Strange Bedfellows
Description: (Yandere! Lord of the Manor x Eldritch Horror/Monster! Reader) You wake up in a body that's distinctly not yours. You have not memories, all you know is you're not human, despite your best efforts to pretend otherwise. As to whether your new "husband" notices the sudden change, you're not sure, but you do know he is not all he appears to be. (3.9K words)
Warnings: overall yandere themes, reader is NOT human, mentions of the (brutal) death of small animals, mentions of minor semi(?)-cannibalisitic thoughts (again reader is not human), blood, some gore, mentions of murder, killing, the mention and use of guns,
It's been approximately five days and four nights since you became the lady of the Manor.
You had simply woken up in this body. You don't know who or what you were before. All you knew was that one day you had opened your eyes and you were in a soft bed surrounded by fretting servants.
Apparently, this body had experienced some terrible horse riding accident. You weren't entirely sure of the details as no one gave them to you. One thing you knew for certain is no normal person should have survived, and yet here you are. The local physician said it was a miracle you were alive and well. He hadn't expected you to survive the night, let alone be up and about the next day like nothing happened.
And in a way, his prognosis was correct. No human could have survived such an injury. At least, the previous owner of this body certainly hadn't. And you…well you were quite certain you weren't human at all. The only memories you had before inhabiting this body was wandering through endless, aimless darkness. Complete nothingness. No purpose, only hunger.
You shuddered at just the mere thought. You didn’t want to go back there. And since you were already here, you saw no reason to leave. So you decided then and there that you would take this life for yourself and live it to the fullest. And if you were ever discovered, you would simply steal this body and disappear into the night.
Thankfully, your alleged “accident” made it easy to blend in. Sure, you had no memories, and your mannerisms and speech were occasionally odd and off-putting, but that was to be expected after a near-death experience. No one questioned it, although you would occasionally get skittish looking eyes from the maids.
So you spent most of the day pretending to be the rightful lady of the house. Deeming you too fragile, no one pestered you with any real duties, meaning you were free to do as you please. And you did. You spent most of your days trying as many new things as possible. You took walks in the gardens. You smelled flowers for the first time. You ran up grassy hills bare-footed, much to your maid's chagrin.
As fun as all these new experiences were, nothing could compare to food. How you loved food. All the different flavors and textures, the way no dish was quite the same as the last. You ate and ate and yet you were never full.The servants were as equally horrified as they were mystified. Just how exactly did one person eat so much?
Here, it was easy to forget the endless void. Here, you could forget the hunger. It far from paradise, but it was better than anything else you've experienced. Not that you've really seen or done much.
And then, the Lord of the Manor returned.
“Your husband is due back today. Apparently, he caught the next ship back when he got word of your condition,” The head maid said, gently dusting a priceless vase.
You set down your teacup, eyes wide.
Your what?
“I have a husband?” You said, mouth agape. You hoped the color hadn't drained on your face.
The maid shot you a judgmental look over her shoulder. Then she drew a deep sigh. Before she spoke, she was careful to line her words with faux patience . “Of course, dearie. Who do you think pays for your pretty skirts?”
In theory, you knew what a husband was. And you knew the arrival of this…. husband meant your days of idle freedom might be over.
---
The Lord of the Manor arrived later that afternoon.
As he stepped down from his carriage, all the servants of the house lined outside to greet him, bowing deeply. You were at the end of this, fiddling with the scratchy string of lace around your neck. The maids had been sure to dress you a little nicer than usual for the occasion.
Your alleged husband strolled with a slight swagger in his step down the aisle, heading straight to you.
He looked you up and down, seemingly assessing every inch of you. He could see straight through you, you were sure of it. He knew you weren't his wife and he was going to expose you for the fraud you were. Surely, he wouldn't let such a crime off lightly. He would have you hunted down like the monster you secretly were.
You tried your best to control your breathing, instincts on edge. If he truly saw through you, you would rip him and everyone here to shreds.
As soon as you started mentally planning out the bloody death of everyone present, he finally opened his lips to speak.
“I'm glad to see you're in good health.”
He then strutted past you without a second thought.
You let yourself exhale the tiniest bit, relieved you could keep up this charade another day.
---
Married life turned out to be easier than expected.
You slept in separate beds and more or less stayed out of each other's way. He mostly left you alone. The only exception was during dinner time. He was insistent that the two of you eat dinner together in the dining room.
Initially, you had tried to skip such a ridiculous ritual, but apparently your husband was horrible at taking ‘no’ for an answer. He sent the butler to pester you endlessly until you relented. And that's how you ended up seated across from him under candle light.
Dinner was mostly a silent affair, the only sound being metal cutlery scraping against ceramic plates. Your food remained untouched, as you stared at the daunting silverware. Whatever does a person do with these things? Who on earth needs four forks? One seemed more than plenty.
