Too slow.

Too loud.

Too much dew to slick the soles of your feet as you ran from death.

Through dense thickets and towering trees, there wasn’t an end in sight. Lost, but still moving. You had to keep moving.

You weren’t going to make it. You were. You weren’t. It didn’t matter. You had to try.

Because if you stopped, that was it.

Your ragged pants grew into chest-bursting gasps—unused to pushing yourself this hard—whipping past trees and fallen branches and thorny brush. The night was eerily silent (or perhaps it was you that had gone deaf?). All the animals must’ve hid themselves away by now, much better at being prey than you were. Here, the only breathing thing left in these woods was you.

Because that thing surely didn’t breathe. Not like you did.

Uneven ground caused your ankle to twist and slip. You cried out, but carried on. It was all you could do.

You ran just as fast, if not faster, the adrenaline keeping you afloat. But you could hear him getting closer. If you slowed, he would kill you. If you stopped, he would kill you.

Just on the edge of hearing, a steady thump, thump, thump bounded down the path. You remembered his breathy laugh in your ear, the mocking, the wild look in his eye. He was a daemon, or maybe just a beast—coming straight for you.

Hah. Hah.

It wasn’t your fault.

You clawed through leaves that crowded the way. You urged your body to go faster, move lighter, survive, survive, survive.

It was all you could do.

But it still wasn’t enough.

He had gotten too close, too fast. How did you not hear it? The creature in the shape of a man pulling your desperate form back by the thin fabric of your night gown. Curling his arms around your torso like a steel cage. His mouth parted next to your ear as he pulled you against his chest; scaring you half to death with those wet, jagged teeth sticking out like spines.

“No, no, no, no, no… please, please!—” You tried to twist. Almost strangling yourself with the force at which you pulled and jerked away. But his hold was absolute.

You could feel his warm breath steam across your cheek. Sighing something pleased now that you’ve both had a good run and some liveliness in your bones. But it was over now, and hush, shhhh, it’s okay, you’ve lost.

You expected him to tear your throat out, or perhaps strangle you and feast on your organs; your mind coming up with more and more terrifying ways this was going to end.

But no, he did something unexpected instead.

He forced your head to the side and kissed you.

“Mmph!”

His tongue prodded deep with endless drool falling into your mouth. He laved over teeth, tongue, and the silky sides of your mouth, until there was nothing but him, him, him. It was a viscous, uncomfortable thing. Devouring your lips and pressing into the depths of your mouth like he wanted to bury himself inside and never be removed.

It was humiliating, it was gross, it was warm.

You felt so warm. A little voice in the back of your brain told you something was off, but everywhere he touched grew hot. A spreading, blooming fuzziness that seeped into your muscles and made you feel oh, so soft.

“Hm! Mm, oh…” Your struggles faded with the static in your bones. Not because you wanted to, but because you couldn’t control the use of your limbs anymore. Which was more terrifying than if he just killed you.

He groaned, animal-like and pleased at your compliance. Letting his grip soften, letting his kiss turn sensual and firm. You could make out a growing hardness pressing into you from behind, and, with disgust, you could recognize the slow, thick movements of him grinding into your body.

He let you fall to the ground. Grunting and satisfied with the toxin taking hold. Your body completely limp, muscles unresponsive and tight as he moved you the way he wanted. Pulling your knees up, pushing your face down, spreading your thighs to make room for himself behind you.

His too long, too bony fingers dug into the dirt beside your waist. Panting and sighing as he pushed himself against your thigh. You could feel his clothed cock rub back and forth onto you, stroking himself into a fever. Whining as he grasped your hip, curling over you to gain leverage, humping your leg like if he didn’t he’d die.

You weren’t dumb, you knew what he wanted, but that didn’t mean you were ready for how it felt.

That strange warmth clouded your thoughts, made it hard to think. But it was like each nerve had been massaged and heightened to the point his touch on you started to feel good. You started to sweat. You couldn’t move, but a whimper still escaped your lips. His rubbing on your leg feeling like a warm hand on your cunt.

Your face was pressed into the dirt; you tried to move your fingers, even an inch, but all you could manage was desperate twitching as he pressed up on your leg.

He shredded your night gown with ease and in his haste he nicked your back with his claws.

You waited for the pain, but it didn’t come.

In fact, it didn’t hurt at all.

As the blood bubbled from the cut all you could do was moan.

Exposed. Frozen. And open—your cunt begging to be filled. It was all he could do to free his cock fast enough, pushing into your sensitive entrance with a growl.

You could hear him snarl above you—possessively digging into your hips, drawing blood with his claws, licking and mouthing at your shoulder blade. His tongue on your back brought a sharp jolt straight to your clit, his spit turning the spot sensitive and tender. So good that when he bit in, you came with a surprised, choked gasp. Cunt squeezing and milking his cock as he drove in faster. You heard him gulp and swallow before lapping at the wound. That warmth pushing into your veins and making it feel so, damn good.

Your whole body was a living nerve, sweating and feverish and sensitive. Every touch felt like a thousand, every groan amplified a hundred times in your ear. You could feel another orgasm quickly approaching as he bit and soothed, bit and soothed, all while driving desperately into your core.

Your second peak was just as intense as the first time, if not more so. Gushing wetness over his cock and making him laugh and growl in equal measure.

“Mine,” was the first word you’ve heard out of him all night. Repeating it like a brand, mine, mine, mine.

Quick and easy, he flipped you over. Spreading you out again. Pushing back into your dripping cunt. Indecent sounds filling the quiet night air as your pussy swallowed him over and over again.

You weren’t even allowed to cry, helpless as you were. The most you could manage being a slight twitch of your brow.

Your head lolled off to the side, and in your madness you thought you saw the vacant eyes of your ma and da staring back at you. He had killed them, this beast set on ruining you. Charmed your sleepy parents and killed them right in front of your eyes, before looking at you, stepping aside, and just daring you to try and run.

You knew now, he only did it to play with you some more. Perhaps make his meal taste sweeter with an adrenaline high.

It didn’t matter, not now, not when he sucked your bare breast to feel all your muscles grip him tight. You could feel another wave, as impossible as it was, and when he pressed his tongue flat against your nipple it crested. Your body giving another spasm of wetness and clenching that had him burying to the hilt.

When he broke the skin of your breast, you think you came again, but you weren’t sure. All the pleasure and peaks blending together until your mind gave under the strain.

He took your knees in his hands, pressing them up and up and up until they strained next to your head. The angle hitting even deeper than before as he kept you there.

“Please…” you tried to stutter out, but your vocal cords wouldn’t respond. Stop. More. Harder. Ruin me, hit me, bleed me, bleed me, bleed me.

Your whole body convulsed, less of a body and more of a mindless, pleasure-filled puddle. A soft, wet, clenching thing for him to fuck and eat and fill with sensation. As your fifth (or maybe seventh?) orgasm hit, that was all you were: Sensation. Your body trying and failing, to give anything else. Running out of steam, out of blood, out of mind.

He nuzzled at the tender flesh of your throat—bite marks littering your entire body, blood leaking into the soft Earth—and with one final thrust, he latched onto your neck and pumped your body full of his spend.

A ridge at the base of his cock started to swell, his grinding turned to pushing you back and forth as he locked himself inside. If you had any capacity of mind you would be horrified, but in this moment all you could think about was how good the stretch felt. Plugging you up and fitting you together. A warm, comforting weight after an endless burn of friction.

He drank from your sweet neck, making your head spin and your vision give out. Your eyes fluttered closed—head completely empty—as you wallowed in a body ruined. But you didn’t know, couldn’t know, that he would wait for you to wake to do it all again.

Filling you up, making you cum over and over and over, until it took. Until you swelled up nice and pretty for him.

But for now, he would let you rest, laying his head on your body, curling and purring around you while he plugged you up. Taking in all the comfort your body could provide.

𝖎.

ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪғᴜʟ. A pretty, little thing padding through the moonlit copse, a defiance rose beneath each step you left in the grass tufts—barefooted, soft skin, delicate. Curious by your intention, careful, so careful, you moved. What else was there to do other than be captured by you? I've always been drawn to what burns. And you, my darling, were a lit pyre in the dark.

A reminder of Sadhbh, deer-like, as you pattered down an unworn path, further than someone like you should have ever ventured. Did you listen to what your elders taught you? There are some things in the depths that would destroy themselves just to drag you deeper.

I followed in your wake.

You were beautiful. Even from a distance. It seemed the surroundings softened just so, revealed to be an angel in that dreamlike blue hour before dawn.

You tended to the goats, your hands grasping to quell their bleating cries. And when a kid screamed unruly for their meal, annoyance flared in my chest. What an ugly, grating sound. Imagine—squeezing that furred neck, thumb level on its fleshy windpipe, until the telltale crack of breaking bones turned noise into meat.

If you held any ire brought upon by your daily toil, you hid it well. Instead, you handled it the same way you handled the thorny brush of the woods: quietly, without complaint.

But you stumbled. Hands crushed beneath your own weight, trying to catch the fall. Your knee caught on splintered wood, causing the thin skin to split open.

Oh.

You smelled sweet—strong.

But you did not moan in pain or shout in surprise. Rather, you searched for witnesses as if you were going to be seen committing a terrible crime. What, pray tell, were you hiding from, little fawn?

Sunrise forced me away. The prickle on my skin a warning for lingering too long. But, it's fine; I've long since learned to be patient.

ɪ ᴀʟᴍᴏsᴛ ᴋɪʟʟᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ.

Another night in the woods. I remembered you, here, near the copse. A pretty face and a tendency to be alone. Did you think yourself above danger, then? Or did you just not mind inviting it? You had been lucky the first time with my hunger sated. Not so, now. And I never minded accepting an invitation freely given.

I let the steady pulse of your heart guide me. Your scent close, so. Reminded of how sweet you were that day in the village; oh, how much sweeter you would be when I finally got my teeth into you.

I could have closed the gap, would have, if I had gone a few more days without or if I were still the impulsive man of my youth. But you seemed determined to reach the furthest depths of the forest, and I would be lying to say if I wasn't curious why. No rush, lass; there wasn't a place you could go now where I couldn't reach.

You stopped at a clearing, opening up to a lake that spanned the tree line.

Waters still and quiet, like. A peaceful place to die.

You would be scared, yes. You, with a sensitive heart. Perhaps I would let you see your reflection on the surface, not to break you, but to show you that death doesn't have to be a violent thing.

And I almost ended it there, but then you fell to your knees and sang.

Sang like it was all you could do. Quietly, but it echoed clear over the waters. The type of sorrowful tune that only came from a lifetime of experience.

More than just a lovely voice, I felt the song reach in and pull at something weary and cracked in my ancient body. Something true. Something I believed to be lost. And I smiled.

I've been searching for someone like you.

And to think, I was this close to stealing that voice straight out of your tender throat.

I watched you go home safe that night. You, none the wiser, but me? I saw you, as if for the first time.

You were beautiful. And when one evening turned into two, turned into more, I could feel myself becoming attached; but I couldn't stop—couldn't stop the urge to trace the path back to the edge of your village to watch you live.

At first, I only wished to hear you sing again, and every once in a while, you visited the lake to air out that sorrow that seemed etched into your bones.

But more often than not, you were quiet. And strangely, I came to enjoy that too. Silent, perhaps for hours, where it was just you and me—it felt intimate somehow. Calming in a way my restless nature was unused to. I started to think of those moments as ours. And that felt right; the idea of someone else interrupting our time squeezed my dead heart to stillness in my chest.

The days turned into a week, and the week turned into a routine. You must think me passive, but truthfully I just wanted to be careful. It has been countless years since I last heard a voice like yours, and I swore this time would not be like the last time. And maybe, I could admit, a part of me wanted the company, too.

I grew dissatisfied, though, not with you, of course—never you—but because it wasn't enough.

