Cursed

by Amanda Steiger

  He unbuttoned her blouse slowly, letting it fall open, revealing her round, full, soft breasts.

  The nipples were a rosy pink. He rubbed a thumb slowly around one, and then gently pinched it between a thumb and forefinger. A soft, gasping moan escaped her. Leaning down, he trailed kisses slowly down her neck, over the swell of her breast, down her heaving belly. Then, slowly, he began to undo the buttons of her jeans. He slid them down, freeing her long, slim legs, and dropped them to the floor. Lightly, he traced a circle on her pale thigh with one fingertip, marveling at the softness of her skin. It was like satin.

  Her panties were already wet, and clung to the contours of her sex. He touched one finger lightly to that tantalizing crease, then slid his hand beneath the elastic waist of her panties and pulled them down, exposing her. Rather than human hair, her mound was covered with a fine, velvety layer of silvery-white fur--a hint of her true nature, like her yellow eyes. Her outer lips were plump and moist with desire, like a ripe peach waiting to be eaten.

  Very lightly, he traced her warm, wet furrow with a fingertip, starting at the bottom and moving slowly up. He could see her tiny, pink clit poking out from beneath its hood. The pad of his finger brushed over it, and she moaned, soft and low in her throat, a deep, primal sound. He smiled. Exquisite, he thought, like a little bud of velvet. He wanted to take it into his mouth, to suck it and tease it with the tip of his tongue, but he knew that she was very sensitive. Too much stimulation could easily hurt her. Better to take this slowly, cautiously.

  With his thumbs, he parted the lips of her sex, exposing the delicate pink folds within. He stared into her, as if he could claim her with his eyes alone. His fingertip teased the silken opening to her sex, assuring him that she was wet and ready. Then he pressed inside.

  He felt her body moving, writhing against the sheets as he probed carefully within her, exploring the smooth, slick flesh, until his fingertip encountered a series of tiny ridges deep inside her. He pressed gently, and she let out a gasp. Her long, dark lashes fluttered.

  “Oh.” The word escaped her in a faint whisper.

  As his finger moved inside her, the pad of his thumb grazed the protruding nub of her clitoris, teasing it, caressing it. It had darkened from pink to a deep, rosy hue. He brushed it again, then covered it with his thumb and pressed lightly. At the same time, he brought his fingertip more firmly against that secret spot inside her, stimulating her two pleasure centers. Her breathing grew faster and harder. Her fingers dug into the sheets, clutching them tight as her body arched upward. The walls of her sex seemed to ripple and shudder, then clenched tight. Her body arched again, sharply, her back lifting off the bed, then she went limp, panting softly, her skin glistening with beads of sweat. Her eyes were unfocused, dreamy.

  He withdrew his fingers from her, licked them clean, tasting her hot essence. His own cock was hard and throbbing, straining against his trousers, but he did his best to ignore it.

  Without a word, he gathered her into his arms and kissed her parted lips.

  “Richard,” she whispered. “That was….”

  “I told you I was skilled,” he said, with a slight smile. “Did I lie?”

  “No,” she breathed, and smiled back.

  “I can do much better,” he said. “I will, one day, if you will allow me. I can use my powers to enhance the pleasure you feel.”

  He felt her tense slightly. She was nervous at the idea of allowing anyone else inside her mind, he knew. “I would not do it without your permission,” he assured her softly.

  “I know,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

  He held her close for a moment, and she didn’t pull away. She relaxed against him, slipping her slender arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest, accepting the warmth and closeness she had denied herself for so long. A soft sigh escaped from between her lips, and her eyes closed.

  His lips brushed her temple, her cheek. Her skin was so soft, so smooth. His hand slid down her back, over the curve of her bottom, her thigh. He had wanted to touch her like this for so long. He had dreamed, fantasized about it. His hands moved over her body possessively, almost greedily, memorizing every contour, yet at the same time, he felt strangely humbled that she would allow him to touch her in such intimate ways--this woman, so reluctant to let down her guard, to allow herself to feel, had given him access to the secrets of her body. His arms tightened slightly around her.

  She yawned. “I shouldn’t feel so drowsy,” she murmured. “I had a full night’s sleep. I….”

