Warped Weaves (closed)

[sombrablanca]

The low lying fog is a frequent companion to the land. The river's flow constantly adds moisture to the air, so every morning there it is. However, the tall shadow that moves through it is not. The soft clank and clop, the jingle of metal now and again that all war clad chargers make has never rung across the hollow before. The glint off gleaming platemail is dulled by the light absorbing precipitation, that moves slowly but surely through the morass has never gleamed in the warm afternoon light of the lowland afternoon.The Northmen have never traveled this far south before.

This day however, a form emerges. First an onyx armored head, ears flicking a bit, nostrils flaring as the Northerner's steed steps forward. Then the top half of the tall half seen form is revealed. Full onyx platemail, engraved with protective runes, and crafted by the finest smiths of his kingdom , covers the arms and body of the rider, hiding his features from any who might look upon him from the feet in the stirrups, to the hand on the reins and the other at his side, resting against the pommel of his war axe, to the helm that covers his features, the horns sprouting like a dragon's not just for show. The blinding, deafening fog would hide the presence of predators, making both rider and horse a bit skittish, on edge, and ready for a fight.

However, all they see on the other side of the barrier is a shaded lane. The figure notices that as he moves, there is nary a breeze, or sound of animal. It is unnatural, keeping him even more wary. He proceeds down the lane, noting the fruit fields to either side. All seem to be in season, though he knows several should not be. Further he sees fields, and what appears to be life, a few men working in a field. Yet they do not respond to his presence. As he gets closer he notices they aren't moving, frozen in the act of tending the crop. He thinks back to the prophesy given him. It seems he finally nears his journey's end. He spurs his mount on with a small nudge to the flanks, galloping through a few small houses and out buildings, perhaps a village? The regal figure continues, the many blades and spikes adorning his armor gleaming as the sun slowly rises.

The figure only pauses when a small castle comes into sight, the drawbridge down, but the portcullis as well. He regards the bars blocking his path, then makes a soft, growling, almost snarling incantation that forces the portcullis to rise. He does not see the flash and spark of magic behind him as he passes under the arch into the castle proper. The Chief's heir has finally found the place promised to lift his curse.

 

[atenai]

The castle is deserted. Shadows are all that lingers, darkening aged stone blocks that form a passageway through the massive outer wall and into the main courtyard of the keep. Not a sound, natural or otherwise, echoes in the air. No bird is flying in visible range, no rat scurries in a corner. Nothing stirs, even the wind avoids the place.

So it surprises the motionless maiden locked in the tower when a breeze playfully tugs a curled strand of coppery brown hair across her forehead to lightly bump her nose. Am I dreaming, or...? I can't possibly be awake... last time was... was... It is hard to remember, but she seemed to be in the same room, lying on the same bed, locked in the same paralysis that was her waking life now. Time had passed, for certain. Elena had memories of a "Before" time that she hastily tried not to think about, but she somehow knew it had been many years of comatose slumber since she even opened her eyes last; and she feared many years more had disappeared while she lingered in endless nightmares, seeking always a way out, a miracle that might bring her out of the wretched darkness that had haunted her since...

Stop thinking about him, dammit, Ellie!

From the bed that had become bower and coffer both, Elena widens her eyes and gazes far to her right at a thin slit of a window through which she could only see a finger-width of sky, but it was blue. And cloudless. Day, and a beautiful one, it seems. I wonder if a bird flew in, and that woke me? It's never happened before, but that's not to say it couldn't... She wanted to laugh at herself. As if anything had to happen. No wizened old man with an odd talisman had chanted a spell so that her eyes would open. Perhaps the same span had passed, as had passed between the last she opened her eyes and the time before that. It could be she simply slumbered for weeks instead of hours. For what do I know of curses? she wailed mentally.

 

[sombrablanca]

Valen dismounts after crossing into the front of courtyard again since neither seeing nor sensing anything alive alive around the main building, or in the small outbuildings either, on his short ride around the castle's outer walls. He unsheathes his hand and a half sword with his left hand while a large square shield with his clan's crest, a black Sea Dragon twined around a crimson rose, the flower most prevalent in his homeland, slides over his right arm.

He approaches the main door cautiously. This has been far too easy thus far. He knows something has to be coming. So when three hummingbirds zip up over the wall on the sudden cool gust and into the top most point of the western tower, he is even more on edge, shield coming up to just below his eyes. They almost immediately fly out again though, and go nowhere near him. They could still be messengers though, and as he approaches the main door, he feels the hint of a shadow of something, but can not place it, and this is the only way in. He has no other option but to reach out and shove his plated hand against the solid oak. He knows it was a mistake as soon as he touches the timesmoothed slab, but he can't move the hand back. A howl suddenly rips from his throat, filling the castle with the feral sound. It is pure, unadulterated hunger. Blood, mating, fighting, everything primal. His Curse rises, filling his body with heat, a burning need so strong it nearly blots away his mind, summoned by the pull of the extremely potent life draining spell on the door. He barely holds onto his sanity though. His other fist slams into the door, trying to get himself out of the situation. He causes the thick marble around it to crack, and stone dust sifts to the floor, but the door holds and the feral need burns stronger.

His breathing is ragged, strained, off kilter. His armor is suddenly too tight. It feels too hot as his blood rages through his body, an instant, painfully hard erection throbbing in time with his rapidly beating heart and the hunger it mirrors. This goes on for what feels like an eternity, but could be no more than thirty seconds. His muscles clench, veins throbbing at his temple as the Beast rises up to protect its Host, itself. For once it is helping him, but Valen still fights to hold it back, not Change. His will lasts just long enough. As retractable claws begin to extend from his fingertips the door itself crumbles as the ward that infused it, one strong enough to kill any normal man, draws and draws upon that hunger, then implodes when it overloads, gorged on too much "life", unable to take any more. He takes a few moments to recover, dropping to one knee, panting raggedly. Were a female nearby, she'd almost certainly be ravish, despite potential dangers. Any foe showing its face would have its throat ripped out, Valen's fatigue forgotten as the threat was acquired. The air remains quiet and still though, allowing him a moment's rest.

He gets up, slipping quietly through the castle. There are no people here, unlike the small village and fields. The globes of magical illumination are dim, though they slowly begin to brighten as he prowls about, looking for foes or anything out of the ordinary. He sees nothing as his plate whispers with his movements. The runes deaden the sound as the onyx shifts with his body.

The library, kitchen, cellar, four bedrooms, a bath area, and the other things to generally be found in a manor castle are as plainly ordinary though he thinks he may see a few spell tomes on the library shelves. He works his way up the building slowly, methodically searching. He has little information at this point. All he knows is that his fate lies within this manor grounds, whatever it will be.

 

[atenai]

The empty keep seems lonely, almost eager to bring magical illumination to bear on his progress, as a chance to do something, anything. Whatever the Ward had been on the door, it had kept all from entering until now, and the castle was almost desperate for a tiny slice of life.

All the furnishings suggested that people had once lived here, and that those people had not packed up and moved, they were simply missing. Wardrobes stood with doors open to reveal fancy gowns in every color of the rainbow. Armoires contained enough clothing for three generations of minor nobility all living in the same mansion, but not a sign suggested the people remained here. What had brought him here, if there were no one around? Or perhaps, was he too late? Had some terrible tragedy befallen the manor's residents, tied to the Ward on the door? Whatever the history, this place had magic woven around it and through it, and it responded to his presence.

In the tower room that contained some few bookshelves and a comfortable armchair--once it had been a study of sorts--the maiden heard a howl and shuddered inwardly, though there was no sign of bodily movement. Has this curse allowed me to wake in time to be devoured by hungry beasts? That wouldn't surprise me... She couldn't move, so all she had were her thoughts. No one has ever disturbed my rest, but how would wolves get inside if someone had not opened the gate? She assumed there was a gate, anyway. This appeared to be a castle, so she imagined the lord's keep back home and assumed there would be a gate. Or a drawbridge. Some kind of protection for the castle's owner.

But I've never seen an owner, either, she reluctantly admitted to herself. If the castle is abandoned, no doubt this was inevitable. At least my Curse would be finished. But even as she thought it, something inside herself rebelled. Damn, Ellie, don't you dare! You dare wish for death when he fought so hard to save you? You disrespect his memory. Maybe you don't deserve him after all. A tiny noise like a swallowed grunt came from her throat, and immediately her eyes were wide open.

