Memories

Caelia’s heart pounded as his words took root, spiraling into countless questions. His grin was playful but dangerous, his eyes gleaming as they drank her in once more.

“M-Mate?!” she whispered, her face draining as she stumbled over the word. She gaped in shock, her eyes wide until a gust of sand bathed her, forcing her to turn away. When she looked again, he was gone, a phantom dissolved in the stretching shadows, leaving her with two impossible choices: submit herself like an animal to this stranger, or face a near-certain death wandering the desert. At least this stranger wasn’t repulsive like the fiancé she was trying to escape. Far from it, he was alluring—by far the most striking man she’d ever seen.

In Caelia’s limited experience, she had found that men were plagued by imperfections: whether in temper, habit, or form. The men her father’s estate hosted were usually bloated or balding, with lurid laughs or greedy eyes. But this desert warrior seemed sculpted from her dreams, dangerous but perhaps hand-crafted by a deity. She tried to reassure herself: He doesn’t mean… during the ceremony. Surely, he means a private room before it ends.

She wasn’t naive—she knew what he meant. She’d seen animals “mate”, the rough mechanics often appearing unpleasant for the female involved. Women sometimes came to her father’s estate for the pleasure of his guests, and though they didn’t appear unhappy when they arrived, they always seemed 'worn' as they left. The idea of such intimacy puzzled her, but somehow, the thought of it with him didn’t seem so dreadful. She felt an involuntary warmth flicker within her at the memory of his strange, piercing gaze, of the heat that had pooled in her abdomen from just that brush of his hand.

He was warm, so warm. She thought as the chill in the air intensified, wrapping her think cloak around herself.

“Human?” she murmured to herself, questioning his word. Who was he? Was he truly any worse than Dunsmore? Her fate hadn’t changed, only shifted. Perhaps this tribe simply thought themselves apart from the world she knew.

Had he killed those men? There wasn’t any blood... Perhaps his tribe intended to raid supplies… A fair action since Dunsmore had invaded their lands, she concluded.

The time to decide pressed on her as she scrambled to her feet and chose one of the exits he’d described. Moving with caution through the dim garden, she crept past weather-worn statues of unclothed women, their blank gazes haunting her as she slipped through a small laundry hut. She wrinkled her nose at the stench—stacks of yellowed, stained men’s undergarments piled across the floor. Her disgust only hardened her resolve, sparking her to escape this life before that man, that rotting, bloated beast, could ever touch her.

Her skin crawled as the memory of her arrival at Dunsmore’s estate resurfaced. They had barely set foot on his grounds before the corpulent man greeted them, his ruddy, pockmarked face drooping in a leering smile.

"Mariswyn!” he’d called to her father. “Good to see you again. Let’s have a look at what you brought."

Dunsmore’s gaze had lingered over her with a crude inspection, his eyes crawling from her face to her waist and back up. “Oh, yes,” he grunted, smacking his lips with a sickening sound. “This one will do nicely.”

He coughed wetly, yellowed teeth bared as he grinned at her father. “We’ll get all that paperwork signed today. She’ll get a taste of her husband before she’ll get any dinner, hah, hah!” The memory of his wheezing laugh echoed in her mind.

Caelia had recoiled instinctively, as a dirty, jagged fingernail reached toward her but the man her mother had told her was her father pushed a hand behind her back, forcing her to stand before her new master.

“Very well endowed girl,” the grotesque monster trailed a thick layer of saliva over his thin lips as he ran a cold finger down her chest. “A little doe-eyed but I’ll have that out of her by morning.” Caelia had fought every urge to flee as the vile finger slipped inside the fabric that covered her bust. He'd begun pulling, as he leered at her, his rancid breath coming in shorter waves, but her father gripped the back of her shoulder harshly as her skin crawled.

The dress had clearly been intended for a woman with a much smaller chest, and he wouldn't have to pull for long to expose her nipples. A cold sweat had flushed her entire body as her eyes darted frantically looking for escape. She didn’t dare beg her father again, he had never been kind to her or her mother and he had threatened her with terrible consequences if she resisted. Thankfully, a sudden fit of wheezing and spluttering had overwhelmed the monster before he could find what he was looking for and Caelia quietly stifled her instant sobs.

Their business was settled with a drink and a handshake, and she was left to the mercy of Dunsmore’s servants. As soon as he had shouted for her, that venomous head maid had appeared, taking Caelia away to scrub her raw in cold water, and lecture her on the ‘virtue of obedience’.

Shaking herself free of the nauseating memory, Caelia spotted the gate at the back of the estate. She pushed it open with a grunt, and, hearing it slam shut behind her, she exhaled in relief. Further along the wall, two figures moved along the outer wall, nearly out of sight.

“Hey!” she called, her voice breaking as she raised her hand and waved. The tribesmen spun around, hearing the sound. “Hey!” she shouted again, the sand dragging at her feet as she ran after them, each step a struggle in the shifting ground.

She focused on the treacherous sand beneath her, slipping with every step, making her attempts to run a grueling effort. Frowning down, she panted, “H–” only to look up and realize the two men were alarmingly close, having covered almost half the ground between them. They seemed effortless, moving across the sand with uncanny ease. Every instinct told her to turn and flee, yet she froze, body tense, caught between fear and the undeniable need to survive.