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Dean and the Dryad

By: brownbeauty



Zena was in the dark. That was good, she liked the dark. She probably had a broken rib or worse, and the blackness gave her cover. Besides, she didn't need light to catch the beast's sour stench. If she didn't know it by now...

The air shifted. A tangle of shadows, denser than the night, raced toward her from across the deserted warehouse. The old anger rolled in, swift like a summer storm. It pulsed through her, sucking the oxygen from the air. She grimaced; the coppery taste of blood and unspilt tears rose in her throat like a sob. Suddenly a door cracked, illuminating a slice of the creature close enough to touch. Caught off guard, it wavered for an instant and she threw her force in that direction. The thing stumbled, stunned and snarling, and a blind swipe ripped fire through her side. Her rage became a living thing. Balling the years of loneliness, fear and violence into a massive fist of hate, she smashed every fiber of her being into it. There was a sonic clap and the thing burst in an explosion of light.

As the sparks died, the adrenaline wore off and Zena began feeling the effects of the battle. She was losing blood, fast. Her head went woozy, and she stumbled toward a stack of crates to hide. 

Big hands grabbed her, crushed her to a barrel of a chest. Through the haze, she struggled to focus on the giant's words. 

"...you outta here," he was saying. He marched across the gravel lot toward an ancient, colorless pickup truck; a siren wailed in the not-too-far distance. 

"My bike," Zena croaked as the big man gingerly laid her across the school bus-sized front seat. He closed the passenger door, and the reassuring thunk of her motorcycle being plonked on the pickup bed eased her mind. They pulled off in a rock-kicking cloud, the motor oddly quiet in the older model vehicle, and she surfed consciousness to the rocking of the road.

"Uh-uh, no falling asleep on the job," Sam said as he jostled her arm. "Come on, stay with me."

The woman's head rested against the window, cushioned by cashmere locs that hung down her back. She was thick and toned. Even closed, her almond-shaped eyes were lovely, fanned by lashes long enough to rest on her cheekbones. She looked childlike, almost angelic. Too nice to be in this line of work. Then Sam remembered the way she tore into that dryad and was not so sure.

It was a risk taking her to Bobby's, but she was in trouble. Blood was all over the warehouse, hers and the dryad's, and police would be checking every emergency room in the county for someone with heavy lacerations. Besides, the cabin was closer. 

He drove with his left hand fast as he could without sacrificing a tire to the back roads. The right kept pressure on four deep cuts the monster had left her as souvenirs. He didn't like the way they looked; when the blood was mopped away, blue-white connective tissue showed. She moaned and he instinctively stepped on the gas pedal. Her plump breasts shimmied along the neckline of her top. Quit being creepy. You're not your brother. 

The truck skidded to a stop in front of the cabin. Sam raced to the passenger side and swung her into his arms. 

"Dean! I got a live one here, but she's hurt!" Sam kick-knocked on the door, then fumbled his key into the lock, balancing her muscular body on one shoulder.

Dean was eating a fried bologna sandwich when Sam busted in carrying an armful of chocolate curves and practically dumped her on his plate.

"What the hell?"

"Get the suture kit," Sam commanded, clearing the table of coffee cups and newspaper. Dean clicked into medic mode. Ever so often, Sam brought home a stray. His little brother was a sucker for innocent bystanders, especially if they got hurt. Sometimes they had information on a case. He rolled up his sleeves, scanning the bloody mess to see if she was hemorrhaging. 

Just then, the girl's head rolled to the side. For a moment, she and Dean locked eyes. Later he would say it was like falling in space. He couldn't move a muscle but swore he was being pulled forward, at the mercy of those big velvet eyes. She grasped his hand; otherwise he might have blown away like a leaf. Then a spasm of pain clenched her jaw. 

"You're gonna be OK, darlin'. I swear it." Dean turned to Sam, suddenly grounded, and showed him their clasped hands. "I think you better get the supplies. I'll keep up the pressure on her wounds." 

Sam hurried to the linen closet and Dean arranged her on the breakfast table as comfortably as he could. He was grateful she'd closed her eyes. He wanted—no, he had to save her, though for the life of him he didn't know why. So he put the immediate, irrational connection he felt in the box in the back of his mind and concentrated on performing a quick head-to-toe exam. 

Temperature a little high. Pulse and respiration steady. He cupped her head gently, sinking his fingers in her soft hair, turning left and right to check her range of motion. He stroked her neck and was rewarded with an involuntary shiver. Mmhh. No nerve damage. Her arms and legs were firm, lean muscle, so shapely she could have been sculpted. 

He couldn't find any broken bones or significant injuries other than her cracked ribs. The ripped and bloody undershirt was barely holding on, stretched as it was over her wide-set breasts, and he saved that part of the exam for last. But before he could look further, Sam's footfalls approached. The younger brother reentered the kitchen with arms full of bandages and antiseptics.

"So, what's the deal on this one?" Dean asked. 

"Not sure. I tracked the dryad to an old warehouse, but she'd beat me to it. By the time I got there, she was mopping the floor with it."

While he talked, Sam used a pair of old shears to cut open her ruined shirt from hem to neckline. Inch after inch of smooth flesh came into view, contrasting that much worse with the gashes in her side. Plump, creamy cleavage spilled from her bra and desire kicked Dean in the gut. What's wrong with me? I've seen hot chicks before. He felt like a perv, ogling her on the operating table, torn between wanting to see more and wanting to shield her from Sam's eyes.

Sam spoke, his voice a little froggy. "I couldn't leave her. She'd finished the job, but cops were coming and there was no way she was walking out of there by herself." He uncapped a bottle of rubbing alcohol and paused, preparing to pour it over her wounds. "She's tough. But this is going to hurt like hell." 

Zena screamed into consciousness and jerked straight up, knocking the alcohol across the kitchen. Sam caught an elbow to the face with a pop that signaled the dislocation of cartilage. Alarmed, Dean matched her blows with defensive blocks for a full minute before he could grab her wrists and force her bodily back to the table. 

"It's OK," Dean barked inches from her face, "you're safe." 

She bared her teeth, bucking and twisting despite the pain. He could imagine her fear, waking up half-naked in a room of strangers. Dean respected the way she fought her ass off, but he needed her calm so she wouldn't do any more damage to herself or them. He straddled her and bore down with his full weight. 

"You're hurt, but you're safe. We're not cops." He softened his voice. "You're safe." 

His words seemed to penetrate her panicked haze. She ceased struggling, so he eased off her, but she tensed again when Sam reappeared with a bloody face, squinting and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"Who are you? Where am I?" 

"I'm Dean, and this is my brother Sam. You're in our hunting cabin. What's your name, darlin'?"

"Z-Zena," she gritted through stiff lips. "I'm Zena."

"Well, Zena, you're one hell of a fighter," Dean said. "You killed that dryad. But you're sliced up real bad. You need stitches ASAP, and we have to sanitize the wound." He squeezed her hand reassuringly, surprised to see he was still holding it, and returned to swabbing her side. 

"Sam has stitched me up more times than I care to remember. You couldn't ask for anyone better. And I'll be right here the whole time."

"You got medical-grade sutures and sterile needles in a log cabin?"

"Bet your sweet ass we do. Only thing we don't have is anesthesia. You want some whiskey? It'll numb the pain."

"Hell no."

"Fair enough," Dean said. Sam had stuffed tissue into his nostrils, and was pulling a needle from the boiling pot with tongs. He approached her side with the instrument, looking only slightly ridiculous as he concentrated on threading it. 

"Ready?"

"I can do it myself," Zena snapped, sitting up. A stabbing pain made her regret it immediately. 

"Wouldn't dream of it," Sam said firmly. "I promise, I'll be quick."

Zena uncoiled until she lay flat, favoring her throbbing side. Her lips trembled with misgivings, but she needed help and she knew it. The dark-haired one, Dean, sterilized her cuts one more time before the giant began stitching. Zena flinched and gripped Dean's hand hard enough to crack the knuckles, but she didn't cry out. Acknowledging pain only amplified it.

It was slow going, close to an hour, and she kept her eyes focused on the ceiling. She's a trooper, Dean thought. He didn't know many people, women or men, who could take battlefield surgery with barely a whimper. 

While Sam stitched, Zena talked. It gave her something to focus on besides the pain.

"I was staying in a small town about an hour outside of Denver last year when things got strange. Housewives were turning up pregnant left and right. Not your typical suburban breeding, either. These broads were having triplets and quadruplets and even quints. At first, I joked that it had to be the water. Then I thought maybe there really was something in the water. It spread to all of the women."

"That's strange, but not exactly red-flag, our kinda strange," Dean said.

"What exactly is your kinda strange?" Zena challenged. "How do you even know what a driad is?" Her pronunciation was arcane but authentic. Sam cocked his head and looked at her with fresh interest.

"Simple," Sam said. "We're the Winchesters."

"The who?"

Sam shot Dean a quizzical look, to which Dean shook head. He didn't believe it. 

"Nobody who's a hunter hasn't heard of us," Sam exclaimed. "I'm Sam. Almost brought the Apocalypse twice?"

"And I've been to hell three times," Dean added. "Not to brag, but in the world of supernatural hunting, we're kind of a big deal."

"Really? Cause bringing on the end of the world—twice—sounds like you're doing it wrong," Zena said, laughing with a shallow pant to minimize the pain. "Hunting. Is that what you call it? Feels more like being an exterminator to me. Or a garbage man."

