1. Beast


    Date: 8/11/2015, Categories: Fantasy & Sci-Fi, Author: billybroadband, Rating: 13, Source: LushStories

    “Darkness is its own kingdom, It moves to its own laws, And many living things dwell in it.” -Patricia McKillip My kind is startling to humans when we are accidentally glimpsed, cloaked in night’s dark mystery. We are a unique type of were-folk, with an appearance more feline than wolfen, and of course werewolves are far more prevalent in your mythologies. We learned long ago to avoid contact with humans whenever possible and as a result there are few references to us in your histories. Created by a shaman’s curse directed at an ancient royal family in Persia, we have never been numerous, and our numbers have dwindled over time. This is part of my story. # # # I could have abandoned my vigil on the girl at any time, of course. I could have chosen another, even one from the same lineage, but I chose her. I stayed, frankly, because I had a duty to attend, and because she had a vulnerable beauty that drew me to her. She was a young lady when I found her, with a demure yet rebellious manner and a clumsy charm. Her eyes were azure blue with a slight sadness to them. I followed as she moved from place to place as she aged, always in the shadows. She developed fine features and full lips, with a perennial pout to them. Her shanks broadened and her breasts grew fulsome and firm. Over time, as she grew into a young woman of quiet confidence, she became aware that she was being watched. Perhaps it was that sense that informs the prey of the nearness of a predator, an intuition that ...
    evolves into awareness. Whatever it was, she gradually came to believe the nagging whisper that told her she was not alone in the night. I felt within her a nascent empathetic talent. I was taken aback the first time I sensed a curious inquiry from her ectoplasmic self to mine, for I was adept at cloaking. Her psychic overture was rather charming in its bluntness, confirming that I was indeed known to her, and no longer just a preternatural shade. Against all good judgment, I developed the habit of getting physically near to her on certain nights, usually those with no moonlight present. For one with my talents, it was a simple matter to locate myself at the foot of her bed, watching her chest rise and fall with her breathing. I told myself I was guarding her, but the truth is I found comfort within her room, a respite from my long loneliness, and I could easily disappear were she to waken. “Caliban,” she whispered suddenly one night, as I lay curled at the foot of her bed, her toes almost touching me in the darkness. The single word was offered up on a soft sigh of breath. Her voice made music of the sound of my name. I was mildly surprised to hear it from her lips, but I suspected that she had acquired it in my meanderings through her dreams. An empath’s dreams are like a library, full of knowledge that is unknown and unattainable to normal folk. She was called Elizabeth, after a favored grandmother, a classic name that matched the bright beauty of her blue eyes and blonde ...
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