by Piper Rayne
“He demands a sacrifice!” Mortas went on. “A virgin, tied to the old birch tree near the stream. Only then will the beast undo the impending famine. Only then will our village be safe!”
“A virgin sacrifice?” I chortled. “Please. I thought we were past such primeval thinking.” I thought I had stated this under my breath, but the rest of the meeting went silent as Mortas crossed the village green and stood right in front of me.
“Aren’t you eligible?” Mortas said. “Perhaps we will wait and see if the bones ever request the sacrifice of a harlot instead.”
“I am no harlot,” I growled through gritted teeth. The truth was I had never been touched by a man—my virginity was as intact as the superstitions of the villagers. “But even a harlot would be able to see that a sacrifice to a legendary creature will do nothing.”
“Rosaline,” my father whispered in warning. I could feel his tension from his place in the circle behind me, but I straightened, full of stubborn resolve. Too long I had watched Mortas prey on the fears of my village. Too long had I watched him grip his hold on Fairfront with an unyielding iron fist. He was the wealthiest man among us, and his influence was even vaster than our fields; he could handle a bit of pushback from a simple farmer’s daughter.
“You think I am wrong?” Mortas sneered. The closer he got, the more the stench of his horrendous breath made my eyes water, and the more I could feel the hatred radiating from him. I had disrupted his meeting, and he wasn't going to let me off unpunished. “You don’t trust the bones? You think you know better than they do?”
I couldn’t give the answer that I wanted to. My honesty would likely make a pariah out of my father since he would be blamed for raising such an impertinent child in the wake of his wife’s death. So I swallowed some of my pride and said, “I think… Perhaps the bones have overlooked the possibility of a lone wolf simply deciding he was hungry.”
“A lone wolf,” Mortas repeated slowly, loudly, so all the crowd could hear, “who was hungry.” He tipped his head back and laughed, the sound derisive and mocking to my ears. “Oh, you sweet, stupid child.” He lifted a hand to his stomach, and I took note of the ring that graced his finger—pure gold, inlaid with rubies. Hardly the fare of someone who was supposed to be a servant of the people.
I bristled at this; at nineteen-years-old, I was hardly a child. In fact, I probably should have been married off by now, but that would have been handled by Mother, had she lived to see me at this age.
Mortas leaned toward me, so close I could see the brown specks on his rotting teeth and the disdain in his watery blue eyes. “You have no idea what kind of evil lurks in the Fair Forest.” His voice was steady, quiet, and it sent my stomach rolling. “You have no idea what kind of evil there is in the world.”
“I think I have some idea,” I whispered back, leveling him with my eyes. There was no such thing as the beast of the Fair Forest; there was only the mystic of Fairfront Village, and right now he was beast enough.
“And you think you are a match for it, do you?” Mortas chuckled. He was so brilliant at manipulating, even I was close to falling under his control.
“The bones have spoken!” Suddenly Mortas spread his arms wide as he walked away from me, taking a victory lap around the circle. “Behold, our virgin sacrifice!”
He gestured to me, and my face burned.
Father, to his credit, pushed out of the circle. “What? Mortas, no, please! My only daughter? She’s all I have left—”
“Which is why her death will be a true sacrifice.” Mortas put a hand on my father’s shoulder, looking deeply into his eyes. “Will you give her up to save us all?”
“Father, no!” I cried. “Don’t do this, Father!” But I knew I was no match for the mystic’s hold on our village. My father, in particular, had leaned into Mortas’ prophecies as a comfort since Mother died, and I knew this was so he could feel a sense of control after such a loss.
And so perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised me that, less than a day after I’d found the aftermath of the chickens, I was being dragged into the Fair Forest, hands tied, taken to the old birch tree near the tea-colored stream just beyond the clearing that was visible from my bedroom window.
I was forcibly dressed in the finest gown the village could rustle up: a silky green thing that must have been worth a barrel of grain for its fabric alone. My hair was loosened from its braids and combed so it fell down my shoulders in soft rivulets, and a shimmer was dabbed on my lips; though I couldn’t understand why I needed to look so visually tempting when the beast was only meant to devour me.
The beast… I shook my head as I let the villagers tie me to the tree, the rope burning as they pulled it tight around my middle. There was no such thing as the beast. I didn’t need to worry about being eaten. The villagers would realize their mistake in a few hours, then come back to untie me. Or Father’s guilt over giving up his daughter would finally push him to come free me. I didn’t need to worry about a fictitious beast. I only needed to survive the hours until they came back.
What was what?
The forest was filled with all manner of shadows and noises, and my mind, usually able to stay rational even under stressful or frightening situations, suddenly began to fracture.
“Hello?” I called out. “Is someone there?”
Somewhere in the distance, a twig broke. Leaves fluttered. A bird’s wings flapped. A breeze blew across my bare arms, making goose pimples rise on my skin.
My heart pounding, I reminded myself over and over, “The beast isn’t real. You won’t be eaten. You are safe until they come back for you.”
But a dark silhouette loomed forward from the brush, and my insides jolted.
I absolutely had reason to fear being devoured alive.
Not by the beast, but by the wolf who circled my tree, teeth dripping, black eyes burning with hunger.
