Chapter 21 #2
I’ve finally reached a steadier path when I feel a stark presence close by. Turning my head, I release a scream at the sight of a monstrous figure quickly closing in with firm steps. The moment I start running, he does the same.
“No!” I cry, putting in all my strength, but it’s no use. In a matter of seconds, he’s got me. With one arm banding around me, he has me in an unbreakable grip. I thrash against him, kicking at his legs, clawing at his sides, the fear about to get the better of me.
“Let me go,” I squeal, barely able to get the words out between my heavy pants.
“Shh,” my captor soothes, stroking his fingertips along my hairline, brushing strands out of my face. “Don’t let it win.”
Let what win? I want to scream. But then I remember. The fear. It has me in a chokehold. I need to conquer it. And this man, as much as he’s scaring the shit out of me, is also helping—just holding me steady and stroking me.
Glancing down at his arms, I see familiar bracelets and runes.
It’s not Asbjorn. This man has no tattoos.
But I know he’s one of them. I even think I might recognize his voice, but I can’t place it.
All I know is that he’s not out to harm me.
I know him. So I sink into his strong hold, accepting the soft caresses and drawing on his strength for a while.
“Good girl,” he praises.
Only a low hum escapes me. It’s all I can muster. And besides, my brain wouldn’t know what to say anyway, except to give voice to my fear, and doing so would only feed it. So I remain quiet, accepting the small reprieve.
He rewards me with a bottle of water that he holds to my lips, allowing me to take several big gulps before setting it aside.
I feel strangely calm. Cared for. Safe.
But when he takes out a knife and sticks the tip under the hem of my pants, my calm starts slipping, fear starts quivering.
“What are you doing?” I choke.
No answer.
He just sticks the knife deeper and cuts.
I yelp, the shock ripping through my body, when he cuts my pants. But then I realize it’s all he’s doing—cutting the fabric. Not me.
I cling to the realization and the memory of his calming touch, praising words, and the provided hydration. Somehow, I manage to remain steady as he lowers me to lie on the ground, pinning me in place while he cuts off my pants.
I’m still breathing hard when he lifts me off the ground, but the panic doesn’t feel choking when I stare into his horrible, demonic face and he tells me to run.
The chase keeps going, on and on, dragging out. I’m exhausted, badly needing a break, but when I pause for too long, another demonic figure appears from between the trees, spurring me into another burst of pounding feet and straining legs.
Needing a break, I try to return down the trail a couple of times, but every time I do, another terrifying sentinel appears. They don’t speak, barely even move. They just stand there, watching me, and the sight is enough to make me turn and scramble back up the steep trail.
I have no idea why, but it’s becoming clear to me that they’re leading me somewhere specific up on the mountain. Something’s waiting for me. Or someone. And the men who catch me are preparing me for that someone.
The next time I’m caught, I lose my T-shirt, and the man who grabs me after that cuts off my panties.
All I have left are my shoes as I keep going up and up.
As exhaustion sets in, it’s getting harder to fight the fear.
I feel fraught and frail, and my nakedness doesn’t exactly help.
Paranoia creeps in, and I constantly whip my head around, thinking someone’s following me or that I see a shadow moving between the trees.
I barely dare to pause, afraid someone will suddenly jump out of the trees even though that same scenario is just as possible while I’m running.
It’s not until I see a tall figure on a cliff above me that I come to a halt.
This man is nothing like the others. He’s both mightier and more terrifying, yet somehow calmer and reassuring. Unlike the others, he’s not wearing any paint, but a big crown with antlers reaching high above his head leaves his face in shadows.
The king of the forest. The king of them all.
The long braid hanging down his chest reveals who it is, but my brain remains uncertain—everything else eschewing the familiarity.
He just stands there, completely still, watching. A warning. Or maybe a promise—of the darkness to come.
A big bear skin is draped over his shoulders, and in his right hand, he’s holding something. Leather. Coiled together. A whip? The one that cracked through the night and ripped scream upon scream from that woman on the cross?
“No, no, no,” I chant under my breath. This is crazier than anything I could have imagined. What the hell is this? I figured it might be a ritual, but as the realization sinks in and I remember how little I know, the fear constricts.
I try to find comfort in Asbjorn’s promise—that he would be here all along. But I haven’t seen him once. Only strangers have caught me. Has he lured me into something sinister? Was it all a hoax?
I try to remember all the times he eased me into a scene and steadied me through the pain, but the memories won’t stick. All I see are those antlers, the whip, and the unnerving painted faces.
I shut my eyes hard and pinch my skin. When I look again, the figure is gone. All there is are the stars, the moon, and the trees.
I’m going insane.
Panic grips my lungs as I frantically flit my eyes from side to side, searching for something, finding nothing.
I stare down the path from which I came and hold my breath, listening carefully. No sound. Maybe I should go back. Or into the trees. Because I can’t go up—to him.
But I’ve already tried going back and into the trees. I’ve tried everything. There’s nothing I can do. I’m surrounded. Naked and helpless on a mountain. No phone, no way out. Just me and the beasts hiding in the shadows.
Panic floods me. I turn to my left and steel myself.
Maybe I can hide. I stare into the dark forest. There are big rocks, bushes, and huge trees.
Many good hiding places and shadows to conceal me.
But just as I’m about to dart into the darkness, there’s movement.
A man—a demon. I turn to my right. Another silhouette. Behind me. The same.
