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I never believed in those childish fairytales. But after being stranded in the woods with nothing but the remains of a friend to gnaw on, I wasn’t selfless enough to refuse. Call it survival. Call it preservation. Call it cannibalism. A new sin, perhaps—but hardly the worst of mine.
It kept me alive.
Too bad it also stripped away what scraps of humanity I still clung to. Mortals would call me a wendigo now. Maybe they’d be right. Most of my kind would stalk prey through the snow, hunting until the hunger broke them. Me? I preferred a different game.
A cabin, hidden deep in the forest. A place where the trees tangle together like a snare, catching anyone foolish enough to run. The lost always find their way to me, eventually. And the desperate—the ones without family, without homes, without anyone left to miss them—they’re the ones who sit at my table.
And once you’re sitting across from me… you don’t leave until the game’s over. If you won, I paid generously. Gold, supplies, whatever you asked for. But if you lost… you didn’t owe me money. You owed me flesh. I ran my tongue across my teeth at the thought.
“Hello?”
The voice was soft, almost trembling, drifting into the dark of my cabin. A girl. Young. Pretty, too. I grinned—then forced myself to keep my lips pressed tight. No teeth. Not yet.
“Here to play a game, sweetheart?” My voice carried easy, like the creak of an old rocking chair.
“Are you—?”
“Schlatt.” I reached out my hand, slow and deliberate. She hesitated, staring at it like it might bite her before she ever touched it. When she didn’t take it, I pulled away with a shrug, poured myself a drink, lit a smoke. Neither filled the hollow inside me, but old habits die hard.
“And you are?”
“Y/n.” Her voice cracked on the syllable. “I… I want to play a game.”
“For how much?” I asked, swirling the whiskey that never burned anymore. “A thousand—lose a finger. Five thousand gets me a hand. Fifteen for the arm.”
I expected the usual: tears, trembling, begging, then reluctant agreement. That was half the fun. But this one… she just looked at me. Right in the eyes. Brave—or maybe stupid.
“All,” she said flatly. “I’m all in.”
The words lingered like smoke in the cabin. My lips curled. All in, huh?
I let my gaze roam over her—soft chest, pink cheeks, skin still warm and full of life. My stomach growled low, deep, aching. She’d be a perfect meal. Maybe a fucking beforehand.
“Five hundred thousand?” I drawled, offering my hand across the table.
“Five hundred sixty-seven thousand,” she corrected, voice steady.
A sharp laugh broke from my throat. “Deal.”
Not like she was going to win anyway. I’d take my time with this one. This was a flavor worth savoring.
“So what game, huh? Poker? Dice? Something exciting like—”
“A coin toss.” Her voice was soft, steady. Eyes blinking up at me like she was half asleep.
I barked a laugh. “A coin toss? For real?” No one ever said that. Most folks clung to games they thought they had some edge in. Something they could win. But this? This was blind chance.
“One toss,” she said. “Winner takes it all.”
Interesting. And yet—so damn boring. I waved a hand, leaning back in my chair, arms crossing over my chest. “Nah. Too easy. Pick something else.”
“No. That’s the game I want.”
Her tone didn’t rise, didn’t falter. Just flat. Empty.
I leaned forward, tilting her chin up with a clawed finger, imagining what part of her I’d carve first. Maybe the heart, warm and red, saved for last. “I’ll give you till the end of the day to think of something better.”
She sat across from me while I shuffled the cards, sipped my wine, studied her slumped shoulders. Pathetic. Depressing. And yet—something about her still scratched at me.
“How about a game of poker?” I asked, tossing the cards down.
“No. I don’t know how to play.”
“Great,” I said with a grin. “Beginner’s luck.”
“No.”
My smile twitched. I hated being denied. “Then how about a game… for fun?”
“Alright.” She sat across from me, cards trembling just slightly in her hands. I showed her the basics, dealt a few rounds, slid the chips forward. Her face stayed flat, blank—too blank for a beginner. Maybe it was better we didn’t play poker.