You were beautiful. And they were ungrateful. The people of your village did not look you in the eye. ‘Cursed,’ they whispered in hushed dialogues. Hidden from your face, not from your ears. Those who pretended to care said, ‘unfortunate,' like it made it hurt any less. From the spring months to the end of summer, I overheard enough to fill out the story of you.

Misfortune clung to you like a tick on a dog. Your mother was killed in labor. And just when the village finished mourning her, then came the drought of your birth year. The resulting pitiful harvest, of course, was your fault as well. An earthquake hit during your ninth sun cycle, a year supposed to represent completeness torn apart instead. Soon it was just assumed you were born to carry bad omens: an accident when you're near, the death of a pet, the cause of an argument, a slip, spoilage, the thunder in a storm; for God's sake, it was laughable. Eventually anything could be pinned on you. You were the village's beloved scapegoat.

Were you not tired?

Your father, the only skilled carpenter in the village, bore the brunt of those apologizing for your existence.

“Don't you feel bad for him? Only a single daughter and it's her."

“He's got the heart of a saint, to feed and put a roof over her head like that."

“It must get exhausting. Maybe if he had a son, he wouldn't be so lonely at home."

To his credit, the only credit I felt compelled to give, is that he did not respond to this talk with any kind of assent. In fact, he did not respond at all. A stoic man who did his work, did it well, and spoke rarely a word. He could only offer you empty platitudes in the end; he loved you, yes, but it was not enough. For he believed that if you ignored the hateful, you would be taking the moral road and surely, surely, God would reward your humility.

You still cried at night, so.

But there was more to you than the opinions of those—meaningless, thoughtless, ugly—curs. During the afternoons (and cloudy enough to watch), you taught those younger than fifteen; it was the only time the air of misery did not follow you. Careful hands. Weaving, skinning, discerning the edible berries from the poisonous ones. You did this with skill, with practice, correcting mistakes with a gentle and firm disposition.

Oh yes, you were skilled with a blade. Taught by your father and knowing not the ease of riches, you've been doing men's work since you were a child.

I was after watching you wield the skinning knife just past sunset. You were alone. Focused. Engrossed in the act of paring a butchered hog, slicing skin off meat like a scythe through barley. Pig's blood on your hands—Oh, god—those beautiful hands, covered in the most vibrant red. Digging in. Curling into entrails.

I wanted them.

I wanted them badly.

In less than a second, my mind conjured images that had me more feverish than I cared for. Face flushing with the closest thing I could call warmth. This separation was killing me. I needed to be close enough to touch. To feel how real you were. Was it not fair? Look at what you've done to me—my mind riddled with thoughts of you, where every moment away is a burden. This all-consuming, irrational urge to be known, to be seen, to hear my name uttered by that lovely, lovely voice of yours—and we haven't even spoken a word. I haven't felt this way since… well, for a very long time. I wished you needed me as much as I have come to need you.

They didn't deserve you. What has your community ever done but throw you aside like trash? I would never abandon you like that. I would take care of you. I would love you the way that you're desperate for, the way you've always wanted to be loved. And you would love me in return. I would carve the world up if you wanted it, serve anything you desired on a silver platter—even if it burned. I just needed to be closer. Close enough to hold you.

I've come to a decision. And really, after all this time, there was only one option.

Do you believe in fate, lass?

You were beautiful—God, you were beautiful—I couldn't stop thinking about you. In those private hours of twilight, my thoughts grew sinful. I thought of the dresses you wore, billowing in the summer breeze. Your hair, always clean, framing your face perfectly.

Fuck—I thought of your plush thighs under that skirt, practically begging for my fingers to mark them. The curve of your neck. The slope of your breasts made to be held by my hands.

How would you sound being opened up? Played with or teased? Would you moan, long and throaty? Or would you whimper high as a sparrow? Would you shudder under the flick of my tongue, sweet and dripping like an apple core? Or would your hips grind back? Greedy, greedy little thing.

“Master," you would say. And oh, oh darling—I had to hear that again. Need your wrists in my hand as I sink into that heat from behind. You would cry, hot tears rolling down your face, trying your best to stifle the sobs and you'd fail. I couldn't deny that I craved the sound. So sweet, so lovely, so soft. So mine. Nobody else would touch you, nobody else would dare. You'd break just for me until you needed nothing else. You didn't need anything else anyway.

I'd fuck you deep, just the way your sweet pussy begged for it, and you'd do your best to take all of me, trying your damnedest to be good. My good girl, my darling fawn.

“I love you,” I would hear you say, eyes red and puffy. It echoed in my head I love you, I love you, I love you and that was enough to pull me over the edge, breaking the fantasy as I spilled into my hand with a sharp cry.

The tension drained out. But the thought of you lingered, the thought of if it were real. Everything else in comparison just seemed… dull.

Soon.

You were beautiful. Caught in Caer's arms, the goddess of dreams, you looked untroubled; expression mellowed in the hazy catch of sleep. More so, it was warm tonight, filled with the heat of summer's last dying cry. Despite the sweat slicked to my collar or every exhale of heavy, humid breath, I could not be more thankful, for it allowed me to watch the way you bared your skin to me. The way your hand curled upon your chest—steady with each rise and fall—almost seemed intentional. You, an artist's masterwork brought to life. Did you cry tonight? Your cheeks were mottled in red and pink; all that hurt lingering like how dirt sticks to nails. Something for your body to remember. Something for you, in the morning, to feel in your eyes and push away when the calling sun makes.

For several long minutes, I stared transfixed. You were still, save for periodic twitches—of which I catalogued each one.

I should've been hunting; my blood had run stale, veins darkening as it died and grew chilled in my body. It's been days and I was consumed by this terrible thirst, practically to the point of pain. But instead I was here—tracing the edges of the small hole in your hovel you called a window and wishing you were sleeping in my arms instead. It was the closest I could get with your lack of permission. Barely three feet away, and it still felt like a wall fifty inches thick.

I could smell you. Smell your pulse—under the sweat, under the blanket of heat. Far more tantalizing than the scent of your father nearby whose arrhythmic heart limped with each beat.

Just a moment of indulgence, debating on where you'd bleed the most. Neck. Wrist. Thigh, with my teeth closing into the soft muscle. Inside, with your legs hiked over my shoulders. Shaking from fear. Shuddering with desire. Oh, I'd make a feast out of you, darling.

The thought of it was almost too much, so. I caught myself. Panting… Salivating…

You shifted. I bit my lip—hard. And when that wasn't enough, I sunk my teeth into my forearm to—what? Muffle the sound, muffle the lust, muffle the hunger, all of them, none of them, I didn't know. Control. Control was what I was after but whenever it came to you I always found myself lacking.

You sighed a soft sound. Settled. Then turned. Exposing the curves of your back.

A strangled noise crept out from beneath my throat. My gaze trailed the line of your shoulder blade up to the nape of your neck, the lovely dip of your waist gently flowing into the rise of your hips, the mark of your spine down the expanse of your back ending at divots barely covered by the thin sheet draping off your form.

My grip dragged down those wooden walls. Phantom pain shooting up my fingers at the fact I could not have you right now.

I could not have you.

I could not have you.

I could not have you.

Not for the first time, I found myself maddened by the limits of my nature. You were right there and nothing was stopping me except for my own biology and restraint. A normal man could reach through this gap without bounds; he could enter and leave any place just as he pleased; he could greet you under the light of the midday sun and go about his day, not wondering for a second about how good he has it.

But a normal man could not give you eternity.

I tempered my growing impatience. If allowed, it would mark me a beast. Not when I'm this close.

The true purpose of this visit, lassie, more than any other, is that I came to tell you I found a home for us.

“It's a snug little cottage,” I spoke, barely above a whisper’s breath. “The couple there was so kind to let us have it. It’s a bit far, I know. But we’ll have all the time in the world after that, darling.”

I smiled, as gentle as I could manage. Like you were really listening. “There’s a piano for me and a pond for you and a hearth for the both of us. Oh, it’ll be perfect. You won’t have to lift a finger on that pretty hand of yours. Just promise me, you’ll sing, won’t you?”

And as if you knew, as if there were some subconscious part of you desperate to answer, you breathed another soft sigh. I couldn’t help but take it as a, ‘Yes.’

Ah lassie, your body already knew how to agree.

ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀs sᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴛᴏ learn about you.

Which of your things did you cherish the most? What would you miss if left behind?

Your home became intimately familiar to me. It took nine—no—ten paces to cross your room heel-to-toe. Knife left by your bedside as assurance in the night. There was only one exit; the front door had been expertly carved from sessile oak—seemingly a favorite of your father's. His portable bath near the fire must have cost something handsome. A necessary expense, then, bothered by the filth that comes from his labor like he was. There, a hand’s length down under the roof, belied a weak spot in the wattle and daub. Not serious enough to fix quite yet but would certainly need attention by next spring. And out front near the entrance laid forty-six stones arranged into neat lines, smooth enough for bare feet to cross without pain.

For whatever reason, your house was set quite far from the others. Sound would still travel, sure. But even still, it would take three minutes—perhaps two if they ran—for the neighbors to reach your home properly.

The passing days carved every little detail of your life into shape. I learned which path you took to the byre, grass sun-kissed and well worn into familiarity. I learned the small rituals you kept for yourself; how you paused for peace in the morning, how you did the same before an animal's slaughter. I learned which clothes you reached for first after a wash. And I loved them on you, I did. But you were not meant for the practical colors of whites, browns, and blacks—thick, easy to clean, coarse textiles, no—you deserved far better, lass. Red, I already imagined, would fit so lovely.

Your tools, too, were reliable but crude, wholly unfit for hands like yours; I’ve already decided to find you a better knife after we settle in. Something with a blade that glints as you showed me the proper way to bleed.

Bit by bit our life came together. I could barely settle the buzz underneath my skin at the prospect of taking you home. Every day, every minute of waiting and dedication would all be worth it when I finally got you nestled safe in my arms.

But then he ruined everything.

Oh, he made me hateful.

He was a boy. Some shepherd's son—hailing from a riverside town north-west of your village—had come stumbling into your life like he was deserving of it.

I remember it vividly. It was autumn, two days after the sun’s equinox, and you were trading in the night market at the churchyard. Goats trailing a pace behind as you pulled them by the leads.

The crowd made it safe to get close; and I couldn’t deny I reveled at seeming unremarkable: browsing the stalls of pastries and fruits and fish, paying the vintner a grout and three farthings for a bottle of wine, offering an apologetic smile for bumping into a young lady looking to get home. I hummed a pleasant tune with hands in my pockets as I walked along. It was a familiar place for me to be—lost in a sea of pulses and searching for an evening’s dinner. But I liked the noise too, that organized chaos that could only come from bustling life. Where else could you hear young boys and shopkeepers shouting over each other, vying for the attention of any who would glance their way? Where else could you enjoy the smell of iron metal that lay thick near the blacksmith who forged locks and keys for the church? It was endearing, this place where life was more vibrant.

However, when I approached the livestock stalls my good mood turned sour. All because I spotted you talking to that boy.

I knew he was smitten from the first eager-eyed look he gave you, all hope and young innocence. He smiled dumbly like he couldn’t believe that you were talking to him.

And it would’ve been fine, except I saw you smile back. When you bashfully turned away and laughed behind your hand at some joke he made, I could hardly contain the primal urge to crush his windpipe right then and there.

He stumbled over his words and chortled like a pig, but somehow he had charmed you.

Him?

The following days proved his affection more than fleeting. Every night, after the working hour and before your father returned home, he came to visit you. Waltzing up to your door step with gifts and food and flowers. He got you all the wrong things. You preferred primrose over cowslips. Honey over jam. But you accepted his gifts giddily all the same.

Was it the attention, lass? Is that what made you fond of him, so?

He even attended a few of your afternoon lessons—sitting awkwardly next to the teens to learn which plants were fine to eat and which were not. When he tried to offer you bright red yew berries, you still corrected him with a smile.

A week in and you two met by the river basin near his home. He braided your hair, filled it with flowers, and turned bright red when he asked if he could kiss you for the first time. You nodded, shyly pecking him on the lips ever so chastely. Oh, my darling, you were so dear to me. I imagined how you would kiss me like that, so tenderly, like heaven.

