Hunted: An Erotic Retelling of Beauty and the Beast (An Adult Fairy Tale Novel) (18 page)

He pushed his fingers deeper inside of her., using Everett's remaining seed to further his cause.  Danya bit her bottom lip, ashamed and embarrassed.  She didn't want to do this, didn't understand any of it, and yet for some reason that spurred her body's arousal onwards.  The idea of this man using Everett's cum as slippery grease in order to fuck her better was both sexually intoxicating and morbidly horrifying all at once.

A crashing footstep thudded against the ceiling.  Danya glanced up, frightened.  The ceiling was made from the wooden floorboards of whatever room lay above them, with faint slits between each slat of wood and streams of light shimmering into the cellars.  Through a knothole in one of the floorboards, Danya recognized the ruddy-hued skin of the monster that had attacked Everett.

Oh gods, they were going to die, weren't they?

Danya leaned over to whisper to Peter.  "We need to be quiet.  We're in danger."

Peter rolled his eyes at her while suckling on her breast and fingering her.  He tore himself away long enough to whisper back, "Spread your dirty legs and I'll be as quiet as you fucking want."

Too loud!  Danya panicked and glanced up, but the demon above didn't seem to notice.  He stomped forward, tentative and slow as if he were trying to figure out where to go.

Danya had no other choice.  She hated this, felt like she would never do it under normal circumstances, regardless of her reputation, but it needed to be done.  Pulling her dress up and revealing her crotch, she gave Peter a show.  He nearly laughed in delight at her wanton approach, but she slapped a hand over his mouth before he could.  Twisting beneath his hulking body, she squirmed to display her ass to him.  He didn't need much more than that.

Ripping open his pants, making far too much noise for Danya's comfort, he pulled out his erect cock.  She expected a little more than that, but, no.  Peter charged forward, grabbed her hips with one hand, rubbed the head of his cock against her folds with the other, then thrust into her.

Danya gasped; or she almost gasped.  She caught the noise in her throat, choking on it.  Peter ground his hips against her, digging his cock into her as far as he could, then he pulled out quick and slammed back in.  The sound of flesh against flesh clapped and echoed through the wine cellar.

The noise!  Fuck!  He needed to be quiet.  Danya mentally screamed at herself and him, but she didn't dare risk making more noise than necessary.  Trying to calm Peter down, she pushed back against him, but to no avail.  He pounded into her, relentless.  The sound of his cock squelching into her pussy, aided and abetted by Everett's personal lubricant, blared through the cellar, alerting any listeners to their presence.

Above them, the floorboards shook once more.  Dust and dirt sprayed onto them as the monstrous demon stomped and searched for his prey barely ten feet away from where Peter frantically drove his cock into Danya's reluctant body.

She needed to finish Peter fast, then shut him up.  Clenching and squeezing against him, pushing back more, she tried to coax him to orgasm as quickly as she could.  Unfortunately the alcohol gave him more stamina than he might have otherwise had, and he kept thrusting away, happily oblivious.

The terror of being found, the wrongness of being with this man in this way, and the urging from her body; it caught up with her.  She clamped her lips together and clenched her teeth and her face wrinkled in something akin to pain.  She wasn't in pain, though, oh no.

Forced and horrible climax ripped through her, making her spasm and shake.  Her inner depths convulsed around Peter's cock and offered him even more lubrication.  The sounds of their fucking grew louder and louder still.  Goaded on by her climax, Peter grinned and shoved himself inside of her, pushing and pinning her to the ground.  His cock grinded against her inner walls as she grabbed at him with her orgasm, and then suddenly he was cumming inside of her.

Thick, naughty seed splashed into her abused cunt.  She felt so debased and wrong, but what did it matter?  She would live, they would live, and now there were no more noises to give away their hiding spot.

Or so she thought.  Peter grunted loudly, claiming her with his cum.  "Fucking hell-o!" he yelled in triumph.

The monster above them had been moving away, but he must have heard Peter's sexual victory shout.  He stomped, ran, stomped.  Then nothing for a split second.  Danya glanced up, confused, but it didn't take long to realize what had happened.

