To read Part One…click here
Ranckor’s forked tongue slipped out and tasted the air, tasted me. I shivered at the intimate touch, thankful as always, our biologies prohibited anything more than the faintest flicker of his tongue upon my flesh. My fear stench, he called it, sang out to him, and he couldn’t get enough of the terror seeping out through my veins.
His claws clicked, gripping the chain holding you on the platform. Your chains clanked when Icknor swung clear of the pit to stand beside me.
It was only you. You and Him. You, your fate, and your strength.
The rules were simple. Live or die. Live to claim your prize. Only you didn’t know I waited for you. You had to win to know I would serve you.
That’s how it went. Five fights. Five wins. Five prizes. Each brought you closer to me.
Sight. Smell. Touch. Taste. And the final one…the Rut.
He won four bouts before you. He’d seen his prize. One long week staring at all that he would claim from the far side of our pens. A second chained inches from me, unable to touch, but close enough for him to smell my fear.
The third, had been the worst. Bound, but for his hands…
Ranckor’s forked tongue had flicked nonstop then, getting drunk on my fear. Icknor passed out from the intoxication.
My chest had heaved with sobs and tears streaming down my face. His hands had been brutal in his exploration of my flesh. The tasting, the fourth win, they limited to a single night. With hands bound behind his back, his mouth travelled my flesh. I shuddered at the remembrance of the invasion I’d endured at the roughness of his tongue and fetid breath sweeping against my skin. He told me how he would take me after his fifth kill.
Ranckor and Icknor could barely contain themselves for the fear I threw off. Already, I sensed the first stages of intoxication in my captors. Their jerky movements showed the heady feast of pheromones I threw their way. Ranckor swiped the air in front of my face and sighed.
“So, sweet, little one. You will nourish us well tonight.”
Please, fierce warrior, please. Do not die in that pit. I would endure your stares, even the abrasive touch of your hands upon my flesh, if you only promise me not to die in that pit.
And please, I pray, do not let any of the fear radiating in the air be coming from you! Be strong, my warrior. And Live.
To read Part IV click here…