She was small again. Young. She was weak, shivering, buried beneath blankets. The priests continued to feed her saucers of a strange, murky white liquid. It tasted horribly, bitter and chalky, and with each gulp she felt sicker and sicker. Her stomach churned, twisting into knots. She could swear by the fear in the eyes of the priests that they prayed for her death, in the dark corners of their minds.

Then, one of the priests came to her, and she could bear it no longer—she lunged at him from under the blankets, trying to grab at his throat. Men were upon her, wrestling her down; she tried to bite, claw, and they yanked her about by her hair, throwing her in a dark, cold room, slamming the door on her face as she hammered her little fists upon the wood.

◆

Anarra’s senses came back to her slowly as she awoke. Then, she felt the manacles on her wrists, and she broke out into a thrashing fury.

“Easy, now. You couldn’t get down if you wanted,” a woman’s voice said.

The scarlet-haired woman continued to flail about relentlessly, trying to pull her arms free, kicking her legs, throwing her body about. After a minute or two, she calmed, her fury abating as she realized there was no point.

That was when Anarra realized she was naked, in some cold, dark chamber, her arms strung up above her. They were shackled to a chain that hung from the ceiling. Her long legs came up short of the stone floor.

“That’s better,” that same voice said.

Anarra’s bright blue eyes finally focused on the woman in the corner, who was sitting down in a chair, one leg crossed over the other. She had shoulder-length black hair, which covered half her face. The other half was scarred, and a single green eye stared back at her. The woman wore fine black leathers, well-fitted, with steel studs. A short sword hung on one hip, a whip on the other.

“Have to say,” the sitting woman said. “I’m impressed you slew three of my men. Magic, hmm? You must be some breed of sorceress, given your temper, and lack of a spellbook.”

Anarra broke out in another fit of trashing, as if to pull the manacles from the ceiling with her fury.

“My, my,” the black-haired woman said, rising from her chair. “You’re a cunty little ball of rage, aren’t you, Red?”

“Far more than you can handle,” Anarra hissed.

The dark-haired woman grinned. “And sassy, too.”

“What do you want?”

“Give me your name,” the woman said, walking around her slowly, her eyes roaming Anarra’s figure.

“You first,” she snapped, each word dripping with resentment.

The woman shrugged. “Corya Snow. I lead the Steel Ravens. The bandits you’ve run into. We command most of this area,” she said, tapping her foot impatiently. “See? I’m being quite reasonable. Your turn, beautiful.”

Anarra’s hostility seemed to bleed out from her, and she spoke calmly. “Anarra Deimos.”

“There you go, beautiful. We can get along,” Corya responded. “So tell me, Anarra, how you ended up killing three of my men and almost killed another?”

Beautiful. The word rung in her head, like a soft, pleasing melody. “They demanded a toll. I had no coin. They wanted me to trade my ass. So I killed them all.”

Corya shrugged, then crossed her arms. “I can’t fault that. A woman traveling alone… they must have thought you easy prey. I can see why they’d want you, too… you are gorgeous. And you’ve got…” Corya paused, running a gloved hand down the low of Anarra’s back, and across the big curve of one of her ass cheeks, squeezing it hard, “…a rather lot of ass.”

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Anarra thrashed again, and Corya pulled away, snickering. “As fierce as a hellcat.”

“Enough! What do you want of me?” the redhead said, sharply.

“You’re from the monastery, aren’t you?”

Anarra’s blood ran cold. She went silent and still.

“I figured,” Corya continued. “I’ve worked these lands long enough. I’ve heard rumors of a redheaded hellcat locked up inside. Sinful, evil. A spawn of demons, or a cursed witch, or a dragon’s daughter. Born cruel to the core.”

“You heard true,” Anarra said, bluntly. “I am all that, and more.”

“Sassy,” Corya said with a smirk, “and proud of your dark deeds. Did you enjoy killing those men? Did you feel the lust run through you, when the light left their eyes?”

Anarra’s thoughts drifted back to those she had killed so far, a familiar jolt of pleasure running through her as she thought about that bandit, and the way his life left his eyes. She only took a few seconds to answer: “Yes.”

“I thought so,” Corya said, walking in front of Anarra. She tapped her gloved fingers along Anarra’s taut, bruised stomach. “Join me, then. You’re on your own, alone in this world. With us, I guarantee you’ll live comfortably.”

