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What the ever-fucking hell is happening? Have I gotten kidnapped? If so, why don't I mind? Oh. Because I was about to get raped again, that’s why. Though arguably, I doubt anyone so callously grabbing me like a veritable caveman intends to be courteous.
But no one’s ordered me to behave now.
I kick. I punch the toned back with my closed fists and screech, "Let me down! Let me go, you brute."
The only answer my captive dignifies me with is a fat snort.
I twist to glare, but as my head faces his back, all I can see is a black jacket—like velvet?—and sleek dark hair that falls down his back.
I catch the scent of the woods—pine and musk, and freshly cut grass. It shouldn’t have been appealing, but it is. I don’t know how that smells cut through all the rage and panic and frustrated impotence brewing inside me. It does, though, and I hold on to it like a lifeline, letting it ground me, settle my mind enough to climb out of the cold horror of what just happened to me.
He got me out of it.
Why?
Because he wants a turn with the fuckdoll, you idiot, I tell myself. I should stay alert, alarmed. But I’m all out of energy for it.
“What are you doing?” I grumble, surprised by my even tone.
I should be screaming some more. I should be confused and terrified of what’s going to happen next.
Instead, for the first time, in two days, I feel...all right. Safe, even, though safety has come in short supply of late.
“Hey!” Valdred yells as the stranger walks away from the rut with great strides. "What do you think you're doing?"His pants now buttoned up, he trails after us.“Is it in the wild ways, to steal women like a barbarian?”
The stranger remains silent and keeps walking. Valdred has to jog to catch up with us. My insides clench, dreading his proximity, his words. If he ordered me to get back to him, I'd likely struggle to get off this shoulder and crawl to his feet, ass up.
Fuck. I am better off with the caveman, at least for now. To hell with the devil I know. I'll take the one I can fight.
If I could, I’d shoot Valdred my middle finger or stick out my tongue. Maybe this newcomer also want to use me, but I’ve escaped one abuser—and we’re feet away from the second. For now, I consider that winning.
“Ryther, what’s the meaning of this!” Valdred demands.
Ryther.It’s a beautiful name. I don’t think I've ever heard it, but the fact that he took me away from a total stranger who was moments away from fucking me instantly endears it to me.
I bite my tongue, rather than daring to even think of thanking him. Ever. But especially when I don’t know what he has planned for me. Why is he still carrying me, without a single word? Where are we going? And more importantly...why have I ceased to care?
Yet I can’t deny that I feel nothing but safe up here, perched in his arms. He seems...strong. Stronger than Valdred, and obviously willing to fight him for me. It's depressing to have to rely on a big, strong man to fight my battle, but after the last few days, I'll take a knight in shining armor—or in dark, soft velvet. I'm not fussy.
Ryther stops and pulls me down from my perch, carrying me by the waist again.
I gasp.
* * *
I only have time for a glimpse, but Ryther is absurd, for various reasons.
Firstly, no man should have a mouth as sensual as his, and dark lashes so thick and long. Dark, midnight sky blue eyes shine in the moonlight.
I thought Valdred handsome. And Eochan, Junis, as well as many men before. I was wrong. All pale in comparison to this stranger, and his sensual, masculine allure.
But mostly, he’s ridiculous, because he doesn’t exist.
He shouldn’t.
None of the things I've ever seen in my visions have ever come to life, so it shouldn't be possible for him to be here, solid, holding me. Yet there is no denying that he’s the man I imagined last Saturday night in the alley behind the Night Hall, fucking that woman into oblivion. And my visions are never real. They’re only a figment of my imagination. I’ve seen shrinks for most of the two and a half decades I’ve been alive just to learn to differentiate between the truth and my imagination.
Am I dreaming this whole thing? Am I in a deep psychosis? That wouldn’t be unlike me. It’d make more sense than fairies and princes and dark spells controlling me.
