The cool night air does nothing to calm your nerves. Every so often you can hear it, but only barely - the rustling of leaves.. the snapping of a branch underfoot.. -bestial snarls-. You are being hunted. Not by wolves answering the call of the full moon that casts its eerie glow over all it surveys, or even a werewolf driven bloodthirsty by its lycanthropic curse, but something far more deadly. All will be well if you can only make it through the forest in due time.
Panic begins to set in as the stone path among the trees eventually fades to dirt, and then nothing. A short distance away, you spy a rotting wooden gate within a crumbling stone wall. This place will not keep you safe indefinitely, but the walls may buy you some time. Perhaps you can wait it out until morning, it’s worth a shot. Leaves crunch underfoot as you sprint full-tilt toward the gate with reckless abandon, nearly stumbling over fallen logs and stones. The ruined gate is heavy despite its dilapidation - as you collided with it, it opens only enough for you to squeeze through before pushing it back in place and barring it shut.
You find yourself in a small clearing - likely an old fortification of some kind. The ancient walls that surround you put you at ease, for a time. But -they- are already here. The agents of death are not bound by mortal laws. Kindred know where you will be before you do. The lamb stands nearly a foot above you in spite of her seemingly frail, lanky build. She strides slowly, gracefully throughout the clearing, never breaking eye contact.
That’s when you see the wolf.
Before you stands nine feet and eight hundred pounds of lavender fur and muscle, it- no. -She- is breathing heavily, her massive breasts heaving with the motion. She takes one step forward, the impact making the fat of her thighs and rump wobble, though even still you can see briefly see rippling muscle tensing underneath. Her footsteps shake the earth as she approaches, the sway of her wide hips oddly feminine. But there’s no aggression in the way she moves, she isn’t stalking her prey. As she draws closer, her breathing becomes heavier, more erratic. Her tongue lolls from her jaws, a strand of saliva dangling from her dark lips, what little expression can be seen through her mask softening as she sniffs the air voraciously.
"You cannot escape your heat, dear wolf, no more than this mortal could escape our hunt." The lamb speaks as she sits perched atop a nearby boulder, watching expressionlessly with those glowing eyes. She turns to stare at you again. "Do not disappoint her, and you may be spared this night."
The she-wolf turns and drops to all fours - raising her bushy tail and presenting her ample hindquarters to you. Such is her heat that steam begins to rise from her loins, a glistening sliver of pink flesh catching the light of the full moon. A pathetic whine turns to a bestial growl as she waits, anticipating your next move. The lamb speaks up again as you slowly discard your clothes. "It would be wise not to let her -take- what she wants. You may not survive it."
You waste no time.
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