I leaned back, watching. “What do you eat?” I asked, trying to crack her calm.
Her brow twitched. “Huh?”
“Your diet, sweetheart. Meat, greens, sugar?”
She placed a few chips down without hesitation. “Balanced, I guess.”
I chuckled. “And your weight?”
“My weight…?” Her tone was dry, uninterested. “***” she mumbled.
I bared my teeth in a grin. “Chest size, then?” My eyes slid over her. “Does it really matter anymore?”
She didn’t answer. Didn’t even blink.
“Prissy girl,” I muttered, and dropped my hand onto the table. “Four of a kind, babe.”
I leaned forward, savoring the moment. Waiting with excitement for another win. Forgetting I was going to let her win, just once—make her believe she had a chance against me.
But then she laid her cards down.
Royal. Flush.
The smile froze on my face. My jaw slackened. For the first time in years, I had no words. But she didn’t celebrate. Didn’t even smirk. She just stared at me with those cold, empty eyes, like the win meant nothing at all.
“Can we just do the coin toss?” she asked, voice flat. No triumph, no spark. Not even trying to argue that the match should count.
My teeth ground together. A lucky bitch, that’s all she was. Thinking she could win against me—me. I’d show her. And I wasn’t some sore loser.
++++
I stared at Schlatt. I think I won. Maybe that’s why he looked so sour. Not that it mattered—he hadn’t said the round counted. Guess he was just a sore loser. The cards still sat between us, meaningless. I’d thought it was just some kind of matching game, anyway. Nothing more than chance.
Schlatt, though—he was terrifying. Horns curling like a ram’s crown. Eyes injected with blood, gleaming wet in the dim light. And those teeth… shiny, sharp, meant for tearing meat—cooked or raw.
His smile widened as he leaned close, close enough that I felt the heat of his breath. Then his tongue dragged slow up the side of my throat, over my jaw, to my cheek. Tasting me. Testing me. Maybe trying to make me flinch.
But when he pulled back, his grin faltered. His gaze caught mine again, and something in his expression twisted.
“We’re not flipping a fucking coin,” he growled.
“It’s the only game—”
“Let’s play darts.”
“I’ve never really—”
“For fun.” His smile snapped back into place, jagged and twitching, unhinged. “I hate playing with my food,” he muttered, half to himself.
Schlatt explained the rules again, slow and patient, even showing me how to hold the dart. His claws didn’t quite hide themselves as he demonstrated, but he pretended not to notice.
“How long have you been here?” I asked. He’d peppered me with useless questions—what I ate, how much I weighed, things that made no sense—so it was only fair I asked one back. He lined up his shot, wrist steady, and let the dart fly. It landed dead center. “You don’t want to know,” he said easily, not even looking at me.
I threw next, my aim sloppy, but the dart still stuck to the board.
“What are you?” I pressed, watching him. He wasn’t human. Not always. His eyes gave that away.
He turned his head just enough to meet my gaze, and the stillness of it made my skin crawl. “Doesn’t matter, cupcake.”
He never seemed interested in answering me. Not directly.
“Is your name really Schlatt?”
His grin twitched. “Why?”
“Just never heard the name before.” I shrugged, lifting another dart.
Schlatt tapped a claw against the tiny red center of the board. “Hit the dot,” he said, voice curling like smoke, “and I’ll tell you. Miss, and you lose the game anyway.” His confidence dripped from every word, like he’d already won.
I threw without thinking, grip all wrong. Schlatt’s laugh split the air—low, evil, knowing. But then the dart struck dead center.
His laughter cut off.
“…Hole in one?” I said awkwardly.
His head snapped toward me, too fast, too sharp. His eyes glowed, furious. A guttural growl shook the walls before he slammed a clawed hand against the wood. Every dart clattered to the floor except the one I’d thrown, still lodged in the bullseye, mocking him.
