The Pact I Inherited on the Night of the Full Moon

The wind dragged dry dust between the walnut trees when I arrived at the Las Ánimas estate. The wood of the corrals creaked just as it had in my childhood, and the air still smelled of wet earth and old blood, as if time had never dared touch the place.

The peons received me in silence, with that worn-out look of people guarding a heavy secret. They knew why I had come. To sell. To escape. But my grandmother’s will changed everything.

I read it and reread it, gripping the paper between my fingers, the yellowed edges cutting into my skin. The words danced before my eyes, obscene and impossible: “Your mother fulfilled the bargain. Every full moon she spread her legs for Him, and in return the land prospered. This family’s fortune was built on her surrender.”

Cipriano, the oldest foreman, explained it to me from the doorway, his dull eyes full of things he preferred not to name. The estate’s luck came from a pact with a Nahual: a witch, half man, half animal, who had visited my mother until the very last of her days.

—Your great-grandfather sealed the deal almost a century ago —he whispered, as if afraid the walls might hear him—. The Beast isn’t just any wolf. It walks in the shadows. And now it’s your turn.

I let out a sharp laugh.

—My mother? Seriously? So prim, so perfect… —I felt disgust and something else I didn’t want to look at straight on—. Moaning under some creature like an animal?

Cipriano didn’t flinch. He lowered his gaze to some deep scratches marked in the wooden floor, grooves I hadn’t noticed when I came in.

—She understood that He doesn’t only take. He also gives. Money. Protection. Harvests. Everything has its price. —He handed me three notebooks tied with twine—. She left it all written here.

A shiver ran through me. It wasn’t fear. Not entirely.

***

That night I lit the oil lamp. Its trembling light illuminated the stained pages of my mother’s diaries, while the whole house creaked around me as if it knew what I was about to discover.

“November 3. He came again. His hands are claws, but they know how to caress better than any man’s.”

Heat bloomed between my thighs. I couldn’t believe it. My mother, the woman who had only ever kissed my forehead with cold lips, described in lush detail how the Beast pinned her against the barn wall, how it bit her breasts while its hips drove into her without mercy.

“July 20. I’m not young anymore. My body is withering, but He doesn’t care. He says my skin is still sweet. When He licks me between the legs, I feel like a girl again.”

I bit my lip. The pages smelled of lavender and something darker, animal sweat. My mother had written until the end, until that last encounter in the marital bed, both their howls mingling with the squeal of the springs.

I couldn’t stop reading. The paper stuck to my fingers, damp with my own arousal.

“August 12. Today He took me from behind, like a wild beast. His claws marked my hips while He filled me. Then He forced me to my knees and His tongue, long, impossible, reached where no man had ever reached. I screamed, but not from pain.”

A moan escaped me. I slipped a hand between my legs and found the wetness soaking the fabric. How was it possible that the perfect, the devout, had been this for that creature?

“January 5. My breasts are no longer firm, but He loves sucking them just the same. He says my mature flesh is addictive. Tonight He made me scream when He bit me while opening me from behind. The pleasure was so intense I forgot my name.”

I snapped the notebooks shut, but it was too late. My body was burning.

Suddenly, a cold gust blew out the lamp. In the darkness, something breathed by my ear.

—Do you like what you’re reading, little heiress?

I held my breath when the shadow emerged from the blackness. The Beast was neither fully animal nor fully man. Its torso gleamed under the moon, crossed with ritual scars, and between its legs the bulge of its desire strained the weathered skin that barely covered it. A machete with a hungry blade hung at its back.

With a fluid motion, it tossed something to the foot of the bed: a wild goat, its throat freshly slit, still warm.

—So you remember —its voice was rough, like stones dragged along by an underground river— that everything you eat, everything you have here, comes from what I take.

I felt its breath on my neck before the final whisper.

—In two nights, when the moon is high, I’ll come for what’s mine. —A claw brushed my belly, tearing the fabric without touching my skin—. Your screams. Your surrender. And even that hatred that’s wetting your hands right now.

And then, like a dissolving nightmare, it vanished. Only the dead goat remained and the burning between my legs, so violent it nearly folded me over the open diaries.

