Catspell

by Colleen Shannon

  But she had to choose that first step.

  Gladly she took it, letting the sagging coat drop to her feet. It was her turn to stand still and let him admire her nakedness. Such was his due, which he’d fought, literally tooth and nail, to gain.

  The impossibly long length grew, preening under her gaze. His breathing quickened, and he clenched his hands with the effort, but he stayed put. She realized, abruptly, just as he’d said, that all this indomitable masculinity was hers to toy with at her will. For this, he had taunted and challenged her. For this, she had been born.

  That second step to a new beginning was incredibly easy after all.

  Purely on instinct, she began to stalk him, her movements sinuous. Her long black hair shielded and revealed her milk white bosom crowned with pink aureoles, but her incisors, too, were pointed. Never had the blood of Cleopatra surged harder through her veins than now.

  She was close enough to touch that tempting flesh when…he darted sideways.

  She whirled only to find him behind her. A teasing fingertip traced the graceful curve of her spine, down to her buttocks, but when she tried to catch that hand on her hip, it was gone.

  She spun again, and then they were circling one another, their feet soundless on the creaky wood floor of the cottage–like cats. Battling for dominance, the very air between them sizzled.

  Seth lunged toward her and nipped her shoulder. The tiny dart of pain sent a thrill of pleasure through her that centered below her waist. Instinctively, she bit back, sinking her incisors into the throbbing pulse in his throat, feeling the beat of his life essence against her tongue as if she needed it to survive. She felt the powerful urge to bite down, just enough to draw blood…

  He gave a little grunt of pure pleasure, then rasped, “Bite me. Taste of me and give it back to me on your tongue.”

  Her eyes widened, the diamond shaped pupils rounding again, as abruptly she realized what she was doing. She backed away, her hands coming up, not to ward him off, but to control her own wild urges. The primitive need to attack him, scratching, biting, was about to overcome her, and she was overwhelmed with the power of the urges he’d inspired first in dreams and now in truth.

  “You want it.” He approached her, one step.

  Again, he’d read her mind. She backed away, one step. “No, I don’t. I’m a woman, not some amoral feline in heat.”

  He looked down at her breasts. She followed his gaze. Her nipples were diamond hard even in the roaring blaze filling the cabin from the fire he’d started–inside and out.

  Instinctively, she covered her breasts with her hands, but it was too late for false modesty.

  “Join me in the best of both worlds, Arielle. We can copulate, rolling around on the ground like great cats hissing and scratching for dominance. And we can make love, caressing and kissing the night away in a proper marriage bed. The choice is ours, because we control the change. What is more liberating than power one can control? Pity Luke has never figured that out. You only have to master the urges, not let them master you. Shelly has done it. I have done it. So can you. This is your first lesson. You are built for passion.” His eyes were slanted now, his incisors elongating into fangs. Grabbing her shoulders, he brought her to his chest and kissed her.

  Full bore, his mouth slanted over hers, as his powerful arms bent her back so far her feet almost left the floor. This was what she had feared, and this was what she had wanted.

  Passion given like a gift so powerful that it hurt…even as it pleased. She pulled away, glaring up at him, her grimace exactly that of a snow leopard in heat, though she did not know it. But when his lip curled as he grimaced back at her, she recognized his expression as a reflection of her own.

  The shock had less impact the second time, enwrapped as she was in his arms. He didn’t give her time to pull away, holding her tightly to him with one hand, and with the other learning the soft curve of her buttocks and upper thighs. His large, warm hand was fully human, but when he bent his head to the sweet arch of her neck, he followed the path with tiny stabs of his tongue interspersed with nips that twinged but did not draw blood…and his tongue was rough.

  It was as if, even as humans knowing their first coupling, the power of their bond was made stronger by the urges of the cat…

  Pleasure trilled through her from head to toe. Her urge to bite back returned more powerfully. Her fingers curled into his shoulders, then she trailed them down his own strong spine. Only when he gasped into her neck did she realize she’d scratched him.