But it wasn’t. The reminder that it was him you wanted turned every precious moment bitter. Like tar on the tongue.

I hated the way he looked at you. Hated how he stole our time for his own. Hated his bleeding heart.

What gave him the right to your affection? A few sweet words and flowers, then? Oh lassie, he didn’t care. All he saw was a pretty face and a notch in his belt. We’re going to be family, sweet girl, and that’s more than he could ever give you in his short, pathetic life. I’d almost be disappointed but I cannot blame you for the wanting of appreciation.

He was at your home now, making you believe he loved you. And I was here—seething. Slicing open the soft belly of a fox to drink of its insides.

I imagined pinning him like this. The fox, writhing and pulling hard to try and escape; throwing itself back and forth for one last frenzied chance at life. But my grip was iron and my anger, exacting. So, there was nothing it could do except whine as it stilled into death.

Soft fur. Bloodied red. A creature undeserving of such cruelty. But I thought of that boy taking you from me. His lips on your neck. Humping you like a fucking dog. And I couldn’t help but bite down harder, blinded by nothing but red. You were mine. MINE.

I was going to gut him. He did not get to touch you. He did not get to fuck you. And he certainly did not get to live. He’d eat his pride and suffer twice over because I wanted it. I wanted to see him regret and plead and beg me to spare his worthless life before I ended it. I wanted him to admit, before I punctured his lungs, that he was never going to be good enough for you.

With each gulp I fantasized until the hate tightened and smoldered in my chest. Pressing it inside until I could breathe again. The rage only lessened as I drained the last drops of blood from the fox—mauled, cut to bone. It wasn’t enough; hunger still plagued me like rot.

But as I kneeled there, covered in the consequences of jealousy, there was one thing that kept me sane. A storm was coming, a big one. The air was pregnant with the promise of it. And so, maybe, after all this time I could finally take you home.

The next day when the sun had once again set, I was beyond starving. For something filling, of course, but also to soothe the ache of coveting, so. There was no greater relief than slaking a burning thirst and for that I should thank the boy. I was especially lucky tonight. No need to be charming for an invitation when the food came to you.

The night was beautiful in waiting. The kind that made you think of the past—darkness that bordered on unnatural, mist steeped in petrichor. The only act of mercy I could offer, perhaps, was for one to die at their happiest on a night like this.

That's when the door swung open.

There he was.

And there you were, holding his cheeks in your hands as you bid him farewell. I watched him kiss your forehead, eyes fluttering closed with a smile. Then your thumb brushed over his cheekbone, gently. I watched as you stepped in closer to pull him into a hug, burying yourself into his chest. I didn’t mind, I really didn’t. Say your goodbyes, lass, it’s alright.

But all goodbyes have to end eventually and, well, that was my cue to intervene.

I stalked him north as he set off home.

Now this was a language I was well-versed in. Tracking with quiet feet and a singular focus. It was comfortable, meditative almost, as I trailed him deep into the woods. Eager, I was, to share in this language with him.

He smelled overbearing and pungent, any trace of your sweet scent smothered underneath the rest. It was hardly a challenge to keep close.

But, I was after being cocky; too excited at the prospect of culmination, so I wasn’t careful enough with the noise. He stopped. Turned. Slow at first and then recoiled back with a shock.

He saw me. Saw my eyes staring right back.

Scrambling backwards, he rushed to his feet. Picking himself off the ground to sprint in the other direction as fast as he could.

I couldn’t help the grin that grew wide. The thrill of it! That rush of life! I steadied myself. Giving him just a moment’s chance before I gave chase.

…

Now.

I took off after him into the dark.

His pulse thumped hard with every footfall, crashing down on leaves and mud and fallen branches.

I followed that beat, beat, beating past each tree and down the trail. My claws dug into the ground, feet pushing me forward faster and faster as I pursued his flustered heart. Vision narrowing down to the blood in his veins and the scent of his fear.

Wet soil. Breathing. Gasping. The Earth again a witness to this ritual between predator and prey, born of her own design.

It could only be natural, this need to carve, rip, and mangle.

It could only be right, this desire to gorge myself on his blood until I was sick and heavy with it.

I closed in.

Lunging, I caught the boy up against a tree. He groaned in pain as his head slammed back against the sturdy trunk.

Curled over him, I pinned his arms up against the oak, signaling the end of our little chase. He couldn’t help it; he trembled. Tears welling up in his eyes from fright or confusion. But not hopelessness, not yet.

“Good…” He flinched away at how I tried to wipe his tears, eyes wide at the sight of hands shaped into something sharper. “Good… but it’s over now. Don't cry. ”

“What—Who?” He rasped. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course not. You won’t need to,” I crooned. My mouth burned. Full with teeth and hunger and spit overflowing until it dripped low onto his chest. Hahh, blood warm and pumping fresh and fast just under the surface. An unabated promise of a hot meal.

The boy looked up at me, breathless. “You—You’re a monster.”

Amusement and irritation burned all at once. I squeezed his wrists in my hands until he winced, until it hurt.

“Monster?” Thu-thump, thu-thump “I’ve been called that before.”

I leaned in. “But the ones who cast that name always deserved their end.”

He struggled. Writhed. I thought of the fox, then. The gash in its soft belly torn from throat to stomach, thick copper blood dripping just for me. I thought of you. I thought of him on you. And I knew I did not have it in me to be gentle.

“I’m going to carve the tally of your sins into you. One for each time you touched her like you were worthy of it.”

“Don't be quiet now.”

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀs ʟᴇғᴛ ᴏғ ʜɪs ʙᴏᴅʏ was found a quarter mile from the river basin. Mauled by a wild animal—mutilated, even. That was the consensus of the shocked public when they found his corpse, picked apart and disfigured like it was. No man could have done this kind of damage, no, but what kind of animal could either? Something fearsome, indeed. It was fortunate his face was intact enough to identify and tell his family. Oh, how his father cried at the news, broken-like.

But interest for me was in what he left behind. A bag with a journal that detailed his life, parents, and all the various little things that caught his eye. Underwhelming, mostly. Though towards the end he did talk a lot about you. No, it wasn’t what it contained that mattered. It was the sentiment; that was my way in. The only thing left to be gotten was the rope.

ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀsᴋᴇᴅ for a more perfect storm. A ruthless downpour. It swallowed any noise under her clouds, swept away by strong gale and current.

You were home. You had not left since the news broke, everything else be damned. And I knew you well enough by now to picture exactly how you would grieve.

I’m sorry.

I knew it would devastate you, so. Planned on it even. But still, I didn’t wish to see you mourn. I only wished for you to understand—to know I was sincere. I will be making it up to you, I promise.

But not now. This moment was mine.

The rain battered down in thick, relentless waves as I knocked on your door, soaking my clothes 'til they stuck tight to the skin. And when, predictably, you did not come, I knocked again, harder.

“Hello?” I called, unsure if you could hear me under the deafening rain. Thunder cried out. “I—I’m looking for someone. Please, can you answer?—” I banged again.

When the door opened, I should’ve braced myself better. But to see you there—looking like Deirdre of the Sorrows on her death day—I could not have desired anything more intensely.

Focus.

You looked at me expectantly, impatient and so so tired.

I spoke with a bit of desperation, a tinge of distress. “My brother passed on last night. I believe you knew him?”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You’re related to Aeden? He never mentioned a brother to me.”

“He never mentioned you either,” I responded—quick, easy. “I found out through his journal. I came here to give it to you. I… I believe he would’ve wanted you to have it.” I paused, shaking hands moving to unclasp the buckle on the bag. I rifled through, pushing through layers of rope until I found the small leather booklet. Covering it as best as I could to keep it dry as I handed it to you.

You took it cautiously, thumbing through the pages to see line after line of handwritten notes. Your lip trembled. Turning from hesitance to heartbreak.

You looked up at me, and then to the rain pounding on my back, something like pity in your eyes.

You said, “you can wait out the rain in here if you’d like. Come in. I have rags for drying.”

I smiled.

Stepping inside felt like sanctuary; that dry warmth wrapping around me and my cold, sodden clothes as comfortably as sheep’s wool. Your home smelt of resin and wood-shavings; all of it heated up cozily by the flickering hearth. And although I had never been inside it felt as familiar to me as an old friend.

You were diligent; accepting your caring hands was easy, handing me a cloth to dry with, offering an extra set of your father’s clothes, setting me by the fire. It was domestic, this casual attending to.

I changed by the settee, finding it endearing how you blushed and politely turned when I drew my shirt over my head. I didn’t tease you—though the urge was there. I just kindly put on the new set and draped the old over a chair.

“Done,” I said, sitting down. “You can look.”

You shuffled, almost unsure of what to do with yourself and this stranger who came in the rain.

“Would you take water?” you asked, almost automatic.

“No, no. I’m grand, miss. You’ve given me so much already…” It was greedy the way I let my gaze linger and I could tell you noticed. But I’ve been waiting so long to see you close before me. Real and solid and the whole of you within reach. How could I deny myself the small theft of looking? “Be still. Come have yourself by the fire.”

You sat down hesitantly, leaving a polite gap. Holding the journal close like it was the only thing keeping you tethered. Your eyes were dark. Distant. It was a gap I was eager to close, to bring you back to the present until your focus was only on me.

I turned to you. The fire bathed your face in a warm glow and you lifted those doe eyes of yours to mine, uncertain.

Ah… This was why I called you beautiful, lass.

You broke the tension. “I… I’m sorry I haven’t even gotten your name.”

“Remmick,” I offered with a welcoming smile.

“Remmick,” you repeated, lips forming carefully over it. I hope you kept it—my name on your tongue.

“Yes, that's right," I breathed. Taking a risk, I gently set aside the journal from your tight grip to cover my hand over yours—small, gentle. You stiffened, but didn’t pull away. “It’s a cruel thing, isn’t it? How the world chooses what to give and what to take.”

“I can’t imagine how it feels, him being your brother and all,” you said. “He was kind to me and I—” You pulled away, covering your mouth mournfully.

“You?”

“Forget it. It’s only superstition.”

“Please,” I urged, “tell me.”

You paused, but soon the words started to flow out raw and fast, the way it sometimes does when shame drags it to the surface.

“It’s only that… I think I did this. Somehow. Me and my cursed luck. I should've known something like this was going to happen sooner or later because nothing good ever stays with me. Ever. I was careless. I should’ve sent him home sooner, or better yet, told him not to visit at all. I knew there were beasts in those woods and I still made him go out there. But I wasn’t thinking and I was just so happy that I thought maybe—” You choked. Breath hitching painfully.

Such sadness in you. Deep and harrowing, eating you all up like death. A vicious thing, guilt is.

“…Nothing good ever stays,” you murmured.

“Don’t fret now.” I drew you in close against my chest, stroking your hair as you took in those slow, shuddering breaths. You accepted the touch, or rather, you didn't reject it, caught up in your own thoughts like you were.

“Hush, lass." Quiet, against the crown of your head. "Hush now.”

I waited until your breathing steadied before I spoke again. My one offer.

“You think yourself hopeless,” I said, hand a light touch against your back. “I see it clear, how completely you've given up on yourself. But it doesn’t have to be that way."

“What do you mean?” you questioned, pulling away just enough to meet my eyes.

“Have you ever heard of the phrase, ‘Is ferr fer a chiniud?’”

You shook your head.

“It’s an old maxim from Brehon law that I find still holds. A man is better than his birth. A phrase so important we wrote it into the very rules of our land.” I gazed deeply into you; the dancing fire reflected in your eyes—wide and unsure but still so curious. “Do you believe it to be true?”

You frowned. “Sure, that’s a nice thought, but it doesn’t change anything.”

“Oh, it can change everything. Your life can be better. You can be better.” I said.

My grip grew rigid.

“I came here to give that to you. I came here to save you, darling.”

And there it was, all out in the open now.

“What? What are you…?” You winced. “Ah, that hurts.”