A sick clack sounded from his neck. Then another, and another, like bones shattering and knitting back together. His skin blackened, shadows swallowing him whole until the cabin itself seemed to bleed into him. The room dimmed, every flicker of light pulled into his form.
“AAaggAiiinnn,” he rasped, voice like bitter wind across a barren grave.
“Coin toss?” I asked, my own voice too steady, too plain.
He leaned down, a single clawed finger hooking under my chin. The only thing left of him were those eyes—glowing, devouring, studying me as though I were the last living thing in a dead world.
“…Fine.”
And just like that, the darkness unraveled. The room snapped back into place. Schlatt—horns, grin, whiskey glass in hand—moved as if nothing had happened. He wandered to the fridge, pulled out a slab of meat, and dropped it on the table.
Raw, wet, unidentifiable.
He tore into it with his teeth. Chewing. Smiling. Watching me.
“Schlatt is my real name,” he said, almost offended. His eyes narrowed. “Did you lie about not knowing how to play?”
“No…” My voice was steady. “I was just lucky.”
He grunted, unconvinced.
I sat across from him again, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “Are you good at these games because of your… powers?”
That earned a smirk. Blood smeared across his lips when he grinned. “No. That’s all me, hun. Don’t get cocky just because you won twice.”
His hand slid across the table, catching mine. Nails curved like claws dragged against my cheek, sharp enough to sting. His blood smeared across my skin, hot, sticky. Then he seized my wrist and yanked me into his lap.
I stiffened, but he only leaned close, tongue warm and rough as he licked the blood from my face. “Fuck,” he muttered, shuddering like he’d just had a drink. “You taste fine. Like wine. Or beer.” His teeth gleamed when he chuckled. “Maybe I’ll keep you. Drain you slow, day by day. Use you as a fuck toy while I’m at it. Lucky you—I don’t usually play with my food.”
Schlatt dipped his head to my neck, breath hot, hungry, teeth grazing the skin. I turned away. Closed my eyes. Pretended not to feel the sting of his fangs so near. What was the point of fighting?
“Go ahead,” I muttered with a shrug. “You’ll get bored of me like everyone else.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Schlatt’s grin stretched wide, too full of teeth. “Let me guess. You’re in debt. Needed the cash to dig yourself out.” His eyes gleamed, cutting straight through me. “Abandoned by your friends, your family, your lover. Left to carry it all on your own. That’s why you came here needing that specific amount.”
He had me. I swallowed and nodded. “You got it. Besides—” my lips twitched, dry humor sneaking in, “the extra ten bucks was for a burger.”
Schlatt barked a laugh. A real one this time, raw and rough. Not the twisted, cruel sound he usually wore like armor. His hand caught my chin, pulling my face up until I couldn’t look anywhere but at him.
“Strong appetite you’ve got,” he said, voice low, amused. His teeth flashed again. “Do I scare you, babe?”
I should have said yes. Should have trembled, pushed him away, run screaming into the trees.
“Yeah,” I lied.
Schlatt kept me pinned in his lap, his arm heavy across my waist like a shackle. With his free hand, he reached into his chest as though it were a pocket and drew out a coin, golden and gleaming despite the shadows. He pressed it into my palm, his claw curling my fingers shut around it.
“Flip it,” he said simply.
I hesitated, the weight of the coin cold and wrong in my hand. “…Heads or tails?”
“Heads.” His eyes glowed faintly, daring me.
I flicked the coin with my thumb, sending it spinning into the air. But before I could follow its arc, Schlatt’s hand clamped the back of my neck and yanked me forward. His mouth crashed against mine in a kiss that wasn’t a kiss—teeth sharp, tongue hot and alien, breath heavy with rot and smoke. I tasted iron, blood flooding across my tongue. His blood. My blood. I couldn’t tell.
The pressure was brutal, consuming, like he wanted to swallow me whole through the kiss alone. I didn’t fight. I only closed my eyes, letting the cold horror of it wash over me as his lips moved with cruel insistence, tasting, claiming, devouring.
