Author's Notes:
Each episode in the "An Inhuman Love" series will be a stand-alone novelette, meant to be read and enjoyed in a single sitting. Expect a monster/human pairing in each episode, with all the juicy details included.
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Being alone sucks!
Menala walked the road between Sparta and a nearby village, picking bits of forage from the plants near the worn path. The sun was high, she was sweating through her long, white chiton, and her sandals were doing little to keep her feet from getting sore from constant walking. But it was better than returning to an empty home, at least.
Forests guarded both her sides, thicker than in most areas, but that's where the berries and other edible plants could be found, so that's where she went. With a basket over her shoulder, she scooped up a few things, picked a few others, and accumulated quite the supply of food over a day's work. The walk back wouldn't be fun, but this close to the city she should be safe.
She took a few moments to readjust herself. She was of a normal height for a Spartan, but unlike her lean and strong sisters, she was a softer creature, with large breasts and wide hips. They teased her for it of course, but when her husband was alive, she knew damn well he preferred her voluptuous curves to their hard edges.
It's been years, Menala! Stop thinking about Jonal. He died with honor, move on.
With a heavy sigh, she started to comb her long dark hair with one hand, and kept the basket steady with the other while she walked. The sun was beginning to set, and in her attempts to stay away from her empty home, she'd stayed out well too long. It'd be dark by the time she got back. Wonderful.
Snapping twigs and shuffling feet made her jump back. A man dove in front of her — he must have been hiding in the trees — and raised a sword to point at her. He was dirty, his tunic nothing but rags, and his sinister smile exposed missing teeth.
"Hello," he said.
Her heart picked up, and her eyes started looking around in a panic. People didn't just jump out of bushes to say hello. Or point swords.
"I... let me pass."
"No." He laughed at her, clicked some of his damaged teeth together, and took a step forward.
She stepped back just as much, but more noises made her turn around. Another man had jumped out from the brush, a taller fellow but just as ragged and vicious looking. He had a dagger, and he stepped toward her the same as the other man did.
She held out her basket of freshly picked food. "I have no money. Please, if you let me pass, you can—"
The first fellow got close enough to breath on her, and he swiped away her basket with a hand. Her food fell to the ground, and they made no efforts to gather it. Hours and hours of effort scattered into a mess by the drooling, disgusting heap of vileness before her.
"We don't want money, or food. We want you."
Oh gods.
"Ch'yeah. Been some time since we found a lone girl this late." The tall one fondled his crotch through his torn tunic with his free hand, and he flipped the dagger a few times in his other. He had the look of certainty in his eyes; they had done this before.
A third man stepped out from the brush, a bow in his hand and a quiver of arrows on his back. He looked just as lecherous and vile as the other two. How many more were there? Were they really out at dusk just to... hunt... women?
"You... no, please. You can't." She looked around, panic rising, eyes wide and breath coming faster. If this were nearer the city, she'd call for help, and these ruffians would die on Spartan swords. But she knew no one would be this far out this late, and she herself had no sword to defend herself.
"Can't we?" the first brute said. He reached for her then, and grabbed one of her large breasts through the thin fabric of her chiton.
Like a snap of fire, panic vanished and fury replaced it. She drove her fist into his ugly face hard enough to break off one of his teeth and knock him onto his ass. She was a Spartan! She would not be manhandled by these disgusting brutes.
Of course, for all her courage, it didn't matter much when the tall man behind her grabbed her offending hand, pulled it behind her by the wrist, and brought his dagger up to her neck.
"Do that again and we'll start cutting off fingers."
She grinded her teeth together hard enough to hear her jaw click. At least she'd managed to hurt the one who touched her bosom, that would impress her sisters. But it was useless, any further attempt to move would mean a sliced throat. With another sigh, she turned her head to the side and grimaced in waiting.
"That's better."
"Arg, that really hurt!" The bastard on the ground got up and rubbed his jaw. He probably didn't even notice he'd lost a tooth, ruined as his mouth already was. "I'm going to rough you up something good." And again he approached her, grabbed one of her breasts, and squeezed, hard. She made no noise; she would not let them have the privilege of hearing her pain.
The archer just snickered, and the one with the blade on her throat tightened his grip on her wrist.
"You've got some pretty big tits for a Spartan. God damn, look at these." He lifted the heavy breast with a hand and cupped it so it filled his palm. She stared at anything else but the ugly bastard, the bushes, the trees, her dropped basket, anything so she wouldn't have to see his snickering face.
More sounds. More twigs snapping. Louder, and louder. The man groping her looked up at his friend, and then behind him at his other friend, confusion etched on his brow. They all turned to face the sounds, her included.
It sounded like a herd of boar were charging through. The sound got louder, and louder, and turned into crashing. She could feel the gallop of hooves underneath her feet; what fool would take a horse through dense forest? But, as the sound grew closer, she could hear the trot of what were unmistakably hooves, and the silhouette of a horse and rider against the shadows of the trees. Great, another ruffian.
