Shifters, Beasts, and Monsters (63 page)

“I’m
c-cumming,” Chastity whimpered, clutching Max.

I ravaged
her even harder, driving her to thrash and moan against me as he peak extended,
and then I exploded.  As the shivering waves spread through my body and crashed
into my skull I could feel myself pumping into her, filling her with cum, as heat
surged through my body, ripped out of hers as I fed on her life force.

It was
all I could do to pull out of her and flop down on the bed, exhausted. My wings
and tail were gone, as soon as I stopped thinking about it. I licked my lips as
Max pushed Chastity off of him, sliding his big cock out of her body. He
lowered her onto her side and fluffed a pillow under her head. She started
snoring immediately.

Then Max
attacked me.

He
grabbed my wrists and pinned them down, crushed his mouth against mine, and
rammed his cock into my wet cunt. The shock of him against me made me scream
into his mouth as his tongue shoved against mine and he began thrusting hard,
knocking the headboard against the wall. My legs slid up around him as I felt
the energy I’d taken meeting his, the flow slamming between our bodies. It was
the exchange I’d felt with him in the club, but magnified by a thousand. I
pushed against him and we rolled off the bed. He landed on the floor and I
landed on him, arching up as the impact drove his cock into me to the root. I
rode him hard, rolling my hips and pounding up and down by turn, overcome with
lust. His hands were everywhere, and when I opened my eyes I realized he’d
sprouted a second set of arms, and was running four hands over my body, groping
my ass as he cupped my breasts and pressed his thumb into my mouth. My wings
unfurled from my back again, and he gave me a sharp thrust that bucked me up
into the air, twisted, and dropped me on the floor.

As I
stood up he seized my wrists and spun me around, bending me over. He thrust
inside me, pinning me to the bed, bent over the edge. His chest rippled against
my back, and I felt coarse hair sprouting from his skin and a low snarl rumbled
out of his throat. As he twisted into the werewolf, he opened his jaws, grasped
my neck in his fangs, and pinned me down. He thrust into me hard, savagely,
sending shockwaves through my body until I felt his cock start to expand, the
base swelling up to lock us together as he pumped me full of his seed. My tail
wrapped around his waist and I writhed under him, feeling the sharp tickle of
his fangs against my skin, pressed against my throat. Chastity slept through
all of this, breathing shallowly. Max stood up and pulled me with him, holding
my arms against my sides, and lifted up. My toes rose up from the floor as I
pressed back against him, overcome by bliss. He lowered himself and sat down,
his cock locked inside me, and held me against him.

I wanted
to sleep, but I stayed awake, enjoying the peace and the sudden, rocking peaks
that tore through my body, forcing groans out of me as they rose and faded,
over and over. Eventually the swell faded and I wriggled free of him, his cock
sliding out of my body as I rolled onto the floor and spread-eagled, gasping
for breath. Max grunted and drew himself back down into human form and lay
there, naked.

“Now
what?”

“We have
to go,” he said, rising, “Better if she thinks it was all a dream.”

As he was
helping me dress he said, “You shifted.”

“I did,
didn’t I?”

“That should
take years to come in. I’m impressed.”

I grinned
in spite of myself.

As I
lifted my arms, he pulled my shirt down over my body. I buttoned his, and he
held my pants for me to step into, caressing my hips as he did. We left
Chastity on the bed and went outside, holding hands.

“We’ll
have to feed again if we want to keep touching,” I said.

“Yes.”

“But we
can,” I said. “We can do that. Hunt together.”

“I think
so,” he said, leaning over to kiss my cheek. “What would you like to do now?”

“I want
food,” I said. “Real food.”

He took
me to the same cafe where we’d first met. I wasn’t sure what to expect when I
brought the cup of coffee to my lips. The taste and heat were dulled, somehow,
like the coffee had gone stale. I drank it anyway, but the warmth of it
vanished once it passed my lips. I could taste the bagel I bought and the jam I
spread on it, but it was more like the memory of a taste, a hint of something
lost. There were some trade offs, I suppose.