You squirmed, but I held fast. Taking your chin under my forefinger, I kept you steady as I tilted my head to press my lips to yours. Soft. Breathless. Oh, how you’ve destroyed me and left nothing but a wanting thing.

You made a muffled sound of protest, or maybe shock. Pushing on my chest until you gained some semblance of space, of sanity.

“Have you gone mad? You’re his brother! What are you doing?” you cried.

Stunned as you were, I took your wrists in each of my hands, shifting slow to straddle your waist over you. You looked up at me—parted mouth, furrowed brow—confusion morphing into fear as you realized what exactly you had let in.

“I am no brother of that boy. Never was. You must forgive me for my lie; for it was only to get you here. Perfect under me, so.”

You pulled by the wrists, trying to shift even a little, but found my grasp impossible. That’s when the panic started to set in.

“Yo—Your eyes, they're wrong—”

I couldn't help but grin.

You struggled, jerking hard and fast against me. But when you realized it was of no use, you hollered—screamed—so terribly frightened. And I couldn’t deny that hit of excitement that ran through me at the sound, satisfying that dark thing inside that considered fear the same as ecstasy.

I let go of one of your wrists to cradle the back of your head, pulling you into another kiss. Hungrier this time. Carnal. I devoured your cries with each pulse of breath, lips slotting against yours perfectly as if we were made to be fitted together like this. Hot for me. Mouthwateringly sweet. So much drool it escaped down your chin in gossamer trails. I craved you. More than anything.

“Hmph!” Your knees kicked, still fighting me all the way. With your hand free, you tried to pull me off and I decided perhaps it was time for you to understand what you’re dealing with here.

With your incessant thrashing you rolled us onto the floor with a loud thud. You yelped but I steadied us there. Laid flat against your body to keep you down.

You tried to scream again, but I covered it with a hand. Tears welled up in your eyes like you didn’t know what else to do, overwhelmed-like.

Gentle, gentle, I reminded myself.

I had forgotten in the heat of the moment that you needed to be caged delicately. Forgot how fragile of a thing you were.

“Hush, little fawn… You're gonna ruin your voice keeping on like this. Listen, listen. Nothing but the pouring rain outside. No one can hear you through that, darling.”

You hiccuped under my hand, breath stuttering into a sob.

“It’s alright. Breathe. You’ve gotten yourself all worked up, so.” I stroked your cheek lightly under my thumb. “Your father’s got a big project tonight. A dresser for the Mason’s it seems. He’s gonna be in his shop for at least three, maybe two, more hours. That gives us plenty of time together, hm?”

You looked up at me, not just fear now but pure horror.

“And, your knife is over there by your bedside, left of the candle, isn’t it? Where you set it down after you get home? I don’t mind a bit of pain, but I think we should leave it out this time. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself now.”

Your eyes flashed to your room where the knife would be; the possibility taken before you could even try.

With all your options carefully mentioned and gone, the fight drained out of you just like I knew it would. I smiled, pressing a light kiss to the back of my hand over your mouth. When you were calm, I let you have your voice again.

You didn’t make a sound.

“That’s it. Let us not fight now; that’s not what this is about.” I traced the line of your jaw, memorizing the way your throat bobbed when you swallowed. “I want this to be a sweet thing for you. You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this. How I’ve imagined this exact moment for months. You are beautiful, sweetheart. So, so beautiful.”

“Who are you?” you whispered.

I loved that look on you. Your hair sprawled out like a halo, mouth wet and glistening, cheeks flushed warm with pulsing blood.

“I’m yours.”

I leaned down, lightly nibbling on your ear until you gasped.

“And I intend to make you mine tonight.”

I reached down, pulling up your skirt until I found that soft, heated center of yours. Cupping your cunt gently as your thighs squeezed around my hand, inadvertently pressing it further in.

“I ask for nothing but your pleasure, sweetheart; is it really such an awful thing to let yourself enjoy these soft touches of mine?” I tongued the shell of your ear, feeling you flinch and shiver against me, feeling the way you warmed my cool hand between your thighs. “Let me soothe that ache inside. I’ll lick you open, slow and thorough. Fill you on myself ‘til you’re dripping and mewling with need like a good lass.”

You shook your head. “I can’t,” you whined. “I can’t do it, please—”

I chuckled, breath hot against your ear. “You know you can. Here, feel it with me.”

I wedged my knee in between yours, parting those stubborn legs open and open. I took your trembling hand, guiding you down to your own sex, my fingers sure and steady covering yours. It was undeniable. Slick had already started to coat your entrance, growing wetter with each filthy promise. Intoxicating, it was, to feel your body ready itself for me.

“Imagine,” I whispered, pressing our hands firm into your folds, “my cock buried in her. Deep enough to kiss your womb and claim you whole. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Letting out all those pretty little noises like music as I pushed in.”

“Stop,” you pleaded, but it was weak. Without conviction.

“Stop?” I shifted to be able to see your eyes, tears clearly beading and trailing down your cheeks just how I imagined they would. “Oh no, there’s no stopping this, my sweet fawn. This was always going to happen.”

I brought our hands higher to that sensitive bud, played with it until it was engorged and puffy with arousal. I made your fingers rub fast, tiny circles there—mimicking the way you'd pleasure yourself alone. You gasped, head tilting back. Unconsciously letting your legs fall open ever so slightly, your breath growing staggered as I puppeted you.

I kissed your panting mouth—swollen and spit-slicked. Slower this time, sure, but not any less hungry. Filling you on my tongue while you worked our fingers on your cunt.

I wanted nothing but to have you brimming with me.

“Oh—oh fuck.” Your hips pulled low, legs starting to tremble with surmounting pleasure.

Ah, but we couldn't have that; not when I haven't even had a taste of you yet.

I took our hands away, delighted at the fact you groaned and jerked at the loss—searching for friction despite all of those hasty objections you insisted on.

I laughed low. “Patience, little fawn. I have plenty of time to satisfy you…”

And I intended on doing so; unhurriedly, I trailed open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, along your neck, over those tracks of salty tears that curled dark heat low in my stomach. No marks, not yet. But it was a special thing to explore your body for the first time, learning which nooks made you squirm, which rendered you docile.

Lower. I held you flat against the floor—holding down your ribs, your waist, your hips—sinking lower and lower until I reached the waistband of your skirt. Without hesitance, I hooked my fingers in. Your small feet tangled in it before I slipped it all the way off, crumpling it and throwing it aside to leave you bare.

You tried to curl in on yourself, but I would not have you embarrassed. So, I nudged you back open, sliding my arms under your thighs to pull you down to meet me. My mouth settling above your mound with your legs thrown over my shoulders. Like a gift.

“No, please, I didn’t—I don’t want…” you babbled, fingernails scratching at the floor, trying to pull yourself from my hold.

But all those protests meant nothing compared to the way your cunt pulsed loud and rhythmic in my ear. Radiating heat beneath my dripping mouth just begging me to partake.

And I wanted nothing but to partake and take and take.

Nosing your folds, I licked a slow stripe up the length of your slit, feeling the rumble of your muffled moan through the skin. It was hot and yielding and wonderful. That heady musk flooding my senses like a whirlwind, leaving me starving at your feet. I lapped greedily at your hole—sweet as sin—coaxing her to leak more and more ‘til it came in a steady drip. I drank from her, kissed her—euphoric at how she flexed with each pass.

It made me feel oh so close to you. How your heartbeat pounded hard; my tongue buried deep inside to feel it.

You clawed at my hair. Whining. Pushing. Driving me feverish—

I shifted to mouth over your clit, enveloping it whole and sucking gently to make your back arch. Lightly rubbing at your entrance, I dipped a finger in, then two. Your walls suckling and coating my fingers up to the knuckle as I dragged the pads along the muscle, thrusting them in and out. You took me so well, writhing and panting as I opened you up bit by bit.

“Remmick, please—” you said, “please—”

Yes, say my name, darling! Give it to me; I pumped my fingers faster, curling and twisting. Let me have you completely; sucking your clit hard, drool flowing down your folds. Shaking and lifting your hips to chase that high that beckoned closer, closer...

My cock twitched with heavy need. A need to see you molded by overwhelming desire.

“Hahn—oh Christ—” Your brows furrowed, arching into my touch as if to present yourself to me. Accepting what I gave even as you burned with shame.

Take it, sweetheart, take it take it take it. Moaning so beautifully. Your flesh pulled taut over your body. And then—

You broke. A flood of slick drenching my hand as I pulled out. I was after having it—my lips sealing over your hole to swallow down each wave. My hand on your stomach to hold you still. You cried out, convulsing over and over as you dug your heels painfully into my back. Gasping with quiet sobs as you came so prettily.

It was better than I imagined, more than that, it was real. Finally, finally.

The pressure in my trousers stirred me on; I needed you. Needed you to say my name and beg so softly for my cock in you. Impatient for it, I rose to my knees, pressing my hips slow and firmly down, your cunt staining the fabric where we met.

“Tell me,” I said, undoing my belt, “tell me how much you need me, lassie.”

You froze, eyes wide and bloodshot, lips pursed closed.

“Be convincing,” I purred, rubbing soothing circles along your ribs. But when you insisted on staying silent I took your jaw in my hand and squeezed.

Don't deny me.

“I-I need you, need this—Ah!”

I pinched harder, wanting more. Freeing my cock fully to rest against your cunt. Warming and covering me in slick as I grinded back and forth.

“Ta-Take me” you said. “Take me gently, please just… please—Remmick.” You couldn’t look me in the eye, face turned while you forced out the words.

“There you go,” I cooed, letting go, swiping your damp hair behind your ear. “You’ll come to like it in time, sweetheart.”

I lined myself up. Pushing in slow, feeling that resistance as I slid in. Heavenly. Feeling nothing but euphoria as your walls fluttered desperately around my cock. It took everything in me to not break you in right then and there. Contenting myself with shallow thrusts inching deeper and deeper while you slowly stretched.

Ever so slightly you relaxed, allowing me to slip in all the way—enveloping me whole. I let out a satisfied sigh, perfectly fitted together now—reaching deep enough to graze your tender womb. I curled over you, guiding your thighs to rest around my waist.

You squirmed, but I rolled my hips forward to keep us flush, relishing those pretty little sounds that escaped you. So achingly wet and open…

You looked up at me heartbroken.

Pleading but with no more words left to say.

Oh, it made me delirious.

“I love you,” I murmured, leaning down to press our lips together, starting a light rhythm. “I love you.”

I panted—licking into your slack mouth to share the taste of you. I fucked you deep, slow; steady thrusts making you whine and clamp down sweetly. Your little fingers grasped at my shoulders, for comfort, or stability, maybe. Seeking it in the same embrace that meant to consume you, dear.

“You’ve made an addict out of me,” I muttered into your mouth, your breath hot and alive. “It’s not enough... I want everything—everything you are.”

The words caused another wrack of sobs to run through you but there was no fight in it, just quiet despair.

“Hush,” I whispered, “it's true, lassie, it’s true” I kissed the tears that beaded in the corner of your eye, cradling your cheek. And to my surprise you leaned in to the touch.

My poor broken darling.

I took you in my arms, so close now. Your blood thrummed just below the skin, teasing me, so. But I couldn't—no marks, no marks. So, I swallowed down the saliva building quick and plenty, choosing instead to focus on that blessed friction. Clutching me nice and tight while I snapped my hips in hard, harder. My hand reached down to the small of your back, angling you up—

“Hahh,” you gasped when I brushed that sensitive spot inside, eyes lidded as you arched and came undone.

“Let it feel good, darling.” I shifted to hit it proper, your whole body constricting like a vice. “Give in—fuck—give in to me.”

I sped up, your soft walls gripping me deep inside—clenching my cock like you couldn’t bear to let go. Good and lovely and mine, mine, mine.

It wasn’t long before I could feel another orgasm well up in you. Your moans growing desperate, abdomen tensing erratically, and, most tellingly, you rolled your hips back to meet me—the way they only did when you’ve forgotten you’re supposed to hate this.

