Snared

by JL Merrow

  Martin’s hand jerked away as if it had been burned. “That’s… that’s nice,” he said feebly.

  “Oh, it will be, Martin,” Calum breathed, and pulled Martin’s face in for a kiss. He tasted of beer and adrenaline and the wind blowing through the heather. Martin shuddered as he surrendered to it all, and his hands crept up to clasp Calum’s firm, taut waist. “Fuck, Martin, you’re really something, did you know that?” Calum didn’t give Martin a chance to reply, seizing his mouth again as soon as he’d finished speaking. Not breaking the kiss, Calum started to move them both toward the house, fumbling above the door frame for a key and kicking the door shut behind them as they staggered into the living room.

  “Wait—stop!” Martin’s scrambled brain finally managed to get an urgent message to his mouth. He pushed Calum backward until they were arms’ length apart. “You’re a—but that’s impossible! I mean, how could you…? No, you can’t be.”

  Calum laughed suddenly, the sound jarring Martin out of himself. “Oh, Martin, Martin! You’ve got me there! But I had you going for a while, didn’t I now? Ah, you mustn’t mind my tricks, Martin. My mam always did say I was one part Irish, one part Scottish, and one part the devil himself.”

  Martin’s head was reeling. “It was a trick?”

  “Well, now, Martin. Do you honestly believe there are people who can turn themselves into animals? And me one of them?” He laughed again, and Martin began to wonder whether you could actually die of humiliation, and whether it would be possible to do so right now.

  “Hey now, Martin! Now, don’t you go getting all upset on me! It was a joke, that’s all!”

  It was like one of those nightmares Martin often suffered, where he was naked and everyone was laughing at him. Except here he was the one clothed, and everyone was still laughing at him. His temper flared. “Let me guess: there’s a webcam recording this for posterity?” he ground out. “Or have you just got all your mates hidden in the next room?”

  Calum’s face went from hilarity to concern so fast it was almost comical. “Martin, Martin! Do you really think I’d do that to you, now?” He flung his arms wide open, as if to demonstrate the extent of his innocence. It made the angry red welt that circled his hips even more prominent. Martin tried not to stare, but looking Calum in the eye made him equally uncomfortable for some reason, and dropping his gaze below the wound was way too distracting. He settled for a point midway between Calum’s collarbones. “There’s nobody here, Martin!” Calum’s voice rang out through the cottage like a battle cry, then dropped back to the husky tones he’d used before. “Just you and me. Nobody else, no cameras, nothing.” He moved forward as he spoke, and Martin took a step back.

  “Hey, now,” Calum whispered softly, as if to a frightened animal. Martin flinched as Calum’s hand rose, but it only came over to stroke his hair.

  “I think… I think I should go back to Mrs. McPherson’s now,” Martin said uncertainly, his anger having fled and left a hollow feeling in its wake.

  “Oh, Martin.” Calum’s tone was reproachful yet somehow fond. “You can’t leave now! See, you’ve got me completely at your mercy!” Martin almost flinched again as, without warning, Calum dropped to his knees, grinning widely. Martin found himself grabbed around the thighs, and then Calum was nuzzling into his groin.

  Martin swallowed. “Stop making fun of me,” he begged. God, he was hard as iron, and Calum knew it—couldn’t possibly avoid knowing it, with that prominent cheek bone rubbing firmly against Martin’s equally prominent erection. Damn it, he’d never had anyone this… this beautiful, this desirable, naked in front of him. He heard Calum draw in a deep breath and let it out with a groan.

  “God, Martin, do you know what you smell like?” Calum didn’t wait for an answer. “You smell like autumn, you know that? Rich, dark earth and creatures that have lived off the fat of the land all summer. You’re like a brisk breeze blowing the leaves off the trees, like ripe fruit falling to the ground.” Calum grinned up at him. “You’re making me hungry, Martin.” He leaned back and ran a languid hand up and down his own erect cock. “See how hungry you’re making me?” Calum’s grin turned wicked. “Are you going to feed me, Martin?” The hand Calum had been touching himself with suddenly snaked up with lightning speed and unzipped Martin’s Rohans. Martin gasped as those slender fingers brushed his cock.

