


Feral Heart

by slyc_willie



Category: NonHuman
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-04-18 21:09:38
Chapters: 1
Publisher: literotica.com
Story URL: https://www.literotica.com/s/feral-heart
Author URL:
https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=748325&page=submissions
Summary: Chained naked to a tree, Una is not what she seems.
Erotica Tags: Chains, Cold Iron, Fae, Feral, Hero, Knife, Monster, Nymph,
Rough Sex, Tree
Average Rating: 4.68






        Feral Heart


_(Author's note: This story is an official entry into the 2013 Literotica
Earth Day story contest. The inspiration for this tantalizing tale came to me
as I was looking for ideas, and found a picture on Google of a woman who had
tied herself to a tree in protest against forest clearing. The idea blossomed
from there, further inspired when I caught a few moments of one of those
vampire vs. werewolf movies on TV. Be forewarned, this is a long story, and
not very sex-heavy. Still, I hope you enjoy this adventurous, sometimes gory,
sometimes sexy tale of what can happen when you mess with nature.)_  
  
* * * *  
  
_Three Months Ago . . . ._  
  
Writhing upon the bed, clutching handfuls of cotton sheets, she panted into
the pillow. Dress pushed up past her waist, back arched and hips lifted off
the mattress, she reveled in the feel of his tongue as he serviced her from
behind. He licked from her swelling clit, up through swollen pink folds, to
her puckered anus, then back again.  
  
"Oh, yes, give it to me," Melissa whimpered.  
  
Ryan's response was a knowing chuckle. He gripped handfuls of her full, pale
cheeks and pushed them apart before thrusting his tongue deep within Melissa's
tunnel. His lover gasped, pushed back against his talented tongue.  
  
He straightened, positioning himself behind her. His cock was fully engorged,
throbbing with anticipation. "You're going to get it, all right," he declared,
before shoving inside her, almost to the hilt.  
  
A ragged cry escaped Melissa's lips at the sudden invasion. She started to
push up onto her hands, but Ryan shoved her back down, a restraining hand at
the back of her neck. His thrusts became harder, rougher, making her body
tremble with each pounding intrusion.  
  
"Is this what you wanted?" he breathed in her ear as he leaned over her. He
nipped at her lobe. "You wanted to get fucked?"  
  
But she could only grunt in response, wincing repeatedly.  
  
He took her reticence as compliance, and lifted up, gathering a handful of
long, thick dark hair. She gasped again as her head was pulled back, and
struggled to compensate. His loins slapped against hers loudly. The cloying
aroma of sex swirled through the air.  
  
Abruptly, Ryan pulled out, cock shiny with his lover's fluid, and rolled her
onto her back. She stared up at him with a mixture of arousal and
apprehension. His body was impressive, nicely muscular, bearing the scars of a
hard-lived life. Melissa usually found him rakishly sexy, but there were
times, such as now, that he all but frightened her.  
  
Spreading her thighs wide with his hands, Ryan descended upon her sex, sucking
a mouthful of slick, pink flesh. She gasped loudly and ground against him. But
after only a few moments, he was once more spearing roughly inside her,
sinking his cock all the way in before pulling it almost all the way out.
Melissa panted for breath, especially given the way her legs were pushed back
with her knees nearly at her shoulders.  
  
He suddenly began driving into her faster and faster, leaning upon her body,
smacking his hips against hers. She grimaced through it all, even as her body
began to respond. Her vaginal muscles squeezed and clenched his cock. When she
came, she could only gasp and thrash, her world spinning in random circles.  
  
Awareness barely returned to Melissa when she realized Ryan was straddling her
chest now. The fragrance of her orgasm was strong upon his offered cock. She
normally did not enjoy the taste of herself, especially when it was so
pungent, but she offered no protest when he took her head in his hands and
slipped his cock into her mouth. Brow furrowing at the flavor that soaked into
her tongue, she nonetheless suckled him, allowing him to use her mouth as he
had her pussy.  
  
A thankful sigh left her mouth when Ryan pulled back, sliding down her body to
position himself between her legs once more. He entered her with ease and
smothered her body with his own, rutting and rolling atop her body. Melissa
clutched him with arms and legs, winced as she felt his teeth nipping her
neck.  
  
At last, he pushed himself up on his arms, looking down upon his lover with an
almost wild, feral look as he savagely thrust into her again and again. She
could not meet his gaze, and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the end.  
  
When he finally came, bellowing his release to the world, she trembled beneath
him, glad that it was over.  
  
* * * *  
  
She was taking longer in the shower than usual, Ryan noticed. He personally
preferred not to shower after sex; the lingering aromas, the stickiness of the
skin, the slowly-fading taste in his mouth were all part of the experience.
Melissa had commented on that a few times, but had learned to accept it during
the few months they had been dating.  
  
A frown decorated his face when she finally emerged, not only clean, but
dressed as well. A sheepish expression blanketed her fresh-scrubbed face.  
  
"I thought you were staying," he said.  
  
She took a breath, casting her glance aside. "Ryan . . . it's too much."  
  
"What do you mean, 'too much?'"  
  
Melissa fidgeted in the doorway of the bathroom, fingers playing along the
strap of her handbag. "It's like . . . every time we make--" she huffed,
corrected herself. "Every time we have sex, it gets rougher and rougher."  
  
He smiled roguishly. "I thought you liked it rough."  
  
"Sometimes," she admitted. "But, babe, it's honestly starting to scare me. You
leave bruises and marks on me. Some of my friends think you're hurting me."  
  
He looked insulted, but also concerned. "Am I?" he asked, sitting up in the
bed. "Am I really hurting you?"  
  
She softened, stepped to the edge of the bed. "You don't mean to," she said in
a small voice. "At least, I don't think you do."  
  
Ryan fell quiet a moment, looking down at the rumpled sheets. "I get carried
away sometimes," he said, then gave Melissa a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry,
but I don't think I can help it."  
  
She shook her head sadly. "I don't think you can, either." She leaned across
the bed to place a tender kiss on his lips, then straightened and turned to
the door. "Good-bye, Ryan."  
  
He said nothing as she left. He listened to her sniffles, the click of her
heels across the floor, the opening and closing of the creaking door. With a
heartfelt sigh, he reached for the pack of cigarettes by the bed and lit one
up.  
  
_Another one bites the dust_, he mused.  
  
_Now . . . ._  
  
"Excuse me, sir, but we've got a problem."  
  
Martin Milton looked up from his desk in the small, wood-walled trailer. He
was a heavyset man, and despite his ruddy face and naturally gruff appearance,
his clothes belied a life used to indulgence. "I don't like hearing things
like that, Billy."  
  
The young man in his inexpensive suit shifted uncomfortably as he stood in the
doorway. "I know, sir, but the main crew just called in. They, uh --" his
features twisted slightly as he tried to conceal his mirth. "They've got
something in the way."  
  
Milton sighed in annoyance. "Don't tell me some tree-hugging cunt got herself
tied to a fucking tree or some shit."  
  
Billy twitched. "Um, well, actually, sir . . . that's pretty much exactly
what's happened."  
  
"God damn it!" roared Milton, rotund frame lurching up behind the desk. "Fuck
those God damned fucking hippie mother fuckers!"  
  
Billy fidgeted, waiting for his employer's tirade to subside. He had seen
enough of them over the years to know how to deal with them.  
  
After nearly half a minute of expletive-laced ranting, Milton pinched the
bridge of his nose and took several deep breaths, letting each one out slowly.
Finally, his smallish eyes opened. "You didn't call Richard, did you?" he
asked in a forcibly calm tone.  
  
"No, sir," Billy answered. "This might be something you want to see for
yourself."  
  
Milton frowned, chubby face souring. "The fuck's that supposed to mean?"  
  
Billy just waited.  
  
Finally, Milton sighed and reached for his cowboy hat. "This better be worth
the trip."  
  
* * * *  
  
The Jeep rumbled to a stop upon a freshly-turned dirt path more than a mile
from the logging company's base camp. Bulldozers and cranes sat quiet all
around, their chipped and weathered yellow paint standing out in stark
contrast to the lush green of the forest. The air was a bit cooler here than
in the base camp, but no less humid. With the onset of spring, the air had
become thick and cloying. Milton hated it. At least in his home state of
Texas, the heat was not quite as oppressive as it was in these Georgia
foothills.  
  
He followed his assistant from the Jeep, trudging up an incline just steep
enough to make his feet ache in his expensive boots and the air to torture his
lungs. Ahead, the assembled company of loggers were gathered at the edge of
the forest, forming a semi-circle before a large, stately old pine. The tree
was easily twice as broad as any around it and towered well over a hundred
feet in height.  
  
"All right, what in the fucking hell's got you all lollygagging up here?"
Milton roared, gaining the attention of the crowd of men. Most gave him
curious smirks and chuckles, and stepped aside as the company boss approached.
"We ain't got time to mess with some tree-hugging cu--"  
  
But Milton's caustic words slipped away as the assemblage parted, affording
him the view that had captivated his men.  
  
She stood against the rough bark of the tree, head held high in defiance
despite the fact that her wrists were confined by crude-looking manacles. The
chain attached to them wrapped around the impressive girth of the tree, with
an obvious amount of slack that would allow her to sit if she so desired. Yet
she stood, almost as if proud of her predicament.  
  
But it was not to her apparently haughty attitude that Milton was attracted.
It was her state of dress. Or rather, undress.  
  
She was fully nude, and obviously comfortably so. Her skin was a rich bronze,
contrasted by long, flowing golden hair that hung free around her head, only
partially obscuring the view of perfectly-formed, full round breasts that sat
high and proud on her chest. The hue of the hair on her head was perfectly
matched by the golden thatch that covered her pubic mound. Even her eyebrows
were of the same, sun-kissed color. She stood nearly as tall as most of the
men ogling her, with obvious but not unseemly musculature just beneath the
skin.  
  
"--unt," Milton finally finished, after drinking in the sight before him. He
made no effort to conceal his interest in the nude nymph. Never had he seen
such a beautiful woman, not in print, not in his fantasies. Even Martin
Milton, gruff as he was, found himself stunned.  
  
To his credit, however, he made the supreme effort to regain his composure.
Stepping forward from the throng of men, he approached the woman. "All right,
sweetheart," he growled. "Nice twist going jaybird, but it ain't gonna help
you none. We own this land, and all you're gonna do is get your pretty blonde
snatch thrown in jail. Bitch and moan and tell me I'm the fucking devil for--"  
  
Her words interrupted him. "You own nothing," she spat. "Not even your soul."  
  
Milton chuckled, slipping off his hat to wipe his brow. "Well, ma'am, you're
right about that. God owns my soul, and I been a good Christian all my life.
But I ain't in the fucking mood to talk religion with you." He straightened
and cast a look back over his shoulder. "Get some fucking bolt cutters over
here and cut these fucking chains!"  
  
"They have already tried," she said in an even tone. "No tool of man can cut
these chains."  
  
Milton turned back to her with a tired and annoyed look. "Hope you don't mind
me proving you wrong."  
  
One of the loggers stepped forward, not bothering to hide his admiration for
the naked woman's body. "Uh, Mr. Milton, we tried cutting through them. Damn
things must be titanium or something."  
  
Milton scowled. "So get a saw!" he snapped. "Or burn it! Or cut down the
fucking tree!"  
  
Billy darted up. "Sir, they've already tried everything," he said. "And they
can't cut down the tree when she's chained to it."  
  
Milton snarled. "It's just fucking chain!" he cried. "Cut it off! I'm not
gonna get behind schedule because some pot-smoking hippie fucking bitch wants
to save the God damned planet!"  
  
"Not that easy," said another man, coming forward with a jig saw in hand. He
was older, seasoned. "I got the strongest fucking blade on this thing, and it
didn't do beans to that damn chain. Just made a shitload of sparks."  
  
Milton regarded the deformed blade on the jigsaw, then convulsed in anger.
"Fuck!" He lurched toward the naked woman, slapping his hands to either side
of her head upon the tree. Surprisingly, she did not flinch, staring back
undaunted.  
  
"Okay, playtime's over, bitch," Milton hissed. "You got yourself in these
chains, you can get out. Pull the key outta your cooch or ass or wherever the
fuck it is, but get it out. If you can't reach it, tell me where it is and
I'll get it."  
  
She remained impressively calm. "I did not place these chains upon myself, and
there is no key. I desire freedom as much as you wish me gone, but there is
only one way to release these bonds. Although, given your intentions here . .
. I cannot say I am all too willing to be freed just yet."  
  
Milton hung his head, allowing himself a choice view of the woman's perfect
body. Her skin was absolutely flawless, he noticed; not a mark, blemish or
birthmark to be seen.  
  
