“Wash and wait for me in my tent, naked and on your knees.”

River’s pulse beats thickly in her veins as she paces back and forth in Hadrius’ tent. His clear voice, like ice-melted streams and tinged fury, echoes over and over in her mind until her skin swells with anticipation.

He had saved her, but not for amiable reasons. No, he probably wanted one last fuck, and then he would dispose of her body in the forest. She had not been a fool, for she considered all possible situations whilst strapped to the uncomfortable saddle, one of them being her death. Yet, she had not expected him to dispose of her so quickly- so early. It left no time for her to assemble the threads of a proper escape plan.

River pauses and edges towards the tent’s entrance. She lifts the flap and cautiously peers outside. Her gaze sweeps over the Lycan men that move about, their dark figures seemingly magnified by the bonfire that casts resplendent lights over them.

The flap falls as she backs away and continues pacing whilst gnawing at the skin of her thumb. There was not much choice in the situation. Hadrius had made his intentions clear, and maybe, if she followed along and proved her worth, he would allow her another day.

As far as she knew, she was currently on borrowed time, and Hadrius was collecting his due payment.

River halts at the centre of the tent and inhales deeply, her chest expanding before releasing a tense breath. She begins to undo the buttons of her shirt, exhaling shakily as the cold night air brushes against her bare chest. River lets the material fall to her ankles and drops her hands to her waist, trembling fingers working the numerous bunched folds.

“Get a hold of yourself,” she mutters harshly but fails to still the tremors. Biting her tongue hard to briefly obscure her fear with stinging pain, River manages to work the pants off and lets those drop as well. She stands nude, and thoroughly self-conscious despite being the only one in the tent.

Gathering a cupful of water with two hands from the golden bowl set on a stand nearby, River splashes her face and washes it clean, then dampens her short hair, subconsciously regretting cutting it. Didn’t men find long hair more attractive? Now she probably resembled a boy, which would only make it difficult if he were to take her maidenhead.

“You’re a girl.” River releases a frustrated breath as she scrutinizes her face in the small mirror. Her features are neither sloppy nor attractive; she is simply... there. She pinches her cheeks hard to flood them with some sort of attractive colour but the result is only rugged, blotchy finger marks on her skin rather than the desired rose tinge. Next, she gnaws on her lips in an attempt to plump them, but it is futile.

River almost considers drawing blood and dabbing it on her skin, but the sudden shuffling outside the tent steals her attention.

She moves towards the centre of the room and slowly lowers herself onto her knees, adjusting and readjusting herself as she had seen sex slaves do before: knees pressed together, sat back on heels, palms set on either thigh.

Or was it upright kneeling with hands cupped behind their heads?

“Either way, he’s going to scramble your insides,” she mutters in slight horror as memories of his past voyeurs streak across her shut eyelids. River was aware that Hadrius was well endowed, almost unnaturally so, and the thought of that thing fitting inside her casts an involuntary, repulsed shudder down her spine. Her abdomen clenches.

It would definitely hurt like a bitch, that much she was certain.

When he did… enter her, she hoped it was from behind because she would rather slit her own throat than allow him to catch a glimpse of her expression while doing it.

Doing it.

River’s face flushes horribly, and her head drops into her hands that rub vigorously, attempting to sober her up. Her heart drums against her sternum in an almost sickeningly eager manner, and as she readjusts herself, River feels slight wetness against her calves, where her pussy had been pressed.

Before she pays any mind to the sensation, a sharp sound severs the sober night air beyond the tent.

And then there is silence.

River’s head snaps upwards, listening with strained consciousness. The silence is thick and extending, so quiet she can almost hear the drifting of water vapour, the steady moth-like fluttering of her heart.

There is nothing.

Just as the tension in her shoulders starts to dwindle, the sound of guttural shrills sear like a bolt of lightning across the sky, except this time, it is right beside Hadrius’ tent.

River jerks sideways, tumbling away as her palms rise to clamp over her ears. When she pulls away, the shrieks are now replaced by growls and shouts of men all around, an incongruous orchestra of noise that has her stumbling to her feet and darting for the entrance.

Unaware of her state of undress, River yanks the flap back and grows rock-solid at the sight before her: creatures of the night racing across the camp in a blur of dark, shifting shapes and savage snarls. They move far too quickly for her to comprehend. Men begin to shift mid-air, fur rippling across skin and bone, and lunge for them - wolves against... wolves?

“We’re under attack!” one man bellows, already mid-shift, and she blinks from her state of paralysis.

Attack?

The word does not fully settle on her tongue, nor dissolve in her body. But when it does, River jerks away from the entrance and retracts her hands as though it had burned her. She whirls in a half-circle, wild eyes of panic searching the room for something, someone, anyone.