When he finally pulled back, his grin was smeared red, his teeth glistening. “Lucky you,” he rasped, voice dark with hunger, “I think I like the taste.”
The coin spun through the air, catching the dim light as it turned. My breath caught. It struck the table, rolled once, and came to rest.
The result I wanted. Relief loosened my chest.
+++++
She looked relieved—too relieved. That smug little exhale, like she’d just been spared by fate. It pissed me off. I was going to have to shell out the money, wasn’t I?
Then my gaze dropped to the coin.
Heads.
My claws tapped the coin where it lay. I leaned close, grin splitting. “You lost. Don’t waste your time running.”
Part of me hoped she would bolt, just so I could chase. But she didn’t move. She just sat there, still as stone.
“Not gonna scream? Cry, sweetheart?” I prodded. Maybe she was in shock.
Instead, she tilted her head back and smiled. Smiled.
“I knew I would lose,” she said softly. “I’m not very lucky with coin tosses.” The smile didn’t reach her eyes. Those stayed flat, glassy, like she was already gone.
She looked up at me, eyes wide, almost pleading. “Please… eat me.”
The words shivered through the cabin, sweet as a prayer.
I didn’t hesitate—I dove down, teeth sinking against her throat. Not the way she wanted. Just a sharp nip, enough to sting, enough to remind her what I was.
“Don’t tell me how to enjoy my winnings,” I murmured against her skin, the heat of my breath sour with iron and rot. Her eyes widened in surprise as I dragged her into my arms, folding her into my lap like a doll. My claws traced her sides, not cutting—yet.
“Gets lonely out here,” I said, voice low, rasping with hunger. My grin split wide, too wide. “Lucky you. I think I’ll keep you awhile.” Her pulse fluttered beneath my tongue. And for the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel like devouring right away.
No, I’d won. She was mine now. Flesh, blood, soul. A prize, a possession. Food, sure—but more than that.
I tightened my arms around her, claws pressing just enough to remind her what they could do. My teeth hovered at her throat, close enough that every breath from me made her pulse shiver.
The hunger in me snarled, but something else coiled tighter—something uglier, maybe worse. A want that wasn’t just about meat. She was warm in my lap, soft, alive, and for a moment I wondered what it would be like to keep her that way. Not just a meal, but a toy, a body to use, a voice to hear. Someone who couldn’t leave me.
It had been a long time since anyone stayed.
I dragged my tongue over her skin, slow and deliberate, savoring the salt and the faint tang of fear. My grin twitched wider, splitting into something unhinged. “Mine,” I whispered against her ear.
She sat perfectly still, letting my lips graze her neck, her shoulder, her jaw. Processing. Frozen. Like prey caught in a snare but too numb to thrash.
I squeezed her tighter, claws pressing into her sides. Still no fight. No scream. Just silence.
It thrilled me.
With a low growl, I shifted her weight and lifted her easily into my arms. She was warm, fragile, so breakable against me. My chest ached with hunger and something else—something darker, possessive.
“Good girl,” I muttered, carrying her upward, my heavy steps creaking against the stairs. The cabin groaned with us, as if it too knew what I was about to do.
Upstairs, the air was colder, thinner. The shadows clung thicker around the bed. I laid her down on the dark sheets, my body looming over hers.
Her eyes were wide, glassy. Her body rigid. She didn’t move. Didn’t resist.
I liked that.
I set her down on the sheets, the mattress sagging under my weight as I crawled after her. She looked so small against the dark bed, pale in the gloom, her chest rising and falling like a rabbit trying not to be seen.
I leaned close, pressing my nose to her skin, breathing her in. Warm. Alive. Fragile. My grin pulled sharp, teeth brushing her collarbone as I murmured, “So damn warm.”
My claws traced her sides, light enough not to cut—yet—but heavy enough to remind her what they could do. She didn’t flinch, didn’t move, didn’t fight. Just lay there, letting me touch, like a doll I’d won at some carnival game.