“Ah, will you come for me, lassie?” Rhythm growing frantic, my own release wasn’t far behind. I imagined how I would embed my cock as far as it could go, filling that most private place of you with myself. “One more. Just one more. Let me have it now—”

You shook your head like you could stave it off if you just tried. Repeating over and over “not inside, I can’t have it inside.”

But I couldn’t listen. Your body curled and seized—tightening up around me beautifully, twitching, grasping. So good my hips stuttered, forcing me over the edge with you. My fingers dug in hard, threatening to grow as I spilled within your soft walls.

A moan forced its way past my throat, guttural. I fucked my spend in deep, packing your womb full. My control taken when all I could think about was claiming you so fully you could never erase the mark. And your cunt squeezed over and over, begging for it even as it spilled out where we met.

It felt like ages before the bliss ran its course, leaving us breathing in tandem. My hips still grinding despite being completely spent. You, exhausted and heavy with your eyes fluttering closed.

“…There won’t be a child,” I told you, quiet. “Although I wish there would be.”

You didn't respond. Didn't even react, just breathed.

Holding your waist, I rubbed my thumbs over your stomach, pulling out of you slowly. “It would be a beautiful thing y'know. A real family, us three. But fate's got different plans for you and I, see.”

I settled between your legs once more, watching my spend drip down the cleft of your body, mesmerized. Indulging the urge, I pressed it back inside to keep you full. You frowned at that—my first reaction out of you since you went silent.

“No more, please… ‘m sore” you muttered, but you didn’t move or even flinch.

“No more,” I agreed, bending down to your cunt. Kissing her one last time while she was still warm.

And then I turned my focus to your inner thigh. And it was like the air itself held its breath.

Oh, how I’ve longed for this moment.

I held your body steady, rubbing soothingly over the skin to coax blood fast to the surface. It rushed through your veins, pounding unbearably loud. Thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump. Growing loud, louder, in my ear. Driving me mad—

So sweet! So achingly tempting that the smell pierced into my pores and dug under my tongue until it hurt. Until I needed it.

You craned your head, confused, trying to pull yourself from me. You could tell something was wrong. Terribly wrong. But I held fast.

You were not to move.

Something ancient and primal pried its way to the surface. The knuckles in my hands popped and grew. Skin distending tight over the bone.

Curling over your thigh to stop your incessant tugging.

Starving, starving! For just a bite. Teeth pushing out and through bloody gums, stretching painful, painful until I relieved them the only way I knew how. I sank deep into the skin—breaking it. Boring down and in to close around the soft muscle.

Screaming.

Rich blood flooded my mouth as I drank and swallowed over and over. Like the first taste of fresh spring water in a blazing heat. I needed,

More, more—

I had to have it all.

Blindingly good—oh, my perfect, beautiful darling, it was better than I ever could have imagined. It could only mean this was meant to happen. Of course. This was always meant to happen.

Harder. Screamed harder.

Bit down harder.

For more. Wanting it to flow like a rushing river.

So much blood I could drown in my gluttonous haste.

You thrashed but I didn’t care, it was too good. Slicing through skin and fat and vessel after vessel to pour into my mouth until I drained you dry.

It was everything I was promised.

Swallow after swallow until you stopped fighting, or rather, there was no more fight left to give. Twitching in the embrace of death. Close now, so.

I was proud of you. You did try so very hard.

I paused in my ecstasy, bringing my gore-laced lips up to kiss the crown of your head—something to take with you as you drifted off to sleep. Soaking the strands in red. Your eyes, vacant.

“Thank you,” I whispered, “thank you for this gift, lass.”

The only indication you heard at all being your twitching hand. Until that too stopped.

The stream thinned. Your body gave.

And the taste of you lingered.

I sat for a moment in a quiet, dead house. The rain still beating down outside like the world was too busy to care.

But here, there was still work to do.

So, calmly, I got dressed—doing up my belt, straightening your father’s shirt, running a hand through my hair—although the clothes were thoroughly ruined by now. I scooped you up, careful careful, and cradled you against my chest, precious so. Easy, with how light you were now. I carried you over to the bath, sitting you up against the side and closing your glazed-over eyes to rest while I sorted the house.

Peaceful, it was, to take care of you. I filled the bath with soap and water from rain buckets, rolling up my sleeves, and undoing your blouse to leave you fully bare. Innocent, this time. An angel in waiting.

I set you down in the water, the last vestiges of your blood blooming it red. It was a soothing, caring act: wiping down your tear-stained face, washing down your chest, back, and legs, and cleaning the bite mark as best as I could. After all, your blood was only for me. It wasn’t for others to ogle at. I rubbed the soap into your body with even circles, washing away any grime that still clung to you. And as much as it pained my heart, I flushed out the result of our coupling too. Making sure there was no trace left. In this final part of your life, I attended to you in this way.

After a thorough wash and dry, I set about my final tasks. Draining the tub, cleaning the floor of blood, and dressing you in your old clothes. I smoothed down your crinkled blouse and arranged your skirt to sit straight and modest again—covering the bite mark fully. I folded your hands in your lap to wait as I finished the final thing left to do.

The rope.

I’ve thought about how you would go about this, how familiar you would be with the knot. But you were not careless or sloppy, so it only made sense to tie it cleanly.

A loop, down and then up again, wrapping around and around and around ‘til it was snug and pulled tight. Draping it over a beam and dragging over something to stand on. The noose, now fully tied, hung high above your bedroom chair. Waiting. For you.

I picked you up like a bride, kissing your forehead one last time as an apology. An apology for how much your broken neck will hurt when you wake, but you had to understand this was a necessary precaution.

No one goes searching for the dead after all.

I hefted you up, resting the loop around your tender throat—the one I’ve loved since I first saw you.

And I kicked out the chair.

ᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴀᴄᴛ ᴏɴᴇ

Inspirations / Further Reading: On a Mountain by artificine 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩'𝔰 𝔤𝔯𝔬𝔬𝔪 by lefteagleblizzard RECORD, RUIN, REPEAT by spikedfearn going public from Let Me Be Your Dog by scannainscanrula

So, it was no surprise that you found yourself as another lonely wanderer through the vast Western frontier. You’d slipped out the back door of his farmhouse that had never been a home. And considering there hadn’t been a single sign of a search for you in the past five years, clearly, you weren’t missed. Maybe you’d been presumed dead.

It was no matter to you now. Courthill was long behind you, and living on your own as a young woman in the West had taught you more than your father ever had.

You’d done bad things, but no worse than any man. You’d killed, but no more than a woman’s survival called for.

Now, as you found yourself wandering in some forsaken town during the hottest month of the summer, you couldn’t help but remember your father’s words. There was no telling if you were even in Texas anymore. Your only possessions consisted of a sack swung over your shoulder carrying spare clothes and a canteen.

The scorched dirt crunched underneath your boots. This town wasn’t yours and you weren’t about to stroll around it like it was, but no matter how low you held your head, you felt the glare of cautious, watchful eyes.

It wasn’t everyday someone would see an alluring woman like you dressed in her father’s trousers—a few sizes too big—boots that were stuffed at the toe to fit, and a gambler hat faded by the sun. The most noticeable accessory was the silver pistol on your belt. But it wasn’t the stolen clothes that gave it away.

It was your hair. Uncut and hanging just above your waist. And the fact you hadn’t made an attempt to hide it under your hat showed you weren’t trying to be someone you weren’t.

You were just another runaway.

There were whispers, none of which you could make out, but enough to know you weren’t exactly welcome in this place.

You had to leave. Soon. But the next civilization wasn’t for another eight miles—too far to go on foot in this heat.

“Who is that?” A young boy asked his mother; she shushed him, and turned him away.

Like the sight of you was a walking sin.

The rim of your hat hid your eyes as you walked past them. A sharp turn to your right led you to another street lined with wooden buildings bent from the Western wind. This road was quieter and emptier; you preferred it that way.

Then, like a miracle, you heard the sound of a deep, throaty snort. Your gaze shifted to an alley between a small house and the telegraph office where a hitching post stood in the dirt. Tied to it was a black mare, standing strong despite the sun beaming down on her.

Bullseye.

You were careful not to make any sudden sounds as you approached the post. She shifted her weight, head hung low just like yours as steam faintly curled from her nostrils.

“Easy, girl,” you hold your hand out gently.

On her back was a worn leather saddle and two sacks hung over her hips. Braided reins wrapped around her snout. This one belonged to someone, and as a stranger to this town, you had no place in taking her.

A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, you thought to yourself.

Once you were close enough, you set your hand on her cheek, gently rubbing the soft fur with your thumb. “Long day?” You half-cooed, scratching underneath her chin. The mare snorted in response.

Looking over your shoulder to see that no one had noticed you yet, you began to sort through the sacks. An empty canteen. A couple of golden, shotgun shells. A stale, half-eaten piece of bread wrapped in cloth. A handful of silver dollars. You took the money, but everything else was nothing of value to you. You threw the sacks to the ground so the dust floated in the air like a cloudy sky you hadn’t seen in days. A bead of sweat dripped down your cheek as you hurriedly tied your own bag to the saddle, moving to undo the knot around the hitching post.

If your heart hadn’t been beating so hard that you could feel it in your eardrums, you might’ve heard the quiet footsteps behind you.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” a low, gentle voice called out to you.

You almost gasped, your fingers still fumbling with the reins. Turning on the heel of your boot, you noticed the figure at the end of the alley.

A man dressed in black half-smiled at you.

“Afternoon, sir.”

“Is there, uh,” he began to slowly approach you, and you readied yourself to pull the gun from your side. “something I can help you with?”

Perhaps he was just a kind man looking to help a random woman in trouble. But you didn’t plan on finding out.

“Oh, not at all,” you smiled warmly. “Thank you.”

You finished untying the knot of the reins, quick to get out of this town as soon as possible.

But before you could secure it in your hand, the man behind you clicked his tongue against his teeth. In almost an instant, the mare rushed to him, the reins slipping from your hands with a burning sensation. You hissed at the feeling and immediately pulled the pistol from your hip.

The horse stopped by his side. The man looked over to see your gun pointed directly at his chest. Aimed for his heart.

Roy Goode had met a lot of strange people in his life. He’d been to a lot of strange places, and never had he met such a woman like you—standing in your stolen boots and holding your pistol at him; you could take his life in an instant, and he doesn’t doubt it. He takes the reins in his hands and twists it around his palm.

“Thieves don’t do too well here,” he said, though it didn’t feel like a threat.

Dust swirls in the space between you. “I didn’t know it was yours,” there’s an edge of defensiveness and even shame to your voice. “I’ve stolen worse from worse men.”

There’s a ghost of a smirk on his face. The man studies you for a moment and nods once. “That why you’re out here alone?”

If you had thought of something clever enough to say, you would’ve, but your mind draws a blank. You’re fixated on the pair of blue eyes watching you. Without noticing, you’ve lowered your weapon to your hips already.

“What’s your name?”

You glared at him for a moment. “And why should I tell you?”

He smiles. “It’d be kind, at the very least. Wanna know who I’m talking to.”

“(y/n). (l/n).”

The man nods. “Well, Miss (l/n), horses aren’t just toys to be stolen,” he says, gently petting the mare’s chin and running his fingers through her mane. “You want something that runs, you earn it.”

“And how would I do that?” You tilt your head.

The man mounts the horse with an impressive ease. He settles into the saddle like he’d been doing it his entire life. Now, the tilted smirk on his face widens. “Don’t suppose you’re any good with a rifle?”

You glance off in the distance for only a second.

You could bolt off right there and then. It’d probably earn you a bullet in the leg, but you were quicker than you looked.

Most men in the West would have shot you on the spot for messing with what was theirs. Not this one. You clicked your teeth at the realization that your options were severely outweighed.

Any good with a rifle? “Good enough.”

WHOEVER THIS MAN was, he wasn’t completely with the law.

