“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 hair. Perhaps because she had named me, or perhaps because of an innate weakness on my part, my feelings for her grew, and took on a less predatory affect. Despite the profound sense of duty that bound me to her, I began to hope that she might no longer be aware of my presence, perhaps remembering me in later years as nothing more than a creature born of an overactive imagination. I wanted her to escape that which had tied her fate to mine and to lead a normal life. And yet I watched and waited.

Eventually she began to take lovers, one of whom was more determined than the rest. His ardor for Elizabeth he wore like a cloak, and she responded to his affections. I called him Romeo, as I detected an aura of tragedy about him. He was a handsome lad, and gained passage into her heart, and for a time I thought that she might escape me through him.

They made a happy couple, for a time, with impromptu dances down the twilit sidewalks of our town. Their impassioned lovemaking was full of energy and urgency. Romeo bought her records, and music began to drift from her bedroom at night. The night was less lonely with the music of lovers and their laughter and their sighs of sated desire.

Then Romeo was gone. I knew by her expression as she hurried past me one evening that a break had occurred and I tasted the bitterness that she felt. I would have reached out to console her, but I was made cowardly by my fear of her revulsion of me if I showed myself to her. She was close but not yet ready for that, I knew, and with shamed relief I kept to myself and listened to her soft sobs in the night. My heart broke to hear her despair.
 
I found that I could not tolerate witnessing her grief further and I retreated, far enough away from her that my sensitive ears could no longer hear her sorrow. Soon enough, I would find reason to curse my weakness.

The Other was there when I finally returned to her residence. He was clever, and hid his presence well. I noticed no sign of him at first, and even when I did sense an intruder I assumed it to be a passing mortal.

Finally, he made a mistake. A sudden shift in the wind and the shadows gave him away, and I got a clear scent. I saw his outline then, framed against a small grove of trees at the back of her lot. He was huge for our kind. I stared at him until it was obvious to him that he had been discovered.

“It is a nice night, is it not, grandfather?” his voice lilted through the air. There was no fear in that voice, only feigned camaraderie. His voice made my claws protract. I curled them into my palm.

“It was.” I said. I had no desire to banter with him. We both knew our ways, and when a fight is upon me I am always anxious to get it over with.

“Ah, are there no manners in you? No introductions even?” There was a challenge in his tone. He didn’t like to waste time with frivolous talk, either. I liked that.

“Here is my courtesy to you, brother,” I said. “Turn now and walk away and keep walking. This one is under my protection as well as my surveillance. You are not welcome here.”

In response, he slowly walked toward me. I watched carefully, trying to gauge the speed in him. His strength was obvious, from his shoulders through his chest and into his legs. Bile bit my tongue like the juice from an acidic fruit. I heard him sniff and then he chuckled softly to himself.

“She smells deliciously ripe, does she not, old sod?” His smile revealed white fangs in the moonlight, and I noted the pale yellow glimmer of his eyes.

“Come with me, stripling. I claim the privilege of the challenged. I would prefer we do this in private.” She slept, and I did not want her sleep disturbed by the yowling screams of two tom cats outside her door.

“Of course, grandfather. You did not have to cite the formality. You will find me very accommodating.” There was not a hint of fear about him. His tone was not bluster, but rather the arrogant confidence of youth.

I turned my back to him and moved toward the grove of trees behind Elizabeth’s house. A small field overgrown with wild flowers and tall grasses bordered the grove. It was here I led him.

When I stopped and turned he was on me. A loud roar came from him as his first blow landed squarely on my face, knocking me backwards and off balance. A second blow followed, cuffing the side of my face and sparking bright diamonds of light on the corners of my vision. The third and fourth were ripping strikes from his claws, which opened my face from jaw to brow, barely missing an eye.