“Please, no,” I stammered, and then, as it lunged for me, I lost myself entirely and screamed.
Chapter Two
GAWEN
Something was in the woods.
I could smell it—the way the loamy dirt suddenly went dry, like the very earth was trying to protect itself from an invader. The trees released their spring scents, that leafy green smell and the collective deer musk was one of uncertainty, fear.
Trespassers.
I tilted my head, letting my knife fall to my side. I’d been stalking a grouse, hoping to either make a nice clean kill or else follow her back to her nest and take her eggs for my breakfast.
But then the winds shifted, and I could sense it.
Someone else was here. Someone who didn’t belong.
The Fair Forest was usually a bustling place as soon as the sun was out; the trickles of the streams and the birds’ calls created a peaceful, ambient soundtrack when I made my rounds through the pathways of the woods. But all was quiet now.
Every morning, I left my hut as soon as it was light enough to see my boots in the dirt, and I checked the perimeter. It was a strange forest, one that I was certain had been built upon a magical foundation at some point, though I didn’t know the details. Until this year, the water in the streams had always been plentiful, the leaves had always grown lush and full, and the air had always been cool and refreshing.
An enchantment of some sort kept the forest alive, and it was my job to make sure the enchantment kept; the key was the old birch tree near the clearing that led to the village. As long as that birch tree was alive and thriving, the rest of the forest would be safe.
But lately things had changed. Winter had stretched further into the calendar than I’d ever experienced. The roots of the trees remained frozen for so long the deer had nothing to eat but bark. Creeks overflowed with the drippings from the icicles that clung to the branches, and when they flooded the banks the soil was diluted, which meant things grew at a slower pace.
All of it was a cycle, a great wheel. One change led to many others, one small shift creating a ripple ef
fect from the ground up to the canopy.
Which was why I was concerned about an intruder into our forest.
One tiny change could cause a whole catastrophe.
One person was here who did not belong.
I put my knife into my boot and stood to my full height, catching a glimpse of myself in the reflection of a nearby puddle. My brown hair had grown shaggy, curling around my collarbone, falling out of the twine I used to tie it back from my face. I’d have to cut it again soon, or else find a stronger piece of rope. My beard was coming in thick. It had kept me warm through winter’s chill, but now that spring was warming the forest I could trim it close to my face again.
Or not.
There was really no purpose to looking unkempt. There was really no reason not to let my hair and beard grow long. I did not interact with the villagers of Fairfront, and since they didn’t know me as anything but the strange forest beast who preyed on lone sheep and caused the local pets to nervously pace in their yards, it didn’t matter what I looked like.
None of it mattered.
It didn’t matter that I dressed myself in pelts and hides that instantly set me apart as a man who lived off the land. It didn’t matter that I had made everything I owned—built my own hut, created my own tools. My pillow was stuffed with the down of pheasants that I caught, skinned, and grilled myself. My knives and cookware, I stole.
And it didn’t matter.
The only thing that mattered was my charge, my duty—to protect the old birch tree, to keep the enchantment strong so the forest would survive.
I didn’t care what the villagers said about me. I only cared about—
The leaves rustled above me as the wind shifted. I could smell things more clearly now—not just a trespasser, but a villager. Someone from Fairfront, and they were near the old birch tree.
The very one that I had been charged with protecting.
I moved through the underbrush quickly now. If it was one of those idiot farmers who had decided to come into the Fair Forest for firewood…
My rage simmered below the surface of my skin, all my muscles tensing as I imagined it. A man with an ax, stupidly ready to chop down the very tree that kept the forest alive; I would expect nothing less from the fools who lived in the village. Superstitious lot, all of them. They knew nothing of the cycle of life and decay that existed here in the forest. They knew nothing of how delicate the balance was, or how the enchantment that made vitality pulse through the woods here was as thin as gossamer, undone with a single chop to the trunk of that birch tree.
I pushed through the branches of the thickest parts of the underbrush, past honeysuckle and knapwood, wild yarrow that grew as tall as my shoulders, and then I picked up a new scent.
Not just an intruder.
Wolves.
I could smell their hunger; they were prowling for meat, and whoever they were stalking was terrified. The fear rolling off the person was thick as smoke. As I curved around the thick base of an oak, I readied my bow and arrow.
Not for the wolves—they would bend to my will, leave at the snap of my fingers. As the keeper of the Fair Forest, I had a certain authority.
No, the bow and arrow were for the trespasser. Either they would leave the tree alone, or I would wound them and make them an easy target for the wolves. I wished I could order the intruder to go back to the village, but that was impossible.
Then I heard a scream.
Bloodcurdling, a shriek of absolute terror.
It was a woman’s.
Stomping around the oak tree, I reached the clearing, and my heart pounded in my chest as I saw the trespasser.
A young woman. Slender and fair, her body tight, her perfectly pink mouth held open in fear. She was tied against the tree, and from the look of the red welts on her hands, she’d been trying to break free; why the hell was she here? I wondered. Why was she tied to the old birch tree, the place that was the source of the enchantment that kept this forest alive?