And that’s what she was now. My prize.
I let my palm spread across her stomach, feeling the heat there, the soft rise and fall. I pressed harder, enough to make her gasp, before sliding upward. Claiming. Testing.
I wasn’t sure yet if I wanted to tear her apart or keep her here, trapped beneath me, for as long as I could stand the craving. Maybe both.
“Lucky girl,” I rasped, my voice thick with hunger. “Most don’t make it this far.”
For once, the gnawing hunger in my gut stilled. The endless ache that had driven me to carve, to tear, to devour—it quieted. But it wasn’t gone. No, it shifted, twisted into something different. A sharper kind of starving.
My claws hooked into the fabric of her clothes and tore. The sound split the silence, harsh and final, rags falling away like shed skin. She didn’t resist—she just lay there, still and staring, as though she knew she was already mine.
I lowered myself over her, shadow swallowing her whole. My body dwarfed hers, the weight of me caging her in, pressing her into the mattress as if the bed itself had given her up to me.
I caught her lips in a kiss, brutal and claiming. No softness, no hesitation. Just teeth, tongue, and hunger, a mockery of affection that tasted of blood and heat. She yielded, not fighting, and that only stoked the frenzy in me.
My hand closed over her chest, claws curling as I grabbed a handful. Rough. Monstrous. I wanted to feel her softness against my strength, wanted to crush and claim and consume all at once.
Her warmth seared against my palm, against my mouth, against every part of me pressed to her. Too small, too fragile, and mine—mine to ruin anytime I pleased. And for the first time in years, I wasn’t starving for flesh. I was starving for her.
I pressed her down into the mattress, my weight smothering, my size dwarfing hers until she vanished beneath me completely. My other hand slid along her body, unrelenting, claiming every inch I could touch, desperate to have.
“Don’t look at me like that. You’re lucky I’m not ripping you apart right now.” I told her as she stared at me,
While I spread her legs across the bed, foreplay being for suckers, it was time for the real show. And I missed having a warm body to thrust into. Let alone a somewhat willing one. “You’re warm. That’s all I want. Just stay quiet and let me take it.”
I kneaded her like prey already caught, sharp tips scraping her skin, leaving little red trails where they pressed too deep. Her warmth burned into me, her heartbeat fluttering wild under my hand. I squeezed harder, monstrous and unrelenting, until her breath caught sharp in her throat. I loved the sound—it was proof she was still alive beneath me, still here for me to devour in my own way.
I unzipped my pants packing more then 10 inches, and whether her sweet little body was able to or not. Y/n was going to have all of it inside of her ,even if it rearranged her organs.
I thrust my cock inside her without warning. Watching her arch and whine with pleasure pain, fuck she was tight, and my force rattled the bed. I was sure—no, I knew—I’d be better than any past lover she ever had. Whoever had touched her before, whoever thought they owned even a piece of her… they were nothing. Mortals. Weak. Forgettable.
“None of them touched you like this,” I rasped against her throat, teeth scraping her pulse. The strong roll of hips, I knew I dick was against her womb. My thrusts become sharper. As she moaned, under me. Not even able to brace herself, as I moved her hands down to her legs. “Hold’em up, sweetheart.”
I pinched her clint as a warning. As orgasm ripped through her enchanting body. I stared down at her soaked pussy, as she pante,d I still wasn’t done with her. Thrusting into her body, she was clenching with each thrust. I bit into her tender flesh as I cummed. Watching as my cum dripped from her weeping pussy. Dribbling out as she twitched, so fucked out.
Y/n was the best fuck I’d had yet. No screaming. No crying. No protest. She just lay there and took it, like she understood she was mine from the start. Most squirm, most beg, most break. But her? Still as stone, except for the heat and breath I dragged out of her.