Yet, he didn’t seem to think himself above it. You nearly objected when he paid a rancher on the outskirts of town for a horse, saddle and all, but who were you to deny a gift? Besides, it had a lovely chestnut coat that you admired.

The town was far behind you as you slowed the horses’ galloping to a gentle stroll beside one another. To anyone who didn’t already know you, the two of you actually made quite a nice-looking pair.

Canyon walls surrounding you stood tall, practically glowing a golden rust in the late afternoon sun. Gravel and dirt crunched underneath the horse hooves; small songbirds gently chirped off in the distance; the dry air whistled a tune. The sweet music of the West.

Neither of you spoke much.

There was a polite “thank you” for the horse and a brief conversation about sunburn, but other than that, you were complete strangers. Perhaps it was a way of leaving the scenery undisturbed, or maybe it was that you didn’t have anything to say until one of you was sick of the silence.

Fortunately, he gave in first. “So what’s a young lady such as yourself doin’ in these parts?”

“I’m not a lady,” You had no qualms against this man, but a part of you scowled at him. It wasn’t the first time someone thought they’d figured you out because of what was between your legs. “And I’m from Courthill. Texas.”

He whistled. “You’re a long way from home.”

“How long?”

“About two weeks that way.” He pointed to the left.

For the past few days, you wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint your location on a map if it was laid out in front of you. It was odd to think that home—a place you never wanted to see again—was so close yet so far.

He spoke again. “I don’t suppose you made the whole journey by foot.”

You scowled, turning your head so he wouldn’t notice it. As of now, he’d only shown you kindness. You couldn’t shake the stubborn, defensive barrier that came with being a woman on her own.

“I had a horse,” you shifted the reins in your hands to avoid a large rock in the path. “Couldn’t keep it fed, so I sold it to a woman who could. A Miss Alice Fletcher.”

A brief silence settled between you before he broke it.

“Surely, there’re ways for a- uh, woman to, uh,” he cut himself off, gently stumbling on his words. You knew damn well what he was going to say. “You know…”

“Do I look like a prostitute to you?”

If your hair had been tied up, or you’d worn a thicker jacket to cover up the curve of your chest, Roy would’ve fairly assumed you were a thieving, conniving, worn-down man like him. But you weren’t. And he enjoyed seeing you in pants rather than a skirt. He didn’t even try to picture the latter.

There was dirt on your cheek. Mud smudged over the knees of your slacks. A small, red scar on your collar bone.

“No, ma’am.”

Good. That’s that. But he spoke again, just above a mumble like it was only meant for himself.

“You’d make good money as one.”

You sighed. A spiteful grin on your face. “So, would you.” It was meant to be offensive, something degrading and sarcastic. He hardly took it as one.

“Why, thank you.” He perked. You shook your head at your lame insult.

Then, he motioned to the hat on your head and the boots on your feet. “So I’m guessin’ those ain’t yours?”

Well, you’d hoped it wasn’t noticeable that they were a size too big. Your eyes trailed across the scenery, an embarrassingly obvious way of forming a quick lie. “A farmer from Oklahoma gave them to me.”

Of course, he saw right through it. “That don’t look like a farmer’s hat to me.”

“I didn’t realize I was being interrogated.”

“You did try to steal my horse.”

Touché, unfortunately. Without a moment to spare—because you really didn’t feel like opening yourself up to this man—you changed the subject. “Why’d you bring me along?”

He cocked his head. “Is it my turn now?”

You ignored the smirk on his face.

With a shrug, he continued, “There’s a man I’m lookin’ for, lives down in Tucson.” That nearly knocked the air out of your lungs. You pulled back on the reins and he turned at your sudden halt in the path. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“I don’t even know who the hell you are,” you sighed. It might’ve been better to speak a little quieter in a valley where anyone could be hidden, but you weren’t exactly aiming for security. “Look, I appreciate the horse, and I’m sure it’s a lovely ride to Tucson. This has been fun and all, but I’ve got other matters to deal with. You can’t even tell me the man’s name and I’m supposed to shoot him down for you?”

He didn’t necessarily smile at you; his lips only tilted slightly. It was his eyes that looked amused at your sudden burst.

The world you lived in wasn’t kind to women who used their mouths. You’d learned that the hard way from your father first. There were plenty of men down the line who’d shown you as well, mostly with their fist to your cheek. You weren’t wrong to feel angry or misled, but you hadn’t meant to raise your voice with a stranger.

Maybe he’d shoot you right there. Leave you for dead in the middle of nowhere.

But there was no firm slap across your face nor the ringing of a gun piercing a bullet in your side.

Just the surprisingly gentle tone of his voice.

“Now, that’s a mighty fine stallion, so you’re welcome for the horse. And yes, it is a lovely ride to Tucson. I think you’ll enjoy it. I wouldn’t say this has been fun—is this what you consider fun?” You scowled. “But I enjoy the company. And seein’ that you’ve made no attempt to outrun or rob me—again—I don’t think you do have other matters to attend to.

“The man’s name is Les Moore. He’s a banker-turned-bandit. We’ve got unfinished business I don’t plan on disclosin’, but I do plan on shooting him myself. I simply need someone to watch my back. And my name is Roy.”

He paused again, but this time, it left a noticeable weight in the air.

“Roy Goode.”

You knew that name. There wasn’t a soul throughout the West that didn’t know that name. You’d heard it in folktales and stories around campfires, seen it written in thick, blank ink on wanted posters across a hundred different towns.

Even further, you knew that the man it belonged to had a certain friend you didn’t want any association with.

“If you’d like to go your own way, be my guest.” He continued. “But you don’t seem to know these parts and a lot of men stronger than you have died here. It’s up to you…ma’am.”

A long silence followed.

Your teeth dig into the inside of your cheek because, deep down, you know he’s right. And you hate being wrong. The two of you stood still in the middle of the canyon. Even your horse sighed with impatience, but Roy kindly awaited your response.

“Fuck,” you said under your breath.

Then loud enough for Roy to hear, “Fine. But know this, Roy Goode,” You clicked your heels against the stallion’s belly. “Ain’t no man in the West who’s stronger than me.”

Not a single bone in Roy’s body doubted it.

“CAREFUL, NOW.”

You clenched your jaw so visibly that Roy could see you were in no need of his advice. The rifle rested so comfortably in your hands, he had to wonder how many times you’d done this.

“I know how to shoot, Goode.”

“I believe you,” He dryly chuckled. “So take the shot.”

He had a point. It only pissed you off more. You shifted quietly enough that the small, dirt-colored rabbit off in the distance never noticed your presence. At this point, it would’ve been Roy’s voice that gave it away.

“Shut up,” you hissed.

With your left eye squeezed shut, you focused your sight on the rabbit. Not even your heart could beat hard enough to throw off your aim, but a gentle breeze blew a strand of hair into your face and ruined your line of vision.

“Let me do it,” Roy moved to take the pistol from his side before a shot rang from beside him.

The rabbit dropped to the ground with a gentle thud.

You grinned at your new partner in crime. “You were saying?”

An hour passed before the sun sat low in the sky, just above the line of the land, casting a golden hue across your surroundings. The rest of the sky was somehow an inky shade of black, illuminated with more stars than you’d ever seen in your life. Strange you thought to yourself. Embers from the small fire Roy had started with spare branches and weeds floated above you, glistening amongst the stars.

He watched you take the blade hidden in your belt, dragging it against the rabbit’s fur and pulling its skin from the meat. The women he knew would’ve gagged at the sight of blood or ran at the simple thought of killing an innocent animal.

But not you.

“Now, where’d you learn to do that?”

You chuckled, a faint smile coming to your face, at a memory. “I can’t go givin’ you all my secrets.”

There was something about you that knew survival. It was gritty and dark, and though he would never admit it, Roy ached to know more.

He hung the meat above the flames on a spit, gently twirling it so the skin had an even, roasted color all over. Your mouth watered at the sight of it. Once it was ready, the two of you ravaged it with desperate fingers like starving wolves. It was, in no way, a good meal. Dry and flavorless, and split between the two of you, one rabbit was hardly enough. But it was the first time in days that your stomach had been able to settle over anything.

“I lived off of lizards for a time,” Roy said once there were only bones left. The two of you wore soft, tired smiles that came with good food and good company. You’d licked your fingers clean and now used your leather sack as a make-shift pillow. “Can’t shoot the fuckers. I had to chase after them with a blade.”

You laughed softly. Roy enjoyed the way a smile—not a flashy, pretty one put on to appease the men around you, but a distant, reminiscent one—looked on you.

“I’ve been there. I was near Mexico when all I had were tree leaves and cactus meat. Boiled it with river water.” Roy hummed a chuckle. The horses, tied to a withered tree, shuffled nearby. You glanced over your shoulder at them. “I like to think they’re talking to each other.”

“They are,” he said, throwing the last of the bones into the dirt. “June’s got a lot of stories to tell him.”

For a brief moment, you thought it odd that he referred to the horses like they were the same as him—or that he was one of them.

You arched a brow, “You named her June?”

Roy could see that you were amused. “Thought it was pretty.” He almost shrugged.

You hummed in fairness. Glancing back at your horse, you realized it didn’t feel right to leave him nameless. And despite Roy having bought it, the stallion was yours. “Johnny.” You said plainly.

“Come again?”

“I’ll name him Johnny.”

Now you were talking like you were one of them too.

Roy wondered then who Johnny was to you. Or maybe it was someone from a past life. He gazed at the remains of the fire before glancing over at you.

Maybe it was the gentle light in the vast darkness, but there was a newfound softness in your face. He could see the tiniest of imperfections—small scars won in battle, a minuscule bump on your chin—of which most women would cover with powder.

But not you.

He’d seen beautiful women before. Plenty of them. And here you were, resting near the flickering fire and under the iridescent moonlight, forcing him to question if he’d ever really understood beauty before he saw you.

“Johnny and June.” He said out loud in thought.

You met his eyes, unaware of how long he’d been looking at you. “It has a nice ring.”

Roy nodded. “That it does.”

THREE DAYS OF riding had taken the two of you to a small town called Tombstone, just a day’s journey to Tucson. Roy’s name was known around here, but, thankfully, his face wasn’t.

With a pair of crinkled, ten-dollar bills, he reserved two separate rooms in a lodging above the general store. As he paid, the clerk didn’t miss her chance to shoot a half-confused, half-cautious glare your way. “Each room’s got a tub,” she noted, motioning to the smudged dirt on your cheek.

You gave her a tight smile. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Roy handed you a key and kept one for himself as the two of you scaled the stairs to the second floor. “Hungry at all?”

“You got the money for dinner?”

He shrugged, “Enough for more than rabbits and lizards.” You reached a long hallway. He pointed to the second to last door marked with a 6. “I think that’s your room there.”

“This says four,” you read the engraved number on the key. The correct door was only two away. Roy only hesitantly chuckled to himself. You glanced at his key, “And you’re three.”

“Right,” he said, awkwardly but gratefully nodding. He seemed to know numbers well enough when it came to money.

Without saying more, you started to fumble with the keyhole of your door. The lock clicked open before Roy spoke again. “There’s a saloon on the corner. Meet me there a little after the sun sets? Give you some time to rest up.”

You were surprised to instantly nod at his request. “Sure,” you smiled before you went your separate ways.

The room wasn’t much by anyone else’s standards, but it was more than you’d seen in weeks. A wire-framed bed with two quilts and an oil lamp sat to your right; a wardrobe for clothes you didn’t have stood tall in the corner. A metal basin in the other one. The windows were adorned with dusty lace curtains that filtered the sunlight into the room.

You locked the door behind you and tossed the sack on the ground, immediately collapsing onto the bed. The springs squeaked underneath your body, but the mattress was comfortable enough.

Better than rocks and dirt.

Before you let your eyes close, you watched the ceiling, noticing the slight cracks in it. They began to form a shape, soon morphing into a familiar face. Blue eyes that always seemed to gaze at you when you weren’t looking. A pair of soft lips that hardly ever smiled, but on the canvas of the ceiling, they did.

