Beast

wc: 2930

He could smell the beast of the castle. It was somewhere close. So close, in fact, he could hear its breathing.

Not it. Her. Her castle. Her dungeon.

Then he heard her voice, sultry and alluring and mocking in the pitch black.

“Sir Fulke.”

Fulke pulled against the chains which bound his wrists behind him and his ankles to the legs of a chair. The rattle of the chains echoed off of damp walls.

The soft voice was closer. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, sir knight. Surely, you have already tested your bonds and found them more than adequate for their task. Any more effort in that way will merely sap your strength.”

Fulke matched her mocking tone. “Thank you for your concern.”

“Not at all.”

Fulke started and shifted his head. The voice was behind him now. Damn it, how did a beast as large as she manage to move so quietly?

He had seen her earlier; indeed, he had fought her for six long hours, more than enough time to memorize every black scale on her back, each red eye, each leathery wing, each cruelly curved talon.

It was her voice, though, which had truly undone him. Rather than the raucous roar he had expected from such a beast, she had practically purred at him, not in a kittenish way, but in a far more dangerously feline way. That voice was so sensual, so intoxicating, and it distracted him in ways he would rather not think of on a battlefield. That voice evoked the feel of every sexual encounter he had ever had, and promised, impossibly, more.

And now, in the dark, that effect was magnified, almost unbearably so.

Fulke shook his head to clear it, to erase the illicit images which crowded into his mind.

“What are you doing?” he ground out between clenched teeth.

“I have no idea what you mean.” The voice slid over his senses like a caressing hand. “I have not done you any harm, although you came to me with murderous intent.”

Fulke turned his head to follow the sound of her voice as it slowly moved in an arc around him, never closer but close enough to muddle his thoughts. Not simply muddle them, he thought, eradicate them. He clung to his lucidity, fought back the panic which clawed at the edges of his mind.

“I gave you every chance to leave,” the voice continued, “but you refused. You stayed, I must remind you, of your own free will.”

Fulke rattled the chains sharply. “You call this free will?”

“Well, no.” She chuckled softly and the sound shot straight through his gut, and then, against all probability, to his groin. “I was meaning before our little battle.”

Little battle, she called it. And here he had been anticipating the epic ballads the bards would compose about it.

She went on. “You gave me no choice when you attacked. I had to restrain you when you seemed so intent on hurting me. Have you given up your bloody intentions now, Sir Fulke?”

That voice wreathed about his head like a fog, befuddled his brain like the hardiest autumn mead.

“No!” His desperate shout came out as a moan.

“Oh dear.” She sighed but with little regret. “This would be far more pleasant if you cooperated.”

Some of Fulke’s sense returned and he hardened his jaw. “Cooperated? While you torture me?”

“Torture?” She seemed to ponder for a moment. “I suppose some might call it that, although I have generally found it to be a pleasant thing.”

Fulke scowled in the dark. This merely confirmed what had brought him here in the first place: she was an evil beast and had to be destroyed. Somehow he had to get free and finish the job he had set out to do.

“Now.” Suddenly, the voice was closer; Fulke could feel her breath against his ear. “Are you a sworn knight, good and true?”

Fulke’s senses swam but he managed a hoarse, “Yes, of course.”

“Good,” she purred. “You must give me your word of honor that no matter what, you will keep your eyes closed.”

“What?”

“No matter what,” she insisted. “Swear on your honor as a knight.”

“Why the devil should I…”

“You, sir knight,” she interrupted, “are in no position to bargain. If you give me your word and if you make it through the night, in the morning you will be free.”

“Why don’t you just blindfold me?”

She didn’t answer right away, but finally said, “Because it must be by your own power. Do we have an agreement?”

Fulke tried desperately to shake off the effects of that voice, to think clearly, to see the trick in all of this, but he simply could not. In the end, all he could do was agree.

“Very good.” She sounded as though she was licking cream from her lips. “Make the oath, if you please.”

After a moment’s thought, Fulke mustered his pride, shut his eyes, and said, “I, Sir Fulke of Carlyon, do vow upon my honor as a knight to keep my eyes shut throughout the night, come what may.” He could not resist muttering, “Although, I hardly see what difference it will make in this pitch blackness.”

Before the words were completely uttered, though, he felt a rush of wind against his face and then he had the frightening sense of weightlessness. Before he could truly panic, though, the world righted itself and he felt himself on solid ground again.