"You know, honey," he said at last, lifting his head to meet her gaze. "You
really should have thought this whole chaining-yourself-naked-to-a-tree plan
out. I've got a dozen men and more right behind me that probably haven't seen
pussy like yours in a really long time, so unless you want to have a _really_
bad day . . . ."  
  
But even in the face of the threat of rape, the blonde woman only smiled. It
was a cold, wicked expression. "Any man who attempts to touch me without my
consent will wish for an eternity in Hell before I am through with him," she
hissed.  
  
Milton chuckled darkly. "Just empty words, darlin'," he said.  
  
She glared back. "Try it," she said harshly. "I have enough of my powers left
to make good on my threat."  
  
The pudgy man's brow furrowed in confused irritation. "'Powers?'" he asked.
"What the fuck you talking about?"  
  
She avoided his question. "It is not me you should be concerning yourself
with," she said. "It is the one named Steven."  
  
"Oh, I get it," chuckled the rotund man. "Got yourself a partner, huh? I'm
guessing he's out there spiking marked trees, maybe gonna do a Rambo run on
our equipment in the middle of the night? Not gonna happen, babe, 'cause we--"  
  
"No," she said, cutting him off. "He will kill you. All of you."  
  
Milton cocked his head, glaring. "Now you're crossing the line, girlie," he
growled. "I don't take lightly to threats."  
  
"It is not my threat, but his," she responded. "He has taken some of my power,
and it has corrupted him. I know not how long it will take before he finishes
the transformation, but I do know that he despises you even more than I do,
and that hatred will make him come after you and your men. The only way to
stop him, and free me, is to slay him." She let her words sink in, then
glanced around at the other men. A cruel smile stretched across the woman's
lips as her eyes returned to Milton's. "And I see none among you, especially
yourself, capable of such an act."  
  
Milton's face twisted in anger. He bushed himself back and once more pinched
the bridge of his nose. "I got no time for this shit," he remarked at last. He
turned away and shouted. "Billy! Get Richard on the horn! We gotta get someone
out here and fast!"  
  
* * * *  
  
Heavy hands dragged down his face as Ryan Welch sat on the edge of his bed. He
could still feel the effects of the previous night's alcohol that yet lingered
in his body. He licked sticky, yet dry lips and looked around the bedroom of
the small trailer which he called 'home.' A fan warbled in an open window; the
cheap version of air conditioning. A musty aroma lingered in the air.  
  
He reached a tired hand to the stack of unpacked cardboard boxes beside the
bed which served as a nightstand, took up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
The metal cap of the Zippo rang open before he flicked a flame to life. He
sucked in nicotine, snapped the lighter closed, and fell back on the bed.  
  
_Gotta stop killing yourself, Ry_, he told himself. _Melissa's not coming
back. None of them ever do._  
  
The phone beside the cigarettes chirped.  
  
Ryan groaned and made the effort to sit up once more. He reached for the
offensive device. _What now?_ he thought.  
  
A message awaited him. He tapped the screen to call it up, held the phone to
his ear.  
  
"Ryan, it's Brett. We need to pull you from your normal rotation. Looks like
there's a situation we need you to check out. Look in your email. Call me if
you have any questions."  
  
He slapped the phone to his thigh, noting the time. It was almost noon.
_Figures,_ he mused_. I get a few days off, and they want to call me back in.
They're almost as bad as the Army._  
  
With a grunt, he pushed up from the bed and headed to the desk, the only other
piece of furniture he owned other than the cheap wooden stand upon which sat
the TV. He tapped the fingerpad on his laptop, making the screen flash alive.
A few clicks and he was in his government email account. He stooped to read
what had been sent him, eyes darkening before an amused smirk stretched his
lips.  
  
_A naked woman tied to a tree_, he thought. _What is this? 1968?_  
  
The address given him was around eighty miles away.  
  
He headed to the bathroom for a shower and shave, then dressed in his Fish and
Wildlife Service uniform. Given the humidity of Georgia, he chose the shorts
and short-sleeved shirt as opposed to the more formal uniform. Lastly, he
clipped the badge and his pistol in a simple leather holster to his belt.
Taking up his Mountie-esque hat, he headed to the door.  
  
* * * *  
  
It was after two in the afternoon when Ryan's government-issued truck arrived
at the logging company base camp. A large wooden sign, the size of a small
house, proclaimed "Milton Logging and Land Clearing," in massive red letters
against a yellow backdrop. Beneath that, it read, "Professionalism and
Efficiency Since 1994."  
  
The base camp consisted of a series of rather simple-looking trailers.
Numerous vehicles -- mostly trucks and Jeeps -- sat parked around the
trailers. There were large flatbed trucks, tractor rigs, and other pieces of
heavy machinery sitting around. More than a dozen men were collected beneath a
pair of large tents with the sides removed. They watched as Ryan's government
truck rolled in. Some of them were already grinning in anticipation.  
  
Finding the office for the site was simple enough; it was the largest trailer
and had the word "OFFICE" painted in red letters on the side. After parking,
Ryan headed up to the steps and rapped on the door.  
  
A slender man in a white polo answered the door and instantly smiled in
relief. "Oh, good," he said, stepping back.  
  
Ryan chuckled. "Nice to meet you, too."  
  
The man blushed and held out his hand. "My apologies," he said. "It's been a
long day already. I'm William Kitchen, assistant to Mr. Milton. Call me
Billy."  
  
"Ryan Welch," answered Ryan, shaking Billy's hand.  
  
"That better be that God damned Fish and Wildlife guy!" roared a voice from
beyond an open door.  
  
Ryan cocked an eyebrow and glanced to Billy. "Mr. Milton?"  
  
Billy nodded. "He's, uh, a little obnoxious. He's from Texas."  
  
Ryan frowned. "So am I."  
  
The slender man awkwardly glanced away.  
  
"Well, God damn am I glad they sent someone out here today," grumbled Milton
as he wobbled into the room. Ryan couldn't help but be amused by the man's
obvious Texas swagger. He even wore a bolo tie. "I'm Martin Milton. This is my
operation."  
  
Ryan nodded. "I gathered that. Nice big sign you've got out there."  

Milton grinned. "Gets your attention, don't it?" he barked, but the smile
faded. "They tell you what my problem is?"  
  
Another nod. "I understand you have a naked woman chained to a tree. I'm
guessing it's not a morale boost for the men."  
  
"Fuck no it ain't!" spat Milton. "Huffy bitch thinks she can stop my
operation. Wants to save her fucking forest. I ain't got time to mess with it.
I want her the fuck out of here."  
  
Ryan remained composed in the face of Milton's repugnance. "Have you tried
cutting the chains?" he asked.  
  
"Shit yeah we tried it!" Milton huffed in frustration. "Jigsaws, miter saws,
bolt cutters . . . even tried cutting torches. Damn chain's too tough. Either
that, or I got shitty tools. Bitch says she ain't got a key and I didn't see
no key holes on them anyway."  
  
Ryan took a breath. _Of course this wouldn't be easy_, he lamented. "I was
told something about a collaborator?"  
  
"Yeah, some guy named Steven," Milton answered. "We ain't seen him yet." He
suddenly snapped his fingers. "Billy! You hear from the marking crew yet?"  
  
Billy shook his head. "They haven't reported back."  
  
"Fucking great," growled Milton. "Now my marking crew's up in the woods having
a fucking circle jerk and I'm getting behind schedule."  
  
"So, you haven't heard from some of your men, and there's an unknown, possibly
hostile, insurgent in the area?" Ryan asked carefully.  
  
Milton narrowed his eyes. "You military, huh?"  
  
Ryan shrugged. "Served a few tours."  
  
"Doing what?"  
  
"Doing whatever an Army Ranger is told to do."  
  
Milton grinned. "Well, all right," he said. "Now we got us a bad ass. Good,
'cause that bitch chained to the tree says her partner is gonna wipe everyone
out."  
  
"Really."  
  
"Yeah, but she was talking all sorts of funky shit. She ain't right in the
head. Hot as hell, but about as stable as a one-winged duck in a windstorm."  
  
Ryan took a moment to let everything filter in. "I'll need someone to take me
to where she is."  
  
"Hell, I'll take ya."  
  
* * * *  
  
Ryan could understand the reason for all the fuss as soon as the woman came
into view. She was, indeed, the most stunning woman he had ever seen. He had
to admire both her beauty and bravery for subjecting herself to the situation
. . . if, indeed, she was here of her own free will as Milton assumed.  
  
"Not bad on the eyes, huh, son?" Milton asked as they exited Ryan's truck.
Since revealing that he, too, was from Texas, Ryan had apparently made a new
best friend.  
  
"You could have at least put a blanket on her."  
  
Milton snorted. "We tried. She refused."  
  
"No one's touched her, I hope?" Ryan asked.  
  
Milton looked offended. "I don't run that kind of operation. My boys are good
boys."  
  
"Just checking," said Ryan, starting for the tree.  
  
The blonde woman uncurled herself from a seated position and stood as Ryan
approached. She watched him with scrutinizing eyes that assessed every part of
his body she could see.  
  
Stopping several paces away, Ryan removed his hat. "Afternoon, miss," he said.
"My name's Ryan Welch. I'm with the US Fish and Wildlife Service. You look
like you're having an interesting day."  
  
"I am certain it will prove memorable," she responded.  
  
"So how long do you plan on staying up here like this?" Ryan asked. "Between
those heavy chains, wild animals, and the dangers of exposure, you're taking
quite a risk."  
  
The woman's fierce green eyes narrowed. "As I explained to your hog-bodied
companion, I am not here by choice," she said, then allowed herself a small
smile. "As for the animals and the effects of nature, I have nothing to worry
about that."  
  
Beside Ryan, Milton was quivering. "'Hog-bodied?'" he sputtered. "Did you just
call me a fat ass?"  
  
The woman responded with only a haughty look.  
  
"You little fucking--"  
  
"Mr. Milton," Ryan said quickly, placing a restraining hand on the heavy man's
shoulder. "Why don't you let me handle this?"  
  
Milton glowered, then let out a heavy sigh. "Fine. Do your thing. I'll wait by
the truck."  
  
"Good idea," Ryan said, watching as the logging company owner grumbled his way
back to the government truck. He returned his attention to the blonde woman
and took a few steps closer.  
  
"Colorful fellow, isn't he?"  
  
She regarded Ryan with a small smile. "I have endured his kind for ages. They
are all the same. Oppressive, insulting and afraid of their own shadows."  
  
"'Ages?'" Ryan quipped, moving closer as he began to inspect the chains. "You
can't be more than twenty-five, if that."  
  
Her eyes wandered over his face as he stood before her. "If that is your
belief."  
  
He held her gaze a moment, seeing nothing but clarity in the woman's eyes.
Then he directed his attention to the manacles and chains. "So what's your
name?" he asked, taking up a length of chain.  
  
"Una," she responded.  
  
"Interesting name. Sounds European."  
  
"I suppose it could be."  
  
Ryan turned the chain over in his hands. It was heavy and rough, with no two
links alike. It looked like a tenth-grade metal shop project gone awry. The
manacles appeared equally shoddy. He noticed several recent marks on them,
faint furrows into the metal caused by various tools. "Hard to see how these
chains are so tough," he commented. "Given enough time, the right tool could
cut right through them."  
  
"No tool of man can sunder these bonds," Una said.  
  
Ryan glanced back to her face. "You always talk like you're from the _Lord of
the Rings?_"  
  
She frowned. "I do not know who that is."  
  
_Okay, she may look sane, but I'm betting there might be some schizophrenia
going on here_, Ryan thought, following the chain to the manacles. As he
touched one of them, Una raised her arm to make it easier. It slid down off
her wrist. Ryan frowned as noticed the fresh raised welt on the inside of the
woman's wrist. "What the hell is that?"  
  
For the first time, Una's features fell. She looked ashamed. "That is a rune
of dominance," she explained, then raised her right arm so that the manacle
upon it also slid back, revealing a similar welt. "And this is a rune of
transference."  
  
"They look fresh," Ryan said, gently taking the woman's hand. He touched the
skin beside the first welt. The mark was about an inch across and possessed
the tell-tale signs of a burn.  
  
"As of very early this morning," Una confirmed.  
  
He met her gaze, seeing a hint of weakness there. "Who did this?"  
  
She sighed heavily. "His name is Steven. He is the one responsible for all
this. And for much more to come."  
  
"Did he kidnap you, bring you up here?"  
  
"He . . . took me against my will, yes," she revealed. "I was blind to his
motives. I let my guard down."  
  
"I've had that problem once or twice myself," Ryan said, giving Una a little
smile of sympathy. "Sounds like you know him."  
  
Her features hardened. "Not as well as I believed."  
  
"So, what's the story? How'd this happen?"  
  
She stared off at nothing for several seconds, contemplating what to say and
how to say it. When she finally spoke, there was a tremor of vulnerability in
her voice.  
  
