Rune and Ruin

Seeds of the Gods - 5 - Water and Food

395 B.C.E. - The Village of Falerri, Warmarch through the Acerian Valley, Deep Winter, Month of December

From Her Memory

Choose him. He is yours.

Thania could barely listen to him. Through the fog of fear and the voice of the gods in her head, she heard his offer, his threat. He offered her a choice? What sort of mad sadist was this man to offer such a choice? To be raped in the pens or stay here to be his personal victim?

Oh, dear gods. Oh, dear gods. Those sharp blue eyes dissected her. Hard eyes, eyes of a killer, of a madman, a man whose soul relished drinking the blood of her people and wallowing in their destruction. His clawed hands were stroking her, teasing her... tainting her. She could practically smell the smoke, the tangy taste of iron on her tongue. Blood. Blood on his hands, on the hands that kept touching her.

Choose him. He is yours.

What had she just agreed to? What madness had swept over her to tell him that she chose him? The Warlord, dear gods.

"Good." He was gently pulling her to his sleeping roll. "I will have you now, before we march, Flammatia."

She balked, then realized that it was done, she had struck this bargain with Nateos, with Death himself. Better to have done with it, this first time, so that she could know what to expect.

The Warlord laid her down on her back on his sleeping roll, hovering over her as he freed himself from his tunic. She kept her gaze focused on his shoulder as he probed her between her legs with calloused fingers. She could feel his hard length against her thigh, burning her skin, the intimacy utterly foreign. Her heart was racing, beating so hard that it drowned out the soft, masculine sounds of comfort falling from fanged lips.

To Thania's surprise, the Tasuri invader spit on his fingers and rubbed them into her. She knew enough of bed play to know that it was to ease his entry. She was absurdly thankful for that small comfort.

A hand slipped under her back, tilting her upwards as he guided himself to her entrance. Thania felt the pressure and the feeling of inevitability washed over her. Every limb trembled.

"Spread your legs for me," he commanded, his voice husky. Obediently she stretched her shaking legs open to him even more.

He pushed his hips forward and Thania gasped. Her own body began to move, to wriggle away, instinctively trying to escape. Tasuri are large, larger than human men, and this man... gods, she had no idea that demons could grow to be so huge.

"Steady, Flammatia, it will hurt a moment only," The Warlord promised her softly. Thania glanced into those blue eyes, a moment only, confused at his restraint. She had seen, oh, she had seen, the brutal violations of so many. This was nothing like that. This was not just another act of violence, of pain and degradation. This was a claim. She was petrified.

The Warlord held her pinned, the hand on her back holding her in place as he rocked his hips against her, forcing his length deeper into her. He said something in his language, then said through gritted teeth, "you are so tight, little one." His hips were rolling now, the fullness stretching her, pain flaring

"Please," she whispered, "it hurts."

"Shh, I know. It cannot be helped." The Warlord gathered her closer and ground himself deeper, filling her as he took her virginity, as she stretched around him. She gripped his arms, hanging on desperately through the painful burn. Tears slid down her face and he thankfully paused, waiting for her to gather herself. It was wrong, so strange, this foreign sensation of someone else inside of her.