Page 44

R un.

The word screams in my head, over and over, like a drumbeat keeping time with my pulse. My bare feet slap against the damp earth, twigs snapping under me, leaves slick with dew making every panicked step that much treacherous.

The forest is alive around me.

Watching. Whispering. Laughing

Something breathes just out of sight—wet, heavy… hungry .

The sounds are loud at first, so loud they rattle my teeth. Then they fade, taunting, drifting farther away.

But I know better now. When it gets quiet, it means it’s closer.

I don’t look back.

I can’t.

The marks carved into my skin sting like a million needles piercing me at once, fresh blood trickling down my thighs, my stomach, between my breasts. The axe in my hand is heavy, the handle rough against my palm.

They gave it to me like it was some kind of mercy.

Like I stood a chance.

The whistling starts again—high, shrill, cutting through the trees.

It’s behind me.

Then to the left.

Then right.

Then somewhere far ahead, like whatever’s making the sound is everywhere at once.

My breath comes in ragged gasps, my lungs on fire. I don’t know how long I’ve been running. The moon is a sliver above, barely any light, but I see the shadows move.

Something grunts.

Low. Starving .

My legs ache, my lungs burn, but I can’t stop. Not now. Not when it’s so close. The sound of its breathing grows heavier, and I know it’s right behind me.

Panic surges through me, and I trip—my ankle twists, and I go down hard, the axe slipping from my fingers. I scramble for it, my fingers brushing the handle just as the air changes.

I glance over my shoulder, slow and terrified, and I see it.

It’s right there. The thing. That forest creature.

Gigantic. Nine feet tall, probably more, towering over me.

Lanky, stretched too long, limbs bending wrong.

Dark fur clings to its body in patches, the rest slick with something wet.

Its head is a bare-bone stag’s skull, antlers curling up into the night, but wrong, twisted like gnarled branches of petrified wood.

Empty sockets where eyes should be glow red, looking directly at me.

It sees me.

Its breath rattles, hot and thick with the stench of decay and rotting meat.

I don’t scream. I don’t even move. I only whisper, “P-please.”

It tilts its head. A wet, clicking sound comes from its throat. The creature is eerily beautiful in a way, like a haunting work of art.

I lift a shaking hand and press my palm to its snout. The smooth bone is warm. Alive.

It inhales deeply, sniffing me.

Its tongue flicks out, grazing the thin skin of my wrist. I gasp as it licks a slow, deliberate path along my arm to my neck, right where my pulse races beneath the surface. It’s feeding off my fear, I realize, savoring the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

A menacing roar splits the night as its huge, razor-sharp claws dig into my waist, lifting me off the ground like I weigh nothing—the axe left lying somewhere below. I’m trapped in its wide arms, my body pressed against its fur-covered chest.

I shriek, kicking, but its grip is iron. I can feel its power, the way it could crush me if it wanted to.

Instead, it flips me upside down, and the world tilts, blood rushing to my head. I grab its forearms, trying to right myself, but it doesn’t let go.

Its tongue drags up my stomach. It’s wrong—too long, too pointed, wet and hot as it laps at the blood streaking my skin. It groans, the sound vibrating through me, and then it bites. Sharp teeth sink into my side until I hear my ribs crack.

Pain flares—sharp and bright—racing through my body. It’s blinding, electric, lighting every nerve on fire. And beneath it, something darker coils, something I don’t want to admit.

Its slimy tongue flicks over my nipple, and I gasp, my back bowing to get away, but there’s no escape.

Its breath is damp and scalding, spilling over my hypersensitive skin in ragged bursts.

It clings to me, suffocating, as if the very air around him is tainted.

It makes a noise, something between a growl and a purr, that seems to rise from the depths of the earth.

It vibrates through my bones, rattling me to my core, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.

And then, it’s licking lower, over my stomach… between my legs.

No.

The sensation is shocking. The creature laps at my pussy noisily, tasting. Teasing. My thighs shake, torn between clamping shut or spreading wider. I cry out when its tongue pushes inside, the muscle writhing like a living thing, stretching me obscenely. It’s too much. Too thick. Too deep.