That was me, wasn't it? Could the spell actually be weakening after all this time? Emerald green eyes open, the would-have-been princess looked like a life-like statue of ivory, save that her hair moved in the breeze, when the wind was kind enough to tease across her flawless skin. And no one dressed a statue in an embroidered gown of something soft and pliant. The ivory dress lay in folds about her still body, paper-thin slippers of the same fabric on her feet, all dressed up and ready to be given to the man of her dreams. If only...

 

[sombrablanca]

He saves the tower that the hummingbirds flew around for last, even though he has a sneaking suspicion that what he seeks is there. It almost feels like he is watched everywhere he goes. He feels the thrum of the manor's interwoven enchantments. Most at least don't feel bad. The feeling truly is one of intrigue, and even welcome, which feels distinctly weird since its door tried to drain the life from him. He searches methodically, carefully scouring everything he sees for potential danger, but finding none.

Eventually he finds the well fortified door of the tower's study. He pushes at it with the tip of his rune-inscribed blade, wary of further surprises. His steps are slow, measured, and muffled by his own enchantments, but he is still a few hundred pounds of weaponry, armor, and flesh in what essentially is a giant megaphone, each step faintly carried to the top as he ascends what seem to be far too many stairs. As he passes a well placed arrow slit, he looks out over the fields. He is surprised to find that near the end of his sight the land becomes completely shrouded in mist. It had not seemed nearly so bad when he entered it. He also notes the position of the sun. He only has a short time before the Beast comes into its own once more, uncontrollable at its time, the dark hours when primal urges rule.

He is surprised to find himself in a very dim openfloorplan study at the top of the tower, the steps winding their way up around the outside edge in a way that would screw most righthanded attackers. He, luckily, is a lefty, but that appears to be a mootpoint since he sees nothing threatening. The only real light comes in from 3 equidistant arrow slits, and the balls of magelight still coming into existence. He doesn't even find anything intriguing, until his menacing form swivels just a bit, gaze locking on the ephemeral beauty. His sword and shield rise, but the fact she is perfectly still resisters. At first he thinks her a statue, but why would a statue be so intricate, detailed. His voice, a bass growl that has been known to send frissons of excitement down the spines of the women of his homeland and of fear through his foes, rings out clearly in the room.

 

[atenai]

I'm not dreaming, those were footsteps! The thought sings through Elena's conscious mind, cutting across her depressed train of thought instantly. Perhaps it was a hunting dog I heard? That was stretching, and even she knew it. Please, oh please, let me be able to speak! Oh ye gods, do not make me miss this chance! But whether the gods or the witch heard her, not a sound escapes the maid's form. The breeze does move her hair again, perhaps a natural attempt at softening this meeting. It's as if the wind wants to point out, 'See? This is no statue.' Coppery brown curls were dressed in a style that emphasized the curling nature of her long hair, with gold ribbons pinned in place to keep the hairstyle defying gravity that bit longer. Ivory skin that has not seen the sun for more than a century carries both the pallor of death and the slight flush of life, a contradictory indication, to be sure.

Elena doesn't realize that an outsider can't see her eyes appear to move, or even tell that they are open. She appears as one merely sleeping, eyes closed and hands folded primly across her abdomen, where an embroidered sash depicts her lineage using heraldic images and common crests interwoven into the story of her life. If only this man were from her homeland, he might be able to read it, rather than admire only the beautiful needlework. Her eyes seek his face, unaware that he would not be able to tell she could see him. It has yet to occur to her that being under a Curse might make her appear differently than her own reality.

A thrill runs through Elena when she hears him growl, butterflies awakening in her stomach, suddenly less certain even as she is somehow intrigued by the stranger. If he is my rescuer, what instinct would make him growl at me like an animal? Am I... is something wrong with me? Did the witch leave me here with some thought fouler still in her wicked mind? Am I to die at the hands of a madman? Once more her thoughts began spiralling in a darker direction, torn between being pleased that someone had come and fear that her nightmares were trespassing upon her waking moments now. Did she leave a fell beast here against the chance a brave knight might some day rescue me? Perhaps it was not... no, it's no use making up stories to lie away the truth. It was he, and he alone that growled at me. I only wish I could ask him to tell me what thought or emotion prompted such a reaction.

 

[sombrablanca]

His voice subsides as he masters the hunger the beauty of her form interacting with the nearness of the Beast to the surface. The growl was a bit of a slip, the feral hunger in it unintended, though as he started to check it, he thought it might be a good wake up call. Far safer than approaching. He has not used his voice to speak in what seems like ages. He makes a slightly louder sound, but her features still show no change. He clears his throat, the growl seeming not to have gotten the female's attention, despite the fact that the slow rise and fall of her chest shows she is alive. The errant breeze makes her long beautiful hair dance, pull his eyes to it, make him think how it would feel tangled in his hands. He yanks his haze down a bit, returning to her young looking face. "Miss?" The short word is hard to differentiate from the growl in some ways, his voice naturally being such in his normal speech, especially garbled coming from the lowered visor of the full helmet that completed the hulking mountain of armor.

He slowly advances, shield still raised as his sword snakes out, the flat smacking softly against her calf, even barely nudging her with its tip to cause just a moment's pain. When she still fails to rouse, he takes the tip and carefully pokes her exposed ankle with the tip. It shouldn't even be enough to break skin, just get her awake. He immediately steps back, ready for hell to rise. It is anticlimactic when her breathing continues but nothing else. She could be pretending, but he is starting to think she is no threat. Perhaps this is part of his trial.

He moves back a moment, thinking what he should do while hoping she awakens. He thinks for several minutes, then figures, what the hell? His armor did not seem to make sure, and there are things he just cannot learn while encased in armor, standing over double arms length away from her. He strips a gauntlet, his worn, rough, sun darkened skin exposed as he steps back to her side once more. His hand moves to hover over her nose and mouth til he feels her breath. His hand then moves lover over her body, feeling for the pulse at her throat then moving to rest nearly across her left breast. It is like the touch of a medic, making sure that his other senses tell the same tale as his eyes. He barely resists the urge to let his hand slide up, cup the full mound, knead and pinch and roll her nipples between his overly eager fingertips. Instead he restricts himself to the feel of her heart beat, her lungs making her chest rise and fall. He tries very hard not to think about things like that, or how soft and smooth her throat is in contrast to his own calloused mitts, let alone how it seems his hand fits around it perfectly. Since she is the only person, so it seems at least, in the castle, hes almost certain he needs to wake her. Somehow.

 

[atenai]

Elena doesn't understand the reaction to her pleading green eyes at first. He even speaks, a rough sound that could be a variant of 'Mistress' if she concentrated on the sound of the word. Of course my rescuer and I would not speak each others' language perfectly. Has she contrived to ruin even a rescue for me? Of course she would.

She watches his eyes rove her figure, but is totally thrown off when he smacks her with his sword. Her eyes widen at him (as far as she is aware), trying to convey that yes, she can tell he's there... Oh. He can't tell I'm awake. He might not even--OW! The maiden was shocked that he would prick her with his sword, but even as her anger flares, her reason comes up with excuses to combat it. If I were to enter a castle so obviously under a spell, would I trust my own eyes either?

This was a problem she has never considered. How do I... explain... myself, if I can't even make my life known? His tanned hand comes towards her and she wonders what he is about. She feels the draft as she breathes, and she could have sighed in relief as she realizes that he was searching for signs of life. Her breath, her pulse... she can feel her cheeks warming when his fingertips caress the smooth skin at her neck, but her heart nearly skips a beat when he rests his hand on her chest. He's got a lot of nerve, her thoughts say angrily while a lone butterfly flaps in her stomach, whispering, He's the first to touch me like that. And it's not... altogether unpleasant. If only he dared be more... daring.

But reason overrides butterflies and anger both. Enough silliness. What am I supposed to do now?

The heartbeat beneath his hand might have changed in the brief instant he touched her, just maybe. But her skin had more normal color now, so at least she did not appear the sickly pale of death. But for all the desire in the maid to somehow convey her awareness to her first ever companion, it seems that he is not going to have any brains to pick but his own.