Then he went for my throat, gashing the side of my neck as I twisted sharply away from him. I ducked under his arm and with a roar of my own, gashed him deeply from armpit to waist. Faster than I thought possible, his leg kicked out and swept my legs out from under me, sending me crashing heavily onto my back. In a heartbeat he was on me, one hand in the center of my chest holding me in place as his other slammed into my nose, flattening it. Warm liquid gushed into my mouth, and I spat it at him. He quickly moved to sit astride me but I threw my hips into the air, unseating him, and then we were both on our feet, circling each other.

He began to mouth an insult, but it was then that I charged him, slamming into him chest to chest. His arms reached out to encircle me, but my claws were at his throat. I raked at his windpipe with a howl and ripped at it with all the strength in me. He rasped once, and then I spun so that I was behind him, my arm around his neck, and I bent him backward, choking him. His back flexed, and we were motionless for several seconds, each testing the strength of the other.

I tightened my hold and when he tried to rip at my arm I kicked him behind his knee, buckling him back and toward the ground. As he fell, I shifted so that my weight slammed him hard against the ground. A low woof escaped his lungs. My arm continued to tighten around his throat. He grunted and tried to pull away, but I embraced him tightly, squeezing his air passage. Not a sound disturbed the night save that of our exertions. I stayed on him, pressing my advantage, until I felt his body begin to relax.

“Do you yield, cur? Nod your assent or I will send you to hell and damn the laws of preservation!” He contemplated his situation for a heartbeat and then I felt him nod underneath my forearm. I let him go immediately and stood over him. He exhaled a rasping cough, and fought to take a breath.

I turned and walked away from him. I had no interest in further conversation, nor did he.

I didn't quite make it to her door before the world spun dizzy around me. I knelt to the ground to get my bearings and saw her looking at me with horror out of her window. I awoke to find her kneeling over me, applying a wet cloth to my wounds. The moonlight shimmered through her blonde hair, creating a halo effect around her face. Her eyes had a liquid sheen to them.

“You are my ghost….you are Caliban.” she whispered, when she noticed that I was conscious. It was not a question, but an affirmation.

“Your servant, Milady”, I croaked, attempting to lighten the concern creasing her brow with a crooked smile. I must have looked fearsome, and she recoiled at the sound of my voice.

We studied each other for a time, with her continuing to dab at my wounds. My blood was on her hands, and had stained the sleeves of her night robe.

“You speak,” she finally said. “I always thought you could. I remember the sound of your voice from my dreams. I heard screams….”

“An intruder, and one who meant you great harm. You need not worry now.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. For years I had mulled over how she would react to my appearance when I would inevitably reveal myself to her. I am quite evenly feline and human. I have opposable thumbs, and my sexual characteristics are those of a male of your species. However, my vertical pupils are quite unnerving to mortals.

Mine are emerald green. And then there is my fur, and my claws. We are born with small vestigial tails, but it is our custom to remove these. They serve no useful purpose.

She was searching my eyes, as if trying to make sense of the beast before her. I saw the fear slowly flow out of her and in its stead I saw concern. She rested one hand on my shoulder, gently stroking my fur.

“I need to get compresses and apply pressure to these cuts,” she said. “Can you get up and come inside?”

I rose and allowed her to lean into me, partially supporting me, and we shuffled through her door. She led me to her bed and helped me as I lowered myself gingerly down onto the mattress.

For the next hour she tended to me. The wounds on my face and the gash on my throat required stitches to staunch the bleeding, and she used needle and thread on me while I remained motionless. Our eyes kept meeting, and each time I could not suppress a smile, which revealed my fangs, but she never shied away. She brought cups of warmed milk, and watched in fascination as my coarse tongue lapped at it.

When I was finished, she tentatively reached one hand behind my ear and gently scratched it. I lowered my head and felt at her fingertips’ caress.

“My poor beast,” she murmured.

I closed my eyes and purred as she stroked me. She cooed softly under her breath and I allowed sleep to take me. Sleep, and dreams.

# # #

My convalescence did not take long. Though my wounds were fearsome looking, they were not deep, and my kind heals quickly. At my request she made chicken and broth for me. Over the next week, she asked endless questions regarding me and my kind. Her eyes were wide with wonder as I told her of the history of the old world, its various creatures and kinds, and its magicks.

