Apologies to all for my absence. Long story short, a lot of things happened within the past year that I'm still trying to deal with. Between moving for over 3 and a half months and still unpacking, having to buy a new laptop and then getting sick.
At first, I hadn't felt anything. No sound or movement could be heard. It was still...utterly still. Like the calm before a storm waiting patiently for the right time to strike its ugly rage. Even my breath seemed to succumb to death on its exhale.
Then all too sudden came the fire.
Burning through my core, muscles strained to remain tightened; a reflex action that still had me slouching to my knees from the scorch of each blow.
Too quick to process, a whisper of soft movements brought forth the first one unexpectedly.
Charging towards me in twos from all angles, resembling a rebellion, eyes of malice glittered flagrantly with a raw bite of desire. Instinct told me to run, but my fear had me bracing for impact.
No sooner had I thought that, did such a huge, powerful and overwhelming force collide into me. Pain like I'd never felt before exploded between my torso, half submerging me in spirits. My lungs wept for air, even as a combination of warmth and frigid cold engulfed me; seeping through my pores whilst rushing down my throat. Tremors assailed my stomach. Sharp and stabbing. Twisting and bending; threatening to spew whatever contents remained from the acidity of the spirits.
The air felt clogged. Tainted. And I barely had time to recover from the searing heat lancing its way down my back and thighs when broad, strapping hands grabbed my upper arms and shoulders from either side. Much the same as someone being drawn and quartered, my limbs felt ready to be departed from my body.
Then came the prickles; tiny needles piercing through my scalp in a stinging ripple of sensation. As a result, my head was roughly yanked back, baring my throat to all.
Hard, bony enamel-structures ground relentlessly in a tightening jaw. Biting and bruising. Crushing yet—violently soothing. I clenched harder. Harder than was within bounds when a tongue—craggy in texture, slid its slimy way across my neck in a slurp, leaving behind a slick dribble of saliva. Naturally, I'd wanted to gut him. Visions of splitting him from pelvis to throat, before removing his tongue gleamed in-between the silent rage. But I held firm, indulging his nasty ministrations.
There's a rustling of sound from behind and without warning—a hand—quicker than my mind could comprehend, snaked its way round front, colliding with my face in a deafening blow. A burst of shiny, little, brightly coloured stars obscured my vision. Twinkling behind half-lidded eyes. The room spun, and my body titled. Had it not been for the hands supporting me, I would've found myself flat out in the spirit laden floor again.
Unable to stifle the tears, tremors coursed through me. Icing my veins as fingers none-too discreet began fondling my breasts.
"Stop!" I cried. "Please, for Goddess sake, just stop!" Falling on deadened ears, my protests were to no avail. Wherever there was an opening, a finger would slip further and further; invading my hollowed depths. I could scarcely tell when one finger left before another was added...before it became too many.
Trapped. There was no way out. I was at their mercy. The walls within my mind were receding. Already I was throwing the towel in; resigning myself to a fate inevitable. What difference would it have made? I was helpless and outnumbered. Even a man without sight could see that fighting was hopeless. And that's what they wanted... A fight. They wanted what they wanted, by any means necessary. And force—was the method chosen.
YOU ARE READING
WOLFSKIN (formerly known as: The 7th Claim).
WerewolfMatched. That was the word he used for what was between us. Matched. For me, there would be no conceding. But his defeat. Matched. He used the word between our space. A binding word that my will rebels against. Matched. 'Bind me beneath the Wolfskin...