I lurch forward, up the steep trail, just barely avoiding branches and stones that threaten to take me down.
I know I’m going just the way they want me, but I can’t stop myself.
I can’t think. Instinct has kicked in, and instinct doesn’t care what awaits me at the top of the hill; it just cares about escaping the most immediate danger.
I claw at the ground to gain purchase as the trail steepens. I’m about to climb up on a big rock in my way when I hear a sound behind me. I turn my head, just as hands lock onto my waist. I scream.
“No! Let me go!”
A hand clamps over my mouth, and a massive arm bands around my waist, trapping my flailing arms in an unbreakable grip. A familiar grip. Asbjorn.
“Shh, it’s just me,” Asbjorn whispers just as recognition strikes.
I slump against him, overcome by relief. But when he bends me over the tall rock I was about to climb, the panic starts thrumming again—a slow drone at the back of my mind, threatening to burst into full-on drumming at any moment.
“What are you doing?” I gasp. “Please, stop. I’m so fucking scared.”
He presses a big hand to my back, pinning me in place even though I’ve momentarily stopped fighting.
“I know you are,” he says softly. “It’s beautiful.”
“What?”
He leans in, his body blanketing my chilly skin from the evening air. “Your fear. It’s so damn beautiful.”
“Why?” I blurt, unable to think of anything better.
He hums, straightening without giving me an answer.
“Please. Just stop. Just pause. Tell me what’s going on.”
He slips a hand between my legs and slides a finger through my folds. I gasp at the feeling of wetness I hadn’t even noticed. He toys at my opening for a minute, and suddenly I’m panting for a whole different reason.
“I don’t want this,” I tell him—or maybe it’s myself I’m trying to convince.
He tuts. “You want this so damn much.”
“No, I’m scared.”
“Oh yes, and that’s why you want it.”
My brain spins, trying to process his certain claim. Because I see a kernel of truth in it. My panicked brain won’t recognize it, but my body does.
Asbjorn slides a finger inside me, and I moan.
“You’re so fucking perfect. Just like he said. It’s a shame I can’t keep you.”
“Who? Why? What?” I blurt in a shrill voice.
“You’ll see soon enough.”
He draws out and grabs my ass cheeks, pulling them apart.
Pfft.
I startle at the sound of Asbjorn spitting, and when I feel the saliva trickling between my ass cheeks, I go frantic.
“No!” I press my hands into the mossy rock, trying to push up, but Asbjorn is impossibly strong. With a single hand, he has me right where he wants me. When I start kicking, he simply steps between my legs and widens his stance, forcing my legs open.
He spits again, and then something is prodding at my narrow opening. A butt plug.
“What are you doing?” I try again to no avail.
Asbjorn keeps prodding, and the sensation sends fire into my nerves, awakening the sensitive area, muddying the fear, muddying my thoughts.
“Stop,” I repeat, but the plea is weak now.
“Shh, you’ll be right where you belong at the end of the night.” He gives the plug a long, steady push, and finally, it pops into place. He has trained me too well, and my mind scrambles to find out what other things he will take advantage of tonight.
“Where is that? Please, Asbjorn. I need to know. I can’t take this anymore. Please. Just… please tell me.”
While I expel my litany of panicked pleas, he grabs me by the upper arms, straightens me, and turns me to face him. The moment I see him, I start hyperventilating, and tears break from my eyes.
“No, no, no, no, no,” I whimper as I stare into a painted face. Black, white, and red paint distort his familiar features, rendering him unrecognizable in the darkness. I reach for his face, wanting to smear the paint away, but he grabs my wrist.
Pushing my arms back, he cages me in against the steep mountainside. “I’m going to miss you.”
“Miss me? What do you mean? What’s going to happen to me?”
“You’ll find your real place tonight, sweet Freja.” He releases one of my hands to stroke my cheek. “Sweet Elina.” He flattens his hand against my cheek in an achingly tender moment. Time stops as he leans in and presses a soft kiss to my lips.
My free hand drops to the side, and I lean my head back. I want more—everything he’s done to me over the last six months we’ve been together. The dominance, the pain, and the fear.
“Remember what I said. Don’t let the fear control you.” His voice deepens with the importance of his next message. “Embrace it.”
I nod, a small flicker of determination returning. But when he releases me and leans back, eyes wide and terrifying, the fear becomes too sharp.
“Run,” he growls, and when I don’t move, he hardens his voice to a command that seems to reverberate with an anger I can’t decipher. “Run!”
I whip around and scramble up on the rock and further up the hill.
When I reach a plateau, I glance back to see him one more time, a terrifying sense of finality churning in my stomach, but he’s gone.
There’s only the night and the trees. That’s when I hear it.
A heartbeat penetrating the night. A drum.
It starts as a single beat, then more drums join in.
And then there’s a light in the distance at the top of the hill.
I cling to a root sticking out of the steep hillside, watching breathlessly as the light grows.
A fire. And it’s all coming from the direction I’m headed.
I freeze in place, just staring and listening, thinking it must all be a vision. Delirium has set in.
I glance behind me, once again wanting to go down. But then I see shadows moving in the night. There are three of them, moving like apparitions between the trees. Shrieking, I scramble to go further up, struggling as the terrain grows increasingly unforgiving.
The drums get louder, calling for me, and I keep going, straight into the trap, as the shadows behind me move in.
“Stop!” I scream. But nothing stops. The drums keep going, an eerie soundtrack to the nightmare I’m stuck in.