Attack. They had been ambushed.

Tendrils of fear coil around her throat as everything else becomes a vague memory she can hardly remember. Somehow unable to recall where she had placed her clothes - or rather the sudden flood of adrenaline rendering her blind to the pile of clothes pooled by her feet - River grabs the closest piece of clothing, which happened to be Hadrius’ shirt.

She lets out a startled cry as half the tent caves inwards, misshapen shadows of two animals brawling appearing over the fallen side. Sickening growls and slobbers of blood spray on the canvas.

She had to escape.

“Weapon,” River whispers to herself as her heels dig in by the entrance. Sharply turning, her eyes land on the sword resting against the wall, sheathed in black and gold casing. But, it was far too large and far too heavy. Releasing it with a growl of frustration, River settles for a butter knife and breaks out into the night just as the rest of the tent collapses.

The world around her is in chaos. Her eyes flicker about in terror as she hastens, the taste of blood and iron thick in the atmosphere, dancing wickedly on her tongue. Whilst blindly running, her foot catches over a dead creature and she catapults to the ground, knees skidding against soil and arms slipping. Sharply rolling onto her back, River freezes at the sight.

It is a wolf but at the same time... it is not.

What should be a coat of fur is simply tufts of hair here and there; the rest is charred midnight skin with maggots slipping in and out of holes, glowing red eyes, and a mouth cut wide as though someone had extended the sides with a knife, exposing ragged canines half the size of her forearm.

The creature was dead. And stank to the high heavens of manure and decay.

River gags and rolls over and onto her feet.

Run.

Where?

They were surrounded by forests.

Forests. Escape. The sweet irony of it all, finding blissful hope in destruction.

River leaps to her feet and breaks into a sprint away from the campsite, her bare foot pounding the earth bathed in red. She did not know where she was heading, but whether it was towards danger or away from it, it did not matter to the girl thriving off her own desperacy. Her breaths come as short as her legs carry her forward. The knife slips from her small, clammy hand, but she does not stop.

An unfamiliar growl draws her attention to the left and her soul briefly evaporates from her body at the sight of a hellish creature running by her side, its hunger-filled eyes scrutinizing her face, narrowing to slits.

“Oh f-”

The creature hunches, then lunges for her.

River prepares to duck at the last minute when something hard and powerful slams into her back, throwing her forward.

A startled, pained breath escapes her as she catapults towards the earth. Arms wrap around her body, locking her against the bare and glistening body that caves above her. A grunt echoes by her ear as Hadrius takes the brunt of the fall and rolls.

He moves swiftly. Hardly had they touched the ground when he is rising again, his arm circling her waist this time while the other slips under her bare thighs and lifts her.

He breaks through the forest at a dangerous pace that has her guts cartwheeling. The trees blur past her vision, almost forming a single line of blurred black and grey. The frigid night air whistles sharply past her ears, and when she exhales, his grip tightens around her body, forcing her into his chest.

“Hold me!” Hadrius barks sharply and had he not held her in such a bridal way, River would have wrapped her every limb around his body like a starfish. Her nails dig into the nape of his bare neck, body tightening at the sound of more howls, this time flanking them.

River dares peer to his side and blood dissolves from her face as her gaze locks with glowing bloodshot eyes.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.” She presses even harder against him, feeling the thundering beat of his heart and something more - slight bumps that periodically rose beneath his skin. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck-”

A low, ferocious growl silences her.

River blinks.

And that’s when she hears it - the faint roaring of water that gushes down a hundred foot cliff.

That could only mean-

Her gaze snaps forward at the treeline that comes to a clearing, the earth giving way some feet further ahead. River’s heart drops down a black hole.

As though anticipating her next move, Hadrius’ vice-like grip tightens impossibly further.

“No,” she whispers in terror, then blinks and tries to struggle against him like a floundering fish. “No!” River shouts as he picks speed. The hands which once gripped his neck now shove at his face, balled fists pounding against his chest and neck. She thrashes about in a futile manner as they approach the drop. “NO!”

“I will leave you,” Hadrius snarls in a low warning tone but she pays no heed, stretching, curling, twisting and turning in his grip. The creatures begin to close in numbers, the distance between them shortening and the earth trembling with their collective pounding.

“I can’t swim! I can’t swim!” River claws at his shirt and she must have tugged at his nipple piercing, for Hadrius inhales shakily, and his grip on her thighs loosens. It was good enough.

River starts to clamber past his shoulder desperately as he crosses the treeline. Her gaze circuits with the rabid animals biting at his ankles, snapping at them.

River hesitates.

And in that fraction of second, Hadrius leaps off the edge.

The ground gives way.

They fall down the hundred-foot drop.

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