"At least they get 401Ks," Dean joked. "Long hours, mortal danger, no pay. You've gotta be real geniuses to do what we do."

"Unless you're in it for the fame," Zena teased. 

"The way Sam says you handled that dryad, you could be," Dean said. "I thought we knew all the skilled hunters out West, but I haven't heard of you. Believe me, I'd have remembered."

Zena shrugged. "Until today, I thought I was the only person in the world who does what I do. I keep a low profile. Didn't even know other hunters existed, let alone had reputations." 

"I'm glad to be the one to change that, then."

Sam was impatient with Dean's flirting. "So you thought a dryad was behind all the multiple births?"

"There's more. Everyone past childbearing age started dropping like flies."

"Sounds like a renegade fertility spirit, all right," Sam said.

"I tracked it across the Rockies on my bike." Zena's eyelids drooped; all the talking seemed to have drained her. "How'd you find it? It hadn't kicked into gear yet here."

"We just happened to hit town at the right time," Dean said. "We picked up on a couple of omens. Sam was out investigating when he found you. Good thing, too."

"I was in trouble." She smiled, but it was weary. She blinked slowly, closing her eyes for long seconds, but her voice stayed steady. "It was old, powerful. I knew I could finish it off, but I thought for sure I was going out with it. 'Til Sammy here showed up." 

Zena beamed a little smile at Sam and he flushed with pleasure. A tiny thread of molten iron shot through Dean's body. Stop being an idiot, he chastised himself. He was feeling her, true, but this extra, overwhelming element of possessiveness was foreign to him. He didn't like it, any more than her story. Something about it didn't sit right, but damn if he could put a finger on it. Still, over the years he'd learned to listen to his gut; hunters who didn't ended up dead. 

"Hey, you did the hard work," Sam mumbled. "I just handled the cleanup. All done." He taped two large gauze pads to her side. She tried to get up, but he gently pressed her back. "Just rest for a minute. You've been through a lot and your body needs to recover. Let me fix you something to eat."

Sam checked the fridge and groaned.

"Dean, I thought you said you went grocery shopping!"

"I did."

"All I see is beer and fried chicken!"

"Like I said."

Sam sighed. "I'm going to the store. She needs something to bring up her blood sugar. Dean, sit tight and keep her talking. I'll be back soon as I can." He grabbed his keys and bounded out to the car.

"Get pie!" Dean called. He turned to Zena, still prone on the table. She seemed more alert—and uncomfortable. She sat up, shaking her head to clear it, and tugged the split halves of her ruined top together. Alone with Dean, she looked a little more naked.

"Let me find you a shirt," Dean offered. He missed surgery Zena, loopy and talkative. His hand felt cold without hers in it. He rummaged through Bobby's dresser, realizing that his uncle really needed some new underwear. The shirts were clean, but ancient and permanently pit-stained. Sam's would hang on her like a tent. But his would fit her just right. 

Back in the kitchen, Zena perched on the table. Sam was right, she needed to rest. But she also had to get out of there. Something weird was going on with Dean; she was conscious of him in a way she couldn't explain. She rubbed her palm, remembering how he'd fought to subdue her, then held her hand for the entire surgery. Even when he left the room, his aura was a physical presence around her. She couldn't figure it out, and when in doubt, her habit was to run. 

Zena's expression went blank as soon as she noticed him in the doorway. Is it that hard for her to trust someone? Dean handed her his best white v-neck and turned his back in an exaggerated show of respect. 

"You decent yet?" he joked after a few seconds. 

"Shut up," she replied. "Ok, you can turn around now. And thanks." 

Dean had to catch himself; it looked like she'd been poured into the shirt. He'd always appreciated curves on a woman, but she turned plain underwear into lingerie. He licked his lips. 

"Don't mention it." 

He could see she was skittish, so in slow, deliberate moves, he pulled up a chair and slouched back, allowing her a long look at him. His dark hair was unruly and three-day-old stubble shaded his jaw, but curly eyelashes and round lips softened his edges. His athletic build was evident in a Henley and old jeans, belying years of hard living. 

As they gazed at each other, the rushing feeling came back, but this time, Dean was ready for it. He held her stare, pulling her into his world, feeling out the binds of this connection. Curious, he gave a mental tug and Zena's eyes went wide. 

Trust me, he surprised himself by thinking at her. 

Why should I? 

Her response was no less clear for being unspoken. Zena braced her weight on the table, waving off Dean's proffered hand, and took a moment to steady herself before alighting. She picked her way to the sink and poured herself a cup of water. 

Dean forced himself to remain quiet as she drank. He wanted to ask about her past, where she'd come from, who her parents were, but basically everyone got into hunting the same way: some supernatural piece of shit came in and killed everything you held dear. Hunter etiquette demanded waiting until a person was ready to share their story. Still, he couldn't resist prying a little. 

"How long have you been hunting?" 

"A long time," she answered. 

"Did you grow up out West? Me and Sam are from Kansas."

"I moved around a lot. I'm not really from anywhere."

Zena looked through the window, off in the distance, and Dean was quiet for a beat. He stood and joined her at the window. Her side profile was just as rewarding as the head-on view. Her arched brows and slightly upturned nose offset her sexiness with a bit of an imperial air. He bet she looked magnificent on her bike.

"I think you broke Sammy's nose." Dean couldn't help chuckling at the thought—Sam got beat up by a girl! "Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

"Here and there. Kickboxing, wrestling. I drop in at gyms from time to time to stay sharp." She paused, letting her eyes slide up his body. "You know, if I wasn't hurt I could've kicked your ass, too."

The mild curse turned his crank. Down, boy. "Maybe I took it easy because you were scared."

"Yeah, right." She smirked, her mouth looking like some exotic fruit Dean wanted to taste.

"You've got fast hands, I'll give you that. Must be the Tae Bo classes. You're welcome to show me how good you really are, once you heal up. Let's spar."

"Oh, I'm not planning to stick around that long. Besides, isn't that what we're doing now?"

"Touchè." He smiled, but there was tension in it. For all her flirting, she hadn't given a straight answer yet. It was starting to irk him. "Let's try this again. Where did you say you're from?" 

Zena narrowed her eyes, done with the foreplay. "I didn't. Look, you sure you're not a cop? Because one minute you're grilling me like a murder suspect and the next you're eyeballing me like a hot pastrami sandwich." 

Dean flinched; it felt like someone'd held his hand for twenty minutes then suddenly flung it down. Her anxiety level was skyrocketing and he didn't know why. He tried to re-establish their psychic bond, but she'd put up a wall.

"I don't owe you any explanation," she was saying. "Tell Sam I said thanks for everything. I've gotta go." 

Zena stalked to the door and yanked it open, but her bike was nowhere to be seen. Sam still had it on the back of his truck. She stomped back inside and slammed the door. 

"Just as soon as your brother gets back with my bike." 

Her attitude pissed Dean off. "You know, you've got a real problem. You're hiding something—hell, everything! Down to your most basic information. You expect me to believe that you learned to waste dryads at the friggin Y? Me and Sam just saved your life, and you're holding out."

He stepped closer and took her by the arm. His voice hushed. "I've got a bad feeling about this, Zena. Don't go—you could bleed out before the night's end if you're not careful. Whatever you're running from, we can help."

His eyes bored into hers, and he could see her walls cracking in spite of herself. With a small grunt, she wrenched her arm away. Dean made an exasperated sound. 

"Come on! We already know you killed a monster. What's so much worse that you'd rather bolt with a hole in your side than 'fess up?" 

"Why should I tell you?"

"Because you can trust me. I can protect you!"

"You can't even protect yourself! Look at you! You're just another zombie that wants to fuck!" 

They were nose-to-nose in the small kitchen, and it felt like a hundred degrees. Dean's head was pounding. He needed distance, but he stepped closer. Then he looked, really looked at her. Zena's eyes were so dilated she looked stoned, and her breasts rose and fell with rapid breaths. She was just as affected as he was, he realized. He traced a finger where the pulse in her neck was beating like a butterfly. 


Dean and the Dryad Pt. 02



Back in the kitchen, Bobby was steaming. He pounced before Dean was fully in the room, slinging the discarded Henley at his chest.

"I can think of only two reasons you let her slide without passing the smell test, and they both start with Double-D."

"Jesus, Bobby. She was hurt in the line of work. It was a professional courtesy."

"Professional courtesy, my ass," Bobby scoffed. He shot a disgusted look at Dean's crotch. "Will you uncock the hammer on that thing?" 

Dean blushed fire-red and tied the shirt around his waist. 

"And where the hell is Sam?"

"Right here," Sam said, pushing the screen door open with a dozen grocery bags in hand. He muscled his way to the counter and began unpacking fruit, vegetables and lean meat. Bobby looked over the bounty with a scowl. First Dean, the besotted sonofabitch, risking the whole operation, and now even Sam was acting like a love-sick teenager.

"So she's got you playing nursemaid too?"

"She did us a solid killing the dryad. Now we're helping her out. Simple," Sam said.

"Did you dose her before she crossed the threshold?" Bobby gestured at the cabinet where he kept holy water and colloidal silver. 

Sam shrugged. "There wasn't time." 

"Dean-o here lets his bone do the thinking, but you're usually more thorough than that, Sam!" Bobby stormed. "One mistake is all it takes for me to come home and have to mop up your guts!"

"Hey," Dean yelled, "I told you she's Team Human."

"Guess you gave her a thorough check-up, huh?"

Sam froze, eyeing his brother's naked chest. He prayed Zena hadn't been "Deaned" while he was out. It wouldn't be the first time.

