The next time you wake you still feel very warm—but this time it's comfortable. The pain is almost entirely gone, your body strangely numb. Your fingers and toes are tingling pleasantly. You feel like you're floating, like you're high up in the sky drifting among the clouds.

At the sound of splashing you open your eyes.

The forest is gone; you're back at the castle. You can see the stone walls rearing around you. You're outside, staring up into the light of the moon beaming from above. It's beautiful, the sky clear. Ribbons of steam coil lazily into the air. There's the sound of splashing again as warm water is thrown over you. Other than that the world is so wonderfully still. A blessing after all the chaos tonight.

Blinking, you turn your head and suddenly realise where you are. You're in one of the hot springs in the courtyard. Has he managed to carry you all the way here?

'Feel better?' he says.

You arch your neck to look behind you as you float on the water's surface. He's there, holding you up, his horns blue in the moonlight. He gently splashes more water on you.

You should do something, move, demand answers, but you can't. You feel too good. If you move, will you awaken that agony again?

'Just relax,' he says. 'Let yourself recover.'

You turn to look back at the sky. As you do, you glimpse your breasts. They're poking out of the water, as bright as his horns against the moonlight, your nipples soft and large. They seem bigger than usual, or is it just the trick of the water? He smooths one of his hands over them.

'Beautiful,' he says as he fondles your nipples. 'Beautiful.'

'You say that a lot.'

'Because you are.'

'I don't feel beautiful.'

He stops his fondling, then smooths his hand up along your chest where he gently grips your throat.

'You are beautiful,' he whispers fiercely in your ear. 'You are a Drona, and one of the last of your kind. You are the most beautiful creature on this planet. Fierce. Strong. Smart. And you're all mine.'

Releasing your throat, he grips your shoulders and turns you over so that you're upright and facing him. The spring is deep enough that you can't feel the bottom and you throw your arms around him with a start.

Grinning with his canines, he clutches you hard against him, then kisses you. It's pointless to resist and so you kiss back. Between the smacking of your lips you hear a scraping sound and you realise that it's your horns scraping together.

As you kiss, he drifts lazily back, pulling you along with him, until your feet meet the ground and you slowly exit the spring. He grips your hand and you follow, watching the way the big muscles in his buttocks and thighs move under his skin at every long step. Your toes curl into the grass. Exposed to the coolness of the night, a chill quickly creeps into your hot skin and you shiver. He turns to look at you, and in that moment the way you think of him suddenly changes.

No longer is he so horrifying—he's astonishing, glorious.

His horns are no longer so terrifying but incredible, the length of them, the sharpness of them, that elegant curve as they stab at the sky—their utter impossibility. They seem to work in perfect unison with his face which you once thought inhumanly masculine, almost ugly.

He's far from ugly to you now; he's strong, powerful. His bold chin, his square jaw, his high cheekbones—they're all so perfect. He's the way every man should look. How could you have seen so wrong?

Then there's the rest of his body: big, broad chest, massive shoulders, slim hips. He looks like he could run down a cheetah and tear out its throat. And never mind his red, leathery skin—you wouldn't have it any other way.

Then there are his eyes. They don't seem so inhuman now. You once thought them reptilian, alien—not anymore. They're the way eyes should be. Eyes that can see in the dark. Eyes sharp enough that they can pick up the smallest movement. Eyes that look at you like you're the only important thing in existence.

His whole figure makes the air stick in your throat. It makes it difficult to breathe. Your heart is thrumming. A pleasurable heat floods your torso, particularly in the pit of your stomach and in your hips, which only gets worse the more he stares at you with those startling eyes. How must you look in the moonlight? How do you look to him? The same way he does to you, you hope.

Watching you, he gives a triumphant smile.

You follow along close by his heels as he pulls you into the castle. You hardly notice where you are, your eyes pinned to him, roving all over his magnificent body. You particularly enjoy the way his balls bounce between his legs. All you want is to take them in your hands, to massage them, to feel their softness and explore them.

Above those, he's already fully erect. You remember how it felt in your hand, how it felt inside you. You want that again.

You want it so badly.

Vaguely, you realise you've arrived at his door. The bull doorknocker glares back at you. It doesn't seem so big now. Where once the bull was at eye level, now it's at the level of your hands.

A startling thing.

Before he can open the door, you do instead, throwing your shoulder against it, anticipating its heavy weight. It crashes open, slamming against the wall.

You look at him in surprise. It's as easy as any door now. You know you've grown stronger but little did you know just how much.

Now it's you dragging him inside. The door's still open as you pull him ahead of you. Grabbing onto his horns, you drag down his face to yours. Your lips meet. Then you're pushing him to the bed. He sits down on the edge of it and you climb into his lap, straddling him. You're both mostly dry now except for your hair. It's curled up around his horns; it rests wavy and damp against your breasts.

He brushes it aside to touch you, to massage your breasts in his big, red hands, to squeeze your nipples between his fingers, before eventually leaning down to suck them into his mouth. His hot, wet, enthusiastic mouth.

As he does, you seize onto his horns with a gasp.