Shifters, Beasts, and Monsters (52 page)

 Parts
I and II

By

 Jessi
Bond

Copyright
2012 Jessi Bond

-

Breeding with the Beast

Breeding with the Beast 2: Mate to the Monsters

Breeding
with the Beast

The sun was already hanging low in the sky when Beauty
reached the edge of the forest.

It would have been wiser to spend the night in town, she
knew - but Beauty had never been much for wise decisions. So it was that she
found herself at the edge of the dark woods, with nightfall coming ever closer,
and her horse pawing nervously at the ground.

“Shhh, it’s all right.” She stroked his neck. “We’ll be on
the other side in no time at all.”

She’d been riding André since she was a little girl, and he
trusted her - but his nostrils still flared, his eyes wide with fear as he took
his first hesitant steps past the tree line. He hadn’t been nearly so reticent
in the early morning, when the birds sang and the moss was wet with dew. But
now, even the pragmatic Beauty had to admit that the forest was beginning to
feel a little forbidding.

It wasn’t her first journey through the woods. Years ago,
when her father was still young and strong enough to bring his own wares to
sell at the markets, they’d had a particularly profitable year that yielded
more roots and vegetables than they could sell close to home. So he’d loaded up
the wagon and taken Beauty along with him, back when the forest still had a
clean, well-travelled path running through it.

But times had changed. Beauty’s father had passed away,
leaving her to tend to the farm by herself. Now, for the first time, even
Beauty’s modest needs could no longer be met by the meager earnings she could
scrape together in her own village. Fewer and fewer travelers came through every
day, until finally, Beauty was forced to make the hours-long journey to the
neighboring town in order to sell anything at all.

She had done a good day’s work. It wasn’t much money, but it
was enough to keep her on her feet for a little while. And that was all Beauty
could ask for, these days.

After a few minutes, Beauty found herself obliged to light
her lantern, just to keep André from stumbling. The canopy of leaves made the
forest seem much darker than it ought to have been at sunset. Beauty laid a hand
on her coin purse, heavy and full for the first time in so long, and tried not
to regret her decision to keep all of it instead of paying an innkeeper back in
town for a night spent in safety.

Beauty had heard the stories. Of course she had. Everyone
who lived around the forest and everyone who regularly travelled through it had
some version ready to tell after a few pints - something they heard, or saw, or
thought they saw, confirming the legends of a fearsome beast who had been
living in the forest for as long as anyone could remember. They said that he
fed on virgins, or runaway horses, or disobedient children, depending on whom
you listened to.

They said his eyes glowed in the darkness - red, or yellow,
or orange. He was as tall as a man, or many times taller. There were fearsome
claws, and perhaps a tail, and one traveler even insisted that he’d seen the
beast fly.

As a child, Beauty had been somewhat afraid of the beast.
But she’d long grown out of believing in fairy tales.

Still, it was hard not to think of the legends now, with the
shadows growing longer and longer and André snorting nervously, no matter how
she whispered and patted his mane. Beauty’s mind might have been filled with
stories, but André was only a horse. He had no myths or legends clouding his
mind. He only knew what he smelled, and he was afraid.

Beauty’s throat constricted slightly as she gently dug her
heels into André’s sides, urging him on faster. Her heart was beating hard and
heavy against her ribcage. The increased speed made the lantern flicker, and
Beauty tried to hold it steady as André cantered through the narrow paths.

Beauty was finding it difficult to judge the passage of
time. She imagined they must be at least one third of the way through the woods
by now, but she couldn’t be sure. Her lantern was doing little to cut through
the darkness. André must be finding his way mostly by smell.

Suddenly, the horse came to a dead stop, rearing up on his
hind legs. Beauty only just managed to hold onto the lantern and the reins, leaning
forward so she didn’t fall.

“What’s wrong?” she hissed, as if he could answer.

He was perfectly still now, back on all fours, staring into
the darkness. Quivering.

Beauty heard it then. Soft, growling breaths. Somewhere in
the shadows. Somewhere close.

She only had a moment to remember to be afraid, before the
beast pounced.