Bobby was still going. "Did you know to look for a pair of nymphs? Dryads never roll solo."

"The cops were close. We had to get outta there," Sam said. "If there were some around, they didn't step up to help the dryad. I don't think anything followed us."

Bobby sucked his teeth. "Well, they're wood creatures, and they've got a hell of a lot of cover around here if they did. Guess we'll just have to wait and see."

Resigned, the old man washed his hands and started a pot to boil. "Dean, you're on chop duty. Get to it." 

Dean zoned out prepping vegetables, barely answering while Bobby or Sam talked. He needed to get away, clear his head. Zena made him crazy; he wanted to fight her and fuck her and hold her, not necessarily in that order. She was worse than Viagra; he hadn't gone down a bit. He knew he had a problem when Sam went to feed her. On reflex, he nearly knocked the bowl to the floor. 

"No one touches her but me," he snarled. Luckily, Sam didn't understand him.

"What the hell, Dean?" his brother yelled, looking worried.

"Forget it. M'going out."

**

Zena awoke to gentle shaking. Sam held a bowl of soup in his hand. It smelled wonderful. 

"This is mainly broth, but if you can handle it I'll bring you some meat and veggies for seconds," he said softly. He held out a spoon to her lips and she sipped, then pushed off the quilt and sat up stiffly.

"Thank you," she said, gesturing for the bowl, "I can feed myself." She took it in both hands and slurped from it like a cup. "What took you so long?"

Sam chuckled. "I've been home for two hours, you were just out the whole time. We thought it was better to let you sleep. Bobby made the stew."

The broth warmed her insides and calmed the pangs in her belly. She'd gotten so good at ignoring discomfort that sometimes she plain forgot to eat. She finished the bowl, then noticed the biscuit Sam had brought and used it to sop up the remains. She was so focused on eating, she didn't see him leave and return with another bowl; this one with beef, carrots and potatoes. When she reached for it, she got a better look at his face.

"There's plenty more if you want it," he said. "Bobby always cooks for an army. Mainly because we eat like one," he grinned. One eye half-closed with the effort. 

Zena dipped her head. "I'm sorry about that," she gestured toward his puffy yellow nose.

"Don't worry about it. I think it adds character, myself."

Zena liked Sam. He had an innocence that Dean lacked. When Dean looked at her, he was mentally fucking her against the wall. Not that she minded. She thought of the afternoon and a shiver ran through her. He made her want to cream before he even touched her. She wondered briefly if that was how others had felt all these years. With him, she would always be prey. Sam, on the other hand, put her at ease. He didn't get the crazy eyes. He could sit in a chair, next to her bed, just chilling until she cleaned her bowl. It was something of a relief. 

"So," she started, "does your Uncle Bobby always go ballistic when guests turn down his crap beer?"

Sam snorted a laugh. "Ah, Zena. You broke of one of his 'safety protocols.' He doses the beer with holy water to make sure nobody brings anything foul home from work." 

"Ohhh. I heard him and Dean fighting about it, but it didn't make any sense to me. Speaking of, where's Dean?"

Sam's gaze narrowed. "He skipped dinner. Said he was going for a drive. Look, Zena, I'm not trying to tell you how to live your life or anything, but Dean...Don't... Did anything happen with you two while I was gone?"

Zena reclined back into the shadows. "I blacked out again. He put me to bed."

Sam gave a sigh of relief. "Just asking. I'll let you get some rest now, OK? The bathroom's right across the hall if you need it and I'm right next door. Sleep tight." 

***

Dean downed the last of his draft and signaled the bartender for another. The dive-chic décor irritated him. Everything was reclaimed wood and rustic farm equipment, but there wasn't even any writing on the bathroom walls. Still, it was on the outskirts of town with dollar beers, and that was good enough for him.

Now he was in a bar, and the blonde in the corner was trying to catch his eye, flipping her hair and crossing her legs every ten seconds. A little obvious, but he didn't mind. Early 40s, tight jeans, not a bad body from what he could see. She looked like she knew her way around a zipper. He turned a grin on her as she laughed loudly at a joke from a neighboring table. That's all it took for her to make her way to the bar.

"Hiya stranger, this seat taken?"

In the Impala, her head bobbed noisily in Dean's lap. Sherry? Sarah? Whatever her name was, she was enthusiastic about her work. He leaned back in the driver seat, closing his eyes and imagining Deena's sensual pout. She would go slower. He bunched a handful of the woman's crisp curls and weighed his hand heavily on the back of her crown, but she wouldn't tap the brakes. He hated when chicks tried too hard. 

She had been at it close to ten minutes and he was starting to feel like an asshole. Her jaw had to be tired, but he may as well have been wood for real down there. It wasn't happening tonight. Still, that didn't mean she couldn't have some fun. He pulled her up, fitting a condom over his width and sliding his seat all the way back. 

"Hop on, cowgirl."

She peeled down her jeans and seated her bottom on his lap.

"This is probably the closest I'll ever come to driving this thing," she tossed over her shoulder with a wink. 

She rubbed her smallish breasts on the steering wheel, which he found strangely exciting. Dean used her slim hips as handles, positioned himself at her entrance and pushed. Deena's ass would fill his whole lap and clap on each downstroke, sending reverb through his entire body. He would put those big titties on the dash and twist her nipples until she...

"Oh my God, cowboy!" 

For the next 10 minutes, the vintage cherry rocked and bounced in place, and didn't stop moving until a series of yips emanated from inside the tinted windows. When they eased apart, Shay pulled up her jeans and panties.

"I can't speak on your conscience, but least now you can go home with a clear head."

Dean was taken aback. "I'm single!" 

"Sure, cowboy. Whatever her name is, thank her for me. But do come back and see me sometimes, OK?" She shot him a sweet smile and jumped cutely when he smacked her ass as she exited the car.

She's an all right lady, Dean thought as he motored home. He fiddled with the radio until he found Metallica on a classic rock station and hummed along. He could face Zena now and act like a normal human being. When he got back to the house, it was dark. He gently closed the front door so it wouldn't squeak too loudly, and for a brief instant, considered checking in on their patient. No, that would undo everything. Better to kick up his feet on the couch and watch TV till he dropped off.

Two hours later, Dean couldn't sleep. The TV was watching him more than the other way around. He flipped channels continually, tired as hell, but oblivion wouldn't come. His mind was racing, going over and over the day's events in an incessant loop. Finally, he cut off the box and lay there in the dark. He rolled over on his side to face the back of the couch and froze. Something was there.

It wasn't an audible noise, more a tremor in the atmosphere. Something was moving through the room. Then the refrigerator door cracked open, and his heart seized up in his chest. Zena's panty-clad, heart-shaped ass was bent over, backlit by the cold fridge bulb as she foraged the shelves for a snack. Dean was on his feet before he knew it. He stepped lightly like a cat, nearly soundless, until he was just a foot behind her. 

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Zena remarked without turning around. She straightened up with a piece of chicken in hand, his t-shirt ruched up around her waist. "What are you doing up, anyway?"

"Guess I'm hungry, too." She could take that any way she wanted. Dean didn't move from his spot, forcing her to brush against him as she closed the refrigerator. 

"What do you want, Dean?" Her voice was brusque but it wavered on his name, and she looked chagrined. 

He paused, caught between lust and honesty. "If I said to talk, would you believe me?"

Zena smiled in spite of herself. "No."

"Then why lie?" 

He grasped her chin and tilted her head to his preferred angle, taking a kiss as brazenly as a husband of a dozen years. His pressure on her lips brooked no resistance, and Zena offered none. The chicken dropped to the counter, forgotten. Zena had known he would be on the couch; she'd known he could be awake. She'd worn the easiest access clothing imaginable. Well, her plan had worked, she'd soon see how well. 

He half-pushed, half-carried her to the sofa, feverishly stripping. Her titties were soft and perfect in his hands. As soon as she laid back, he flattened his tongue and drew a wide, steaming lick from her panties to her throat. She tugged down her underwear so he could repeat the process unimpeded. 

Dean's cock raged in his shorts, thumping his abdomen in time with his heartbeat. She was so warm, so soft. Her moans goaded him as he nibbled on her big, tasty clit. It made a delightfully sensitive target, but this time he would do more than taste her. Condoms were in the car but he had no intention of stopping. The thought of sliding raw into this black goddess made him groan.

"Zena baby, if I don't get inside you soon I'm gonna die."

He pushed into her plump mound like a baseman sliding home. She was so wet, her warm juices splashed onto his crotch and ran down his thighs. He knew something was wrong when it started getting cold.

Shit! Dean silently cursed himself. He groggily came to, alone on the couch and his jeans a sloppy mess. This hadn't happened since he was 14 years old. What the fuck is this girl doing to me, he asked the bathroom mirror, scrubbing at the swiftly stiffening stain. He couldn't go in his room for another pair of pants; she was in there. He grabbed the afghan off the couch and headed outside.

The Impala's back seat had held him plenty of nights over the years, but he longed for his own bed and the woman in it. He clenched his fists and kicked his feet against the locked door. Despite the bottle he found under the seat, the knot in his stomach wouldn't unwind. 

But he couldn't go back to the cabin. Not tonight. It was too fresh, the call of her body too clear. No way could he be that close and ignore it. He climbed behind the wheel and started to drive. What he needed was a few hours at the lake. 