  She gasped suddenly. A shuddering spasm gripped her body.

  “Jessica, what’s wrong?”

  “It hurts,” she gasped. “The curse….” She clenched her jaws, eyes shut tight as another spasm shook her. Gasping, trembling, she twisted in his arms. Sweat beaded on her brow.

  Tears ran down her cheeks.

  He gripped her chin between a thumb and forefinger and lifted her face, looking into her pain-clouded amber eyes. “Let me take the pain from you,” he whispered.

  She managed a slight nod. A fresh tear spilled over her lashes, down her cheek.

  He entered her mind. There was a slight resistance, a push, but he slipped past it easily. He felt her pain, her fear, felt it as if it were his own. He had learned, through years of practice, to hold his own thoughts and feelings separate when he entered the mind of another. It could be a dangerous thing, submerging oneself in another person’s being, especially if their emotions were intense. He had to maintain a strong grip on his own identity. He held firmly to it now as he moved within her mind, like fog. Locating the pain centers of her brain, he switched them off, one by one.

  She went limp against him, breathing hard. Her eyes were dazed.

  Gently, he cupped her face with his hand, his thumb stroking her cheek. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.

  “I think so,” she whispered. She took a deep breath, as if gathering her strength. “What did you do?”

  “Simply dulled the pain,” he said. “It is not true healing, but it is the best I can do, for now.”

  “It’s amazing,” she murmured.

  “My powers can be useful things,” he agreed. He looked down at Jessica’s stomach, where blood had welled up from the pores. It ran down her skin in dark rivulets. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped the worst of it away. “Stay here,” he murmured.

  He left the room and returned shortly with a bowl of water and a cloth. Gently, he cleaned away the rest of the blood.

  Jessica lay in bed, her eyes half-closed. “I feel weak, Richard.”

  “Rest, then.” He smoothed her hair back from her forehead, buttoned up her shirt and tucked the covers around her. “You are safe here. Just rest.”

  Her eyelids flickered, struggling to stay open. With two fingers, he gently pulled them closed. “Sleep,” he said softly. “Release your worries. Release your thoughts. Let yourself be at peace. Sleep.” His voice had taken on a rhythmic quality, like a chant. He repeated the phrases into her ear, letting them wash over her mind, pulling her deeper into the realm of sleep, until her breathing and heartbeat slowed. When she seemed to be fully asleep, he looked briefly into her mind, checking her brainwaves, to be certain. Slowly, he stood.

  She would remain like this for the rest of the day, in a deep sleep, where the pain of the curse could not reach her. He had ensured it, slipping a subtle but powerful command into her subconscious as he spoke to her.

  It was a manipulation, he knew, a betrayal of her trust. But he needed her to sleep.

  Turning, Richard strode out of the room, down the hall. His footsteps echoed sharply.

  He had told her that they would face Victor together, but he knew he could not allow it.

  She was weak from the curse, and he knew that this particular curse also gave Victor a certain amount of control over her. Besides, it was his responsibility, his error. He had allowed that creature into his club, thinking, in his arrogance, that Victor could not poss
ibly outsmart him, could not be powerful or cunning enough to do any real harm. Yet Victor had fooled him. Richard had even scanned his mind that night to ensure that Victor had no plans to harm Jessica, but somehow, Victor had hidden his true thoughts. How had he become so strong?

  No matter. Richard would find him, bring him here and force him to undo the curse. And if he refused….

  Richard’s fingers twitched and curled into fists, his lips peeling back from sharp teeth.

  Victor would not refuse. Richard would not allow it.

  He flung the front doors open and stepped out into the daylight. A ripple of energy passed through his form as he shifted. His clothes dissolved into thin air. Muscles stretched, changing, as glossy, dark fur spread over his form. A long tail lashed. When the transformation was complete, an enormous tiger stood in front of Richard’s home, a tiger with mahogany fur so dark that the black stripes were almost invisible against it, a tiger with powerful, solid muscles and burning golden eyes.

