by Ava Lore
And, she realized, I am completely alone with Subject Number One.
Without meaning to, she went rigid in the cradle of his arm, and, as though he sensed her abject terror, Number One laid her down immediately on a bed of leaves beneath a tree and backed away.
They were in the woods. A good choice, she supposed, to avoid detection, but not a good choice for a naked woman with a severe injury. Her teeth began to chatter.
Though the woods were dark, the nearly full moon above them shone brightly, beaming down through the falling leaves. Autumn had come late this year, and the trees still blocked out the stars. The moon, however, peeked between the branches, and in its light she saw Subject Number One almost completely clearly.
His green eyes glittered in his dark face, and though his features were even more bestial than usual she could see, in the submissive stance of his body, that he was wary of approaching her. For some reason, that made her feel even worse.
"You bit me," she said.
He crouched down further, until his stomach scraped the ground. "Had to," he said. "Mate bond, blood bond. Give strength. Heal."
"You could have told me!"
"Risk," he said. "Risk."
She stared at him and shivered, trying to decide what to do. Now that they were out and in the world, she realized how foolhardy it was to think they could escape. She was naked, and he was a huge beast. Their problems were numerous and mounting by the moment. Two of their problems, however, stuck out at her.
"I need shelter," she managed to get out between chattering teeth. "And you have a tracking device in your ear."
His stance sharpened and he brought a hand to his ear. The right one.
"Other one," she said. "Outer, er, lobe. Close to your head." She gestured.
His eyes on hers narrowed, then he nodded, moved his hand to the left side of his head, and with a sudden, savage movement he dug his claws into the flesh there and yanked half of his own ear away.
Michelle couldn't help it. She screamed, sharp and high, at the raw barbarism and sheer determination of the act. A will of steel lurked under his fur, inside his rumbling chest. In the silver light, black blood welled up from the wound, but he didn't even move to staunch the flow. Instead he reared up on his hind legs and threw away the scrap of flesh, high into a tree.
Even as her stomach rebelled, Michelle found herself admiring his strength. Not just his raw, brute strength, but the quiet commitment he displayed. To him it was nothing to tear away a piece of himself and heroically throw it away to escape, but she... she had been too petrified by even the thought of losing her memories to walk away from the terrible experiments on the Project. Subject Number One hadn't had a choice. His whole life had been ripped away from him without his consent, and in his escape even his body meant nothing to him compared to his freedom. For a dizzy moment, Michelle imagined him at the end of the road, at the end of the world, shedding his skin, his muscles, his bones, until he was just a spirit of pure will moving forward into the darkness.
She was a coward compared to him. She was ashamed.
And still he frightened her. The pain in her shoulder reminded her that he was part animal, part something unknown, governed by rules she didn't understand.
She tried to warm herself, but she couldn't move one arm, and her whole body was exposed anyway. Even then, with each rub of her hand, pain buffeted her from her shoulder. She wondered, vaguely, why she hadn't gone into complete shock. It was probably the warmth of Number One. Or his nearness. Was she bound to him now, magically?
"Heal." His voice startled her, and she looked up. He stood before her, just a few feet away, black blood streaming down his face. "Heal you. Mate."
He took a step forward.
Michelle squeaked, but forced herself to stay still.
Reaching up, he gathered his blood in the palm of his paw, then stretched out his arm, bridging the distance between them, and smeared it gently over the crusted wound on her shoulder.
Michelle waited. The silence stretched out.
Subject Number One stared at her shoulder, as though it were completely foreign to him. "Heal," he said again, then gathered more blood and slathered it over her skin. The overpowering coppery tang caused bile to rise in her throat, but she endured it, hoping against hope that her shoulder would somehow knit back together, that she would be healed of this terrible pain.
But nothing happened.
Finally One huffed, irritated, and raised his eyes to hers.
"Mate. Mate a-gain," he said. "Give blood. Get blood. Heal."
In her chest, Michelle felt her heart stumble and seize, and even before she could articulate why, she shook her head violently.
"No!" she blurted. "No!" High, shrieking fear ripped through her and she was moving. Her bare feet scraped over leaves and dirt as she propelled herself backwards into the tree behind her, but the rough bark on her back brought her back to her senses.
Her breath came hard and fast, and her shivering had subsided with the burst of adrenaline, but none of that seemed significant. In front of her Subject Number One loomed, blocking out the light, and the memory of his teeth in her flesh obliterated any thoughts of flesh in flesh and fur on skin. Once bitten, twice shy.
One backed away and lowered his head, hunching his spine. She couldn't see his tail, but she knew he held it between his legs, and his ears laid back flat on his head. "Mate?" he said. "Mi-shell?" Cautious. A note of worry. He was concerned for her.
But she couldn't bear the thought of letting him bite her again.
The shivering returned.
"I need to get warm," she said. "I need to get out of the woods."
His green eyes watched her intently, then he nodded, once, sharp.
"Carry?" he asked.
She didn't really have a choice, so, swallowing hard, Michelle nodded back.