***



Dean and the Dryad Pt. 03



Sam woke before sunrise, glad to see a new day approach. He'd had dark visits all night, but couldn't tell if they were wish-fulfillment dreams or part of his psychic gift. Sam regarded his abilities in a way similar to victims of childhood abuse. The guilt and shame were ever-present secrets he tried to hide. He stroked himself for a few minutes, indulging the memory of delicate wrists knotted in yards of black cashmere, the look in her eyes when she knew there was no escape. Lengths of rope made heavy breasts bulge, split the crevice of her buttocks. He'd strummed the lines, listening for the music of her cries and the moment tears turned into sobs of ecstasy. 

Sam felt himself barreling toward climax, but he squeezed the crown of his cock, denying himself release. He was sick. "And that, Sam," he gritted through his teeth, "is why you'll always be alone." 

In the kitchen, Bobby was already brewing coffee and making a big skillet of eggs and potatoes.

"Morning, Sam. Sleep well?"

"Like a rock," Sam cracked, mimicking jerking off. "Seriously, is it me or is testosterone at an all-time high around here?"

Bobby laughed; Sam didn't usually make jokes. "Well, there's a pretty face around, but we've seen 'em come and go. May as well stick to what we do best." 

Sam nodded. "Speaking of that, before grocery shopping last night I went back to search the warehouse. I'd never seen anything destroy a demi-god like that. Good thing, too—apparently that siren I'd heard wasn't for us. Police hadn't touched the scene."

"That was lucky," Bobby said, plunking two plates down on the table. They sat and ate. "What did you find?"

"More like what didn't I find. No weapon. And unless she's some master-level witch, no one could cast a spell like that."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying there's more to our guest than meets the eye."

Bobby nodded. "This morning, on the farm report, they had news of a crop circle on the other side of town. Prime nymph omen—but Zena was knocked out all night." 

"I'm going to hit the study today, see what I can find out," Sam replied. 

The front door opened and Dean came in with a gust of cold air. 

"Don't ask," he replied to their quizzical looks. He poured coffee and began loading up a plate. "You guys already ate?" 

"Yeah," Sam said. "But leave enough for Zena. I'd have taken her something, but 'nobody touches her but you'."

Bobby's eyebrows shot up. "You said that? What's wrong with you, boy?"

Dean groaned. "Look man, I was tripping. I'm sorry." He began fixing Zena's plate, slicing up a tomato and cucumber salad to go with her eggs. Bobby and Sam shared a look of disbelief. It wasn't the apology. Dean breaking out fresh produce was reason enough for an exorcism. But when he sat down to eat, his appetite still came first. 

"My game's been off, I know it. I've got it under control now."

"Good," Bobby said, pulling on his coat. "I've gotta run across the state line ta pick over a bunch of junkers. I'll see you all tonight."

"OK then." Sam hated any kind of conflict with his brother. "I'll be in the library for most of the day. Gotta see how to fight against these nymphs if they come around."

"You sure? We've got the No. 1 dryad killa in the house. Zena can probably handle anything a nymph throws her way," Dean exclaimed.

"Yeah, but it may be complicated."

"What's complicated?" Zena had padded down the hallway unseen. 

Dean jumped up from the table, scraping his chair along the floor and shoveling half the food on his plate into his mouth. "I'm out," he mumbled through the eggs. "Text me what I need to pick up." 

"Good morning to you, too," Zena said to Dean's fast-retreating back. "What's with him?"

"Oh, he's fine. Not freaking out at all," Sam said sarcastically. He sighed and stood. I hope this girl isn't more trouble than she's worth. "Eat up, I'll be in the study."

Zena sighted the covered plate on the countertop and dug in. She felt great, all things considered, even though her presence seemed to clear the room. She rinsed the plate, then retreated to wash up in the old-fashioned bathroom. Underneath the sharp scent of bar soap she smelled a faint trace of Dean, and something else. A woman.

Jealousy hit her like a sledgehammer. He'd turned her down when she was so hot she couldn't see straight, then went out and fucked someone else? She felt robbed. That tangy scent mingled with man cum on the air should have been hers. Pissed, she slammed the door. 

In the daylight, the cabin revealed itself as more of a cottage in the woods. It was actually quite charming, with a huge stone hearth in the living room that dominated the layout. The rest of the rooms, the kitchen, bathroom and down a short hallway, the bedrooms, led off from the living room. At the opposite end of the hall, a shaft of sunlight fell directly onto a heavy wooden door, like a beacon. 

Beyond the door was a fortress of books. Shelves and shelves of ancient texts lined every wall, up to the roof. In the middle, Sam sat at a large, carved desk, poring over a leather-bound tome. 

She saw why his initial impression as a giant had stuck. His hair, longer and lighter than Dean's, hung down over his eyes. The book looked almost comical in his oversized hands. Even seated, the length of his body was as plain as the muscles under his flannel. He spoke without looking up.

"How're your ribs?"

"Achy, but improving." She walked around to peer over his shoulder at the spidery print. "This book looks like it's a hundred years old!"

The weight of her fingertips on his shoulder was feather-light, but Sam was acutely aware of it. She smelled faintly sweet and fresh. 

"Three hundred," Sam said proudly. "But it's a translation of much older Greek mythology. I'm researching nymphs."

She zeroed in on the stack to his left. "Let me help." 

They dove int¬¬o the investigation. Sam couldn't help but notice how motivated Zena was. Maybe underneath all the bad-ass warrior princess-ness, she was a dork like him. Or maybe there was something more to her interest. After an hour of reading, he sat back. 

"So the nymphs use sex as a weapon, but it's a double-edged sword," he explained, trying to gauge her reaction. "They're stronger the longer they're celibate, but if they're hurt, sex helps them heal. The stronger the attraction, the faster they regenerate. But it can be dangerous for their human partners: they get obsessive, and sounds like they can have a permanent psychological break."

"They go zombie," she said flatly. "It's actually similar to what dryads do to nymphs. According to the lore," she added quickly.

"Right! My source says that many nymphs start out as human women too, at least until the dryad enslaves them. Then they get, like, Stockholm Syndrome. That might explain why no nymph came forward when you killed the dryad. Maybe you broke the spell and freed her."

Zena's whole demeanor changed. "Really? She might be free? Maybe she needs our help!" 

Sam narrowed his eyes. That was more than enthusiasm; that was hope in her voice. Still, Zena didn't appear to be evil; what if the nymph wasn't evil, either?

"Let's see. It cross-references another book we have, The Wood Faerie. See if you find anything in there." Sam pulled it out of the stack and Zena dove in. 

Sam was glad for the time they were spending together. He was impressed by the sharpness of her mind and her sense of humor. When she rested her hand on his arm, he felt himself warming to the light in her eyes. Not that it removed his doubts completely—there was still more to her story than she was sharing. 

After a couple of hours, Sam pushed back from the table.

"I texted Dean everything I think will help, but my eyes need a break. You want anything to drink?"

She didn't pause in her reading. "No thanks."

"Hey, Zena," Sam gently pulled the book from her grip. "We need to talk."

"Sure, what's on your mind?"

"How did you kill that dryad? I was late on the scene, but I didn't see you use a weapon or anything. Was it a spell?"

"Sort of. A dance."

"Can you show me?"

"No." Zena leaned back and began arranging her long locks in a bun, a nervous habit. The posture lifted her breasts higher, and Sam flashed back to his dream where he'd tied her up so tightly her breasts looked ready to pop. His cheeks burned with embarrassment. 

"The dance makes people do bad things. Most people, anyway. You seem different." 

"Why?"

"Er...I'm not sure how to put this."

"Because I'm alone with you and not climbing the walls right now, like Dean would be?"

She froze, then continued cautiously. "Yes, if you want to put it that way."

Sam gave a sad little smile. "That's the difference between Dean and me. He's a troglodyte sometimes, but that's because he's all the way, 100 percent human."

"You're not?"

"Demon blood when I was a baby changed that. I'm a hybrid, something that doesn't have a name." He reached across the table for her hand. "Unlike you."

Zena bit her lip, struggling with the secret she'd guarded her entire adult life. 

"I wasn't trying to trick you."

"You just conveniently forgot to tell us what you are."

"It wasn't like that. I'm sorry, Sam. I knew I didn't have a lot of time before she came after me."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "You said you were hunting the dryad in Colorado, but you weren't, were you?"

Zena shook her head. She seemed unable to lie to gentle Sam. "It was hunting me. It followed me."

"Why?"

"When my mom ran off with my stepdad, she was already pregnant. She didn't know. She said I was more powerful than her, that as a born nymph, the driad would never stop tracking me. That's why I had to kill him. He was ruthless, he would have enslaved me the way he did my mom and her sister." 

"Wait a minute, you have an aunt?" Sam smacked his forehead. "She's the other nymph!"

"Yes, but she stayed with my father. I've seen her only once; she's very powerful. I almost didn't escape."

"That explains the crop circle." Sam's face was inscrutable; smooth, but underneath dark emotions burned. "Not what you did to Dean."

"Hey!" Zena slammed her hand on the table, glowering. "Nobody asked you to be a hero and bring me to your house. I'm grateful you saved my life, but you took it upon yourself to do that."

"And you took it upon yourself to do that voodoo you do. My brother's hooked! You knew what could happen to him, but you got with Dean anyway. You used him to heal yourself!" 

Zena closed her eyes, holding back the tears. "The longer I take to heal, the longer I'm here, the more danger you guys are in. I had to speed things up. But I held back, anyway. We didn't have sex." 