  The second realization was even more powerful: his gasp was not one of pain Growling deep in his throat, he bent her back over his arm and lavished attention on her breasts, suckling, licking around each pale aureole, not quite touching the nipple. She squirmed in his hold, catching his hand, trying to bring that tormenting caress to the place no man had ever touched. She felt the quickening of his breath, the strong heartbeat sledging against her, and knew she pleased him, too. For the first time in her life, she felt beautiful.

  And strong. And bold. Grasping his thick, wiry hair, she hauled his mouth to where she most needed it. He lathed her, his taste of her nipple at first gentle. But his tongue grew more rough in texture as his arousal increased. She felt him stabbing urgently into her hip and had to know him in return, to pleasure him in kind.

  Tentatively she palmed him, sucking in her breath in shock at the length and width overflowing her hand, throbbing with the need she inspired. She felt the graze of sharp teeth over her nipple as his caress at her breast grew more demanding. The pleasure-pain made her hand contract. Her moan was drowned out by his, and then his lips had taken the sweet sound of wild need and given it back to her with a deep dip of his tongue into her mouth. Since her touch obviously pleased him, she did it again, setting up a rhythm of squeeze and release that both fed their hunger and increased the need for more.

  The primitive need to own him, to mark him as her consort too, grew uncontrollable.

  She slanted her head to the side to kiss him as deeply as nature allowed, learning the sweet nectar of his mouth with the tip of her tongue. He queried deeply in return, stabbing back with a full length she knew instinctively was evocative of the other length to come. Their labored breaths became one. Suddenly she wrenched her mouth away, bit deeply into his shoulder, the taste of his blood an aphrodisiac, and danced out of his reach.

  Daring him. She stood, legs spread, long black hair flipping about her shoulders as she tossed her head in defiance. Her blue eyes had darkened to the twilight of dreams, where she first met him, but there was no fear in the dilated, diamond shaped pupils. Her nostrils flared as she scented him.

  His nostrils flared in response. He touched the place where her sharp incisors had marked his shoulder with two bright red dots. He brought his hand away and stared at the smear of blood.

  “Drink. Taste the essence that belongs to me, blood of my blood,” she purred.

  His dilated eyes snapped back to her face, and he obviously recognized the words as ones he’d spoken to her in her dreams. If she’d put a collar about his neck, she could not have more thoroughly declared her ownership.

  The way of the cat. And of the woman he’d helped her become.

  Holding her eyes, he touched his own blood again and then delicately, tongue curled, licked the taste from his fingers.

  For a timeless moment they’d both earned, they stared at one another across the width of the fur rug he’d spread on the floor. Then, their arms spread, they began to circle one another in that ageless dance of dominance, the circles becoming narrower and narrower until, with his greater reach, he could snatch her to him.

  This time, when he kissed her deeply, he let his passions rule. Tongue, teeth, hands all explored her at the same time, plundering all the abundant treasures hoarded just for him. But it was she who hooked her foot behind his ankles, pulling him off balance.

  He crashed to the rug, pulling her atop him as he went. Then, like her most erotic dre
ams, they were rolling across the floor, biting, licking, scratching, hissing deep breaths of arousal. They landed back on the rug again, him on top, his knee spreading her unresisting legs apart. Holding her gaze with his, he connected the head of his quivering proof of maleness to the softness that had hungered for him day and night.

  He was about to plunge home, back arched, but she was spread for him, quiescent. He paused, barely connected, the possessive fire in his eyes muted. His voice was so hoarse it was scarcely recognizable, and later she could not say whether she heard it in her head or her ears. “No. You do it. Mark me.”

  Her eyes had fluttered closed as she awaited her due, and they popped open in shock. To her dismay, he withdrew that tantalizing warmth and sat back on his heels, eyeing her with a smirk so arrogant she wanted to smack him. His need for her was blatant, reaching urgently for the ceiling, but he merely sat there, waiting for her reaction. He didn’t want her surrender. He wanted her dominance.

