In a dark and deep land lives young Marjorie, a woman desperate for something more than her conventional life in her tiny village, Core. She aches for something dangerous, something like the dark forest, Mirkwood, which borders her home.
Yet, there...
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Author's Note:
If you're still here I would like to thank you for sticking around! Thanks for reading ! Things are really ramping up in this story!
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A single, desperate screech ripped through Marjorie's mouth before it was snapped shut on impact. In her frantic fleeing, her chin hit against the branch of a tree. Pain pulsated through her jaw, but there wasn't enough agony to stop her from escaping.
She reached her free hand uselessly over her stinging wound, in an effort to soothe the pain. It hurt to touch the tender skin there. She yanked her fingers away, they came back with an oozing, red liquid.
The strong hold on her cape continued to drag her through the forest floor like a rag-doll. Still, she tried to keep her feet sturdy on the ground in a desperate attempt to move forward. In front of her, there was only thick brush, miles of foliage, and an orange moon overhead. So much life tightly compacted in the miles ahead of her, but no way for her to grab onto it and pull herself away from whatever yanked her backward. Her Devilhair was tucked safely inside her basket, but with each jerking movement from her captor, another handful fell to the dark ground.
"Please, stop your fighting," a deep voice demanded from behind her. A sharp pull caused her legs to slip out from under her. Her body crashed into a bushel of thorns. The sharp edges dragged against the bare skin of her forearms, leaving long, fresh stripes of blood.
The pain brought momentarily clarity to Marjorie. Instead of meekly turning over in a desperate attempt to flee, she shoved her foot up. She made contact with a solid, warm body.
A wounded grunt echoed from above her. She gritted her teeth and kicked again.
This time, a nimble hand wrapped around her slender ankle. The tight grasp kept her from moving. Marjorie, maddened by the sudden loss of freedom, screamed in frustration and thrashed forward with her nails out. She searched for a face or skin to claw against, but instead, found the thick linen of a dress shirt.
It was no Wolf that taunted her.
Instead, it was a man.
The map of his face was clear under the bright moonlight. In the midst of all her fear, she realized she recognized his well-defined cheekbones, sharp gray eyes, and thick brows with one, thin slice to the right. His dark, smooth skin appeared free of pores and perfect in the dimness.
"Fenris," she whispered the name of the stranger she met for a brief moment at the Festival of Eve. "Fenris—let me go, you—you beast!" Her words were accompanied with a frantic jerk of her right hand.
Faster than what seemed possible, he reached his free hand up and captured it easily between his fingers.
"Do you see any teeth, little red?" The handsome man whispered in a frustrated tone. Their struggle took a toll on him. He breathed hard underneath the moon, and a thin stream of blood leaked from his nose.
