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Natural Order

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When Rina climbed on top of Heather, pinned him down and tried to forcefully mate with him, what other choice did he have but to kill and eat her. He couldn’t have cared less about his family lineage being literally, viciously, destroyed. He wasn’t going to get his older sister pregnant, whether she wanted him to or not. Just because she cared about the bloodline and the wishes of their dead parents, didn’t mean he had to...or that was Heather’s way of seeing it.

But the den was now all his and he was a lone-wolf (so to speak) in a hole in a mountain...probably for the first time ever. With no family left to protect, provide for or look out for, there was a silence he was unaccustomed to. He liked it. He felt like he could finally hear himself think.

He wasn’t worried about his lack of grief or despair regarding Rina. His conversations with the crackling fire on the summer nights were more colorful than any he had ever had with his late sister. He took pleasure in doing whatever he wanted without her aimless babying and agonizing preparation for a family that would now never be. And her dead body was enough to keep his stomach full for a plentiful week.

But the leaves on the trees had already begun to change color, being Heather’s early warning sign for mating season. Other females were not exempt from his wrath that would ensue if they came on to him. And once they got wind of Rina’s death, they would be clawing at him to get a chance of their offspring receiving the Killite gene. But that wasn’t going to happen. The leaves would be red, not from autumn itself, but the blood Heather would surely spill this year.

He hated the females of his kind. He hated how they pinned him. How they stalked him. How they tried to seduce him, their efforts so desperate and fruitless. ‘Disgusting.’ Their whoring was enough to make Heather lose his appetite, which was no easy thing to do.

So while countless males were preparing themselves to reproduce, living to pass on their seed, Heather pursued his passion. The hunt. Because that is what he lived for. For the look of pain and terror and helplessness of the poor creature who would be his prey, and the taste of their warm lifeblood in his mouth as their precious insides slid down his gullet, or the crunch of their bones shattering in his jaws while they screamed in agony. Naturally, mating season was the best time, with all of those young, tender little morsels running around in search of a partner, all ripe and plump and well-fed for the taking.

His stomach would growl, heart fluttering when he thought about the small human village just at the bottom of his mountain and how they bred like rabbits.

In his spare time, Heather would watch them behave, interact and live, from the comfort of the pine trees where none could detect him. Humans were the ultimate delicacy and one he would seldom partake in in fear of eating them into local extinction. It was fun to try and restrain every urge he had to leap down and corner a human, only for it to flee deeper into the forest in stupid fright as he would chase it down, until finally, he would snatch one of those juicy, savory, fragile little treats in his jaws and eat. The meat practically melted in his mouth. Even just seeing one was enough to whet his appetite.

There was something else though, when he looked at the humans - some of them. A feeling he was still reluctant to acknowledge, much less accept. When he admired the gracefulness, the warmth in the cheeks, their petiteness compared to him, he would feel a kind of attraction stir within him. A sexual one. There were rumors passing through the higher links of the food chain that humans were an absolute delight to mate with. And maybe there was something inherently intimate about the way he indulged in the prey to influence him in such a manner as to be physically attracted to them. Though, it was a fleeting thought - skittish enough to scurry back within the depths of Heather’s dunce mind upon the slightest acknowledgement, like a field mouse.

On a day in which the colder breeze of winter teased the forest’s inhabitants, Heather found himself being a creep, as per-usual, perched on a tree limb overlooking his future meal: an elf, male, snacking on some berries. His scent wafted all the way up into the bows of the pine to reach Heather’s senses and he inhaled a familiar light, meaty sweetness. His mouth watered with anticipation while he tried to remain absolutely still to avoid detection and losing his lunch, as well as a good time.

The elf was oblivious to the foreboding threat stalking him, obviously, too engrossed in the task of greedily plucking the berries off a blueberry bush, swatting at mosquitoes and flies as he did so. He had been stupid enough to not frequently check his surroundings for predators and thus, would then pay the price of his carelessness.

When the time came - and it did - Heather landed right behind the elf, leaves tarring, twigs snapping and crunching from his fall. Startled, the creature turned, only for his eyes to widen, pupils dilating with terror while his face turned to a ghostly white. Heather licked his lips, as seeing such horror in itself was delicious. The way he just froze in fear made him chuckle softly.

“What’s wrong?” Heather got down on all fours, putting himself in attack position, just in case the little morsel changed his mind and decided to run. “Sorry, did I scare ya?” He teased.

The elf shuttered, and just as Heather suspected, turned to bolt upon coming to his senses. It was now, officially, food, and nothing would change that. An instinctual switch was flipped, sending the predator pouncing onto the elf, trapping him under his claws. He watched the poor thing struggle for a time, though is frail body was no match for Heather’s strength and size, making for a pathetically entertaining display.

“Pa-please,” The creature squeaked. “I’m sorry if I trespassed -”

“Nah, that’s not why I gotcha. This ain’t punishment for nothin’,” Heather replied, leaning in closer to sniff at the small male’s chin, following it up to caress his jawline with the slow flick of his long tongue. He was sweet, as elves always were. Not as meaty as humans though. Tasty nonetheless.

In his panic, the elf ignored his captor’s answer and continued his sorry excuse. “I was just…” He gave a gulp as if he was trying to swallow his fear. “I was just hungry.”

