The black trees danced over her, shrouded in darkness. An owl hooted softly in the distance, its cry echoing through the dense wood.

Ingrid shivered, her arms bound painfully behind her back. Next to her, Molly whimpered, her eyes glassy with terror.

The warriors sat around the fire, their voices harsh and cruel, like vultures picking over the bones of the dead.

“Did you see how she screamed when I slit her throat?” One let out a gruff laugh. “Nearly deafened me, she did.”

Ingrid swallowed hard, bile rising in her throat.

She glanced at Molly, her lips were trembling.

Don’t cry. Be brave.

They were both Verundari, from the grass steps of Orak. The warriors were from Keldorn by their accents. Which sounded like a blade against a whetstone. Ingrid had heard rumors of their raids, of how they would capture women and children, and sell them off as slaves.

A scraping of boots. Ingrid tensed as a warrior lumbered toward them, eyes glinting with malice. He grasped her chin roughly. “Pretty little thing, ain’t ya?” His hot, rancid breath washed over her face. “Bet the Khagan will give us a fine price for you.”

Ingrid wrenched away with a snarl. The warrior backhanded her across the cheek. Pain exploded through her face, dots swimming before her eyes.

“Feisty one, eh?” He unsheathed a knife, tracing it down her cheek. A warm trickle of blood followed the blade’s path. “I’ll enjoy breaking you.”

The world tilted. Ingrid gritted her teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a scream.

I will not break.

The warrior stalked off, disappointment etched into his features.

Ingrid’s jaw throbbed where he had struck her. But she had won this small victory.

She was still unbroken. Still defiant.

And she would remain so until her last dying breath.

The warriors continued their gruesome tales late into the night, fueled by ale and mead. With each word, Khagan took on a more mythological stature, his depravities, and conquests growing ever more elaborate and fantastical.

Ingrid kept her face carefully blank, though nausea churned in her gut. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

Beside her, Molly had gone silent, gaze fixed on some point in the distance. Ingrid nudged her with her bound hands, wishing she could offer comfort. But she feared any show of compassion would only spur the warriors to greater cruelty.

A sudden shout rang through the camp. “One of the captives is missing!”

The warriors leaped to their feet, weapons in hand, eyes scanning the shadows. Dread trickled down Ingrid’s spine. Who had escaped? And would they be punished for it?

“Search the forest!” their leader bellowed. “Find her before the Khagan returns or your hides will be flayed from your miserable bodies!”

The warriors fanned out into the forest, torchlight flickering between the trees. Ingrid strained to glimpse anything beyond the ring of firelight surrounding their camp.

Somewhere in that sea of darkness, a girl was running for her life. Running from the Khagan’s men.

And running toward something far more sinister.

Ingrid swallowed against the lump in her throat. She prayed the girl would escape this forest of death.

But in her heart, she knew there would be no escape. Not from the Khagan.

The fugitive crashed through the underbrush, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Branches whipped at her face and arms as she ran, stumbling over roots and rocks in the dark.

Panic surged through her veins, fueling her flight. She had to get away. Had to escape the camp before they realized she was gone.

Behind her, shouts rang out. The warriors were searching for her. She picked up her pace, sneakers pounding against the forest floor.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

An owl hooted softly in the distance, its call cutting through the silence. The fugitive froze in her tracks, straining to hear anything over the rush of blood in her ears.

But she was alone.

She sagged against a tree, chest heaving. Her eyes traced the shapes of leaves and branches overhead, outlined in shades of grey by the moonlight filtering through the canopy.

The air was damp and heavy with the scent of moss and decay. An earthy musk that clung to her skin and filled her senses.

Somewhere in the forest, a twig snapped. The fugitive whipped around, peering into the shadows. She couldn’t see anything but the twisting shapes of trees.

Silence.

She shook her head and took a steadying breath. Her imagination was playing tricks on her. There was nothing there.

The warriors were still searching the camp. She had time to get further away before—

Another snap. The fugitive froze, her heart lodging in her throat.

She was no longer alone.

She strained to see through the darkness, panic rising in her chest. The shadows seemed to shift and stir as something moved between the trees.

A low growl rumbled in the distance. The fugitive’s breath caught in her throat. She knew that sound. Knew the terror it evoked.

Khagan.

Her legs trembled as she backed away from the shadows. She had to run. Had to get away before—

A massive figure emerged from the trees, silhouetted by moonlight. The fugitive whimpered at the sight of a lion’s head upon a man’s body, mane bristling around yellow eyes that glowed in the dark.

