When their eyes met and Thoron heard his blood howl, he knew he'd have to bend her over the table.
Judging by the widening of her eyes and the rising blush in her cheeks, Ilya knew it too. The quill pen slipped from her trembling hands. When his hands enclosed her waist, her body melted into him with relief.
The Communication Room they'd been working in was cramped, barely room for the wooden table with telegraph and scattered transcripts on paper. Paper flew to the floor as Thoron swept clean a space, and pushed Ilya face-down onto the table.
"You Clod. I've just organized those nots." Her voice was light, but shaking. Ilya, their community's communications organizer, was usually stern faced, wrapped in a no-nonsense charcoal grey dress, with her flaming red hair tucked into a bun. Today, her hair unspooled onto the table as he racked his hand through it. Her dress hitched up around her. Her freckles disappeared into a full blush as he forced down her stockings.
His blood howled again, and he answered it -- a guttural growl sliding through his parted teeth.
And Ilya echoed him. She yelled, low and uncontrolled. Her eyes met his, irises turning yellow. Her bare ass shifted, desperately grinding into him. She howled again, and he saw her teeth lengthen into jagged fangs.
"Damn it Thoron... don't just stand there. I fucking need it. I need it, or I..."
Their work would have to wait. He pressed her face fangs down onto the table, seeing her smirk against the smooth wood. He slid his other pam upwards between her shivering thighs, feeling the contours of her skin change from goosebumps to stubbled folds.
Ilya bucked under his palm. "No time for to playing around. I need --
HNK"
Her back curled as he sank into her. She arched her torso into him, wiggling with every thrust. Her waves of scarlet hair bounced; her body seeming to be clinging onto him whenever he pulled out to fuck again.
Damn, he'd let her get too far along. She was becoming difficult to hold down, entire body shaking as she began to growl. At the edge of her clenched fists, nails lengthened into claws.
If she turned now, there would be blood spilled. Her friends, maybe even her family. Ilya would be devastated.
But she wouldn't. He wouldn't let her. He was the Alpha, and he'd made a solemn promise.
Ilya gasped when he clamped down, his teeth sinking into her shoulder. His bite left a crimson mark on her sweat-stained skin. He gathered her clawed-hands, tugging them to him and pulling her back onto his cock. Feeling her tightness on him was as intoxicating as the taste of her flesh on his lips.
He felt the cursed change at work in him, but resisted-- with effort. He wouldn't let it take him.
But he couldn't fully restrain his lust. He ravished attention on Ilya, stopping her every effort to rise with a full thrust into her center. He felt the curse strike his groin, and his cock thickened, hard curve angling into her. Ilya's eyes glazed, fangs biting her lip.
The Com room's door opened. "Thoron, been needing ot talk to you about..."
The rest of the scout's report was drowned out by the howl of Ilya's orgasm.
The door closed quickly.
Focusing on his colleague under him, Thoron laid his heavy form over her, speeding up the thrusts. "I- I have you. You're safe."
"mmm-MM!" was her response. Her face looked flushed, but slightly more peaceful. He let himself cum, enjoying her look of satisfaction as her cunt filled.
They lay for a second, panting, hands intertwined tightly.
Ilya scrambled up. She straightened her dress, starring at a wall. Thoron coughed. He passed her his handkerchief, and left the building to give her privacy.
Several heads turned as he stepped into the village clearing, several hands raised in greeting. He nodded back in a show of confidence. But inside, he felt drained. That was the eleventh community member he'd had to subdue this way, up from eight last week. Most muscles in his forty-one-year-old body ached. He had a knot on his head from taking care of Marco, their cook, in the bathhouse yesterday.
The mountainside village seemed to sink into the village, each structure cobbled from spare lumber and abandoned shacks. But it was their home. He passed the grain-bin--or its remains. Walls lay in ribbons, what little structure remained was scored by thick claw marks. Damn it all, it didn't matter how tired he was. So much was at stake.
They would do whatever was necessary to push off the transformation. For the safety of their family, and other innocents. And even though the difficulties of not only leading the village--but saving them from their personal curse weighed on him, he couldn't relent. He had made a personal promise to each of them.
He found the scout clutching a large net. Serrated, silver hooks hung from it. Thoron's heart sank.
"Is it it..." But he already knew.
The scout nodded. His face was pale ash. "The Wolf Trapper. They are near."
***
He smelled the sweet scent as soon as he entered the town. Thoron swayed on the cobblestone. Lilac, with a twist of leather. And echoing under it, the rush of his blood.
He found himself scanning the village market, desperately looking for the scent's owner. Was it- could it be? The smell of his Chosen. He'd known other of his kind who encountered their Chosen- an aspect of the curse where two were irrevocably bonded. Each Chosen couple he'd known had been a sword to each other's shield--a constant support. He envied them.
His awakened senses scanned the town market crowd desperately. The Wolf Trapper could wait.
No sign by the butcher's stall, and only devilish delinquents by the stocks. But there--at the tables. A tall women leaned on a horse, laughing with a stable hand. Her dark brown skin well complemented her leather vest and riding breaches. Strong hands patted her mare's flank. Unlike the community members Thoron led, she was not mal-nourished. Instead, every inch of her full thighs and muscled body composed a painting of vitality. She was so beautiful. Thoron's heart twisted in pain.
When she rode off, he hurried after, easily keeping pace within the road-side woods. What would he say to her? 'Hello, nice day, care to hunt together?' No, far too strange. But yet, better than 'Hello, I'm a cursed monster, want to become a part of my life forever?'
Thoron shook his head in frustration, still running full tilt. A daunting situation. But he would talk to her. He wouldn't let this beautiful, innocent person slip-
A motion at his feet. He jerked on instinct, and might have avoided the snare if not for his size. Ropes pulled, dragging him aloft.
He cursed bitterly. The Wolf Trapper. Turning, he expected to see his Chosen riding away. But the road was empty.
"My, what a big catch I've found..."
An acrid smell at his nose, then darkness.
He woke to a lingering head ache and the smell of woodsmoke. His predator senses snapped his surroundings into focus--a woodland clearing, with a bonfire. He was lying prone, bound to some horrible wheel composed of wood and silver.
And she was with him. Sitting by the fire, His Chosen sharpened a silver blade, net at her feet.
Thoron clenched his eyes shut, hurt more by this betrayl then by the headache. The Wolf Trapper. A storied character, a whispered fear amongst his people. How could he have been so trusting. So stupid.
AS if sensing his thoughts, his captor spoke. Her voice was low, with a rough crackle like the fire she'd ignited. "Awake are you? Excellent, I was growing bored." She walked around his tired form, occasionally feeling his arm or thigh with a butcher's precision. "This level of muscle mass... You can't be a normal lycanthrope. An alpha then... I am a lucky girl."
"Please, maam. This is a misunderstanding. I would never hurt you."
She laughed, a sound that clutched his spine in ice. "Yes. Yes, you won't.
"I've been hunting your kind for years, beast." Her face loomed over his, brown eyes glinting. "You won't be able to fool me, not before I take you out of this world."
Oh gods. She was gorgeous. The scar on her cheek, running from lip to ear. Those full lips, locked in a murderous sneer. She-