  “Don’t you worry, now, Martin. I’m going to take good care of you,” Calum purred, and then Martin’s trousers were completely undone and sliding down his legs along with the Marks and Spencer’s underwear his mum still insisted on buying for him, even though he’d moved out years ago. Calum’s lightly stubbled cheek rasped along his cock in a mix of pain and pleasure, and Martin hissed. “Mmm,” Calum purred. “Feels good, doesn’t it now, Martin? It’s going to feel even better in a moment.”

  Martin let out a hoarse cry as Calum’s mouth descended upon his grateful cock. Slowly, slowly Calum’s lips moved down, down…. God, he was deep-throating him. Martin had never…. His whole world shrank to the dimensions of his cock, but bloody hell, it was a fantastic place to be. Martin never wanted to leave. He’d happily stay there for the rest of his life, if only his legs would hold out. Martin groaned as Calum abruptly pulled off. “Don’t stop!”

  Calum smiled that impossibly wide smile of his, not so much devil as Cheshire Cat. Martin had the strangest feeling that the rest of him was beginning to fade away, leaving only that wanton, beautiful mouth. “Mmm, I’m thinking you might want to lie down for a while, that’s all, Martin.” He bent down once more and with nimble fingers started to unlace Martin’s boots.

  Martin stared. All he could think of to say was “You’re taking my boots off.”

  Calum looked up and grinned. “Well, I could leave them on, if that’s what gets you going. But,” he continued, pulling off the first boot and starting on the second, “I was hoping I’d be seeing all of you tonight, Martin.” He didn’t wait for an answer, just pulled off Martin’s socks one by one then eased his trousers over his feet and tossed them to one side. Martin shivered as those slender fingers fluttered over the soles of his feet. “Mmm, you like that, do you, Martin?” Teasingly, Calum lifted Martin’s foot to his mouth and licked along the arch. Martin jerked at the intense sensation and almost fell over.

  Laughing, Calum bounded to his feet, his cock bobbing. “Come along now, Martin!” he cried, grabbing Martin’s hand and pulling him through a door into a ground-floor bedroom.

  The room had an untouched look; Calum must be sleeping elsewhere. Martin had no time to reflect upon that as Calum pulled him into a rough embrace, his mouth fastening onto Martin’s collarbone. His tongue rasped along the sensitive skin in the hollow, and Martin heard himself moan softly. Their erections were caught between their bodies, fighting for space, and Martin dropped his hands to Calum’s arse, grinding him closer. It was Calum’s turn to moan, then. His mouth worked its way up Martin’s neck until he reached an ear, and his teeth fastened onto the lobe with a pressure just this side of pain. Martin felt his knees grow weak again. They didn’t get any stronger when Calum let go of his earlobe and, his breath hot on Martin’s ear, whispered “Will you lie down for me, Martin Lowrie?”

  Martin felt his fingers tighten on Calum’s hips, but he forced them to let go. He moved backward until he found the edge of the bed and, stumbling only a little, lay down upon it.

  Calum clambered over him on all fours, his eyes glittering. The welt on his waist seemed redder now, angrier, and Martin couldn’t stop himself from asking about it. “Does that hurt?” he blurted out. “How did you do that, anyway?”

  Calum sat back on his heels, his erection seeming to fill Martin’s field of vision. He could already smell the salty pre-come leaking from its tip. “So you want to talk now, do you, Martin? See, I’ve nothing against talking. I can talk with the best of them. But there’s a time and a place for words, Martin, and it strikes me that right here, right now, is more of a time to fuck. So what do you say
? Will you let me fuck you, Martin?”

  His eyes were black as coal, yet with the hardness of diamond. In spite of himself, Martin shivered.

  “Ah! Martin, Martin. You know I don’t want a thing you’re not willing to give,” Calum whispered, and Martin could almost believe him. But then it hardly mattered, did it? He knew he’d give Calum anything he wanted, and Calum no doubt knew it too. Looking straight into those deep, black eyes, Martin hooked his hands behind his thighs and drew up his legs.

  Calum drew in a deep breath, his eyes half-lidded. “Martin,” he breathed, and the way he said the name was so soft, so sensual that Martin felt something inside himself shatter. “God, Martin, I can’t wait to be inside you, you know that?”