  She swallowed, licking her dry lips. His gaze latched on her mouth, and his muted golden glow turned luminous again, but still he waited.

  “I…don’t know what you want me to do.”

  “Yes you do. Follow your instincts. You have to choose this, too.”

  Follow her instincts? She’d attack him, consume him, make him hers forever…Somehow with the thought the action came naturally. She leaped on him, spreading her legs about his waist, wrapping her arms tightly about his shoulders as she sat on his upper thighs and squirmed to get the hard head in the right place. Ah, there. She knew it, as she knew this moment would alter them both forever after in a form of immortality Luke Simball would never know.

  Her eyes drifted closed again, so pleasurable was the feel of that velvet iron in the opening to her body. She squirmed on him, placing him where she needed his hardness most, but he wouldn’t allow her even that much privacy.

  “Open your eyes,” he commanded with a growl that rumbled through the intimate contact.

  Obediently she opened her eyes. His eyes were slanted, flaming with the power of this joining, and when she lifted slightly to give herself better leverage, he was there to meet her.

  As she pushed down, he pushed up, no gentleness offered or demanded. His mouth was on hers, ready to take that first sweet cry. He sundered the last barrier to her becoming, his full length entering her to the hilt even as she opened to accommodate him. It felt as if a knife severed her, and he swallowed her sweet cry even as she bit him in retaliation, drawing her life force from his. She was his, but he was hers, too, and nothing in her life had ever been more liberating than the sundering of her most intimate flesh at her own command.

  Just as he’d promised in her dreams, when he took her blood, she took his, too.

  Gasping against their locked mouths, they luxuriated in the intimacy of the moment, his throbbing possessiveness opening the way for their bonding of spirt and body. The second thrust hurt less than the first, the third not at all. When he felt her relax as the stabbing pain faded, he lifted her gently at the waist and as gently pushed her back down. Full, empty, full, empty, the movements grew wilder in tempo as the sounds of moans, both male and female, crowded out the roaring of the fire.

  That fire was building between her legs, reaching higher and higher, as he was, for the essence of her feminine power. Then she was flat on her back and he was pounding into her, deeper but never deep enough. She locked her legs about his waist, higher about his neck, the plunge and retreat ringing in the room as their bodies slapped together, but she felt no pain.

  Only ecstasy. The pressure built in her uncontrollably, there, almost there. She arched against him, crying out, as the fire exploded within her, radiating to her fingertips and the follicles of her hairline. Flying apart, she gripped his thighs, hard, feeling the clench and release of his own fruition in her womb. The intimate splashes made her spasm again, and again she clenched his thighs with her nails, digging deeply.

  From somewhere she heard a hiss of pain mixed with delight, and then, slowly, she collapsed, her heart pounding a paean of thankfulness to her ancestors for granting her the power of passion that could revel in such a moment. For this, she was born. And from this becoming, she could never return. But for the first time in her life, she knew who she was, and was serene in the knowing.

  Slowly, she grew aware of earthly things. The dying fire, logs falling in a shower of sparks. The heavy weight of the man against her, kissing her still with joy, Egyptian love words mixed with English words, all filled with praise and tenderness.

  She caressed his back. When she held her hand out, she saw claws peeking from the ends of her fingers, and for the first time, she was not horrified at the sight. She turned them curiously, examining them as pads began to grow on her palm. She imagined her hand as fully human again, and the pads faded, the claws receded.

  She looked up to find Seth smiling at her. “See, it’s not so terrible, is it? You can control it, just as I said.” He lifted her to a sitting position, and it was then she saw the deep scratches in his upper thighs.

  She gasped, running an apologetic fingertip over the claw marks. “I’m sorry.”