“Your dead men had friends. They’ll slit my throat or worse, for revenge.”

Corya shook her head. “I’ll keep them in line. They’d know better than to mess with the boss’s girl.”

“Girl?” the redhead said, suspicious. “I’m not opening my legs for you, bandit.”

Corya laughed at her. “Don’t be so dismissive quite yet. I’m talented with my mouth. And I rather enjoy spoiling sassy redheads.”

Anarra’s silence spoke multitudes, and it seemed the bandit boss made note of that.

“I’d spoil you, like a princess,” Corya said, her voice soft, easy. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, beautiful? Lap of luxury.”

The redhead felt a strange stirring in her, some part of herself, reaching out, saying: yes, I deserve that. I deserve everything. I’m better than everyone else. This woman should bow before me, worship me like a dark goddess.

“And what do you want of me?” Anarra said, more eagerly than she wished.

“Join the Steel Ravens. Aid us with your gifts,” Corya came close. She drew one of her gloves off, and ran her bare hand up the side of Anarra’s trim figure, until a hand softly squeezed one of her large, bare breasts. Anarra shivered, and Corya worked her thumb into the woman’s dark pink nipple. The redhead sighed.

“And sit that big ass of yours on my face, once in a while,” Corya added. She blew a kiss as she removed her hand from Anarra’s chest. She turned her back and walked towards the worn wooden door to the chamber. “Dwell on it. No rush, beautiful. After all, nobody knows you’re here but us.”

Anarra tensed. Watching Corya walk away stirred something in her. “Wait,” she called out. Part of her regretted speaking so quickly; it showed weakness.

Corya stopped, turning with a knowing smile on her lips. That sat uneasily with Anarra, but those thoughts vanished as Corya talked.

“Yes, beautiful?” the bandit leader asked.

“I’ll join the Ravens. Just unchain me.”

Corya walked over, slipping a key out of a pocket. “You sure about that? Maybe you want to weigh your chances.”

“I’m not one for being locked up.”

Corya smiled. “My kind of woman.”

The dark-haired bandit boss reached up, the key finding the lock, twisting. The wrought chain slipped free of the metal loop that held it fast to the ceiling, and suddenly Anarra fell towards the floor. Corya caught her, one arm around her midsection, softening her landing. The redhead steadied herself, eyes meeting Corya’s for a moment, before looking away. Anarra noticed she was an inch or so taller than Corya, even barefoot. She had always been a taller woman, about five foot, nine inches, but even Corya in her boots came up short. She was a muscled woman, though. Wiry and tough.

Corya was slow to separate herself from Anarra, her hand lingering along her waist. “Wait here. Let me get a cloak to throw over you,” she said. Anarra watched her leave, noticing the bandit woman didn’t lock the prison door.

Anarra paced the small, cold chamber. She wondered how the Steel Ravens had managed this—was she in the dungeons of some small, abandoned castle they had claimed? She couldn’t say. She wondered if this was some elaborate ruse, a way to get her guard down, to later betray her. But why? She had no power here; locked up and imprisoned as she was. All because this bandit bitch wants me to sit on her face. No—yes, that was likely true, but she also knew Anarra possessed some eldritch power, rare and unusual. I bet she would have killed me, had she not found me beautiful. That might be an advantage. Or is it—maybe she’s getting what she wants, talking so sweetly to me. Am I the one being played?

The redhead shook her head. There was no point wondering that, right now. She had to secure her immediate future, first and foremost. It did dawn on her, however, that partaking in banditry might not be a bad choice. She had no other plan besides madly fleeing the burnt ruins of the monastery. She needed coin, shelter, good clothes, and better knowledge of these lands before she could make any moves of her own. She had much to gain here, if she made sure to watch herself. She could learn much from these Steel Ravens.

Then, the door opened. Corya gestured her forward. “Come, we’ll bring you to my quarters—get you a proper change of clothes. More befitting a gorgeous woman. You’re rather lucky—we’ve ransacked the carriages of enough noblewomen to have a rather extensive wardrobe of spoils we couldn’t sell.”

Anarra stood there, at the center of the chamber, her hips cocked to one side, a smirk on her lips. Corya seemed to soak in the posture, and the self-assured attitude. The redhead walked forward, confident, certain. This might suit me after all.