The thing above them jumped high into the air and landed on the floorboards, bent over like a cannonball.  Shoving the entire force of his body into his attack, and using his feet and one fist to lead the way, the demon smashed through the wood.  The ceiling above her shattered into a splintering rain with the demonic entity charging through the middle of it.  Once he landed, he rose to standing, then glanced around with blindfold covered eyes.  He stopped when he was staring straight at Danya and Peter.

She shoved the drunken man off of her and clambered to her feet.  The demon-beast strode forward, seemingly intent on inflicting some horrific pain upon her, but he found Peter first.

Danya screamed.  She screamed and then she ran.  She didn't stop running until she reached the edge of a staircase leading upwards.  Racks of wine and rows of kegs, and more and more, but if she climbed these stairs and escaped from this terror, she was free from it all.

Maybe she wasn't free forever, but she'd be free for now at least.

Glancing over her shoulder, she looked to see if Peter had managed to escape.  Unfortunately, he hadn't.

The otherworldly creature held Peter in one hand, picking him up by the collar of his shirt.  He stared at the man, or at least what approximated to a stare with his blinded eyes, and surveyed him.  Whatever he saw, he didn't seem to like it.  He flung Peter aside and behind him and the drunk man crumpled to the ground.  That's when the demon turned his attentions towards her.

The last thing Danya saw before she frantically pounded her feet up the stairs was the demon approaching her and Peter struggling to get to his knees.

The girl who had stolen her rose was gone.  Beatrix cursed her luck.  She should have tried to stop her when she first saw her scurrying into the mansion.  It was too late now, of course.  Some spell or other might be able to find her, but she didn't have the patience or the time to sit still long enough to prepare one.  The fallen angel, Pinem'e, was on the loose, and if he found the girl and the rose, that was it.

She briefly wondered if the dark being would even recognize the significance of the magical flower, then dismissed the idea as idiocy.  Of course he would.  Any lesser creature might never realize it, but Pinem'e wasn't one of the named fallen angels for no particular reason.  Only fools and madmen—and, she supposed, accidental imbeciles like herself—would have ever summoned forth something like him in the first place.

And once they did, Pinem'e was all but assured to wreak the most absolute and utter destruction that he could.  Presumably one needed to do some terrible things to be excised from the greater heavens, and he'd definitely done them.  Expecting anything lesser of him now was foolhardy at best.

It behooved her to find the girl and the rose as quickly as possible, to waste no time, so Beatrix attempted just that.  Dashing through the mansion halls, fleet-footed and alert, she glanced this way and that, hoping to catch sight of the girl or the demon.  In all likelihood, Pinem'e had no interest in her as of now, but that didn't mean he wouldn't turn on her later.  Especially if he'd already killed Everett.

She reached the dining hall where remnants of some meal lay strewn across the table.  Someone had taken up a plate and ostensibly thrown it against the wall, leaving shattered pieces of white porcelain and sticky debris of glazed ham strewn across the carpet.  Other than that, no one was here.  She sidestepped the misplaced meal and continued onwards, but something stopped her.

Down the hall, far off and away but easily recognizable—especially to her—stood the Master of the Manse.  Everett, fur-covered body and all, limped towards her.  He had a small gash in his upper arm that he held with his other hand.  It didn't look deadly, or at least not from what she could tell, but she was uncertain as to the qualities of this fallen angel's attacks.  Did he possess poisons or diseases?  Preferably not, but who knew?

Oh, hell.  She couldn't risk it.  Frustrated with herself, perturbed that it even came to this, she walked down the hall to greet Everett.  He didn't notice her until she was quite a bit closer, but once he did he lifted his head up and snarled at her, his beastly hair bristling on end.

"Stuff it," Beatrix said.  "I've come to help you."

Everett stared at her, confused.  "Beatrix?  Why?  How..."  He struggled to speak, but he held off until he could put proper words to his thoughts.  "Why are you here?  How did you get here?"

"I rode my horse," she said, matter-of-factly.  "I'm here because of the thing that attacked you, most likely.  Where is it?"

"You..."  He paused to think.  The pain in his arm seemed to be his main distraction.  "You sent it?" he asked.

"Listen," she said.  "It was an accident and I didn't mean to, but, yes, if you want to split hairs, I did in a way.  What of it?"

