19. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Mac

T he rain begins to slow as I lay there, struggling for breath, the vine around my throat cutting off precious air. The relentless grip seems to mock me, and I choke out a sound, somewhere between a sob and a scream. My fingers claw at it, but each movement only sends more pain lancing through my hands and neck. The thorns dig into my skin, and blood trickles down my throat, but I can't focus on that. I can't focus on anything but the desperate need to breathe, to escape.

I'm gasping for air, my chest heaving as I lie in the mud. Then I hear him—closer now. His footsteps are slow, deliberate, each one a reminder of my impending doom. He is purposefully taking his time, drawing this out. Playing with his food. The rain, now a mere drizzle, patters gently on the leaves around me, and for a brief moment, everything feels unnervingly still.

Then, suddenly he is there, standing over me, the hounds at his heels. They growl softly, their glowing eyes locked onto me. I want to scream, to fight, but the vine tightens even more, as if sensing my struggle, savoring my fear.

His masked face tilts as if examining me, savoring my defeat. He raises his hand, and the vine suddenly releases its grip on my throat, slithering away like a living thing obeying its master. I sink onto the wet ground, coughing and gasping for air, my chest heaving with the effort.

My relief is short-lived.

With a slow, deliberate motion, the Huntsman lifts his cloak, pulling it from his shoulders. My eyes widen as he throws it into the air. For a moment, it seems to hang there, suspended in the rain, before it twists and morphs into a large, sleek black bird. The raven lets out a harsh caw and takes flight, its wings flapping through the drizzle, disappearing into the mist and darkened sky.

I barely register the bird's departure before The Huntsman moves again, lowering himself toward me. His movements are smooth, almost too graceful for a being so terrifying. My breath catches as he straddles my thighs, his weight pinning me to the cold, wet earth. All I can do is stare up at him, wide-eyed and trembling.

"And where were you running to, pretty little prey?" His voice is a low, velvety murmur, dripping with amusement. The sharp points of his black claws trail lightly over my arm, tracing the markings there, teasing, taunting, as if I were nothing more than a game to him.

With a lazy, deliberate gesture, he waves a hand in front of his face, and I watch in both terror and fascination as the mask begins to shift. It ripples, as though made of smoke and shadow, warping and twisting until it shrinks down to cover only the top half of his face. The lower half is now exposed—golden skin, cruel lips curved into a dark wicked smile. There's something unnervingly human about that smile, yet it drips with something far darker, as if the man beneath the mask has long been consumed by the creature that hunted me.

"Much better, don't you think?" His voice is a purr, low and dangerous, as if savoring the moment. He leans forward to trace a sharp claw across my cheek, where the branch had sliced into me earlier, the wound still raw and tender. He lowers himself closer, his breath warm against my cold, rain-soaked skin.

I flinch as his tongue slowly, languidly slides across my cheek, licking the blood that oozes from the cut. The sensation sends a shudder through me, the mix of pain and something more primal tugging at my senses. There's something disturbingly sensual about it.

He groans softly, as if tasting something exquisite. "I've been doing this for a hundred years," he murmurs, his voice thick with dark satisfaction, "and never before caught a morsel as tasty as you."

His lips curl into a smirk as he watches me tremble beneath him. He knows I'm afraid. He can feel it, taste it. And it pleases him. His tongue flicks out again, this time trailing lower, just barely brushing my throat.

"I could keep you," he muses, his voice soft, but dripping with menace. "Make you mine. Wouldn't that be fun? Maybe... I'll let you run again. After all, The Hunt is always the most exhilarating part."

The hounds shift restlessly, watching silently with their glowing eyes, their hunger palpable in the air, as if they, too, are waiting for their moment to devour me. The rain has all but stopped now, leaving only the soft trickle of droplets falling from the leaves, the world around us hushed in anticipation.

His tongue drags harder this time, licking at the torn skin on my throat where the thorns had pierced me. A sharp sting radiates from the wounds, and I can't stop the whimper that escapes my lips, the pain mixing with something darker— something I can't quite name but feel deep in my bones as my body heats up in response.

His groan is guttural, satisfied, as if my pain is feeding something inside him. "Mmm," he hums, his breath hot against my skin. "I like that sound. Do it again."

I bite down hard on my lip to keep from making another noise, but it's no use. The sensation is too intense—every nerve in my body is on fire. His weight shifts, his body pressing closer, and that's when I feel it.

I freeze. My breath catches in my throat as I realize where his hips press into mine, the unmistakable hardness of his cock is undeniable.

Panic surges through me, and in a desperate bid for freedom, I lash out. My hands claw at his chest, my nails raking against the fabric of his black shirt. I push with all the strength I can muster, trying to shove him off, but he barely moves. For a fleeting moment, his lips curl into another smirk as he lets me struggle, watching as my hands scratch at him in vain. I hear the hounds growl low as they start circling us.

Then, without warning, more thorny vines slither up from the ground, coiling around my wrists like serpents. I gasp as they yank my hands away from his body, holding them suspended in the air so that I can't reach him anymore. The sharp thorns bite into my flesh, sending fresh streaks of pain up my arms as blood oozes from the punctures.