***

The barbecue smoke curled through the evening air as I watched the peons devour the goat. No one asked questions. No one doubted. It was as if everyone knew it was an accepted tribute, a down payment on what was to come.

That night I went back to the notebooks. The pages no longer felt foreign, but intimate, as if my mother were whispering her lowest secrets into my ear.

“The Nahual didn’t possess me today. He adored me. He spent hours licking every scar, every ridge, as if my body were an altar. When He finally entered me, He bit the back of my neck and growled that I was His. God forgive me, but I believed Him.”

I closed my eyes, imagining claws where I had fingers. My hand slid beneath my nightgown and found the same heat she described. Lying face down in the bed that had once been hers, I read the most shameful passage, the one from her later years, when she swore the pain turned into something sweet that filled her from within.

I moaned, soaking the sheets, one finger awkwardly probing territory I had never explored, imitating what I imagined the Beast had done to her.

—Crazy old woman… —I murmured, but my body was burning.

Fatigue overcame me before shame did. And then I dreamed.

My mother was there, but young, in a sheer nightgown clinging to her breasts. She said nothing. She only smiled, took my hand, and led me to the barn. Inside, the Nahual waited. It wasn’t the beast from the pages, but something worse, or better: a god with dark muscles and eyes like embers.

—Look at me, daughter —she whispered as the creature shoved her onto the hay.

I saw everything: the claws coiling around her thighs, the black tongue tracing her like silk, the enormous cock opening her with a brutality that was almost tender while she moaned like a girl.

—That’s how you run an estate —she panted, staring me in the eyes.

And in the dream the Beast turned its head and showed me, exactly, where it would bite me in two nights.

***

I woke up gasping, the sheets twisted between my thighs, sticky. The estate was unusually quiet; even the crickets kept silent. At dusk, the peons left without looking at me. Only Cipriano stopped at the door.

—Good luck, miss —he murmured, and there was no hope in his voice, only resignation.

I went back to the notebooks with trembling fingers. Among the final pages I found a different message: “Dear daughter, if you are reading this it means He has chosen you. In the drawer of my bedside table I left what you will need.”

With my heart battering my ribs, I opened it. Inside was a bottle of dark oil that smelled of herbs and something rancid, and a fang collar with a note: “Use it all. The first time hurts less if you go soaked in it.”

***

The last light of day bathed my body as I prepared with almost ritual precision: I removed every hair, every barrier. Water slid over my taut breasts, mixing with the thick oil I had smeared between my legs, a scent of moss and ancient desire that made my skin burn.

The towel fell to the floor when I entered the bedroom. On the bed awaited the open bottle, oozing, and the collar glinting under the full moon. I took it with trembling hands and, the moment I fastened it around my neck, the candles went out on their own.

The Nahual emerged from the darkness like a specter made flesh, its naked, monumental silhouette outlined against the window. I held my breath, not from fear, but from awe. Its body was a sculpture of violence and grace, and between its legs the thick member, crowned by a swelling knot already throbbing with hunger.

It didn’t speak. It lunged. The kiss was an invasion: its tongue, far too long, coiled inside my mouth, stealing the moans I didn’t know I could make. It tasted of blood, of recent hunt, of bitter herbs.

—You smell like me —it growled, sniffing the oil on my skin while its claws tightened the collar against my throat—. And now you’re wearing my marks.

Panic and ecstasy exploded at the same time when it lifted me like a toy and threw me face down onto the bed. My hips were left high, exposed, trembling. Then I heard a wet, obscene sound: its saliva dripping between my ass cheeks.

—So you won’t bleed —it growled.

And then its claw-finger went in. It wasn’t a touch, it was possession. The tip seared me inside and I arched with a broken scream. It was pain. It was pleasure. It was something deeper, burning like liquor on an open wound. The Beast didn’t stop; it twisted me from within while its other hand drove my neck into the mattress.

—This is nothing —it huffed—. Wait until you feel the rest.

It pulled the claw out, glistening with my wetness, and licked it slowly in front of my eyes.

There was no further warning. Its claws dug into my hips to immobilize me and the fang collar bit into my neck, each point piercing the skin, tracing scarlet drops across the sheets. It entered me in a single thrust, opening me with a heat so bright I saw stars. The knot at the base of its member swelled instantly, trapping me against it, making sure I couldn’t escape even if I wanted to.

