Far From Home #2
Morr yanked her upright. His rough grip crushed her arm, his nails digging painfully through the fabric of her blouse. His eyes burned with a menacing fire. “If you’re a nice girl and cooperate with me, I can help you get that pig home. Do we have a deal?”
“Let go of me!” Her growl cracked into a terrified whimper. Tears pricked her eyes from the pain of his iron grip. She thrashed wildly, desperate to break free.
In one brutal motion, Morr spun her around.
He clamped an arm around her middle and crushed her back to his chest. His other hand shoved her hair away from her face.
His hot breath scorched her ear. “You’d better keep quiet,” he hissed.
“If you scream, I’ll kill you. I can kill you so easily, and no one will ever know what happened here. ”
The laundresses who scrubbed guard uniforms knew what it meant to stay quiet. The bakers who delivered burnt bread knew what happened to their daughters. The women who resisted disappeared into the forest or drowned their rapist’s babies in the streams.
A chill raced down her spine, even as her blood roared with terror. Her mind scrambled, but the stories surged through her memory. She must not freeze. She must fight.
His body pressed hard against her back. She felt the sickening bulge at the base of her spine, and acid surged into her throat. As he yanked her skirt roughly upward, she screamed. “Help! Fire! Fire! Help!”
Morr’s hand slammed over her mouth and nose, cutting off her breath. He didn’t just want to silence her—he meant to suffocate her.
Panic clawed at her chest. She struggled to breathe. She fought to think clearly, but her mind spun, frantic and empty. No words came to her. No pleas. No desperate bargains. But she didn’t need words. She needed to survive.
Every ounce of strength surged into her elbow as she drove it backward into his ribs. His body was solid as stone, and the impact made her arm tingle with pain. But it worked. Morr grunted and loosened his grip just enough for her to gasp a ragged breath.
She staggered forward, but Morr slammed her to the ground. The air whooshed from her lungs.
His furious growl scraped the back of her neck as he pinned her, his weight suffocating. Her stomach was crushed to the forest floor.
“Get off me!” She kicked, scratched, bucked with wild, desperate force.
He caught a fistful of her hair and wrenched her to her feet, only to slam her front against a tree trunk. Pain lanced through her shoulders as he twisted her arms behind her back.
His foul breath grazed the side of her neck. Her head was yanked back so she could see nothing but the canopy of leaves above.
Her heart thundered. She was gasping, drenched in sweat, her limbs trembling with exhaustion. The knife—where was her knife?
Lekyi’s warning echoed in her skull. She always carried it when she walked in the woods. Always. Except today. It was sitting uselessly on her nightstand because she hadn’t planned on going for a walk. She burned with self-loathing.
Morr was going to rape her. Then he was going to kill her. And only the trees would know what happened.
No! She refused to die like this. She would not give him her body. She would not give him her spirit. She looked up at the bright blue sky, pleading silently—for strength, for anything.
A furious resolve flooded her, like fire pouring into her bones. If she died today, she would take a piece of him with her.
“Be quiet,” Morr growled, breathless now from the struggle. His hands fumbled at the front of her blouse, tearing the linen.
Cold air rushed over her skin. She thrashed with every bit of life she had left. He couldn’t keep both of her arms restrained. She reached behind her and clawed at him, grabbing a handful of his hair and twisting hard.
He snarled, swung his fist at her—but hit the tree instead.
Suddenly, both of her arms were free. She slammed her elbow into his side. She didn’t care where she hit—anywhere would do. He let out a sharp grunt of pain, and his weight vanished from her back.
“Dragonfly? Where are you?”
The voice sliced through the chaos like sunlight breaking through the canopy. Arion. He had come.
Hope surged through her pounding chest. She gasped out a desperate breath and screamed his name.
Morr grabbed her, smashing her head against the tree. Stars exploded behind her eyes. The forest dimmed.
She was slipping away. Her limbs were going limp. If Arion could not find her now, she was done for.
Morr hoisted her from the ground. She forced her final ounce of strength into a scream.
The next thing she knew, she hit the ground hard, her cheek slamming into a rock. Pain jolted her back into sharp awareness.
Footsteps pounded. Leaves crackled. Morr’s heavy boots thudded as he fled.