“I’m not
going to die when the sun comes up, am I?”

He
laughed. “We’re not vampires. There’s a difference.”

Eating
and drinking gave me little satisfaction. I felt antsy, my leg bouncing under
the table. Max tightened, his statuesque muscles visible inside his shirt.

“That
fast, huh?” I said.

“You’ll
learn to control it. I can go for weeks, if I need to. We have to be careful.”

“Why?”

He looked
around, at the other people sitting at the cast iron tables. “If these people
knew things like us existed, how do you think they’d feel?”

“Things?”
I said.

“I mean
that in the best way,” he sighed.

“What are
we going to do now? I’m still… hungry.”

“The
night is young,” he said, eyeing me. “You’re hungry. We’ll do what we do.”

I
finished my coffee and stood up. “Want another one?”

He shook
his head, and turned to watch the people drifting by on the sidewalk. I tried
not to look at them. It unnerved me the way I felt, appraising each one as
potential prey. I walked up to the counter and tossed my cup in the recycling
bin, and waited for the barista to move down to take my order. She caught my
eye when she turned to speak to me. I swept my gaze over her and felt a thrum
deep down in my belly. I glanced over my shoulder at Max, who shrugged. The
barista’s nametag read
Felicity
. She had dirty blonde hair piled up
under her hat, and green eyes.

“Another
of the same?”

I nodded,
and watched her as she made up my drink, working the milk frother and the
espresso maker, and mixing in the flavor before setting a lid on it. As she set
it down, I slid a twenty across the countertop. She took it, and I made sure my
fingers brushed hers. I felt a little electric pop when our skin touched, and
she jerked. Her pupils dilated, and her mouth parted a little, as if she’d just
felt a sudden rush. She shook her head and went over to make change. I went
down to the counter to her, and made sure I got another touch when I took the
folded bills between my fingers. She stood there and stared at me, blinking
slowly, as if trying to think something through. I slid the change into my
pocket and took a sip of coffee, looked away, and looked back.

“Can I
ask you something?”

“Sure,”
she said.

“How do
you feel about dragons?”

Natalie
Deschain has been writing and publishing erotic fiction since 2012. The author
of over 120 short stories, three novellas and a novel, she lives with a cat, a
boyfriend who looks at her funny when she asks him to howl for her, and a
really expensive mechanical keyboard that is on the verge of breaking from all
those words.

Natalie's Website

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By

Audrey
Grace

PROLOGUE

Emily Worthington screamed, scrambling backward, the
shredded foliage beneath her slipping and sliding, reversing any progress she
was making.

Before her, Jason’s shirt, now tattered and torn, hung
from a gigantic, fur-laden, musclebound body. Emily shrieked again, unwilling
to believe what she was looking at. On top of the body was a bull’s head,
flared nostrils emitting snorts of steam, and two curled horns that could
puncture a sheet of steel.

“Jason?” she cried, wondering if the bull-beast before
her still had an ounce of humanity left in him. She had watched him fall to the
ground, convulsing and shivering, every muscle in his body cramped and tensed.
She had first heard the leather belt snap, surprisingly loud, before the shirt
tore. She had seen his eyes, normally green, turn to a glowing, menacing red.
Then columns of steam had erupted from his nostrils, and he had looked down at
his changing body, terror bunching up his face.

And still she had not run. Not even when Jason had
shouted at her, told her to run for her life, to get away from him. His voice
had been unusually deep and gravely, rumbling and rattling her bones and soul.
He didn’t speak again after that, but he roared, grunted, while writhing, while
shifting.

Morphing into a Minotaur!

The creature rose to its feet, massive, hulking. The
last bit of clothing fell off its body, and Emily’s eyes went to the beast’s
crotch, and saw there a penis of gigantic size, and still surprisingly
human-looking. The beast roared at her again, and she tried to back up, tried
to find purchase somewhere amongst the grass and leaves that kept on giving
way, continued to slide out from beneath her frantic feet and hands. And when
she did finally find some leverage, she launched herself backward, perhaps two
feet, before her back came up hard against the trunk of a tree. The bark dug
into her skin, sent a piercing sting shooting through her.