"Who goes there? Sp—"
Time froze, branches broke away, shattered by impact, and a massive shadow emerged. A wall of muscle erupted from the dark forest, and smashed down onto the vile creature in front of her with so much weight and force, he flew back and smacked into a tree. It was just a blur of speed and power until the newcomer slowed his charge. He walked over to the downed assailant, stabbed forward with a long spear, and drove the dory weapon into the sick bastard's head. The villain's death was instantaneous.
A man! Someone wearing no clothes, and riding a horse. Riding a horse? The man had no legs, but — a centaur!
Oh gods no.
"Run!" The man behind her let go and darted in the opposite direction.
The centaur did not hesitate, and galloped past Menala with spear in hand. So close, for just a brief moment she could see the body of him as he passed, with only the final rays of dusk along the canopy to light his skin.
He was massive, even his human half was big for a human, with spiraling tattoos that circled his thick arms. His dark hair was long, his beard short, and his hazel eyes were glaring with a need for the kill. There were scars across his body, battle scars, and the horse half of his body that followed was no different. The inhuman half's hair was as dark and beautiful as the hair on his head, and it was just as large as any war horse they had in Sparta. When it rushed past her, she could feel the air it moved with its size.
A loud scream, and then silence. The man who tried to get away was dead a moment later, with a fresh hole in the back of his neck. No struggle, no fight, just a fast jab with the spear that was flawless. How could this huge beast have such aim and strength while moving about so quickly?
Another thing whizzed past her head, and this time she recognized the sound. An arrow. With a meep, she threw herself to the ground and off to the side of the road. The archer, more courageous than his friends, had fired a shot.
The centaur roared, a deep and inhuman sound. The arrow was sticking out of his hind quarters, and he had to twist and reach back to just barely grab its shaft and yank it free. No grace or subtly, the monster just ripped it clear of his body with a splatter of blood to follow.
"Monster! Monster!" Again the archer fired a shot, but Menala could see he was panicking; the arrow went wide.
The centaur turned, and charged him. So heavy, Menala could feel the ground shake underneath her with each harsh trot of his hooves. But the archer managed another shot, and it landed squarely in the beast's shoulder.
The centaur didn't seem to notice this one. He raised his spear, arrow injury and all, and threw it like a javelin. It landed in the archer's chest hard enough to lodge into his sternum and send him flying back. He landed on his back with an audible thud, and groaned in pain while clutching at the huge stick jammed into his body pointed at the sky.
"Gods," Menala said, and she raised a hand to her lips as the centaur walked over to the ruffian. He yanked the spear from his chest, and stabbed him once again in the head, like a hunter mercy killing a wounded animal. Clean, fast, no words or boasts or delight in his actions, just pure ruthless efficiency. Then he turned to face her.
Blood was dripping down his throwing arm, across his broad chest, and dripping from his fingers. His movements were slow, calculated, and he looked at her with hard eyes like a stalking lion. From a distance, she thought for a moment he would throw the spear at her too, but instead, he watched her. She felt very much like prey in his gaze.
She gulped. Escaping those three criminals would have been nearly impossible, but a centaur? That was impossible. There was no escape, and the realization of that struck her blood cold. With shaking hands and trembling fingers, she stood back up, and watched him. Her heart beat so fast, she could feel it crashing against her ribs.
The giant beast walked to her, spear held upright, and stopped with only ten feet between them. With his free hand, he yanked the arrow from the shoulder of his throwing arm, grunted, and chucked it aside. More blood flowed down his body and onto his abs. Now that he was holding still, she couldn't keep her eyes off the mass of muscle that was his body — he put Spartan warriors to shame! Rugged, powerful, a stallion, he truly was a handsome beast.
Beast, Menala. Beast! Her stance wavered, and she took a small step back. Centaurs were not known for their kindness, they raped and pillaged and went to war with more enthusiasm than even the humans did.
"I... um... thank you," she managed to say at last. He had just saved her, right?
He grunted, and started to walk past her. Thank the gods, he hadn't saved her only to have her for himself. He was so tall, so very tall with his human half sitting high atop his stallion body. As he passed, she noticed the wound near the rear of his horse half, high on the rear leg.
"You're injured." The words came out on their own, and she brought a hand up to her lips in dismay for it. Don't provoke him. Leave him be.
He stopped, now only a couple feet from her, and turned his human half to look at her and where she pointed.
"It will heal." His voice was deep, gravelly, but he kept it as quiet as a hunter's; as a killer's. It sent chills down her spine.
"W-why did you help me?"
"I need no reason to help someone." He rotated his injured shoulder a few times.
So he really was helping her. She thought perhaps she was trading one assailant for the next. Again he started walking off, with every intention of leaving just as abruptly as he'd arrived.