Maybe I could teach her. Train her. Get her to move, to give something back. I imagined her clawing at me, riding me, letting that blank stare burn into me while she bled under my hands. A doll learning to dance. A meal that didn’t end when the plate was clean. I tried out a few ideas on her, rough and eager, flipping her, pinning her, using every inch of her until the cabin walls echoed with the sound of flesh and teeth. Round after round until the night itself felt endless. My claws left trails, my teeth left marks, and still she stayed. Silent, pliant, alive.
By morning, the high was gone. Morning always sucked. The Wendigo in me hated it, dragging me down with that same old hollow ache. The hunger was back, chewing at me from the inside, but not the old kind—not the kind that wanted to strip her bones bare.
I glanced down. She was passed out beside me, pale under the sheets, her body marked with bites and chunks missing from soft flesh. But breathing. Alive. Because that had been the goal all along.
I could have eaten her. Should have. But the hunger wasn’t for that anymore.
I licked blood from my lips and leaned back, letting the ceiling blur above me. What I wanted now was something else entirely. Another victim, another desperate soul stumbling through the woods to my door. Fresh blood to quiet the Wendigo in me, while I kept this one—warm, silent, mine.
The cabin groaned as the wind pressed against its walls. Any moment, someone new might knock. I found myself grinning at the thought.
++++++
When I woke, the light outside was already fading. Another night had come, and somehow, I was still alive. Mauled, chewed on, bitten raw in places—but breathing.
I wasn’t sure if I was happy about it.
Clothes were a problem. Schlatt had shredded mine to rags, and his own hung heavy on the chair across the room. For a moment, I considered stealing a shirt. But I didn’t know if that would piss him off. So I left it.
Instead, I rose—naked as the day I was born—and walked downstairs without shame.
The cabin was quiet, shadows deepening as the last of the light slipped away. Schlatt sat at the table like a man after supper. Only, his supper wasn’t gone. It sat with him. An arm, pale and stiff, stretched across the boards. Fingers curled, nails dirty, blood soaking into the wood grain. It looked like it had only just been torn away.
Schlatt’s claws tapped idly at the table beside it, as if waiting for me to notice. His grin flickered, sharp and pleased. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t gasp. Didn’t look away. It didn’t disturb me. Nothing did anymore.
“Too good for clothes?” Schlatt drawled, smoke curling from his mouth. “You know, yesterday you wouldn’t even tell me your chest size.”
“You tore mine up,” I answered flatly.
His eyes narrowed as if recalling, then he reached for something draped over the back of a chair. A tattered dress, blood stiff along the seams. He tossed it to me with a crooked grin.
“Take it.”
The fabric stuck damp against my hands. I didn’t have to ask where it came from. His latest victim, no doubt. The thought slithered across my mind unbidden—did he fuck her before he ate her too?I slipped it on without a word. The dress clung wrong, smelling of copper and smoke, but it covered me well enough.
Schlatt leaned back, cigarette between his claws, and motioned me over with a flick. I obeyed, stepping to him, sliding onto his lap. His arms closed around me, iron and bone, pulling me tight against him. His chest rumbled with a low sound—half a chuckle, half a growl—as he pressed his face to my hair, breathing me in. Before placing a finger to the lips of my pussy. Schlatt’s made his hand more human.
To slowly thrusts into me. I whined, Schlatt making me feel pleasure. Until I orgamsned into his hand. He placed his hand to his lips, licking up the mess.
Schlatt caught my hand in his claws, his grip unyielding. He lifted it slowly, almost reverently, until my fingers hovered before his mouth.
Without warning, his teeth sank into my ring finger. Sharp pain flared as he bit down, not enough to take the flesh, but deep enough to draw blood. His tongue swept across the wound before he pulled back, leaving a perfect crescent scar burned into my skin.
“A ring,” he rasped, grinning wide, blood shining on his lips. “Better than gold, sweetheart. Mine now.”
He released my hand only to push something else toward me. A fork. Its prongs glinted in the dim light, the handle sticky where his claws had held it.
Then he gestured to the table—toward the slab of human meat laid out before us, still red, still fresh.
“Eat.”