Whatever it is out there, it’s older than us. Hungrier. It smells her blood. And it craves her.
I lean in, my mouth against her pulsing jugular. “You feel that presence outside, Bunny?”
She nods frantically.
“That’s the forest. The god with no name. The one we feed. You’re almost ready for him.”
“No… no, no, please…” she sobs.
Another bang rips through the room.
She turns her head toward the door, eyes wide in panic, horror overtaking even the pain. Her lips move in a silent prayer, but no god hears her here.
“She’s glowing,” Varekka murmurs, stepping closer. “She’s really glowing.”
And she is. The runes on her skin blaze silver. Her body writhes as if something inside her is trying to claw its way out. Her hips buck, not in desire—never that—but from the unbearable invasion of energy and heat.
The ritual is working. It’s nearly complete.
The banging continues for a while longer, smoke curls, shadows welding in the corners of the room.
And finally, silence.
The cabin goes still. The glow is gone. Even the presence outside has stopped.
The flames flicker once.
Go blue.
Then return.
We nod at one another and unfasten the straps holding her down, slowly, one by one.
She doesn’t move. She’s too weak. Shaking, bleeding, a ruined animal sprawled across the blood-soaked fur. Her breath is shallow, but still there.
I lean down and lick a long stripe from her belly up to her throat, inhaling her ripe, heady scent.
“Good girl,” I murmur. “You took it all. You did so well.”
Her legs give out as I lift her. She can barely hold her head up. Blood covers her like a robe. Tears streak her face, but she doesn’t fight anymore.
Not because she’s compliant.
Because she’s broken.
I grab an axe from the wall before I walk her to the cabin door, naked and carved, blood trailing behind her, dripping from every rune.
I place the weapon into her palm, and she stares at it like it’s not real. Like it’s a hallucination.
“For old time’s sake,” I murmur, rubbing the back of her hand with my thumb.
Our eyes meet. And I hesitate, just for a second.
Then I remember why.
I lean in and whisper against her ear. “Run, little bunny.”
The door creaks open as I unlatch it. The air outside is colder than it should be. The trees are still. But alive. The presence outside is oppressive now. Watching. Waiting.