The Nature of the Beast

The beast always ate him. George would stumble through the nighttime woods, thorns ripping at his skin, and without looking back would dream-see it bounding toward him. It was unlike any animal George knew—four legged, with clawed fingers rather than paws, a short, sharp-toothed snout, and a gray-black pelt. Twice his size. And somehow handsome.… Read more The Nature of the Beast