Page 95 of Lost to the Woods

And Khalok finishes on her face, roaring loud and proud.

It’s obscene.

It’s holy.

It’s ours.

And then—the feast begins.

The sound of tearing flesh. The crack of bone. The wet, slurping snarls as we dig into what’s left of Mark. I twist my hand into his sunken chest, past cartilage, past bone, past everything that makes him human until I feel it. I wrap my fingers around his heart and rip it out with ease, consuming his whole being.

And he’s forever with me now.

Forever part of us.

I step back and take a slow breath, letting the chaos fade behind me as I lay my eyes back on her. My Bunny—my perfect, ruined little bunny—left on the ground in the pool of blood. And she looks so fucking beautiful, passed out from being fucked half to death. Her muscles are trembling, her delicate frame marked with bruises and bite marks—my favorite kind of artwork. Her breathing is shallow, weak, but she’s very much alive.

I scoop her into my arms, her body almost weightless. Her head falls against my shoulder as I carry her into hercage, laying her down on the mattress. She’s in and out of consciousness, lost in whatever darkness I’ve dragged her into.

She doesn’t stir, just whimpers softly as her body settles against the cushioning. Behind me, my brothers are still lost in their feeding frenzy, tearing into what’s left of Mark’s carcass. I should have joined in the madness with them. I normally would. But something twists inside me, sharp and unwelcome as I look at this fallen angel before me.

Fuck.

I know it’s not guilt—I’m incapable of feeling that. Perhaps it’s Nate’s stupid need to coddle her, whispering in the back of my skull. Or Dev’s nagging voice, bitching at me for being too rough. Or maybe it’s Mark’s pathetic worship of her, lingering like a ghost. Whatever it is, it doesn’t belong.

I grit my teeth, exhaling hard through my nose..

She whimpers, curling slightly into herself, and that thing inside me twists harder.

“Fuck this,” I mutter, but I’m already moving, stepping out of the cage, then walking outside

The night air is thick with the scent of copper and pine. The water drum sits behind the cabin, filled fresh from the creek every morning. I grab the bucket, dunk it in, letting the cool water rush over my fingers. I also take a fresh rag and Bunny’s favorite vanilla and coconut scented body wash—because, of course, I remember—before stalking back inside.

Bunny hasn’t moved. Her lashes flutter as I kneel beside her and tilt her head up, pressing the cup to her lips. “Drink.”

She does, weak little swallows, water spilling down her chin as a soft moan escapes her raw throat. I wipe it away with my thumb, catching the stray droplets before they disappear between her breasts.

Then I start cleaning her face, and she doesn’t fight me.

Good girl.She needs her strength to recover quickly.

I soak the rag, squeeze it out, then drag it down her neck, over her collarbones, her breasts, the curve of her stomach. It’s cool against her feverish skin, and the water must feel like heaven as I rub the tension from her sore muscles.

I take my time, washing every inch of her wrecked body—every cut, every bruise, every mark we left on her. The blood comes away in streaks, revealing pale skin beneath. She shivers when I swipe over her swollen nipples, her pussy—still dripping with cum—and finally, the tight clench of her ass as I pull out the plug and clean her there, too, thorough, making sure she’s fresh and spotless again.

I even clean her hair, working the gunk from the strands. She lets out this soft, sleepy noise—almost a purr—as I massage her scalp, her body finally relaxing under my hands. It’s…nice. Too nice.

“Thank you,” she whispers, so faint I almost miss it.

Something in me snaps.

I drop the rag, my hands tightening on her hips hard enough to leave fresh bruises. I hate that she still gets to me like this. That after everything, her gratitude still fucking matters.

No more tenderness. No more weakness.

Abruptly, I stand, pushing the bucket aside. Water sloshes over the cage floor as I yank the door shut behind me, locking her in for the night.

The others are done feeding, grinning at me knowingly, like they see the cracks. But all I can focus on is her quiet yet steady heartbeat. My own adjusting, beating in the same rhythm.

---