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TEN

Solierre was touching the back of his jaw again.

He kept doing that, ever since he woke up, unable to believe what he remembered happening to him, sure that it all must have been some nightmare. If it was a nightmare, though, he hadn't woken up yet. The village was abustle with worried apprentices, work grinding to a halt from nearly every shop so that they could huddle together in one building or another and gossip in hushed tones about what was happening. No one was outside for more than a few seconds at a time, just long enough to get from one shop to another. All in Belleton was in disarray, an ominous hush broken only by the sound of a hammer and anvil from the smithy.

In the midst of all the whispered worries and speculation, Solierre baked. He was back in his shop, and back in his own clothes, a cream colored shirt under a blue, short sleeved tunic, loose around his skinny shoulders, but better fitting than anything Marcel could have loaned him. His tan trousers still rode up between his rear cheeks, but only a little, and they didn't feel like they were strangling his hips.

He moved about the bakery's kitchen as if it was just another day, feeling like his stomach was twisting in knots the entire time. He'd baked bread, and cookies, and chocolate pastries, and croissants, a full day's treats lining the shop's shelves only two hours after the tiger-striped rabbit had woken up. Marcel had urged him to rest, but Solierre couldn't lie still. When he stopped moving, he started thinking, remembering, and that was the last thing he wanted to do right then. So he lost himself in routine.

The bakery was situated on one side of the village's small town square, the main thoroughfare passing right outside the big windows. So as Solierre put his paw in the thick oven mitt to retrieve his second batch of chocolate cookies--anything but cinnamon--he had a clear and open view of Colem sprinting past his shop, running and panting raggedly as if his tail was on fire and he was heading for a water trough.

Solierre stared out the window for a few seconds, blinking. Then he was out the front door and running after the golden retriever, leaving the cookies behind to burn, oven mitt still on his paw.

Colem was headed toward the mage's study, and the village was small enough that he reached it in less than a minute, Solierre catching up a few seconds later. The study looked much like any other building in Belleton, only marked apart by a small placard beside the door with some arcane symbol scrawled in glittery yellow paint that nobody in the village knew how to interpret. Inside was another matter.

Solierre was almost hit by the door on the backswing, but he pushed his way inside after the retriever, his long ears twitching when the dog shouted, "Yatchel!"

There was a thump from the study's back room, then the sound of light hooves pattering over the wooden floor, and the curtain over the back room's door fluttered aside to let the goat step through. "Did it work?"

Colem ignored the question, pushing past the goat with an urgent, "That frost shard you stole from the Master's shelves, where is it?"

"I..." the goat began, but the canine cut him off.

"Get it. Now!" Yatchel barely glanced at Solierre as he hurried past, making his way up the study's narrow staircase to the bedrooms on the second floor while the sounds of Colem rooting around in the back room came from behind the doorway's curtain.

Solierre stood alone in the study uncertainly, his ears flicking from the clunks and scrapes of hasty rummaging coming from above and in front of him. He heard Colem muttering, "Oak and walnut, ash and elm... Where in blazes is the mahogany?"

Safe to say, whatever the dog had intended when he'd gone after Turick, it hadn't worked.

The rabbit realized his paw was reaching back to the sore bite mark on his butt cheek, and he hurriedly crossed his arms in front of himself instead, hugging over his chest and screwing his eyes shut. Then, gulping, he took a step toward the back room, but Colem was already striding back out from behind the curtain, holding a six-foot long staff of dark wood with a darkened bone ornament affixed to one end, like a claw made of horn. "Yatchel!" he shouted again. "The shard!" The dog finally noticed Solierre standing there, and as Yatchel's hooves began clomping swiftly back toward the stairs, Colem leaned in and grabbed the rabbit's shoulder in his free hand. "You can't be here, Sol. You don't want to be anywhere near me when--"

That's as far as he got before the study's front door was wrenched clamorously off its hinges and tossed out onto the dusty road outside. Solierre spun around in surprise, gasping soundlessly when what looked like a headless, black-scaled snake darted into the study and wrapped around his waist, all in the blink of an eye. It yanked him out of the building and into the air before he even got a proper look at it, and when he saw Turick standing there, hunched forward yet still even taller than Solierre remembered, the rabbit forgot about everything else, the scaled tentacle around his waist included. All thought fled to make way for blind panic.

