Dreams are not uncommon to you. You've spent nights dreaming of the most colourful realities and fantasies imaginable over the years. Marrying into royalty, being rich beyond measure, laying in a field of lavender with no worry to cloud your mind... These were all dreams you would spend even the daytime thinking about. But laying with a winged, humanoid parasite? No, no that was not a dream you had remembered waking up in the morning. In fact, this did not seem like a dream at all. No, this felt like reality. You can feel every scratch of this dead man's talons, the coolness of his chalk-white skin. The sensation of your insides contracting and squirming as he presses himself against you from behind feels too real. This couldn't be a dream.
"Fear not, sweetling." His words echo in your eardrums. His voice is velvety, yet cold; cold, and mysterious like water droplets running down the stalactites of an ancient cavern.
"You are so close. I can hear the blood pumping through your beautiful body. Find me, sweet girl." His amused chuckle sends shivers through your sweating body, chilling your blood. "I need your help, girl. Find me and I will make things clear. You will understand the scale of this newborn war."
War? There was no war. There had not been a war since young King Isambard and Queen Anchoretta of Caranthania had driven the Risen and their creeplings from the land. That was more than thirty ago, however. Before your time. What war could the vampire be referring to?
"You must wake up now, sweetling. Wake up. Wake up!"
The volume and sharpness of the corpse's tone slices cleanly through your dream vision, sending you straight into your wakeful state. With a gasp, you sit bolt upright.
The sky is still dark. The full moon and sprinkle of stars are the only light source for your slowly adapting eyes. You are still at the pebbled beach, the large streams of water gurgle and splash somewhere off to your left. The clouds have collected over the water, shadowing it in almost complete darkness. The light from the moon subtly illuminates the dew-speckled pebbles around you causing them to sparkle in your still sensitive vision. You relax a little, leaning back, feeling the werewolf still there. Its mighty body curled into a loose ball around you, its muscular legs and lower body shielding you from the now chilling breeze blowing down from the North.
Here and now, you realize the state of your clothing. Your top is torn to shreds, hanging loosely from your left shoulder, your breasts almost fully exposed to the cool night air. Your boots are nowhere to be found. Your poor excuse for trousers is also in a sorry state. The seem on your right inner thigh is torn open, revealing your soft fair skin, while the left leg of fabric is completely missing. You can tell by the gentle ache on your tailbone that your ass is completely exposed. You are, in fact, sitting butt-naked on the pebbled beach. Somehow, you are unbothered by the state of your garments. You feel safe for the time being.
Your rational mind convinces you that if the creature had wanted you dead, it would have torn your throat out as soon as it had finished coating your insides with its fertile monster cum. You feel at peace. The sound of the rushing water, the occasional snippet of a night bird's song, the subtle peeper orchestra somewhere in the reeds... You feel closer to nature. This longing to be a part of Mother Nature's gifts was new to you. You have always been the city girl, dreaming of castles, princes, riches, and political power. But now, now you were catching yourself longing for a life in the forests and woods, living in a small cottage or hut amidst the pines, and grasses far far away. The company of animals and woodland creatures sounded so comforting to you now. No more creeping baker's apprentices, no more muddy walks through the streets to the market, no more worry for coin... Life in the green sounded far more attractive now.
But it is now that dread pierces its way into your mind, shattering your thoughts of creeper plant-covered cottages and cozy fireplaces. Had there not been a pair of big, glowing yellow eyes watching you before your vision faded? Had you imagined it? No. You look to your right, in the direction of the forest, with its tall, densely packed pine trees. It was from this direction that those yellow eyes had bored into your soul.
As if on cue, a low rumbling snatches your attention. It's coming from the stream. You turn your head so fast that you feel a painful pop in your neck. You squint while massaging the back of your neck, focusing your vision on the water. The cloud-covered network of streams remains dark and motionless for a moment. Just before you dismiss the sound as a trick of the mind, a large black mass, just a few yards into the water, shifts slightly. The burbling sound of water confirms that there is something very large moving about in the stream. Your eyes further adjust to the darkness as you begin making out the humanoid shape of another werewolf. This one, compared to the one currently sleepily buzzing and sighing behind you, is bigger.