What Zena didn't say was how badly she'd wanted to. Even as she studied with Sam, she wondered where he was and what he was doing. 

Reading those old books had taught her things she'd never known about herself. When a free nymph mates, it is immediate and for life, the book had said. Dean was hers, or supposed to be, and he knew it in his bones as surely as she did. So why didn't he come to her? Why did he run?

"Are you strong enough to face the nymph if she comes? We'll back you up with everything we've got, but it wouldn't take much for a smart nymph to exploit the situation between Dean and you. Or Dean and me. We would be fighting each other in minutes. You may have missed it, but you've been the source of some tension around here." 

"I thought you said she could have been freed by the driad's death? Why are you acting like she's still an enemy?" 

"Is that a chance you want to take?"

Zena's foot began to wiggle. Sam was right. "Then I need to be at full strength," she said flatly. 

Sam's control was a tightly held mask; he feared what might happen if he let loose. "What about Dean?"

The wind scraped a tree branch along the back wall, and both of them jumped.

"Do you think we can afford to wait?" 

Sam salivated at the thought of finally beating Dean to home base; to feel Zena twist and sweat under him. But he had to warn her.

"I'm a little less, uh, vanilla than most guys," he fumbled. Then he started over. He didn't want to scare her, but she had to know what to expect.

"You're a powerful being; haven't you ever wanted to lay that burden down?" 

Sam stepped between her knees, towering over her, feeling her body's energy and letting her feel his. He stayed there until she nodded. "Then let me carry it for you, for a short while." 

Then he knelt in front of her. Zena gazed into Sam's light eyes and saw her reflection there, but it was not her normal self. She saw her damage, the way she hurt other people to get what she needed. She needed to be broken in order to be fixed. It wasn't power she was tired of dragging around, it was guilt. Moreover, it was her walls. She'd been so guarded for so long, the thought of giving another the reins so completely was incredibly erotic. Her voice trembled with the possibility.

"I don't think I know how."

"Just give me control, Zena. I see the pain in you, because it's in me, too. Let's work on it together. I promise not to hurt you."

"How does it work?" 

"If you want to stop, say 'Kansas' and the whole scene ends." 

She stood and he followed suit. It had already begun. 

Zena felt the force of his desire coursing through her. It was like someone flipped a switch. Warm Sam became hot - and hard-hearted. He unbuckled his belt and pulled it out through the loops, his face like stone. He showed her the heavy leather belt.

"You came here breaking the rules, even when it was clear people could be hurt. I'm going to name your infractions while I punish you, and you're going to count them off. Then you're going to repeat them to me. Each mistake will result in further punishment. Am I clear?"

"Yes." She didn't say Yes, Sam, because she didn't feel like she was talking to Sam anymore. She was talking to Fate; someone to hold her accountable. He fingered the hem of her tank top, glad she'd put her hair in a bun. That made it easier to pull the shirt up over her head and behind her back, twisting until it formed a makeshift harness. He tied it off, then surveyed his work. Instinctively, she struggled against the restraint for a few seconds, to no avail. It was quick and dirty, but effective. 

"Face down on the table. Don't make a sound." He sounded like Sam again, caring and sweet, except he was wrapping the buckle end of the belt around his fist.

Zena wasn't sure if it was the fear or excitement, but her body was responding. She knew she could get free if she really wanted to. So she relaxed into her bindings. The thrill of excitement was sparking inside. As she faced the table, Sam reached out and pulled her bra down, further constricting her. His fingers briefly trailed over her breasts, but didn't linger. Then he put one of his oversized paws on the small of her back and bore down until she was bent at a 90-degree angle. Her nipples bit into the cool wood. Of her own accord, she gripped her elbows behind her back.

Sam's groin was getting warm. It was as though she already knew what he wanted. Without unsnapping her fly, he worked her pants past her hips and down under her backside. Her crossed arms and the tight waistband made the perfect frame for her plump ass. He hitched her higher on the table, so that her legs kicked out at a slight angle and revealed her dark pout. Zena felt the cool breeze of exposure and involuntarily winked her passage at him.

Just to calm himself, slow things down, he delicately traced over, under, and around her globes with the leather belt, taking particular care to gently floss between her cheeks. He smiled at her twitching flesh and the shaky sigh that escaped her lips. She looked so tantalizing, he dropped one kiss on her bare ass. Then he began.

"As I said, you have been a guest here for less than 24 hours. Yet in that time, you've broken So. Many. Rules." He tapped her cheeks with the folded belt for emphasis. 

"I'm sorry."

Whap! Sam's strap licked across both cheeks with an eye-watering sting. The force behind the hit shocked Zena so much she didn't cry out.

"You don't speak unless I pose a direct question," he said, in a wholly calm voice. "I shouldn't even have to tell you that. That's a primary rule." He rubbed her bottom, thrilling at the welt that was already rising. It stretched across both moons, accentuating her curves. 

"But since I didn't tell you in advance, and it was a rough strike, I'll let you off with just one. OK?" He waited, then continued in a colder voice. "See, that was a direct question. I'm expecting an answer. Yes?"

"Y-yes, Sam."

"Good. Now, back to your infractions. You came in and were immediately divisive. We took you in, nursed you, fed you. And in return you seduced Dean." Whap! "Pushed him toward the edge when he helped you!" Whap! "Disrespected Bobby in his own home." Whap! "Lied to my face about who you were." Whap! "And lied to me about you and Dean. I don't—" whap "hear—" whap "any counting!" Whap!

Zena gasped with the effort to count through her shrieks. Her face felt as hot as her behind, and each miscount resulted in a stinging lash that made her arch up in turmoil. It hurt, but worse than that was her reaction to the humiliation. He had positioned her directly over a series of rounded carvings on the desk. With each flinch, she bumped her mound on the protrusions. Her nipples dragged over the hand-finished plane, and her ass tensed and released in time with his blows. 

"I said, Don't. Move!" 

Sam's voice was guttural. He had her pinned her by the small of her back with one hand. Though he held the strap, Zena was whipping him into a frenzy. The way her body bounced and squirmed, the shine of her dark muff tempted him to no end. He circled around the desk to face her. She was performing so well. Evidence of her success packed the front of his jeans, and he rubbed the rough denim back and forth across her cheeks and mouth. Like a good girl, she didn't suck without being told; she just let her lips go slack so he could shallowly bump against her steaming tongue. He brought his hand down hard between her cheeks, and drew back slick fingers. He began to alternate spanks with more exploratory punishments.

The energy of their passion filled the room. Her internal bruises receded, her cracked ribs knit back together on the molecular level. Zena felt a growing sense of balance; she deserved this pain and pleasure. Sam started over, making sure she counted each blow loud and clear. By the time he had her repeat her transgressions, Zena was near orgasm. 

"You seduced Dean."

"I-seduced-Dean," she repeated.

"Did you take his tongue in your mouth?"

"Yes."

"Did you suck on it?"

"Yes," she hissed.

"Where were his hands?"

"All over me."

Whap!

"Between my thighs, two fingers, sliding in and out of me on the kitchen counter. And in my shirt, on my hips, my neck, everywhere."

"Did you cum for him?"

"Mhm, hard. I thought he would fuck me right there. I never wanted it to end."

Zena shivered at the memory of Dean's eyes, the weight of his voice and crush of his body on her, while Sam's licks played a sharp counterpoint. What one brother gave in pleasure, the other took in pain. She could hardly think straight, but Sam was a stickler. When she didn't supply enough detail, he didn't spare the strap. 

Zena's ass was undulating, her nether lips swollen so they resembled a fist. An abstract pattern of welts criss-crossed her backside. Sam regretted that they would fade in a day or two. If she were his, he would get them permanently tattooed so he could enjoy them all the time. Suddenly, he stopped. Zena's moans and his breathing were loud in the room. 

"What the hell?" Dean's voice boomed.



Dean and the Dryad Pt. 04



I tried to redeem myself a bit by posting these chapters a little more quickly. Categorizing this story was hard: interracial, nonhuman, erotic coupling, bdsm, there's a bit of everything here. But I hope you like it, and please leave feedback!

*****

Sam jumped, expecting the door to splinter and Dean's fists to come flying, but instead he heard the sounds of struggle. Rapidly undoing Zena from her binds, they raced into the kitchen, where Dean was grappling with a slight, surprisingly strong blonde. The front door swung forlornly off half its hinges, like the two had burst right through it.

The woman wore skintight jeans and a low-cut tank top, but her outfit didn't impede her fighting style. She grabbed Dean by both arms and slung him face-first into a wall.

"Is it because I didn't call?" he shouted. 

Shay sneered. "Did you really think you're that irresistible? Please." Her head whipped around to Zena. "Hello, sweetheart."

"Hello, Auntie."

The women circled each other. Dean began to approach, but Sam grabbed his arm. The heady aroma of Zena's pheromones fogged Dean's brain, and he shot Sam a confused look before returning his attention to the scene before him.

"So," Shay was saying, "you kill my mate and imprint your own? But that is not his scent you're wearing. You are extraordinary, my dear. After everything she did, you've proven yourself even worse than your mother."

"You leave my mother out of this. She broke free—"

"Your mother was a thief, plain and simple. Oh, I warned Kaidunos not to trust her. But she was sooo near his heart. He would've forgiven her, taken her back and you with her."

Zena swung a heavy chair at the woman, breaking it across her shoulder. Shay didn't budge.

"My mother never wanted to return to that...monster! That thing robbed her of free will!" 

"That thing—our husband, your father—made life worth living. And you murdered him!"