Slowly, cautiously, One approached her, then slid his strong arms beneath her, lifting her up until he stood awkwardly on his hind legs. She let her head fall against his chest and heard the beating of his heart. His brave heart.
She closed her eyes and let him carry her into the woods.
Chapter Six
The sound of a car starting below them woke Subject Number One from his slumber. In his arms, his mate slept like the dead, her face lined in pain, but her fingers curled in his fur. The dusty blanket they had salvaged now wrapped around her body like a cocoon, and he sighed, stealing a tiny moment of contentment.
The garage door began to open. One felt it grinding over its tracks beneath them, and he held his breath as the car backed out and the door lowered. They'd found a small, affluent community at the outskirts of a tiny town, and it had been child's play for One to slip into one of the detached garages and hide them in the small crawlspace above the cars. Luckily for Michelle, there had been a pile of blankets in this garage, and they had filched one before he boosted her into the attic and climbed up after her. He'd probably left claw marks on the top of the SUV, but hopefully no one would notice until they were well away.
He needed to mate with Michelle again so he could heal her shoulder. He'd used up the magic of their mate bond in their flight, and now they needed to renew it in order to mend his mistake.
His mate, understandably, was not thrilled by that idea.
He was an idiot.
I should have told her, he thought. I should have let her know what I intended to do. But the cameras. The listening. The blood magic of the mate bond had been his ace in the hole. His only card, in fact. He couldn't have risked it. But he should have.
He sighed and drew Michelle closer. In sleep, the mate bond asserted itself over her human fear, and she curled up tighter next to him, drawing on the warmth of his body, and for once he was glad of the beastly form in which he was trapped. A human body could not have given her such heat. But she needed clothes, and he had no idea how to get some for her. Memories of his past life were still elusive, but the ways of the world remained lodged in his
brain, and he knew they might need money to buy her clothing.
Clothing. Shelter. Food. Water. The minutiae of survival worried him. How could he keep his mate safe and fed and still avoid recapture?
At least she had told him about the tracking device. He would never have known without her help. She had helped him, even as she had feared him.
The thought gave him hope.
In his arms, Michelle stirred, and he caught the scent of arousal rolling off of her.
The mate bond was a powerful thing...
Swallowing his desire, Subject Number One drew her closer and tried to think logical, necessary thoughts. It didn't work very well.
Lowering his head, he took a surreptitious sniff of her hair and immediately the smell of summer jolted down his spine and rooted in his groin, making him groan involuntarily. He wanted her badly. Their coupling yesterday had been amazing... but it wasn't enough for him. And, with the way she was suddenly sighing and moving restlessly against his body, he suspected it wasn't enough for her either.
Languorously, she lifted a leg in her sleep and hooked it over his waist. Her sex opened, the lips of her labia parting, and the smell of her core hit him full in the face. His chest rumbled with a deep, aching growl, and his hips pushed forward of their own accord even as the human side of him desperately tried to put a leash on his libido.
One had been away from humanity for a while, but he knew that one of the number one rules was not to fuck a woman who was asleep. She was still afraid of him, and he couldn't bear the thought of completely shattering her trust, so, very gently, he rolled away from her twining limbs and laid on his back, keeping her cradled in his arm.
Above him the cracks of light from the poorly-maintained roof shone down on them, and he heard the call of crows. The chill of the encroaching winter made him shudder and he hoped it would dampen his erection—already at half-mast and growing—but when her good arm stretched out over his chest he abandoned all thoughts of ridding himself of his desire.
Between his legs his balls tightened and swelled, filled with his seed that he desperately wanted to plant in her sweet, fertile body, and without really meaning to he let his clawed, beastly hand roam down his body to his cock.
He had never pleasured himself in this form. His monstrous body was unfamiliar to him and a source of contempt—a condition to be endured before he was restored to his true form one day—and besides, he didn't want to give the watchers a show. Driven by need and devotion he had taken his pleasure with his mate yesterday, under duress, and it had been sweet. How much sweeter would it be when they shared it only between the two of them? The very thought sent a bolt of heat through him, and he closed his blunt, padded hand around his straining cock.
The first thing he realized was that the pads of his paws were rough. The second thing he realized was that he liked it. The sensation of rough skin moving over the slickness of his shaft was almost an unbearable contrast. It sent tiny sparks of pain through his cock, but the pressure of his stubby fingers on the shaft sent such hot urgency rippling through his body that he saw stars in the darkness of the attic.
Swiftly, without really meaning to, One began to pump his fist over his cock, his hips rising up to meet his hand.
His mouth fell open and his tongue lolled. In his head, he revisited his one and only mating with his woman, the one asleep in his arms and completely unaware of the overwhelming nature of his lust for her. He remembered her tight core closing down tight on his cock, rippling with her orgasm until she milked the cum from his balls. His hand on his cock moved faster at the memory. Her cries, her tossing head, her flying black hair, the soft sweetness of her breasts cupped in his hands, the rippling flesh of her ass as he pounded into her again and again—god, he wanted her. He began to pant.