"I tell you this only because of your nature, though you may not understand it
yourself," she began, returning her attention to him.  
  
He frowned in mild confusion at her words, but said nothing, allowing Una to
continue.  
  
"I knew Steven when he was just a boy," she recalled. "His family, at one
time, lived in this area. They were wholesome folk who lived in harmony with
the land. I met him one day, when he had fallen and hurt himself, and gave him
some healing. He would come to find me after that day. He . . ." she trailed
off, smiling in fond remembrance. "He was a very exuberant boy. Later, when he
had grown, I took him as a lover. It is not common that we do so, but not
forbidden, either."  
  
"What do you mean by 'we?'" Ryan asked.  
  
She regarded him a moment, studying his features. Her own were stoic. "My
kind," she said simply.  
  
". . . which is . . .?"  
  
Her expression did not change. "My kind," she repeated.  
  
Ryan let out a defeated breath. "Okay. Go on."  
  
"I know now that I should not have indulged him. But there are times in which
one of my kind is simply unable to ignore her own needs. So I loved him, and
loved him often. I suppose he assumed too much, because he wished to make me
his bride. Try as I might to explain it to him, he could not understand why
that would be impossible. He took my refusal as spurning. I did not see him
again after that day."  
  
Una hung her head and brought her hands together, massaging them with a faint
rattle of chains. "Until yesterday."  
  
"Go on," Ryan prompted. "What did he do?"  
  
She drew in deeply, blinking her intense eyes as they drifted across the
forest. "I saw him when he arrived, making a camp for himself in the forest. I
did not recognize him at first, as it had been three decades and more since he
left. But then he came to my tree --" she glanced at the trunk around which
she was chained. "-- and called for me. I could not ignore the excitement I
felt once I recognized him. Although he was aged, he was still the same man I
had once loved."  
  
Ryan struggled to accept what Una told him, as much of it went against the
simple reality of the situation. If Una knew this "Steven" person as a boy,
then had sex with him as, presumably, a grown man, and thirty years have
passed since then . . . that would make Una at least sixty years old or more.
But he suppressed his disbelief, chalking Una's story up to delusion, fantasy,
and who knew what else.  
  
"I'm guessing you, uh, went to him, then?" Ryan asked.  
  
Una nodded, face reddening as she lowered her gaze. "I did. In the aftermath
of our coupling, I did not recognize his true desire, which was to bind me and
steal my power. He had somehow learned the runes that would allow him to do
so, and burned the first into my skin when I was unaware. That allowed him to
dominate me, making my powers useless against him.  
  
"But then he branded me with the rune of transference, which gave him my
power. It did not give him all, of course; mortal forms cannot harness the
full scope of my abilities. Yet even the amount he has stolen, I fear, is too
much. He cannot hope to control it. It will control him, and feed off his
basest desires."  
  
Ryan considered everything the nude woman told him. Most of it sounded like
something from a cheap fantasy novel, and he wondered how much of the delusion
Una herself believed. Though not professionally versed in dealing with
schizophrenics, Ryan had learned a thing or two about people over the years
and had always considered himself both a good and patient listener. So he
decided to play into her fantasies.  
  
"Okay," he said at last. "What is Steven going to do?"  
  
For the first time, a semblance of real human emotion blossomed on Una's face.
"He holds such anger for those who would destroy the bounties of the Earth
Mother," she whispered fearfully. "To that, I can sympathize, but . . . with
the corruption of my power, he will become feral. A creature of pure
destruction and rage. Nothing you can do will stop him. He will be immune to
all mortal weapons. Only that which can harm me can harm him."  
  
"And, what is that, exactly?"  
  
"What your kind calls cold-wrought iron. That is what these chains are made
of, which is why I cannot sunder them. Only a weapon of such material can slay
Steven."  
  
"Look, I don't want to kill anyone--" Began Ryan.  
  
She cut him of with a fierce look. "You will not be given the choice," she
snapped. Emerald eyes blazed. "I see it in you. There is the potential. But
even with that, if you have not the weapon, then the potential is wasted."  
  
Ryan ran his hands through his hair. "Let's, uh, not get to far ahead of
ourselves, okay?" he asked rhetorically. "One thing at a time. You said Steven
made a camp. You know where it is?"  
  
Slowly, Una nodded, her eyes round. "I can tell you how to find it."  
  
"Please do."  
  
* * * *  
  
Milton stood beside the truck, sweltering uncomfortably as Ryan returned. "So
what's going on? Gonna get that fucking cunt outta my way?"  
  
Ryan released a breath as he stepped around to the bed of the truck. "You
know, you might want to think about taking a public speaking course," he said
as he unlocked and lifted the bed cover. "Dropping a bunch of four-letter
words into every conversation doesn't exactly come off as polite."  
  
Milton scoffed. "Yeah, my three wives kind'a told me the same thing."  
  
"Might warrant some looking into," Ryan said, reaching for a black duffel.
Reaching within, he withdrew a short-barreled, pistol-gripped shotgun and a
box of shells. As he loaded the weapon, the sound attracted Milton's
attention.  
  
"I thought you was getting something to cut through them chains," the husky
man said. "What the fuck's that for? Gonna shoot her?"  
  
Ryan gave the man a deadpan look. "No," he said flatly.  
  
"So what's the story with her?"  
  
"My impression at this point," Ryan said as he slipped a handful of shells
into his pocket. "Is that she was kidnapped, raped, and bound against that
tree, and she's disassociated herself through some kind of . . . nature
goddess fantasy . . . or something."  
  
"So she's fucking psycho? Is that it? Why the artillery, then?"  
  
"I have reason to believe there is a potential threat out there, and I like to
be prepared." He slammed the cover closed, making Milton flinch.  
  
"Well, okay," Milton said. "What you need me to do?"  
  
In answer, Travis tossed a folded-up green army blanket to the man. "Put that
on her and stay by the truck."  
  
"We already tried covering her up--"  
  
Ryan looked impatient. "Humor me, will ya?"  
  
Milton nodded gruffly. "What you gonna do?"  
  
"I'm gonna have a look around," Ryan said before he headed toward the woods.
"There's a CB in the truck. Keep trying to call your marking crew."  
  
* * * *  
  
Una's directions took Ryan east, deeper into the foothills. The air became
cooler as the sun was obscured by overhanging branches. Still, the humidity
remained oppressive, and after only ten minutes or so, he felt the previous
evening's alcohol oozing out of his pores. The beginnings of fatigue were
already starting to creep in. He kept on course thanks to the compass on his
watch, senses alert and trained to pick up anything he might see or hear out
of the norm. Now and then a scuttling would catch his attention, or the
movement of a small animal. But everything seemed typical.  
  
He saw the small tent from a good hundred feet away, just glimpses through the
trees and shrubbery. He slowed his approach, keeping the shotgun at the ready,
and made the effort to move as silently as he could. He looked not only along
his plane of view, but up amongst the trees as well. Birds chirped here and
there, growing quiet as he moved past them. Thus far, nothing was giving him
any warning signs.  
  
The camp was small and spartan. A simple blue canvas tent with the opening
hanging open faced a cold fire ringed by stones upon which was perched a large
metal rack. A single folding canvas chair sat to one side, beside a plastic
cooler. All dead underbrush had been cleared away, exposing the dirt-covered
ground into which numerous shoe prints and bare footprints had been pressed.  
  
_Shoe prints for Steven, naked feet for Una?_ Ryan wondered as he knelt and
touched the soil. His gaze assessed the camp. _Fire hasn't been lit since last
night. Twigs and leaves on top of the cooler -- it hasn't been opened today._  
  
He pushed the flap of the tent open with the barrel of the shotgun. Within lay
a single sleeping bag, a battery-operated lantern which still glowed, and a
large rucksack attached to a frame. A smart phone lay on the sleeping bag, to
which was attached a pair of ear plugs.  
  
He took up the phone first, but it did not come on when he touched the screen.
_Of course the battery's dead,_ he thought ruefully. He set it back down and
reached for the rucksack. Within, he found a pair of jeans, a few changes of
socks, and two T-shirts, both of which were printed with the Army logo. Ryan
frowned. _Great. So Steven's a former soldier, too. Maybe._  
  
There was something else, buried in the bottom, wrapped in an old towel. Ryan
unrolled it, brow arching in interest as he revealed a knife. The blade looked
to be at least a foot long and about four inches wide at the thickest. It was
crudely made, of the same sort of metal, Ryan realized, as the shackles which
confined Una. The hilt was nothing more than two pieces of wood which might
very have come from a cabinet shop, held in place by tightly-wrapped strips of
hemp.  
  
While the metal was dull, the edge seemed sharp to Ryan's trained eye. It had
obviously been honed, and recently.  
  
_What the Hell's going on?_ Ryan wondered, looking around. Something doesn't
make sense. _Okay, a_ lot _of things don't make sense. If Una came up here
with this guy Steven, where are her clothes? And what's the deal with the
hand-made chains, and this knife? These two share the same delusion or
something?_  
  
_I guess that's a possibility, but . . ._ Ryan sighed, trying to make sense of
what he had discovered thus far. But he knew he did not have enough
information. He knew that what he needed was to find this Steven.  
  
He rolled the knife back up in the towel and tucked it under his arm, then
stepped from the tent. As he did so, a faint sound drifted from nearby. It was
a voice, but one filtered through the static of technology.  
  
"This is Mr. Milton calling the marking crew . . . God damn it, boys, answer
the fucking call!"  
  
Ryan glanced around, then listened, hoping to pinpoint the source of the
voice.  
  
"If you don't answer in ten seconds, you're fired! Got that? Ten!"  
  
Ryan chuckled. _That's it, Milton, keep talking_. He started off toward the
northeast.  
  
"Nine!"  
  
Ryan moved quickly through the trees, remaining vigilant, but wanting to find
the source of Milton's call as quickly as he could.  
  
"Eight!"  
  
Weaving between the trees, he became peripherally aware of the absence of bird
calls and the skittering of small animals. The forest became progressively
quieter the further he ventured.  
  
"Seven!"  
  
A faint odor reached his senses. Ryan wrinkled his nose as he recognized it.
It was the odor of decaying blood.  
  
"Six!"  
  
Ahead, the ground sloped downward, and there was the faint sound of trickling
water. _A stream,_ Ryan deduced.  
  
"Five! God damn it!"  
  
Ryan stopped cold as he saw the first body. It lay twisted upon the ground,
leaves adhered to numerous open wounds. One arm was twisted and broken in
several places, with bone protruding. The man's head lay at an unnatural
angle, and a massive gash had been torn from his throat. Flies buzzed in
copious numbers all around the corpse.  
  
"Four!"  
  
Further down the slope, revealed when Ryan stepped up beside the first body,
lay two more. Both had been equally ravaged, with limbs twisted this way and
that and massive, gaping wounds torn through cloth and flesh and muscle. One
of the dead men held a bloodied lockback knife in a death grip. Another
clutched the communicator through which Milton's voice squawked.  
  
"Three!"  
  
Ryan pried the corpse's fingers from the device and depressed the send button.
"Milton, it's Ryan."  
  
"What the fuck? Where're my boys?" came the reply.  
  
"Out to lunch," Ryan responded darkly. "As in, permanently."  
  
There was a long pause. "The fuck you mean by that? They ain't dead. They
can't be fucking dead!"  
  
"Milton, I need you to be calm right now." He took out his cell phone as he
spoke through the communicator. "The last thing you want is to get your men
spooked. Got it?"  
  
"Yeah," came the curt reply. "Got it."  
  
Ryan sighed, looking around the grisly scene. He frowned at his phone; no
reception. "Looks like you're going to have to make some tough phone calls,
Mr. Milton."  
  
"I'm guessing you just found out there's no cell phone reception up here."  

"Exactly. Get down to your office and make the calls. Get me a meat wagon up
here while you're at it. I'll stay up here for now." He signed off, then
quickly signed back on. "One more thing."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"There's a little black bag and a big green bag in the back of the truck.
Leave them up here."  
  
"Will do, son. Take care of yourself."  
  
* * * *  
  
With the rolled-up towel in his hand, Ryan approached the woman as she sat at
the base of her tree. The blanket lay at her feet; she refused to be covered.
Her intense green eyes were locked upon the approaching man.  
  
"He has killed, hasn't he?" she asked knowingly. "I see it in your eyes."  
  
He squatted and set the bundle upon the ground between them. Immediately, her
attention was focused upon it, and she curled her legs closer to her body.  
  
"I would really appreciate it if you told me what's really going on," Ryan
said.  
  
"I told you. It is Steven."  
  