Shay lunged at Zena, seeming to fly the last few feet between them, and dug her claws into the young woman's neck. Her stranglehold was unbreakable. Sam and Dean tried, slamming their fists into her arms, prying at her fingers, to no avail. Zena kicked and pushed, but couldn't break the hold.

"Nice try, sweetheart," Shay laughed in her face. "You're strong, but without the help of your true mate you're no match for me. Why do you think I compelled you to lay down with his brother?"

Dean couldn't believe his ears. "You dropped your clothes for Sam? I don't understand." 

Dean had been hard as a rock all day. He'd done his damndest to avoid her that morning, it was true; after spending last night out in the cold he'd finally gotten a grip and didn't want to lose it. But he'd been distracted the whole time he was out, hoping she wasn't angry with him for behaving like an idiot. Halfway through gathering the supplies Sam requested, he began feeling strange. His thoughts were never far from their interlude in the kitchen. But this was more than recall; it was reliving it. He wandered through the rare plants greenhouse feeling her tummy convulse against his, her juicy grip on his fingers, the way she wriggled. Her cum-cry rang in his ears and he nearly left his wallet at the counter racing out of there. He had to get home to her. The last thing he'd expected to learn was that she'd been making time with Sam.

"Goddamn, what kind of woman are you?" he asked.

"She's the daughter of a god," Sam said. "And you heard the nymph. We were compelled, we couldn't help it. She must have been working her magic, outside."

Zena looked at Dean. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"As am I, child. I am going to kill you now, and these sorry human specimens too."

"No!" A rush of power from Zena seemed to flatten every object in the room. Her eyes glittered and her hair fanned out in an undetectable breeze, like each of the individual plaits were alive. With a look, Zena pinned her aunt against a far wall. 

"You meant to break me, but you've made me stronger than I could ever imagine. Unlike you, I held my center." 

Shay's eyes widened. "It's impossible! You couldn't have resisted!"

Zena just smiled, full of hurt and malice. "Now you'll pay."

Before they could stop her, she blasted the nymph out of existence. 

Zena slept for the next 48 hours days. If she got up to use the bathroom or eat, she did it while the boys were out or asleep, and she moved silently as a ninja. 

Dean was missing her something fierce. He wanted to apologize for acting like an idiot, for running and then being so jealous he couldn't look at her straight, but he couldn't seem to catch her. Finally, the third morning Dean banged on her door. When she didn't answer, he pushed his way into the room and stood over the rumpled bed.

A quick jog out the front revealed her bike was missing. Sam stood beside him in the muddy front yard. 

"These tracks aren't old. She must've left about an hour ago."

Dean nodded. "And pushed her bike out of the yard to avoid noise, too." 

Sam looked chagrined. "She blamed herself. It wasn't her fault." 

Dean nodded. He knew whose it was.

**

Dean didn't go out often. But when he did, it was to Lupe's, a small Mexican bar on the outskirts of town. Décor was crap, but beers were cheap and a few nights a week, bands crowded the tiny stage strung with colored Christmas lights. 

He staked out his favorite dimly lit corner with a pitcher of suds and watched the cowboys dance to the plaintive honks of norteno tuba. 

"Hey stranger, this seat taken?"

Dean looked up into Zena's brown eyes. She wore a long, simple skirt and his tank top. All that rest seemed to have done her no good. She looked wan, thinner than before. 

"Why'd you run off? I was worried about you."

"I'd have thought you'd be relieved," she returned, taking a sip of his beer. 

Dean shook his head. "We didn't mind taking care of you. You shouldn't have left, you're not 100 percent yet. I mean, you're beautiful, but you look worn down." 

"Thanks. I just needed...to hear some music, be around people. You ever feel that way?"

"That's why I'm here. We should dance."

"I'm not drunk enough yet," Zena replied. "Besides, I'm worn down, right?"

"Come on, I look good enough for the both of us." He flashed his megawatt smile, and she let him pull her to the floor.

He rested a hand on the small of her back and began two-stepping. The music swelled and they got lost in the simple joy of movement. Zena and Dean had good rhythm together. Dancing was like a language they spoke, more intimate than conscious words. 

Dean noted a bit of a circle forming around them in the middle of the floor. Zena swung her hips with confidence and grace, putting her whole body into it. She danced with her toned arms swaying overhead in a hypnotic motion. The band slid from norteno to salsa, to bachata and quilombo. The music got sexier and sexier. He couldn't take his eyes off her. An odd movement to the left caught his eye and he realized the couple next to him were making out pretty seriously. Murmurs and sighs propagated across the dancefloor as couples moved more and more immodestly, until they were just dry-humping in front of the band. Through it all, Zena danced with her eyes closed. 

Suddenly, she glanced around at all of the writhing bodies and stumbled like she'd just woken out of a trance. "I've gotta get out of here," she said and made a run for the parking lot. Dean followed her. She was visibly upset.

"Folks are just getting a little freaky, lighten up," he joked. 

She shook her head. "It's more than that. And you know it." Zena's eyes shone with tears, but she went quiet. Dean felt her mood, like a glass unicorn on a ledge. Any sudden move might break her. She was slipping away from him.

"Get in the car. I want to take you somewhere."

The two were lost in thought as Dean drove into the hills. She was the first to break the silence.

Zena sighed. "I used to think maybe my ancestors were Zoroastrian, way back a thousand years ago. I never met any other Zoroastrians to know for sure. I grew up normal; my mom, my stepdad and me. We had some cultural things that we had to keep to ourselves, but a few rites a couple times a year was it. Mom said it was our family history."

"What kinds of rites?"

"Feast days, special prayers, dances. I loved the dancing." Zena's voice warmed, slipping back into memories of her childhood. "The dancing is what I miss most. Mom moved beautifully, like she was telling a story, and I learned by imitating her. She encouraged me to find my own style, my own originality, and she was so pleased whenever I would dance for them. She said I would change, and that I wasn't to dance outside the house any more. I thought she was being protective. I danced for my parents on my birthday, when I turned 18."

Zena marveled at the memory, her eyes bright. "The longer and harder I danced, the less tired I became. I didn't know my body could move like that. I danced for three days straight. I could hear my neighbors moaning in the night. When I dropped of exhaustion, the last thing I saw was my parents, locked in a knot of passion."

The further away they got from the town lights, the calmer Zena became. A long time passed before she spoke again.

"I killed my stepdad that night. I'm sure he died happy, but still, he died because of me. Mom told me I had to go."

"You were just a kid," Dean tried to console her. "You didn't know."

"But I did," Zena said with a sad smile. "It felt too good. Just like tonight. I knew better. I just missed music so much. I thought just a little dancing couldn't hurt." She looked out the window like her heart was breaking. "Where are you taking me?"

"A little spot in the hills I like to go to, when I want to be alone."

She smiled at him. "But you're not. Won't I ruin it?"

He made an abrupt turn down a hidden road. It was a single lane, unpaved but smooth, leading up a sharp incline. "Never."

About three miles in they came to a sudden clearing. The spot was a small, inactive volcano, millions of years old, that had been filled over time by a natural lake. It sparkled in the moonlight, surrounded by a sandy, scrubby beach.

Zena gasped and jumped out before the car came to a complete stop. She ran to the water line like a child. 

"This is beautiful, Dean!"

"It's just us for miles," he called, fiddling with the car radio. Reception was bad out here, but he found an old bossa nova station with a decent signal and turned up the volume. "You can dance all you want."

Zena threw her arms up as the old-timey music swelled. Her movements mixed rhumba and salsa and West African influences, until she simply began to twirl like a dervish, spinning faster and faster until it made Dean dizzy just to look at her. When he did, he could see she was crying. 

It was the most wonderful thing anyone had ever done for her. 

He kicked his shoes off and joined her, quickly losing the bit of chill that lingered on the night air. He was swirling in her spell, but he reached out and grabbed ahold of their connection, using it as an anchor. Matching her intricate steps, Dean tapped into some dormant part of himself and unhooked his soul from the years of heartache and suffering. He pounded out the weight through his feet, unspooled the guilt with his hips, telling Zena without words everything he felt in his heart. 

He didn't know how long they danced, but at some point he looked down at himself, amazed to discover he wasn't even tired. She let out a whoop when he dipped her, then tried to unsuccessfully dip him. Dean let himself fall back into the sand, drawing her down with him. He found her lips and, pulling her beneath him, sunk into her lush kiss. 

His hands roamed up and down her body until she trembled.

"You cold?" he whispered.

She shook her head no. Goosebumps raised on her chest, but she was definitely feeling warm. Dean held himself above her by his forearms. She could feel him blunt and insistent below the waist, his body demanding what his lips wouldn't. 

"I've got an idea," Zena said, locking her legs around his waist. Dean grunted at the contact, ready to plow her through the soft sand, when she twisted her body hard and threw him on his side. Firmly seated before he knew what hit him, Zena grasped the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, then stood and shed the skirt, revealing her long, powerful legs. Turning her back, she unclasped her bra and flung it to the ground with her clothes. She discarded her panties last, flashing Dean a look at her bare buttocks as she scurried toward the surf.

"It's gonna be—" he tried to warn her, but her scream cut him off. "Cold," he guffawed, stripping down to join her. He liked this game.

There was only one way to adjust to the temperature: Zena splashed past the shallows and sat on the sandy bottom of the lake. Her nerve endings thrilled to the sudden chill; dancing had lulled her but now she felt fully conscious and intimately connected to the universe. Each of stars overhead seemed turned up a little brighter, just for her. 

