Who: Edward Labeste (The Beast) What: Narrative Edward's nightmares come to life Where: Somewhere on the Labeste estate grounds When:Backdated October 3, 2012 6:15AM. Some 6 weeks after Edward's return to Luna Bay Rating: R. Possible squick warning, just to be safe. Some graphic depictions of blood, gore, and bodily functions. Non-explicit nudity.
The scent of blood was almost stifling to the human aspect of Edward's brain. However, the Beast relished it. It was invigorated by the vaguely metallic aftertaste of it tickling his nose. It was a nightmare, Edward kept telling himself. If I manage to open my eyes in the dream, I can wake up and leave the nightmare behind, he thought. But his eyes were wide open in the dream, and there was nothing but moonlight, shades of gray fading into a rich blanket of black, and the pulsing, wet taste of thick lifeblood, rolling down his throat like a lover's caress. His breathing was loud in his own ears, as were the sharp, moist sounds of feeding, of gnawing, of the rending of flesh. He threw his head back and roared his joy even as the man inside him cringed and recoiled away in horror. This was the worst nightmare yet, and he couldn't wake up, even though he was nearly completely lucid within it. He... it... the Beast felt this feeding, after the long chase that preceded it, was better than sex. It purred, almost a growl, and resumed its voracious biting and gnawing off of hanks of sweet meat, hot with gushing blood. The Beast gorged itself while Edward wept and begged for morning.
When morning finally came, Edward felt sluggish, as if waking from a fever. It must have been a fever, he told himself, because he could feel he was soaked in his own sticky, drying sweat. And then he cracked his crusty eyes open. His heart came to a halt, and he stopped breathing.
He was lying on the grass. How did he get out of the safe room? This had to be a mistake. He must still be asleep, dreaming he was awake. Please, please, he begged nothing in particular. Please let this be a dream. His lungs finally seized with the need for air, and his eyes opened fully. He was sticky, but that wasn't sweat. And the taste in his mouth...
Edward cried out, horrified, crawling onto all fours and away from the bed of grass and congealed blood beneath his naked body. His voice whistled high, like an asthmatic, as he sobbed for breath, nearly hysterical. He was caked in blood, out in the field. And that awful taste in his mouth, the same that had startled him into awareness, it was metallic and coppery.
"Oh, God!" he ground out, and proceeded to empty the contents of his stomach onto the grass in front of him. Blood. Blood everywhere. He was weeping again, but this time it was no dream. "Oh, God, please," he cried hoarsely between heaves. "What did I do?"
Random, disjointed images of running through the woods, of a wild chase, of claws and fangs and roars in the night came back to him in sordid flashbacks. Just when he was about to lose his sanity for good, he looked around desperately and caught a glimpse of antlers in the underbrush. His legs wouldn't hold him up, he was so upset, so he crawled over and found the disemboweled corpse of a deer.
He vomited again, and then he sat and hugged his knees to his chest. He stayed there for several minutes, rocking and crying hot tears of relief, because at least it hadn't been a human body under those trees.