"'Steven,'" Ryan repeated. "Those men weren't killed by a man. They were
_mangled_. Arms and legs were twisted and broken like some kid's doll. They
have bite and claw marks that look like they were made by a bear. But bears
don't kill like that. No animal does. They only fight to survive—"  
  
She glared at him suddenly. "Have you not listened to anything I have said?"  
  
"What you said doesn't make sense!" Ryan snapped. "According to you, you met a
guy up here, had sex with him, then suddenly, he burns a couple of so-called
runes into your wrists, which somehow gives him supernatural power. He chains
you up, then runs off to go through some kind of 'transformation,' which, I'm
expected to believe, turns him into some kind of monster that can only be
killed by . . . this!"  
  
Una recoiled even more as Ryan abruptly unrolled the towel, revealing the
crudely-made knife. She stared at it fearfully, eyes quivering, lips
trembling.  
  
Ryan glared. "Now, I want to know what's _really_ going on," he growled.  
  
"I-I have told you," she stammered, then looked to him with real fear in her
eyes. "Please, take that away from me."  
  
He sighed deeply. "Look, Una," he said. "I'm not in the mood for your
fantasies anymore. Three men are dead --"  
  
"I have told you the truth!" she screeched, suddenly fierce once more,
lurching forward as far as her chains would allow. Her face was mere inches
from Ryan's. "Steven deceived me, stole my power, and it has turned him into a
force of hatred and destruction! This bloodshed is just the beginning! He will
slay you all, and his bloodlust will only increase with each kill! Every life
he takes drains more and more of his humanity away until . . . ."  
  
Ryan watched her throughout her outcry, then as she sagged back to the ground
in despair. "Until what?" he asked at last.  
  
Una gave him a plaintive look. "Until he comes for me," she said in a soft,
frightened voice. "Eventually, he will realize that he will never truly be
free so long as I live. Once he slays me, his transformation will be complete,
and the most horrific monster the world has ever known will be free to roam
where it wishes."  
  
Ryan passed a hand over his face in frustration. But he remained composed. He
took up the crude knife, holding it before her. Una shrank back immediately,
eyes wide and anxious.  
  
"And I suppose this is the 'magic weapon' that can kill him," he said.  
  
Slowly, she nodded. "Yes."  
  
He studied her face for a moment. "Can you at least understand why all this
sounds crazy to me?"  
  
For several moment, Una stared back, her own eyes searching Ryan's. Finally,
she spoke. "I can only understand that, as of now, a true monster lurks
somewhere near us," she said in a quivering tone. "And that, of all these men,
only you have the potential to stop it."  
  
Ryan lowered the knife. "Yeah. You said that before."  
  
"You truly do not know," she mused, her voice hardly more than a passing of
breath over her lips.  
  
"Know what?" asked Ryan in annoyance.  
  
"You have the blood of my kind within you. Not much, but . . . enough to be
noticed. Enough to fortify you for the battle you must wage."  
  
He exhaled tiredly, telling himself to not be angry with the woman for her
delusions. Her disassociation was a powerful one, he realized, and the only
thing keeping her sane -- relatively at least -- was the fantasy world into
which she had fallen. If he needed her continued compliance, he would have to
play along.  
  
"Well, we'll see what happens," he said at last. He rolled up the knife once
more, noting the expression of relief that flowed over Una's face, and stood.
Glancing behind him to where his truck had previously been parked, he turned
and walked toward the two duffels laying upon the dirt.  
  
"What are you going to do?" Una asked.  
  
"Well," he called back as he hefted the bags. He headed back toward her. "I'm
going to pitch a tent and hope that the dehydrated food I've got doesn't taste
like shit warmed over."  
  
Una gave him a wry smile. "You mortals and your notions of sustenance," she
remarked. "I sometimes wonder how you manage to live past the fourth decade."  
  
Ryan chuckled. "Yeah, well, I guess we 'mortals' are a little bit tougher than
you give us credit for being."  
  
"In some cases," she agreed.  
  
He unzipped the large green duffel, then paused. _Might as well make
conversation_, he thought. "So what are you, really?"  
  
She cocked her head. "What do you mean?"  
  
Ryan shrugged. "Well, you're obviously not the same as me, right? You call me
a 'mortal' like you're not one."  
  
She dipped her eyes with a thin smile. "Perhaps I misspoke," she said. "We are
all mortal in one way or another. In time, I will die, just as you will."  
  
He nodded noncommittally. "Ah. Right."  
  
She laughed softly under her breath. "Your skepticism is obvious. But I cannot
blame you for that. You humans have your own way of looking at things. Believe
it or not, I understand that. I am, after all, half human."  
  
"So what's the other half?"  
  
She regarded him a moment. "Fae," she said at last.  
  
His brow furrowed. "'Fae?'" he asked. "What's that?"  
  
She suddenly laughed. "How ironic!" she exclaimed, then shook her head in
wonder. "Here you are, kindred blood to my kind, and yet you are ignorant to
your hidden heritage."  
  
He soured and returned his attention to the contents of the green duffel.
"Well, if you know anything about us humans, you'd know that ignorance is one
of our strong suits--"  
  
"Welch!'  
  
Both he and Una were startled by the sudden eruption of Milton's voice from
the communicator Ryan had clipped to his belt. In a swift move, Ryan snatched
it up.  
  
"Milton! What's going on?"  
  
"Some serious God damned fucking shit, that's what!" snapped the man at the
other end. "My whole trailer's been ransacked! Whoever it was tore out the
phone and turned it into shrapnel! Not only that, but all the battery banks
for the walkie-fucking-talkies were ripped out, too. I been walking around for
half an hour looking for one that still works."  
  
A dark look crossed Ryan's face. "What about your men?"  
  
"They didn't see a fucking thing, the fucking morons. They were all down the
road tossing a God damned football and having a circle jerk. Fucking
chowderheads. Gonna dock them all a day. See how they like that on their
fucking paycheck."  
  
Ryan rolled his eyes. "Anyone missing?"  
  
"No, I got everyone here."  
  
Ryan allowed himself a moment's relief. "Good. Send someone out to the nearest
town to call in the locals. Tell them we got three dead bodies and we need
forensics on the scene. Then get everyone else up here."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"'Why?'" echoed Ryan. "Because there's a crazy son of a bitch out there who's
already killed three of your men and obviously doesn't want anyone to contact
the outside. This guy is doing a classic guerrilla run and the last thing we
need is to spread ourselves out. So grab whatever you need to make a camp and
get you and all your boys up here, pronto!"  
  
Ryan could hear the irritation in Milton's voice when he came back. "Why don't
you come down here, Mr. Army Ranger? We got everything we need here."  
  
Ryan ground his teeth. "Because I'm not leaving my key witness, that's why.
Everything revolves around her, and I don't much like the thought of leaving a
helpless civilian out in the cold all night! Now get your ass up here!"  
  
There was a long pause before Milton replied. "Whatever you say."  
  
Ryan shook his head in annoyance and returned the communicator to his belt.
"Your boyfriend is pretty God damned determined," he said aloud, then looked
to Una with a grave expression.  
  
She stared back. "As much as you do not wish for this, I wish it even less."  
  
* * * *  
  
The men arrived in their trucks less than half an hour later, having
apparently scavenged whatever they could from the base camp. Ryan was
pleasantly surprised that the logging company employees actually had a fair
number of tents, which they pitched upon the relatively level ground to either
side of the dirt road. They had also brought with them coolers full of food,
water, and other items. All in all, Ryan saw no reason why the men would not
be in relative comfort for at least a day or so.  
  
"All this fucking shit because of one God damned hippie Rambo mother fucker
wannabe?" queried Milton once the men had erected their makeshift camp. The
sun was just gliding beneath the western horizon, bathing the world around
them in shimmering twilight.  
  
Ryan looked to Milton as the two of them stood upon the road between the two
halves of the camp. "You swear more when you're scared, don't you?"  
  
Milton glowered beneath the brim of his hat. "Not a fucking thing in this
world scares me," he declared.  
  
Ryan scoffed. "Right."  
  
"Okay, tough guy," retorted the round-bodied man. "What the fuck scares you?"  
  
"Lots of things," Ryan said easily. "But at least I recognize it."  
  
The logging company owner breathed in and out through his nostrils for a few
moments. "That your tent up there?" he asked, pointing.  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Pretty close to little miss naked princess."  
  
Ryan leveled his gaze on the man. "And you and all your boys are camped a good
hundred feet away," he remarked.  
  
Milton's features seemed to soften a bit. For a brief moment, he actually
appeared vulnerable. "Something about her just don't seem right," he said.  
  
Ryan nodded. "I agree," he said. "Which is why I want to stay as close as I
can."  
  
The rotund man gave Ryan a grave look. "You really think this shit is that
bad?"  
  
"You didn't see the bodies," Ryan replied.  
  
Milton swallowed thickly, then gave a slow nod. He became suddenly somber.
"What are we gonna do about the . . . the bodies?" he asked skittishly.  
  
Ryan shifted uncomfortably. "Mush as I hate to do it, but I gotta leave them
there until a CSI team is able to get up here. Most I could do was cover them
up and try not to disturb the scene."  
  
"Son of a bitch," grumbled Milton, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his
nose. He breathed in and out for a few seconds. "I don't like leaving them out
there."  
  
"Neither do I," agreed Ryan. He checked his watch, glanced toward the horizon
where the sun had turned orange. "Hopefully, the locals will get up here soon
and they'll be able to bag up the corpses. If not . . . ."  
  
Milton waited, watching the younger man's face. Finally, he asked, "if not,
what?"  
  
Ryan pursed his lips. "Then we're gonna have to bring them in. Can't leave
them out there all night where scavengers can get to them."  
  
* * * *  
  
The sun set, the world cooled. Campfires to either side of the dirt road cast
orange-brown shadows upon the tents. The loggers sat about quietly, soberly
nursing their meals and bottled water. A few of them men indulged in beer they
had brought with them. There was no levity in the air; the fact that three of
their comrades lay dead deeper in the forest was a constant weight upon all.  
  
For his part, Ryan started a small fire and heated up some water before
pouring it into one of his dehydrated meal pouches. The result was something
that vaguely resembled beef stew. He devoured it out of necessity and
practice; during his years in the Army, he had learned to subsist on such
fare, to the point where eating it was an automatic act.  
  
"I cannot believe you are eating that swill," Una commented as she watched him
eat. She had turned down all offers of sustenance, from power bars to granola
to what Ryan held in his hand.  
  
"Man's gotta eat," he commented.  
  
She scoffed. "You are surrounded by the bounty of nature, yet you choose . . .
_that_."  
  
He frowned. "'Bounty of nature?'" he echoed dubiously. "I'm not about to go
foraging for berries."  
  
"You would not have to. There are numerous small animals in this area. They
would provide more than whatever is within that pouch of yours."  
  
He cast a sidelong look at her. "I don't have much of a taste for squirrel,"
he said.  
  
She cocked her head. "It can actually be quite succulent," she said.  
  
He stood from the small folding chair before his tent and approached, then sat
upon the ground before the woman. Even after an entire day of being exposed to
the sun in her condition, she remained naturally beautiful. In the light of
Ryan's campfire, her skin looked uniformly golden. He could not help but
notice the way her breasts pointed upward, dark pink nipples slightly erect.  
  
"Is that what you eat around here?"  
  
She shrugged. "Occasionally," she said. "I gain my sustenance from the land
and sun. To be honest, I do not need to eat. But the occasional treat is
welcome."  
  
Ryan laughed suddenly, a short, abrupt sound. _Lady, as far as fantasies go,
yours is pretty detailed_. "You're something else."  
  
Una's brow furrowed as she contemplated his words. "Indeed I am," she finally
said. A sad look crossed her face. "And there are fewer and fewer of us as
time moves on. I fear there may come a day when the world of the Earth Mother
is no longer protected."  
  
He shoveled another plastic forkful of food into his mouth, chewed for a
moment. "What do you mean by that?"  
  
Her green eyes bore into his. "You," she said. "Humanity. So much potential,
but you followed the path of curiosity. Whatever you think you can do, you
try. And that has led to . . . this. Stripping the world of all its bounties,
instead of taking them as the need arose."  
  
Ryan thought a moment, considering Una's words. "Humanity's just another
species," he said. "We do what we can to propagate and survive."  
  
"But you do so harmfully."  
  
He gave her a wan look. "And other species don't?" he asked rhetorically.
"You're the nature spirit. You should know more than me how violent and
destructive animals are."  
  
She stared back. "I have never seen a bear use a machine to tear down trees."  
  
Ryan rolled his shoulders. "Guess you don't watch too many cartoons," he
remarked.  
  
"I have no idea what 'cartoons' are," she said, then sighed. "But I hardly
doubt it matters. Either your kind will destroy the world, or you will awaken
in time to stop yourselves. I hope for the latter."  
  
