a warm flush filled her chest. Right now, a gorgeous young man was sitting across from her, inside her barn, just the two of them. Biting her lip Annabel prayed that he might be the savage she had heard all skin changers were and take her right there. While unable to ask such a thing aloud, in her mind she began to picture him pinning her down, tearing the clothes from milky flesh. If he did, she hoped he’d start by taking her like a bitch in heat, then flip her every which way, and finally finishing on top staring at her with those big, possessing amber eyes.
“Where am I?” the Lycan asked, shattering the still silence.
“Y- You’re, uh, this is my barn. Well, Beatrice’s anyway.” Annabel responded struggling through her heated thoughts. Her gaze was now shifting from the lad’s eyes to his trim but defined, bronzed chest. From there, to his similarly muscled legs and then, to the hay covered space between them.
“Are you the girl from the field?” he continued. “My memories are a little clouded.”
“Uh, yes,” Annabel stammered trying to concentrate on the conversation rather than the growing sensation of carnality, which had gripped her mind. “I’m Annabel.”
“Annabel,” he said, with a nervous grin, still clearly unsure whether or not to trust her. His head then darted about the barn, taking in his surroundings.
“How did you come to be here?” she asked.
“I think…” the lad’s eyes shifted downward, moving in the way one does when they think with great effort. His voice rose and trailed off unevenly, indicating a lack of confidence in his recollection. “I think I left after you patched my wound. I tried to avoid the hunters, those bastards…I think I lost them as I ran, but…”
“You don’t remember?” Annabel inquired, keenly interested. She had always been told that skin changers were either completely in control of themselves after they turned or lost their minds to the bestial form they’d taken. Was he the latter type?
“I can’t…it’s difficult for me to recall what happens when I change. I’m still trying to control how I do it.” The youth’s eyes shifted down in embarrassment. Annabel thought it curious that his sense of shame came from opening up about his actions, not being stark naked in front of a total stranger.
“What’s your name?” Annabel asked, now squatting to appear less domineering.
“Eh, Dirk,” he replied coyly, still unsure of Annabel’s intentions, “Listen I’m sorry to have stayed in your barn, I’ll leave right- ah!” Dirk recoiled, shrieking and grabbing at the gash on his thigh, his leg continued to lightly shake in spasms of pain.
“You should stay here to heal,” Annabel insisted with a notable mix of true, genuine compassion as well as a mounting feeling of lust in her voice. “I’ll grab some bandages and clothes for you.”
With a motivated vigor, Annabel rushed from the barn to sneak away some wrapping cloth and an old tunic from the cottage. Beatrice was pacing through the cottage muttering to herself, fortunately, paying no mind to Annabel’s absence. Taking advantage of her neglect, Annabel stole from the kitchen a handful of dried venison and potatoes, also. Returning to the barn, she found Dirk where she had left him, still sitting semi-concealed in a stall of hay. After giving him the food she had acquired, she reluctantly gave him the tunic, stifling her desire to see him uncovered. Interestingly, he, like her, seemed to be embarrassed over his nudity despite his slender frame; Dirk had sat holding his arms around his chest in much the same way Annabel had done when feeling self-conscious about her own appearance.
She again examined his amber eyes. They were bright as day and possessed a shine, as if to suggest the vibrancy and honesty with which he lived life. Looking into these big pretty eyes, Annabel felt as if she could open up to Dirk about anything or anyway. It wasn’t just the urge to
“Where am I?” the Lycan asked, shattering the still silence.
“Y- You’re, uh, this is my barn. Well, Beatrice’s anyway.” Annabel responded struggling through her heated thoughts. Her gaze was now shifting from the lad’s eyes to his trim but defined, bronzed chest. From there, to his similarly muscled legs and then, to the hay covered space between them.
“Are you the girl from the field?” he continued. “My memories are a little clouded.”
“Uh, yes,” Annabel stammered trying to concentrate on the conversation rather than the growing sensation of carnality, which had gripped her mind. “I’m Annabel.”
“Annabel,” he said, with a nervous grin, still clearly unsure whether or not to trust her. His head then darted about the barn, taking in his surroundings.
“How did you come to be here?” she asked.
“I think…” the lad’s eyes shifted downward, moving in the way one does when they think with great effort. His voice rose and trailed off unevenly, indicating a lack of confidence in his recollection. “I think I left after you patched my wound. I tried to avoid the hunters, those bastards…I think I lost them as I ran, but…”
“You don’t remember?” Annabel inquired, keenly interested. She had always been told that skin changers were either completely in control of themselves after they turned or lost their minds to the bestial form they’d taken. Was he the latter type?
“I can’t…it’s difficult for me to recall what happens when I change. I’m still trying to control how I do it.” The youth’s eyes shifted down in embarrassment. Annabel thought it curious that his sense of shame came from opening up about his actions, not being stark naked in front of a total stranger.
“What’s your name?” Annabel asked, now squatting to appear less domineering.
“Eh, Dirk,” he replied coyly, still unsure of Annabel’s intentions, “Listen I’m sorry to have stayed in your barn, I’ll leave right- ah!” Dirk recoiled, shrieking and grabbing at the gash on his thigh, his leg continued to lightly shake in spasms of pain.
“You should stay here to heal,” Annabel insisted with a notable mix of true, genuine compassion as well as a mounting feeling of lust in her voice. “I’ll grab some bandages and clothes for you.”
With a motivated vigor, Annabel rushed from the barn to sneak away some wrapping cloth and an old tunic from the cottage. Beatrice was pacing through the cottage muttering to herself, fortunately, paying no mind to Annabel’s absence. Taking advantage of her neglect, Annabel stole from the kitchen a handful of dried venison and potatoes, also. Returning to the barn, she found Dirk where she had left him, still sitting semi-concealed in a stall of hay. After giving him the food she had acquired, she reluctantly gave him the tunic, stifling her desire to see him uncovered. Interestingly, he, like her, seemed to be embarrassed over his nudity despite his slender frame; Dirk had sat holding his arms around his chest in much the same way Annabel had done when feeling self-conscious about her own appearance.
She again examined his amber eyes. They were bright as day and possessed a shine, as if to suggest the vibrancy and honesty with which he lived life. Looking into these big pretty eyes, Annabel felt as if she could open up to Dirk about anything or anyway. It wasn’t just the urge to
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