Hunted

Short, sharp gothic horror

A short, sharp dip into supernatural horror. Is he hunting her or she him?

He is big and brawny, a hulk of a man, but there are no sparks firing in his mind, no light in his eyes, he is driven only by base instincts: he does another’s bidding. Deep in some crevice in that simple brain he is sure he has captured a witch.

He is wrong. How could one so simple outwit a being with my powers? And I am no witch: my kind only comes when we have a need, a want - when we need to feed.

Feigning unconsciousness and draped over his shoulder, I am carried across the protected threshold. A feast awaits me in the fortress. I allow him to lug me into a cell. He dumps me down on the cold stone floor like a slab of meat. My clothing crumples in disarray, revealing the delights beneath. I can see his lust rising.

“Please, no,” I like to play the innocent.

“Witch,” he grunts as he secures my wrists and ankles with manacles chained to the wall.

“No, sir, you are mistaken.”

“Then you will prove that at your trial. The magistrate will be here in a week.” He leers at me. “Until then, enjoy your new quarters.”

I will, for when the week is up, there will be none left to greet the magistrate.

He stomps out of the chamber, leaving me in the darkness where I thrive. His restraints are no hindrance to me. They merely serve to increase my lust as I twist against them. Locks fly open and links unwind at my command. He does not know the incantations that would hold me, or which of his bodily fluids applied to the metal would have welded it together and held me for longer.

Now I am free. Gone are the drab, innocent clothes of my bait. Shall I dress myself in seductive clothes or simply appear as a naked female, ready, eager to do anything to secure her release? I lay back as if weakened by the abandonment of hope. A dark mist swirls around me, coalesces, covers my body as if it were a lace shawl. Now I am ready, my musk fills the chamber.

He is back, drawn to me by my scent. Confused, he sees me lying shrouded and pulls back the covers to reveal my nakedness. He pauses, his sword raised to strike, but his lust is overwhelming him. I grab at the blade. The sharpened steel cannot harm me when I weave my spells. He releases his grip and I take it from him. It is another weapon that I want him to impale me with.

I push against him and feel it rising. What he lacks in wits he makes up for in swelling flesh. As he fills me, his essence pouring into me, I reach for his other weapon. Still writhing on him I press its tip to his body. He offers no resistance until too late. I strike.

I have grown strong from his energy. Now I will suckle on his blood. The cell door is ajar, I can hear the sounds of merriment from above. I will move stealthily, keeping to the shadows, plucking each ripe fruit and gorging on it, leaving the others unaware, ready for the harvest.

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