  He bounded into the forest, paws propelling him forward, seeming to barely touch the ground as his long, sleek body cut through the dense vegetation like a knife. He cast his mind out like a net, searching. Almost at once, he located and recognized the patterns of Victor’s thoughts. A hazy picture swam into his mind--a woman, huddled at the foot of a tree, her blonde hair in disarray as she stared up with wide, terrified eyes. She brought one hand up, as if to shield herself. A shadow fell over her, a shadow with pointed ears.

  A growl rippled from Richard’s throat.

  Victor was in his feral form, and he was hunting. Hunting humans. Victor was becoming more and more like his mad brother every day.

  Richard bounded through the forest, silent as mist, despite his enormous size. He focused his power, and blackness surrounded him as he leapt into the Void. For a moment, there was a total blankness, an absence of all sensation. Then he rematerialized in another part of the forest. His paws touched the ground, and he was off running again. He knew he would be too late to stop Victor from killing the human woman, whoever she was, but he could make sure that the black fox never harmed anyone again.

  Victor’s heavy, rank smell reached Richard’s nose. He was close.

  Richard slowed down, creeping through the forest, head low, nostrils flaring. His lips wrinkled back from long, sharp teeth as Victor came into view. He stood in the clearing, a black fox, unnaturally large, bigger than most dogs, with thick, coarse fur and a long, narrow snout. He was eating something, smacking loudly, licking his lips. The salty, hot smell of human blood filled Richard’s nose. Victor was eating his victim.

  Deliberately, Richard allowed Victor to feel his presence, like a cold fog creeping over him. Victor shivered and raised his head, looking around uneasily. His eyes were yellow, and jagged teeth protruded from his upper lip. Froth and blood dripped from his mouth.

  “Who’s there?” he called out, his voice thick and distorted by a muzzle not made to pronounce the words. “Come out where I can see you.” He turned to face Richard, eyes narrowed.

  Richard leapt with deadly grace and speed. He swung one huge paw, knocking Victor’s head back, then pinned the fox to the ground with his greater weight, one paw pressed to his throat. Victor twisted and snapped beneath him, eyes bulging. Foam, tinted pink with blood, bubbled from the corners of his mouth. At last, having exhausted himself, Victor lay still, panting. He began to shift, fur receding, his body shrinking until a pale man lay at Richard’s feet, his face twisted with hatred. “What do you want, Richard?” he demanded.

  Richard shifted, as well. His clothes materialized around him. Over time, he had learned to absorb them into himself when he shifted to animal form, and to bring them back when he returned to his human shape. “I know what you did to Jessica,” he said coldly.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  With his power, Richard lashed into Victor’s mind. The man screamed and twisted, curling into a fetal ball. He swung wildly, and his sharp, ragged nails clawed Richard’s cheek, leaving bloody scratches. Richard gripped Victor’s throat. “I see the truth in your mind,” he said, his voice a low snarl. “Do you think you can hide it from me? You may have grown stronger, but your power will never be a match for mine. You’ve done a monstrous thing. You’re coming back with me, and you’re going to undo the curse.”

  Victor’s eyes narrowed. “She killed my brother.”

  “She was defending herself from a deranged lunatic.”

  “He wouldn’t have attacked her if she was minding her own business.”

  Richard’s grip tightened. Victor clawed at his hands, his face contorting in pain. “What are you talking about?” Richard asked, his voice low and dangerous.

  “Vincent was hunting,” Victor gasped out. “She tried to stand between him and his prey. She interfered where she had no right to!”

  “And what was his prey?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “Was he hunting humans?”

  “What if he was? They are nothing but vermin. They have always hated and feared our kind, always sought to destroy us. Yet our law protects them!” His eyes glowed with feverish rage. “It’s madness! We have every right to kill them!”

  Richard flung Victor through the air like a rag doll. His body struck a tree, and he slid down. He crouched on his hands and knees, teeth bared as Richard loomed over him.

  “You will come with me now,” said Richard, pouring every ounce of his power into the command. “I’m through wasting time with you. You will accompany me back to my home, and you will remove the curse on Jessica. After that, I will decide what is to be done with you.”

  For a moment, Victor’s eyes started to glaze over. Then he shook his head, hard. With a snarl, he flung himself at Richard. His fingers contorted and lengthened into long, sharp claws which raked at Richard’s chest and face, narrowly missing his eyes.