  He brought her apologetic hand to his mouth and kissed it, fingertip to fingertip, and then he led her before a full length mirror, pulling her against him. The shock of what the passion had brought them to was both frightening and arousing. She had bruises on her collarbones where he’d sucked too hard, and love bites on the top of each breast. He had scratches on his back, waist and thighs, and the clear imprint of sharp incisors on both sides of his neck.

  She was brought back to herself when he knelt in front of the mirror, so she could still see, and bent his head in homage to her femininity. As if in reward for her bravery, for an instant, she felt his tongue grow rough in texture as he lapped at her in the aftermath. The fingers gripping her thighs to hold her wide began to dig into her skin, and when she looked down, she saw claws tipping them. But even as her heart surged and she felt her own claws growing, he sighed, rubbing his cheek against her femininity, and his claws receded. So did hers. And the next time he kissed her, she felt only the silky glide of his tongue.

  “Do you see now?” he murmured into her heated skin. “No one can doubt we belong together now. We are two of a kind, my lioness of God. But you’ve known passion. Now feel tenderness.” And he led her to the hot springs, laying her on a long, shallow ledge. He bathed her in the soothing warmth, end to end, the cloth first a cleansing tool, but soon a temptation.

  The soft cotton barely brushed between her thighs, cleansing her of any remnant of the virgin, leaving only the woman grown. And the man drew her to the soft, mossy bank, spread her wide, and dipped his head between her thighs. Before he was done, Arielle had her second lesson: love took many forms, and they were all available to those bold enough to try them.

  And it was still good to be fully human, too. This time, when she returned to herself, he had his hand outstretched.

  “Come. We have other appetites.” Still naked, he led her to the woods. The shadow grew first, and then the lion was there in all his glory, mane ruffling in the early morning breeze. He was all the more magnificent because she now knew the power of the intellect that controlled him. Not quite as quickly, she transformed too, the snow leopard smaller than its mate, but no less magnificent. With a shared roar, they bounded out into the open, on the scent of a deer.

  Inside the cat, the woman smiled, enjoying the power she controlled.

  And somewhere, she hoped, her mother rejoiced to see her daughter have the joy of both forms, changeable at will. But even as they shared the joy of the hunt, the lion and the snow leopard warily watched the brightening tree cover.

  Many miles away, in a genteel, proper part of London, most uncivilized and improper events were also occurring. Perhaps it was the full moon…

  Ethan Perot, peer of the realm, scientist and arbiter of taste, had just performed his most daring experiment ever. From the satisfied look on h
is face, he’d both expected and longed for the outcome that faced him now.

  An enormous wolf approached him, her grayish green eyes luminous in the dim light from the overhead gas lamps. Her fangs were bared, and a deep growl emerged from her powerful rib cage. Even standing on all fours, her head came almost to his shoulder. As she approached, her shadow grew larger, obscuring his feet, his legs, and finally his upper torso, until only his eyes caught the light. They remained that brilliant, fascinated green.

  Frustrated, Shelly gave a louder growl, allowing a few drips of saliva to decorate her snarl. She was determined to frighten him.

  She failed. When she grew close enough to lunge, to her utter shock it was he who bridged the last gap between them. His hand raised to pet her great head. Gingerly, but the touch sent a thrill of pleasure through her. “You are an amazing creature. What is it like to have such power?”

  Inside the fearsome wolf, the woman understood, finally, why he had such allure for her. They were kindred spirits in their thinking, and in their curiosity about life. Like her, he’d risk his life for the sheer glory of new experience. And she was currently his favorite subject.

  She reared away, snarling. She snapped at him, her powerful jaws coming together with a clang. But she’d taken care not to graze him, and he knew it, curse him, by the little smile on his face.

  She lunged at him on her hind legs, glaring down. Now, her paws resting on his shoulders, she was taller. Now, he’d be afraid and back off, let her out of here, never to trouble her again.

  As usual, she underestimated both his nerve and his verve. He staggered a bit under her weight on his shoulders, but put both hands over her paws and rubbed, as if even this contact were pleasurable for him. How could he dare to toy with her when she was in this form?