Without his eyesight, Fulke reached out with his other senses, wondering what had happened. He did not seem to be in the dungeon anymore, although he was still bound to the chair. Rather, he felt a soft carpet under his bare feet, a warm fire at his back. He heard a soft pattering noise as of rain beating against window shutters. A comfortable living chamber of some sort, he supposed.

Fulke was relieved to be out of the foul stench of the dungeon. The smell of the beast was still present, though, but mixed now with woodsmoke and some sort of exotic spice. The combination rendered the beast's smell almost pleasant.

He was relieved to find that the magical transportation, for that was what he assumed it had been, had cleared his mind a little. He did not feel so imprisoned by his own senses.

But then she spoke. “I thought we might be more comfortable here.”

Fulke moved his head toward her and she said quickly, “Your eyes, sir.”

“Still shut,” he assured her. What was she hiding? He knew what she looked like and even now the memory made him shiver in revulsion; why this insistence on not seeing her now? Did she think he could forget?

She spoke from directly behind him, soft and sultry. “Eyes shut. Come what may.”

Fulke took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the onslaught of pain.

What he felt instead was a hand - a warm, very human hand - on his shoulder. The warmth burnt through his thin shirt and he steeled himself for pain, but what seered through him was far more like pleasure than like pain.

Then he felt another hand, equally soft and warm on his other shoulder.

“Sir.” The voice was close by his ear. “You really must relax.”

And, despite the mental voices screaming for caution, he did. Under the warmth and gentle pressure of those hands, he released some of the tension coiled in his shoulders.

“That’s better,” she purred, and then she began to hum. It was a simple, repetitive tune, but the sound wrapped around him, muddled his thoughts, swamped his senses.

Those hands moved across his shoulders and around to his torso. The hands gently rubbed, moving constantly, as she moved around to stand in front of him.

Something nudged against his knees and he knew well the feel of a woman, a completely human woman, standing between his legs.

“Who are you?” he said, his voice a husky murmur.

She did not answer, but continued humming and continued moving those magical hands over his body. Now they slid languidly down and over his legs and back up until they rested on his shoulders once again.

As if her hands were not enough, that voice, her voice, slid over him, touching him in ways her hands could not. And, despite his resolution to remain in control of himself, he could not help a very male reaction.

Suddenly, he felt her lips on his neck, just where his shirt fell open, just where his pulse pounded. This was bad enough but when he felt her tongue, warm and wet, licking at the soft skin, he nearly shattered.

A low moan escaped and he raised his chin a notch, not sure if the motion was self-defense or invitation.

Through a haze of desire, he managed to wonder where the beast was all this time. Was she watching? It was still her voice, but this was not her body. What exactly was going on?

But then her fingers were pulling at the fall of his braies and he ceased to think of anything at all. She tugged one final time and he felt cool air where it had not been a moment before. He was exposed and she? What was she doing? His brain had given up its frantic warnings, leaving him as clay in her hands.

“Give me your hand,” she said softly before resuming her humming.

“But I can’t…” Fulke flexed his fingers and suddenly realized that his hands were no longer bound. Ten, even five, minutes ago, his first thought might have been his own escape, but now, he was bound by something stronger than chains.

Fulke brought his hands around in front of him, reaching by instinct for the woman. One hand found a hip, a warm, naked hip, and the other was caught and brought to cradle a breast. A warm, naked breast.

Fulke’s breath caught and he went more and more by instinct. With one hand, he palmed her buttock and pulled her closer until he felt the skin of her leg on his own exposed flesh. With the other hand, he pressed and kneaded. Her nipple was hard and insistent against his palm.

He smiled in deep satisfaction when he heard a catch in her humming. He had affected her in the same way she affected him. Maybe not to such an extent – he felt his own control crumbling slowly but steadily– but in some way.

“Please let me see you,” he whispered.

“No,” she said, and some of her earlier control was gone. “You must not.” She moved her leg against him and he groaned. “Remember, you promised,” she said.

“Very well,” he ground out and pulled her even closer. He pulled her close until he could take that nipple into his mouth and then his other hand moved to the other breast. Her humming continued but she arched against him while her fingers dug into his hair.

Slowly, seemingly careful not to break the contact between his mouth and her nipple, she slid one leg up and over his leg. Then she slid the other one up and over until she was straddling him.