“Jason!” she yelled again, trying to bring the man out
of the beast. The Minotaur stopped, seemed to consider the sound, but only for
a moment. Then its eyes were once again on her, menacing, and the creature took
one thunderous step toward her, and Emily knew she was at its mercy.

She shut her eyes, squeezing tears of fear out of
each. She tried to control her breathing. She tried to think rationally. Could
she outrun the gigantic thing? Probably not, and even if she could, she
wouldn’t know where to go. It was getting dark, too. Soon the sun would dip
below the horizon, and as crazy as being at the mercy of a monster of myth
might be, being out alone in the wilderness was something altogether more
terrifying.

“Jason!” she shrieked, anger putting a dry desperation
in her voice. “Don’t hurt me!”

But the Minotaur bore down on her, and she yelped as it
took one of her ankles into its thick, hairy hand. She was hoisted up,
painfully, onto the creature’s shoulder, and the beast thumped off into the
forest, her upside-down world bobbing to and fro.

She was tired, exhausted even. She had nowhere to go,
did not know the land. The Minotaur…
Jason
was her only chance.

And Emily Worthington knew then that she had
completely resigned herself. She was at the mercy of the Minotaur…

CHAPTER
ONE

“You’re shitting me.”

“No, I’m not,” the Editor-in-Chief of
Wild Magazine
said, his face expressing sincerity and excitement. “I’m serious.”

“A…
Minotaur?”

“Yes, Emily!”

“This guy has evidence?”

“He says he has. He’s found an old cave, and etched
into the stone there are apparently drawings—”

“Drawings don’t mean anything, Tom.”

“Let me finish, okay?” The fifty-something man with a
complexion like bread-crust put his hand on his hip, and tilted his head at
her.

“Okay, okay,” Emily said, her voice low, but her boss
didn’t continue to speak. “Come on, Tom, will you just tell me?”

“You won’t interrupt me?”

“I won’t,” Emily promised.

“Good,” he said, interlocking his fingers together and
resting his chin on his knuckles, elbows on his desk.

Bitch
, Emily thought.

“Not only are there depictions etched into the cave
wall, but apparently there is a fossil.”

“A fossil?”

“Yes.”

“Buried?”

“Until recently. I gathered that it wasn’t very deep
underground. This man, this, uh,” he said, pausing to look down at his pad.
“This Michael Nimon, said there was something in the cave soil that helped to
preserve the fossil.”

“That’s it? You’re just going to go on the word of a
man?”

“I thought you said you wouldn’t interrupt me, Emily.”

“Tom, we’re talking about a freaking Minotaur here,
can we just get over useless social etiquette?” Emily threw her hands up in
exasperation. She hated having to deal with the man.

“He sent me a photo as well. Told me he sent it to the
top universities in Greece, too.”

“Greece?”

“Oh yes, Greece. You didn’t think a Minotaur was found
in Montana, did you?”

“Right,” Emily murmured, nodding.

“Specifically, the cave is on one of the sides of the,
um—”He paused again to look at his pad. Lefka Ori, otherwise known as The
White Mountains, second highest mountain range on the island of Crete.”

“Crete?” Emily echoed, touching her lip. “Palace of
Knossos.”

“Exactly, where the Minotaur was supposed to have been
banished in his labyrinth.”

“If I am remembering right, that was supposed to be
near the palace, not in it or under it.”

“Whatever,” Tom said, waving the correction aside with
his hand. “All that stuff’s myth, anyway.”

“Maybe not, though,” Emily said, pointing at the pad.
“What’s this photo?”

“Here,” Tom said, grunting as he turned his computer
monitor to face Emily, knocking a stapler off the desk. On the screen was a
dimly lit photo of a small dig site. It looked entirely unprofessional, but
clearly visible in the center was the imprint of two gigantic horns on a slab
of what Emily guessed to be stone.