You were honestly afraid to choose the incorrect one and so you just gave up on the idea of eating altogether.
“Is the food not to your liking?” Your so-called husband asked.
To hell with it. You picked up one of the forks closer to you. You hoped it was the right one. You prayed he didn't see the slight tremble in your hand.
Thankfully, if he saw anything amiss, he didn't comment on it. The Lord of the Manor went back to silently eating his meal.
You took that as a sign to do the same.
“The maids tell me your recovery was unexpectedly swift.” He commented casually, as if reading the day's paper.
The soft scrape of metal against ceramic caught your hypersensitive ears. Your eyes narrowed on the steak he was meticulously cutting on his plate. The sight and sound of raw meat being mercilessly torn through. Something about it started to stir the deep, unsettling hunger that lurked within you.
“Although, given what I heard, it's no small miracle you're still with us. Small blessings, I suppose.”
Another cut. Another stab. His steak practically oozed red as he feasted.
“That is, to say, I'm very glad you're alive and well. The doctors had entirely given up hope of your recovery.” His eyes never left yours for a moment. Gauging your every action and reaction, measuring every breath you took. “Yet, here you are.”
The smell of iron was starting to sicken you. Your hand shot to cover your mouth. To hide your salivating mouth and the canines threatening to show themselves.
You unceremoniously dropped your silverware. The food in front of you no longer had any appeal. Your appetite was elsewhere.
The chair creaked loudly as you stood. You didn’t bother excusing yourself as you left.
---
The next day, the Manor was a bustle. Apparently, that morning all the chickens in the estates’ coop had been found dead. Based on the grotesque nature of the slaughter, all the servants speculated some foull beast had torn them apart.
You had to hide your smile as you overheard your maids gossiping about the whole affair. No one would ever find the bloodied dress you'd buried. And no one would ever notice if one of your many, many decadent dresses went mysteriously missing.
The head maid seemed particularly ticked about the whole situation. She couldn't herself from airing out her grievances, even as she dressed you for the day.
“Those pesky, bloody wolves.” The head maid ticked as she pinned your hair into place. “Our Lord ought to just go out and shoot ‘em all.”
You raised an eyebrow at that. “Is he some kind of… hunter?” You asked, tentatively.
“Yes ma'am.” She replied without a beat. She'd gotten used to your apparent lapse in memory. “Why, he's the best of the best. There's not a stuffed animal in the house that he didn't shoot himself.”
A hunter was a problem. He could see the teeth marks on the chickens’ corpses and know that it was no ordinary beast that killed them. He could find your tracks and sniff you out. Perhaps this husband of yours wouldn't be as easy to deal with as you initially thought.
You'd have to be more careful in future.
---
Unexpectedly, late that morning, your husband called you to his private study.
As you stepped into his space, you took note of the dozens upon dozens of taxidermied heads that lined the walls. You tried your hardest not to think what your own head would like mounted beside them.
“Dearest?” Your husband called from his desk. His back was turned to you, but he had presumably heard your footsteps. “Come here for a moment.”
You tentatively stepped toward where he sat.
He set down whatever papers he was reading, along with the reading spectacles that had been sitting at the bridge of his nose.
“I'm sure you've heard about the chickens.”
You swallowed thickly. Has he already figured you out?
Still, the hands hidden behind your back started to instinctively grow claws. If he meant to out you, it would be the last thing he'd ever do.
And then, suddenly, he drew you into his arms. You couldn't hide the shock on your face. Your husband, a man who seemed nothing short of cold and distant, was hugging you.
You, who had never been hugged before. More than just a few wires crossed in your brain.
“I swear, whatever killed those poor creatures will not land a hand on you.” His hold tightened around you, but it wasn't threatening. It was almost… comforting. “I failed to protect you once. On my honor, it won't happen again.”
Defenseless against such displays of affections, your claws retracted.
You almost laughed at yourself for your foolishness. The Lord of this estate, for all his wealth and power and esteem, was only a man. And not a single mortal yet had seen you for what you truly were, so how could he?
To him, you were and would always be his darling little wife in need of protection.
A devious grin broke across your face. Your secret was safer than you thought possible.
---
Fear coated the atmosphere of the Manor. It seemed all the servants were on edge.
Over the past few weeks, more and more animal corpses have appeared strewn across the estate.
Some of them were small woodland creatures, some of them a domesticated horse or cattle. Once there was even a wolf. Sometimes they would be found in the woods, others left plain in the open for some unlucky soul to find.
There was little connecting all these incidents, except for the grotesque state their remains were left in. Whatever or whoever had done this was obviously no stranger to blood and guts. The carnage was visceral, and odor stomach-churning.