My scream split in two, turned into something primitive. The Nahual didn’t wait for me to adjust. It began yanking my hips against its own, each thrust deeper, each movement sinking the collar’s fangs further into my skin.

—You bleed like her —it roared, leaning down to lick the sweat from my back—. But you scream better.

Ecstasy climbed from my belly, a paradox of agony and pleasure that made me come with a violent spasm, clenching around the creature that was destroying me and consecrating me at the same time.

The world narrowed to a single presence: that beastly knot pounding inside me like a second heart, swollen to impossible size. When at last the Beast howled, the sound vibrated in my bones.

—Now comes the real thing, heiress —it growled, and I felt the first spasm in the deepest place—. My offering.

It exploded inside me, thick and burning. I screamed as if my guts were being torn out. Each wave filled me more, burning and healing at once, until I felt heavy, grotesquely full. Then it ripped free in one brutal motion, and the knot tore my walls as it came out, leaving me convulsing on the bed, undone and still trembling with traitorous pleasure.

It watched me, satisfied, and licked a tear from my face.

—The first night always hurts more —it murmured—. Next time you’ll ask for more. —It dragged the tip of its member across my swollen lips—. Lick.

Stunned by pain and adrenaline, I obeyed. The taste was salty, metallic, intoxicating. I cleaned every drop until the last trace of the pact was inside my mouth. The Beast smiled, showing its fangs.

—Good, heiress. Now sleep.

And as if its words were a spell, I fell unconscious, naked, marked, with its taste on my lips.

***

The first ray of sun found me reborn. Every muscle screamed, every movement reminded me of the night’s possession. But beneath the pain something new burned: a deep, primal satisfaction. I remembered another line from the diaries —“use the oil and keep his essence inside; it will prepare you for next time”— and for the first time I understood it without disgust.

The estate, once lugubrious, was breathing around me. The smells were more vivid, the earth deeper, the dried blood in the corral sweeter. When I closed my eyes to sleep again, I smiled.

***

The night smelled of mezcal and desire when I welcomed my friends to the estate. Bruna and Carola laughed over their glasses, mocking my “wolf stories” while they pointed at the cattle in the dusk.

—Seriously, you made us drive all the way out here for a country legend? —Carola drank, staining her low-cut blouse.

I only smiled, adjusting the fang collar I never took off anymore.

Then He came. The Nahual emerged from the darkness with a roar that chilled the blood. Carola screamed, but not from fear, because the creature pointed at her with a gleaming claw.

—That one —it growled, sniffing the air.

I nodded, excited.

—Carola… run —I whispered.

She tried to flee, but tripped over her own dress. The Beast caught her by the waist and tore the fabric away in one pull. Her shriek turned into a moan when two claws sank into her, stretching with sadism what no one had ever touched before. Carola collapsed on the porch boards, her body spurting the creature’s thick essence mixed with threads of her own blood.

—I can’t… even sit down —she whimpered, but her eyes gleamed with an arousal that belied her words.

Bruna, far from horrified, undid her jeans with trembling hands.

—I want the next one —she panted, arching her back like a cat in heat—. I don’t need to be chased. I know exactly what I want.

The Nahual laughed, a sound that made the house windows vibrate, and took her by the hips. There were no preliminaries. The penetration was brutal, a single motion that drove her all the way to the knot. Bruna howled, but in triumph, not pain, while Carola, still gasping, crawled closer to watch her friend’s belly bulge with each thrust.

I watched, proud, stroking the collar against my skin.

***

The weeks passed in whispers and preparations. Bruna and Carola moved into the estate; they no longer wanted to leave. Each of them bore the marks of the pact on her body: Bruna wore a single fang I carved myself; Carola, the most reluctant at first, now had her eyes lit every time the full moon drew near.

The next full moon, the three of us waited in the barn. The Beast arrived as it had with my mother, settling on a pile of hay, its member already taut in the shadows.

—Clean yourselves. All of you —it ordered.

I guided them through the ritual. Carola licked first, slow and devoted; Bruna followed; and I finished, drinking directly from the source while my friends caressed my sides.

By dawn, we were no longer three friends. We were a pack. And the Las Ánimas estate remained as prosperous as ever.