--It’s in Your Blood - Chapter 2--

*Content warning. This chapter contains possession, birth, and lots of blood. Furthermore, the story, as a whole, contains themes of self-harm. If you have a history of self-harm, consider whether or not you’ll be triggered by its depiction. Finally, the story will include non-consensual sex, and it could be argued it starts with this chapter. As always, you’ll be notified of the content at the start of each chapter.*

That night, I had a dream. Something was crawling beneath the skin of my arm. I took my scalpel and made an incision, but instead of the blood pouring out like it usually did, the skin around it liquified. Like a waterfall, it fell to the floor, my body melting into blood. It spread, gradually consuming my whole body. But as my entire being slowly disappeared into a crimson pool, I didn’t feel panic. I felt at peace. I accepted what was happening as my fate. My terminal destination.

---

I awoke much earlier than normal. The horizon outside my window was still a murky grey, slowly being painted pink by the approaching sun. The air felt damp and cool, showing no sign of the heat that would eventually arrive mid-day.

I sat up in bed, immersed in a feeling of discomfort. The blood wasn’t what disturbed me. Even my own implied death was barely a concern. It was the fact that I was so accepting of it. Willing, even. I couldn’t sit and dwell on it. I knew if I tried to go back to sleep, my mind would just do laps on the subject matter, so it was time to get up.

I grabbed my towel, a change of clothes, supplies, and left my shack. I stopped at the latrine, then continued onward to the river for my bath. I had hoped the cold water of late summer would shock me back to reality, but I still found myself dwelling on the dream.

Something about it reminded me of an argument I once had with someone who took offense to my blood magic. I explained to him that I only used it to help people and that it was no different than any other type of magic. He explained his resentment by saying that what I did was against nature; that we evolved with the overwhelming instinct to avoid danger and harm and that the ability to injure oneself is a defect. Yet, here I was, purposefully harming myself as a tool. He didn’t care what purpose I was using it for, it was an affront to him.

I didn’t care much to debate further. It’s my blood and it’s my body, and that’s no business of his.

He’s not wrong, though, just disrespectful and ignorant of my feelings. What did he expect from the argument? That I was just going to change my life because he doesn’t understand what I do? I can recognize the shock from it, but I’m using my pain for the benefit of others. Is that such a bad thing?

The frustration of being taken back to that argument had caused me to start scrubbing my scalp extra hard. It was like I was trying to claw my way into my skull and remove these feelings. I shouldn’t be made to feel ashamed of who I am. It isn’t fair.

I allowed myself to fall backwards, splashing and sinking into the deeper center of the river. My body would drift along in the slow current, but I wouldn’t be lost. This wasn’t my first crisis, after all. Sometimes just letting yourself go for a moment, reminding yourself how petty you and your problems are in the face of nature, it realigns your perspective.

When I felt clean -- actually clean -- I began trudging my way back to my clothes. I toweled off my fur as well as I could before dressing.

My work clothes.

I didn’t have any patients lined up that day, but I didn’t have other plans, either. I like to look the part in case I get any sudden bookings. Slacks, a button-up shirt, and a waistcoat. I leave the left sleeve unbuttoned, naturally, so I can easily draw blood from my arm. It’s a look! Professional, I hope.

Up the path and back to my shack. A package at the door. I stepped over it and walked inside, setting my stuff down before going back for the package. A brown box. No address on it, sender or recipient. Did someone drop it off? It wasn’t heavy.

I took my letter opener and cut through the tape, flipping it open. Inside was a lot of packing material; torn bits of paper. I dug through and found a vial, glimmering amongst the garbage. Its contents were dark red; crimson. Blood? It would make sense.

I dug through the packing some more to see if there was a note or any kind of instructions with it. It’s not uncommon for me to analyze someone’s blood without them present, but I didn’t recall having made such an arrangement. Why didn’t they leave a note if they weren’t going to stick around?

I held the vial up to the light and turned it in my fingers. It was definitely blood, or a pretty close facsimile. I’ll admit that, as experienced as I am, I can’t tell the difference between beast and animal blood. My mother said my grandmother could, but it all looks the same to me. Same consistency, same colour, same smell. I sighed. My self-confidence did not need another hit today. 

I placed the vial on my desk and slid out of my chair. I had nothing to work on, and while that was a crappy feeling, it wasn’t a new one. I had a choice: I could either study my craft, or I could just read a trashy romance novel. I opted for the latter on that day, since I was already feeling down on myself and didn’t need to frustrate that further by getting stuck on a difficult concept.

Try as I might, however, I couldn’t get the vial out of my head. I’d read through entire pages before I realized I hadn’t retained any of it because my mind was running circles on that mysterious glass vessel. Why was it on my desk? Who left it here? Did I request it?

I tried to catch up on my sleep by taking a nap, but I found myself just staring across the room at that bottle of crimson.

Eventually, I gave in. I got up and took a seat at my workstation. I gave the vial another visual inspection before grabbing a pipette and taking a small sample. I placed it on a slide and set it in the microscope.

Pink donuts.

There was nothing initially unusual about the sample. No signs of parasites, a healthy cell count, cells were in good condition. That just adds to the mystery. Why would someone drop off a perfectly normal sample?