The maids have started gossiping about the possibility of werewolves in their midst. Or some other supernatural force tormenting the poor animals. You didn't pay much attention to the idle chatter of your attendants, too focused on other matters.
Like, for one: your hunger. While your appetites have certainly grown, none of it satiated you. No longer how big the kill, you never felt full. And that emptiness from never being truly fulfilled was starting to eat away at you. You could feel it. Your rabid nature was starting to claw away at your facade.
Day by day, it was becoming more difficult to maintain appearances. A maid had cut herself on accident in front of you and you had bared your teeth at her. Slowly but steadily, you were slipping.
Then, the sickness came. Human food had long lost its appeal. Now anything the servants brought you tasted like ashes.
You didn't hunt animals anymore, I'm finding it an exercise in futility. However little eating animal carcasses helped before, it did nothing now.
There were bad days and there were worse days. On worse days, you were weak with hunger, stumbling about in a mindless daze. Today was one such day. And today, your husband had once again called you to his study.
Your feet dragged as you lifelessly shuffled to him.
He immediately took you into his embrace, the worry apparent on his face. “Whatever is the matter?” He asked, running his hand gently through the tresses of your hair. “You don't seem to be well.”
He pressed his hand to your forehead, checking your temperature.
You were too tired, too weak to do anything but lean against him.
He took your face in his palms, seemingly fretting over you. “My dearest,” He said, stroking your cheek with his thumb in a show of affection. “Do you remember when I first called you that?”
As always, his eyes never left yours. The soft, low-light of the nearby fireplace illuminated his eyes with such tenderness.
“Do you, dearest? It was when we were first courting. The two of us were strolling in your father's gardens, with a chaperone of course, when a bird perched on your shoulder.” He smiled fondly, as if recalling a beloved, old memory. “You yelped and jumped, and the poor startled thing flew right off you. You always were such a skittish little thing.”
You didn't respond. Couldn't, really. You had no memory of this. This wasn't really your body.
“Do you remember, my love?” He said expectantly, still stroking your cheek like you were the most precious thing in the entire world.
Thoughtlessly, you nodded. “Yes, I remember.”
One moment he was holding you lovingly, the next his hands were on your throat. The two of you fell to the ground as he constricted his grip around your neck.
“How funny.” The Lord of the Manor spoke. “Although…Last I recall, your father died before we ever met”
Such an obvious trap and you feel for it anyway. You tried to choke out some excuse, but you couldn't so much as croak a single coherent syllable. Your fingers clawed at his hands, your nails growing inhumanely long.
“You know, I've been watching you for long time,” he casually confessed. He grinned wickedly, a complete departure from the vaguely adoring look you've come to know.
“You aren't my wife. I’ve suspected the truth for a long time.” He confessed. His hands were growing tighter around your throat. You struggled to breathe, your sharp claws drawing streaks of blood on his skin in your desperation. “You think you're quite smart, don't you? Trying to fool everyone, to fool me.”
“My wife never once met my gaze. Not once. Not even when we said our wedding vows.” He broke out into a mad, almost distorted chuckle. “I think, deep down, she was terrified of me. Perhaps she thought I'd be the death of her. She was right, of course, but still…”
The fangs you had tried so painstakingly to hide started to peak through. You couldn't help yourself, it was instinct.
“Ah,” he inhaled quietly. “There you are.”
“I was wondering when you would show your true colors.” He only squeezed tighter the more you struggled. And for all your power, in your weakened state, your bones felt so hollow you feared they might break in his hold. “I'm not sure what you are, but I do know one thing. I know you're quite fond of tearing apart defenseless animals.”
The shock must have been written on your face, because he laughed in cruel amusement.
“You think I don't know what goes on in my own home?”
It was pointless. No matter how much you scratched or gnawed your teeth, he wouldn't budget. You were starting to feel lightheaded, and dark spots were clouding your vision. This was it. This was how you were going to die. Your arrogance was literally going to be the death of you.
“Oh, don't be so dramatic. It’d be too much trouble to try and kill you a second time.” He said, as if reading your thoughts perfectly. His eyes roamed the curves of your face, searching for something that wasn’t there. “Though, I suppose, you're not really her.”
All at once, he let go of you, leaving you to heave as you forced air to flood back into your lungs. Your blood raged. How could this body be married to its murderer?
“At first, I only kept you around for that face of yours.”
“Your job was simple. Play your part. Pretend to be my wife and don't raise suspicion.” He turned to face the fireplace. “And you couldn’t even do that.”
As you finished collecting yourself, a realization struck you. His back was turned to you.
This was it. This was your best and perhaps chance to end this. To kill him before he killed you.