 

[sombrablanca]

There is life. It feels faint. There are sigils and spells that try to hide the fact, make it seem she is but a statue all of ivory, covered in the dust of a century of time passed, like much of the rest of the castle. Yet his Cursed senses, his own affinity for magic, and the enchantments of his gear, allow him to -faintly- feel her breath, her heartbeat as he brushes the fine layer away from her solar plexus and chest, seeing if something faint hides behind the hiding layer. He is only sure it is not his imagination, and it is not hair attached to a statue that catches his eyes, when he feels a single rise and fall of her chest, like her heart tried to leap into his palm for just a moment. He notes the paleness slowly beginning to fade from her body. It is nearly imperceptible, but her rosy cheeks give it away a bit. The faintest pale pink blush has brightened a bit in his sight, and his Sight.

He steps back, sheathing his blade across his back, then slinging the tower shield across it as he paces. He never could sit still when thinking. Besides, that allows his to scan outside as well, though nothing has changed any more. The birds reanimating just fill the air with their song. He alternates looking outside with staring at her, the bed, the floor. Her aura almost suggests one held in a coma, covered in illusion spells. There is no obvious circle of power though. While ornate, her clothes do not bear sigils or runes. The sash is clearly a lineage, one that appears quite intriguing if he reads the images right. They are in a style he has never scene, but one that feels a bit familiar anyway. Something here is odd, but there is not a blatant solution. She is not a statue as she appears. That he is certain of. There is obviously magic at work. She is obviously who he is here for. She is the only thing in the place that seems to be alive.

He removes the helmet, his shaggy hair tumbling down in the braid he keeps it in when he must fight. His stormy eyes roam her body. He cannot hide the simmering lust her lush form incites in him, yet his expression also shows fierce thought and concentration. His voice is low, but just audible as he circles her. "Okay, so unknown magic of some sort. She can't feel anything it seems, isn't conscious? Nothing obvious jumps out. No school of magic immediately comes to mind, but it could be tied to any of several. Ma always said when you don't have a clue, look to the tales. Clover doesn't grow in this area. I am a thousand kira from the nearest Hoodoo priestess."

"It might not even be a person? It could be a construct. Perhaps like a Golem or automaton? Perhaps an arcane library? That just doesn't -feel- right... Though, it probably is most likely. The places feels like it has been deserted for centuries. Hmm. Centuries...? The children's tale! No... It cannot be that simple. Could a kiss truly be all that was needed to awaken a woman? If she even is a real woman... No... There was more to it. It was not even -just- a kiss. Damn, now I wish I hadn't asked Thorn to tell more tales about Dragonriders. Well, there is nothing else I can think to do..."

He pauses near her head and shoulders, hungry eyes locked on lips that seem eminently kissable, especially as color slowly continues to seep into them. "It is worth a try. What is the worst that can happen? If by some miracle it works, she might slap me... Probably won't work anyway. Fae would bust me forever if she knew I was thinking about kissing a statue. Even of a woman this beautiful." He tries not to think about the tales of creatures who suck the soul and life from a man via a kiss as he leans down, the calloused bare hand's thumb tip brushing the "dust" away from her lips before moving away. The Beast's interest and certainty he'd dominate any succubi easily helps overwhelm his reluctance. His lips meet hers as his eyes lock onto hers a bit warily, but with more intrigue and uncertainty, first very lightly, a whisper soft brush. All he notes in difference is the slightest softening of her lips against his over the few seconds it lasts. He is not even sure it is not just in his head.

He pulls back a hint. "Nothing. Though that might have been very nice...Thats what it was! You have to do it like you really meant it..." He leans in again, this time his eyelids drifting shut, rough hand cradling her cheek, his arm running down her side, in part to stabilize him, and in part because he has the urge to. His lips find hers more insistently, ignoring the fact his eyes insist she is stone. He kisses her as he would kiss a coy Mate in a Breeding frenzy, lips pressed hard to the seemingly unyielding flesh, moving back and for insistently nipping a bit, the tip of his tongue flicking along her lips to make her give in to her need and open her mouth for him, open her thighs for him.

 

[atenai]

Green eyes followed the knight--well, not exactly shining armor as she might've imagined, but still... a knight in gleaming armor. Elena doesn't know how much he can tell, and the waiting, every heartbeat that doesn't give her a sign, is worse than the years of frozen slumber. When he steps back and begins to pace, her eyes follow every step. She can hear birdsong outside for the first time that she can remember, and it makes her wonder. Has his presence changed something? Is the castle waking up, and I am next? Oh please, gods. Let it be so.

When "her" knight removed his helmet, she was pleasantly surprised and spent the next few moments with her eyes fixed on his face, wondering at every crease and wrinkle of unpleasant events traced into his countenance. And then he began speaking and she would have shouted with joy if she could. Not only could she understand him if she concentrated, his thoughts were moving in the right direction, at least. She knew little of magic, and while she knew what 'clover' was, she had no idea what Hoodoo was. If it was a type of priestess, it must be a strange god or goddess from far away. The more he spoke, the more relieved she was; their languages were not different at all, rather spoken a bit differently. Perhaps the gods had smiled on her after all.

Worry sprang up again when he continued thinking aloud. Not a person? I've no idea what he means with these words, but I don't like the sound of it. She focused all her willpower on him, wishing that she could influence him in some way, but knowing she could not. What tale? Indeed there has been no one here for a very long time... And then she felt heat flood her body. He meant to kiss her?

It seemed he did, for he came closer. The flutter of insecurity that ruled Elena's stomach was dismissed when he suggested she might slap him. She would've laughed and broken the spell just like that, if she could. He had a sense of humor, and she liked that. She would have to reassure him, if this worked... He thinks I'm beautiful? whispered crossed her mind. Elena didn't know what she looked like to him, but she was flattered anyway.

She couldn't focus on anything, all thoughts flying out of her head as his thumb brushed her lips just before he presses his lips to hers. She waited, hoping, but she could not tell if there were any changes. The biggest change would be if he could see her eyes were actually open, a dispelling of whatever illusion showed him naught.

Her knight pulls away, but almost immediately returns, hands reaching to touch her body as his lips firmly claimed hers, spells be damned. 'You have to do it like you really meant it...' echoed in her head.

He was rewarded with softening skin, a heated exhale as her lips split apart ever so slightly, and the flicker of soft lashes against his cheek as her eyes opened, the illusions around her falling away. Her quiet gasp as the tip of his tongue began trespassing in her mouth is audible enough to her ears for her to realize that it was working! She almost pulled back in shock, but the fire flooding her body from the way he touched her, the way he took a kiss with no courtly words, just fierce desire... she wanted to kiss him back, even not knowing how. Her lips pressed against his, lightly at first, then when she found she could move her head, a bit more firmly. Her eyes fluttered closed and she just drank in the kiss, letting him guide her.

Feeling was beginning to return to her body as Elena chose to return the kiss, spreading slowly from head down her arms, then her torso, then her legs. What had felt like stone suddenly gave way like living flesh. Having laid so still for so long, her muscles were not ready to obey her commands, but small tingles in her fingers and toes finally broke through her focus and made her pull back a tiny bit with a sigh of relief. She opened green eyes and smiled slowly, cheeks flushed with life and the desire her rescuer had awoken in the inexperienced young woman who did not know what it was that made her stomach shiver with anticipation. Her lips, trembling slightly, curved slowly into a smile as she caught her breath. "Hello," she said at last, feeling foolish for not thinking of something more memorable or worthy.

 

[sombrablanca]

He feels her warming against him first Then further softening. His exploration deepens, letting more of his hunger and passion flow from him into her, as he only notes a response once he has started to show the feral hungers within him. By the time her lips part, he is a bit lost within the kiss. Her lips are pliant, firm, full. The change of her skin is smooth and slow enough that his body is drawn in, not consciously noting at first, but his body does. The Beast does. Her scent begins to invade his nostrils. Soft, smooth skin greets his fingertips and palms. He instinctively presses in. She feels the hard, smooth, solid press of the armor against her softening chest, the increased warmth from his sundarkened, tanned skin, as close to bronzed as the "palefaces" of the North ever get. He hardens even more as the stone softens, his weight presses her globes in a bit before his arm catches and stops it.

He drinks in her gasp and parting lips. His tongue presses more insistently with each hint of softening, til he finds the tightly closed lips are opened, and his tongue is able to press into warmth and wetness. His tongue flicks over the smoothness of her teeth. She is obviously very inexperienced, but he can feel her willingness and rising passion. He feels the slight mobility her head gains, and revels in the fact she uses it to kiss him back. His hunger rises every moment that she presses up to him, as if needing, demanding more, yet letting him continue to control and guide the kiss. A small, hungry, feral growl meets her welcome of his conquering lips, teeth, and tongue. It is right that a female should respond in such a way to her claiming.

