Your fear is addictive!

The fear speeded itself through me like a freight train. Before my expression could be suppressed, it was detected in an instant. I wrinkled my nose and turned my head away as he leaned forth and took a deep, slow sniff up from my collarbone to my ear.

This guy was disgusting through and through; the sheepish grin on his face made me feel sick to my stomach. Luckily, the fear melted into the rage coursing through my body quickly, and I wheeled in the needed control. I was not afraid to die; I never was. I rather deep fry, season, and eat my own hair than show this scum fear. He didn´t deserve my fear; he didn´t deserve shit!

I knew I still had plenty of time. He didn´t just fuck his victims. He played with them, toyed with their emotions, and gorged on the continuous fear. He scars and torments them until they let go of their natural bodily functions and defecate and urinate themselves, ensuring that he lamented their lack of dignity and despair. He would reach out with an olive branch of hope and build them up, then laugh when the light dimmed in their eyes once they had the realization that there was no escape, letting fear emerge once again.

This continues until he can no longer make fear reek out of them, making them unresponsive, emotionally drained, like hollow shells of their former self. I wouldn´t give him my fear. I couldn’t give him what he wanted. I had to endure.

“Hmm. So sweet and delicious. Your fear is addictive, my love!”

A thin, sickening, warm, wet tongue trailed a path along my jawline before he whispered directly in my ear with a thick and hoarse voice. I tried to hold in the shudder of his words sinking into my skin.

“I’ll make sure to drain it all.”

It was a simple sentence, but the meaning was disgusting. The sentence almost stopped my heart. It felt like an ancient declaration of war that came from the depths of hell, but the way he breathed it out, whispered with a voice full of lust, made it seem like it was a declaration of love—a freaking mind-game snake. I would love to make myself a pair of working boots out of you and stepp in cow and horse shit with them as often as possible.

He was the devil himself, going way out to increase fear, and his torture where worse and worse the angrier he got. However, I refused to be afraid. Along with his words was his hot, heavy stank breathing. They brought a picture of a devil from those cult books I’ve had to study in the past. Yes, this was evil incarnate in front of me.

My whole body ached in pain and lack of energy; nothing worked as I wanted it to, and to be frank, I gave up trying. With the loss of blood during every torture session, I could feel the anemia set in. This was not quickly healed, and the lethargy that came with it worked against the healing that took place afterward.

My healing abilities as a wolf worked against me in situations like this, letting me bleed and then heal up the wounds. It was making me weaker and weaker each time. The dried-up blood itched and tightened the skin on my throat, stomach, thighs, cheeks, breasts, and over my left eye. My whole body ached in pain and lack of energy. Nothing worked as I wanted it. To be frank, I gave up trying.

Throughout the night, he got furious that he didn’t get any fear off me, but at some point, I felt my thoughts go from wanting to hurt him to teetering over the edge of insanity. His fury then turned to psychotic curiosity. How much damage could he do? How much would I heal?

We had now established that he could scalp me alive; I would pass out but would heal. Although now garbled to my ears through what he had already done to me, his words still registered, scalping. My head will be in pain, but it will heal. As he knows this, it just makes him more excited to do it repeatedly.

He cut open my stomach and pulled out some of my organs. The wet sounds of my organs being pulled out of my navel were enough to remove the shroud of unconsciousness over me. Apparently, I could heal and survive that too.

But now I’m drained; not even minor cuts and bite marks on my arms, legs, and shoulders would heal. His scientific project neared an end. I could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel, the end of my sufferings and my life. Every muscle, vein, and every inch of my body felt out of reach. I no longer knew what he was doing; I no longer cared. Only a strike of pain here and there came through my foggy consciousness like lightning here and there, but I didn’t know what caused them anymore. I was just tired, so tired I just wanted to give up. I wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. I reached my limit. I slipped so far away that all the raucous around me fell into everything else. 

Shouting, growling, and things flying around in the room around me didn’t mean a thing to me. It didn’t stand out enough to make my brain register that something else was happening. The only thing bothering me was how loud everything suddenly seemed to be, making it impossible for me to fall asleep. I did my very best to block it all out. All I needed was some peace and quiet.

After what seemed like an eternity, I got what I wished for. All sounds died out, and the wall of silence lay heavy around me. My penalty was paid, and I was granted salvation, but my sins were dark and unforgiving. Just as I thought I could drift away quietly in the afterlife, destiny gave me a final blow. The dreadful and all too familiar sparks of the mate bond danced all over my skin; the only thing I genuinely was afraid of pushed me over the edge, and I drifted away, consumed by fear. I felt relief when I started gaining consciousness. I began to exist again. I felt pain. I was alive. This had to be a mistake.