Mate, he thought. His mate. His beautiful, fragile mate, so brave to submit to him, so beautiful beneath his beastly body. She had accepted him and wanted him, even though he was a monster, and the thought filled him with a fierce tenderness unlike anything he had ever felt. If they were ever truly free, if they were ever truly able to be together, if he was ever restored to himself, he would spend a thousand nights lavishing her body with attention, making her come and scream, fucking her until she couldn't stand, and then he'd let her sleep until she regained her strength. Then he would fuck it out of her again.
His pumping hand tightened as he felt a growing knot of cum gathering in his balls. He was going to release it, spurt it into the darkness of this musty attic when he should be giving it to his mate, plumbing her body and giving her the protection of their bond. When she let him fuck her again, would she shriek as he came? Would she dig her hands into his fur and hold on tight? Would her core invite his seed again?
He wanted to bury himself inside her and never again emerge. Her hot, tight pussy, her sweet, writhing body, her cries as she called his name—
His name.
Subject Number One came suddenly, violently, but the pleasure was bittersweet as the milk spurted from his cock to splash over his fur. His body was wracked with ecstasy, but all he could think of was his name. His lost name.
He couldn't remember his name. How could she call his name if he didn't even know what it was?
Then the shuddering force of his orgasm obliterated the awful thought, if just for a moment, and One gave himself over to the bliss of his imagination. He pictured his cock buried in his mate, her flesh grasping him, pulling him in, accepting him as she shrieked her own release—
The final spurt of seed had barely left his shaft when his mate made a noise beside him, and he turned to see her staring at him with eyes as big as saucers, wide awake.
Michelle had awoken aroused and restless to find Subject Number One jacking off next to her. It was an interesting way to wake up, to say the least.
She knew this was something people did. She hadn't really expected to see it, though. Intellectually, she thought she should be disgusted, but instead it only aroused her further, and in the dim light of the attic she had held her breath and watched, fascinated, as he pleasured himself.
It was magnificent. In the dark, his body undulated slightly in a primal rhythm that made her mouth go dry. He was lost to his desire, his paw-like hand clutching his member in a death grip as he grunted low in his throat. His mouth hung open, his tongue hanging out like a dog's, but rather than reminding her that he was a beast, a monster, she remembered what that tongue felt like on her nipples, inside her pussy. Biting her lip, she watched as he climbed toward ecstasy, his hand moving faster and faster until he let out a harsh growl that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end, and came.
Long ropes of milky cum pumped forth, catching the tiny shafts of light shining through the cracks above them, and she remembered what it was like to have that hot seed spurt inside her, filling her up. He came hard and long, and by the time he was done she was so turned on she forgot everything—their precarious predicament, her injured shoulder, the fear she should feel being so close to him, the shame of their coupling, the cold of the air and the emptiness of her stomach—and moaned with desire and longing.
Then he turned his face to hers.
He was even more bestial today. The moon would be full tonight and he would become a wolf. The reminder made her bite her lip in worry—how were they going to communicate if he was a wolf?—but it did nothing to dampen her need. She watched his green eyes, almost glowing in the dark, and though they frightened her and made her wary, she didn't shy away, merely stiffened a little as he studied her.
Then he laid his ears back against his skull and turned toward her. For a moment she thought he would take her, fuck her like she needed, like she feared, but instead he lowered his head and buried his face against her chest. His cum-covered fur smeared over the blanket, smelled sweet and sour in the dusty air.
"Sor-ry."
The word came from deep in his chest and it took a moment for her to realize that he was apologizing to her. He did ha
ve things to apologize for, but she didn't want to think about them right now. Instead she moved her good hand up over his body.
Slippery cum and rough fur ran beneath her palm, and she swallowed. She wasn't quite ready to trust him to mate with her again, not nearly ready to give herself over to the unbearable pain of the bite that he said would heal her—her injury was now just background noise and she could bear it—but she wanted him to touch her. The very thought of his beastly hands against her soft, human skin made her moan deep in her throat, and when he drew back and looked at her, startled, she gently took his hand in hers and guided it under the blanket that covered her.
Realization dawned in his eyes as she moved his hand lower and lower, until the rough pads grazed against the soft mound of her sex. Licking her lips, she parted her legs hesitantly, and he took her invitation without further urging. One rough, padded finger slipped between the slick lips of her pussy and gently slid over her aching flesh.
Pleasure bloomed, spreading out over her body, blocking out the pain of her injury, the fear of capture, the anxiety over their plight.
Yes, she thought.
Michelle had never touched herself with intent to come before. She was a strange, foreign country even to herself, and she wouldn't really have known what to do even if she had felt the urge—which she never had, until the day she first saw Subject Number One lounging in all his calm glory in his cell. He had intrigued her from the first, and now he was next to her, his body at her disposal if she chose to accept it.
Hesitantly, she nudged his finger with her hips. He waited for a moment, then she felt him move into position, his touch tender.
One long, clawed finger stroked over the sensitive flesh of her entrance while another—his thumb, she thought—alighted softly on the nub of her clitoris. Her legs tensed at the sensation, at the knowledge that she was open and his for the plundering. Then he began to move the pad of his thumb around her clit in a sweet, deliberate circle, and she melted in his hands.