“That’s the fossil?”

“Yeah.”

“Could be an animal.”

“Look closer.”

Emily leaned in, and though it took nearly a minute,
she spotted it. “It’s so blurry, I can barely see.”

“But once you see it, you always see it.”

“Yeah,” Emily agreed, trying to keep the excitement
out of her voice. “Interesting.” Beneath the vague fossilized remains of the
two large horns was what looked like a vaguely-human ribcage, similarly
preserved in in the sedimentary stone.

“Interesting? That’s an understatement.”

“Yeah,” Emily agreed in a whisper, locking eyes with
her editor. “When do I leave?”

“Tonight.”

“What do I need?”

“A story and photos.”

“Who can I take?”

“Take Jason.”

“What? The intern?”

“Hey, this comes down from the top. I got a call from
his father directly. Jason’s to go with you. Also, you’re not to tell anybody.
From what I understand, we, and the universities, are the only people who
know.”

“And Michael Nimon.”

“And the discoverer, Michael Nimon,” Tom confirmed.
“By the way, there’s something else you should know.”

“Oh?”

“I did a little digging into this Michael Nimon, and
can’t find anything, anywhere. I did, however, find a man by the name of Dante
Nimon, an archaeologist who specializes in the ruins of the Palace of Knossos.
They could be the same man.”

“Dante, huh?” Emily said, shaking her head and
smiling. “What the hell is going on?”

Her editor shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Could be
the same man. Maybe he took a second name.”

“Maybe,” Emily murmured, touching her lips. “Sounds
like there could be the potential for a mystery to unravel.”

“So be careful, okay?”

“Yes, Tom.”

“I’m serious. Because I know you’re wondering the same
thing I am, and if there’s something going on, you need to be prepared for it.”

“What am I wondering, Tom?”

“Why this Mr. Nimon called us at
Wild Magazine
.”

“The leading paranormal investigative journalism in the
world,” Emily corrected, but not without mirth. The corners of her mouth
curled. It was a ridiculous accomplishment to bandy about.

“Still,” Tom said, rubbing his forehead, missing it
entirely. “That’s not enough. Why not call one of the big boys? One of the
nature mags? Why us?”

“Maybe he’s a fan of our work.”

“Maybe. There is one thing, though.”

Emily seethed. “Don’t hide things from me, Tom.”

A look of annoyance rippled across his face. “We’re
not done talking, Emily.”

“Just tell me.”

“He asked for Jason.”

“The intern? Specifically?”

“No, not specifically. He said he wanted a member of
the Harris family. Jason’s father is too old to go. So he’s sending his boy.”

“Why that family specifically?”

Tom sighed. “No idea. But this seems too good an
opportunity to pass up, and he’s not communicated anything back to us. So I
guess we’re going to go for it.”

“I don’t like it,” Emily said. “Something doesn’t
smell right.”

“I hope you’re more creative than that in your
article.”

“Is there anything else I should know?”

“Yes,” Tom said, and he pulled a paper envelope from
his desk drawer and opened it, pulling out a cluster of pages torn out of a
ring-bound book.

“What’s that?”

“It’s something this Mr. Nimon sent us. Pages from a
personal diary of someone called Pamela Johnson.”

Emily raised her eyebrows. “What’s in it? And how did
he get his hands on it?”

“A written account of an encounter with a Minotaur,’
Tom said gravely. “And on the second question, I don’t know.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.”

“It could be fake.”

“Mr. Nimon says he has reason to believe it is real,
considering this person also disappeared.”

Emily took the pages from her editor, and flipped
through them. “It’s in English.”

“Yes.”

“Expatriate in Greece?”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Just read it, Emily.”

She took a deep breath, and calmed her nerves. This
could be the most exciting, fascinating discovery in human history. But she had
learned a long time ago to temper her hopes.

“Okay,” she said, exhaling. “Let’s do this.”

“Be careful, Emily. We already lost Katrina last year.
I don’t want to lose another reporter.”