-

When Beauty came back to herself, she was still in the dark.

She blinked a few times, straining her eyes to try and see
her surroundings. It was cold, and the air felt damp in her lungs. She managed
to sit up and soon realized she wasn’t restrained in any way, although she
didn’t yet feel steady enough to get up and explore the room.

The rattling sound of a key in a lock echoed in the room.
Beauty scrambled backwards, panicked, until she found herself up against a cold
stone wall. She’d only just managed to get to her feet when her eyes were drawn
to a small pinpoint of light coming towards her - it was a candle, she
realized, carried by a very old woman, hunched over and shuffling slowly across
the rough floor.

“Please don’t be frightened, dear,” came the woman’s voice,
very quiet and slightly strained. “I know that’s a tall order at a time like
this, but I won’t hurt you. I’ve just come to bring you some supper.”

Beauty’s stomach growled, and she realized she hadn’t eaten
in many hours. She didn’t know if she’d have the strength of will to refuse the
meal.

“It’s not tainted,” the old woman assured her, as if reading
her thoughts. Now that she was closer, Beauty could see the weariness and
sadness in her eyes. She reached slowly for the steaming bowl of stew and the
crust of bread that lay on the tray the old woman held. She hesitated to take
the first bite, but once she tasted it - thick and meaty, filled with fresh
herbs - she devoured the bowl in no time at all and gulped down the cup of
water that came with it.

The old woman smiled.

“There, dear. Is that better?”

Beauty nodded. “Where am I?

“You’re in the dungeon, dear.” She looked vaguely troubled
by the notion - though certainly not as troubled as Beauty was. “I tried to
tell him there was no need to treat you like a prisoner, but…”

“Him?”

“The master, dear.” The old woman blinked owlishly. “I
thought you’d met.”

A chill ran through Beauty’s chest. “You
mean…that…creature?”

“He prefers that we don’t draw attention to it. But, I
suppose you might call him that. Most people certainly don’t hesitate to call
him all sorts of things. They don’t know anything about him, but that doesn’t
stop them from telling terrible stories about him. How he killed their horses
or came and stole their sheep in the night. Or worse. None of it’s true, dear.
The master’s not like that. He wasn’t always like this. He used to be a man,
just like them.”

Beauty’s head was swimming. “I don’t understand.”

“Nor do I,” the old woman sighed. “All I know is that it’s
true, because I was there. I was the boy’s nursemaid from the day he was born,
and I was with him the day he changed. It was a fearsome sight, I don’t mind
telling you. But it only changed his appearance - it didn’t change his nature.
He’s not an animal.”

She thought of the harsh breaths she’d heard in the forest,
of the claws and fur she’d briefly seen before she lost consciousness.
I beg
to differ
.

“I don’t understand why he attacked me,” she said, eyeing
the woman. She sighed again, heavily, before she answered.

“You mustn’t judge him too harshly. He’s forgotten himself.
I’m afraid the master is growing desperate. He doesn’t have much time.”

“Time to do what?” Beauty felt an icy tendril of fear running
through her body.

“I’m not supposed to say,” the old woman whispered, looking
over her shoulder as if he might appear at any moment. “I’d best be on my way.
Here. Let me give you some light.”

She shuffled over to a sconce on the wall and lit it, flooding
the room with dim, flickering light. “The master will come to see you shortly,”
she said, and upon seeing Beauty’s face: “Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you.”

Once the old woman was gone, Beauty got to her feet and
began exploring the room. The ceiling was too high to see, but she now saw the
long stone wall in front of her, which culminated in a huge iron gate in the
corner. She approached it slowly. The light was even dimmer here, but she
peered through the bars nonetheless, trying to see what was in the darkness
beyond the door. She thought she could just make out a staircase, but it was
hard to be sure.

Suddenly, she heard a noise echoing from somewhere not too
far away. Grunting. Heavy breaths. Her blood chilled, but she forced herself
not to run and hide.  There was no point. He’d find her no matter where she
went, so she might as well face him.

She stood, straight-backed and steadfast, inches from the
door. Through the bars, she could see a huge, hulking shadow slowly come into
view. She swallowed hard, and forced herself to remain calm.