  Calum prepared him without a hint of haste, occasionally breaking off to kiss or lick the foot he’d slung carelessly over his shoulder. Each time he did so, Martin bucked uncontrollably, and by the end of it all, he was desperate for more sensation, more heat, more Calum. “I’m ready,” he gasped, pulling Calum close.

  It was as if a wild animal had been unleashed. With a hoarse shout, Calum thrust inside him forcefully, making Martin gasp, and not wholly from pleasure. But he’d have bitten out his own tongue rather than complain once he saw Calum’s look of concern.

  “Fuck, Martin, I’m sorry. Do you want me to stop?” Calum was panting, visibly struggling to hold himself back.

  “No! God, no!” Martin ran his hands feverishly up and down Calum’s sides, trying to mimic the soothing motions Calum had employed on him earlier. “Don’t stop. Please.”

  The look in Calum’s eyes as he plunged in again would have been reward enough—but then Calum changed the angle of his thrusts, and Martin gasped again, and this time it was all in a good way. His erection, which had flagged slightly with the pain of penetration, had hardened once more, and Martin slid a hand in between them to work his cock in time with Calum’s assault on his prostate. “Fuck that!” Calum muttered, batting his hand away and replacing it with his own.

  When Jonathan and he had made love, it had been gentle, furtive. Jonathan had simply accepted that Martin found it hard to truly let go, and had never asked more of him than he was willing to give. Martin had never known what it was like to be taken so forcefully, to surrender so completely to the dual onslaught of hand and cock.

  “Martin! Jesus! You know you’re killing me…?” Calum’s thrusts became more forceful still, ramming Martin into the mattress and making the bedsprings groan in protest. Muscle and sinew were sharply defined under the skin of his chest and shoulders, and the same musky scent that had drifted from the leather jacket now threatened to overpower Martin’s senses. There was a feral snarl on Calum’s face as he pounded into Martin again and again, and his eyes had darkened to almost pitch black. A droplet of salty sweat fell from his forehead to Martin’s lips, and he licked it away instinctively, the taste seeming to burst upon his tongue like a firework.

  Then—suddenly—the pounding stopped. Martin felt it as Calum came, that hard prick pulsing inside him. The very thought of it was enough to take him over the edge, and he convulsed even as Calum was shuddering on top of him. When Calum collapsed onto his chest, Martin had the craziest thought that it would be all right if he died now. It was like climbing Everest—what did you do to top that? He lay there in a fuzzy, satisfied haze as Calum carelessly wiped them off with his T-shirt and slung it in a corner, before drifting off to sleep with Calum curled possessively around him, his head upon Martin’s chest and his soft breathing sounding like a purr of contentment.

  WHEN Martin woke, it was still dark, and he felt curiously bereft. Confused, he wondered where Calum could have gone, and then the faint sound of voices drifted through the door. Martin concentrated and made out some of what they were saying. Appalled, he crept to the door to find out more.

  Calum was speaking. “I told you, Alec, we’re fine. He’s not been turned.”

  A new voice broke in. It seemed strangely familiar to Martin, but he couldn’t have said where from. “Wasn’t full moon last night, was it? How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I didn’t bite him, Alec, or at least I didn’t break the skin. I’ve seen the bruises, Alec. Those wounds on his hands were all from my claws.”

  Claws? Martin felt a chill spread down his throat to his stomach. Was he dreaming?

  “I still say we should keep him here until full moon. I’m not calling you liar, Calum O’Donnell, but these things are not to be taken lightly, and you being not from these parts, it may be you’re not aware of that.”

  “Alec Campbell, I’m as aware of the need for secrecy as you are.”

  Alec Campbell? Hadn’t that been the name above the door of the Lamb? Martin had noticed it because he’d had a friend of that name at school. His head was spinning.

  Calum spoke again. “I’ve spent my life as a wildcat in Ireland where, I might remind you, there are none. So I think you’ll find I’m as good at keeping a secret as any of you.”

  A wildcat? Martin sat down on the bed again, dazed. This was a dream. It had to be. Or Calum playing a trick on him again. Yes. That must be it.