Ryan studied Una's features a moment, noting a true sense of remorse and pain
and loss there. "Hey, look," he said, setting his empty pouch upon the ground.
"No one wants to destroy the world. And we're already doing a lot of things to
heal the damage we've caused the last couple of hundred years. I mean, we even
have a day set aside just for recognizing the environment. It's called Earth
Day. Should be coming up pretty soon, in fact."  
  
_Jesus_, he thought abruptly. _What the hell am I saying? It's like I'm buying
into her mother earth fantasy._  
  
The sarcasm upon her face was obvious. "An entire day," she commented. "I must
say, I am deeply moved."  
  
He gave her a sheepish look. "It's a start. Don't be so hard on us mortals."  
  
She managed a smile. "And there, one of your redeeming qualities," she said.
"Humor. Even if it is bleak and morbid at times."  
  
He winked. "Maybe when this is over, I'll show you my Monty Python
collection."  
  
She cocked her head quizzically. "You have a collection of serpents?"  
  
He chuckled. "In a manner of speaking."  
  
The communicator at his belt came alive with static before Milton's voice
broke in. "Welch."  
  
Ryan sighed and took up the device. "As always, your timing is impeccable," he
said in response.  
  
"Well, you may be getting cozy with the Pet of the Year, but I've been
watching the clock."  
  
"I know," Ryan said back. "I have, too. We need to get those bodies in."  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Gonna need six volunteers."  
  
"I'll pick them out myself."  
  
Ryan replaced the communicator on his belt and glanced to Una. "Time to go to
work," he said, and stood, snatching up the empty food pouch.  
  
For a moment, she looked up at him with eyes wide and anxious. "Be on your
guard, Ryan."  
  
He half smiled in response, then stepped away.  
  
* * * *  
  
Locating the site where the three men had been massacred was a bit tricky in
the dark, despite the fact that Ryan had been there before. It took he and the
six "volunteers" just over twenty minutes to find the bodies, during which
time they ahd entertained him with all manner of questions regarding what had
happened to their fellow loggers, who Una really was, where Ryan had come
from, and so on. Ryan knew enough about human psychology to recognize anxiety
when he heard it, and the men were practically overflowing with it. Their
chatter was merely a way to keep their minds occupied.  
  
But it all stopped once their flashlights revealed the three partially-covered
bodies laying upon the ground. Ryan had gone back to Steven's camp for
blankets and anything else to drape over the corpses, but bloodied hands and
mangled legs were still revealed as the lights panned over them.  
  
"Oh, sweet Jesus," remarked one of the men, crossing himself.  
  
Ryan looked around, peering into the shadows of the forest. The lack of
expected woodland noises put him on edge. "Okay, do this quick. Two men per
body. One takes the shoulders, the other the feet."  
  
"What are you going to do?"  
  
Ryan hefted the shotgun. "Keep watch," he said darkly. "Come on, hurry up."  
  
The men fell to the task amid curses, muttered prayers and the occasional dry
heave as their curiosity compelled them to look at the disfigured bodies.
Still, they found the fortitude to do as they were instructed.  
  
Ryan switched off his flashlight and allowed his eyes to adjust to the gloom.
The world around him was not pitch black, though it came close. His
experiences in similar situations allowed him to make use of other senses to
compensate for his limited eyesight, such as hearing . . . and smell.  
  
He wrinkled his nose. There was an unusual aroma on the breeze, something not
unlike that of a wet dog. But it was mingled with that of an almost human odor
as well . . . sweat, he realized. Human sweat. Something he had discovered
during years of deployment in a variety of environments was that humans exuded
a unique smell which, while subject to variation, was always uniquely human.  
  
And it came from deeper in the forest. Close by.  
  
He licked a finger, tested the wind, then looked to the northeast, from where
the breeze blew. Eyes penetrated the darkness, reading the shadows of trees,
branches, and underbrush. He focused his hearing.  
  
Rustling. Movement. Something that sounded almost like a contemplative growl.  
  
The invisible hand of anxiety tickled the back of his neck. He raised the
shotgun.  
  
"Listen to me and don't say anything," he intoned in a low, deep voice,
addressing the men behind him. "Stop what you're doing and head back to camp."  
  
"What?" came an incredulous reply. "We ain't going back without--"  
  
The man's words were cut off by a ferocious snarl and blur of movement from
Ryan's left. He could see no details of what it was that suddenly pounced,
save that it was as large as any man, possibly larger, and covered in coarse
fur. In a blinding rush, one of the men was gone amid the sound of an impact,
followed by a short cry and the sickening sound of something sharp slashing
through flesh.  

"What the fuck!"  
  
"What was that!"  
  
"Looked like a fucking werewolf, man!"  
  
"Joey! Where's Joey!"  
  
Ryan leapt toward where the now-vacated man had been standing. "Get back to
the camp!" he barked, then pointed. "Now! Run!"  
  
The men complied, the lights of their flashlights dancing across the trees and
foliage of the forest as they stumbled and dashed their way back. Ryan did not
watch them, focusing his attention toward the direction in which the man had
been taken.  
  
A sudden rush of movement to his right, heading toward the five fleeing men,
caught his attention. He pivoted, sighting along the barrel of the shotgun.
Briefly, he saw what appeared to be the outline of a man.  
  
He fired.  
  
The blast from the shotgun lit up his field of view and shattered the night
air. Something stumbled, growled, and lost its footing. Ryan darted forward,
leaping over a fallen tree. He landed in a crouch and brought the shotgun to
bear.  
  
Before him, a figure suddenly erupted from the darkness, tall, lean, covered
in short fur. Arms outstretched, fingertips flashing like the blades of
knives, red eyes glowing in the darkness, it was all at once a man and
something else.  
  
It bellowed in rage upon him, with such ferocity that Ryan nearly felt it. But
he was a trained soldier. Combat instincts kicked in.  
  
_Boom-chick-chak-boom-chick-chak-boom!_ The shotgun blared once, twice, three
times, each salvo of lead shot sent into the body of the man-beast before him.
It convulsed with each impact, howling and clawing at empty air, before
toppling back through the dense brush.  
  
For a moment, the air was still and fragrant with the aroma of gunpowder. Ryan
drew in deep breaths. Hearing momentarily dulled, all he heard was his own
heartbeat pounding in his ears.  
  
_Did I kill him?_ he wondered.  
  
But the underbrush between he and his target shifted and rustled. As his sense
of hearing returned, Ryan heard an annoyed growl . . . and a _voice_.  
  
". . . kill you . . . ."  
  
_Aw, shit . . . run, Ryan, run!_  
  
So he did, darting after the men, sprinting as best he could given the
terrain. He could see the dancing beams of their flashlights ahead, could hear
their frantic and frightened cries.  
  
"Go! Go!" he shouted. "Get back to camp!"  
  
* * * *  
  
"What the hell was that?"  
  
"Did you kill it?"  
  
"Where are the bodies?"  
  
"What happened to Joey?"  
  
Ryan winced at the barrage of questions that assaulted him once he and the
five volunteers returned to the camp. The others all gathered around him as he
stood mere feet from Una and her tree.  
  
"Enough!" cried Ryan, garnering their attention. He made an effort to appear
calm and in charge. "Look. Obviously, there's . . . _someone_ out there, and
he's not very fucking nice. He's already killed the marking team, and he took
out Joey. I think I shot him, but I'm not sure."  
  
"Oh, fucking hell," one man lamented.  
  
"Whattaya mean, you're not sure?" another queried, fear blazing in his eyes.  
  
"'Cause it's a fucking werewolf, man--"  
  
Another man snorted derisively. "No such thing as werewolves, asshole! You
been watching too many fucking movies--"  
  
"Fuck you! You weren't there!"  
  
Ryan huffed in frustration. "Everyone shut up!" he roared, glaring at the men.
"Now, just listen to me. We need to be prepared. Arm yourselves with anything
you can, and keep close. How many working walkie-talkies we got?"  
  
"I got some juice left in mine," announced one of the loggers.  
  
"Me, too," added another.  
  
"Okay," said Ryan. "One for each camp. Don't use them unless you need to. Post
watch, figure out who's gonna be awake when."  
  
"And what the fuck are you gonna do?" asked Martin Milton as he bullied his
way through the crowd. His small eyes were dark and angry as he settled his
gaze on Ryan. "Thought you were supposed to handle this kind of situation."  
  
"That's what I'm doing," Ryan responded in a harsh tone.  
  
Milton cocked his head. "Don't seem like it to me," he remarked coldly. "Now
I've lost four men."  
  
Ryan met the man's gaze. "And I'm going to do my damnedest to see no on else
gets killed."  
  
"Fuck, this ain't happening," muttered one of the loggers pathetically. "I got
a kid on the way . . . now we're all gonna get ripped to shreds by some
fucking werewolf whatever . . . ."  
  
"He is not what you think he is," came Una's voice, rolling over the
grumblings and mumblings of the men. All attention was instantly focused on
the naked woman as she sat against the tree.  
  
"The power he has stolen from me has corrupted him, making him feral," she
continued. "He is acting according to his hatred for men like you, you who
would rape the land. But he can be stopped . . ." her eyes pierced Ryan's. "If
you can find the strength."  
  
Milton suddenly charged forth, feet stomping upon the ground as he barreled
down over Una. "I've had enough of your bullshit, you fucking cunt!" he cried,
raising his hand to strike.  
  
But the blow did not fall. His wrist was suddenly snared, caught by Ryan as he
darted to stop the round-bodied man. For a moment, the two men glared at one
another.  
  
"Back. The fuck. Down," Ryan growled.  
  
Milton quivered with rage, jerking his hand against Ryan's firm grip.
Eventually, he relented, and stepped back. Ryan released his hold, and Milton
rejoined his men, fuming quietly.  
  
"Now, like I said, keep close and post watch," Ryan ordered. "As long as we're
all alert, we'll get through this. Understood?"  
  
Half-hearted nods and disjointed responses rolled forth from the men.
Reluctantly, they -- including Martin Milton -- retreated down the dirt road,
returning to their camps. Ryan listened as their comments faded away.  
  
He breathed in deeply, let it out. _This isn't going to turn out well, is it?
h_e wondered, then turned and looked upon Una. "You okay?"  
  
The corners of her mouth curled. "Are you my champion, now?" she asked.  
  
He rolled his eyes, then eased himself to a sitting position before her. "We
need to talk."  
  
Her fierce green eyes dug into his. "You saw Steven," she said. "You saw what
he has become."  
  
"I'm not sure what I saw."  
  
"Tell me."  
  
Ryan was quiet a few moments, considering his thoughts. Part of him felt he
was somehow being seduced into Una's psychosis, and that what he had seen was
a result of that. But another part trusted the veracity of his own senses, and
that what he had witnessed fit in with Una's fantasy world only because it was
real.  
  
"I know I shot him," Ryan said at last. "At least three times."  
  
"But you did not kill him," Una said knowingly. "You couldn't have."  
  
Ryan frowned. "Look. I don't care what kind of body armor a guy's wearing.
Three loads of twelve-gauge shot at close range will take anyone down."  
  
"Did it?"  
  
Her piercing question had Ryan dropping his gaze. "No. I don't think so."  
  
"Are you beginning to understand now?"  
  
His eyes shot back up. "How about you drop the arrogance and tell me how to
kill this guy?"  
  
She did not flinch. "I have told you already."  
  
Ryan laughed through his nose, shaking his head. "Right. The magic knife."  
  
She regarded him with worry. "Are you afraid?"  
  
He laughed, a short, rude sound. "Of course I am," he said. "I've killed
before. They were all ordinary men. Some were more skilled than others, some
were tougher than others. But none of them could take three rounds of lead
shot to the chest, then get up and say they were gonna kill me."  
  
"To that knife, he would be just as vulnerable as any other man."  
  
He smiled wryly. "I don't generally like to get that close,' he said, then
frowned in thought. "Say you're right about all this--"  
  
"I am," Una said quickly, her small smile returning.  
  
He chuckled. "Why would he make the knife, if he only meant to lock you up in
chains?"  
  
"I do not know," she answered. "When he showed it to me, it frightened me, and
I thought at first, for some reason, that he had returned to slay me. But the
knife, he said, was not for me."  
  
Ryan's brow furrowed. "Did he say what it _was_ for?"  
  
She shook her head. "Perhaps . . ." she drifted off in thought for a moment.
"Perhaps he crafted it as a precaution. In case he did not like what he would
become as the result of taking my power."  
  
"An escape plan," Ryan mused. "Just like a good soldier. Always have an exit
strategy."  
  
Una said nothing. Instead, she studied Ryan's face, reading him once more.  
  
He stood abruptly, looking down upon her. "He's going to come here, isn't he?"  
  
She nodded morosely. "Yes. His plan from the beginning was to reclaim this
land and to slaughter anyone who would deign to take it."  
  