"Sol..." Turick rumbled, and the tentacle brought the rabbit closer to the leopard's face. Other black tendrils were whipping into the shop behind the bunny, but he barely noticed them. He could smell that terribly alluring cinnamon scent in the air, the one spice he'd avoided using in all his baking that day. It made his breath catch in his throat. "You're alive." Turick's voice was a low purr of pleasure and approval. He nuzzled at Solierre's cheek, then rubbed the side of his much larger head against the bunny's in a feline display of affection. "You're still mine. You know that, don't you? You will always be mine, now." A predatory hiss came from one side, and Solierre jolted in fright when a huge snake's face loomed up next to him, the same color as those tentacles, with a yellow diamond pattern on the top of its head.

Turick frowned at the snake, then nodded, and for a wonder, the tendril around Solierre's waist lowered him gently to the ground. "I will remind you later. But this time, I didn't come for just you."

Solierre stepped back, trembling, too terrified even to run. His eyes darted of their own accord to the leopard's groin. They didn't have far to go; the feline's crotch was at the same height as Solierre's head, now. For a wonder, the big cat was fully sheathed, but the size of that sheath still sent a shiver down the rabbit's spine, to say nothing of the melon-sized balls jiggling underneath it.

Two scaled tentacles were inside the mage's study, and Solierre could hear a panicked bleat from inside the building. Turick could have squeezed inside if he wanted to--barely--but instead he simply used his tentacles to yank out the goat caught in their clutches. Yatchel squirmed and writhed, but he was bound up tight, one scaled coil wrapped around his upper body and pinning his arms to his sides, the other spiraling down around his shins and ankles.

"Yatchel," the leopard rumbled. "Did you have a hand in this?" He brought the goat up as close to his face as he had Solierre, glaring, but Colem's voice came from the study a moment later.

"Put him down, Turick. You came for me, remember?" The air distorted in front of the feline, growing sharply paler, and as Yatchel gasped, his tail tucking down with a sudden shiver, Turick roared, dropping the goat and staggering backward. The air warped around him again, and he cringed, snowflakes forming from the moisture in the air and drifting down to the frosted grass at his feet. Solierre could feel the chill from where he stood, and he took a step back with a shiver of his own.

Colem strode out from the mage's study holding the staff up in front of himself, a pale blue spark now glowing between the fingers of the bone claw affixed to the staff's end. "It would have been better if the fey had done its job. But this will have to suffice." He thrust the staff forward, and another burst of frost erupted around the snake-tailed leopard.

Turick tucked his arm over his chest as though pained, taking yet another step back as the serpent affixed to his backside let out a hissing shriek. Solierre's eyes went wide as Colem strode forward, pressing his advantage and continuing to drive the leopard back. When the rabbit squinted, he could see more snowflakes forming in a wavering beam between the staff and Turick's body.

The leopard snarled, glaring from under lowered eyebrows at Colem as the dog took another step forward. Turick planted his feet, and by his expression, Solierre knew the leopard wouldn't be backing up any further.

Colem! the rabbit mouthed, trying to shout a warning, but of course nothing but a gusty breath left him. The mage's apprentice strode on regardless, confident he had Turick right where he wanted him.

The leopard waited a moment longer, panting and hunkering low, his tentacles curling around his body protectively. He looked like he was wilting under all that icy magic, but in a single instant he suddenly bounded forward. There were a dozen meters or more between him and Colem, but he crossed it in the space of a heartbeat, and all four tentacles abruptly snapped out, whipping flat against the golden retriever's chest and sending him flying back against the study's front wall. Colem grunted in surprise, but he kept ahold of his staff, at first, at least. But then Turick was there in front of him, charging in, and his broad, snake-headed tail lanced in and butted its nose hard against the dog's wrist. Colem's fingers spasmed open, and the staff flew from his paw.

One of Turick's tentacles caught the staff before it tumbled out of reach, and a second wrapped around its other end. The tendrils flexed, and the staff broke in half as Colem watched, wide-eyed and horrified, a speck of light flickering and falling from between the curled horns at its end.

One of those same tentacles then curled around the canine's neck, and squeezed.