You laid on your side and forced your eyes shut.

But even in the darkness of your mind, a place of purgatory between dreams and wake, you saw him.

WHEN YOU WOKE, you swore you could feel something grazing your arm. But you turned over to see that you were still alone in the room. The sweet, golden light of day was gone now, replaced by the ghostly, glowing moon. A gentle hue of purple sat over the horizon.

It hadn’t been dark for long. You thought this while mentally praying you hadn’t kept Roy waiting too long.

You hurried to grab your hat and leave the room, rushing down the stairs and out the door. Just as he’d said, a saloon stood tall on the corner of the street. A few men grouped together with smoke curling from their mouths watched as you approached the entrance.

“Evening…ma’am,” they said hesitantly at your appearance. You only nodded.

With one step into the bar, you seemed to catch the attention of nearly everyone inside. You noticed then that there didn’t appear to be a single woman. Even the man at the piano stopped playing his song, only missing a beat before starting again.

Silence. Your boots clicked against the wood floor.

You glanced around the room for your traveling companion before a man with a thick beard approached you. His broad frame seemed to block you from entering further.

“Ma’am.” He grinned, revealing yellow teeth and two silver caps. His eyes drifted up and down your figure. “I think you may be in the wrong place. Sally’s cafe down the street doesn’t close for another hour.”

You tightly smiled back. “I assure you, sir, I’m in the right spot.”

You began to move forward again before his firm hand pressed itself over your stomach. The contact, unexpected and unwelcome, made you suddenly feel trapped.

“Good men don’t go puttin’ their hands on young women,” a voice said from behind you.

The man slowly dropped both his hand and his grin. You turned to see Roy standing just as he had back in that alley. He offered you a small smile.

“You with him?” The man sneered, glancing back and forth between you and Roy trying to discern the dynamic. You shook your head.

“He’s with me.”

As the man backed away, retreating to his spot at the bar with his friends, Roy’s footsteps halted at your side. He pulled out a chair from a table nearby and held his hand out like a gentleman. You kindly took the seat.

Roy sat across from you, placing his hat on the table. “Two whiskeys,” he ordered once a server came by. “What’s your finest meal?”

“I’ve got a beef and bean stew.” The server offered.

“Two of those,” you smiled. He turned away, leaving just you and Roy alone again.

And despite the other men in the room cautiously eyeing you, not a single soul seemed to exist then. The server returned with two glasses of whiskey before the bar guests called him back over.

“That happen anytime you go somewhere?” Roy asked with the whiskey at his lips.

You twirled your glass, careful not to spill a single drop. “For the most part,” you shrugged, though you don’t appear to be at all fazed from the gentle smile you wore. There was a distant, amused gleam in your eyes where Roy could see a thousand thoughts running in your mind.

“I don’t need saving, you should know,” you added a little quieter.

Roy wasn’t offended. Not at the very least, but he thought it odd that you hadn’t fully appreciated his incursion. Now that he considered it more, he would’ve liked to see you handle yourself.

“Well, I respect that,” he said. You nodded in gratitude and he blinked.

“You’re a respectable woman, Miss (l/n).”

Your body froze as whiskey hit your throat like flames. “What makes you say that?”

He gave a small shrug. “There aren’t many women out in the West who carry themselves with…strength.” He held his hand up defensively and chuckled. “I mean no offense, I think all women are respectable. More than any man, that’s for sure. Hell, my mother died when I was young, but I knew she was formidable.”

You knew that kind of pain. Your heart clenched, but your expression didn’t change.

“I guess, you somewhat remind me of that about her.”

You’d been complimented before, much more in regards to your looks, but there were many who’d commended your skills with a pistol or aptitude for words. No one had gone so far as to say you were formidable.

And deep down, you’d always considered yourself so.

But it was different to finally hear it from someone else. Someone other than your mind who could see you for what you were.

You knew you were strong. And Roy Goode knew it too.

“My mother died when I was young, as well,” you added. “Don’t remember her much, and my father didn’t like to talk about it.”

He studied you for a good moment. Then, knowingly, “You ran away?”

“As soon as I was eighteen,” you hummed. “Should’ve done it sooner. Woulda saved me a lot of trouble.”

The subject of parents was a risky place to go with someone like Roy Goode, but there wasn’t a bone in your body that was afraid of it. “What about you,” you amused. “Mama died and you come across Frank Griffin?”

His eyes snapped up to yours like a threat, but you weren’t afraid of him. At all.

“Everyone knows who Frank Griffin is,” you downed the rest of your drink. A little more would go to your head soon. “I’m not stupid.”

Then, Roy’s eyes softened.

“You can read,” was all he said.

“What?” Did he even hear you?

Roy quickly caught himself and shook his head. “Nothin’.”

The server returned to the side of the table and refilled your glasses. Once he was out of earshot, Roy rested his elbows on the table. “I met Frank when I was younger. He and his brother saved my life.”

You arched a brow. “Frank Griffin saved your life?”

“Careful, ma’am,” he finished his second glass in one gulp. “Don’t go sayin’ his name too many times, or you’ll summon someone worse than the devil.”

“Guess he can’t be too bad if you’re with him.”

Although you expected Roy to chuckle, or at the very least smile, at your comment, he didn’t. He instead thickly swallowed as if he’d suddenly gone nervous. You could see his knuckles tense.

It was maybe a miracle when the server then arrived with two steaming bowls of stew. The smell that it emanated was that of bitter salt and old potatoes, but as you dragged your spoon in it, it looked fine enough to consume. The two of you hesitantly and simultaneously took one mouthful before furrowing your brows in thought.

After a moment, you set the spoon down and shook your head.

Roy’s lips curled in disgust. “I think I almost prefer the rabbits and lizards.”

You instantly broke out into a synchronous chuckle, one that almost made your smiles reach your eyes. He tried to take another bite before swearing it was poison. A few other guests at the bar sent some questionable glares your way—your laughter was nearly louder than the piano.

But the two of you could hardly notice anyone else when you had the other right across the table.

IT WAS SURELY late enough to retire back to your rooms by the time you’d finished at the saloon, but the combination of your earlier rest and the whiskey running through your veins left you both awake.

The street lamps had been lit as the two of you strolled down the side, passing by the few townspeople who’d decided to enjoy the pleasant evening air.

For the first time in a while, it wasn’t blistering hot, even with the moon in the sky.

Your conversation from dinner hadn’t ended for a single moment during your walk. “You’re some kind of horse whisperer, then?” You asked after Roy had told you he ‘understood them’.

“Maybe I am,” he chuckled, hands lazily in his pockets. “Maybe we share the same kind of brain. I can hear them.”

You shook your head with a grin, the whiskey still hot in veins. “You’re something else,” you mumble. “You got June well-trained, I’ll say that.”

But Roy tutted. “It’s not ‘trained’—your first mistake.” You nodded for him to continue. “I respect her and she respects me. It’s a relationship.”

“She respects you?” You asked in amused disbelief.

He hummed. “It’s a balance, like an exchange.”

Though you can still sense the humor in your voice, you momentarily ponder that what Roy said was deeply beautiful. You’d never given it much thought, but riding a horse was much more than mounting it and yelling at it until it went.

Roy had a profound tenacity for kindness that you hadn’t encountered in very many, if not any, men. In a way, it puzzled you. He was a complicated, tangled string that became a fascinating image in all of its knots. You were vexed by it just like the constellations in the sky as the two of you gazed up at the end of the road.

“I do hope Heaven is real,” you say out loud. You didn’t actually mean to.

But Roy knew exactly what you meant.

“Me too,” he said softly, carefully shifting his gaze to you for only a moment—taking in how perfectly moonlight hit your skin, shadowing and highlighting all of the right parts.

You were the type of woman someone carried a picture of with them for the mere hope they’d see you again.

He looked down at his boots in the dirt. “Doubt I’d make it there.”

You turned to him. “You don’t think so?”

“Well, bad men seem to do well enough down here,” Roy smiled softly to himself. “I don’t think I know anyone who’d make it up there. Good, bad…I used to think there was a difference. It’s just two ends of the same spectrum.”

“And what about me?”

Roy looked at you then, almost puzzled. Bewildered. “What?”

“You said you don’t know anyone who’s good enough for heaven.” The slight tilt of your lips was more intoxicating than the whiskey. “What about me?”

Despite the burning in his pulse, Roy held himself back from saying what he wants: Wherever it is, I hope it’s with me.

Instead, he professed, “Well, you just might be an exception.”

And for the first time since you met Roy Goode, you let yourself feel the blood in your body rush to your heart. It moved to your cheeks, and you mentally thank God that it was too dark to see how red they’d turned.

But there were worse matters on hand than the flush on your face. It was the horrible ache between your legs that hadn’t been relieved in…too long.

“C’mon,” you mused. “We should get back before it’s too late.”

His bashful smirk matched your own.

ROY’S EYES DON’T pull from your figure for a single second as he follows you up the stairs…the sway of your hips with each step, how you glance over your shoulder to see if he’s close behind.

And each time you look, he’s exactly where you expect him to be.

The sound of your boots comes to a halt as you stop at the door marked four, your fingers brushing over the handle. Roy’s presence lingered behind you like a ghost.

“Today was a hot one,” he says quietly, as if anything too loud would have you running away. “Left me feelin’ grimy.”

Like you’d said: You weren’t stupid. “Best to wash it off, then.”

He nods back slowly with a soft smirk you haven’t seen him wear yet. You wonder then what it’ll be like to undress it.

You push the door open with a sudden ease from Roy’s weight pressed against you. His hand graces over your hip as he closes the door witht the heel of his boot. Once his touch becomes firmer—but still respectful—you speak again.

“You’ve helped me an awful lot these past few days.” You didn’t expect yourself to speak so softly. His other hand sets his hat on the side of the bed. “Buying me that horse, this room…”

In the corner, the large metal basin sits empty. Waiting.

“You treat every girl who robs you like this?”

A quiet chuckle comes from the depths of his chest. “Just this one.”

Your eyes glance at his, before drifting downwards to where your hand ghosts over his belt. A shaky, almost inaudible breath falls from his lips. “I almost feel like I owe you.”

“Oh, no,” he drawls. “Darlin’, you don’t owe me nothin’.”

He tilts your chin upwards so your eyes meet his again. You don’t even notice you’ve taken your bottom lip in between your teeth, and he nearly moans just at the sight of that.

“I’m a giver,” he says softly, his thumb dragging over your lip. The metal in his belt clanks as you fumble with the buckle.

He leans in even closer. “And I could give you something more.”

So close. Close enough that he can undo each button of your blouse, so slowly you swear he’s trying to make your skin crawl. Close enough that he can feel your lips brushing over the corner of his mouth.

It’s not an invitation. It’s a seal of approval.

And so with it, Roy lets his body move before his mind can stop him—not that it ever would. You mold so perfectly against his lips like he was made to kiss you and no one else. It’s warm and wet when he drags his tongue, brushing over your teeth and finding your own.

You’ve been kissed before, but never like this. Never so sweetly yet vigorously. He pulls your top from your shoulders and lets it fall to the ground, your trousers soon after. You toe your boots off before unbuttoning his own shirt.

He pulls from the kiss to drag his lips across your jaw, grazing over your neck.

“Been wonderin’ what was underneath all this.”.

“You like what you see?” You giggle.

He stands back, and you’re left vulnerable and naked. The air is cold without his touch. You almost feel unsure of yourself.

Then you realize he’s looking at you with the hunger of a starved wolf.

“Darlin’, I ain’t sayin’ I’m gonna ruin you—would never ruin you,” his chest rises and falls with a heavy, steadying breath. “But you just might beg me to.”

Your knees almost buckle. He moves to switch on the faucet to the tub, and you take the moment to appreciate the parts of him you can see. His belt hangs slightly open, the zipper of his jeans pulled halfway down.

You run your hand through the water once it reaches a high level in the tub.

“‘S perfect,” you hum, a warm smile on your face that soon disappears when Roy lifts you from your feet.