  Another voice sounded. This one was higher in tone, one of those curiously girlish voices some old ladies have, and Martin recognized it straight away. “Och, while I’m sure you’ve done your best, laddie, there’s no harm in being cautious, now.” Mrs. McPherson? Abruptly Martin couldn’t stay there any longer, just listening to this. If this was a dream, it was going to be on his terms from now on. Striding to the bedroom door, he flung it open.

  Four pairs of eyes turned to look at him. Calum, of course, clad only in jeans that rode low on his hips. Mrs. McPherson, looking staid and respectable in her sensible skirt. The landlord from the Lamb, his expression darker than ever, and the anorexic Goth barmaid, apparently no longer bored. With a shock, Martin realized that here was his nightmare come to life: he was naked, and everyone was looking at him.

  Except nobody was laughing.

  It was Mrs. McPherson who broke the stunned silence. “Dear, dear, laddie. You’ve gone and done it now, and no mistake. Och, well, least said, soonest mended.” And then she leapt.

  Her body seemed to flow from one shape to another almost too quickly for Martin’s eyes to register the change. Her features changed mid-air, becoming darker. Furrier. Shoes and tweed skirt were left behind on the floor. Martin felt the insane urge to laugh as fifteen pounds of wildcat, still grotesquely entangled in a lacy white blouse, came hurtling toward his throat—only to be knocked off course by Calum, still in human form but surely moving far faster than any human should be able to. The wildcat yowled as she landed and hissed at Calum.

  He hissed back, fangs bared. Fangs? Since when did Calum have fangs? All Martin could think about was that his cock had been in that vicious-looking mouth only hours previously. To his embarrassment, a sound that might have been a whimper escaped him. Calum turned to look at Martin in concern—and the wildcat took advantage of his distraction to leap upon him. Her claws dug viciously into his bare back. Calum yelped and twisted, trying to dislodge her, blood already flowing freely from the wounds she’d made.

  Martin stood there for a moment, paralysed with horror—then came to his senses and lunged for the wildcat, grabbing her around her muscular haunches and tearing her away from her victim. She twisted and leapt out of his grasp, spitting her rage at him. Martin jerked back, out of reach of her vicious fangs, his heart pounding.

  Calum was crouched down, breathing hard, his face positively feral. He still hadn’t changed completely into cat form, but he wasn’t quite the man Martin had slept with, either. He hissed once more at the wildcat, and she snarled back at him. It should have looked absurd: a full-grown man in a stand-off with a creature deceptively reminiscent of a domestic cat—but there was nothing remotely domestic about the animal in front of him, and Martin had never felt less like laughing.

  Remembering the two other occupants of the room, Martin wheeled to face
the barman and the girl. They were watching the scene avidly, their eyes unblinking. “Whose side are you on?” Martin ground out hoarsely. The girl’s eyes flickered in his direction, but neither of them spoke. Were they just waiting to see who would win? “Calum—” he started.

  “Back off, Martin,” Calum warned, without taking his eyes off his adversary. “This isn’t a fight you can win. I can take her. She’s old.”

  “What the hell is going on here?” Martin felt hopelessly out of his depth. If Calum could change into a wildcat, then why didn’t he? Surely he could fight better that way? Was he embarrassed to do it in front of Martin? Or did he just want to retain the power of speech?

  “She wants you turned, Martin. Now that you know about us. She wants to bite you and make you one of us, so you’ll have a vested interest in keeping our secret.”

  “And… you don’t want that?”

  Calum’s face twisted. “Not everyone survives the infection, Martin.”

  Martin felt a sort of numbness sink through him, as if his mind and body refused to accept any more horror. Why isn’t the she-cat attacking? he wondered—and then ice-cold pain sliced into his shoulder. He let out a choked-off cry and turned to see the Goth girl stepping back from him, licking blood from her lips with a pointed tongue, her eyes now a luminous green with slits for pupils and her face no longer quite human.

  Fingers of ice were spreading through Martin’s body, as though his blood were becoming slowly crystalline. Calum was moving toward him in slow motion, his eyes open wide, and Martin tried to reach out to him, tried to speak, but the ice was at his throat, choking off all sound. Martin gave a silent scream as the chill spread farther, racing down his spine and up toward his eyes.