i'm gonna admit i'd miss you when you're gone

"No, No, No No no no," Lochlann said. His voice wasn't quite pleading yet--it was more like a firm announcement of do not want.

Of course, what he wanted right now did not matter.

He made a low, strangled noise in the back of his throat when Cecelia blind folded him. He shook his head and struggled the entire time, even going so far as to try and bite her, but it was no use. He couldn't move his arms and now he couldn't see. This night could not get any worse.

Lochlann tried not to panic. It didn't work.

His breath started to come in short, gasping bursts. He tried to reach out with his legs to pull her back to him, but he couldn't. He arched his back, tried to change the angle on the bonds and he tugged hard, so hard he nearly dislocated his shoulder. He rubbed his face against the bed spread but the damn thing was tied.

He had such a fear boner right now.

I mean, a girl forcing him to the bed, tying him up, and blind folding him was supposed to be hot, right? His breath was still hitched, but he tried again, tried to sound exasperated and went, "God Cecelia just fuck me already and let's get this over with."

When he heard the glass break, Lochlann froze and then started to relax--as much as possible while he was experiencing like the worst thing ever.

She was gone, right? That was good he could just focus on getting out of these stupid bounds and get this off his head before--

He couldn't stop his brain and say, Before what? What's the worse thing that can happen. Being tied up like this is no big deal. Someone will find you eventually. You don't be trapped here forever.

His brain just felt trapped trapped trapped banging against the inside of his skull in a rhythmic pattern.

No wait that wasn't his brain. What was happening? What was going on around him?

Lochlann let out a strangled whimpering sound. He thrashed harder against the bonds, squirming and straining until his fingers were white and he couldn't feel them anymore.

Trapped. Trapped. Trapped.

He was thinking, but then he remembered the window, and that he might not be able to make it, but the glass was already broken, he didn't need the momentum to break it so if he could just calm down and control himself.

Trapped. Trapped. Trapped.

He could make a break for it if he could get into his horse shape. He'd be too big, the bed would break, and he didn't have to be able to run, just jump, and

Trapped Trapped Trapped

"Just...just.." he slurred. "JUST FUCKING STOP."

“Make me.”

He couldn't.

The horrible thought washed over Lochlann in a cold wave of anguish. When she sat on his waist and forced him down further, Lochlann's back arched and his body went rigid beneath her.

It wasn't pleasure, although part of his body was responding stronger than ever to the heightened sensation of a hot girl straddling him, but for once, Lochlann did not want to get laid.

Well, that's not true, he totally did, but he wanted to get out of here a hundred times more. In some ways, he was trapped by his arousal. Human shape was for fucking, horse shape was for eating. His body had a hard time making the transition between the two when one state was so strong. Plus, there was all the drugs.

He writhed underneath her, wishing that she didn't feel so good, wishing that he could break free, that he wasn't

Trapped. Trapped. Trapped.

He groaned.

“Struggle all you want, but you and I know that the second I stabbed you, I already won.” She grinned. “I can tear you apart limb from limb. I can fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before. I can slit your throat now and do the girls of Manta Carlos a huge favor.”


"Then just do it and get it over with, and then do the girls of manta carlos a real favor and kill yourself, too," he said, but it lacked conviction. Something sharp dragged down his chest and his body shuddered beneath her.

“And you can’t do a single thing about it.”

His heart was hammering in his chest so hard, it might have seemed like there was a live bird beneath his skin. He was damp with sweat and blood and his breaths were coming in short, strangled gasps. He was struggling to stay conscious, but at the same time, the sweet peace of unconsciousness was unattainable.

Fight, Fuck, or Flee, and Lochlann couldn't do a single thing.

Trapped. Trapped. Trapped.

This is what dying felt like.

He didn't want to die. He didn't care if he deserved to die. He didn't want to.

But he was trapped.

"Stop," Lochlann said, his voice trembling. "Stop."

"Guess what I'm doing."

A horrible sensation of pleasure wormed it's way up his chest and caught in his throat. He hated that his body liked the way her hands and her mouth felt on his cock. He was so hard he was practically throbbing with his need for her, and he fucking hated that. He felt the cold end of the blade against him and he swallowed, but his body was still tense with want.

Part of him knew he deserved this.

She'd tied him up, cut his clothes off, and now had her knife close to a rather delicate area. Switch the pronouns and this was exactly what he'd done to her a week ago.

Trapped. Trapped. Trapped.

He guest the only thing he could hope for was a good, hard, long fuck before she killed him.

"Being a bitch, probably," Lochlann swallowed. "We should skip the foreplay and get this over with."

He was still dizzy and his mouth was dry, but he was exhausted to the breaking point. The second she got off of him, it was all or nothing. He'd transform and make a dive for the window.

He felt her weight lift from his hips, and then Lochlann heard a horrible, familiar sound.

The nightstand drawer.

That had the bridle and the handcuffs, along with his sedatives. It was his own personal emergency drawer, to be used by himself, in an emergency. He'd never bothered to lock it, because only Chloe knew what was in there, and no one else ever had a reason to open it and--

--Lochlann groaned.

His entire body was shaking, completely captive to fear, and he was hardly able to breath. As far as anxiety attacks went, this was one of the worst.

He could not let her touch him with what was in that drawer.

Lochlann tried to focus, pulling his glamour to the side. The air around him sort of got hazy, obscure, and then the bed started to crack. He'd anticipated right.

He was not a werewolf--there was no lingering or painful muscle contractions. One minute he was a man, and the next he was a horse. Lochlann thrashed to the side, the belts snapping off his dark legs, and he tried to rear up on his hide feet, letting out a desperate cry, but his back leg collapsed underneath him and nine hundred pounds of horse came crashing to the floor right next to Cecelia.

Desperate, he snapped his jaws out, hoping to bite her on the leg.

His teeth were razor-sharp--if his bite connected, it'd hurt, and he hoped she'd be distracted long enough for him to get his weight back on his feet.

He needed to get to water. Now.