I pushed the wooden door open and returned to the gloom of the hut.
I let myself fall onto the bed of leaves and silk. The contact was too soft, almost viscous, as if the mattress itself sought to hold me back. I closed my eyes for a moment, inhaled deeply. The scent burned my nostrils. Every detail reminded me that this place wasn't a refuge, but a cage. A golden cage, built so one might forget the bars.
— "Everything is too beautiful…" I muttered between my teeth. "A trap. A golden cage."
The seal on my chest answered immediately, faintly pulsing like an ember beneath my skin. It throbbed in my loins, impatient, demanding. I passed a hand over the mark, but the heat made me flinch. It didn't want me to rest. It wanted me to go on.
Here, I can farm fast… yes. The memories of the tribal women, of their damp bellies swollen with my seed, surged back like a wave of heat. Each first time had offered me a rush of raw power, a leap so violent my entire body thought it would shatter under the light of the seal. But that would stop.
I straightened, jaw tight. The equation was simple. The seal filled itself with energy only at the first embrace, the first womb filled. After that… little more, or almost nothing. Like a fruit pressed until it dried. Staying here, yielding to this illusion of paradise, meant quickly reaching a ceiling. And beyond that ceiling… exhaustion. Death.
My fingers clenched on the silk sheets. The fabric slid between my knuckles with obscene limpness. My body screamed to stay, to enjoy, to lose myself in this abundance offered. But my mind knew better.
I raised my head toward the half-open door. Outside, feminine voices echoed among the branches—crystalline laughter, strange songs, the rustle of crumpled veils. Their silhouettes sometimes passed before the opening, perfect curves drawn by the light, heavy breasts swaying, thighs wet with dew. Each breath they let slip was enough to make my seal vibrate.
I closed my eyes for a second, swallowing with difficulty.
Staying too long is death.
Then, a sharp noise made the door creak. I raised my head, breath caught—and she entered.
The silhouette nearly filled the hut. A tall, muscular woman, her oiled arms gleaming under the dim light. Her shoulders, broad and sculpted, gave the impression of rock, yet her gait had something feline, supple, dangerous. Her caramel skin shone as if fresh from a bath of sweat, and every movement made the muscles of her flat stomach, thick thighs, and wide hips—bound in a too-tight loincloth—roll.
Her chest, though, seemed ready to burst out of its leather straps. The bandages crossed her breasts in diagonals, compressing two heavy masses that swelled with each breath. Her nipples, hard as stone, distorted the dark material, drawing an obscene relief beneath the cloth. Her breasts were nothing fragile: they were weapons, weights that rebounded with hypnotic slowness as she advanced.
I felt my throat tighten.
Fuck… you, Nezrael… from the very start. A blessing and a curse.
She stopped in the center of the room and fixed me with her gaze. Her eyes burned, fever-bright, pupils dilated like those of a beast. Her parted lips trembled, gleaming with saliva, and her tongue slid out, slow, to lick around her mouth as if already tasting the flesh she was about to bite.
— "Tchhh…" she hissed, hoarse, almost animal. "You reek of Lust…"
Her voice vibrated with a sick desire, each syllable like a restrained growl. I had no time to recoil: her hand shot out and seized my wrist. Her fingers were iron tongs, her nails dug into my skin until they traced red lines. She pulled.
— "You think these silk sheets will protect you from me?" she breathed, her burning breath grazing my skin. "Bad idea… because I've already chosen you, and when I choose, I never let go."
I resisted for an instant, more by instinct than by any real strength. Her body was too close, her scent too strong: a blend of hot leather, salty sweat, sweet sap. Her muscular thigh brushed mine, and the damp heat she radiated passed through me like fire.
Her feverish eyes never left mine. She licked her lips again, a predatory smile curling her parted mouth.
— "Look at me closely…" she whispered, fever-bright eyes locked in mine. She parted the leather straps that crushed her chest, letting spill the swollen curve of her damp breasts. "My body makes you want me, doesn't it? My breasts, my hips… you want me. Admit it."
Her perfect body towered over me in all its stature. Her wide hips, bound by the loincloth, drew an animal curve that pulled me in despite myself. Her gleaming thighs pulsed with each step, swollen with vigor, and her defined abs lifted and lowered her massive breasts like an obscene offering.
Her fingers tightened on my wrist, and I felt blood beat beneath her nails.
Blessing… or curse.
And without waiting for my answer, she dragged me out of the hut, like a trophy about to be displayed.