His eyes flash open, the stormy greys and blues of his orbs roiling like the darkest lightning storms. Her slight gasps. Her quickened breath. The trembling of her body. The deep flush of her lips and cheeks. The desire reflected in her eyes. These are the things that flash into his consciousness. They all seem to register individually and take his attention for a lifetime. These are the things his body has been noticing for several minutes, or so it insists, even if there has only been a few seconds since she broke the kiss. Attuned as thousands of years of evolution and the enhancements of the Beast has made him to certain things... He is unable to not know them, to not know what they mean. There is a -very- receptive female beneath him.

That might be why his face tightens, the growl hardening a bit when she pulls away. The hunger building in him is barely controllable at this point. He has allowed himself to relax his control. The Hunger has slipped upon him far further than he would normally have allowed. He had to if he was to do it as he meant it. His breathing is jagged, short pants that rush oxygen to his body. Adrenaline races through his from the combination of battle lust and the effect she is having on him all by herself. His pulse races, a veritable trip-hammer visible just beneath his jaw, as blood races through his own exposed jugular. He doesn't see she needs to catch her breath. He does not think about how being awakened by the kiss of a stranger might make you a bit shy. He is operating on instinct. The instinct he allowed to perceive her as coy, inHeat female.There is only one response for a female still being coy after that kiss, that claiming, however brief. He will show her what coy recalcitrant females get.

At first, he barely registers the hello. He sees her mouth move. He hears the sweetness of her voice, but it does not truly register that he has succeeded and should now back off. His hand slides down, locking onto her throat firmly, but gently. If he had claws, they'd be pressed just hard enough against her skin to show they could rip easily, but do not. The blatant strength of his large frame probably does similar. The scar across his face, the many lines and callouses of his hands, even the heavy armor, all show he has much strength and battle experience. Were he to desire to, in this position, he could crush her throat easily. Instead the fingertips rub in small circles, tightening just a hint every now and again. If she ever had a cat, she might recognize it as similar to kneading. The feral part of him notes it should make her fear spike just a bit, make her wonder what he might do. He does not even think to wonder why he might desire that. It just feels right. A female should know what the male above her is capable of, and that she is totally in his power, as, in a sense, he is in hers.

His lips swiftly crush against hers again. He swallows her hello, his tongue dancing along hers as the "o" flicks from the roof of her mouth. He kisses her hard enough, deep enough, that his teeth bruise her lips. There is no gentle start, no slow teasing invitation to open for him. He is taking and giving at the same time. He plunders her mouth with an almost vicious hunger. His gauntleted hand tangles in her hair as he finally gives in to the temptation. He only wishes he could feel its silky slide through his fingertips. He wants to -feel- it when he slams into her from behind, using her hair to give pain and pleasure, take control, have the pleasure of her arching just right and screaming for him all night long.

The ferocity of that that makes him realize just what he is doing. She spoke. She moved. He is damn near raping her mouth, even if she did seemed to be quite into it before, she pulled away. He pauses, freezing just a moment as the hunger and rationality clash. His eyes open, his lips soften a bit, tongue retreating. She tastes so fucking sweet. He just wants to drink her in forever, take her, mate her, breed her again and again, reveling as her belly swells again and again, but he finally realizes the fact that -only- her head and chest have moved, and he currently is not giving her much choice in what her head is doing. His eyes open, gaze intent upon her own even as the war rages within him, and shows in his eyes. The hand at the back of her head relaxes just enough her lips might break away from his if she so desires while the things that make him honorable, and feral instinct tug at his soul.

 

[atenai]

The slowly blossoming smile on the young maiden's face freezes when she sees his face harden, when she hears a bestial growl from his throat. What is he, that he makes such a noise? I know I cannot deny it now that I have heard it twice. Is he... is he even human? Her eyes widen when his hand grips her throat, fear replacing any desire for this man that had been so key in bringing tingling sensation back to her body. Her shoulders shake as she tenses, unable to pull away when grabbed by the throat and pressed into the unwelcoming pedestal that formed her bower.

Does he wish to kill me? The thought is unwelcome, especially now that she finds herself awakened once more. Before he arrived she was depressed enough to bemoan her fate and desire an end, but this, this was not what she wanted. His fingertips trace circles on her skin, but this only confuses Elena, not knowing if he were playing with her, like a cat plays with its dinner.

And then he plunders her mouth, taking as he pleases this time, whether she desires it or not. Pain from his teeth meeting her lips forces the last vestiges of pleasure from her system, and when his gauntleted hand moves, she begins to struggle. It doesn't matter that he is caressing her hair, or pulling her into a kiss, just the thought of a second hand added to the weight of the first scares Elena into action.

One hand tries to rise to pull his hand from her throat, muscles screaming at being forced to move. Tears well in her eyes as she tries to pull his hand away, her fingers so weak as to barely have the strength to curl around his, let alone to hold on or apply a counteracting force.

His eyes open, and meet hers. He relaxes slightly. Does he realize? she wonders as she presses herself against her bed, away from his hands, away from his lips, right hand still weakly pulling at his stranglehold. Why do his eyes fight so? A kiss she understood, she heard his thoughts as he debated the idea. But from one kiss to this... Elena's mind didn't even know how to attempt to reconcile the two. The closest she could come was that he desired to take his pleasure from her before he killed her, that he was some sort of assassin, another trick of the witch to raise Elena's hopes and bring them crashing down again.

There was only one thing she could say. "I beg thee, do not harm me..."

 

[sombrablanca]

Her terror breaks him free. This is no coy female. She is truly afraid of him. The smile is gone, as seem to be the things behind it that pushed. He immediately releases her, stepping back and away with fluidity and a speed one might not expect from one his size. For the first time, he wishes the Beast had found something to slake his lust in the night before. "I swear by the Three I mean you no harm. I was just trying to save you, and myself. I apologize miss. Even ...um... then... while..." He gestures. "before... Doing any permanent harm to you was the last thing on my mind. I did not mean to... I got lost in your scent, smell. the feel of... Well, ahem... I did not even truly register the hello at first. I was just trying to wake you. You were stone until I let some of the Hunger...The more I let go the more "alive" you came...?"

"I guess you probably don't care about the explanation. None of that matters. What does... is that I've scared you." He notes her bruised lips and curses himself silently before speaking again. "Possibly even hurt you? Which means you'd likely not want me to tend to you. Which, again, I am sorry about. That was never my intent. It has been a long time. I lost control. It shall not happen again. I guarantee safety from me. Doing harm to you is the last thing on my agenda. For one thing, I think I need you. So, if we might act like it never happened, or at least put it in the past..."

His words trip and stumble, his voice rough from disuse, but grow smoother with the return of his self control. His face has grown stonier throughout his speech, like the frozen tundra. The words come together a bit better as he regains his composure. The cold that begins emanating from him is nearly palpable, as the heat was before. He shuts that part of himself down completely, trying to salvage the situation if it is possible to do so. The ice of his homeland's blizzards fills his veins. Before his wall is totally up though, a small smile lights his face just a moment as he bows to her, showing a glimpse of what he might be like happy... though the only time he looks carefree these days is in his dreams, and rarely then. The roiling of his eyes has stopped by the time he speaks. They are clear, cold, and crisp as the dawn -after- such a storm, though sadly, a morning without the beauty and warmth of a rainbow.

"I return your greeting Miss." He indicates her sash, the lineage that marches down her chest. "I am Valen of the Northmen. I am Dragonson of the Clan of the Thorned Rose, descended of the Greatest Wyrms, the Dragons. If you-" He finally notes the fading light through the arrow slit just behind her. Searching the castle has taken his time. Waking her not only has not broken the Curse, the waking almost brought it fully out. He realizes finally at least partially why he slipped so fast. While watching her and thinking, the sun slipped further down the horizon than he would have thought possible. It is nearly dark He is close to a village and her, whom he has already terrified and assaulted. The Beast would not be swayed. He'd have just kept going until she realized it was what she truly needed, what she was meant for. "Fuuuck! No... I need more -time-! It's just my luck. This is not what was supposed to happen." His cold eyes glare at the setting sun a moment, as if trying to turn it back, before his gaze snaps back down to hers.