Instinct took over, your claws unsheathing themselves. Your eyes narrowed into slits, trained on the small of his back. One clean strike, and the danger would be over. The threat would be eliminated.
Your back arched, ready to pounce. Just as you were about to lunge, you heard a faint click.
In a flash of silver, a pistol was aimed square at your forehead.
You could see it now. Those animals hanging on his walls weren't just for show. Underneath his prim and proper guise was the mark of a cold-blooded killer.
You stared down the barrel of his gun, unblinking.
“You killed your own wife in cold blood,” you stated apathetically. “Why not pull the trigger?”
For a moment, under the dim light of the fireplace, you saw yourself in him. You could see yourself in the deranged glint in his eyes. You were truly foolish to ever believe you were the only monster in this house.
“I am not an unreasonable man.” You could tell even now, by the glimmer of his eye, he was weighing the cost of this interaction. “Any further accidents would only raise suspicion."
Out of all the ways you thought he might reply, that certainly wasn't one of them.
“You get to keep playing your role as Lady of the Estate and I satiate your…appetites.”
He was offering a deal that was too good to be true. You might have fallen for it, if it weren't for the gun aimed at your head.
“What's the catch?”
“The catch is you do so under my terms. You do as I say.”
Your eyes narrowed into slits again. You hardly liked being told what to do. “And if I say no?”
“That's obvious. I shoot you where you stand.”
He wasn't lying. His heartbeat gave away as much. He would shoot without hesitation if you so much as tried to hurt a hair on his head. And while you weren't sure if a bullet to the head could kill you, you weren't particularly keen to find out.
“And how do you know I won't turn on you when you least expect it?” You asked carefully.
His obvious amusement sent every hair on your body on edge. “You won't.”
“How can you be so sure?” You looked at him skeptically.
He lowered his gun steadily before skillfully tucking it away.
“You won't because who else would keep you like I would? Who else would give you the flesh and blood you seem to crave?” He stretched out his hand to you, waiting for you to take it. “Only I can accept you for who-- what you really are. Only I can supply what you so desperately need.”
You still didn't trust a single word that left his mouth. A man this calculating should never be trusted.
“And what do you get out of all this?”
He withdrew his hand from you with a disappointed frown. Then the Lord of the Manor took his rightful place on the upholstered chair at his desk. Any onlooker would have compared him to a King sitting on his throne.
“An obedient and loving wife.” The biting sarcasm wasn't lost on you.
Your silence spoke to just how much you trusted his word.
“Someone who shares my peculiar… taste.” Everything out of his mouth was no better than lies. At least this one was a tad more palatable.
For now, at least. Who knows why or when a pet bites the hand that feeds them?
Pleased, he took his hand off the handle of his firearms. “I've always heard second wives are far better than first.”
Unexpectedly, he tore his hand agape with the letter opener on his desk. He extended his bleeding palm towards you. The unsaid offer was obvious, but not to be trusted, given who it came from.
You narrowed your eyes in suspicion.
“Don't look at me so stupidly.” He chastised.
You were a starving dog, and even you, in all your animal nature, knew it was a bad idea to feed strays. He was either extremely brave or exceedingly stupid. You weren't sure which. One thing for certain, though, you were more than ready to tear him open to find out.
“Don't even think about it.” He snapped, like he could sense you were thinking about his untimely death.
Ah. You supposed you never were one to hide your desires well. If you were, you wouldn't have ended up here, would you?
You didn’t hesitate, your rationality giving way to your hunger. Your fangs poked through the corners of your mouth, digging into his flesh.
His blood tasted as vile as you knew him to be. Yet despite its acrid taste, there was an overflowing, pulsing warmth that overcame you. You could taste his heartbeat as you took his lifeblood.
Your husband grew pale as all that gave him color was steadily drained. Having decided you had enough, he attempted to gently pull you off. You didn’t give way. You only latched on harder, refusing to so easily give up what you had once so badly craved.
“Enough,” he warned.
Still, you wouldn't release him.
“Enough.”
He yanked his palm clean out of your grasp, the sheer force spewing crimson onto the otherwise pristine floorboards.
And you, in all your bloodlust, dropped to your knees to lick it clean.
“You really are a mindless animal, aren't you?” Your husband jeered, taking out a white handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket. The white started to drown in red as he wrapped it around his palm. He shook his head in obvious disapproval.
For all feigned disgust, he couldn't peel his eyes away from you. A beast in the cloak of a woman, ravenously feasting on mere morsels. The light of the fireplace gleaming madly in your eyes. How he found art in the way you slaughtered. One day he'd have to tell you how your lips looked their best smeared in red.
And thus a business deal was struck between husband and wife. You, a beast in the cloak of a woman. And him, a deranged killer in the guise of a gentleman.