After a fortnight passed, she crept into bed with me after I had fallen into a deep sleep. I woke to find her small hand on the center of my chest, her head tucked into my shoulder. Her touch was comforting, and I watched her as she slept. In the morning, a chorus of birdsong woke her and she jumped slightly upon opening her eyes to find me watching her.

I told her the decision that I had reached while she slept. I had to leave her, and leave her for good. During the course of our talks, she had never inquired of the reason that I had to defend her from another of my kind, or why I had been a steadfast presence in her life since her early years. I knew she was curious, but I suspected she already knew the answer; that she was possibly one of the marked, and that my intentions were not pure.

She listened to me describe my leaving with eyes downcast. My words felt heavy and fell to the ground like leaden statues of tiny birds. Suddenly I was unsure of myself and everything about myself. I had a mission, an undeniable task, to accomplish, and I was now going to turn my back to it.

Little was said between us for the rest of that day. As evening approached I told her I needed to walk about to gauge my recovery from the wounds. She merely nodded. The moon was full and light clouds scudded across the surface of it. I thought of where I would go when I left. I donned my old cloak and gathered my meager belongings and returned to say farewell to Elizabeth.

She was wearing a sheer black negligee when I walked into her house. Underneath, her full breasts rose and fell, her nipples pointing slightly upward. Her eyes had a shine and the corners of her lips were upturned in greeting. She would soon be rid of me, rid of my nagging presence, I thought. She should be pleased.

She walked over to the bed and lay down, patting the space beside her. “Come and rest tonight, Caliban. I’d have one more night with my guardian ghost….”

The fur on the nape of my neck rose, as it does when I sense danger or a trap. I looked at the sway of her fulsome breasts and ignored my sense of dread. Truth be told, I felt my pulse quicken in anticipation.

When I lowered myself beside her, she took my arm and hugged herself tight against it. I felt her breasts press against me and looked into her face, upturned to mine. Her azure eyes had a quality to them I had not seen in them before; hunger.

She moved her hand onto my chest and rubbed it lightly in a circle around my torso, continuing to look into my eyes. Her fingers played with my fur, pulling it lightly and then continuing to stroke it.

I lay motionless, letting her eyes swallow me into them.

Her hand moved lower, to my stomach. She briefly broke her gaze and looked down, past her hand. As if bidden, my cockhead emerged from its sheath and the purplish bulb peeked out.

My breathing grew heavy and harried. I smelled her scent, the aroma of a stimulated female, assaulting my nostrils. The smell of her triggered an ancient impulse and all thought of leaving her vanished. A stronger urge was upon me.

My penis steadily elevated outward and upward from my body. I shifted my hips upward, just as she lowered her tiny hand and encircled the head of it. She made a small whimpering sound. Something broke loose inside my chest and a low growl of warning escaped me, directed at her. She ignored me and lightly ran her fingers down the entire length of my shaft, then farther down still, until she cupped my testicles in her hand and weighed them in her palm.

She looked me in the face and saw a scowl. My mouth was open, fangs bared at her, my breathing rapid. She ignored my grimace and looked into my eyes again. In her eyes I saw only desire. Then she moved her face close to mine and licked my cheek, tracing the recent wound on my face with her tongue. I leaned into her, and then she was kissing the side of my mouth. My hand found her breast and I squeezed it, hard, eliciting a moan from her. She squeezed my penis and pumped it once, twice, three times. My mouth opened and her tongue entered, searching out my tongue, and she hungrily suctioned it between her lips.

Whatever veneer of civilization I had left vanished with her kiss. I grabbed the back of her head and crushed her mouth into mine. I forced her back and prone on the bed and my mouth and tongue invaded her mouth and hungrily sucked at her tongue. My blood surged into my cock shaft and it grew hard and hot and demanding. Her hand grasped at it as if she were claiming it as her own.

