The Inner Beast

Cloella sighed, full of pity for the wounded Hessian and stroked his sweaty brow with soap and water soaked rag. He was filthy, but that hadn’t surprised her. She hadn’t expected him to be pristine; he was after all a soldier, embroiled in a campaign. His wound had stopped bleeding and so she took the time to wash his body before bandaging it. Her father and brothers used to hunt rabbits, deer, ducks, and she’d learned from them that minnie balls seldom remained in the body, but rather passed through it, leaving an entrance and then an exit wound. She’d found this to be so with the Hessian as well, for she’d noted one perfectly round hole beneath his solid pectoral muscle, and a ragged and tattered one spaced about two inches apart from the first, nearer to his side. She was glad of that, for the only practice as a nursemaid she’d ever had in her life was to her parents and brothers, and that had, of course, not ended in success. If she couldn’t nurse her family through a fever, how would she nurse the Hessian through the removal of a bullet? But it wasn’t so, and she put the thoughts out of her mind, going about wringing out the rag she’d washed his face with, noticing how his complexion had lost what she first assumed were moles around his eyes, temples and jaw line; the spots were flecks of dried blood. She shuddered to think back to the clanging sound of metal she’d heard, the Hessian’s sword, swiftly taking off the head of one of those who must have attacked him. But then, that was what had made him so infamous, why was she taken aback?

With her rag full of soap again, she moved down to his thick neck and broad shoulders, gently massaging away the residue of sweat and battle. With every wipe of her soapy cloth she seemed to uncover another scar, an old stab wound here, another musket blast there; what a life this man must have been leading. She wondered if he had a wife, children, and if so, how they could allow him to go off and risk himself the way he did. But any thoughts of the wife and children the Hessian may have left behind vanished when Cloella found her rag to be rubbing smoothly across his muscular chest, which seemed to arch up into her touch with every shallow breath he took. He was again unconscious, but he seemed to be enjoying her touch, wanting her to explore him, taking pleasure in the sensation. His body was hard, strong, with dark hair growing in a faint “T” shape below his thick shoulders and down in between his pectoral muscles. Cloella couldn’t have imagined anything more perfectly male than what lay before her. He was a man to marvel at, powerful, stunning, and Cloella’s mind drifted off with the rhythm of his breathing and the rise and fall of his glorious chest, wanting to lay her head against it again. She felt bewitched by him, like he held some sort of power over her; perhaps he really was some sort of monster, and not a man at all. Absent-mindedly her rag lightly danced over his developed pectoral muscles, rubbing over the pink nipples, and suddenly realizing what she’d been doing when they hardened under her palm. Again, the Hessian groaned.

His mind was a storm of ecstasy, it had been years since a woman had touched him, and in this weakened state he could neither control his reactions nor contemplate the reality of his situation. He could only lie back in this black-lit dream, feeling his body caressed, desires awakened and the needs he’d buried so deeply rise up and surge within him. His body was ready, rigid, his breathing quicker now, heavier, sharper. There was the sensation of his nipples being delicately pinched, and he heard himself groan as a great ache flooded his entire being, but not the ache of pain. His delirium robbed him of any of rational thought, and held him prisoner in this dream, turning him into an animal that responded simply to stimulus; the trigger had been pulled. He reached outwards towards the source of this arousal, finding a warm soft female frame under his large hand and swiftly caught her around the waist, pulling her down to him as he rolled to his stomach, and trapping her supple form beneath him, blindly pressing all of his concealed hardness into her soft belly, kissing and biting at her neck with his precariously sharp teeth.

The breath was startled out of Cloella’s lungs, and for a few seconds she lay beneath his immense frame gasping for air as she tried to escape. She was shocked, lingering on the edge of terror, for she’d only ever allowed men to kiss her upon her cheek. She could feel the large swelling protrusion pushing against her stomach, the pointed teeth scraping her neck and she trembled, afraid now to move at all in fear of having her throat torn out whether he intended it or not. She prayed with closed eyes that he would lose his strength and pass out again so that she may slide out from beneath him, but suddenly she felt his full lips stumble upon hers, claiming them in passionate kiss she was powerless to refuse. The image of his pointed teeth still fervent in her mind, she struggled to keep her lips pursed, but his ravishing tongue persevered, slipping between her soft lips, searching her tongue out and coiling into a cozy knot with it. His body relaxed a bit against hers as the kiss deepened, as if some of his raging desire had been fulfilled, and he cradled the back of her head in his large hand, slowly drawing the breath from her body. Cloella found her arms wrapped around his neck, but didn’t remember willing them there, they just were. She was pressing herself as much into him as he had pulled her against him before. Did some part of her approve of this? Did some part of her enjoy this? Before she could contemplate the answer, he’d suddenly pulled away from their embrace that had grown so tender.