Khagan turned his gaze upon her, a rumble building in his chest. She shuddered under the weight of his stare, raw power and hunger radiating from him in waves.

He took a single step forward. The fugitive screamed.

She ran. Darted between the trees as branches snatched at her clothes and skin. Her breath came in ragged gasps as panic flooded her senses.

Khagan was behind her. She could hear his footsteps, feel his presence drawing closer with every second. He was toying with her, allowing her to run so he could relish the chase.

A roar shattered the silence, louder than any lion. The fugitive whimpered as she ran faster, pushing her body to the brink.

It wouldn’t be enough. She knew, in that moment, she would not escape him. Khagan would catch her, as he always did, and tear her apart while she screamed.

Her fate was sealed the moment she entered his forest. Now there was only one thing left: the scream that would mark her end.

She crashed through the brush, snapping twigs and shredding her skin. The metallic tang of blood filled her mouth as she panted for breath, lungs burning from exertion.

Khagan was gaining. His footsteps shook the earth, growing louder and louder until they seemed to surround her. A wall of sound, trapping her within.

Then silence.

The fugitive froze in her tracks, chest heaving. She strained to hear anything in the darkness, but only silence greeted her.

A shape detached itself from the shadows behind her. She caught a glimpse of yellow eyes and razor teeth before something slammed into her back, sending her sprawling to the ground.

The fugitive shrieked as claws dug into her shoulders, flipping her onto her back. She stared up at Khagan’s lion face, mane bristling in the pale moonlight that filtered through the trees.

He pinned her in place with a single massive paw, leaning down until his hot, fetid breath washed over her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear the sight of those glowing eyes and gaping jaws any longer.

This was the end.

Silence descended once more.

Then Khagan lunged. His jaws closed around her head, piercing skin and shattering bone. Agonizing pain exploded through her body as he bit down, hard enough to sever her spine.

The fugitive’s screams were cut short in a spray of blood and gore. Her body twitched beneath Khagan for a few moments more before falling still, headless and limp.

Khagan released his grip, her ravaged remains dropping to the forest floor. He let out a bone-chilling roar that echoed through the trees, marking the end of yet another hunt.

Khagan lifted his blood-soaked muzzle and sniffed the air, scenting the fear that now permeated the forest. His prey had been swift, but not swift enough. None ever were.

The remnants of his meal lay at his feet, a grim reminder of his curse and the beast that dwelled within. He yearned to feel remorse for what he had done, but no such emotion rose in his chest. Only a hollow satisfaction and the urge to hunt again.

With a grunt, Khagan turned from the grisly scene behind him and stalked off into the darkness once more. The forest whispered around him as if recoiling from his presence. An interloper who did not belong.

A single pale orb peered out from behind the trees ahead, reflecting the moonlight. Khagan bared his teeth in a parody of a smile and quickened his pace. Perhaps the night’s hunting was not yet at an end.

His paws crunched over dead leaves and twigs, claws digging into the earth with every step. The orb blinked out, but he did not slow. His keen senses guided him onward into the dense wood.

A flicker of movement caught his eye as he passed by an old oak, its gnarled branches reaching up into the night sky like skeletal hands. Khagan whirled around, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

For a moment, all was still. Then a shadow detached itself from the darkness, pale and ethereal in the moonlight. A woman cloaked all in black, regarded him with a cool gaze. Familiar yet strange.

“The beast has been sated this night,” she said, her voice soft yet commanding. “Return to your men before you hunt again.”

Khagan narrowed his eyes, a defiant snarl twisting his lips. “You are not my keeper, witch.”

The woman’s lips curved into a humorless smile. “Not yet. But your time will come, Khagan Rakhimov. As will your redemption.”

He scoffed, though a flicker of unease stirred within. “There is no redemption for a monster.”

“We shall see.” She faded back into the shadows, leaving Khagan alone once more.

The sounds of the forest seemed muted in the wake of her departure. An eerie silence filled with unknown threats. Khagan peered around at the twisting branches and darkened hollows, searching for any sign of the mysterious woman.

Finding none, he shook off his disquiet and continued on his way. But the memory of pale eyes regarding him with knowing followed Khagan into the night, as did the promise of fate he could not escape. His beastly curse would not be so easily abated again. The hunt was far from over.