But when it pulls away, it’s too fast.

Its teeth graze my thigh, and it bites. Hard. Pain explodes, white-hot and jagged, as it rips the skin, the tissue, muscle.

Crack.

My head swims.

It adjusts its grip, one massive hand fully circling my waist, holding me like a doll. I’m helpless in its grasp, but I don’t fight it. Not now. Not when every instinct in me is screaming to survive, to do whatever it takes to live through this.

I feel its cock pressing against me. Huge.

Inhuman . Thick and ridged, dripping with something slick and warm.

The size difference is staggering, but the creature doesn’t seem to care.

It rubs it against my breasts, my stomach, my pussy slit and the soaked mess there, grinding like it can’t decide if it wants to fuck me or eat me.

Probably both.

“No, no, no—” I sob when it lines the flared head of its cock against my tiny entrance. “You’ll—you’ll kill me—”

It doesn’t stop. It rams inside, my body forced to stretch beyond what it can take. I scream, but it’s useless.

The pain is unbearable, like I’m being split in two. Its cock is too big, too much, and I can feel every inch of it pushing its way inside me, tearing me apart.

My nails claw at its arms, but it’s like scratching stone. Its skin is rough, like bark, and it doesn’t give. I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but feel the agony, the violation… and somewhere at the bottom, the sick pleasure.

The creature growls, biting my shoulder as its hips snap forward, thrusting farther into me, relentless and merciless.

The sounds are obscene, wet and squelching, mingling with his guttural growls and my own choked sobs and chattering teeth.

Blood runs down my thighs, mixing with whatever’s dripping from it.

I’m going to die.　I know it.

The pain is all-consuming, a white-hot fire that spreads through my body, leaving no part of me untouched.

It’s in my chest, my stomach, my legs, my mind.

It’s everywhere, and there’s no escape. The forest seems to close in around us, the trees leaning closer, the shadows deepening, as if the very earth is complicit in this horror.

Its teeth sink deeper, and I feel it tear with a wet rip. A chunk of my flesh comes free, and I scream again, but the pain is fading. Everything is fading.

My arms go limp, and suddenly I’m dangling again, my hair brushing the ground. The axe is there. Just out of reach.

I twist, stretching my fingers.

Almost .

The creature fucks me harder, using me like a cocksleeve, each thrust a fresh wave of torment, more brutal than the last. Its shaft pulses inside me, buried deep, and I swear I feel it in my throat, my guts rearranged around the brutal thickness of him.

My pelvis is surely broken by now, and I can’t feel my legs. Everything is broken.

Its claws digging into my hips, raking down, leaving deep slashes as they shred the skin.

I whimper, but I don’t stop reaching. My fingertips graze the handle. And I finally manage to grab it.

With the last of my strength and will to live, I pull myself straight and swing.

The axe buries itself in its skull with a sickening thud.

The creature stumbles, snarling—wet and hollow, like a dying animal—but it’s already leaning back in. It wants to finish this. It wants to peel me open.

I don’t let it.

A primal scream rips from my dry throat as I swing again.

This time, the blade drags down its body, splitting it apart like a gutted deer. Blood sprays, hot and thick, coating my skin, my face, my lips…

I can taste it, metallic, bitter, and thick. Something inside me stirs, something sinister.

Hunger .

Raw, desperate, consuming.

And then, I wrench the axe free and bring it down one last time, slashing through the creature’s neck.

It makes this awful, choking sound before its skull hits the forest floor with a hollow thud and rolls once.

Still twitching. Still trying to breathe. But its eyes dim down fast until they are just bottomless black pits.

Its headless body collapses.

I fall with it, shaking weakly. My ears are ringing. The cold is already crawling in. I look down and it’s everywhere. My blood. The creature’s blood. There’s no telling us apart now. It’s thick, black-red, pooling around us like some sick kind of womb.

The carvings in my skin—or whatever’s left of it anyway—glow, and for a second, I hear chanting reverberating through the night.

It’s probably just a delirium.

I think… I think I’m dying.

But the hunger doesn’t stop.

It grows. It spreads. It consumes me.