He sets you inside the tub, leaning over the edge. Cupping the water with his hands, he runs it over every inch of your body, making sure there isn’t a single dry spot apart from your face. When his fingers graze your skin, you shudder.

“Aren’t you gonna join me, Goode?” You ask with a tempting smile.

“Lady’s first.” He takes a soft rag by the side of the tub and lathers it with a citrus soap, rubbing it smoothly over your figure.

You sigh contently. “No point in washin’ the sin off me now if we’ll be making more later.”

Your eyes meet his. Temptation mounted his face with an alluring darkness settling over his eyes.

A pressure began to build in the space between your legs before you realized it was no phantom feeling, but instead Roy’s two digits submerged under the water. He’d dropped the towel in the water with his mind focused on something else now. His fingertips brushed over your pearl before completely pressing against it.

He acted as if there was no time to waste, setting a consistent, circular motion over your clit. Your eyelids fluttered close blissfully.

“Fuck,” Your brows knitted together, a soft, restrained curse fell from your lips.

Then, he pulled his hand away.

Your eyes shot open again to meet his. He warned, “Don’t hold back from me now, baby.”

You nod as he pressed a little harder against you. You swear his hand is made of iron—hot, smooth metal that knows just how to perfectly work the most beautiful sounds from you.

As you writhe in the water, eyes squeezed shut with your mouth gaped open, Roy’s eyes remain on you.

“Someone’s gonna hear you, honey,” he presses his forehead against your temple. “They don’t deserve to.”

You instinctively lean against him, grinding your hips into his hand. The pads of his fingers drift down to your puckering hole, but no more than that.

“Please, Roy,” your hand reaches out of the water to curve around the back of his head, pushing his mouth closer to yours.

He chuckles. “I told you, you’d be begging for me.”

Then, like he was trying to make you cry, he pulled away and rose to his feet so he towered over you. His bottom lip, swollen from your kisses, hung heavy and glistened with your drool as Roy’s hands pulled his belt from the loops. It fell to the ground with a loud clatter, his jeans following soon after.

You stood from the tub and reached for him, your hands drifting down to the last thing covering him from you. And once he was fully bare, the two of you stood still for a moment.

Shamelessly, you drifted your gaze down his body, taking in what it was like to see Roy Goode in all of his glory.

Glorious was the right way to put it, for sure.

He smiled as he watched you scan him before taking your lip in between your teeth again.

“C’m’here,” he says softly, taking your hand in his.

You stepped out of the tub, dripping water on the wood floor. It’d surely leak through to the ceiling above the poor woman downstairs.

Before you could say anything, Roy’s mouth landed on yours again, his fingers running through the dry roots of your hair.

“Can’t get enough of you.” His words came out muffled and broken through the kiss.

“It’s yours,” you say, placing your hands on his chest and breaking the kiss. A small, gentle push has him settling on the floor, and you’re quick to take your seat on top of him.

His eyes softly close when your folds envelope his cock with an insatiable warmth.

“I’m yours. From the moment you showed me,” you relax and feel his solid shaft right under that swollen pearl. “Kindness when I did you wrong.” Your fingers lace with his. “I’m all yours, Roy. So take it.”

His right hand lifts your hips the slightest bit, allowing him space to take his cock in his left hand. He strokes it gently with a tight fist. The tip of it bumps against your hole, and you can feel it leaking against you.

“You ain’t real,” he whispers, eyes focused on where you two touch. And in a moment, you become connected. “Are you?”

One swift move of his hips pushes his full length past your folds. Your jaw drops open, but it’s the overwhelming feeling of him splitting you open that leaves you surprisingly quiet.

Roy doesn’t seem happy at that. He juts his hips upwards at a different angle so a sweet yelp cuts through the air. “Fuck, that’s good,.” He pulls you so close that your flesh nearly melts around the bone. You’re putty in his hands. “Pretty cunt’s grippin’ me like a vice.”

Everytime Roy’s hips draw from you, only to vigorously push themselves into you again, you swear you see God.

The skin on your knees splits against the splinters of the floorboards. A pleasurable pain. You steady yourself with your hands on his chest.

“‘S my turn, now,” your words slur together, eyelids heavy from how sweetly the tip of him kisses your cervix. “Gotta give you something too.”

He doesn’t object. His hands settle like a loose weight over your hips as you start to move yourself. Your hips grind against him, letting his cock rub against every inch inside of you. The motion is too familiar. For a second, you swear you’re riding off into the sunset with heaven in your pocket.

Your eyelids flutter close when you begin to bounce. And though you can’t see it, Roy can. His chest under your hands lets out heavy breaths as he gazes at how you swallow his entire length like it’s nothing.

But he knows it’s not. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he feels his body go loose. He lets himself give in to you. “Ride it.”

Gravity pushes you down just for you to lift yourself back up again. Your tits bounce in the most mesmerizing way, and Roy’s hand reaches up to grab the flesh of them. His thumb rolls over your nipple.

“You’re beautiful,” he grunts out, bending his legs so you can rest your back against them. But your movements don’t stop.

And neither does the way Roy looks at you like you’re the only thing worth living for.

When you catch his eyes on you, you clench around his girth, pulling another sharp moan from him. Suddenly, his hips begin to meet yours in a pleasurable rhythm; the sounds of skin slapping, heavy breaths, and your delicate yet guttural moans make the most beautiful music.

“Don’t stop, sweetheart,” Roy pleads.

Your mouth curls, “Who’s begging now?”

He chuckles. A soft tension around his cock grows into a desperate need to finish off how good you feel around him.

“You got it, baby.” His drawl leaves your hips stuttering, and he can tell from how you’ve tightened around him, you’re feeling just the same as him. “Make yourself feel good on it, just like that. Wanna see you turn to pieces all over me.”

Suddenly, your head is too heavy to hold upright. It lulls back onto your shoulders, all of your energy going towards the way you ride him.

“You feel it? Gonna make a mess for me?”

You nod, rapidly and loosely.

“We’ll just have to clean you up all over again.” He mutters to himself, and you can hear the smirk on his face. It stays there even as his brows furrow together, a mixture of bliss and pressure.

You feel the pad of his thumb press against your clit again. You instantly break at the contact. He feels your orgasm wash over him, a lush shower of warmth that brings his own release.

It mixes together inside of you like the sunrise bleeding into the remainder of the night outside your window. It’d be illogical to sleep now, but you can’t find it within yourself to keep your eyes open as your cheek rests against Roy’s chest.

His hand lazily rubs over your spine. “S’pose Les Moore will have to wait to die another day,” he whispers.

You chuckle, “Don’t waste your bullets on that man. I’ll do it myself.”

Roy cocks his head. A few days ago, you would’ve protested at any mention of doing his bidding. And here you were, now, ready to make yourself a wanted woman.

There were many women he’d slept with. Many women who’d opened their doors, shared their beds, held him in their arms. Many women who’d sing him to sleep thinking it’d make him maybe even love them.

And sure, he’d been with whores. He’d paid good money to see fine women dance like there was no God above. Maybe even paid them off enough so they wouldn’t have to suffer under any more men with a heavy fist.

Many women who’d liked the color of his eyes. Who’d gasped and shuddered at the sound of his name. Who’d fawned over the sight of him.

But never a woman like you.

He tells himself to remember that forever as he carries you to the bed.

You’ll wash in the morning he thinks when he pulls the covers to your chin. And when Roy moves to draw his own bath, he hears your tired voice from behind.

“Don’t go,” you call out to him.

He hums. “I’m only right here, darlin’.”

Your eyes are closed shut, lost in a dimension between sleep and wake. “Here,” you say softly, motioning to the spot in the bed next to you.

He ignores the sheer layer of sweat clinging to his skin. He ignores that there’s still dirt in his hair from earlier in the day. He ignores the grimy feeling underneath his nails and the ache in his feet. Roy carries himself to the side of the bed.

The sheets are cool against his skin as he takes the spot beside you. Then, he feels the warmth of your arm draped over his chest. He stills.

“You never held a woman, Roy Goode?” you tease with a tired smile.

“Sure, I have,” he says. “First time it’s felt right, though.”

You move your head so he can tuck his arm underneath it. He feels your soft, mindless clouds of breath against his skin.

This is it he thinks. Heaven.

his hands were locked on your ass in a bruising grip, as he continues to rock back and forth inside of you. his face buried in your chest, slowly losing his mind, overwhelmed by how perfect you feel

you could've sworn he stopped breathing with the way his face was completely smushed between your breast. you bite your lip with a lop sided smile... but you didn't have much room to talk about him, with your own climax quickly approaching

he lets out a desperate moan and begins to pump faster, hitting that spot that makes you become light headed. your mouth widens as you throw your head back, chanting yes, yes, yes as you are brought to tears

with him still thrusting, you gather the energy to look down again, and are met with intense, electrifying eyes and a dark look, right before he releases inside with a groan. too far gone, he had completely lost all control

it was so powerful, the energy surged off of him, causing the power to go out all around you

you both froze in place, still in bed. slowly uncovering your faces, you cautiously looked around, assessing what had just happened

he knew before you did, swearing under his breath and plopping his head on your stomach in defeat with a huff. you had to cover your mouth to stifle the laugh that was inches away from bursting through. he was silent for a moment, already well aware that tomorrow he's going to get an ear full of this from... well... everyone

"its not funny" he said with that infamous frown

that just made you laugh harder

unable to resist, he cracked a smile himself, in disbelief

what was he going to do with you

it’s like his prayers had been answered

you two were in his dimly lit room sitting on his bed, with the house all to yourselves. you wore your favorite dress, excited to see him again. it started off with talking and a few jokes here and there. he removed his shoes and decided to lie down, your company alone putting him at ease. you asked if it was okay if you joined him, with the sitting position starting to become uncomfortable. he fixed his face to remain calm and gives you the green light, when he is actually freaking out on the inside. you lie down just a few inches from his face, & confess how comfortable you feel and how much you appreciate him. he says the same to you, letting you know how easy it is to talk to you & much you’ve helped with adjusting to his new life.. and that he couldn't have done it without you. you shake your head, knowing that isnt true… when you notice him leaning in closer. your heart quickens with your body temperature rising, when you slowly begin to move to meet him

the kiss starts gentle, becoming familiar with one another, not wanting to disrupt the peace of the moment. his lips are so soft, and with his gentle touches, its beginning to feed your desire for more. you apply more pressure with a moan, and that awakens his hunger. you run your hand thru his white tuft, & for gods sake its soft too.. eliciting a little moan from him. the tension is thick, it is clear you both have wanted each other for a long time now. you move your massaging hand down his abdomen. “i want you” your faint voice barely a whisper. his mouth is agape, his brain frying and failing, leaving him high and dry. by god does he want you too

noticing him frozen, you giggle and slowly lay him down on his back, making your way between his legs. he is halfway hard with precum gathering at the top. you kiss the tip, and he jerks slightly. using your tongue, you begin tracing the veins on his shaft, enjoying his suppressed little whines. he’s definitely starting to fully harden now. you begin to plant open mouth kisses from the base up before taking him in fully and sucking. he hisses, followed by an airy “fuck”. he lightly grabs the back of your head, every so often gripping your hair then releasing. after you’ve gotten him nice and lubed, you decided to take him all the down and swallow, which causes you to choke, just a little

shadow quickly removes you in a panic, swearing his soul left his body for a split second. “d-don’t” he heaves, and pauses for a moment “i won’t- you’re gonna make m-” its hard for him to get the room to stop spinning. its so cute seeing him a mess like this. but its a good thing he stopped you, because you weren’t finished yet. you nod and position yourself so that your back is facing him, lifting your dress and pulling your panties to the side. you look over your shoulder, “ready?” yes and no, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut & throwing his head back onto his pillow. you smiled and began to lower yourself onto him. thanks to your work from before, he slid inside with ease. he grips your hips, & with moans filling the room, you gently rock back and forth, feeling his prominent veins each time

it was more perfect than you imagined