"Please, forgive my outbursts. You would not believe how hard it can be..." He shakes his head, knowing he must be quick and concise if he is to get far enough away fast enough. He has a feeling he might not even get out of the winding halls of the castle, but he will have to try. Even as he speaks the gauntlet and helm return to their places on his form. "I really must be going. Something really bad might be about to happen. If you wish it I shall leave provisions. There is a village nearby if you can get that far, but the castle seems to have full functionality. Water runs. The foods did not trip my amulet. If you wish, I shall return. If not...." He shrugs, his eyes somehow becoming lonelier, bleaker, colder. If not... he shall wander the rest of his days alone, traveling ever further south, so that his people never need fear his roaming. The Seers spoke of a single way, not of anything else. He can only pray now. "I understand."

 

[atenai]

The man stumbles over his words, but it doesn't matter at first. Scared, Elena doesn't understand him as well as she did while focused. His words are spoken differently, arranged differently, than she is used to. And when he doesn't even form simple sentences, her brain fights against any comprehension at all. No harm, he says. A tiny noise escapes her throat when he backs off, and it brings her back to the present, pushing away her fear of what might have happened a moment before. I spoke. He heard me, he said so. For all his attack, he did wake me. This alone saves him in her regard. Not enough to immediately place him in her good graces, but he won't be rejected by her entirely, either. What is this Hunger he speaks of? He makes it sound like he is some fresh-faced lad, caught up in his first kiss, but that doesn't fit him either.

In a different situation, his words might have brought pleasurable tingles to her body, but she had been too afraid of him moments ago to be able to dive right back into that level of desire. His apologies aren't going to make me forget his hand around my neck, she thought sullenly, but she got caught on the words 'I think I need you'. What could that possibly mean? He didn't say it like he meant, well... that he desired my body, though I should think the way he acted a moment ago... he must want that, too. Is he so crass as to think he could do so?

Before she could return his greeting properly--as she wanted to do to enforce the idea that she was a maid of high class, not one that would permit him to take such liberties with her in the future--profanity dropped from his lips. More time? His luck? Elena had to focus to understand that something was wrong, or he thought something amiss. His body language was enough to convince her that he wasn't making up whatever he was afeared of. "Please..." she began, ready to plead with him not to leave her alone in this wretched place. But then sense restored itself and she nodded slowly. "Thou art the first I have encountered in more years than I can verily count, Valen Dragonson," she murmured, speaking a touch slower than normal to make sure he understood her. "I pray thee might return, should thou be able. I cannot fathom thy outbursts, but I would be fool indeed to deny there be a reason. I can only hope it not be akin to why thou art the one to wake me." Her green eyes were troubled as they sought answers from his, but found nothing, so she had few options. "I have questions for thee, Dragonson, and I believe you owe me at least that much in part payment for thy sinful thoughts towards an unmarried maid like myself." Should I have told him I were married? Would it have granted me a wall of privacy? No, I will not compound his sins with lies of my own.

 

[sombrablanca]

He understands her clearly. She speaks quite similarly to his great grandfather and many of the elders when he was a small boy. He knows the cadences as well as his own. For a moment he is home again with a tale about to be told. Then she makes him laugh as words come out in her dulcet tones. He cannot resist. He thinks he has the time, and feels he really must change at least one misconception of hers.

"Aye, verily, I do owe thee explanation for mine... persistence. However, twas no sin committed til you became afraid and I did not stop. Even that, as I did tell thee... Twas not entirely mine fault. For, unfortunately, my "outbursts" are what hath set thee free. Without the Hunger you'd still be stone. Without that which exacerbates it... I'd lie dead at the keep door." His laugh becomes a bit ironic, but deeper and more truly amused. "In fact, were it not for my... outbursts... I'd have never left Dragon's Rest long enough to come this far South."

He snorts softly, visor of his protection unlatched, allowing her to see his full grin. "Tis not sinful to take the pleasures this world gives amongst mine clan. It is in our nature, our instinct, as it is in all living things, and is a gift of the gods. There is a reason Beltane is the first rite celebrated, and many babes, many unions, are created that night. Tis no sin when two are willing. Marriage is a thing for priests wanting to bilk peasants. and unions of state for men afraid their woman will stray without locking bonds upon her, or vice versa. Among mine clan, two decide, and two only. Yes an announcement is made, but all that is needed is the consent of, in this case, thee and me. So. There was no sin, for I know you were quite ready, quite willing and eager. Do not try to lie, even to yourself. No female can lie to me about that. Even in your terror... I still sensed undercurrents of arousal. Even if you misunderstood half the intent of my actions. As I say, you were -NEVER- in true harm's way. Unfortunately, the amount I had to relax my guard... I treated you as something you obviously are not. I shall try to keep that in mind in the future, and will gladly offer information, as much as I can, for scaring you. As I say, this place appears and feels safe. I have seen no life but birds thus far. I cannot guarantee thy safety, but since the disintegration of the door... the keep seems... lonely... friendly.... not malicious at all. I could lower the portcullis on my way out. As I say, there is food here that seems trustworthy, but I shall leave a satchel with various needful things. If you desire them as well."

 

[atenai]

Elena wasn't sure what to make of his laughter. On one hand, the laughter cleared the traces of animal from his face and persona, making him more pleasing to the inexperienced maiden's eye. But she didn't entirely like that her disapproval made him laugh. And he desires to blame another... partly, at least. Does he not take responsibility for his own actions, feral or not? A frown creased her face when he proves her suspicion correct; he set her free because he was not... normal. Her mind stumbled over the idea, coming up lamely with only the concept of abnormality to explain him. But that wasn't the concept she wanted. It was something else, something that escaped her.

His amusement did not spark any such equal return, her frown lingering the longer he spoke. He was here due to this... Hunger... he spoke of. There was some connection between it and her. Was he cursed? she realized with a spark of insight. Did they share some fell fate because of it? She knew nothing and everything of curses, and had no idea why someone from afar would be brought such a distance to awaken her, but the idea both explained his presence and shook her internally. She wasn't sure she wanted to be linked to another thusly without her permission or desire.

Brought back to the moment by his talk of sin, she was pulled from her silent disapproval by a touch of anger. "Whence I hail, a decision is desired before pleasure is taken," she snapped back at him. "And not taken for granted when some warm flutter of blushing delight is thine only reply." Sure, he had reasons for kissing her. Certainly, he even awoke her. But this desire to explain it away, to blame a curse (as she understood it) or a lack of actual impropriety as if that excused him... that the lady would not accept. She pushed away his words about her arousal, because she did not want to consider it. The idea that some stranger's kisses might make her desire further advances, in her mind, made her sound like a lowly tavern girl with no regard for whom she dallied with. The heat of righteous anger was easier for her to deal with than the flooding of lust he offered by implication. Elena finally decided to not forgive him just yet, and let his further behavior determine whether or not he was worth her mercy, since he had yet to even apologize. She accepted the half-apology he offered by recognizing his error and just nodded blankly as he offered her the information she desired. His opinion of the keep's safety was all she had to go on, so she didn't know what to think of the keep that sheltered her for all these years. Was it foreboding, as part of her curse, or was it, too, bound here with no company for centuries? It had not occurred to her to imagine such a thing. "I would appreciate thine assistance with the gate," she said simply, shuddering a bit involuntarily at the idea of other people or animals entering to find her in such a weakened state.

"Food is, indeed, a welcome idea, for I know not when I took my last meal." Her eyes took on a far away cast, looking through him at memories better left buried. A few heartbeats later she blinked and tried to sit up, with no success, her head barely rising from her pedestal. "But thine aid in rising would be more welcome yet. My body refuses to obey me," she murmured, partly to herself. He might have awoken her, true, but why did she still feel Cursed?

 

[sombrablanca]

He steels himself. Does he have time? He will have to make it extremely fast. There was a few rooms near the kitchen. Nothing fancy, probably cook's quarters, but it was near anything she might need in the night, assuming she has the strength to get it. That he is not sure of. She still seems unable to move well. Then again, after what he must guess is a century or more of slumber, a person's entire body would still be "asleep, tingling and prickling, numb. He cannot leave her here. He looks towards the setting once more as a look of deepening worry enters his eyes. If she is already afraid of him... She must not know of the Beast yet. With her attitudes so far, he doubts the Beast would make her happy. Even if he pleasured her all night. He cannot let something like that happen. Yet, now that she is awake she is his responsibility.