Ryan responded with only a curt nod, then turned and headed to his tent.
Facing away from Una and looking down toward the two camps to either side of
the road, he took out his cigarettes and lit up. It had been hours since he'd
had one; he could actually feel the tingling rush of nicotine as it hit his
system a few minutes later. He actually smiled.  
  
A glance to his phone reminded him there was no reception. _This guy Steven
probably knows that already,_ he thought_. And he took out the phone at
Milton's trailer. He's cut us off from the outside, unless we send someone
back to the city . . ._  
  
_. . . which we did,_ Ryan thought heavily_. Shit. If this guy's waging his
own guerrilla war, he would have anticipated that. Which means that I probably
sent someone to certain death. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the rest of
the vehicles down there have been disabled. God damn it. This guy's reading
from the God damn black ops textbook on this one._  
  
He pulled on his cigarette. _But I've read that textbook, too . . . ._  
  
"Ryan?"  
  
He turned at the sound of Una's voice. She was watching him, eyes liquid, lips
parted and moist. There was something about her at that moment that belied a
sense of vulnerability, and . . . arousal?  
  
He tapped ash from his cigarette and faced her. "Yeah?"  
  
She dipped her eyes briefly. "I would rather not be alone just now."  
  
He cocked his head, trying to read her as she always seemed to be doing with
him. He sucked on the cigarette, blew smoke, then stepped up to her again.
"Why the sudden little girl routine?" he asked.  
  
She laughed softly, cheeks coloring in the golden light of the nearby
campfire. "I may be a wood spirit, but I am also a woman. Even I like to be
comforted now and then."  
  
"Fair enough," he said, then dropped the cigarette, grounding it out, and sat
once more. "I guess now it's my turn to say that you're scared."  
  
Her cheeks colored. "I have little to be afraid of in my life, but . . . yes,
I am. And angry. At myself, at these people . . . I let things progress when
they should not have."  
  
Ryan nodded solemnly. "I know exactly what you mean."  
  
She gave him a quizzical look.  
  
He took a breath. "About four years ago, I was in Afghanistan. My squad was
sent to investigate a village, look for signs of insurgents--" he read her
frown and smiled in admonishment. "--the enemy," he corrected. "Anyway, we
didn't find any. They were suspicious of us, and I can't blame them. Those
people haven't known what it's like to not have a war going on in their
country.  
  
"My squad leader, he . . . there was a young woman in the village. Guess he
thought she was pretty. I knew what he wanted, what he was going to do. I
could have stopped him. At the least I could have gone in there when we heard
her crying. But the others -- my fellow soldiers -- were standing guard
outside the house. I still could have gone in. What would they have done?
Shoot me? They probably would have restrained me, but at least I would have
tried."  
  
Ryan picked up a twig from the ground and pretended to study it. "He comes out
when he's done, looking smug and satisfied. I felt disgusted. And then . . . .  
  
"The woman comes out, yelling and screaming, holding a pistol. A little old
Russian pistol. She points it at him, crying, angry. I wished at that moment
that she would pull the trigger. But she didn't. Instead, squad leader takes
out his sidearm and shoots her. Twice. He just raped her, and now he kills
her."  
  
"You feel it was your fault," Una said softly.  
  
"No. But it was my _responsibility_," he said firmly. "We were there to look
for the enemy, not rape women. And I let it happen."  
  
He snapped the twig between his thumb and forefinger. "When we got back, my
squad leader files a report that an insurgent was "found and neutralized." I
requested a transfer to a different unit. It took about a month before that
happened." He met Una's eyes. "Long enough for me to watch him get his nuts
and left leg blown off by an RPG."  
  
Una smiled at the irony. "Fate avenged the woman."  
  
Ryan shrugged. "Maybe. I'm no expert on fate. Even after what happened to him,
I still did the wrong thing. Even if it meant getting myself court-martialed,
or hurt, or even killed, I should have stopped him."  
  
Her eyes studied his. "Would it have been worth it, to save a woman you did
not know?"  
  
Ryan nodded without hesitation. "Yeah, it would have."  
  
Again she smiled. "What did you say to me earlier?" she asked, then nodded to
herself as she remembered. "Oh, yes. You are something else, Ryan Welch."  
  
He chuckled despite the moment's mood. "And there are fewer and fewer of us as
time moves on."  
  
* * * *  
  
The hours wore on into the night. Despite the threat prowling in the dark of
the forest, the loggers became relaxed, telling themselves what had killed
their fellow men was just a bear and that the Fish and Wildlife agent had
killed it. Even the most frightened of the men convinced themselves of the
sanity-saving theory. In the morning, they all reasoned, the authorities would
arrive and everyone would go home.  
  
Ryan remained on edge, and on alert, even as he and Una continued to talk. She
did not reveal much about herself, but Ryan found himself opening up more
readily than he had during PTSD therapy. He told her about his failed
relationship with Melissa, and all those who had come before her. He shared
his experiences in Afghanistan which, in a roundabout way, had contributed to
his seeking a post with the Fish and Wildlife Service.  
  
"I wanted to get away from the military, but still have a job where I could
use a lot of what I learned," he explained. "It pays well, keeps me active, I
spend a lot of time outdoors . . . and I don't have to worry about guns or
bombs or whether someone is lying to me or not."  
  
"Until now," Una pointed out.  
  
He nodded sagely. "Until now," he agreed.  
  
He checked his watch, to discover to his surprise that it was after eleven
o'clock. The air was becoming colder as the humidity began to chill. While he
did not shiver, being accustomed to many environments, he was surprised that
Una, in her nudity, seemed not at all bothered by the drop in temperature.
Although the dark pink cherries of her nipples appeared to pucker up a bit
more.  
  
"Ryan," she said after he had checked the time.  
  
He looked to her, noting that her eyes were beyond him, toward the dirt road.
He turned to see Milton and his flunky walking toward them, looking obviously
haggard. The barrel-shaped Texan removed his hat to wipe a sweaty brow as the
two men stopped several paces away.  
  
"Looks like you're getting mighty cozy with the, uh, babe in the woods,"
Milton commented, revealing hints of both suspicion and jealousy in his words.  
  
Ryan stood and faced them. "You come up here to give me more grief?" he asked
bluntly.  
  
Milton looked sheepish, fingering the brim of his hat. "No, I ain't like
that," he said. "I said some mean words earlier, and I ain't proud of that.
Just wanted to, well, make peace, I guess."  
  
Ryan relaxed and stepped toward the men. His gaze was on Milton. "It's been a
rough day for everyone," he said. He offered his hand. "We're gonna get
through this."  
  
Milton smiled crookedly, the weariness on his face evident. He took Ryan's
hand and clutched it firmly for a moment before letting go. "I sure hope so."  
  
"Mr. Welch, sir," said Billy, still clad in his suit. "Most of the men have
retired for the night. I would be willing to remind them of your directive to
keep watch, if you wish."  
  
Ryan thought a moment, quickly calculating. He smiled casually. "I don't think
it would matter," he said.  
  
"So," Milton spoke up. He looked hopeful. "You think it was what they were all
saying? Just a fucking bear or something?"  
  
After a moment's hesitation, Ryan nodded, lips pursed and chin thrust out.
"Think so."  
  
Milton smiled, then, looking relieved. "Well, good," he exhaled. "Guess we can
get some sleep, then."  
  
Ryan slapped the beefy man on the shoulder. "Have at it," he said, then
watched as the two men made their way back toward one of the camps.  
  
"You understand what is going to happen," came Una's voice from behind him.  
  
Ryan ground his teeth. "Yes."  
  
"Steven will strike tonight."  
  
"I don't doubt it." He turned just enough so that he could level his strong
gaze upon her.  
  
She stared back. "You cannot save them all."  
  
His shoulders slumped a bit, and he turned fully to rejoin Una. "I know that,"
he admitted as he sat once more upon the dirt. "But I'll save who I can."  
  
The air passed between them, thick and cool. Ryan traced random patterns in
the dirt with his finger. Una watched him.  
  
Finally, she spoke. "Ryan."  
  
He responded without looking up. "Yeah."  
  
"Will you kiss me?"  
  
He stopped his unmotivated tracing and lifted his head, brow furrowed. "What?"  
  
She smiled seductively and reclined back against the tree. Her manacled hands
lay to either side of her hips, and she parted one thigh away from the other.
Ryan could not help but allow his gaze to be drawn down the nymph's uncommonly
tantalizing body. The firmness of her lower belly gave way to the soft patch
of golden-hued hair upon her pubic mound, beneath which lay succulent pink
labia framed in equally golden curls. Despite the fact that Una had been naked
all this time, this was the first real view of her sex that Ryan enjoyed.  
  
"Kiss me," she said again, eyes glowing like tiny emerald beacons. "There is
no one to see us. They have all succumbed to the night."  
  
Ryan shifted, feeling the pressure in his groin as he hardened. "Steven could
come at any moment--"  
  
"Then we have no time to waste," she interrupted. Her chest rose and fell,
nipples darkening upon firm, upturned breasts. Rouge spread across the base of
her throat, belying arousal.  
  
Still, Ryan hesitated, despite his own feelings of longing. "We can't," he
said.  
  
She all but glared back. "We _will_," she said firmly. She uncurled her legs
and pushed up, settling her back against the tree behind her. The chains
hanging from the manacles about her wrists jangled, ringing through the air.
Una spaced her feet apart and pushed out her hips, almost obscenely offering
her golden-furred sex.  
  
Ryan fought against the arousal which gripped him. He stood before the woman,
looking upon her with one part fierce resistance, another part desperate
eagerness. Their eyes met. Una's lips parted as she breathed in and out. In
that moment, she was so much more obviously sexual than any woman Ryan had
known in his life. That she wanted him could not have been more evident.  
  
In an instant, as if compelled by some supernatural spell, the two halves of
Ryan's mind fused together. Fierce resistance and desperate eagerness blended,
becoming fierce eagerness. He stepped close and reached out, slipping a hand
behind her head. Una's lips glistened invitingly.  
  
"Take me," she whispered.  
  
Ryan said nothing. He leaned in, cupping her face with his hands, and kissed
Una deeply, tasting a surprisingly sweet, fresh flavor upon her lips, her
breath. He moaned, feeling his body react. He pushed against her, and her
hands wandered about him amid the jangling of chains. His lips sucked hers
into his mouth; his tongue danced against hers.  

"I want you," he managed to whisper once he was able to pull back. His
features were slack, as if drunk.  
  
"As do I, you," she responded heatedly. "In any way. Let us not waste this
time we have."  
  
He could only growl in response, overwhelmed with base passion. He lowered
himself, cupping Una's firm breasts. She hissed and squirmed against the bark
of the tree behind her, chains dancing from her wrists, as Ryan licked,
sucked, and nipped at her breasts. Then he moved down, leaving a trail of
cooling kisses upon the nymph's inhumanly golden skin. The salty-sweet flavor
of her only encouraged him to delve further.  
  
Finally, he felt the soft wisps of golden hair above her sex against his chin.
He could smell her arousal, which was surprisingly more fresh and pure than
any woman he had ever known before. The aroma increased his sexual
intoxication. His kissed around Una's upper thighs, then down along the
tendons which stood out in relief. He followed them back up toward her
gloriously exposed pussy, which, even in the faint light of the nearby
campfire, glistened.  
  
_So beautiful_, Ryan thought briefly, before pressing his mouth to Una's sweet
sex, sucking and licking between her slick folds. She tasted as fresh and
clean as if she had stepped from a mountain stream, with none of the gaminess
Ryan would have expected from a woman who had been sitting naked upon the
ground for more than a full day.  
  
She gasped at the pleasure of his mouth and arched her back, even as one of
her hands fell to the back of Ryan's head. Heavy chains slapped against her
thigh, but she ignored it. Her other hand reached up and back, clawing at the
coarse hide of the tree.  
  
"Please," she whimpered, spreading her legs even further and pushing down
against Ryan's mouth. "Do not stop . . . do not . . . oh, my . . . oh . . . oh
. . . oh!"  
  
She rocked against his mouth, gasping and whimpering with each thrust, lick or
suck of his tongue and lips. Her face contorted, and her back arched deeply
when she finally erupted in bliss.  
  
Una emitted no sound when she climaxed, but the tense trembling of her thighs
could not be mistaken, nor the undulating convulsions of her body or the
mixture of incredulity and gratification upon her glowing face. She stared
down upon Ryan with a look that could be described as worshipful.  
  
As the woman's orgasmic tremors quelled, Ryan looked up at her from between
her thighs. The inhumanly sweet taste of her filled his senses. Never had he
experienced such a flavor. He kissed Una's thigh, then her taut, quivering
belly, before she pulled him up with her hands clutching his face. Her eyes
blazed. She kissed him fiercely, tasting her own essence upon his lips.  
  