  The claw-cuts burned and stung, but Richard didn’t pull back. He wrapped his hands around Victor’s throat and began to squeeze. Victor let out a low, choking growl, glaring at Richard, his eyes ablaze with crazed fury.

  This was going to be more difficult than he’d thought. Victor was resisting his mind control, somehow--and Richard knew he couldn’t risk killing him. Victor was the only one who could undo the curse. He had to fight more carefully than he was accustomed to. If he’d wanted, he could have simply crushed Victor’s throat in his hands, but he dared not squeeze too hard. He applied a bit more pressure, trying to subdue the struggling man.

  At last, Victor’s thrashing grew weaker. He went limp in Richard’s hands, mouth open and gasping.

  Richard was breathing hard, his hair in disarray, sweat trickling down his neck and back.

  “You will accompany me back to my home,” he said again, his voice a low growl. “You will not fight me.” His power seeped into Victor’s foggy mind. For a moment, he began to struggle again, but then the power took effect, and the movement stopped. His eyes stared dully.

  Richard dropped him to the ground. Victor didn’t try to struggle or fight. He stood slowly, arms hanging at his sides, head lowered, breathing noisily through his mouth. His lank, greasy black hair hung around his face, hiding his eyes from view. His throat was red where Richard’s hands had squeezed.

  Richard began to walk, and Victor crept along in front of him, shoulders hunched and head low.

  Victor glared over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. They were still dull, but not entirely blank.

  “Why should you want to protect that murderous bitch, anyway?”

  Richard clenched one hand into a fist, nails biting into his palm. It took every ounce of his self-control not to snap Victor’s scrawny neck. He reminded himself firmly that Victor was necessary--for a little while longer, anyway. “Jessica is not a murderer,” he said, his voice low and steady. “She is a brave woman who risked her own life to protect an innocent. Unlike you and your brother, Jessica does not enjoy killing. She does it only when she needs to, and e
ven then, with great regret. You are not worthy to kiss her feet.”

  Grabbing Victor by the back of his neck, he hoisted him into the air. “Do you understand that?” he asked, staring hard into Victor’s yellow eyes.

  Victor twisted in Richard’s grip. Naked, pale and dirty, he reminded Richard of a snail pulled from its shell. His lips were flecked with foam and spittle, his eyes burning, and his teeth showed sharp and white. “You can force me to come with you,” he said, “but you can’t force me to undo the curse. I won’t.” His face twisted into an ugly grin. “Torture me, kill me if you like. I don’t care. My revenge is all I have left, and I won’t let you take it from me.”

  Richard felt a twinge of revulsion, and something else, something almost like pity. It was not something he wanted to feel toward Jessica’s attacker, but Victor was so eaten up by madness and obsession, there was almost nothing left of him. Whatever pity he felt, though, was swallowed up by a black cloud of rage. “Oh, you will undo the curse,” he said, his voice deceptively low and soft. “Make no mistake about it. I will not leave you any choice.”

  Victor’s eyes narrowed to slits. He hissed and lashed out, fingers curled like claws, nails growing into long, hooked talons. Richard jerked his head back to avoid the swipe. “Be still!” he snapped.

  “You’re too late,” said Victor.

  “What do you mean by that?” Richard demanded.

  In his mind, Richard heard a scream. It was a woman’s scream.

  It was Jessica’s.

  He felt her come suddenly awake. He felt the jolt of hot pain that tore through her body, her fear, her nausea. She cried out his name.

  “Jessica,” he whispered, and felt a pang of fear.

  Victor laughed, a cold, hard, ugly sound.

  Richard’s fingers tightened around his neck. Victor was doing this to her. Somehow, through the curse, he was connected to Jessica, had some sort of power over her. He was hurting her.

  Rage boiled up in Richard, hot and powerful, a rage unlike anything he’d ever felt. He raised one hand. The nail of his forefinger lengthened and sharpened into a bright, silvery talon. He pressed it against Victor’s cheek. “Stop,” he said through clenched teeth, “or I’ll cut you apart, one piece at a time.” Slowly, he drew the talon downward, leaving a bright line of blood.