Of all the stories she’d heard about the beast, the ones
that had stuck with her the most - the ones she’d forced herself not to think
about as she rode through the dark forest - was his penchant for deflowering
young maidens. Beauty had always been a virtuous girl, and the thought of
losing it like this - in a dark, musty basement to a massive beast - was
horrifying.

The shadow was drawing closer.

As a child, Beauty had been told time and time again to keep
her thoughts pure. She remembered her father taking a switch to her after he
caught her watching the horses mate. Good girls, she was told time and time
again, didn’t allow their thoughts to stray to such things. Not even for
curiosity’s sake. Beauty didn’t understand why the ways of love and lust were
supposed to be so dangerous to the mind, but now that she was grown, she seldom
questioned it. Until now.

If she were about to be ravished by this monster, she would
have preferred to understand exactly what she was about to experience.

She knew the basic principle, of course. She had seen the
horses. But she couldn’t quite comprehend how all of that would apply to her.
Would the beast bend her over on all fours like a mare? Beauty felt herself
blushing, a curious prickling heat travelling down her neck, her stomach, and
lower.

The beast was at the door.

Beauty clenched her fists and stood her ground as he turned
the key and pushed the door open with one massive paw.

He was, in fact, taller than a man, covered in long, dark
fur. Each of his massive paws had cruel-looking claws curving from the fingers
and toes. He didn’t look like any animal she’d ever seen - then again, he
wasn’t an animal.

Then again, he was.

He stared down at her, and she stared back, forcing herself
not to flinch. She could see that his nose was twitching, taking in her smell.
His bright, shining eyes, somewhere between orange and yellow - Beauty could
now understand the confusion - closed for a moment. He exhaled, gently.

He liked her smell. Beauty couldn’t decide if that was a
good sign.

Would he do it? Would he throw her down on the hard stone
floor and take her there, like an animal? Beauty’s skin prickled with
goosebumps, and a strange, unfamiliar heat was growing between her legs. She
didn’t understand why her body was reacting like this. It was the same feeling
she always got when she heard whispered tales of the beast’s womanizing ways -
fear, perhaps, although it was unlike any fear she’d ever felt.

The beast hadn’t spoken. It occurred to Beauty that she
wasn’t sure if he could speak, although the old woman had left her with the
impression that he was still mostly human. Hard to believe, now that she looked
at him, fearsome in the flickering light.

“Why did you bring me here?” she said at last.

The beast growled softly. For a moment, Beauty was frozen in
fear.

Then, he spoke.

“I need your help.”

His voice was deep and rich, growling up from somewhere deep
inside his massive, hairy chest. Beauty shivered.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

The beast stepped further into the room, crouching down on
his haunches, curling his long tail around himself and wrapping one long arm
around his knees. Beauty sat down cautiously a few feet away, watching him.

“I was cursed,” he said. “Many years ago, when magic was
still commonplace. Long before you were born, or your parents, or your
grandparents.”

“You don’t look old,” Beauty found herself saying, softly.

The beast snorted. “I was selfish. I admit it. I was an
evil, petulant child. Were you ever punished for something when you were a
child?”

Beauty thought of her father’s switch, of the horses in rut.
“Yes,” she said.

“I’ve been punished for a hundred years,” he said. “And I am
running out of time to break the curse.”

Beauty regarded the beast. He looked tired. Desperate. Sad.
Isolated for a hundred years, if his story was to be believed.

“What do you need to break the curse?”

He looked at the floor. Beauty’s mind raced. What could it
possibly be? Her blood? Her tears? Her virtue?

“Your womb,” he said, at last.

Beauty spent a moment in stunned silence.

“What do you mean?” she whispered at last.

“I suppose,” said the Beast, “that the witch who cursed me
imagined the one thing I’d never be able to accomplish in this form is
convincing a woman to bear my child. And I suppose she was right. I scarcely
have the opportunity even to speak to them, let alone make such a proposal. I’m
to be freed from my curse on the day the child is conceived, but that day will
never come unless you agree to this.”