She stayed where she was, breathing in the damp earth, the comforting scent of fallen leaves. Far away, Arion’s voice came calling.
“Dragonfly! Where are you?”
His voice was closer now, his footsteps stirring the thick carpet of fallen leaves.
She couldn’t let him find her crumpled on the ground. She couldn’t let him see her helpless. Even if she could lie about what had just happened, her appearance would betray her.
She dragged herself upright, but a wave of dizziness rolled through her.
She clutched a nearby tree until the fog lifted.
Sighing, she brushed away leaves and twigs clinging stubbornly to her skirt and blouse.
She ran trembling fingers through her hair, pulling out tangles and debris.
Her blouse—torn, two buttons missing—was a glaring testament to what had almost happened.
She rearranged the lace neckline, a clumsy attempt to cover the damage.
Arion appeared through the trees, relief flooding his face as he rushed toward her. “There you are! I thought I heard you scream.” His sharp eyes swept over her disheveled state.
“I fell,” she blurted, turning quickly so he wouldn’t see how badly her blouse was torn.
Arion frowned. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” she snapped, but her voice trembled, betraying her. “If you must know, I was fighting with a pig.”
She threw a glare toward Gloria, who was still noisily attacking the blackberry bush.
Gloria, oblivious to everything, grunted and happily continued her feast.
Arion’s amber gaze lingered on the torn blouse and the missing buttons. It was as though he could see right through her, as if he already knew the truth.
The urge to cry swelled in her chest, but she crushed it ruthlessly. She could not afford to lose what little dignity she still had. The tenderness in Arion’s eyes made her furious. She didn’t want his sympathy. She didn’t need it.
Just as she opened her mouth to bark at him, Arion quietly asked, “Are you sure you’re alright? You can tell me if you’re not. If someone bothered you, I’ll tell my father, and he’ll—”
“I told you I’m fine!” She broke eye contact, yanking twigs out of her hair with more force than necessary. A few long strands of gold hair tore free, but she hardly noticed.
“What are you staring at?” she snapped when Arion’s sharp gaze refused to let her go. Regret struck her instantly. He had come for her. He had saved her. But she didn’t know how to let him in without crumbling.
She forced her voice into something softer. “Can you help me get her home?”
“Oh—right,” Arion said, jolting into action, as if glad for the task. He hurried to Gloria and snatched the end of the rope, giving it a firm tug. “Come on, time to go home.”
Gloria ignored him completely. Arion patted his pockets for a treat, but found nothing.
“Come on, girlie,” he coaxed with an empty hand. “Come home nicely, and you can have a tasty snack.”
Gloria grunted stubbornly and shoved herself deeper into the bush, yanking the rope from Arion’s hand and nearly pulling him off balance.
Arion sighed and looked around. He snapped a long branch from a young tree, stripped it of leaves, and gently prodded Gloria’s backside. “Come on, Gloria, I’m serious. Time to go home.”
Gloria spun around, squealing her outrage at the indignity.
Arion hopped backward out of her way. “There, that’s a good big pig. You don’t want to be out here all alone, trust me.”
Dragonfly grabbed the branch from him. She moved behind Gloria, while Arion tugged on the rope. Together—him pulling, her prodding—they herded the reluctant sow back toward the safety of her pen.
Gloria grunted her protest every step of the way, but she grudgingly surrendered to her captors.
Arion latched the gate shut with a triumphant snap and secured it tightly with the rope. He tugged on it to test its strength. “I don’t think she can get out this time—unless she’s grown fingers I don’t know about.”
Dragonfly leaned against the gate and let out a tired groan. “I haven’t raked out Falcon’s stall yet.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it after lunch. Come inside. I’ll make us some tea until the food’s ready.”
She nodded, grateful for Arion’s quiet kindness—but a new weight settled in her chest. He and his mother had only just moved back to White Wood, and already she felt like an intruder. Like she’d stepped into something delicate and private.
This place wasn’t just a house. It was legacy.
Arion’s grandfather’s old farmhouse stood grand and polished even after all these years, and she knew—without needing to be told—that the fields stretching out past the hills, the sheep and cattle grazing in neat pastures, the tidy stables—all of it belonged to Arion’s father, Constantine.
And one day, it would all pass to Arion.
She didn’t envy it, but the scale of it made her throat tighten.