Chapter 3 - The Last Lap

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.

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.

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

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

And with all that followed, he had each woman crying and begging for more, mad with lust.

“Who's next?!”

****

****

As Aeryl rode, her lungs burned and her body shook. She fired the donkey many miles away, zigzagging different directions in the dark and momentarily glancing behind her sniffing for any traces of being…. hunted.

At last, after she saw that she had gone too far to be found, she could no longer shake from the awareness of a particular predatory scent and she'd for sure taken the craziest turns through thickets, the donkey slowed and she sat still for a moment.

A few moments later, she slid down to the ground, knees weak. Myrrh barked sharply when his feet touched ground once again.

"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.

She jumped at every sound and paused every few seconds to listen.

"There’s a tree here, Myrrh. We’ll stay till daybreak. We might be lost…. but at least we're away from them all."

Myrrh mewled and Aeryl gave a small smile.

“Don't worry. I'll protect you.”

There was silence. No more shouts or torches.

Her eyes found an evergreen tree.

Helplessly, she found herself folding against a tree with Lawns tamed still directly beside her and Myrrh curled in her arms.

Not much. But shelter.

"We’ll rest here." She said. "Just till dawn. Then we'll run."

Myrrh closed his eyes but Aeryl couldn't.

“What if I'm making a mistake by sitting here?” She whispered to no one in particular.

****

****

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.

Its sides glittered with silver that shined under moonlight.

One torch fell from a village man's hand and went out. Instinctively, they all knelt and bowed.

The carriage slowly moved forward. Sharp-edged and unmistakable: the mark of the Lycans city of Theartera.

A man dared to lift his head. From one stallion, a rider's pale eyes met his, infinite and cold. Then, the rider's voice, smoothly rose.

"Continue. My lord will bring her in himself."

The carriage rattled past, raising dust.

The kneeling men stayed down until the sound faded. Even then, their limbs shook, sweat dripping despite the cold.

They didn't need to hunt.

The prince himself was in the woods and the girl was already his.

****

****

Aeryl tugged open the tent flap, careful and hopeful for at least a little comfort.

Inside: mildew, rust and darkness. She exhaled, shaky, brushing hair from her damp face.

Just one night. Just enough to rest.

She bent to widen the entrance. Behind her, Myrrh smelled the grass, crunching the last of her treats.

"Hold on, Myrrh. You will have water now."

There was silence but unknown to her, a rider now sat at the clearing's edge on a black stallion.

The lycan prince.

He sat in the saddle, but his eyes burned like coals. Her scent reached him, sweet and maddening. Blood, fear, and something rarer lingering beneath.

His hunger sharpened. His jaw tightened.

Still, he waited, watching her tug at tent ties. Watching her mutter to herself. Watching her hands tremble. Watching her talk to her jumpy dog and check on her donkey every now and then.

It amused him to let her believe she was safe.

Then-

Snap.

His stallion's hoof crushed a branch.

The sound cracked through the clearing like thunder.

Aeryl spun with a scream. Her satchel fell, hands going for the knife at her belt. She yanked it out, both hands shaking around the knife.

"Who's there?" Her voice cracked.

No reply.

"Who the hell are you?!"

More silence.

Then, the black stallion stepped forward. Same time, the moon slipped out from under the clouds.

And she saw him.

Tall. Broad. Terrifying.

The prince.

His silver-red eyes gleamed from the distance, piercing straight through her.

Her scream disappeared in her throat. Her blood knew him before her mind did.

"Myrrh!" she sobbed as the dog barked, fur rising. The dog's little body shook, but he stood his ground.

"Come here!" she begged, dropping to one knee, arms out.

Myrrh shifted to her side.

She scooped him up, clutching him so tightly his claws tangled in her gown. The knife fell from her shaky grip, clattering.

And she ran.

Branches whipped her skin, roots clawed at her skirts. Tears blurred her eyes. She didn't think. She only ran.

Behind her, silence.

The prince hadn't moved. Only kept watching.

He smirked in amusement.

"Run. The chase sweetens the taste." He murmured.

She ran on and on but when she risked a glance back, the horse was standing alone now.

This was worse and it made Aeryl scream with pure anger and determination.

He was already on foot, moving without sound but she couldn't see him anywhere.

He was a hunter who already owned her.

Her lungs burned, heart hammering, but his presence never left.

She continued to run fast....

Until she ran into something hard.

The impact flung her backwards. She screamed as she fell to the ground.

Her spine stung so hard that she stopped breathing.

Myrrh tumbled from her arms, the pup disappearing into the dark with a yelp.

"Myrrh!"

She scrambled, hands clawing the ground. Then, she froze.

MYRRH BIT HER TWICE.

She barely felt it. Instead, she was staring up.

Something stood over them, made from shadow but not moving like a hunter or coming close. It just stood there. His very pale face caught the moonlight and his still eyes reflected the moonlight without warmth.

This was not her father’s men.

Not the lycan prince even.

Something else.

The air around him felt wrong. Thin and cold. No scent of iron or roses or heat. Just a quiet pressure that made her skin prickle.

He did not speak or reach for her. He only stared openly.

Her stomach dropped. Not with the panic of being chased earlier, but with a sudden, terrible awareness. As if she had stepped into the way of something that had already known she would come this way.

She raised her fists anyway, terrified.

“Get away from us!” She screamed.

And it disappeared.

At the same time, arms like iron grabbed her from behind, crushing her back against a chest cold as stone.

This time, it was the lycan prince that had caught her.

She twisted and turned, violently. And when she did…. her breath left her body and still, her blood ran cold at the same time.

Her wolf went quiet and her throat clamped shut in the shock.

This lycan prince was not what she expected a monster to look like. He was worse.

He was scarily beautiful in a way so intense that shame followed the recognition immediately…. Because her body responded before her mind could stop it. It was a pull, low and deep as if the wolf inside her had been waiting to recognize this exact face.

But because those silver-red eyes glowed down into hers and made her breathing shake and because behind it all, she was standing before a predator. Her fury rose and she stammered, raising her fists.

“W-what do you want from me? Stay back or I’ll kill you!”

At her feet, Myrrh barked wildly, snapping at the prince’s boots.

Then the air shifted.

Myrrh went rigid. His body tightened and his spine bent unnaturally. A high growl came from his throat like he was a beast.

“What’s going on?” Aeryl gasped.

Myrrh’s head snapped back toward her.

He bit her ankle.

Pain flared sharp and hot. Blood spilled. She cried out and fell to her knees, clutching the wound.

Myrrh recoiled at once, whining, confused, as if he didn’t understand what he’d done.

The prince looked down as Aeryl reached to touch Myrrh, her other hand still holding her bloodied wound.

Something dark crossed his gaze.

“He's gone,” he said calmly.

He crouched over and Myrrh cowered into a tiny ball of fur, fighting whatever energy that tormented him. The prince lifted one hand and gently pressed it down on Myrrh.