The Chosen Pervert

Chapter 5: The Feral Gift

Two years of secret practice had passed in a blur of stolen moments and hidden spells.

And now I was five years old.

Five.

The second major milestone.

The household had been buzzing with activity for days. Servants cleaned every corner of the estate, polished every surface until it gleamed. My mother oversaw the preparations with her usual gentle efficiency, directing the staff with soft words and kind smiles.

"The fifth birthday is special, Wyatt," she'd told me a week ago, kneeling down to my level. "It marks the transition from infancy to childhood. You're no longer a baby. You're becoming a young boy."

If only you knew I'm actually forty years old, I thought, but I just nodded and smiled.

The day of my birthday arrived with clear skies and warm sunshine. Families from the village began arriving in the late morning, bringing gifts and well-wishes. Children ran through the gardens, laughing and playing. Adults gathered in clusters, drinking wine and ale, talking about harvests and weather and village gossip.

It was... nice.

Overwhelming, but nice.

I stood in the main hall, dressed in a new tunic my mother had commissioned—deep grey with silver embroidery along the collar and cuffs. GreyFox colors. I felt like a tiny lord, which was both amusing and embarrassing.

"Happy birthday, young master Wyatt!" said Old Thomas, the village blacksmith, clapping me on the shoulder with a hand the size of a dinner plate. "Five years old! A fine age. You'll be starting your lessons soon, I reckon."

"Thank you, Thomas," I said, trying to sound appropriately childlike.

Lessons. Right. Because I'm supposed to be learning to read and write now. If only they knew I'd already devoured half my mother's spell book collection.

More villagers approached, offering congratulations and small gifts. A wooden sword from the carpenter. A leather-bound journal from the village scribe. A set of carved animals from one of the farmers.

I accepted each gift with genuine gratitude, even as my adult mind found the whole thing surreal.

I'm a grown man being celebrated like a child. This is my life now.

The celebration continued through the afternoon. There was food—roasted meats, fresh bread, honey cakes, fruit. There was music—a traveling bard played a lute while children danced. There was laughter and warmth and community.

But I kept glancing toward the road.

My father hadn't returned yet.

He'd been gone for nearly three months, traveling to the neutral continent on business he'd refused to explain. My mother had been worried, though she'd hidden it well. I'd caught her staring out the window at night, her hands clasped together, her lips moving in silent prayer.

Where the hell is he?

And then, just as the sun began its descent toward the horizon, I heard it.

Hoofbeats.

The sound of a wagon rolling up the road.

Conversations died down. Heads turned.

My mother's face lit up. "He's home," she whispered.

I ran to the front entrance, my heart pounding.

The wagon came into view—a large, covered transport pulled by two massive horses. My father sat in the driver's seat, his usual roguish grin plastered across his face. He looked tired, dusty from the road, but alive and whole.

"Sorry I'm late!" he called out, pulling the horses to a stop. "Had a bit of trouble on the neutral continent. Nothing I couldn't handle."

My mother rushed forward, and my father jumped down from the wagon to embrace her. They held each other for a long moment, and I saw genuine relief in both their faces.

At least they love each other, I thought. Even if he's a womanizing bastard.

My father pulled back and looked down at me, his grin widening. "There's the birthday boy! Five years old! Gods, you're getting big."

"Hi, Dad," I said, unable to keep the smile off my face.

He ruffled my hair. "I brought you something special, Wyatt. Something I think you're going to like."

He turned toward the covered wagon and gestured to one of the servants. "Help me unload this. Carefully."

Two servants moved to the back of the wagon and began untying the canvas covering.

And that's when I heard it.

A low, guttural growl.

My blood went cold.

What the hell is in there?

The servants pulled back the canvas, revealing the contents of the wagon.

A cage.

A large, iron cage.

And inside it, huddled in the corner, was a girl.

No.

Not a girl.

A beast-folk.

My breath caught in my throat.

She was small—maybe my age, maybe a little younger—but she was feral. Her black hair was matted and tangled, streaked with grey that caught the fading sunlight. Her skin was tan, covered in dirt and grime and gods-knew-what-else. Her clothes—if you could call them that—were little more than torn rags.

