Page 50 of Taunting Tarran
I adjust Tarran in my arms, her weight pulling at my already aching muscles, but I don’t stop. My eyes dart to the fallen tree trunk, partially buried in the mud, concealing the hatch to the Rabbit Warren. The rain-soaked ground clings to it as I lower her carefully, my hands slipping as I haul the trunk aside. The wood moves sluggishly, heavy and damp, but eventually the hatch reveals itself, its edges caked in dirt and moss. I grip it, pulling hard until it creaks open, and the sound of rusted hinges break through the quiet tension. The smell of damp earth rises from the dark hole below, the space swallowing the rest of the fading sun. It’s not inviting, but it’s our only option. The darkness beckons, promising shelter – and perhaps, just enough time to get some warmth into Tarran’s body.
I descend with Tarran in my arms, it’s a tight fit, but I manage to pull the hatch closed above us, the sound echoing into the confined space.
Inside, it’s dark, the air stale, thick and earthy. I fumble for the lighter I’d swiped from Sal – his smoking habit annoying me endlessly, but right now, it’s proving its worth. The tiny flame splutters to life. I step forward, lighting a second paraffin lantern hanging from a rusted hook, the soft glow spilling through the cramped space. Tarran lies where I placed her, curled tightly on the blanket, her breaths shallow and laboured. The light touchesher face, revealing streaks of dirt smeared across her pale skin. The raw vulnerability in her stillness twists something deep inside me. Her body is cold against the damp air, and the urgency to get her warm grips me.
Sal’s voice crackles and fades, leaving me with nothing but static and the words of his unfinished warning. I crouch beside Tarran, setting my rifle down within reach, my focus split between her fragile form and the unseen threat above. ‘Who are we dealing with?’ I ask, but the line goes dead.
Tarran’s eyes snap open, blazing with fury. Her fists collide with my chest, each strike fuelled by a strength that shouldn’t be possible for someone so small and weak.
‘YOU!’ she snarls as if venom drips from every syllable.
I catch her wrists mid-swing, holding her firm but careful not to hurt her. Her pulse races beneath my grip, and I take a moment to feel each pulse as her body trembles with a volatile mix of cold, rage, and sheer exhaustion. She’s a little storm, barely contained, and I’m in her path.
‘We need to have a chat,’ I say, ‘but first, if you don’t want to die from hypothermia, I need to get you warm.’
The words act as a fragile truce offered in the midst of her fury, and she concedes. Her glare sharpens, and her lips curl into a sneer. ‘Fuck you,’ she spits.
The lanterns light wavers as I hold her firm, unwavering as her pulse beats beneath my fingers – a wild, frantic rhythm.
Come on, little lamb.
She thrashes, her body fighting me with everything she hasleft, but the fight isn’t in her strength – it’s in her eyes. I stay anchored. I need her to see, I’m not the enemy.
There’s something primal about fear. It’s raw, unfiltered, and utterly human. I look at Tarran, trembling and wide-eyed, I can see, feel it radiating off her like heat from a dying fire. Her chest rises and falls in shallow, frantic breaths, her pupils darting, searching for an escape that doesn’t exist.
She’ll never escape.
I can’t help but smile. Not because I want to hurt her – no, that’s not it. It’s the control. Fear strips away the masks we wear, the lies we tell ourselves. It reveals the truth about who we are, and right now, Tarran is laid bare before me.
Her resistance fades, her wrists falling limp in my grasp. I let go, watching her closely as I open my coat. The cold air bites at my skin, but I don’t flinch. ‘If you don’t want to die,’ I repeat, my voice softer this time, steady and coaxing, ‘you’ll come and get warm.’
Her fear is intoxicating. But fear never lasts, not her fear anyway. It burns bright and fast, leaving only ashes behind. Her voice trembles as she speaks. ‘What’s your real name?’
She doesn’t know. She doesn’t remember me.
‘Gabriel,’ I say, the name slipping from my lips like a secret I’ve been wanting to share, and her eyes narrow, suspicion and defiance flaring to life.
‘Well, Gabriel, I’ll scream if you step any closer.’
Please do.
I let a faint smile tug at the corner of my lips. ‘After, I justsaved your life?’
I open my coat again. ‘Come on.’
She hesitates, her body rigid with distrust, but the cold air is relentless and forces her forward inch by inch, until her back presses against my chest. I wrap my coat around her, enclosing her in its warmth, the barrier between us both comforting and maddening.
I want to touch her. It’s fucking killing me not to be able to. I lean in, close enough that my breath brushes against the shell of her ear. She stiffens instantly, her body taut like a coiled spring ready to snap. I pause, letting the moment stretch, letting her feel my cock harden against her sweet arse. There’s power between us, in the way her breath catches, the way her pulse races beneath the surface of her skin. I can see it, throbbing at the side of her neck. Her fear is almost tangible. I smile, again, not out of malice but because fear is…honest.
‘Do I scare you, Tarran?’
Her lips part, but her answer comes too quickly, too sharp to be genuine. ‘No!’
But she’s lying. My little lamb is a liar.
‘You’re lying!’
‘Let me out of here,’ she squirms, but I hold her, trapped inside my coat. Her posture shifts slightly away from me as if the small distance can shield her from the truth she doesn’t want to face.