Immersed up to her eyes, she watched Dean approach. His sculpted body had Zena wetter inside than out. Dean's broad shoulders and chest narrowed to a tightly ripped waist, a sharp vee flowing into the start of strong, muscle-corded hips. His wide, pale dick bobbed ahead of him like a hungry fish. But it was his eyes that had her locked. They were dark as the lake, and the water stuck his lashes thickly together. 

She rose, allowing the lake to buoy her until she stood waist-deep. Rivulets of water streamed off her body, shimmering in the moonlight. She crossed her arms coyly over her bosom as Dean splashed over to her. He took one of her hands, then the other in his, unwrapping her like a present, drinking in the sight of her wet, beautiful breasts. How could he not have brought her here sooner?

"Hey, you." The night looked so good on her skin. Even the air wants to make love to her, he thought. He traced his thumb along her lips and she bit it, eyes laughing at him.

"You little..." he smacked her bottom a little harder than he'd intended, and rubbed it to soothe the sting. As his fingers kneaded her rump, she angled her head to his. The kiss was languorous, a first leisurely exploration of each other's lips. He gripped a fistful of braids and gently tugged her head back, tipping her chin higher for better access. 

He ran his hands under her bum, cupping it up and open. She had so much soft, sweet ass, but he couldn't get a grip on it. It was too slippery. Zena giggled, feeling his long fingers dig into her backside, attempting to hang on. Dean played with it a little, bouncing it, even dribbling it a bit, then shifted under her so she straddled her hips. It happened so fast she squealed. She was aloft in the night air, solidly supported by his strong body. 

"Put me down, Dean," she giggled, twisting about.

"If you insist. You know, I still owe you one for biting me."

"You wouldn't!"

"Oh, but I would." Without further delay, Dean tightened his grip on her and, yelling "timber," plunged them both under the murky water. 

Sputtering, Zena found her feet for a few seconds, but Dean was playing, showing off his familiarity with the lake. He circled her underwater like a shark and grabbed at her calves, attempting to flip her head over tail again. She turned the tables when she went under and he felt her hot mouth sheath his penis.

His vision went crimson and he gasped as she emerged laughing to the surface.

"That's not fair," he sputtered. "Unless I can do it, too." 

He dropped to a sitting position on the lake bottom, and after a second she stepped forward. She followed his prompts to fit one, then the other leg over his shoulders, and he dipped his mouth to her sweet center. He ate her until he thought his lungs would burst. Then, gripping her arms with his hands, he stood, inhaling her and oxygen at the same time. 

She slid her body lower onto him, encouraged by his hands on her buttocks, and her toes tickled down his back as he walked them ashore. 

"You called me 'just another zombie that wants to fuck.' I've been called lots of things by lots of women, but never that."

"Guess that makes me special." 

"It does," he kissed the tip of her nose. "I know, now, the effect you have on people. But..." he searched her face. "I think there's more between us." 

Zena looked down at his cock pushing against her thigh. "I'll say."

She knelt between his legs and unzipped him, and her jaw dropped. Seeing it was different from feeling it bump against her mound. Her fingers couldn't wrap all the way around it; he was the thickness and half the length of a small child's arm. 

What the hell? Deena was a bit in awe. She stroked it a few times and jumped when Dean tilted her chin up. 

Deena focused on his wet, dark eyes as she brought his cock to her closed mouth. He pulled her face up his length, slowly, but not so slowly she didn't gag. He kept pushing until he felt her throat constricting his head. She threw her hands up to stroke his sac like locks to which only she held the combinations. Her tongue scrolled along his cock wherever she could make room and saliva bathed her chin. Two or three inches still protruded from her mouth, but she worked him over with such gusto he doubted he could last if she took it all.

Deena had never had her mouth so filled. Her lips stretched so widely for him she couldn't imagine how he'd fit inside her. But sucking him was transcendent. His tender, rigid flesh leaked pre-cum over her tongue, making her taste buds tingle. He felt like a tree, growing his root into her belly. She ached with emptiness. Each squeeze of her thighs left them wetter.

Deena was feasting on his moans and sighs as much as on the thick cock in her mouth. His utter helplessness against her prowess turned her on 10. She engulfed his whole length and managed to flick his sac with her tongue, shocked and pleased to find it drawn up so tightly already. He would be spurting soon. Would copious amounts of sweet milk overflow her jaws, or would he feed a thick, ropy load straight into her belly? She hummed in anticipation. 

"You thirsty, baby?" His gravelly register made her suck harder. "Mmm, you want to swallow me?" 

She nodded, letting his cock slide around in her mouth.

"Too bad," he teased her. "I can't wait another minute."

Dean pulled free, dragging a strangled cough and a glut of saliva out of her throat. It splashed onto her breasts, clear strands suspended like a bridge between her lips and his prick. They glowed in the starlit night. Dean got on the ground and she opened before him like a feast. Without a moment to waste, he speared her.

The sheer amount of dick all at once made her scream. His first thrust seemed neverending, and it stretched her to capacity. When he finally bottomed out, he was so deep and snug, Dean was afraid to move. He counted from ten backwards, brow furrowed in concentration, eyes closed against her beauty. But he couldn't do anything about the lush rack, soft thighs and tight pussy claiming his body, demanding he fuck. Gritting his teeth, he pulled back and slammed into her center. Again and again; until he saw stars. 

He had just enough willpower not to stuff the whole ten inches into her. Her insides squeezed his cock so deliciously, he could tell she hadn't been active in a while and he was bigger than she was used to. With each thrust, her lip snarled up in one corner, unwittingly egging him on to fuck her harder, deeper. Her tits jumped with every thrust; he couldn't take his eyes off her.

"Ohhh damn it, baby," he mumbled, falling on her lips. The kiss was slow, deep and sweet, though Dean's waist never stopped moving. They mingled tongues while he stirred his dick deep in her belly. Deena wondered if he was rearranging her insides. Short, tight strokes thumped her g-spot and pressed her overstimulated clit, sending electrical jolts through her body. Her legs jerked in time with his thrusts. A droplet of water slid off her long lashes and down her face. She made him feel like Superman.




Dean and the Dryad Pt. 04



"No, baby," he wiped the tear away, "stay with me." His hips didn't stop. 

Deena smiled, despite the tic she couldn't control each time he pumped deep. She slowly, deliberately tilted her pelvis and her body swallowed his last few inches. Dean couldn't suppress a loud groan.

"I'm not...going anywhere yet," she replied. 

Deena locked her legs around him and twisted her body in a swift, masterful throw that shifted her on top, sending grains of sand flying. 

With her astride him, Deena actually felt him seated deeper inside. She leaned forward and braced her hands on his chest, working her hips in a sexy screw that made her breasts dance over his face. He captured one in his mouth and sucked as much as would fit. Deena felt the shakes coming on. She looked in Dean's eyes and knew she was cumming soon. He seized control, pressing her body to him, sliding her up and down against him to give her the friction she needed. She felt so silky, so right, he wanted her just like that forever. 

Dean held her so tight only her ass moved, popping up and down on his cock. He gripped her rump with both hands, pulling it apart and pushing her cheeks together and seeing the tension ramp up in her face, put his thumb at her backdoor and pushed. 

"Deeean," she wailed. 

"There it is," he grunted. 

Something inside her pinched, held, fluttered. Over and over, harder and harder, her pussy muscles clutched at his rod until her whole body shook. He couldn't help himself, he started thrusting faster. The ride got sloppy, erratic.

"Cum for me, baby," he rasped, "Cum all over me." 

He pushed her knees wider, propelling her toward an orgasm that had been building for hours. There was nowhere she could go, nothing to do but take it as he pounded her through a white-hot climax. Body spasms whipped her back and forth as her cunt gobbled his cock down. The contractions took her and she gushed all over him. She came so hard she thought she peed. Dean was bathing in her pleasure. Losing his grip, he jammed inside her. It felt like his balls exploded and everything he had flew into her.



Dean and the Dryad



"And you don't. If that's what you're trying to sell, sweetheart, I ain't buying."

A flush bloomed under her skin, turning it from chocolate pudding to black cherry, and the memory of Sam cutting her shirt open came flooding back. At the time, Dean had been entranced by her hourglass figure: her tummy, soft and concave; those big, suck-me tits; the flare of her hips that promised a fantastic ass. All that flawless, earthy skin. But now, finally, he understood what had been eating at him. 

Dean yanked his thermal t-shirt off and pulled her hand to his chest. "See this?" 

She struggled, almost hissing, but he held firm until she softened enough to let him guide her palm across his pecs. Over the scars, burns and welts. His eyes told her the story of each mark. The longer they touched, the harder it was to stop. Imperceptibly, her hand began traveling on its own. She mapped his tattoos, the Enochian symbol that warded off demon possession under his collarbone, his mother's name over his heart. He willed himself to be still, keep arms at his sides while she grew bolder in her exploration. She alternated pressure, lightly scratching him with her nails, grazing his stiff nips. 

It had been too long since Zena had gotten this close to a man, and something about the way he put his own desire on a leash excited her. She called the shots, though a tiny voice warned that she wasn't in control as much as she pretended. She leaned in and inhaled. He smelled like a man should: sweaty, musky, and her belly twinged in response. Something pulled her gaze right up into Dean's burning eyes. 

Why are you trying to hide from me?

Maybe you won't like what you find.

Let me be the judge of that.

