And she would.
Why save this child when her life was ruled by bloodshed? She didn’t know, but she would do it all the same.
The child nodded, golden strands meeting Rynna’s knee.
“Will you come with me?” Rynna asked. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
For a long moment, the two of them stared at each other. Outside the hut, the silence stretched on; the city remained still. Then the child took a small step forward, her hand drifting toward Rynna’s outstretched palm.
But before she could close the distance, a large shape surged out from the dark behind the child. Thick arms wrapped around the small body and yanked them both back into the building’s shadow. The door slammed shut, and a beat later, the scrape and thud of furniture followed, pushed hard into place on the other side.
“Well, fu—”
The word died as pressure snapped around her neck. There had been no warning, or sound to mark an approach. One hand flew to the invisible grip crushing her windpipe, nails digging. The other searched for her sword’s hilt, fingers fumbling for the weapon’s familiar shape. Her pulse slammed beneath as ice rippled down her spine in awareness.
The grip at her throat was not human. Five flawless columns of marble cut off her air completely, grasping with mechanical precision.
Then, another limb struck out, catching her wrist mid-reach and forcing it to her side, locking her arm in place. She twisted and strained, but it didn’t budge. The force was absolute.
An exhale, followed by a long, rattling breath, slid over her neck, wet and wheezing. Stench followed—clotted blood, rancid meat, the thick decay of something long dead and never buried.
"You are strong.” The voice crawled through the words, brittle and wrong. “And beautiful. You will make the perfect bodyguard for a Queen. And a God."
Something probed, wet up the curve of her neck, nearly causing her to vomit. The wrongness she’d felt earlier erupted through her senses now, drenching her in dread.
Shedidn’t know why. She only knew she had to get away.
Too late.
Pain cut through her neck as teeth, razor-sharp and too many, tore into flesh and tendon. Her windpipe gave with a sickening crunch, and blood spilled hot down her front.
Sight scattered and sound collapsed even as her immortal body fought to stitch itself back together, that cursed light flaring under her skin, snapping torn muscle back into place.
But as the slashed edges of her windpipe began to knit together, putrid lips clung to the ruin of her neck. Then something harder—longer than any tongue had a right to be—slipped into the wound. It pushed deeper, not probing butclaiming, moving past bone and muscle until it brushed the base of her skull.
Rynna jerked, or tried to, but her limbs no longer listened.
The violation spread through her in a single, devastating sweep. Worse than…before. It broke past flesh, tunneled into thought, and shattered the quiet core where her will had once held firm.
Strength collapsed. Thought fractured. The world tilted. The creature drained her.
Her knees buckled first, then her spine as she hit the ground, the sky peeling back above her like something unreachable.
Numbness spread, seeping through her legs, her ribs, her jaw—the “little death,” creeping in with the hush of a lover. She only needed to lie still and let it happen to make the monster believe it had won.
As if sensing her thoughts, the slurping died, and a different sound skittered around her.
Laughter—high and manic. Female.
A shadow fell over her face.
“You probably think it’s over, slave,” the voice cooed. “But it’s not. You’ll be mine soon. Forever.”
Great. The thought came sluggish, half-formed. Rain began to fall, or so she thought, soft drops pattering against her skin and cheeks. Then a few landed against the back of her mouth—too thick. Too viscous. A metallic tang followed.
Blood.
She tried to cough, to spit, to move, but nothing responded. Her body refused to even panic as she drifted in that in-between, both helpless and aware.