Emily nodded. “Yeah.”

*

I look out of my window, and all I see is farmland.
It stretches out until the horizon, unending.

It feels a little like my career path. Unending
monotony.

Ha! What career path?

But living with my parents has its benefits. I
don’t pay for board. And there’s always someone nearby that I can trust.

I don’t want to get out of bed this morning. I feel
tired and sluggish. Probably a little too liberal with the cheap chardonnay
last night. In fact, I think I’ve got a bit of a headache.

The scratching from this pen is driving me crazy.

-

I’m at the breakfast table now. Mum never
understands why I like to keep a diary of my thoughts. She doesn’t seem like
the type who ever was that introspective, though. I like to pen my thoughts. It
helps me organize them in my head. It helps me make sense of the way that I
feel.

I guess I get my emotional nature from my Dad. He’s
always in a good mood one moment, and a rotten one the next.

Mum tells me, “We’re leaving at the end of the
week.” She’s talking about her anniversary trip with Dad. That’s sweet, and I’m
glad he’s taking her. They’re going to Paris, and the thought of that makes me
laugh.

Paris! The land of art and culture and
sophistication.

Meets my Mum and Dad?

Laughter spills from my lips. She looks annoyed
with indignation. I tell her that there’s no possible way Dad won’t make a fool
of himself with his clumsy, quaint country colloquialisms and mannerisms. His
gruff exterior and alarmingly spare fashion sense will ensure that he sticks
out like a sore thumb in one of the world’s fashion hubs.

Mum doesn’t care. She just wants to see the Eiffel
Tower. How cute.

They’ve been preparing this trip for months. They’re
leaving the farm to me for their trip. It means there’s going to be a lot of
hard work for me. I guess I’m okay with that, though. I can handle it.

Dad’s just walked into the kitchen, cradling his
cup of black coffee. He always kisses me on the head in the morning but today
he doesn’t. I wonder why.

Ah, it’s because he’s got something to tell me. I
can see by the way he’s standing uneasily.

“We’re hired help,” he says.

Hold up. Can’t write in this thing anymore.

Write later, diary.

Pam

*

“Jason, will you please hurry up?” Emily scowled at
the young boy, just twenty years old. She was more than half his age older than
him, and though she didn’t have children of her own, she felt distinctly like
she was being forced to mother the useless duckling.

“Wait,” he called from the coffee shop. “I need my
caffeine fix.”

Emily groaned. “Don’t you expect to sleep on the
plane?”

“Nope,” he replied.

“Great,” Emily muttered to herself. The young boy had
been nattering since they had met at the airport, all through the security
checkpoints, all while they had checked in their luggage (and the twit had
over-packed), until she had lost him momentarily. Emily hadn’t been trying to,
but she seriously considered leaving him to his own devices before she
remembered he was the son of the man that owned the magazine.

And that he was a part of this all, even if he didn’t
know it. Michael Nimon had asked for him
by name
.

“It’s half past eleven, Jason. Can you just get your
fucking coffee on the plane? Which, incidentally, leaves in twenty minutes?”

“There’s no need to be so hostile,” Jason said,
leaving the queue, disappointment coloring his features. “Besides, they won’t
do a smoothie on the plane.”

“A smoothie? A coffee smoothie?”

“Yeah, it’s called a—”

“Don’t care, Jason. Do not care.”

God
, Emily thought, slapping her
thighs with irritation as she walked. He was part of
that
generation
that made coffee something far more complicated than it ever had to be.

The two walked in silence all the way to the gate,
with Jason lagging behind maybe a meter. The boy was just that – a boy.
He was pleasant to look at – she certainly wasn’t unable to see that
– but he was useless, the product of a coddled, sheltered life where he
had had everything handed to him.

His father ran a paranormal investigative magazine.
Ergo, he was rich. It was obvious, really. The magazine bled money.

“You know, you could be a little more friendly, Ms.
Worthington.”

“Would you please call me Emily? You make me sound
like your teacher.”

“What is it with you and my age?”