Even in its apparent hunched position, it is clear that its shoulders are broader, its back wider and its legs longer. As if sensing your eyes on its body, it straightens itself up to its full 9.5-foot height before turning its massive shaggy head in your direction. And there they are. Those bright, clever yellow eyes. Like two suns, they burn into your eyes. The urge to look away is strong, but you hold its gaze. It turns around fully, facing you. You take in its shadow-coated form before it drops onto its front paws and begins wading through the dark water. Closer and closer it comes. Although the water almost reaches its elbows and knees, the monster shows no difficulty crossing the gurgling stream. In fact, the water almost seems to part in its wake, desperate to avoid its muscular arms and legs.
After just a few seconds, the creature steps onto the beach. The moonlight now freely beams down onto the freakishly large monster before you. Its wenge wood-coloured fur glosses, the droplets of water clinging to it sparkle with the light of the moon. The pebbles crunch and part under the creature's weight, as it makes its way slowly towards you. A huff and startled snuffle can be heard from behind you as the green-eyed werewolf scrambles to its feet, evidently awoken and spooked by the sound of shifting pebbles. It draws itself up, keeping its head bowed, however. The brown werewolf surveys his smaller comrade, tilting its head. A low guttural grumble from its throat shakes the otherwise peaceful night air. The smaller wolf whinnies and whines, shyly peaking at the larger werewolf, its head still bowed. The brown wolf clacks its jaws once and grumbles again, a harsh sound that unsettles you and causes the hairs on your arms to stand on end.
You realize that these sounds are not random. They are distinct and unique, almost as if the two creatures were trying to speak. The realization hits you like a blow from a battle shield. The sounds were the language of these creatures. A fierce growl tears you back to reality. The brown wolf snarls, its beaming yellow eyes glaring, clacking its jaw menacingly at the green-eyed Lycan. The latter whimpers before turning towards the trees and scampering off, its tail between its legs. You watch it run, before turning back to the brown wolf. Delicate beads of sweat begin forming on your forehead. Dread locks you in its iron grip as you begin imagining what their conversation could have been about. Was the yellow-eyed werewolf angry that your life had been spared? Was he here to correct the other wolf's mistake? How would he dispose of you? Breaking your spine? Severing your head from your shoulders with its dagger-like talons?
As if sensing your fear, the werewolf's expression softens. It once again lowers itself onto all fours before slowly approaching you.
"Be not afraid, little one." A voice says. It didn't come from any particular direction. It seemed to reverberate gently all around you. You instinctively do a little turn, alarmed by the fact that the gruff yet gentle voice seems to surround you from all sides. A light-hearted, almost fatherly chuckle rattles your eardrums as the voice returns.
"Over here, human."
You feel a tug in your mind, automatically pulling your gaze toward the werewolf, as though this time your mind could pinpoint the sound of the voice even though your ears picked up no noise aside from the peeper's concert or the occasional song of night birds.
"My my," the voice says, "still in one piece then. All aside from your clothes, that is."
Embarrassed, you attempt to cover your chest and crotch. The soft chuckle echoes in your head again.
"I apologize for my children's behaviour. They can be, well, quite feral, uncontrollable, at times. Vahiax (Vah-high-axe) is still in development. His mind battles to remain in control when he turns, particularly on nights like these." The werewolf fixes his eyes on the full moon for a moment. There is a look of admiration and wonder in his eyes, like a child watching a deer graze for the first time. He eventually returns his gaze to you, his head tilted to the left, his eyes now twinkling mischievously.
He had once again drawn himself up to his full height, casting long shadows over you. You gulp. You are bewildered, rattled, and unable to speak. How was this creature speaking straight into your mind? Why had he not torn your heart out through your chest? And why, oh why, were you staring at his muscles? You take in his broad shoulders, his tight and muscular chest, and midsection. Your inner voice scolds you for the hundredth time this evening.