"No!" Yatchel rushed in from next to Solierre, and too late the rabbit reached out toward the goat to try to stop him, the bunny's short muzzle open again to cry out a warning that no one could hear.

Turick turned his head toward the goat, and another of the tendrils sprouting from his back whipped out and curled around Yatchel's waist, snatching the goat off the ground again, his last tentacle returning to Yatchel's ankles and twirling him upside down. The leopard held both mage apprentices in the air in front of him, Colem by the throat and under the arms, Yatchel by the belly and legs. The black serpent tail curve forward around the leopard's side, hissing at them.

"I've been granted a certain...clarity," Turick rumbled, ignoring their paws grasping and clawing at the tendrils, trying to pull themselves free. "I suppose I have you two to thank for that. The fey here has explained things to me. He told me what happened. What I am, now." He shook his head slowly, eyes narrowing in thought. "To think, I was ashamed of the things I had done. As if a lion should be ashamed to hunt an antelope. I have been made into something greater, do you understand?" He tilted his head, glanced toward the snake beside him, then snorted a quiet laugh. "Of course, you don't need to understand. You're merely the antelopes, after all. But still." He brought Yatchel closer, close enough for him to tuck his huge fingers under the waistband of the goat's trousers. Turick locked eyes with Colem past the upside-down goat's legs. "You're going to watch."

Then, with no visible effort at all, he ripped his arms to either side and tore Yatchel's pants down the middle. The tip of the tentacle around Yatchel's ankles flicked the legs of his trousers up and off him in a swift motion. The goat gasped, his butt and package bared and fully exposed with his shirt and tunic folded upside down over the tentacle wrapped around his waist. That tendril moved as soon as the other wound itself further around the goat's shins, unraveling and slipping down underneath the front of Yatchel's shirt. The goat grabbed at the bunched cloth over his chest, and when the tentacle jerked downward, he dipped in the air for a moment, clutching to the last of his clothing. Turick won out, though, and the goat's arms were jerked out straight under his head, his tunic and shirt tossed by the tentacle to one side before it coiled itself around him again, this time securing his arms up against his sides once more.

"I can control it now," Turick murmured, drawing Yatchel yet closer, until the goat had to turn his head to the side to keep his nose from getting smushed against the leopard's plump sheath. Instead the side of Yatchel's face pressed up against it, a curled horn squishing against the very top of Turick's ballsack. "It isn't easy. Especially doing something like this." While his left pair of tentacles held Colem horrified out to his side, one of the leopard's paws reached down to the goat's own balls, where they were bobbling in front of Yatchel's tucked together thighs. Turick's other paw grabbed the goat by the horn and forced Yatchel's muzzle to press against the front of the leopard's sheath, grinding against the folds that were hidden by his pale fluff. "But I'm not consumed by it now. Not now that I've accepted it."

Yatchel whimpered when the folds of that feline sheath parted and surrounded his snout, kissing softly up against the rest of his face. Solierre could only bring himself to slowly back away, remembering all too well when his own muzzle was grinding into the feline's sheath right before the rabbit had passed out, earlier that day.

"Take one last good look at those balls, Yatchel," Turick growled. "The next time you see them, you'll be inside them." Then he used his grip around the goat's horn to push the smaller male's face harder against his groin, the leopard's sheath squishing inward briefly before stretching over the sides of Yatchel's head. Turick didn't stop until his sheath was sealed around the goat's neck, the shape of those curved horns bulging out his sheath dramatically.

The leopard turned his gaze skyward with a low groan. "He's pushing it down, deeper," he breathed, then gasped, his oversized sack giving a visible twitch. "His nose just slipped inside. I have him, now." One paw squeezed around his bulging sheath while the other casually fondled the goat's package, coaxing Yatchel's length out of its wooly pouch. "And..." This time, Turick's entire scrotum surged upwards as his groin flexed, and a collar of smooth, pink flesh was abruptly visible at the front of his sheath around Yatchel's neck. "His head is in. Oh, those horns..."

Yatchel was thrashing, his body bucking and squirming in a mad panic, but Turick held the goat securely, his tentacles never losing their grip around the wooly form.

