The Beast in the Forbidden Woods Caught Me, and I Begged Him Not to Let Me Go

“Fuck Kaelen and his smug little face.”

Chrissy whispered the curse into the oppressive quiet of the Gloomwood, the words swallowed by the damp, heavy air. The dare had sounded so simple back in the sun-dappled glade, fueled by honeyed wine and the competitive spirit of her kin. “A shadow-moss stone from the Gloomwood, Chrissy. Bring one back and you’ll be a legend.” A legend. All she wanted was to wipe that superior smirk off Kaelen’s face. Now, the reality of it settled deep in her gut, a cold knot of fear tangled with the hot thrill of defiance.

The moment she’d crossed the unseen boundary, the world had changed. The air, once light and scented with honeysuckle, turned thick with the smell of wet earth, rot, and something else—something musky and animal. The trees here were ancient and malevolent, their branches clawing at the sky, their gnarled roots like the knuckles of buried giants. Patches of sickly, phosphorescent fungi cast an ugly green light on the forest floor, illuminating things better left in darkness. Nothing like the gentle glow of the moonpetals back home.

Her wings, a brilliant shimmer of amethyst and emerald, felt obscene in this place. They were a beacon, a fucking lantern announcing her presence to whatever lurked in the perpetual twilight. With every beat, they scattered tiny motes of light that died instantly in the gloom. She forced them to a slower, quieter rhythm, tucking them as close to her back as she could, but it was useless. She was a splash of vibrant life in a world of shadow and decay, and she felt the weight of unseen eyes on her.

The pact was as old as the oldest trees. Fairies did not enter the Gloomwood. Beasts did not stray into the sunlit meadows. An ancient war, a bitter truce, a line drawn in blood and magic. To cross it was to invite a swift, brutal death. A shiver, not entirely of fear, traced its way down her spine. The thought of those beasts—massive, furred, horned creatures of legend—sent a tremor through her. They were spoken of in hushed, terrified tones, tales of their raw strength and savage appetites used to frighten fairy children.

Chrissy pushed deeper, her bare feet sinking into the damp moss. She was small, fast. She just needed to find the stone and get out. The shadow-moss grew only in the deepest parts of the forest, on rocks that never saw the sun. It was said to feel like cool velvet and absorb all light, a perfect little piece of night. A worthy prize. The thrill of the hunt, of the pure, unadulterated wrongness of being here, pulsed in her blood. It was a dangerous kind of excitement, the kind that sharpened all her senses and made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end. Every snapped twig, every rustle of leaves, could be one of them. And a part of her, the reckless, stupid part she loved most, almost hoped it would be.

A low rumble, steady and deep, vibrated through the soles of her feet. It wasn't a growl, not yet. It was the sound of rushing water. Curiosity, a far more powerful motivator than fear, pulled her forward. She flitted between the dark, dripping trunks of trees, following the sound until the oppressive woods opened into a hidden clearing.

It was a grotto, carved out of the black rock by centuries of flowing water. A waterfall cascaded from an overhang, crashing into a deep, clear pool below, its surface churning with white foam. And standing directly under the torrent, his back to her, was a beast.

Chrissy froze mid-air, her wings stalling. All the stories, all the warnings, coalesced into the reality before her. He was immense. A thick coat of midnight-black fur covered his broad shoulders and powerful back, slicked down by the water. The muscles beneath shifted and bunched as he moved, solid plates of raw strength. A pair of thick, wickedly curved horns, like polished obsidian, grew from his head, disappearing into the dark mass of his wet hair. He was washing himself, his large, clawed hands scrubbing at his furred chest and arms with an unhurried, almost casual grace that was utterly at odds with the terrifying image she’d held in her mind.

He turned slightly to rinse his shoulder, and her breath caught in her throat. The fur thinned across his abdomen, revealing tight, ridged muscle over dark skin. It trailed down past his navel into a thick, coarse patch between his powerful thighs. And hanging there, heavy and utterly male, was his cock. It was thick, semi-flaccid in the cold water, a formidable length of dark, veined flesh resting against a heavy sac. He was completely, devastatingly naked. A wave of heat, sharp and unwelcome, shot through her, pooling low in her belly. It was a shocking, visceral reaction, a betrayal by her own body.

As if he’d felt the shift in the air, the sudden spike of her heat, his head snapped up. His movements were impossibly fast for a creature his size. He turned fully, and his eyes—not the glowing red embers of the legends, but a deep, intelligent gold—locked directly onto her. A low growl rumbled deep in his chest, a vibration she felt in her own bones even from across the pool. Water dripped from the sharp line of his jaw and the tip of his powerful cock. He didn't lunge. He didn't roar. He just watched her, this tiny, shimmering thing that had trespassed into his sanctuary. The growl subsided, but the tension remained, a thick, palpable thing. His golden eyes narrowed, not with rage, but with an intense, burning curiosity that was somehow more unnerving, and infinitely more dangerous.

Any sensible creature would have fled. A terrified scream, a panicked flutter of wings, and a desperate flight back through the menacing trees. But Chrissy was not sensible. The knot of fear in her stomach was still there, but it was now tangled with a sharp, exhilarating pulse of arousal. His eyes held her, but her own gaze broke away, tracing a bold path down his body. Over the hard ridges of his stomach, past the dark line of fur, and settling once more on the thick, heavy cock and balls resting between his thighs. It was obscene. It was magnificent.

A slow, wicked smile spread across her lips. Her voice, when it came out, was a clear, chiming sound that cut through the grotto’s low rumble. “My, my. For a big, scary beast, you’re awfully easy to sneak up on.” She let her eyes drift pointedly down to his groin. “Caught you with your defenses… lowered.”

The beast’s jaw tightened. The muscles in his neck and shoulders corded, and for a terrifying second, she thought he would lunge. A deeper growl started in his chest, a primal sound of warning. But he didn't move. He simply stood there, water sluicing over his massive frame, his golden eyes burning into her with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. She watched, mesmerized, as his cock gave a slow, thick twitch, the head darkening and swelling slightly in response to her brazen stare. He was reacting to her. The knowledge was a jolt of pure, intoxicating power.

She hovered just out of reach, her wings beating a steady, defiant rhythm. The air between them was electric, thick with unspoken things. He was the predator, she the prey. The sheer difference in their size was ludicrous. One swipe of his clawed hand and she would be nothing but a smear of dust and light. Yet, she held his gaze, refusing to be the first to look away. He was assessing her, the ancient hatred for her kind warring with a raw, masculine curiosity that was plain to see in the hardening flesh between his legs.

He took a single, deliberate step out of the direct cascade of the waterfall, planting his feet on the slick rock of the pool’s edge. The movement was fluid, powerful, a display of restrained strength that made her clit throb. Water streamed from his dark fur, pooling at his feet. His cock was no longer semi-flaccid; it was stirring to life, thickening, lengthening, rising against his belly. He was hard. For her. The sight sent a fresh wave of heat through her, so intense it made her gasp. She could feel the slick wetness gathering between her own legs, a shameless, traitorous response to the enemy of her people. The dare, the stone, Kaelen’s stupid face—it all evaporated, leaving only this. This raw, impossible tension in a hidden grotto, with a naked beast whose body was telling a very different story than the low growl still vibrating in his chest.