"Now I return the favor," she whispered hoarsely, pulling back. A deliciously
wicked smile upon her face, she lowered herself to a squat, knees spread far
apart as she caressed the bulge in Ryan's shorts. It grew and pressed outward,
making the blonde nymph lick her lips in anticipation and desire. She tugged
on the zipper, moving it down, then separated the fabric of Ryan's shorts.  
  
He sighed as his erection was released. Una's hands were deliciously cool upon
his heated shaft. Her eyes glittered like flickering green flame before her
tongue slipped out to swipe the head of Ryan's cock. Her gaze drifted up to
his face, holding his attention as she parted her soft pink lips and slid them
down the length of him.  
  
He shuddered in pleasure, ensnared by her gaze. The eroticism of the entire
scene was not lost on him. He watched intently as she devoured him to the
root, and trembled with bliss. Her tongue slipped out to massage the very base
of his cock. Her throat rippled around the head, sucking and pulling.  
  
Then she slipped back, dragging wet lips along his tense shaft, until they
were pursed moistly against the very tip. Then, again, she delved back down,
swallowing his shaft in its entirety before drawing back to the head.  
  
Again and again she did this, until it seemed her own animal desire overcame
her. With muffled throaty sounds that were akin to a cat's deep, rumbling
growl, she sucked and licked, pushed and pulled with her mouth. Blonde hair
swirled around her face. Her fingertips dug into his upper thighs, almost
painfully. The air was filled with the sounds of her voracious sucking.  
  
Ryan's own base instincts kicked in after several minutes, and he suddenly
clutched Una's head, stopping her. She looked up with an almost angry look,
but upon reading his strong smile, allowed him to stop her.  
  
"Let me do it," he whispered, gently pushing her back against the tree. Una
breathed heavily through her teeth, lips wet with spittle, but she did as her
lover desired and leaned back against the tree. With his hands braced against
the rough bark before him, Ryan lined up his cock with Una's mouth and pushed
forward.  
  
She sucked him eagerly, accepting every thrust of his cock no matter how deep
he wished to plunge. One of her hands came up, trailing chain beneath it, to
clutch Ryan's firm buttocks. The other fell between her spread thighs,
massaging her needy, wet sex.  
  
Ryan thrust again and again, plundering his lover's talented mouth. Unlike
every woman he previously known, Una became obviously more and more aroused
the rougher and deeper his thrusts became. Whenever he pushed his cock into
her throat, she shuddered, then groaned afterward as he pulled back. And not
for a moment did she allow her lips to leave his shaft.  
  
Finally, his need for release was impossible to ignore, and with a few last
thrusts, he slapped his hands to the back of Una's head and shoved his cock as
deep into her throat as he could reach. He gasped and trembled with the
incredible rush, his seed pouring directly into Una's throat where it was
automatically swallowed. Both of her hands clawed at his legs, leaving raking
welts. But she was not trying to push him away; indeed, it seemed as if she
wanted to insure he would not withdraw.  
  
But withdraw he finally did, feeling a few trickles of semen oozing from his
cock as it slid back across Una's tongue. She breathed deeply through her
nostrils, suckling him for every precious drop of fluid, not wanting to
release him. Her ministrations inspired Ryan who, despite the fact that he
always felt light-headed and weary after orgasm, now felt energized.  
  
He pulled back abruptly, his cock leaving Una's mouth with an audible popping
sound, and pulled her up. She hissed and moaned, grabbing his head to kiss him
deeply. The taste of his seed lingered in her mouth, and Ryan sucked it from
her tongue. Without any direction, Una climbed into his arms, framing his
torso with her lean, strong thighs. His cock, still erect, brushed through the
soft fur surrounding her dampened sex.  
  
For a moment, the kiss was broken and the two lovers stared at one another,
breathless. Faces and bodies sweaty and glowing, they shared heated smiles.
Una licked her lips wantonly and looked down upon Ryan's hovering, glistening
cock. Then she met his eyes once more, her own fierce. "Now," was all she
said.  
  
Pushing her against the tree, Ryan latched his mouth to the base of her neck,
sucking the flavor from her flesh as he pushed his hips up. His cock speared
inside her, finding her snug, wet, and welcoming. Una gasped at the intrusion,
then pulled him in deeper with her heels at the small of his back.  
  
He buried himself to the hilt within her and for a moment did not move. He
relished the rippling, sucking motions of her inner muscles, the pleasurably
burning heat of her depths. Una's legs tensed around him. She whimpered in his
ear.  
  
Slowly, he drew back, almost until his cock slipped free, then shoved back in
forcefully, making his lover grunt. Over and over, he thrust into her, making
her body shudder each time. Una panted against his neck, raked her nails
across his back.  
  
They kissed, they hissed, they panted and heaved, uncaring to the world and
whatever dangers may have been lurking within the darkness around them. All
that mattered was the moment, and for the first time in Ryan's life, he
realized he was taking a lover who shared his proclivities for rough sex. The
harder he gave it to her, it seemed, the harder she wanted it.  
  
He pinned her to the tree, savagely pounding his sex against hers. Una's claw-
like nails ripped through fabric and flesh as they sliced across his back, but
Ryan ignored the pain. If anything, it fueled him.  
  
Then at last, Una thrashed as she climaxed, panting deliriously. Her body
vibrated like a leaf in a windstorm, her vaginal muscles pulling incessantly
upon Ryan's cock until he joined her in orgasm.  
  
With a final thrust, Ryan buried himself deep, back arching and head falling
back as his seed poured into her once more. He glared up at the dark sky,
mouth open as if to call out a triumphant roar.  
  
But the guttural bellow that rolled across the land was not his.  
  
Heaving for breath, Ryan looked about desperately, a sudden and incredible
clarity in his senses. It seemed he could smell everything, hear everything,
even taste every essence upon the wind.  
  
His and Una's eyes met. They both spoke at the same time. "He's here."  
  
Abruptly, he pulled back, and Una dropped to the ground in a crouch amid a
jingle of her chains. Quickly, Ryan tucked his slick and spent penis back
inside his shorts, even as he heard the stirring of the loggers in their camps
behind him.  
  
He felt strangely fueled, as if he had been given some form of performance-
enhancing drug. He looked to Una. "What did you do to me?"  
  
She stared back, apprehensive. "I have awakened within you your true
potential," she explained quickly. "Your true strength, as granted by your
heritage, but which you have long suppressed. It will not last long, but it
should serve you for this fight."  
  
A chorus of cries erupted from behind him, carrying fear and pain upon the
still night air. Ryan pivoted, snatching up the pistol from his belt.  
  
"Do not forget the knife," Una reminded him. "It is the only thing that can
kill him!"  
  
_Right_, thought Ryan, already moving. He darted for his tent, ducking within
to grab the rolled-up bundle and turn it out. The knife fell to the ground at
his feet, a dull glimmer to its crudely-worked blade. He snatched it up,
feeling a strange warmth radiating through his hand. He ignored it, and dashed
from the tent.  
  
Less than a hundred feet away, screams of pain and bellows of shock mingled
with decidedly inhuman roars within one of the large tents. The nylon walls
bulged as human bodies were hurled against it. As Ryan approached, several men
ran out, horror contorting their faces. Across the dirt road, the men from the
opposite camp had emerged, hesitant and unsure. Ryan noted Milton among them.  
  
"Stay back!" Ryan yelled, then addressed the men who ran toward him. "Who's
still in there?"  
  
One of the men regarded him with wild eyes. "Fucking thing got Jose, and
Mike!" he cried. "I think Paco's still in there!"  
  
Ryan watched the large tent as it convulsed back and forth. "Get to the other
camp," he ordered the three men. He cocked the hammer on his pistol. "Go!
Now!"  
  
As the men complied, scampering across the road, the large tent not thirty
feet from Ryan suddenly erupted as an inhuman figure burst forth, shredding
the durable fabric with clawed hands and hurling the remains of the
construction to either side. In the light of the camp fires, the creature was
finally and fully revealed.  
  
Standing nearly seven feet in height, it was lean and humanoid, covered in
coarse brown fur with a face like that of a blunt-nosed wolf. The growling
mouth, held open wide, revealed pointed teeth, and the creature's fingers
ended in gleaming claws. Burning eyes the color of sunset glowered beneath a
dark brow . . . and they were immediately focused upon Ryan. The almost human
face twisted in a malicious grin.  
  
"So she has taken you, and you have taken her," the monster growled.  
  
Ryan met the creature's stare with one of his own. "And you're about to be
taken down."  
  
Man and monster hesitated only a moment longer before charging across the
ground between them. Ryan raised the pistol and fired as he ran.  
  
_Bam-bam-bam-bam-bam!_ The revolver thundered loudly, sending bullets which
slammed into the beast-man's body, making him falter and stumble, but not
stop. The monster bellowed in anger and leapt, bloodied claws flashing in the
amber fire light. But Ryan feinted at the last moment, taking a half-step to
the left before diving to the right. The large knife in his left hand flashed,
slicing through air, fur, and flesh.  
  
He ducked and rolled beneath the monster's talons, coming up onto his feet and
pivoting. The monster stood ten feet behind him, one taloned hand pressed to
its chest as it turned toward him once more. Baleful yellow eyes flashed
evilly. "My knife," it grumbled.  
  
Ryan held the blade before him as he assumed a defensive crouch. "Mine, now."  
  
The creature took a guarded stance, flexing its claws. It now stood between
Ryan and Una, who watched anxiously from her tree. Her eyes darted worriedly
from the monster to Ryan.  
  
"It won't help you," the monster intoned, taking careful steps.  
  
Ryan's military instincts kicked in. He was aware that the rest of the loggers
were behind him. "Milton!" he yelled.  
  
"Wh-what?"  
  
"Get you and your men out of here! Take my truck!"  
  
That was all the men needed to scramble for the large government vehicle, and
they did so with desperation.  
  
"No!" bellowed the monster, lunging forth. "Everyone dies!"  
  
But Ryan was quick to intercept, and as the monster dashed toward the rapidly-
filling truck, he slashed the knife across the back of one of the creature's
legs. The monster faltered and fell, grunting as it impacted the ground.  
  
"Go! Go! Go!" yelled Ryan.  
  
Milton stood in the open driver's-side door. "What about you?" he called.  
  
"Just get the fuck out of here!" screamed Ryan. His attention switched to the
monster as it rose, favoring the now-wounded leg. The sight of it was all the
additional impetus Milton needed, and as his men frantically encouraged him,
he ducked back into the cab and slammed his foot onto the accelerator.  
  
The monster whirled around as the truck drove down the road. "They will come
back," it gloated. "And when they do, I will slay them all, just as I will
slay you."  
  
Ryan snapped up the pistol, firing off the last bullet. It slammed into the
beast's forehead, making it flinch and wince. The bullet fell, flattened, to
the ground. "You're not doing a very good job so far," Ryan remarked, dropping
the revolver. He switched the knife to his right hand.  
  
The monster growled malevolently. "I will not simply kill you," it menaced. "I
will _devour_ you. And then I shall take Una one last time . . . before taking
her life."  
  
Ryan's face darkened. Flippancy was gone. The threat to Una, the monster's
clear intentions, were all he needed to make his final decision. He said
nothing more, but simply readied himself for the attack.  
  
It came swiftly, despite the monster's hampering wound. The beast rushed low,
talons flashing. Ryan moved deftly to avoid the attack, but a claw raked
across his left thigh. The other barely missed his neck. He slashed, but found
only empty air.  
  
Man and monster circled one another, feinting here and there, testing each
others' defenses. Claws and blade drew shallow wounds here and there, but
neither combatant gave them much mind. Beyond them, straining at the bonds
which secured her, Una watched with wide, furtive eyes and a heart palpitating
so strongly in her chest she feared it might rupture.  
  
_Take him_, Ryan, she thought fervently. _Kill him!_  
  
But Ryan made a crucial error, and overextended his reach when he saw an
opening. As the monster sidestepped him, Ryan felt a powerful, rending
sensation across his back as the beast's claws cut deep. He gasped in pain and
stumbled forward. But even as he started to turn to face the creature once
more, it was upon him.  
  
With a pain-filled grunt, Ryan found himself on his chest upon the broken
ground, immense weight upon his back. The knife fell from his hand and
clattered across the ground. Dark, dirty clawed hands cupped his face, tilting
his head up. "Look upon your queen," gloated the beast upon him. "So
beautiful, isn't she?"  
  
Ryan struggled beneath the mass upon him, and for a moment, his eyes met
Una's. There was real fear there, a sense of hopelessness that was all too
evident. It was a look he had seen years before, upon the face of a ravaged
young woman who had done nothing to incur the pain and humiliation she
suffered.  
  