The other pair of tentacles shifted around Colem, snaring his arms down to his sides and curling around his ankles, then brought him in close enough to touch the goat if the dog's arms had been free. Turick let go of the goat's balls to wrap his arm around the canine's waist, holding Colem up against his side while his tentacles kept the dog from lashing out. "This is your doing, Colem. You know that, don't you?" The leopard closed his eyes and groaned, his member starting to creep out from his sheath as it stretched thicker, wider, contorting around the shapes of Yatchel's slender shoulders. "If not for you, I would have stayed in the woods. Everyone would have been safe. But you..." The leopard's reptilian tail curled around, the snake head flicking its tongue out right next to the ensnared canine's face. "You couldn't leave well enough alone. So watch." His two right tentacles tugged Yatchel deeper, the goat's horned face pressing down into Turick's left teste and stretching out the pale, musky fur while the leopard's shaft grew and gulped its way up to its meal's unclothed belly. "Watch Yatchel get swallowed down. Watch him be melted to nothing more than a load of feline cum. Because when he's done, you're next."

Colem didn't watch Yatchel. He was glaring up at the leopard's face. "The Turick I knew wouldn't have let himself be corrupted so completely."

The leopard raked his claws down Colem's back with a long, loud rip of tearing cloth, making the canine wince as his skin was scratched. "Not corrupted," Turick corrected. One of his left tentacles adjusted itself to tug the golden retriever's arms above his head, and Turick tore the dog's clothing free, first tossing the ruined shirt and tunic to the side, then grasping the side of the canine's trousers and ripping them off with a single, fierce tug. The leopard's free paw caressed up Yatchel's side to grope at the goat's round butt. "Stripped of my doubts. Thanks to you." He lowered his muzzle to press his nose between the naked dog's triangular ears, breathing the other's scent in deeply, all while his thumb idly tucked Yatchel's unsheathed penis down against the apprentice's belly just in time for it to get slurped into the leopard's tip along with the goat's hips and upper thighs. More of Yatchel's shoulders and chest were curling into the feline's nut by the second, and Turick wasn't even erect yet. "It won't be long n--"

Still backing away, Solierre heard something whistle above his head, and an arrow suddenly appeared in Turick's upper arm with a solid thunk. The monstrous leopard grunted and staggered to the side, away from the arrow's strike, all four of his tentacles flailing out and losing their grips as he plucked the arrow from his tricep. Colem tumbled to the ground, but Yatchel, unfortunately, was held secure where he was, his weight suddenly tugging downward at the cat's huge shaft, but not beyond parallel with the ground.

"Out of the way, Sol!" someone called out from behind the rabbit, and he darted to the side, finally wrenching his eyes away from Turick to see Jerard, the lynx fletcher's apprentice, taking aim again. Another arrow flew past, this one stabbing into Turick's chest, but barely deeper than the arrowhead.

The leopard roared in pain and snatched that arrow free, as well, only a few specks of red coming from the wounds. He threw the arrows to the ground and faced Jerard, head lowered with a fierce snarl, but the lynx wasn't alone. The blacksmith's and tanner's apprentices, Bjorn and Ellis, were striding past Jerard, a heavy smithy hammer in the musclebound bull's fist and a long, slender sword in the hawk's feathered fingers. Solierre had never seen the sword before. The smiths of Belleton only crafted horseshoes and farm equipment, never weapons, but he'd heard ringing at the forge since waking up outside the village. Evidently Bjorn had decided to try his hand at something new.

Turick stepped toward the three apprentices, his snarl turning into a grim smile. Behind him, Colem was on his hands and knees, scrabbling at the ground for the two halves of his staff. "Buy me time!" he shouted at the others, darting into the safety of his study with the two broken pieces of mahogany tucked under his naked arm.

"Oh, they will." Turick's paws held Yatchel's legs steady in front of him. Another arrow thumped into the front of his shoulder, aimed above and to the left of the goat's upended hooves, but this time the leopard barely paused to brush the arrow out of his pelt. "It will take a while to consume this many." His black-scaled serpent tail curled forward and locked eyes on Bjorn, its face right next to Turick's, and the snake matched the leopard's predatory grin.

Stepping past Solierre as the rabbit scurried out of the way, Turick tilted his head, a squelch coming from his crotch as more of Yatchel's legs disappeared. "So. Who will be first?"