Griba moved through the undergrowth with a practiced silence that belied her youth. She was a goblin, but not the wizened, grotesque creature of human campfire tales. Standing a head shorter than a human woman, her skin was a smooth, earthy olive green. A smattering of faint freckles dotted her blunt nose and wide cheeks. Her eyes, large and luminous like pools of dark honey, missed nothing. Two small, sharp tusks peeked from her lower lip, and her ears, long and pointed, twitched at every forest sound.
She was in that awkward, restless stage between childhood and adulthood, her body thrumming with new, confusing urges. The tribe's last raid on the human border village had been a success. They had taken grain, cloth, and shiny baubles. But for Griba and the other teens, the real treasure had been the hope of spotting one.
A human male.
It was the worst-kept secret among the non-human races. Only humans had males. Goblins, orcs, elves—they reproduced through magical confluence between females, a practical but… clinical affair. But human males? Stories spoke of a heat to their touch, a frantic energy to their coupling, a pleasure so intense it bordered on myth. They were the ultimate luxury, the most coveted commodity. So rare that simply seeing one was a story worth retelling for a lifetime.
Griba had only seen two. Once, a chained, middle-aged man with a broken spirit, paraded through the Goblin-Town market, sold for a fortune to a wealthy ogress. The second time, during the raid—a grizzled farmer hiding in a root cellar, his face pale and trembling. She had been too stunned to act, and a bigger, faster warrior had claimed him for her own. The regret had burned in Griba for weeks, a hollow ache she could not soothe.
Now, as she set snares for deer, her mind wandered to those missed opportunities, the longing blooming in her chest once more.
A sound.
Not a deer. Something clumsier. Heavier. Bipedal.
Griba melted behind a thick tree, her large eyes peering through the leaves. Her breath caught in her throat.
It was impossible.
A human boy.
Not just any boy. He was… beautiful. His skin glowed pale as moonlight, his dark hair a tangled mess that somehow made him look even more delicate. Dirt and green smears streaked his face, yet he seemed no less striking. His features were soft but defined, his body small, his stance uncertain. He looked lost, confused, utterly vulnerable.
He was young. Perfect.
A young, beautiful male. Alone. In my forest.
The thoughts crashed into her mind, one after the other, shattering any caution she might have had. This wasn't a story. This wasn't a dream whispered about in the dark corners of goblin dens. This was real. Flesh-and-blood real.
The careful hunter was gone. In her place was a creature of pure, raw desire, fueled by a lifetime of longing and a divine curse she didn't understand. A low, wanting sound escaped her lips before she could stop it.
Without a single thought for strategy or stealth, she broke from her cover.
She didn't walk. She rushed.
Twigs snapped under her feet as she became a green blur, her eyes wide, her chest tight with exhilaration.
Arin had only a second to register the movement. He turned his head—too slow—just as she crashed into him.
He saw a flash of green skin, wide wild eyes, and a grinning mouth with small tusks. It wasn't an attack of malice but of overwhelming, desperate want.
She collided with him and her arms locked around his smaller frame, lifting him clear off the ground.
"Mine!" Griba giggled, her voice breathless, trembling with euphoria. Her lips brushed his ear as she whispered again, louder this time, "Pretty, pretty thing! Found you! Griba found you!"
Arin's world dissolved into pure terror. His heart thundered in his chest, his breaths came in ragged gasps. His new, small limbs flailed uselessly against her iron grip, the forest spinning in a blur of green and brown.
"Let—let me go!" he cried, his voice high and panicked, but his words only made her hold tighten.
Griba's honey-colored eyes shone with wonder. She buried her face against his neck, inhaling as if to memorize his scent, giggling again like a child who had found the rarest toy.
"Warm," she whispered. "So warm. So soft. Mine!"
Arin kicked, twisted, but it was like struggling against a tree. The forest, the mystery, his fleeting hope of a second chance—all of it vanished, swallowed by the crushing reality of a stranger's embrace and that single, terrifying word echoing in his ears.
Mine.