"I can and will. However you are not going to like what must be done. I do not have time to let you hobble down. Please Miss, I swear I mean you no harm, and I shall take no liberties. As I hope you shall learn, I am a man of honor. I force no woman. Any woman in my bed will be willing, eager, and pleasured beyond her wildest imagination. As you've shown your aversion, I shall try to treat you as one of the Virgin's priestesses." He has a feeling it might be something she would fight against if possible. He really hopes she is still as weak as she seems, and says. Not only that, it will force her to see he is honorable, and true to his word, at least in this.

He has to stifle a growl when her scent enfolds him once more. He studiously -does not- look anywhere near her cleavage. She is light in his arms, delicate as a bird. He carries her carefully down the steps, her feet leading and careful she does not hit her head. Since he thought she would rather not be hauled like a sack of potatoes, all he can do is carry her as a husband does a new wife over their threshhold and up to bed. It is far too intimate a feeling for his liking. His pulse still thrums. The way she fits his arms tries to entice. He carefully doesn't grope her ass, even though a part of him insists it would kill for the privilege of doing so. He is very careful to keep his eyes veiled, his tone even as they descend through the floors of the castle. He moves swiftly, skipping stairs when he can. Each step is barely touched by his foot before he is off to the next. He can feel the setting sun, and he doubts she will be able to feed herself. Every moment longer that he takes is a moment less he has to get away from the small population he would guess from the few villagers he saw on the way in, and the sign that said Deliverance, pop 34, 2.3 miles, with an arrow pointing south. "One thing that may help if you've lain there as long as you fear... Tense all your muscles. Don't try large movements. Just lots of small ones."

He does not stop til they have passed through the main hall, the kitchen, what appears to be a springfed communal bathing area, and into the small, neat, cozy room he found, laying her out gently as he can, still careful to keep his eyes above her chin no matter how he may wish to do otherwise. "Will you be ok here while I get you food and water...? I shall be right back, but then I really must be going. If you -can- tend to yourself once I get supplies to you... I really should be going soon as possible."

 

[atenai]

Elena was listening to his response carefully so she would understand him, so intent she almost missed the meaning of what he was admitting to her would happen in his bed. She flushed, breaking eye contact just in time for him to scoop her up. She made a little 'eep' noise, surprised by this turn of events, but turned and clung to him rather than fight. She pictured both of them tumbling down the stairs in a heap of armor, and her disapproval of him faded quickly in the face of fear of her own weakness.

She can't weigh half so much as she should, and the heavy embroidered dress she wears is a good portion of that. With her head on his shoulder, her arms shakily slipping around his neck, his nose is buried in brown curls that smell of old flower petals, and her neck has a sweet sweatiness to it, almost fruit-like. Her cleavage at least is hidden from him when she manages to hug his neck, pressed tightly against his breastplate.

He makes a suggestion, but tensing makes her grit her teeth and even cry out quietly, muffled against his armored shoulder. "It hurts," she whispers, forced to admit it but not liking in one bit. But she follows his advice anyway, shifting position against him as she tries to make her arms hold tighter, rather than just flop around his shoulders limply. She doesn't pay attention to the surroundings she can see in reverse over his shoulder, not until he lays her on a bed that is thankfully soft after the table or desk she had lain on for so long.

She sighs into the pillows before realizing he spoke. "If thou can bring me sommat to eat, I will make due," she decided, eying the way he seemed tense. Was it being in a bedroom with her? She didn't think so, he'd been tense before, too. "I do not wish to prison you to my care." Is he worried about something, something to do with his Curse, not mine? The thought sat ill with her, forcing her to speak out once more. "Thou fearest to remain, I can see it in thine eyes. If thou be cursed as I do come to believe, do not remain a moment longer than you must. I will not be the cause of pain to anyone, thyself included. I..." She hesitates only a second. "I will attend to myself if it be the death of me." Of course it wouldn't be, and she somehow knew that, too. The Curse still burdened her heart, there would be no peaceful oblivion to take her from the witch's devious clutches. "No, I spin out the truth. This Curse has not freed me into oblivion yet."

 

[sombrablanca]

His knees nearly buckle as he leans against the doorway, trying to look normal as he quickly latches the faceguard to hide his countenance. So an enemy cannot see his eyes, a spell of mirroring has been placed on the outside of the vision slit, making it appear impenetrable plate across the entire expanse. The scent of lilac, lavender, vanilla, and the sweet, slightly musky scent of a ripe, ready female threaten to overwhelm him even from the door. He did not need to see the setting of the sun to know dusk is swiftly approaching. Like the tides, he feels the tug of the approaching moon. His hungers well, primal instincts coming to the fore. His mind rebels, but it is hard. The urges are so strong. The Hunger is fierce, sudden, surging as the sun nears the mists. His own heart starts to swiften once more, and were his life a movie, this music would begin to play once more as he battles the primal instincts all creatures have. He reminds himself of her pain, fear, distrust, and his need. They are barely enough.

He suddenly realizes he has not eaten in hours as his stomach rumbles. He is suddenly parched. Other needs make themselves known insistently as well. He is so thankful she cannot see his eyes. He was swift. She would be terrified all over again if she'd even glimpsed... Her scents continue to waft to him so strongly. He can see the slowing, steady beat of her heart in the pulsing at her throat. That little eep had almost undone him. What sound might she make if he lapped her clit for the first time? Coaxed his length into her? Finally shoved as deep as he could? For her mannerisms are all coming together. He is certain he would be first. He fears he could not hide the need he still feels for her, especially with his primal urges all commanding him to mount and breed her. It would hurt like hell, but her muscles would wake up a lot faster, the Beast tries to reason with him. Once she was starting to receive pleasure she'd beg for more. She, like all females, needs it. He must just show her. He thanks the gods she cannot see his extremely hard length. The Beast’s period of strength is approaching far too quickly for him to allow himself more than a moment to marshal himself.

He nods, then sprints away. Nothing more needs to be said. The castle is not exactly small, and like most, the kitchens are near the back, while his horse is out front, so he has time to think as he runs out to get food and medicine from his satchel, then back to her side. Even his mufflings cannot silence several hundred pounds of meat and metal sprinting down a hallway. She can hear him all the way out and back. He admires her determination, he thinks as he gathers the supplies up; her gumption and conviction too. She stood by her beliefs and was determined to help herself, even if she could barely do so. He admired that. She had strength and a will to survive. She is intelligent, which is most important of all. She took his actions, read his postures, and came to the right conclusions. He wonders if reflecting on that addition to her understanding might soften her ire at him, which makes him think of how she stared into his eyes, as if she could see everything there. Those were all traits needed in his brutal homeland. Unfortunately, that made him want to claim her even more, but his control does not waver. It remains as cold, hard, and protective as the onyx encrusted shield at his back, so that all she hears is the stone cold warrior as he reappears in her sight.

He props her up on several pillows, so she is in more of a reclining position, setting the water skin near her after loosening the top, and handing her two small bags, one with a few basic, easily eaten travel foods, and the other verrry small. His voice is a harsher rumble than when she saw his smile, when he speaks once more, though he is not out of breath. Somehow, it is colder too. His Wall is in place. Some of the vibrancy is gone. “This is food,” he says, touching the larger bag. "This is medicine,” he follows up with as he pulls a small leaf from the bag that fits in his palm. "It is called mint. It is cool and refreshing on the tongue. It is also a painkiller, and a poison. Eat one leaf…. All pain will fade. Eat two, and for the night, by sleep your mind shall find shade. Eat three… Never again in the waking world will you be… Every moment you are awake that you can, you need to keep trying to tense. It will bring movement back far quicker. It will be painful. These will help. Just be careful. Finally there is this.”

He sets a small hourglass on the bedside table and flips it as he holds out the mint leaf for her to chew. When she has the strength to raise it to her lips, he is certain she shall be okay. “This measures two hours. Flip this at least three times between each taking of a leaf unless you wish to sleep deeply, and never take more than three between the rising and setting of the sun unless it is dire. It won’t kill immediately, but it is not good for your body. Six hours…. Think the rising of the sun midSpring, til the sun is at its highest. I shall return as soon as I may. I shall close and bind the portcullis until I return. It shall be some time after the dawn. Til the morrow…” He nods, then sprints off again, barely hearing her reply. He is in the saddle and riding hard in seconds. The portcullis lowers at his snarled incantation, timed so he must lean along his steed to not take a spike through the head as he passes under it. It slams home with a clang. He croons this time, a hauntingly beautiful sound that carries to her on the wind as a warding rune appears on the sturdy barricade.