Feeling himself enveloped in feminine arms suddenly sobered the Hessian, and he opened his eyes to see the face of a beautiful young girl before him. That what he’d taken to be a dream, or an image invented by his dying brain was in fact real took him aback, and he jerked away from the girl he was so fondly kissing just moments ago. He caught both her hands under his and pinned them back to the mattress and looked down at her suspiciously, trying to piece together what was going on, who she was, and for that matter, where he was and what had happened. He remembered the flash of a musket, taking the head off of some unimportant colonial, and then a great fire that spread through his chest, and then a hazy image of red hair blowing in the winter wind, but that was all. Now, here he was, in some rickety house, shirtless, half bathed, kissing, and straddling this young woman whom he’d never before seen. He’d been wounded many times, worse than he was now, but never had he awoken from a delirium in such a predicament. The sound of a voice broke his rampant and confused thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” the girl beneath him whispered, full of shyness. “I never meant to—“

“Who are you?” He demanded in a thick German accent and deep voice that was half growl. He tightened his grip on her hands, pushing them deeper into the mattress.
Cloella stammered. “I found you…your horse, he brought you to my house, to me. You were wounded, I was trying to help—“

“Help?” He questioned, still not relinquishing the hold he had on her. “This is how you ‘help’? What sort of woman are you?” His sharpened teeth gave his words a discernable hiss.

“This was not my doing!” She snapped, losing her passivity at the accusation he’d made. She wrenched her hand away from him, only to have him reclaim it, and her eyes narrowed in exasperation. “If I hadn’t taken you in, you would have caught your death of cold. I took pity upon you, and you chose to repay me by…by…using it to your advantage!”

An amused smile crossed the Hessian’s face, not because of the words she’d said, but because of the words she couldn’t bring herself to say, though she allowed her disdain for his allegation to show. Then suddenly there was great fiery ache his chest and side and he clutched at it, drawing in a sharp breath and falling to his back in agony. He’d been shot; he’d almost forgotten that happening, now.

Cloella quickly sat up, but not to get away from him, but rather to hastily attend to him. His wound was bleeding again, and as he lay gasping for breath, she packed a clean rag over the twin holes. “I have Laudanum for the pain, and sulfur and honey to guard it from festering,” she said to him as she placed his big hand over the rag at his chest. “Hold this tightly here.”

He did as she instructed, watching her as she worked to tear strips of muslin to dress his wound and gather together the Laudanum she’d promised him. The candles burning in the two lanterns flickered over her ivory skin, turning her long tresses to shades of russet and chestnut. She was a very beautiful young woman, probably not even half as old as he was, but that didn’t stop his eyes from traveling down her body and drinking in the shapes of her full firm bosom, trim waist and pleasingly round hips. He could forgive himself for having no control earlier on when confronted with such beauty. If he still sought out the company of women, her acquaintance would be one he would kill to have made. Even now as he watched her he could feel the desires let loose in his delirious dream haunting him. She’d felt marvelous beneath him, even when she at first had tried to struggle. He hadn’t been with a woman in almost a decade, and then to come to above this fair redheaded maiden…why in Hell did she have to startle him by returning his kiss?
Cloella turned back to face him again, handing him a cup of Laudanum. “If this is not strong enough, I have more.” She said to him as he took it. The candlelight now illuminated faintly bleeding marks on her neck from his lecherous kisses, but she didn’t seem to notice they were there.

But the very sight of them slammed the reality of what he was back to the Hessian. He’d aspired to be a hellish beast, cold and unrelenting, and that he was. There was no room for any other desire in his make-up other than the desire for chaos and killing. He tore his icy eyes away from the girl, she was to be forgotten, and handed the cup back to her. “Nein, pain is something I must feel.”