Until there’s only this insatiable primal need.

My mouth waters.

I shouldn’t be starving. Not when my body is shattered. Not when I’m this close to death.

But it’s all I can feel. Not the pain. Not the cold. Just the greed.

My vision tunnels, my stomach aches, and I don’t even think.

I crawl on my elbows, my legs dragging uselessly behind me, until I reach the creature’s chest. My fingers dig into fur and split flesh where its heart is still warm, still beating.

I rip it free and bring it to my mouth hurriedly.

I don’t hesitate.

I bite. It bursts like rotten fruit between my teeth, but I don’t stop. I chew. I devour. Like it will make the pain go away. Like it will keep me alive.

I can’t stop.

I eat like it’s the last thing I’ll ever do.

And when it’s gone, when my hands are empty and shaking and painted in gore—I collapse. Flat on my back. Staring at the sky, I can barely see.

The hunger quiets.

For a moment, it curls up like a satisfied beast in my belly.

Slowly, my other senses return, and I wish they didn’t.

Everything hurts. My whole body is burning. Not like flames. Not like anything that would make sense.

Raw nerves exposed, screaming. Bones grinding where they shouldn’t. Skin torn wide open like paper.

My fingers twitch, and I don’t feel them. My legs—gone. Just weight, just meat now. They may not even be there anymore, but I can’t move my neck to see.

Then, worse comes.

Stillness.

And cold.

Bone-chilling cold. It’s creeping in like fog under the skin, turning muscle to stone. Until I feel nothing at all. Not even the pain. Just this deep, echoing silence, stretching out through my limbs.

My blood is cooling fast. Too fast. It smells like copper and regret.

Can they smell it?

Can he smell me as I lie here, bleeding into the dirt, the rot, the roots of this cursed place?

I know he’s no longer Ghost. Ghost is dead . But if the things Tyorin said were true, his soul—like he ever had one—lingers.

Can he hear my heartbeat flickering, softer and softer, like a dying moth trapped under glass?

Does he know what he did?

Does he care?

Did he ever?

I loved him. I truly loved him. Yes, he terrified the shit out of me, but the feelings were real.

God. Why him? Why did it have to be him?

My fingers twitch for the final time. Barely.

I’m so tired that my eyes won’t stay open. The trees above me blur, black veins in a dying sky.

I want to scream, but I can’t. My jaw is locked. My throat, thick with something wrong. I taste ash in my mouth.

I want to go home.

Not the cabin. Not the box he locked me in like a coffin. I mean home . My dream brownstone apartment. The one I worked for and earned, with dedication and consistency, brand deals, and every comment that picked me apart like meat.

Yes, maybe the skirts were short. Maybe the videos were more than suggestive. But God forbid a girl has a body and dares to enjoy it.

No, I wasn’t innocent. I did manipulate men for my own gain. But I didn’t deserve this.

I guess I underestimated predators lurking behind the screen.

Never thought a like, a follow, a DM would end with me here. Maybe I was just too na?ve.

Maybe I was always walking toward this—barefoot, blind, and begging for someone to love me enough not to hurt me.

But nobody did.

Not even Ghost.

Especially not him.

I wish I could turn back time to the moment we met.

Before the lies. Before the woods. Before I knew what love could turn into.

But if I could go back to that night on the rooftop, would it change anything?

Would I still be here if I had just… loved him the way he wanted?

Or was he always going to ruin me?

I used to think he saw me. Really saw me.

Maybe that’s what monsters do.

They see the broken bits you try to hide, and they love you for them. Until they use them to gut you.

And he was that monster long before the forest took him.

He didn’t lose himself out here—the woods just gave him permission. He was already empty, even before something else crawled inside him and wore his skin.

Maybe I was never in love with him at all. Maybe I was just in love with the ghost of who I thought he could be.

I’m so cold.

I can’t breathe anymore.

My heartbeat slows, my consciousness fuzzing at the edges.

But no one’s coming.

And I don’t think I’m scared anymore.

Just… sorry. For myself.

All I ever wanted was love that didn’t come with a price.

But the forest doesn’t give.

It only takes.

And it’s taken everything from me.