Nezrael dragged me without a word, her grip on my wrist like a vise. Her nails scratched my skin until they traced red furrows, but she advanced without slowing, panting, as if she herself burned with fever.
The air suddenly changed. We emerged onto a vast platform suspended among the branches, a square as wide as a palace courtyard, swept by the red glow of sunset.
And there I saw them.
The whole village. Dozens of women, all half-naked, clothed only in translucent veils that clung to their hips and breasts like a second skin. Their heavy breasts and damp thighs gleamed under the light of the sun bleeding through the foliage. They laughed, snickered, panted, their breaths blending in a strange buzzing, like a collective trance.
Some already caressed their bellies, others ran tongues across lips split by excitement, all fixed on the prey that I was.
At the center, a throne rose. Carved wood, entwined with red flowers, adorned with necklaces of teeth and ivory. Upon it sat an imposing woman, a MILF whose aura crushed the entire assembly:
the village chief. Elandra. Her opulent chest, half bare, rested heavily against an ivory necklace that emphasized its weight and shape. Her hips overflowed a woven loincloth, her damp skin glistened under the rays of sunset. But more than her body, it was her gaze that chilled: cold, hard eyes that cut through me like blades.
At her side, almost erased by her shadow, stood another figure. Slender, tall, wrapped in flowering vines. Younger. Her pure features, almost unreal, seemed haloed with light, her fair skin glowing beneath the petals scattered through her hair. Her face, still untouched by any defilement, breathed a fragile, untouchable beauty. Lyanna. The chief's daughter.
My breath caught.
Perfect… it's her. The chief's daughter. My ticket out of this hell.
I straightened a little, but Nezrael gave me no respite. Even amid the crowd, she didn't let go. She placed herself at my side, her eyes locked on me. Her gaze devoured me shamelessly, as if I were already naked, offered to her claws. Her lips moistened under her tongue, which she slowly passed along her mouth.
I looked away, but her perverse game didn't stop. Her fingers, which she brought to her mouth, disappeared for an instant between her lips. Then she pulled them out, gleaming, and licked them before me, her eyes never leaving mine. Her smile widened, cruel, feverish.
A violent shiver ran through me. I felt the seal on my chest pulse, heat up as if reacting to her trick. My guts knotted.
She knew. She wanted to break me, to remind me that even in the crowd, even under the eyes of the chief and her daughter, she could possess me from a distance.
I dropped my eyes for an instant, but that only made it worse. Her loincloth molded her muscular hips, her thick thighs gleamed with sweat, and each movement of her body seemed orchestrated to excite me further. She wetted her lip, let out a low laugh.
I bit the inside of my cheek to regain composure. But I already knew it had worked. She had succeeded in sowing fever in me, and her triumphant smile confirmed it.
Elandra, the chief, rose. The simple movement of her body silenced the crowd as if an invisible blade had cut their voices. Her imposing figure stood out beneath the red light of sunset, heavy breasts partly uncovered, ivory jewelry rolling between the valleys of her flesh. Her face remained frozen, implacable, but her voice, hoarse and deep, vibrated in the air like a war drum.
— "Tomorrow, the Menstrual Hunt will begin."
The silence grew heavier still, before exploding into a collective shiver.
Elandra extended an arm, her bracelets clashing against her skin. Her voice rumbled, hammering each rule like a sentence carved in stone:
— "At dawn, the males will be released into the forest below."
A murmur ran through the crowd, quickly transformed into stifled laughter, into panting breaths of desire.
— "You, my daughters, my sisters… you will pursue them."
The vibration of voices rose, dozens of heaving chests trembling beneath veils, damp hips already swaying as if the hunt had begun in their flesh.
— "Those who manage to escape you will remain free."
Snickers erupted. All knew that freedom was an illusion. No prey fled forever. Not at this level.
I clenched my teeth. Impossible… for me, it's impossible.
Elandra narrowed her eyes, her icy gaze settling on me like a weight.
— "And those who are captured…" Her voice thickened, guttural, almost caressing. "Will be drained. Until exhaustion, then brought back to the village."
An instant later, the village exploded.
A savage female roar filled the suspended square. The women began to pound the ground with their thighs, stomp their feet like an army in trance. Their bare breasts bounced, heavy, dripping with sweat, their veils flew like banners. Dozens of throats cried, panted, laughed, a mix of celebration and rage, sexual and warlike trance.