But it was her eyes that stopped me cold.

Golden eyes.

Bright, burning, wild golden eyes that stared out from the cage with a mixture of fear and fury.

And on top of her head, barely visible through the matted hair, were two black fox ears.

Holy s**t.

"This," my father said, his voice taking on a more serious tone, "is Rue. She's a fox-folk. Rare. Very rare."

The girl—Rue—snarled at the sound of her name, baring her teeth. They were sharp. Too sharp.

My father continued, addressing the gathered crowd. "I found her on the neutral continent. She was... in a bad situation. About to be sold into a very dark future."

Sex slavery, my mind supplied. He's talking about s*x slavery.

I felt sick.

"I sensed something in her," my father said, his eyes meeting mine. "Something special. And I thought... my son needs a companion. Someone loyal. Someone who will stand by his side."

He gestured to the cage. "But as you can see, she's not exactly... tame."

Rue lunged at the bars of the cage, her small hands gripping the iron as she snarled and snapped at the nearest servant. The man jumped back, startled.

"She's dangerous," my father said. "Feral. Traumatized. She doesn't trust anyone, doesn't speak, doesn't respond to kindness. She's been caged since I bought her because she tried to bite the throat out of one of my men."

Jesus Christ.

"But," my father said, kneeling down to my level, "I believe you can tame her, Wyatt. It'll take time. Patience. But if you succeed... she'll be the most loyal companion you could ever ask for. Beast-folk imprint on people. If she imprints on you, she'll never leave your side."

I stared at the cage.

At the girl inside.

At Rue.

She was still snarling, her golden eyes locked on me now. There was so much rage in those eyes. So much pain.

And underneath all the dirt and grime and wildness...

She was beautiful.

Even in her feral state, even covered in filth, I could see it. The delicate features. The sharp cheekbones. The way her black hair framed her face, grey streaks catching the light.

She's stunning.

My perverted brain immediately kicked in. Rare fox-girl. Exotic. Beautiful. This is like every fantasy I ever—

Stop it, I told myself firmly. She's traumatized. She's been through hell. Don't be a creep.

But I couldn't deny the pull I felt.

The connection.

She's an outcast, I realized. Just like me.

I was a reincarnated pervert trapped in a child's body, hiding my true nature from everyone.

She was a beast-folk, stolen from her home, caged like an animal.

We were both wrong in this world.

And maybe... maybe that's why my father brought her to me.

"Can I approach her?" I asked, my voice quiet.

My father hesitated. "She's dangerous, Wyatt. She might try to hurt you."

"I'll be careful."

My mother stepped forward, her face pale. "Darling, I don't think—"

"I'll be fine, Mom," I said, meeting her eyes. "I want to try."

She looked at my father, who nodded slowly.

"Alright," my father said. "But don't get too close to the bars. And if she lunges, step back immediately."

I approached the cage slowly, my heart pounding.

Rue's eyes tracked my every movement. Her body was tense, coiled like a spring ready to snap.

I stopped a few feet away from the cage and crouched down, bringing myself to her level.

"Hi," I said softly.

She snarled.

Okay. Not a great start.

"I'm Wyatt," I continued, keeping my voice calm. "I'm... I'm going to take care of you. If you'll let me."

She bared her teeth, her ears flattening against her head.

She doesn't understand me. Or she does and she doesn't care.

I glanced around and spotted a plate of food on a nearby table—leftover from the celebration. Roasted chicken, bread, cheese.

I grabbed a piece of chicken and held it up. "Are you hungry?"

Rue's eyes locked onto the food.

For a moment, the snarling stopped.

I took a step closer to the cage and held the chicken out, just within reach of the bars.

"It's okay," I said. "You can have it."

She stared at the food. Then at me. Then back at the food.

And then she lunged.

Her hand shot through the bars, claws extended, swiping at my arm.

I jerked back just in time, the chicken falling to the ground.

"Wyatt!" my mother cried out.

