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Forbidden Love

Chapter One

© Cederwyn Whitefurr

2nd May 2023

All Rights Reserved.

This Week's Writing Challenge: The hills held a deep, dark secret.

At least 1000 words, don't worry if you go over.

Tag all prompts with: WritingGroupChallenge.

Add all prompts to a separate folder.

Put the prompt description at the beginning of your story.

AUTHORS NOTES: This is...woo – it's going to be a -long- one, so, buckle up, its a hell of a ride :)

Ethan sat in the cramped airline seat, his eyes nervously twitching as he tried his best to remain calm and placid. He knew the tremendous strain hiding his true self was, As a pure-blood Therian Whitetail, it'd taken him much of his life to learn how to act natural, to blend in amongst humans and not do something that'd make them sense just how close the predator within him lurked.

Or as one of his herd mates said, jokingly one night.

“Don't do stupid deer shit!”

Thinking on that, on the dark plane, Ethan giggled, then slapped his hands to his mouth and muffled the giggles. He couldn't help it, he found it hilarious. After a few moments, his mind more comfortable; offered up a few more thoughts...

He'd never hurt a human – ever – yet it always lurked beneath the surface, eager, willing, hungry...

Stop yourself from thinking like that! Evan mentally chastised himself as he curled his toes again and again, trying to ease the abysmal cramps. Another six hours, at least, then from Edinburgh to the hunting lodge, urgh, at least another three or four hours on top of that...

Glancing out the window, he could only see darkness and the strobe of the port side wing navigation light that blinked with a bright red glow – reflecting in his eyes with each pulse.

Go to sleep... Ethan told himself mentally.

Telling oneself, and doing the thing – were two different things. He'd take four times a standard human dosage of sedatives before boarding, hoping it would put him into a deep, peaceful sleep for the long flight. He was wrong – at best, he felt slightly drowsy, inwardly cursing his Therian ancestry and their high tolerance to tranquilizers.

It was going to be a long, boring flight...

*

Finally, he dumped his suitcase on a queen-sized bed, unslinging his hunting rifle, safely in its padded bag, he placed it carefully on the bed. He'd expected grief and drama from customs, but when he said he was coming here to hunt, they'd perfunctorily examined his visa, passport, and his rifle. He'd bought some .303 caliber ammunition before leaving town – five boxes, which he felt was excessive, but it was a fair way back there...

Unzipping the bag, he slid the rifle out, triple-checking the bolt wasn't loaded into it, before he held it up and looked through the 3-9x40 scope with its crosshair.

“Won't know until I try it - “ Ethan muttered, then put it back in its padded bag and zipped it back up. “I'm here, that's all that matters, I got my hunting permit, and it...”

Looking at his watch, Ethan groaned. “It's 5:23 in the morning – so a day resting and I'll let off a few rounds this afternoon...”

Locking the door and pulling the curtains, Ethan moved his suitcase and rifle bag, placing them gently against the wall. He removed every piece of clothing he had, before convulsively shivering. Ethan shuddered, wagging his hands back and forth for a few moments, hyperventilating his lungs and flooding his body with oxygen.

“Alright...and...”

He dropped to his knees, gritting his teeth as his true form began to force its way out of his human form...it wasn't quick...it was painful...

*

Ethan moaned and whimpered, stretching his cramped cervine legs and flexing the ankles. Feeling every muscle in his body ache from the transformation, he lay sprawled on the rug, shuddering until he felt safe enough to stand up. Casting his wide vision gaze around the room, he nodded in satisfaction, before his cloven hooves clopped quietly across the room and he sprawled before the crackling fireplace. Instantly, he felt the fire work its magic, his straining, taut muscles slowly starting to loosen their grip. Tucking his leathery nose under a hind leg, Ethan flicked his black-tipped ears and finally, mercifully, lapsed into a deep, dreamless sleep.

*

When he woke, the fire was nothing but grey ashes, the lodge cold and almost icy. Trembling, he got to his hooves and peeked through the window at the first rays of the new dawn starting to crest the distant mountains.

“Damn it!” Ethan growled, slapping a hoof down on the hard floor with a loud clap.

He'd come to Scotland with one goal – to get himself a trophy buck, and already the sky was overcast, the leaves on the trees were turning gold and red...and he'd slept at least twenty-four hours of his two-week trip – away.

Again, he laid himself down on the rug, panting and shuddering as he once more took his human form. It hurt like hell, as it always did – and he was even longer before he arose, trembling with pain and the biting cold. Quickly, he dressed himself and added extra layers, before picking up his rifle and ammunition which he loaded into a lightweight backpack. Going through his preparations, he saw the lengthening shadows as the sun rose higher, and satisfied with his gear and self – he walked out of the lodge and locked the door behind him.

*

Every night for four nights, he slept in his feral form, nose under a hind leg, beneath pine trees or under fallen logs – anywhere that'd offer a modicum of protection and warmth. He never used fire as he didn't want to draw attention to himself.

On the sixth day, he finally finished stalking his quarry. A proud, majestic Red Deer grazed peacefully on the tundra, the twelve-tined antlers were graceful and majestic. Downwind, so as not to spook the deer, Ethan quietly raised his rifle and breathed out – squeezing the trigger. Just before he did, he felt the shale beneath him slip – and before his startled mind could comprehend – he was tumbling head over heels – his rifle knocked from his hands and he screamed in fear as more and more of the footing gave way beneath him. Tumbling faster, he was helpless to stop himself, fingernails torn away as he clutched helplessly at the rock – until he reached the bottom and consciousness fled as his head struck a granite stone...

To Be Continued...