I stood frozen amid this tide of bodies, breath short. My seal vibrated beneath my skin, excited despite myself by the intoxication of their madness. But my mind already knew: there was no escape. If they released me into that forest, I wouldn't be able to flee them.
A hell painted in gold. And me, already condemned to play their prey.
Nezrael had dragged me back like one drags a recalcitrant animal. Her grip had left red marks on my wrist, and even once released, the burn remained.
She pushed the hut door open with her shoulder and made me enter without a word, closing it behind us as if sealing a cage.
The air, saturated with floral perfume, assaulted me at once—too sweet, too thick, like a silken trap. She set a tray of fruit on the low table: split mangoes, burst berries already oozing dark juice, slices of an orange fruit gleaming like bare flesh. Everything reeked of excess.
I sat, stiff, while she remained standing, leaning against the carved wall. Her gaze fixed on me with almost painful intensity. She didn't blink, and in that silence, I felt reduced to what she saw: a prey. She judged me like a cat watching a trapped mouse, already savoring the moment her claws would sink in.
I picked up a fruit from the tray, more to occupy myself than from hunger. The flesh was tender, sweet, and clung immediately to my fingers. I swallowed a bite, but her dry laugh cut me short.
— "Look at you…" she breathed hoarsely, leaning slightly toward me. "A fragile man, a toy, you won't even survive the hunt."
Her words fell like slaps. She wasn't trying to seduce, not even to threaten. She was stating fact. To her eyes, I was nothing more than a tool to be used.
She grabbed a berry from the tray, brought it to her mouth, and crushed it slowly between her teeth. The dark juice ran along her lip, slid down her chin, then rolled between her breasts compressed beneath the leather straps. She let it, a predatory smile at the corner of her mouth, then passed her tongue across her skin to collect the drop.
— "You're not even capable of looking away?" she sneered, seeing my gaze stuck despite myself to her chest. "There. Exactly what I said."
I clenched my teeth, forced to swallow the rest of the fruit to occupy myself. Her cruelty wasn't gratuitous, it was instinctive, as if belittling the other fed her desire. She laughed at my discomfort, but behind that laugh, I sensed a more troubling emptiness, a fever that clung to her skin.
She has every reason to think herself superior… I thought, fixing the ground not to yield to her provocations. This woman frightens even demons. If she wished, she could kill me in an instant.
I raised my eyes toward her, her oiled muscles, wide hips molded in leather, chest swollen with sweat and power. She devoured me with her gaze, certain of her strength, of her dominance.
But precisely… that's my chance. She underestimates me.
I dug my fingers into the fruit's flesh until it burst in my hand, its juice dripping between my knuckles. I had understood. Here, the only weapon I had… was to turn her own excess against her.
The silence in the hut had thickened, broken only by the crack of fibers beneath my fingers and the wet sound of the fruit crushed in my mouth. Nezrael no longer laughed. She stared, unmoving, her feverish eyes fixed on my mouth as if listening to my breaths. Then, without warning, she straightened slowly.
Her hands sought the leather straps that bound her chest. The gesture was deliberately slow, theatrical, as if she savored each second. The leather groaned, creaked, then gave way with a sharp snap. Her chest burst free at once, heavy, swollen, gleaming with sweat. The red light of sunset slid across her form, highlighting every contour, every drop that pearled and ran down the valley of her breasts.
Her shoulders rolled with the effort, and with them, the muscles of her stomach, her arms, contracted and released, sculpted by years of hunting. Her caramel skin gleamed, taut, streaked with veins that throbbed under excitement. This wasn't the fragile nudity of a lover: it was the baring of a predator, a beast sure of itself, offering its body as one exhibits a weapon.
She took a step toward me. Her powerful hips tilted, her thick thighs rubbed against each other in a damp whisper. The air itself seemed to thicken with heat. Her gaze never left mine, a mixture of hunger and cruelty, and when she spoke, it was in a low, guttural breath that vibrated into my bones:
— "Your meal is over…" Her tongue slowly passed over her lower lip. A carnivorous smile twisted her face. "… now, taste your dessert."
I froze. My heart pounded, my throat clenched. Everything in her breathed threat and promise: a body so perfect it became monstrous, a trap of flesh that would devour me if I yielded. She still saw me as her toy, a prey she would use and break at will.
But in that vertigo, a thought imposed itself, cold, lucid, like a blade drawn in the very heart of fever:
This living curse… I must turn into a blessing. I must make her mine.