I continued to watch, which is when I thought I saw something unusual. The cells seemed to pulse with energy, shimmer slightly with an unnatural glow.

No.

I decided that was probably just my mind trying to find something interesting where there was nothing. I built this thing up in my head so much that I was just trying to find purpose.

I pushed myself back in my seat and away from the microscope. I don’t know what I expected. Something to break the monotony maybe. Some new discovery that would give me credibility and break the stigma against my craft. No, one vial can’t do that. There’s no panacea for my issues. It won’t be that easy.

I took the vial in hand again, holding it up to the light and examining it as I did before. Was I still grasping for some sign?

It pulsed. A glow momentarily emanating from the dark crimson. I didn’t imagine it. Then, again. I leaned forward, watching it as, over and over, it flashed its red glow. Then, more and more urgently.

I got a bad feeling, I held it further away from my face, still watching its unnatural glow as the pulsing quickened to the point where it was almost solid. The light intensified, to the level where I could no longer look at it, I shielded my eyes, which, in retrospect, was a good move. The vial exploded in my hand.

Glass shattered, shards of it piercing my skin and burrowing deep into my hand and wrist. The blood spattered everywhere, completely coating the fur on my hand and soaking into the wounds. Hot pain radiated from the injury, creeping its way up my arm and digging its claws into my brain.

I screamed. I dropped from my chair, clasping my arm. My white fur, a bloody mess. The heat, it wasn’t normal. The pain was searing. Tears welled in my eyes as I felt the burning make its way up my arms, through my veins. It pulsed behind my eyes, its intensity overwhelming my senses. I tried to cry out, but it only came as a harsh moan.

That was the last thing I remember for a while. I collapsed onto the floor and thought I’d lost consciousness, that might only be partially true.

---

I don’t know how much time had passed between my injury and when I became aware again. I simply remember that, as the fog cleared, I found myself in the middle of my shack. My furniture had been pushed aside, and on the floor, I had drawn some sort of sigil surrounded by esoteric script. In blood, no less, but it was no doubt in plentiful supply; spattered around my workstation and pouring from my arm.

I say that I became aware, but I certainly wasn’t in control of my actions at that point. It’s hard to describe. It wasn’t exactly like I was watching someone move my body, it was more like there was a correct way to move, and I was compelled to follow it and punished if I tried to resist. It led to this strange sensation where I wasn’t being forced, but I was left with little choice on what I could do.

I took off my clothes, or was compelled to do so. My waistcoat, already ruined by blood. My shirt, pulled off without any care for the injury to my arm. My pants, I could only squirm from them. My undergarments, removed without pause. I was left with my bare white fur splattered red in that copious volume of blood.

I pulled myself into the center of the sigil. It seemed that whatever controlled me didn’t care what mess I made of the still damp blood. It merely beckoned me towards the center on my knees, bending me forward to expose myself into the hot, ambient air of my home.

Then with my injured hand, it made me reach down below myself to touch my womanhood with a single finger. Every nerve in my body awoke with pleasure, an intoxicating heat that washed away the pain. I moaned. The horror of the moment was replaced by pure, overwhelming ecstasy in an instant.

I moved my finger, continuing its work, parting myself and caressing my clitoris gently, then firmer. I pushed my bloody digit into my most sensitive parts, drinking in the pleasure, moaning all the while.

I rolled onto my back, arching my pelvis upwards to allow myself greater access. Still I massaged my clit before moving my fingers down and inserting two of them into my waiting vulva. Again, my body was awash with euphoria to the point I almost choked on it. One hand, gently grasping at my breast, the other doing its work willingly, carrying me towards climax.

I can look back and say that the whole scene was grotesque, but, in the moment, I couldn’t see beyond the haze of my own pleasure. The moans were genuinely mine, not some product of whatever pushed me into the act, but an expression of the pure, rapturous pleasure.

It built in me, until finally, my body seized and convulsed in the throes of a powerful orgasm. I cried out as my body twisted in ecstasy, its firm grip squeezing my abdomen until finally I was released and went limp.

I found myself in full control again as I panted for breath on the floor. For a few lingering moments, the pleasure did not abate, but when it did, it was replaced by an agony that reached the same volume.

I writhed, as an intense heat returned to my body, focusing towards the bottom of my abdomen and pushing towards my womanhood. I clawed at the floor as I became acutely aware of the injuries sustained to my arm, and a new torture that built beneath me. The burning and the pain seemed to pulse downward towards my groin, as if it were focusing at that point.

I cried out again as I sought some relief from the agony, and the searing heat. I found nothing to grip nearby and could only scratch at the wooden floor beneath me.

All the breath was taken from me, leaving me gasping to replace it. Again, like someone stepping on my chest; the air from my lungs expelled until there was nothing but a painful void within. Once more, as I felt something push it’s way out from within, escaping from my body. I was giving birth, it’s the only way I can describe it, but whatever it was eagerly and painfully made its exit.

I had no strength remaining to lift my head and view what had just violently expelled itself from within me. The pain -- most of it -- subsided. The convulsions stopped and my writhing ceased. I lay there, limp. Completely spent and horrified.

Nothing could be done. I gradually lost consciousness as an empty void enveloped my senses.

When I awoke, it was three days later.