Chapter 2 - Escape Routes

She bit her lip hard. Myrrh whined softly and the donkey stomped a foot and snorted.

She had to choose right or suffer for it.

"Rightwards!" She whisper-yelled, pulling the reins.

The beast jumped forward and behind her came shouts. Torches blurred at the edge of the thicket.

"FIND HER! NOW!" Lord Seth Numark Frankfurt roared. "Check for hoofsteps and trails! Catch her scent."

It was her father.

Men scattered, torches swinging wildly, but the donkey’s hoofprints vanished where stone replaced sand. Her father stood raging, fists clenched.

"She can't be far-she CAN'T!"

****

****

The wide road stretched endlessly ahead, leading straight into deepening darkness and hovering trees.

The donkey’s body jolted beneath her, uneven and Aeryl pressed her palm to its neck, softly urging it on.

The forest thickened, branches looking like claws, and shadows looming.

Then, she heard hoofbeats again.

Not behind her this time but ahead.

It sounded faint at first. Then it became clearer. Calculated and steady. Like an echoing drumbeat. Her breathing stopped.

Someone was coming and it was more than one person. Panic took her and she yanked the reins hard, directing the donkey off the road.

Branches whipped her arms as they ran into the thicket. The donkey stumbled, hooves slipping at the sudden change. There was no path now. Only thorns, weeds and darkness. She led them deeper, away from the sound, away from whoever was coming or searching.

The strange hoofbeats came closer, growing louder and louder. Torchlight flickered between the trees.

Aeryl froze, pressing her hand to her mouth to silence her breath.

Through the branches, she saw royal riders in gleaming armor, flanking a black carriage designed with silver sigils.

The air shifted. The carriage slowed with the horses stomping, uneasily.

Riders stopped as if bound by a single command. Then, the carriage door opened.

And he stepped out.

Tall and large. Cloaked in black darker than the night itself. His presence swallowed the clearing whole.

His gaze swept over his men, then lifted sharply and dangerously toward the forest. Toward her direction. 

And she knew who it was.

Her nemesis.

The lycan prince.

Aeryl turned the donkey around and bolted into the dark brush, shock burning her.

****

****

He inhaled, and froze.

The scent hit him sharply. Very rich and impossibly sweet that he shut his eyes. His blood boiled with recognition.

Mate.

His predatory eyes shined in the dark. He raised one hand, voice cold:

"Freeze."

Every rider obeyed. Not even a hoof moved, not a breath dared sound. The forest itself seemed to hold its breath.

He listened, head tilted, until he caught the sound of frantic hoofbeats, someone riding deeper into the trees. Like a mackerel trying to escape his grasp.

He smiled, coldly. 

"Proceed."

He mounted a stallion in one smooth motion, his glossy, black hair catching the moon's light, and then he rode into the shadows of the thickets by himself, driven by the scent that had just undone his years of restraint.

****

****

Back at the house, candlelight danced.

Aeryl’s mother stood at the window, gripping the sill until her knuckles whitened. Her chest rose and fell in ragged gasps, her husband’s distant shouts echoing faintly.

"She's gone..." The words broke from her throat. "My daughter..."

Lilah slipped beside her, wrapping her arms tight around her.

"Don't say that, Mama," she begged, eyes wet. "She's strong. She's smart. She'll come back or stay safe somewhere."

Her mother’s hands shook over Lilah’s, clinging to the hopeful words. But the thought of Aeryl alone in the woods, where shadows hunted and men were cruel, scattered her resolve.

She sobbed out.

Lilah buried her face in her mother’s gown, trying to be strong but failing.

Soon, they clung to each other, weeping, holding tight to what remained of their breaking hearts.

****

****

The corridor smelled of sweat, perfume, and candle smoke.

Santos laid back in a red, throne-like bowl bed, shirt and fly open. His pale chest was smeared with lipstick and nail crescents. Two women clung to him, moaning and desperate.

One more pale woman entered the room, freshly bathed and ready to exhibit her lustfulness.

She confidently cat-walked straight to him and straddled his cock, throat arched as his fangs scratched lightly at the hollow of her neck. 

Another lady knelt between his knees, tongue worshipping his thighs, hand pleasuring her own core. 

The third tangled her hands in Santos' hair, pulling his head back for greedy kisses and pressing her aching, hard nipples onto his side.

Cries filled the hall from different directions. Pantings, pleadings, the bang of wild sex and the rustle of clothes.

Santos cruelly laughed under his breath, amused.

He gave nothing tender. Only hunger. Only command.

When the woman on his lap whimpered "harder!", he seized her jaw and fucked her deep, brutal, until she choked on her own breath.

The others didn't stop. One licked all over his chest, the other slid lower to his balls, desperate to pleasure him fully.

Santos sat like a king.

His hands touched, cruel and possessive. He gripped on a throat, fisted a hair or sucked a nipple. 

Even here, in heat, flesh and hot sex, his thoughts turned to his brother, the carriage and the talk of a mate. 

The hybrid damsel. 

Santos' lips curled faintly.

"Let him chase his little hybrid," Santos muttered. "I'll take the rest of the world."

The woman in his lap convulsed as his penis began to slam faster. Her tears of enjoyment trickled down her breast, her moans changing into ragged cries that bordered on madness.

"Please..." she gasped, clutching him tighter. "Don't stop. Fuck my damned pussy!"

Santos suddenly tossed her shivering body aside.

The one on her knees was sobbing now, face streaked with tears and spit but still begging. 

She sucked down on his penis again and again, gagging, moaning, desperate.

The third kissed him hungrily, grinding against his side as though his mouth were wine and she was dying of thirst.

They were bound now. Every drop of blood and every breath made them his. Their bodies moved not by will alone but by his command.

Santos smiled. Cruel and knowing.

He pinched a nipple until she screamed and arched, then watched her cry harder when he let go. 

He raised another one back onto his lap and thrusted deep.

She was addicted and broken. They would all return every night, begging and shaking.

"Mortals." He muttered. "So easy to ruin. So easy to own."

He tore a gown apart and took her without mercy.

Her screams blurred with pleasure, nails raking his back.

He flipped her and pinned her throat. His voice rasped:

"Say it."

"Yours... yours... fuck me...."

Her body shook as his fangs sank lightly into her neck.

Her hollow moans filled the chamber until she collapsed.

Santos laughed, shoving her aside, licking his lips.

"Who's next?"

****

****

As Aeryl rode, her lungs burned and her body shook. At last, the donkey slowed.

She slid down, knees weak. Myrrh barked sharply.

"Shh." She whispered, stroking the donkey's damp fur. "You did so well, Lawns. We’ll escape. We’ll be safe."

She fed him and Myrrh from her satchel. Apple slices, oats and meat. With her hands trembling.

"There’s a tent here, Myrrh. We’ll stay till daybreak."

There was silence. No more shouts or torches.

Her eyes found the torn tent slumped against the trees.

Not much. But shelter.

"We’ll rest here." She said. "Just till dawn."

****

****

At the village gate, men rushed with torches and blades.

"Faster!" One shouted. "He wants her found before the hour turns!"

Then they stopped.

A carriage came into view.

Black and massive.