. Finally, he releases you, easing your arse back into the furs as he smacks his lips. Gripping at your throat, you revel in that wonderful throbbing feeling you're steadily becoming accustomed to. Exhausted and thoroughly pleasured, you lie sprawled on your back.

Crawling out of the shelter, he then stands. You watch in a daze as he walks over to the stream to wash himself off, his face pink and sticky with your blood, his half-erect shaft swaying between his legs. He looks content, a small smile on his face, as he crouches down to splash the water through his hair.

Join him, you think to yourself. Old mud is still caked against your skin from being dragged along the ground by his now dead opponent. You could really do with a wash. But you can't move. It's almost as though that throbbing, burning centre of you keeps you anchored to the spot. Bizarrely, a tear trickles down you cheek. So this is going to be your life now: late mornings and late nights, mating and frolicking and enjoying each other's bodies.