Chapter Text
She looked angelic, even in the dim firelight. Angelic through the tears on her face. Angelic through the fear in her eyes as she stared up at him, her lips parted.
His tongue slid along his chapped lips as he watched her, surrounded by blood, by bones. He wanted to feed her the flesh of her father, watch the glint in her eyes as she felt the power of the Wendigo ways, as she felt the lusts her body wasn’t yet exposed to spread through her veins like wildfire.
She was a lamb among the sheep for slaughter. So pure that the thought of biting into her made him want to both vomit and take her little form right there.
She’d come with her father, Pastor Moe French. They were coming through the Nevadas to find a new home for their parish, his little Belle had told him.
She was his special friend, a lovely little tumor in his side. She always darted from her father’s company to him, to watch Francis hitch up the horses or help him gather twigs for kindling. She always was eager to ride with him at the head of their small entourage, her arms firm around his waist. She avidly chattered on about the books she read and the countryside, not even concerned with his refusal to speak about his past.
She was not like the others that he intended to feast upon. She was not a pig. She was a delicate little lamb, frail as a feather, sweet as the finest of wines.
He’d devoured her bumbling father last, laughing as the man sobbed and pleaded to his god. He’d rid of him separately, out in the woods. He couldn’t let his little Belle see such things. Her sobs would’ve kept him from enjoying his kill. Her tears would’ve made the hum of virility and life that came with feasting on her foolish father dim down to a low ember.
She knew it was him. He was the only one who could’ve killed the other members of their little party of travelers. She sat still as could be, her body trembling despite her best tries not to. “Y-You…You’re going to eat me n-next…aren’t you?” she whimpered, her wide blue eyes staring up at him.
He fell upon a knee before her, his hand moving to cup her shivering cheek. She flinched from his hand, mouth trembling. He said nothing, only moving his face closer to her to take in the scent of her.
She smelled like roses. Even under the sweat and tears, she smelled like roses. He wanted to slide his tongue along her cheek, to know how she tasted.
“M-Mr. Ives…you ate my Papa…and all the others…” she quietly murmured. “You said…You said before the killer wouldn’t…stop ‘till we’re all dead.”
Mr. Ives. The words shot straight down to his loins, causing him to twinge. He groaned softly, wanting nothing more than to eat her in other ways than he first intended, burrowing between her thighs and giving her a better reason to stop whimpering.
“I would never hurt you, my sweet little Belle, you’re too special,” he gently told her, his fingers trailing down her cheek.
She hunched forwards at the realization that he had devoured their companions and her father, her whole body shivering. The crown of her head pressed against his chest and he found her scooting closer towards him.
The realization of her sudden need for his affection had him gritting his teeth, his breath shuddering as his hand splayed out upon her back.
“B-But you ate them…I’m next, Mr. Ives…are you going to kill me..?” she asked in her naive little voice, her breath puffing against his leg.
“No, my sweet Belle. I would never hurt you,” her shoulders hunched at his words, her body no longer stiff. She trusted him. She probably trusted him more than she had trusted her own father. “Do you want to know what I’m going to do to you?”
“W-What Mr. Ives..?” she softly asked, lifting her head to stare into his smouldering eyes.
His hand came to grip her chin. I’m going to feed you and love you and devour your sweet little loins. I’ll make you feel things you’ve never felt and never let you leave. You’ll be my demoness, my queen, my pet. My little lamb. “I’m going to keep you.”