He feels the urges building as he sees the setting of the sun. Her scent grows so strong in his nose. He can still see the trip-hammer beating of her pulse from the fear coursing through her. It is all he can do to keep riding. The thick fur cape adorning his back flows out and around as he hammers past the farmers in the field once more. He doesn't have the time to stop or talk, or puzzle about the fact they’re now very animated. He rides off, deep into the woods, barely sparing attention for the awestruck people.

They stare at him, suddenly freezing as they realize he rides away from the Castle. This being. Could it be? Where is the Princess though? They wonder, a few shouting out in surprise as his horse thunders by them. He curses when he goes through twenty feet of fog only to emerge with the same vista he saw upon entering the grounds, but from the back this time. At least he is miles from anything.

"Another spell?" goes through his mind before he wheels about, going for the deep wood he saw as he explored. It appears to be a part of the grounds, not covered by fog, so he hopes it will not dump him here again. He gets there, leaves his horse and armor just in time. Another howl splits the air of the land. This one deeper, even more animalistic, yet it is also different. It has a plaintive, searching, querying note to it. This is a sound come to be well known by the people of his homeland. It is a sound that when heard, they know to lock their homes, keeping daughters safe inside, livestock and animals as well. For while the Prince tries to get as deep in the wilderness as he can, the Beast does roam in search of prey and of a Mate.

The swiftly fading morals, history, and personality currents of Valen still run through the thing that takes shape, but at night his mind is subsumed in primal need, beneath the Curse. He is different enough that he, and his people, named this primal aspect The Beast. He does not have the strength to keep it at bay at all times, only the day. The seers say a lesser man could not at all. Her scent still surrounds him. The Beast notes it, loves it. It is faint, and covered by so many other scents. It is elusive, but smells… right. He wants more. That small part that is still rational cries out as his thoughts begin to be swayed by need so fierce it is all-consuming. The Beast howls and howls as he takes form. He grows slowly but steadily, his body becoming denser, wider, and taller. Arms lengthen, teeth growing sharper, his jaws stronger. Nails lengthen into claws as his nostrils widen a bit, face taking on a more bestial countenance. A short muzzle develops, his jaw elongating quickly. His eyes darken so they look like an empty abyss. The Curse is fully upon him.

The blood runs hot and thick through his veins, significantly more oxygenated than a human’s, his heart much larger as well in comparison to one uncursed to support his seven feet one inch frame. He tenses, stretching his muscles one at a time, his eyes closed. He feels intensely alive, finally free once again. It starts at his head, turning left then right. The veins in his neck pop as he stretches. His pulse is even, fast and strong. His shoulders roll next as his fists clench. His legs tense, and he is off, sprinting through the forest. In his abyssal eyes, the set to his face, one might infer a cunning intellect in this not quite human. The thick hair of the Northman has grown even thicker, giving better protection. It is not quite fur, his deeply tanned skin barely showing from underneath. His eyes and head constantly move. All his senses strain as he searches this deeply wooded area. The song of the Beast's soul would surprise many, if they could but understand it, or answer it.

He howls, the sound conveying greeting, challenge, query, so many things a Mating call encompasses. Luckily the Prince managed to get far into the woods before he was no longer quite himself. Unluckily it is far enough, his exit urgent enough, the residents trapped in this large manor's grounds have no clue what they face and the howl that might have given them warning is not heard except by the newly awakened maid of Deliverance.

 

[atenai]

Elena watched every flicker of movement for meaning as the man replaced his helmet, then sprinted away like hellhounds snapped at his heels. He made surprisingly good time and speed for such a large man in what must be very heavy armor. She'd helped clean her father's armor piece once or twice so his page could learn his letters instead, and the combined weight must be staggering. He rose a little in her opinion.

The pillows were a drastic change from her centuries of nightmares and she had to close her eyes and just enjoy the feeling of softness for a few moments. When he spoke, however, her eyes opened to follow his directions. The waterskin was obvious enough, and she had little doubt of the food. But she wanted to listen very carefully to the instructions for the medicine, for such things could not be taken lightly. It surprised her that mint had such properties, but she wasn't going to argue with him when he was so obviously delaying his exit to provide for her. She reached up painfully to place the leaf he handed her between her teeth and chew a few times, at which point she just let it sit on her tongue while he continued his instructions. Six hours between leaves, she thought. I hope they last that long or... well, I'll find out, I imagine. Perhaps it may be best to sleep for the night anyway, so I am awake once more when he arrives.

Her quiet "Goodnight," followed him out the door once more. She was surprised to find her heart clench when she heard the clang of the portcullis, leaving her utterly alone again. She had had more than enough loneliness in the years she had been asleep, which were far greater than either of them imagined. Tsk tsk, Ellie, she chided herself. He said he'll be back. He owes you answers, doesn't he? If he wishes to regain his honor, he'll be back. The fact that his honor was already in doubt did not make this as welcome a thought as she might have liked, but a strange noise brought to her on the meager breeze eased her heart somewhat. She knew, just as she knew her Curse was not over, that he would return for her.

* * * * *

Heidi had been caught resting out by the stream when the fog's spells were first planted on the manor grounds, and had found herself there when she awoke, knowing only that something strange had made her sleep for years. She didn't know what had caused it, or what had ended it, but she knew her search for herbs could wait. She wanted to get back to the village and make sure her elderly mother was all right. The curvy woman was wife of the village's miller, so she had perhaps a bit more flesh on her frame than the other village women, but she liked to think it was in all the right places. That extra flesh had been why her plant-gathering had been on hold, and why she was lying stretched out next to the lavender instead of picking it into her collection basket. The shortest route home was through the woods, which she knew like the back of her hand.

The howl, however, immediately frightened the miller's young wife. She didn't know when the last wolf had been seen in the area but she knew what a wolf was supposed to sound like based on stories and fairy tales. The basket of lavender flowers dropped from her shaking hands and she looked in all directions in the dark wood, auburn tresses flying loose from her bonnet as it worked itself unpinned, the woman hoping to see some movement that would tell her which way to run. No movement, not even sound, gives away the predator and Heidi is torn, unsure which way to turn. There was nowhere to hide in the woods, not unless she could climb the trees that were tall with great age. She doubted she could.

So instead she fled back towards the little stream, which she thought in her fear might at least provide her with some warning when the wolf left the trees. It didn't occur to her that by then it would be far too late. Another howl sent her sprawling, tripping over a tree root and ripping her skirt as she fell. She clambered back upright as fast as she could and kept running towards the clearer area near the stream.

* * * * *

A howl echoed on the breeze and Elena threw her head up, listening for several moments. There was a howl before he entered my chamber, her logical mind informed her. Could he be some beast in man's shape? Her shudder of fear at this idea kept her from hearing the repeated howls while she wrestled with the blankets she sat on, finally opening the bed and pulling herself into it to shake with pain and fear of the man she knew nothing about.

That's not true, Ellie. You know he'll be back. She quickly reached out and grabbed the pouch of mint, placing a second leaf in her mouth and chewing it thoroughly before swallowing. She needed to sleep. Anything to get away from the nightmare she'd woken up into.

 

[sombrablanca]

The Beast prowls through the night, restless. This place feels… odd. He cannot quite place it. It is different from the last place he awoke. That does not matter. The sky is gorgeous, moonless, with some clouds, but not too many. There is just the right amount of light for his enhanced eyesight. He moves quickly but carefully, barely disturbing the night after his searching cry. The Beast needs no clothing, nor armor, and would rip them off if he found them on his body. They feel constrictive and unnatural. The brush and growing coolness do not disturb him. He is a part of the wilderness. He avoids the brambles and other pitfalls of the underbrush with ease. Pale scars lace his tanned skin beneath the covering of dense black hair. Chiseled slabs of muscle ripple with each step he takes. Were one to see him for just a moment, one might think he was a very large bear.