The monster lowered its face beside Ryan's toothy maw dripping. "I want you to
die knowing that I am going to have my way with her one last time, before
ripping her heart from her chest and making her power forever mine."  
  
A sudden energy borne of rage filled Ryan's body. He dug his hands into the
dirt. "I . . . don't . . . think so," he grunted.  
  
Then he pushed.  
  
With an eruption of thick, chalky dirt, Ryan suddenly leapt to his feet,
hurling the monster off him. The beast fell to the side, rolling and coming up
upon its feet. But Ryan was quick, quicker than he had ever been. He scooped
up a handful of earth and hurled it right into the creature's face,
momentarily blinding him, and followed through with a leaping kick that
impacted upon the monster's chest, sending it sprawling back several paces.  
  
Landing hard upon the ground, Ryan scrambled to his feet and darted for the
knife. He heard the angry roar and the rush of movement behind him.  
  
_Now or never_, he realized, snagging the crude blade from the ground. He
whirled about, knife at the ready. His senses told him where the beast was
even before he saw it before him, and thrust.  
  
There was a sickening splitting of flesh, a squelching of blood to the ground.
Beast and man became frozen, faces inches apart. Eyes quivered, breaths were
released.  
  
Una trembled in her chains at what she saw. _Ryan . . . No . . . ._  
  
He looked down, upon the momentarily confusing sight of the beast's claw
impaled in his upper abdomen, just beneath the left side of his ribcage. There
was something innately wrong with the fact that he could feel the heat of the
invading digits of the monster's fingers, that he could see his own thick
crimson blood spilling out and darkening his shirt.  
  
He expelled once, then inhaled, wheezing, feeling a weight in his lung. He
coughed, flecks of blood escaping his lips. The metallic flavor inundated his
mouth. He swallowed thickly. The knife in his right hand, the harbinger of his
and Una's salvation, fell to the ground once more.  
  
Crudely, the monster jerked its hand free, making Ryan cry out in pain. "Choke
on your own blood, _human_," the beast cackled, stepping around him toward
Una.  
  
Ryan fell to his knees, weakness invading his body even as his own life's
blood trickled out. Every breath was a labor. The world around him listed this
way and that. An ethereal warmth passed through him, washing over the pain.  
  
_I'm dying_, he realized. A contorted smile twisted his lips. _How ironic_.  
  
Behind him, the monster advanced upon Una with slow, deliberate, malevolent
steps. Blazing eyes looked upon her hungrily. A thick, dark tongue passed
across raggedly-sharpened teeth. "One last time for us, my sweet."  
  
Una glared. "You do not know what you are doing, Steven," she wailed. Her eyes
were liquid, spilling onto her cheeks. "If you kill me, you will never be
human again. You will always be what you are: a monster."  
  
The creature reached out a taloned hand, caressing Una's cheek with the backs
of it's fingers. The nymph turned her head in defiance. "A _monster_ is what
it takes to destroy those who would rape this land," the beast said. "If only
you would have understood this from the beginning, and given your power to me
willingly, I would never have had to do this."  

She glared at the beast before her. "I would not, and could not, give my power
to one as base as you," she spat derisively. "Look at what you have become.
You are more than disgusting."  
  
The beast sneered. "I am doing what you would not," it insisted. "There is no
option for passive aggression. There is _only_ aggression."  
  
Behind the monster, Ryan watched as the shirt he wore became saturated with
blood. With grunting effort, he peeled it off and cast it aside. The wounds
puckered, but still leached. All he heard was the hammering of his own heart
within his ears. He thought about rolling onto his back, so that, at the
least, he could look up at the dark night sky and the stars beyond as he died.
Perhaps he might see a falling star.  
  
But from somewhere within him came a different directive. Despite the weakness
assailing his limbs, he found the will to move.  
  
_You're not dead yet_, he realized indomitably. _And neither is Una_.  
  
Grunting with the effort, he took up the knife and pushed himself to his feet.
Laboriously, his senses dulled and twisting and fogged as if by alcohol, he
turned and made the Herculean effort to focus his attention upon the beauty
and the beast.  
  
The beast had it's back to him as it gloated before Una.  
  
A reckless smile split Ryan's lips. _Perfect_.  
  
He lumbered forth.  
  
"Any last words?" the monster asked Una as it raised a menacing claw.  
  
Her eyes darted past the monster for a moment, seeing Ryan's rush. She
suddenly smiled up at the beast.  
  
"Yes," she whispered harshly. "Burn in eternity."  
  
The monster hesitated a moment, and that was all it took to seal its fate.
Behind him, Ryan charged, and at the last moment, as he leapt, he bellowed a
primal cry which shattered the air around them, just before the crude tip of
the knife sunk deep into hairy, dark flesh. Despite his condition, Ryan had
managed to aim true; the blade sliced between the third and fourth rib, angled
in toward the heart. But it did not penetrate deeply enough.  
  
Still, the monster howled in mortal pain, staggering back and flailing at the
embedded knife. But it could not reach the impaled weapon.  
  
Ryan tumbled onto the ground beside Una, gasping in pain, coughing blood. Yet
he managed to find the pain to stand once more and advance upon the wounded
beast. Spittle thick with blood dripped from his mouth. What precious reserves
of strength he had left were poured into his next few actions.  
  
"I told you," wheezed Ryan as he stumbled wearily before the convulsing
monster. "That I'd . . . take . . . you . . . _down_!"  
  
The last of his strength was directed into a series of powerful blows across
the beast's jaw, each of them eliciting gouts of blood and grunts of pain. The
monster staggered with each blow, flailing blindly. Finally, with supreme
effort, Ryan crashed his fist into the underside of the creature's bloodied
jaw, sending it toppling. The monster thundered onto it's back, which drove
the knife deep through its body, slicing the heart in two.  
  
The monster had only time to issue forth a single bellow of agony before it
fell silent and still. The beast was dead.  
  
Ryan collapsed to the ground, spilling blood from his mouth. He rolled onto
his back, staring upward as the darkness began to close in. A true smile
decorated his face, one of pride and personal salvation. _I did it_, he
thought.  
  
Upon the death of the beast, Una's bonds instantly shattered and fell away.
She lurched forth, scrambling to Ryan's side and cradling his head in her
arms. Her face was a mask of emotion. Tears trickled down her cheeks. Still,
however, she smiled.  
  
"I could not have asked for a more magnificent champion," she whispered.  
  
Ryan smiled up at her, teeth painted with blood. More of it coated his cheeks.
He coughed, sending spatters of ichor around his mouth. He managed to speak
through bloodied sputters. "You asked me . . . if it was worth . . .
sacrificing . . . my life . . . for a woman . . . I didn't know."  
  
She smoothed back his hair, giving him a fond look. "Is it?" she asked.  
  
He nodded with a smile only a dying man could give. "I did it right . . . this
time."  
  
"So you did," Una agreed, her voice barely inaudible. Then, she tilted her
head back and drew in a deep breath. Looking back down upon Ryan, she smiled
genuinely before doubling over and smothering his lips with hers, breathing
into his mouth.  
  
* * * *  
  
Martin Milton stood upon the road before the massive red and yellow sign.
Before, he had been proud of it, but in light of recent events, it just seemed
garish.  
  
He tipped his hat and wiped sweat from a tired brow. The previous two days had
been a roller coaster of emotion. First was the discovery of the man he had
sent, who had never arrived at the local police station. He had been found
dead, his truck upside down on the side of the road. Then came the questions
once the rest of them did make it.  
  
Now there was only the aftermath. The bodies had all been recovered, the
remains of the campsites cleared. All that remained were the trailers and
tractors and the land-clearing equipment. Now his remaining men were advancing
across the street toward the site.  
  
"Eight confirmed dead," mused the woman who stepped up from behind him. She
was tall and amazonian, pretty in a rugged, impressive way despite the lack of
flattery provided by her Fish and Wildlife Service uniform. "I think this was
the worst tragedy this county's ever seen."  
  
"Wish I hadn't been part of it, Miss Cooley," Milton murmured sourly.  
  
She settled her hands to her hips and glanced sidelong to the round-bodied
man. "Please, Mr. Milton," she said. "Call me Brett."  
  
He tilted his head, offering a crooked smile. "Blame it on my upbringing," he
explained. "I tend to be more formal with ladies . . ." he trailed off
briefly. "Most of them."  
  
She laughed softly. "Ryan was like that, too," she said under her breath. She
cleared her throat and nodded toward Milton's men, as they affixed small
devices to the supports of the sign. "Getting back to work?" she asked. "Guess
I can't blame you, with all the money you invested--"  
  
Her words were cut off by a rapid series of sharp explosive bursts, which
shattered the support struts of the massive wooden sign. With a creaking of
wood and rush of air, the sign slapped heavily onto the road before it,
stirring up a massive cloud of dust and dirt that rolled across the road.  
  
"Nope," Milton said simply. He breathed in deeply, let it out. "Packing up. I
been thinking that maybe it's time I looked for other, uh, ventures.
Reforestation, maybe. There's actually some pretty good money in it. Maybe
I'll start right here."  
  
Brett nodded with a chuckle. "Can't argue your decision," she said. "You and
your men have been through a lot."  
  
"That's one way to put it," Milton grumbled. "So, what's the final word on
what killed my boys?"  
  
"Bear attack," Brett answered. "They've been known to be extremely
territorial."  
  
"'Bear attack,'" Milton repeated. He shook his head ruefully.  
  
"Obviously, you don't agree," Brett said. "You still think it was 'something
not natural?'" she asked, repeating the words Milton had spoken during his
deposition the previous day.  
  
"Don't really matter what I think, does it?" he asked rhetorically. "Y'all
already made up your minds about it. But don't think I'm bitter. You can't
exactly explain something that ain't supposed to exist in a way that makes
sense."  
  
Brett said nothing.  
  
Milton worked his jaw, letting his eyes wander. For a moment, upon a ridge
more than a hundred yards away, he thought he saw two figures standing against
the forested background. But in the time it took for Milton to frown, blink,
and focus, they were gone.  
  
Brett emitted a wondering sigh. "It still bothers me that we haven't found
Ryan Welch, or that woman -- Una -- you mentioned," she said. "At the least,
I'd like to know if Welch is still alive."  
  
Milton found himself smiling knowingly. He turned to the tall woman. "Oh, I
got me a feeling they're still out there. Somewhere. But I doubt you're ever
gonna find them."  
  
Puzzled, Brett watched after Milton as he strode across the street, shouting
orders to his crewmen. She could not shake the feeling that there was
something she was not understanding, something extraordinary that only Martin
Milton and his remaining men -- all of whom seemed strangely philosophical
during their depositions -- truly knew. But as much as that thought vexed her,
she knew there was truly nothing she could do about it.  
  
With a somber hunch of her shoulders, she turned and headed back to her truck,
already preparing the email message she would send to her superiors: _Agent
Ryan Welch is presumed missing and dead._  
  
* * * *  
  
Stepping back from the top of the ridge, Una smiled gratefully as she watched
Martin Milton's logging company dismantle their operation. She would wonder as
to the exact reasons why the gruff businessman had changed his mind about
invading her forest, but she liked to think his change of hearty was more due
to a newfound appreciation for the wonders -- and terrors -- of the natural
world.  
  
"Free for the moment," she muttered wistfully.  
  
"But for how long?"  
  
She trained her gaze upon the figure crouched beside her, smile growing as she
looked upon him. "There will always be threats to our forest," she said. "That
is an inevitable circumstance to the life of the fae."  
  
Ryan growled faintly in contemplation, balanced upon his toes, a claw-tipped
hand touching the ground before him. "A life I have to get used to," he said,
then looked down upon his body, covered as it was in a fine coat of short,
golden-brown fur. "Not to mention . . . _this_."  
  
Una laughed softly and stroked her hand back across Ryan's head. "You will,"
she assured him. "This is your life, now. With me."  
  
He cocked his head and looked up at her, human emotion still telling despite
the feral face he now wore. "I'm hungry," he declared.  
  
She arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Then hunt. Find us something to eat. Just return
to me by nightfall." She knelt and caressed his face. Her emerald eyes
glittered with erotic promise. "I will reward you accordingly."  
  
Ryan grinned. "In that case," he said. "I will bring back the fattest, largest
buck you have ever seen." And with that, he turned and sprang toward the
forest, loping and leaping with inhuman speed and power.  
  
Una watched him proudly, then slowly headed away from the ridge and toward her
tree -- _their_ tree -- to prepare for her lover's return. She knew she would
need the rest to rejuvenate her strength.  
  
_-fin-_  
  
_(I hope you have enjoyed this fantastic tale. I truly enjoyed writing this
one. Feel free to leave a comment below, telling me what you liked -- or did
not like -- about this story, and please, don't forget to vote. I also
encourage you to read all of this year's Earth Day contest submissions. There
is a lot of very good talent out there.)_




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