"What am I looking for?" she finally whispered. She plucked teasingly at the button fly of his jeans. "What do you want to show me?"

Dean was in agony. There were very few things on earth he wanted more than for her to open his pants. But this was one of them. 

"The truth." He put his hands on her waist, closing the space between them. "I'm scarred all to hell from a life of fighting werewolves, vampires and demons. But you? You're smoother than a baby's bottom." 

His hands trailed down to her backside and squeezed to punctuate his point. 

Zena had inspected every inch of his torso. There was nowhere to go but down. Her eyes followed her fingers as they ruffled the coarse hair that lined the crevice of his abs and disappeared into his pants. His arousal was belligerent, straining toward her, peeking purple through the gap in his waistband. His angular jaw clenched with the effort to hold still. 

Zena's mouth was dry—the only orifice on her body about which that could be said. She licked her lips and his resolve cracked; he dipped for a sample. She tasted like spiced apple pie, cinnamon and tender. He tugged on her lower lip with his teeth before delving back into the cave of her kiss. She was equal parts passion and reserve, but so responsive. It was a wicked combination. She moaned and it was all the sweeter for its reluctance. Every quiver shook him to the core. Dean ground slowly against her, getting lost in her lushness. He sank his teeth in her shoulder to break the spell, but that only spiked it. 

"You're such a fucking liar," he whispered into her neck. He curled his fingertips around the base of her t-shirt and peeled it up over her breasts. They bounced in his hands, full and firm. He nuzzled them and Zena closed her eyes and hummed. 

"No ritual scars, no ink," he spoke into soft tit flesh. He knew even as he inspected her that his end goal wasn't interrogation. No, he was going to devour her, starting with the chocolate kiss nipples in front of his face. Dean swirled his tongue over her melons, peeling back her bra to get at the large, velvety areolas. He latched onto her tender bits, her mews goading him to suck harder. 

"Dean," she gasped, "what are you doing?" 

"What are you doing? You're not a hunter. Why are you really out here killing dryads?" He gave her cleavage a long, slow lick, watched her expression change from want to need.

"I don't know what you mean," she mumbled.

"I mean, there's no sexy-ass cocoa huntress in Denver. Who are you, really? And why are you raring to get out of here like a hell hound's on your tail?"

Zena fought to focus beyond the battery of sensations. Dean didn't know the danger. It wasn't fair! 

"You wouldn't understand. You and Sam've been so good to me. The last thing I want is to see you in the ground."

"So stay."

"I can't!"

He plainly saw her desire, but it was her fear more than anything that moved him. She wasn't afraid of him; she was afraid for him. She was trying to protect him, he realized. And in that moment he was lost. 

He dove into her like a starving man, driving her backwards until her butt bumped the counter, then cupping her ass and hoisting her up on the surface, burrowing between her soft thighs. Dean's mouth and hands roaming her body were overwhelming. Everywhere he touched felt electric. She ached to have him. Dean brought something out of her that scared her, even as it made her liquid. Let it be all right, she prayed. But she'd been wrong before. She snatched herself back for a breath and the two touched foreheads, her hair falling like a curtain around them. 

"Don't be scared," he panted. "I won't hurt you. I won't let anything hurt you."

Dean popped the snap on her pants, itching to taste her. With his eyes trained on hers, he breached her panties. His thumb found her ripe clit swimming in nectar, so plump it set his teeth on edge. Is this for me? Is this how I make you feel? Her lashes fluttered as he circled the nub, tickling her grasping entrance with another finger. It had to be the wettest place on earth. Her lids were heavy, she could barely keep her eyes open. But her hips told another story, slow-screwing his hand so deliciously she swallowed two of his fingers in her tight canal.

"That's it, darlin'," he croaked, hooking onto her g-spot, "get it any way you want it." 

Dean was panting for her; he knew the slide into her heat would be unbelievable. But he wanted to be the best she'd ever had. He wanted to tease her until she dripped down her legs, then split her delicate seam and bang out the memory of any man before him. Driven by the thought, he sucked her neck hard enough to leave a mark, strumming one nipple while his other hand twisted in her folds like a corkscrew. 

Zena's body bent like a bow against him. Her joints tightened until she shook with the tension. "Deeean," she wailed. It sounded like a warning. Light waves rolled behind her eyes, spasms jerked her body like a puppet on strings. Then she broke, her passage clutching at his fingers and drawing them deeper inside, flooding his palm as he relentlessly rang her bell. She seemed to dissolve as she came down, limp except for periodic shudders. 

Dean was so hard, if he slid her onto his shaft her feet wouldn't hit the floor. He pulled her to the counter's edge, yanking her waistband under her rump and fitting his dick to her slippery aperture. Chomping at the bit, he barely managed to pump his brakes.

"OK?" There was no question what he was talking about. She nodded quickly, pussy pulsing and squeezing the meaty head of his cock. Dean was just feeling her flesh part, opening up her true sucking heat, when a key jangled in the lock. They froze, then catapulted into action. Zena jumped off the counter and Dean yanked her shirt down, not bothering with his own. She fumbled to zip her pants. After a beat, the door swung open and a bearded older man with a beer gut and a canvas rucksack stepped into the warmth. 

"Bobby! I thought you were gonna be in the woods for a few days, deer hunting." Dean stepped behind Zena to hide his arousal. He couldn't resist pushing his hips up against her soft ass.

The grizzled old man made a face. "Changed my mind. It's chillier than I remember in the evenings. Who's this?"

"Zena," she said. "Sam helped me out of a tight spot."

"She got a pretty bad scrape for her trouble too, but she managed to bag that dryad before we could," Dean added. 

Bobby eyed Dean's bare chest, his hands on the dark girl's hips, and their kiss-swollen lips. Usually he went for redheads, but he could see her appeal. He chuckled at their innocent act. I may be old, but I'm not that big a fool, he thought to himself. 

"Single-handed? That is impressive, young lady. You get the nymphs too?"

The two looked confused.

"Uhh, what nymphs?" Dean asked. 

"The nymphs that accompany every dryad, ya idjit. The deity's handmaidens. Sorta like sirens, they activate the lust the dryad makes use of. Sometimes they've made people copulate till death. They're almost as bad as their masters, malicious and entertained by human suffering. Got to be two or three of 'em round every dryad."

"Shit," Dean muttered. "Wish we'd known that this morning."

"That's why you can't rely on Wikipedia for lore." Bobby dropped his gear in a corner. "Well, I'm getting a beer. Want one?"

Without waiting for an answer, Bobby proceeded to crack three beers, and turned his back to pour them into glasses. 

"Since we've got company and all, we can be a little fancy. Bottoms up."

Dean and Bobby shot-gunned the first gulp of beer, but Zena demurred. 

Bobby raised a brow. "Not to sound impolite, but there are a few traditions we follow around here. The drink's mandatory. I'm not really asking." 

"And if I don't? Because now I definitely don't." A smile bloomed on her face and Dean saw it for what it was: a welcome mat for violence. He recognized it from his own dark side. Could she really enjoy hurting people that much?

"Shut up, the both of you," Dean's voice grated. He was still hard as calculus. Why the hell did Bobby have to come home right then? He needed to clear his head, maybe jerk off a couple dozen times. 

"Look, Bobby, between killing the monster, thinking she got kidnapped and taking 100 kitchen stitches, Zena's had a long day. Cut her some slack."

"We've all had a long day," Bobby grumbled. "What I don't understand is why we bother with safety protocols if you only follow them when the mood strikes you."

Just then, Zena swayed. She grabbed for the counter and missed, but Dean caught her before she hit the floor. 

"Whoa, there! You OK?" Bobby yelled.

"I'm good. I've got it." Zena tried to push him away, but Dean wouldn't have it. 

"Yeah, you're fully capable of taking care of yourself, I get it. But you're laying down now, doctor's orders." Dean slipped her arm over his shoulders and escorted her down the hallway to his tiny bedroom. It was spartan, just room enough for a twin bed, a shelf with neatly folded clothes and a chair. He eased her down on the old plaid quilt. 

"I don't know what happened there. I just... got dizzy."

"You lost a lot of blood today. When's the last time you ate?"

She laid back on the lumpy pillow, her brow wrinkled in thought. "Yesterday, maybe lunchtime?" 

He could've kicked himself. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I don't know what I was thinking. I knew it was too early for you to be walking around. Sammy'll be here in a minute with some decent eats."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," She chanted under her breath. 

"What's the problem? Were you still planning to ride out tonight?"

Zena held his gaze. "I didn't make any promises, Dean," she said softly.

"Wow. Talk about a blow to the ego." He rubbed his stubble; his hand was slick with her scent and the static in his head came back with a vengeance. "We didn't patch you up to kick you out. Sleep on it. At least until you get on the mend. I can take the couch for a couple of nights."

"Who says I want you to?" Zena asked. She felt better after that first orgasm; the stitches didn't even hurt anymore. And here they were, alone on a bed. She was still keyed up from earlier, too. Her eyes glistened in invitation. 

She looked so good, lying on her back. It would be so easy to slip under the covers and spend the rest of the night in heaven. But she was hurt, she'd almost passed out, for Christ's sake, and Dean knew in his state he wouldn't be gentle. Besides, she looked so vulnerable. He didn't want her to think she had to put out to stay. With effort, he tucked the blanket around her, allowing himself to just graze her eyelids with a kiss. Her cool breath tickled down his collar, nearly wrecking his control.

"Rain check." His voice was gravelly. "Get some rest. I'll wake you when the food gets here."