"I'm fine!" I said quickly, my heart racing. "I'm fine."

Rue retreated to the back of the cage, her golden eyes burning with defiance.

Okay. So food bribes aren't going to work. Not yet.

I picked up the chicken and tossed it through the bars. It landed near her feet.

She stared at it for a long moment.

Then, slowly, she picked it up and tore into it with her teeth, eating like a starving animal.

When was the last time she ate?

I felt a surge of anger—not at her, but at whoever had done this to her. Whoever had hurt her, traumatized her, turned her into this feral, broken thing.

I'm going to fix this, I thought. I'm going to help her.

But as I watched her eat, huddled in the corner of that iron cage, I felt something else.

Guilt.

Because she was caged.

Like an animal.

And I hated it.

"Dad," I said, turning to my father. "Does she have to stay in the cage?"

My father's expression softened. "For now, yes. She's too dangerous, Wyatt. She'll hurt someone—or herself—if we let her out."

"But—"

"I know it's hard to see," my father said gently. "But it's for her own safety. And ours. Once she's calmed down, once she starts to trust you, we can talk about letting her out. But not yet."

I looked back at Rue.

She'd finished the chicken and was now staring at me again, her golden eyes unreadable.

She's not an animal, I thought. She's a person. A traumatized, broken person. And she's locked in a cage.

My adult consciousness screamed at the injustice of it.

But my five-year-old body couldn't do anything about it.

Not yet.

"Okay," I said quietly. "But I'm going to tame her. I'm going to earn her trust. And then she's getting out of that cage."

My father smiled. "That's my boy."

The celebration continued, but I couldn't focus on it.

All I could think about was Rue.

The servants moved the cage to a corner of the garden, away from the main festivities. My mother had insisted on giving her privacy, and I was grateful for that.

As the sun set and the guests began to leave, I found myself drawn back to the cage.

Rue was sitting in the corner, her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. She looked small. Vulnerable.

She's just a kid, I realized. She's been through hell, and she's just a kid.

I sat down on the grass a few feet away from the cage, cross-legged, and just... watched her.

She didn't snarl this time. Didn't lunge. Just stared at me with those burning golden eyes.

"I don't like the cage either," I said softly. "I know you probably don't understand me. But I want you to know... I'm going to get you out of there. I promise."

She tilted her head slightly, her fox ears twitching.

Does she understand?

"I'm not going to hurt you," I continued. "I'm not going to let anyone else hurt you. You're safe here. I know you don't believe that yet. But you will."

She didn't respond. Just kept staring.

I sighed and leaned back on my hands, looking up at the darkening sky.

"You know, in my old life, I was kind of caged too," I said, more to myself than to her. "Not literally. But... I was trapped. In a basement. In a life I hated. I couldn't leave. Couldn't change. Couldn't be anything other than what I was."

I looked back at her. "But then I died. And I got a second chance. A new life. A new world."

Her ears twitched again.

"Maybe... maybe you're getting a second chance too," I said. "I know it doesn't feel like it right now. I know you're scared and angry and you don't trust anyone. But I'm going to prove to you that you can trust me. I'm going to prove that you're safe."

I stood up slowly, brushing the grass off my pants.

"Goodnight, Rue," I said softly.

And then I turned and walked back toward the house.

But before I reached the door, I glanced back.

Rue was still watching me.

And for just a moment, I thought I saw something in her eyes.

Not rage. Not fear.

Curiosity.

That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

I couldn't stop thinking about her.

About the cage.

About the trauma in her eyes.

About the way she'd looked at me—like she was trying to figure out if I was a threat or not.

She's been hurt, I thought. Badly. And now she's trapped in a cage, surrounded by strangers, in a world she doesn't understand.

I knew what I had to do.

I had to tame her.

Not because my father told me to.

Not because I wanted a loyal companion.

But because she deserved to be free.

She deserved to be safe.

She deserved to be loved.

And I was going to give her that.

No matter how long it takes.

I closed my eyes, a small smile on my face.

Welcome to the family, Rue.

Let's see if we can save each other.