The Huntsman leans back slightly, his smirk widening, clearly enjoying the sight of me bound and helpless beneath him. "Such spirit," he murmurs, his voice a dark caress. His gloved hand wraps around one of my wrists, squeezing just enough to make me wince, the thorns biting deeper.

I try to pull away, but he's too strong, his grip unyielding. Slowly, he lowers his head, his breath hot against my skin as he brings his mouth to the tender flesh where the thorns have dug into my wrist. His tongue flicks out, lapping at the blood that trails down my arm, the sensation making my body throb with something I can't control. I should be afraid—no, I am afraid—but my body betrays me, heating up despite the cold terror that grips my mind.

He releases my wrist, but the vines tug them back instantly, pinning my arms to the muddy ground on either side of my head. I pull at them, panic and desperation surging through me, but all I manage to do is bury the thorns deeper into my skin. The sharp pain stings, and fresh blood trickles down, mingling with the dirt and rain-soaked earth.

He chuckles softly, the sound dark and full of amusement. Shifting his weight back slightly, his black claws hover over the neckline of my dress. "Scream if you want," he murmurs, his voice smooth as silk but laced with cruel delight.

My scream rips through the night as he tears through the fabric of my dress like it's nothing more than paper. His claws slice through it with ease and it falls away in tatters, the cool night air stinging the few places where his claws have cut into my skin. He works methodically, precise with every motion, ensuring the pain is only in select places—just enough to remind me of his control, his power over me.

I'm left gasping beneath him as my dress and bra are torn away, leaving my body exposed and vulnerable. My chest heaves with each panicked breath as he finally slices through my underwear, leaving me completely bare.

The hounds growl ominously in response to my scream, their glowing eyes locked onto me with barely restrained hunger. For a moment, it feels like the forest itself is closing in, ready to consume me. The Huntsman clicks his tongue at them and they scatter, disappearing into the dark forest.

His claws dance across the intricate patterns burned into my skin, tracing each twisting mark with a slow, deliberate touch. I gasp as he traces over the delicate designs on my chest, shoulders, and arms, the skin still tender and raw beneath his touch. His claws press just lightly enough to cause a sting, the burns pulsing with heat as if they're still alive beneath the surface.

His cruel lips curl into a smirk. "Such beautiful patterns, it's a shame these will fade," he murmurs, his claws tracing the edges of the lines. "The marks of The Hunt look perfect on you."

I shiver, trapped beneath him as he moves slowly, purposefully, tracing every burn with the tip of his claw, sending a mix of pain and heat radiating through my skin. My breath is shaky, chest heaving as I try to suppress my body's reaction to the stimulation.

"I am curious to know what oath you broke, how you ended up marked," he says softly and I frown slightly, not understanding. "Not that it matters much now."

His fingertips glide lower, grazing the sensitive skin just beneath my collarbone, and I can't help but wonder what kind of creature wears that mask—what kind of man hides behind it. The sharp angles of the skull catch the faint light, the antlers casting ominous shadows across his face. Every move he makes feels deliberate, calculated, as if he's savoring every second.

Then, my breath quickens as his attention shifts. His fingers follow the curve of my body, finally grazing the soft skin of my breasts. My breath catches in my throat, a soft whimper escaping as he drags the sharp tips of his claws down the delicate skin, a mocking smile playing at his lips.

"Such pretty skin," he purrs, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Each freckle looks like a star... I think I'll draw my own constellations here." His claws press down just enough to scratch the surface, a faint trail of blood appearing where it cuts into my breast.

Leaning down, his breath is hot against the fresh wounds he's just traced into my skin. His lips hover near the cuts for a moment, as though savoring the sight of my trembling body, before his tongue darts out, sliding across the blood. His movements are slow, deliberate, as if he wants to draw out every drop, every reaction. Each flick of his tongue, each brush of his lips, sends a shiver rippling through me. I can feel my pulse racing, the erratic pounding of my heart as he licks the blood, his mouth following the curve of my breasts. His smirk deepens, as though he is enjoying the way my body reacts beneath him, the way I tremble and whimper.

Leaning back he trails the claws lower, the sharp tips hovering just above my throbbing heat. "Are you wet for me, little prey? Does your body want me, even when your mind rebels?" He softly asks, in a voice that slips through the air like silk. "Should I press my claws to your pussy and see just how soft your flesh is there? If you aren't wet enough, your blood will work just as nicely."

I squeeze my eyes shut, my body shaking with fear and something else—something I don't want to name. His words send a jolt through me, and I feel a rush of heat between my legs, my body betraying me once again. I'm frozen, unable to speak to respond, caught somewhere between terror and arousal.

He chuckles, a low, dark sound that slides across my skin like a caress. "Open your eyes," he commands, his voice a low growl. "I want to see the fear in them when I touch you."

Reluctantly, I obey, my eyelids fluttering open and I can feel the heat of his gaze on me from behind his mask. He shifts and I suddenly feel more thorny vines wrap around my ankles, cutting into the skin there and tugging my legs apart so he can slide between them.

"Good girl." His approval sends an involuntary thrill through me. I shudder as his claws trail lower, ghosting over my trembling thighs. "Now, let's see just how wet you are for me."