Page 46 of Stolen By The Beast
In the afternoons, we would explore the wilderness together, our footsteps echoing through the forest as we discovered its hidden wonders.
Juniper’s curiosity was boundless, and I found myself seeing the world through her eyes, learning to appreciate the beauty of nature in a new light.
And then, in the evenings, when the sun dipped below the horizon, we would return to our shelter, sharing stories and laughter over the warmth of the hearth before giving in to our carnal cravings.
It never failed to surprise me how much I yearned for her touch, how much my saroque longed to be inside her small, wet heat.
Mating bonded us closer together, but sometimes, I was sad that our union would bear no fruit. To have a little one would open another door of bliss in my life.
But nothing made me sadder than the fact that Juniper’s kind was short-lived. She and I would grow old together, but her humanity came with an expiration date.
But that was a bridge I would cross when that day came.
For now, I vowed to cherish every moment with my mate, no matter how much—or often—she infuriated me. In truth, I was convinced Juniper did these things just to vex me.
But despite this, I was learning more about myself and feeling things I didn’t know I was capable of experiencing.
Juniper had taken it upon herself to teach me about these confusing emotions, but I was an eager student, ready to absorb every morsel of knowledge she offered.
I found myself fascinated by the depth and complexity of every feeling, each one a vibrant hue in the palette of human existence.
My mate patiently explained the subtleties of facial expressions and the multitude of meanings everything could have.
Like the tear—it meant so much more than sadness. It could be shed in anger or even profound happiness. Often, it seemed like human emotions were contradictory.
Sometimes, I shared glimpses of my past. Juniper listened with rapt attention as I recounted stories of my kind and the ancient rituals that had bound us to the land.
She was a keen listener, her eyes filled with empathy as she tried to comprehend the weight of my past. I told her tales of my childhood, those moments of innocence and wonder that had shaped me.
Our moments of vulnerability and intimacy were the threads that wove our bond ever tighter. As Juniper shared her fears and insecurities, I held her close, offering silent reassurance.
In those moments, I realized that vulnerability was not a weakness but a strength—a bridge that allowed us to connect on a profound level.
Juniper, too, had moments of revelation as she learned about my nature and history. She listened as I spoke of the darkness inside me, the hunger that lurked just beneath the surface. Her understanding grew, and she accepted the complexities of my existence without judgment.
Our bond had deepened with each passing day, forged in the crucible of our shared experiences. We had become kindred spirits.
Sometimes I worried about this idyllic time. Surely life couldn’t be this perfect—could it?
One evening, as we sat together, I noted something off about my tiny female. She bit her lip, but not productively as she normally did.
She seemed worried, and for whatever reason, this upset me. It was my job to keep Juniper safe and happy, and I felt like I was failing.
My mate was preparing dinner while I stretched a swath of animal hide out across the floor. It would make a good blanket on the nights that I went out to hunt.
I loathed to leave her behind, but usually returned before she even noticed my absence. While I worked, Juniper glanced over at me.
Her expression said she had something to tell me but was stewing over it. Since I knew she would get it out eventually, I patiently waited until Juniper was ready.
We ate dinner in silence, and I was surprised that she still hadn’t spoken. Whatever she was thinking about made her nervous.
She kept clicking the stick shaped into four points at the tip that she used to eat against the table I had built from a fallen tree trunk.
“What’s wrong?”
“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong—why would something be wrong?!” Juniper’s voice went up at the end, belying her nervousness.
“Little one,” I sighed. “Something is bothering you. What. Is. It?”
