Elle's fictional prose

My Highlander (18+)

Aonghas blinked open gritty eyes and saw a young lass with horror written all over her face. Her face was pale as milk, her mouth and eyes wide with shock, and she was staring at his mouth. A dawning realisation that he had compromised his identity began to filter through him, urging him to action, but his body was weak. What had happened? Where was he? Who was the young woman? He struggled to remember.

She placed a hand on his chest and he absorbed her warmth. How long had it been since he’d felt the comfort of human touch? She leaned more heavily and her eyes slowly slid closed. As he admired her beauty he suddenly became aware that she was weakening before his very eyes. Was she injured?

“Please,” she whispered through pale lips. She slumped a little further and her awkward position led Aonghas to realise that he had his lips to her wrist. Mo chreach! He was drinking from her. He withdrew his fangs and swept his tongue across the puncture wounds. Still unsteady he sat up, just as the young woman collapsed. Her upper body lay across him with her lower half lying in the fallen leaves and debris that littered the forest floor.

Aonghas reached trembling fingers to her neck, checking her pulse. Slow and maybe a little weak, but steady. He slumped back to the ground to gather his wits. Clearly his survival instincts had taken over even before he had fully regained consciousness. He had needed blood and she had been to hand. But that only raised more questions in Aonghas’ mind. Why had he needed blood, how was he injured? Where was he and how had she found him? Most importantly, what was he going to do now?

It was one of their most inviolable rules, that they did not reveal their presence to mortals. In his 124 years of existence, he had never even come close to breaking it, had never wanted to. It would only create chaos that could only end in disaster for his clan. They had superior strength and speed, and advanced regenerative powers, but nothing that would enable them to control such a panicked crisis as would ensue if the mortals found out about them. In that moment, Aonghas dearly wished they had some form of mind control, but alas, he needed to be practical and focus on what his options truly were, and not on fantastical daydreams.

He ran through what he knew of their kind. Mortals were weakened by blood loss, he knew, and could take hours to recover, but if the loss wasn’t too severe, they would survive. She appeared to be okay, still pale, but breathing steadily, her chest rising and falling against his flat stomach. She was so beautiful. Aonghas reached out a hand to her hair, pleased to note that his hand was steady now. Her curls were a glorious mix of red and blonde, the hues reminding him of an autumn sunset – streaks of copper and gold combining to create pure poetry.

A low moan brought him back to himself with a startled jump. He blinked twice in quick succession, chastising himself for daydreaming when time was rapidly running out. He had no idea if other mortals were nearby, if anyone was looking for her, or if she would scream when she woke up. That decided him. He could not allow her to tell others of him and possibly bring danger to his clan. He would have to... Well, he could hardly keep her. Aonghas sighed with frustration. He couldn’t keep her, he refused to kill her when she was an innocent, and he couldn’t let her go back to her people and spread word of his kind. He would have to take her to the elders and get their advice. He didn’t know what they would decide, but he felt confident that she wouldn’t be in danger. His people didn’t approve of killing innocents, so she should be safe. But he would have to leave now, before she woke. They needed to be as far away as possible before she started screaming. And he had no doubt she would scream.


Written 14 October 2014