Moving to the stream is what gets Heidi caught. He hears the burbling of the quickly moving water, and finds himself quite thirsty. As he approaches the sound of the stream, he smells a ready female upwind of his position. Thinking about her tryst with her husband oh so many years ago has made her moisten a bit. Her scent is \ strong and luring him in. Some of this might be explained by the fact she is midcycle, and would be slick, swollen, and dripping pheromones anyways. He hardens, thirst forgotten as the Hunger, always on the edge of his mind, fully consumes him. His gaze snaps to where the wind carries her scent. It is not the fast fading scent of Ellie. It doesn’t smell nearly as tempting, but especially with the lavender reminding him of the scent he could still barely smell upon awakening, it is very arousing. Besides which, he is not that picky. She might not be Mate material, but he has an extremely hard cock, and cannot resist the urge to plunge it into something tight, warm, and wet.

He finally catches sight of Heidi after moving up the stream a ways as the breeze keeps her scent in his face. His eyes move over her lush form intently. He takes in the large, swollen breasts, and breeder hips. Her ass looks like it will mold so well to his kneading claws. She is looking away from him and standing on the same side of the river. As he edges closer his cock throbs and twitches. The proof of her fecundity is driving him wild. He remains nearly silent though, following the treeline and staying just out of her sight until he is close enough he is certain she should not be able to get away. He finally gets right behind her and leaps forward, his heel sweeping forward to catch the ankle of her right foot so he can bring her safely to the grass on her hands and knees. His massive palm reaches around to grab her by the breast and use the grip to pull her back and keep her stabilized against him. His hard length grinds into her plump ass, his precum smearing hotly against the smooth skin of her ass crack through the light summer garb she is wearing. His left hand moves at the same time to grab her left hip and yank backwards, so that if he succeeds, she will end up pinned to the ground beneath him, his teeth able to dig warningly into the back of her neck. It is a position any farmer or animal lover would recognize as that of a female dog or cat Presenting herself to the male about to take her from behind.

 

[atenai]

Afeared of the wolf howl that so surprised her, Heidi is frantically checking every direction but the one that really matters; she doesn't look behind herself until it's well past too late. No further howls don't entirely calm her down, but her heart stops racing quite so fast when she hears no approaching predator. In fact, she's just about to turn and look for her lost basket when the Beast makes his move, tackling her to the grass.

Heidi was already worried, but it takes her a minute to scream because this was not the danger she was expecting, no, this was too clearly a man grabbing her (given the inappropriate grasp) for her wolf-focused brain to process at first. Her fear had to fade, and her anger had to rush in before she could do more than blink. But scream she does, just as they land together, his much larger body mass pinning the miller's young wife easily. Her cheek connects with the dirt hard enough to bruise, and her scream stops while she struggles to move her head to a position that did not wrench her neck so. "Let go!" she hisses, unable to do much more than wiggle beneath the Beast, effectively grinding her curvy backside into his rampant erection. Her anger made her flush with heat, though to her embarrassment the places where his hands grabbed her felt twice as warm.

It is at this point, when she looks down at the hand rudely clasping her breast that she starts getting butterflies in her stomach. The sun may have set, but it was still light enough to see that the hand had coarse fur instead of the tanned skin she was used to. Confused, she begins to wriggle harder beneath him, even jerking her head backwards in an attempt to bash him in the forehead. "Release me!" she cries, a note of desperation in her voice. She can tell something is very wrong here, though she can't see what, and it's enough to make the heat of her righteous anger freeze into dread. She may not have been the most petite woman in the town, but the man-beast that held her was large enough to do as he pleased with her while her arms were trapped, and even were she to get free, it would likely do her no good. And she was just starting to realize it.

 

[sombrablanca]

Her momentary shock is all the Beast needs to wrap her up securely and bring her to the ground firmly in his grasp. He goes to his knees behind her, head darting forward and slightly to the side so he can bite at the base of her neck where it joins to her back and shoulder. The squirming feels amazing against his groin. She wriggles very enticingly, her curves soft and firm in all the right places. He dodges the headbutt only because his head was already moving, tilting slightly to be able to sink his teeth and growl warningly around the flesh between his teeth. The show of spirit excites him even further. Of course, he still bites down to emphasize the warning, trying to bite to the point it will mark, but not draw blood, or rip as he could. After all, it is just a warning. A strong willed female is always more fun, and is better able to take care of his young, but she should still know her place when it comes time to be bred. The attempted headbutt is almost as enticing as her scream. He likes vocal females. Their screams of pleasure and pain during their breeding are like music to his ears.

Her vigorous wiggling makes him focus on her breeder's hips and voluptuous ass again. Her moment of frozen dread allows him the time to move his hand from her waist, moving down over her hip swiftly. Long thin marks from his retractable claws trail down her outer thighs, the fabric ripping easily as hey shred the skirt from the waist down to her knees. He shifts just enough that the fabric can fall so her skin will press directly against his hard prick, the droplets of precum marking her skin.

He growls softly. His hand kneads her full tit roughly as he uses the grip to yank her back against him after the dress falls to the riverbank. The grip is strong enough to leave rents in the fabric where his claws move back and forth, allowing her to feel his touch directly. One clawed, calloused fingertip flicks over her nipple, the slight roughness contrasting the feeling of his claw, sharp and smooth. Upon closer inspection she would realize it is not a pelt of fur that covers the back of his hands, arms, and the places hair is usually found on a person. It is not nearly thick or pervasive enough to be fur, just a rather thicker covering of hair than most men in the area have. Deeply tanned skin is still faintly visible beneath the covering, and that is what she feels against her smooth flesh, much as she can feel his cock, while large, is very human. He thinks about nothing but how she will feel as he slams into her, how great she already feels in his arms. The scent of the other female still sits in the back of his brain, but it has faded in the presence of a female whose body at least seems to be very willing from the way she wriggles against him, the way her scent proclaims her readiness for a male to take her and breed her. He will find her but that will have to wait. The Hunger is too strong to delay even a moment. It is even stronger than the usual pervasive feral needs that flow through him.

 

[atenai]

Heidi's fear has begun to leaden her reactions, so completely has her attacker restrained her with only his body for a cage. Screams turn to whimpers, jerking away when his claws rake through her dress, some making thin lines of irritation redden in their wake. The teeth completely freaks her out, however, and she freezes, a scream curdling in her mouth to no more than a gulp of dread.

When he presses his erection against her ass any doubts about what he was taking of her were put to rest. And perhaps the scarier part was that part of her was completely ignoring the fact he was taking her without her consent. Part of her recognized the purely bestial aspects of having a strong and willing male desiring to couple with her, and that part of her was instantly ready for him. It's faint at first, the musky scent of her physical arousal, but to his heightened senses it's obvious enough once it starts building. A shift of her hips due to confused discomfort brought his hard shaft into direct contact with her now wet pussy, radiating quite a bit of heat for all she was resisting him.

She whimpers again when he pulls her against him, her rational thought pattern shattering into pieces as his cock slides against her nether regions. Her body wants him anyway, and the suddenness of being overwhelmed by primal lust has (momentarily anyway) taken her rational self out of the equation, leaving only a wanton woman moaning beneath him, shifting her arms to better brace herself for his onslaught.

 

[sombrablanca]

Her shifting and wriggling rubs him just right, making it so that instead of poking her hip and ass, his cock grinds against the plump, clam-like lips of her tight little quim. He feels her brace, feels the slight flood against the base of his cock and balls as her body fully commits. He knows the moment she surrenders to the need he knew was within her. His teeth release their threatening grip, but she is still pinned beneath him. Before she can change her mind, his clawed fingertips all trace over her body, moving from her hip and breast to firmly grasp her waist.

A growl of feral hunger rumbles from his throat when he looks down, planning to watch as he shoves into her. He begins to slide back, preparing to shove as much of his length into her as possible as quickly as he can, making the ridged veins of his member pulse his heartbeat over her own sensitive pleasure button. Instead, his eyes alight on her now even slicker, flushed, pink lips parting around the underside of his length. He slowly saws back and forth watching them bulge out a bit more every time the thickest sections of his cock, the head or base, parts them. His heavy balls slide, grind, and smack against her clit repeatedly with each grinding thrust against her ass. Her lush curves make it so he feels the pleasure of her silken quim and the plush pillows of her ass at the same time. Every time his balls mash against her clit, a thin streamer of pre drips, pooling between her ass cheeks.

It does not last long. Soon enough the weapon between her legs, slides down one last time with an almost palpable sense of determined intent. The thin ribbon of precum smears her asscrack and outer lips when he nudges and butts against her, getting the tip and top of his head just wet enough. After a few moments, it is aimed squarely at the slick valley he is intent on claiming. Then his body arches, unable to wait any longer, trying to sink his prick into her to the hilt on that first penetration.