s*x WITH THE BEAST

3. SOLD TO THE BEAST 1

While mothers yanked their daughters' hands, taking them to safety. The pack warriors moved at once, shoving through the crowd, grabbing girls by the arm, dragging them from their tents, from beside their mothers, from behind wagons and carts.

Kaerith felt everything going on, even with her head hung heavy against the post, blood and sweat blurring her sight.

A girl’s scream nearby rang through her ears and just then hands were on her.

“Cut her down,” a voice snapped. “Then chain her.”

The rope at Kaerith’s wrists were loosened, and she crumpled to her side. But before she hit the ground, a soldier hauled her up by the arm. The roughness of his grip scraped over the open wounds on her back.

“Put her with the others.”

Immediately, cold iron closed around her wrists, the chains rattling. Her heart pounded in her chest as she barely resisted, there was no room to think. Girls were being snatched from everywhere now, and were dragged towards the platform.

Kaerith’s eyes fell on the face of a slave she worked with, streaked with dirt and tears as a soldier dragged her into line. Another girl bolted only to be slammed into the mud.

Some of the girls were dragged from their homes half-dressed. Some clung to their mothers, begging. But, it didn’t matter, as the pack warriors took them all.

Kaerith closed her eyes, swallowing hard, wishing — for the first time in years — that the warrior had driven a knife straight through her throat.

I should’ve done it myself the night my mother died. Should’ve slit my wrists by the river. Should’ve climbed the cliffs and let the sea take me. Anything but this.

But she hadn’t. Because some pathetic, desperate part of her had hoped it would get better, and that the moon goddess would remember her name.

And that was the hope of a fool.

It makes no difference. If I fight, they'll beat me into the dirt and drag my corpse anyway.

Around her, the line kept growing. And now, she was being chained and shoved in a line with other girls her age. The other girls around her were shuffled into formation, faces pale, hair clinging to wet cheeks.

Kaerith kept her head down, rubbing her sweaty palms together. The last time the Dreadborns came, her mother was still alive, and had protected her. But now, she was dead, and her father, Alpha Fenrik didn’t give a f**k about her.

No one’s coming for me anyways. No one ever does.

The clatter of spears, and the scrape of boots blurred around her.

A man whispered as they passed: “Not for us. It’s for the Beast. It’s always for him.”

The chains rattled as the line of bound girls marched through the damp clearing, iron shackles biting into Kaerith’s wrists.

Their bare feet left footprints in the mud as a few bit down on their lips to keep quiet. Tears streaked dry lines on the bloated faces of a girl that couldn’t stop whimpering.

A few of them stifled sobbed, shoulders shaking, unable to lift their heads, with the fear that the warriors would whip them.

Kaerith walked behind them, shoulders hunched, her face hidden behind a curtain of her hair matted with sweat and dirt. Every step ached down to her marrow.

The lashes on her back burned with each step as the damp fabric clung to her open wounds. The fear gnawed her marrow, but she clenched her teeth and kept walking. She kept her head down.

Around them, the pack warriors guiding them were silent. The tents sagged under heavy rain. The air stank of rotting meat and wet fur.

Held back by pack warriors wielding spears were men and women gathered on either side of the clearing. Mothers gripped their kids, their muddy cheeks smeared with tears.

A father howled as his daughter passed. An older woman cursed the gods. An underfed girl clung to a post, whispering the name of her sister.

“Mira!”

“Not my daughter—please!”

A woman pushed forward from the crowd at the sight of her daughter among the bound girls, her voice cracking. A child, not older than six clung to her skirt, sobbing.

Just as she tried to break through the line of the pack warriors. One of the warriors stepped forward, the iron plates of his gauntlet clicking as it crashed into her chest, shoving her back.

“Stand down,” the warrior barked.

Kaerith saw none of it. She only heard it—the cries, the curses, the begging. They slid past her ears like the wind.

Everyone had someone who didn’t want them to be mistreated, or taken away by the warriors, but she had none.

Chains rattled with every step as they bit into her wrists and ankles. Around her were girls no older than herself, moving forward—some lowered their heads in silent grief, while others cried openly.

One of the girls just ahead of Kaerith stumbled at the sight of her mother, chains clicking around her ankle. Her tears tore through the crowd.

“Mama!” She screamed. “Please—Mama, don’t let them take me!”