He growled and looked ready to pounce and maim her, but as soon as he moved his shoulder he winced in pain.  "Kill," he said.  "Be done with it.  Kill me."

She sighed.  This wasn't going at all like how she'd hoped or preferred.  And, thinking about that, what did she hope to gain from all of this?  What were her preferences?  She just wanted him to...

She knew what she wanted, but it didn't matter.  If wishes were horses then beggars would ride, and all of that.  Idiotic proverbs and useless idioms, to be certain, but she didn't have time for dreams.  There was nothing but her, here and now, and Everett bleeding out on the hallway carpet.

"Let me see your arm," she said, stepping forward.

Reluctant, eying her with guarded intent, Everett moved his hand away and showed her his injured arm.  She stared at the nasty gash, frowning.  It didn't look so terrible, but without quick work, he'd no doubt be injured for the rest of his life.  Full range of motion might not be necessary for everyone, but for the Master of the Manse, any such frailty would be inexcusable weakness.

Muttering a curt incantation, Beatrix waved her hand over the wound.  Lively green fog flickered from her fingertips and settled into the cut, clearing away any risk of infection.  Reciting her spell for a little longer brought forth sparkles like starlight, which fluttered down to Everett's injury and stitched the flesh back together.  After all of half a minute or so, his arm looked mostly as good as new, albeit with a marked loss of beast-cursed hair covering a raw pink patch of new skin.

"There," she said.  "Perfect."

He glanced at her, quizzical.  What was that incessantly horrific look on his face?  He looked something akin to grateful and bewildered and she didn't like any of it.  If he just hated her again, treated her horribly, then she'd be happy to go on her way and be done with this.

Everett opened his mouth to speak.  The barest beginnings of a word of gratitude left his lips right before the both of them heard a woman screaming.  Down the halls to the right, the other way from the stairs a little ways in front of her.  Near the larders and the wine cellars?  A quick spell to enhance her senses told her she was correct.

"We go," Everett said.  "Come, Beatrix."

As annoyed and frustrated with him as she was, when he grabbed her hand to lead her along, her heart skipped a beat.  What use was that, she asked herself?  None, nothing.  She should slip away from him and go find the girl and her rose.

Unfortunately, she didn't.  She rushed down the mansion halls and towards the storage pantry with the half-uncursed Everett.

Alena wanted to find Everett.  She wanted to find her lovely Beast so very badly, and yet where was he?  She didn't know her way around this place, so she could hardly expect to find him right off, but that didn't mean he wasn't here.  She wouldn't give up.  She needed to see him.  If she offered him herself, her body and her love, and seduced him with the magic from this pretty little rose, then everything would be wonderful.

She touched her ear, and along with it the rose she kept tucked behind it.  It lay there, the petals resting near her temple.  Perhaps she should have done up her hair before chasing after Everett, but she hadn't had time.  Would he prefer her this way, though?  Naked, bounding through his mansion, with tousled, sex-messy hair and a beautiful flower tucked in her ear.  She thought she must look like some wild child of the woods, and seeing as Everett was her beast, it surely suited.  Together they were primal, like human lust and nature's instinctual need combined.

She wanted Everett to find her and take her and mate with her, howling at the apex of his climax like some voracious wolf.  He needed, he'd said to her before.  Yes, and she wanted.  Together they would satisfy all of their necessary desires.

Stumbling through the mansion halls, lost and alone, she grew impatient and upset.  This was not how it should go.  She had an idea of it, a picture in her mind, but the reality was nothing like it.  Perhaps it was a bit too much to ask to expect to find Everett immediately upon entering his mansion, but she thought she should have seen him within the first five minutes.  He should smell her, catch the scent of her excitement and arousal, and come to her.

She grew tired of running and trying to find him.  An open door up ahead distracted her, and she walked towards it and stepped inside.  It was an overlarge bedroom bigger than the entire first floor of her family's quaint apartments, she noted, and with a man standing near the bed.  He had his head bent down, presumably admiring one of the pictures resting in an ornate frame upon the bedside table.  When she entered, breathing hard from exertion, his ears perked up and he tilted his head to the side and looked over his shoulder at her.