Fulke rubbed both hands down her back until they cradled her buttocks, soft and smooth, and then, he pulled her to him. He felt her open to him and then he was sliding into her until he was buried inside her, more deeply than he would have thought possible. She was hot and wet and tight around him and without thought, he began moving his hips against her. She held still for a moment, then moved with him.

They rocked together and he barely noticed when her humming stopped because he only heard her gasping for air just as he was gasping for air. Suddenly, he felt her tighten around him and she uttered a strangled scream and then he shattered with her, pouring his seed into her in long waves of pleasure.

When rational thought returned, Fulke found himself rubbing his hands up and down the woman’s back and she was huddled against him, her head tucked against his neck. She seemed to want comfort or, perhaps, simple, warm contact. It was a common enough female desire, but in this woman, this siren, it surprised him. She had thoroughly befuddled his mind and seduced his body, apparently in control of every step, and then here she was a warm, soft bundle in his arms.

As his erection eased, he felt himself slipping out of her. Before he could move or say anything, the woman had scrambled off his lap.

“Wait, I…” His words froze as he felt her restoring his braies. What sort of woman was she? He had to know who she was, what she looked like, why this was all happening. “Please, let me…”

“Shh.” She laid a finger over his lips. “Thank you, sir knight,” she said softly, and now her voice was gentle and serious. “I asked a great deal of you.” He heard a teasing smile in her voice. “And you proved yourself a very able knight.”

The voice was moving away from him; she was slipping away. Fulke made to reach for her but his hands were bound once again. He pulled against the chains but they were as strong as before.

“Chains?” he said. “Now?”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

Fulke’s jaw clenched as a sudden suspicion gripped him. “You tricked me!” He stopped himself from shouting it, but all of his anger was there, she could not miss it. “You said I would be free!” And he rattled his chains again.

“And you shall be free. It simply must be when I say.”

Fulke subsided but continued to glower. How had he been fool enough to think this woman, who was obviously in league with the beast, would keep her word?

“Now, sir, if you will please count to one hundred, you may open your eyes and then…” She paused and when she went on she seemed to force the words out. “…You are free to go.”

Fulke scowled again but this time it was because of the tone in her voice, a tone he had not heard before nor had thought to ever hear from her. He heard regret…or sadness…or longing…or all three.

And then she was standing close to him again and her hand cradled his cheek. "I wish..." She stopped and rubbed her thumb across his lips. "All I can tell you is that I was not always what I am. You must forgive me if I steal some joy for myself when I may. I think you will not feel the loss of this night so much as I will."

Fulke mentally swore and wondered again, uselessly, who this woman was. Her face was mere inches from his; it would be an easy matter to open his eyes and see her and satisfy his curiosity. But, no, his damned honor still bound him.

With a sharp intake of breath, she turned away from the knight.

This time when she spoke, her voice had changed again, no longer the sultry seductress, nor yet the maiden in distress. This time she was all business.

“Now, sir, please begin counting.”

Fulke sighed in resignation and began counting aloud. Somewhere around 50 and again around 70, he tested his chains, but they held fast. Finally, when he uttered “One hundred,” he moved his arms and legs and they were free.

Immediately, he opened his eyes and jumped from his seat. He was indeed in a tidy chamber with a number of elaborate tapestries on the walls, a table, chest and chair for furniture, and a fire dying to coals in the large fireplace. But no woman. Somehow she had disappeared, although he had heard no indication of it, no door opening or closing.

He ran now to the door and tested it. It was open. He flew through it and into a long gallery. At one end of the gallery, he saw a flight of stairs leading up and a hint of pre-dawn light shadowing them. Fulke turned and ran to the stairs. He paused at the bottom to glance up. A patch of grey sky was beyond and Fulke plunged up the stairs, taking them two or three at a time.

He burst onto the battlements of the castle, the battlements which had been outlined behind the beast in the noon-day sun all through their terrible battle the day before. He faced the west where stars still shone, then slowly he turned, scanning the battlements and the spaces beyond, watching, hoping to see a woman.

And then, there she was. She was standing facing away from him, facing the east where the sun was almost visible below the horizon. She was wrapped in a blanket and her hair, thick and black, moved slightly in the chill wind.

He wanted to call out to her but he did not know her name. She seemed to know he was there, though, because she turned her head and looked at him with a face of beauty, yes, but the expression he saw in that beautiful face made him want to weep, full as it was of infinite sadness and regret.

He took one halting step toward her just as the sun broke over the horizon and Fulke froze.

The blanket fluttered to the ground and with a cry, the woman was transformed into…the beast.