It is like being in a nightmare, except in nightmares I can will myself to let everything disappear, to emerge into the real world. This IS the real world, with trees flashing past me like thin, dark cloaked men and with the animals of the forest yelping in alarm as I ran and ran, twilight engulfing the leafy forest floor, the cries of the werewolf behind me intensifying. I am exhausted, panting helplessly, and I know soon I will collapse.

But my legs, heavy and clogged, seem to want life more than me, because ten minutes later, I am still going, even though the wolf is now just two metres in my wake. It slices at them, these magnets to survival, and I fall, skidding forwards on my elbows. Directly above me is a milky coin. The forest is now almost completely in darkness and the growls and red eyes of the beast are the loudest thing in the world. I edge back, scramble, struggle, knowing it is all useless. The beast braces for a leap. I notice at that moment, weirdly, that the forest is a beautiful place.

The beast is upon me, heavy, reeking of the blood of my friends, but then the dark fur shrinks back into the skin, the snout shortens, the eyes turn a dark gold. Skin like cinammon, straight eyebrows, cleft chin, long, muscular arms. I wrap my arms around his neck and feel the warmth of his lips on my earlobe, my shoulder. His hands, squeezing my hips, feel cold and rough. Each of my nipples are bitten with a playful tenderness. And when his head is between my legs, the world recedes. I writhe, cry out like an evil spirit is in me. His thrusts are slow and tight, and those brown eyes never leave mine for a second, a milky coin above us watching.