I ripped at her negligee and shredded it, and she whimpered as we pulled the tattered fragments off her body. My mouth moved from her mouth onto her neck and I felt her strong carotid pulse under my tongue. I fought back an instinctual urge to bite. My tongue rasped against her tender skin, and I licked her from throat to ear and across her face. She tried to maneuver her mouth to mine again and I growled and held her in place on the bed. She was my prey and I would have her in my own fashion.

My mouth went down and I licked one nipple roughly, pressing my face into her breast, mashing it into her chest. Then the other, as my free hand fondled her other breast, alternately squeezing and stroking it. Her hands were around my head, holding on. I adored her and worshiped her and ravaged her all at once. Her hips were writhing underneath me and her legs locked around mine, opening herself to me. The length of my cock was pressed against her vulva and I felt her wet heat.

She tried to maneuver under me to fuck me but again I growled and denied her. I kneeled between her legs and rose and looked at her face. She was flushed red on her cheeks and chest and her eyes were lidded, her mouth open and gasping.

“Please...” she pleaded.

I stood and placed each of her legs over my shoulders. I lifted her ass up and off the bed and she spread her legs wider for me. I lowered my mouth to her pubis and lapped at her engorged labia, tasting her and inhaling her aroma. Her hips wiggled under my assault as I maintained my grip on her, alternating between sucking her labial folds into my mouth and lapping at them. I plunged my tongue into the warm depth of her and a scream from her filled the room. Her lower body twisted against my mouth, aching to be eaten. I obliged her, and my rough tongue probed her honeyed walls, my nostrils flaring from the smell of her. I felt my blood rise within me, and my assault on her grew rougher as I lapped and licked at her. She clawed at my shoulders and arms, moaning against my fevered mouth as I ravished her pussy. As my intensity grew I could sense her orgasm building within her.

She came and her wails pierced the night. She clutched at me, pulling me against her vagina, with a strength that belied her size. Her fluids were nectar on my tongue. I let her orgasm run its course as my tongue rasped against her.

“Oh my God…please...fuck me... fuck me now!” she whispered, catching her breath.

I moved up on top of her, guiding my hard cock to her delta and without ceremony slowly pushed myself into her yielding pussy. The feel of her sent delicious bolts of pleasure through my entire being. My cock slid all the way into her and I held it still, inside her, savoring the feel of her on my shaft.

She bucked her hips upward and down, moving like a lioness in heat. Sweat poured from her and her face and chest were splotched with crimson. Her legs went straight up in the air, in the lustful “V” of the joyously copulating female. Grunts of physical exertion filled the air as we moved together, finding the stroking motion that suited each of us. I licked at the side of her face with my tongue, lapping away her sweat. Her breasts shook with each thrust of my cock.

“Oh, fuck!” she screamed, as another orgasm shot through her body. My hips drove into her with all the strength I had within me. Blood seeped from several of my wounds and mixed with her sweat, soaking into her sheets. We were oblivious to everything except our frantic and impassioned coupling. Mixed cries of pleasure and lust were offered to the night.

I felt the violence of my spasm build and it hit me fast and hard and I held her as my seed inundated her womb. Again and again I thrust violently into her, emptying myself into her warm and welcoming softness. She sobbed into my shoulder at the sensations that overwhelmed her. I collapsed on top of her, a furred heap of spent passion. Minutes passed and our breathing slowly returned to normal. My cock remained inside her, partly tumescent.

Eventually she regained composure and noted the blood from my wounds. Pushing me off her she scrambled to get me cleaned up and to rework her patchwork stitches. I said not a word, merely watched her in her ministrations.

I would not be leaving Elizabeth, not now, not ever. My duty had been done, and the seed planted, and now I would wait and see if it took hold. Her lineage was an ancient one too, and one of the few that was capable of bearing our cursed strain. If she were indeed fertile, as I suspected, we will travel together to a remote place that serves as a refuge to my kind, and raise our family in peace. Such is the way of it.