Half a dozen wolves surrounded her, snapping their jaws, and even though she kicked at them, they were getting braver every second. Any moment now they would get a taste of her flesh, bite into her thighs, and then it would be a feeding frenzy.
Whoever she was, she was absolutely beautiful—not that I had many women to compare her to. I had always assumed my life would be one without a companion or a mate. I was assigned to protect the forest, and that was what I had spent all my time doing, but I would be lying if I said I hadn’t imagined it before.
A woman, just like this one, with curves and breasts, smooth hair, supple and feminine.
Part of me went hard as I pictured this young beauty in my hut, standing at my table, peeling potatoes, wiping her hands on an apron, tending to our garden, lying on the bed as a fire roared in the hearth.
I had never wanted someone before, but now that I had seen her, I couldn’t stop picturing her naked in my arms.
A wolf got close enough to tear the bottom half of her dress away; the woman’s legs were now exposed, and I stared at the way her upper thighs rounded into her backside.
Her eyes found mine, and I expected to see them lit up with fear, but instead there was a deep-rooted anger, a light radiating from stunningly emerald eyes, and for a moment I was frozen.
She was no wilting flower. She was strong, and if I let the wolves tear apart such a radiant, powerful creature, I would always regret it.
I lifted my bow, putting an arrow into the trunk of the silver birch, just near her hand. She gasped, flinching away from it, but it wasn’t meant for her.
The arrow had zipped along the head of the largest wolf, a warning shot. A1ll the wolves looked back at me now, and I commanded them, in their own language, to back away.
One of them growled at me in protest, but I would not allow them to feast on this woman’s flesh.
“Go,” I told them. “Now. Or I’ll put arrows in all of your hearts and wear you for my winter coat.”
The woman gaped at me, panting, amazed by my ability to communicate with the animals, but the wolves were being stubborn.
They snarled at me, and for a moment, I paused.
It was odd that the wolves would push back against my orders at all. I studied them, taking in the way their ribs were showing, the mange of their fur, the absolute desperation in their eyes.
Something was wrong.
These wolves were starving.
I knew game was scarce, but I didn’t realize it was completely absent.
Desperate, starving wolves…
There was a noise to my right. Without looking, I turned my bow and fired an arrow into the middle of a gazelle. She fell into the bushes, and I snapped my fingers in her direction.
“Feast,” I ordered the wolves. “Leave this one to me.”
One or two of the wolves looked like they wanted to stay and fight for the right to eat this woman, but their stomachs won them over. The whole pack rushed to the freshly fallen animal, and the sounds of their teeth ripping through the meat was audible as I turned my focus back to the woman.
“Release me,” she said. It wasn’t a request; it was a command. After the tussle with the wolves not directly obeying me, I was in no mood to be bossed around.
“I’m not the one tied to a tree,” I growled, my blood hot, thickening with every second that she stared at me with that defiant gleam in her eye. “I hardly think you should be giving me orders.”
“Then call them back,” the woman snapped, nodding her head at the wolves. “Let them take me now. I won’t stay tied to this tree any longer if it’s just going to end with my death. Let them eat me now. The sooner it starts, the sooner it’s done with.” She tilted her head back against the trunk, closing her eyes like she was surrendering, and my cock twitched.
I could see the pulse in her neck, that long stretch of bare skin, her collarbone flattening, making her breasts heave against the fabric of her dress.
I stepped forward, close enough to smell the sweat
on her flowery skin. “Those wolves would eat you up in ten seconds flat, if I let them.”
She opened her eyes, peering at me with defiance. “And what about you, beast? What will you do to me?” There was the hint of a smile on the corner of her lips, and it made my heart jump up into my throat.
I lifted my knife from my boot and slashed through her ropes.
“Nothing so terrible,” I told her as she stumbled way from the tree, rubbing the sore spots on her wrists. “If you’re lucky.”
Chapter Three
Rosaline
Well, I could see why they called him the beast.
He was huge, absolutely the largest man I’d ever seen, and pure muscle. His arms were rounded and bulging like they’d been lifting sheer stone to lay with mortar for a building, and his back rippled with corded muscle—which I saw because as soon as he brought me to his hut, he peeled off the hide jacket he was wearing, and I caught a glimpse of his body.
“Why are you staring?” he implored, noticing my wandering eyes. “Have you never seen a man before?”
Man or beast, I didn’t care what he was. I only knew that he was both huge and fascinatingly handsome. Not in an obvious way—his hair and beard were somewhat wild, and you could smell his natural musk from a mile away. But beneath the shaggy hair and the pelts and furs, his bearded jaw was cut sharp and strong, his nose was straight, and his mouth was much more pillowy than I would have expected.
Realizing he was waiting for an answer, I summoned a harsh laugh. “What about yourself? You peer at me like you’ve never had a woman cross your path.”
The beast set his bow and quiver of arrows down outside his hut, propped up against a chopping block with an ax sticking out from it. He glanced back at me, his eyes tracing their way up and down my body, and gave a little shrug.
My skin had broken out into goose pimples every time he looked at me like that—as if I was something to eat—but I tried to forget that as I comprehended what that shrug meant. “Wait, truly?” I burst. “You have never seen a woman before?”