“What a coincidence.” The beast ran the tip of his clawed-finger ever so gently down the cheek of his prey, damp and red with tears already, feeling how soft and warm it was. “So am I.”

He shuddered and resumed his helpless struggling, as if it would aid him at all. Heather only pushed down harder, beckoning to crush his ribcage with any more pressure.

“No! No! Please no!”

He stopped. “My mistake.” A spark of pure cruelty prompted him to make a rather ‘generous’ offer on his part. “Ya want me to use claws or teeth?” Thus, he flashed his jagged smile, worthy of ripping muscles from bones. His mouth could easily fit around the elf’s head and decapitate him in a second. And his claws could pin-point the exact location of his heart as it rapidly beat in his head from above, and skewer it. But both of those outcomes seemed equally boring to Heather - too quick and easy- and something he reserved for only particularly annoying prey.

Realizing just how fixated Heather was on devouring him, the elf took a chance, crying out pleas of help to unrecognizable names.

He shoved his fingers into the herbivore’s mouth, tugging his jaw open and down. “Shut the fuck up.” He hissed. “Or I’ll rip your fuckin' mouth right open down to ya throat.”

Panting in fear, the elf sobbed as the ten foot monster removed his fingers from between his lips.

“You didn’t answer my question...or should I choose myself?”

“No!” The poor creature impulsively screamed. He then began to exchange glances between Heather’s claws and his gleaming teeth. What a terrible source of gratitude, making a soul choose the device to be responsible for his own pain, and eventual demise. But hesitantly, between panicky breaths and tears, “Tee - I”

And Heather chuckled, licking his lips once again, this time from the appetizing smell of fright wafting off his prey and into the air. Regardless of what he chose, he would make sure his meal would regret it. So he smiled. “A’ight,” He went to shove his fingers back in his mouth to gag him, only to be interrupted yet again, a twinge of irritation pinching the beast’s nerves.

“Wait, wait, wait!” The prey protested, still foolish enough to think there was a way out of his predicament, in the claws of the forest’s apex predator. “I’ll give you anything you want! I-You can mate with me! You must be looking for pleasure - after all - it’s almost mating time! Please! I-I won’t struggle! You can have your way with me!” He spread his legs apart, welcoming the idea of being fucked rather eaten. “Just please don’t eat me…”

It was a handsome offer and maybe one Heather would have taken up if it was three minutes before, but now, the sputtering little hunk of meat had got him all riled up and hungry, and he wanted him. Besides, he’d just eat him halfway though sex anyway. So his answer is a blunt one. “No.”

“Wha-hm-gah-!” His captor’s fingers were pushed back into the wet cavern of his mouth. The long claws of the carnivore creeped halfway down into the elf’s throat, causing him to viciously gag as their sharp tips painfully teased his jugular.

Heather eyed the body under him, analyzing each limb and muscle and curve, trying to decide which part he wanted to eat first. Until he set his mind on the stomach. Somewhere he just couldn’t go wrong. When in doubt, the stomach was always the answer, packed tight with flavorful, delicate intestines that he could slurp up with ease. His claw on his free hand prodded at the soft dark skin, teasing the poor creature that would soon be his food. “You said claws right?” He joked.

The elf screamed in terror, kicking and thrashing in attempt to deter the inevitable. But it didn’t, and Heather’s pointed claws sliced open his stomach in one effortless motion, blood spilling out and releasing the thrilling, delectable smell of death into the air.

The beast, his kind, not one to waste a perfectly good meal, leaned down and lapped the blood from the herbivore’s sides, slurping away and relishing the taste of flesh and life combined. The screams of pain were music to his ears, making him all the more hungry. He shoved his hand into the open gash, wrapping the ribbons of intestines between his fingers and yanked, their owner, releasing a harrowing, half-gurgled shriek into the air for miles to hear and no one to care, while painful tears rolled freely down the face of the dying elf. The pain would be over soon though. Right after Heather lifted the strings of red and pink above his face, opening his maw to lower them past his giant teeth, dropping them into his mouth, followed by the wet slap of the organs on his massive tongue. With no need to chew, the mass slid right down his throat, while the elf’s eyes followed the lump in the beast’s neck of that of which used to be his, as it disappeared forever.

With a kind of merciful indifference, Heather twisted his claws upward and shoved up, straight through the roof of the herbivore’s mouth and into his temporal lobe. A quick and easy death.

He licked his fingers of blood and the remnants of brain matter, then watched as the elf’s eyes glossed over with death. He gave a low chuckle as a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth with strange amusement. ‘Pitiful.’

Though the game of bargaining, begging, fighting, teasing and torture was through, the second the little creature under him lost consciousness, the fun would be far from over. After all, he would never even think of letting such a delectable meal go undevoured.

He brought his fist down onto the corpse’s chest, the impact like a bolder to sticks - they snapped. Red splattered onto his face, balled hands covered in the essence. His mouth watered as he was finally about to freely indulge. (Not that he couldn’t before, but sometimes, that was part of the fun.)

Heather’s claws dove into the sea of blood and organs that awaited him patiently beyond the flesh and bone. It seemed to be whispering in it’s scent to be consumed, as so many creatures did that were meant to be taken by him. For him.

Who was he to ignore nor refuse? Why wouldn’t he close his fingers around the meat and savagely devour it like he was supposed to? It was his right, after all. It was the natural order of things.