s*x WITH THE BEAST

4. SOLD TO THE BEAST 2

Her voice was shrill, desperate. As long as she kept walking, the warriors didn't see a reason to put her in place. But, the girl kept crying, her voice broke into choking gasps and then hiccups.

The moment she broke through the line, one of the pack warriors yanked her arm, dragging her back among the other girls.

Another girl just stared, wide-eyed, her lips moving in a silent prayer to the gods.

The pack warriors escorting them were grim and silent, their cloaks decorated with wolf fur and the claws of wolves long dead.

Mud splashed around as their thick leather boots stomped on the ground. Their armor stank of iron scent of blood as they marched with their spears pointed downward.

The grand timber doors of the court hall was just ahead, it was carved from blackened oak and was bound in bronze.

On either side, two great wolves carved from stone stood— their eyes narrowed, teeth bared, like they were frozen in mid-snarl.

The moment Kaerith looked up, her stomach dropped as her eyes met with one of the two warriors— warriors? No, they weren’t warriors! She had seen those bonemasks before… Dreadborns.

They stood guard before the hall, armored, their faces hidden behind jagged bone masks. They didn’t move or blink. Yet their presence sent a ripple of fear through the crowd that lined down the path.

Even the pack warriors avoided their gaze.

Kaerith’s gaze lowered to the ground. Her stomach twisted, her breath shallow.

Everyone knew the stories — the Black Sun, the cursed king who rose after 1,500 years, and the monsters he made of men. They were no longer wolves. Not quite human. They were called the Dreadborns

It wasn’t blood the king hungered for now… it was worse.

He began to claim the daughters The Fenrir's Fang ever produced, their flesh and heat.

The beast fed on them. His desire was too intense, and no woman taken to him could survive the intensity of his s****l desires.

And now, as Kaerith and the other girls were led forward, that price was about to be paid.

As they reached the entrance, the girls hesitated, and the nearest soldier struck the ground with the butt of his spear.

“Move.”

Stepping inside the hall, it stank of tallow smoke, damp wood, bloodied fur, sweat, and animal pelts.

Tallow candles were lined around the walls, and smoke curled into the rafters.

A long table stretched across the hall, and at the far end sat Kaerith's father, Alpha Fenrik Greythorn. He was cloaked in the pelts, his pale eyes flicked to the girls and met Kaerith’s and then he looked away.

Beside him stood Beta Raelka, sharp-faced and silent, keeping his hands folded. His son, Rowan, leaned casually against a wooden post, a cruel smirk twisting his lips.

The pack’s elders sat scattered on either side, but no one spoke.

Opposite them stood the Dreadborns.

Generals. Warlords. Figures dressed in black and bone. Their armor shined like charred iron, their faces half-hidden beneath heavy cloaks and bone-carved masks. Their presence overall made the room feel smaller.

General Narkhul walked over and sat like a boulder, his fists clenched on the table. Thornek, the second general’s rusted iron jaw flexed as he studied the girls. Rhazien, the third general, lounged, an unsettling grin tugging at his scarred lips.

But none of them were the Beast.

Kaerith knew that now.

He’s not here yet. The Beast doesn’t waste time with picking.

Even Alpha Fenrik’s shoulders were tense, jaw clenched. His fingers tapped the side of his chair.

The bond between the Fenrir’s Fang Pack and the Dreadborn Courts had been forged in old blood. A price for their past sins. Every season, the Dreadborn came for girls of age to serve the Beast as s*x slaves.

One of the generals, Rhazien, stepped forward, his armor dulled by dried blood. His sharp eyes passed as he began walking down the line of girls like he was selecting meat for slaughter.

One of the girls clutched her chain like it held her life, causing another girl’s knee to buckle as she stumbled forward.

Kaerith lowered her head, dark hair veiling her face. Her back still burned from the whip, and her knees ached. She prayed, silently, not to be rescued because she knew it wasn’t possible, but to be ignored.

Behind her, someone pissed herself.

Rhazien snorted at the girl in tears, then moved past another, muttering, “Too thin.”

His leather-gloved hand grabbed the hair of another girl, shoving her face from side to side, causing the girl to whimper. He grunted. “Too soft.”

He spat on one girl, shivering. “Too small.”

“This one looks sick!” Rhazien grimaced, passing another girl who looked lean.

His shadow halted, and his gaze lingered on Kaerith a moment, then he wrinkled his nose. “This one’s filthy,” he spat. “Looks like a half-dead runt. Weak things wouldn’t last a couple of minutes.”

Pick me, coward, and see if I don’t tear your throat out before dawn. Kaerith thought.

Kaerith knew what would happen if they chose her.

Rhazien moved away.

The hall went dead silent, then a gravel-thick voice cut through the hall.

“Wait.”