Lone Star Mountain #newdaynewme

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As the days drag on colder and colder—enough to bring a winter storm—she’d taken shelter in a mountain shared by angry rams that have quietened the colder it gets. Ocra is much thinner these days, having been a lonely wolf for a long time before the dead of winter hit. Finding a pack never rose on her lips, making her way back to the last seemed impossible, and so she wanders and exists as quietly as possible. If she’s lucky, she’ll make it out to the other side and have a chance to start over.
 
She’s completed her task, the search for Sriracha long since given up, and she only has herself to think about. Maybe she thinks about herself too much, or not enough, but either way it’s all she has now and with a deep breath, she begins to make her way from the cave into the early quiet of a bright winter morning.

The mountain did not afford the hound all of the advantages that he would like. Some were born to live in the violent and rocky crags. He could dwell there, but when it came to a hunt... the fiend was at a severe disadvantage. It was not as easy to lure those he sought when the plummet to death was such a reasonable outcome. While he was chaotic and fiendish, Ithrik had a crippling fear that he would lose his own life.

Picking his way along the mountain, the devil saw a streak of ginger that caught his eye. It brought the recollection of a memory of a young girl. He still had her tail, and he wondered if she would mind if he took the rest of her. Prowling on dark limbs, the brute began to close the distance between them and felt that pricking fear once more; the Apostle spoke to him in his mind and he cringed. What if you should die? How will you wash your sins away? So, the devil paused and released a pleading chuff to the wolf ahead. As he did this, the brute feigned his rear ankle being injured and limped forward pathetically.

With her mind preoccupied and the wind brushing against her face, she doesn’t notice the approach from behind until the chuff is made. She freezes, ears falling back against her head, and she slowly turns to look at her newest company. Despite his neutral demeanor, something doesn’t sit right in her chest but her anxiety of late has been fighting to keep her down. So, for now, she offers a gentle way of her tail and a little benefit of the doubt. She doesn’t approach, despite his obvious injury, but waits to see how much he’s capable of doing and what he wants her attention for.

The mark turned her head toward him and Ithrik feels a cold satisfaction creeping through his gut. The gentle wave of her tail was enough for him to feel as though he was electrified. The devil whimpered softly and limped forward another step. The sharp glow of his tangerine gaze found her features to be moderately appealing. He wondered faintly what the taste of her tongue would be like. With a shudder, the vile creature motioned to his back leg with a swing of his muzzle and then fixed her once more with his gaze. “Please, little miss... my leg. I haven't eaten in days,” he pleaded with her in a smoky voice, deeper and more sultry in comparison to his typical ghastly tenor.

Ocra’s muscle tense a little more as he takes a step forward. She doesn’t back pedal, but her feet are halfway off the ground. Her stomach turns and she licks her lips. If he’s really hurt and needs her help—they are on a mountain, any number of things could have happened!—she’ll just feel silly, but if she’s wrong? Ocra takes a deep breath and rolls her left shoulder, shifting a step to face the leg he motions to look at it but she doesn’t take any steps closer. If anything, she puts a few extra inches between them. She studies the foot, though, and sees no sign of blood of inflammation. There are little nicks of scars and stories of travel but no real indication anything is wrong by the outside. She clears her throat, looking up to him. “What’s wrong?” she asks, her front foot lifting to hover above the ground, ready to turn in a second.

The girl was wary, but it was a rightful wariness, for she did not understand that she was facing the devil. And he faced her with such a chilling light on his features that he was not certain she would remain for very long. The girl asked him what was wrong and he parted his lips, lower jaw quivering in a melodramatic nature, coaxing the whimper from the back of his throat. “I've twisted my ankle, miss,” he mewled. “I am very hungry.” As if to accent this remark, the piebald creature pulled his stomach in to protrude his ribs; on his stilted limbs he looked razed. Then, with an exasperated sigh, the brute turned to peer at the mountain where he stood and his limbs quivered sadly. Flattening his ears to the top of his skull, Ithrik frowned.

“The mountain is such a dangerous place.” The thought of her tender flesh against his tongue was driving him wild, and in that sense, he had not been lying to her; he was starved. The taste of her would satisfy him for a short time, but he wondered just how long... how long could he feast on her and how long would she remain before she could scent the rancid aroma of decay that clung to his very form...

He claims to have twisted his ankle and she swallows a sudden lump in the back of her throat. A glance at the rest of him doesn’t put the second claim to doubt, thin and ragged, but something still doesn’t sit right. She can’t fight it anymore. Whatever is talking to her is not something she wants to find out. “It’s not very swollen,” she tells him, daring to look away from his face to confirm her statement. “You’ll be hunting in no time. Maybe… not on a mountain, though,” she suggests, ears splayed back as she begins to back pedal, uncertain when and where it isn’t too obvious to turn around and run.

The woman pulled her gaze away from his face for only a moment to remark on how his ankle did not appear to be swollen, that he would be back to hunting soon and he should be fine. “Maybe you're right,” he breathed softly and nodded his head. His next move should have been to introduce himself to the girl – have a civil conversation – but Ithrik did not. Instead, he breathed deeply and lunged without warning. His jaws were gaped and aimed to sink into the side of her neck. His eyes flashed wildly, but he no longer favored the back ankle. The devil was in prime form, and he hungered for the taste of her flesh and bones against his teeth.

Maybe you’re right.

It isn’t much but it’s enough. Maybe it’s the way he says it, or the way he moves after, but she begins to turn at the same time he lunges. She’d made the mistake to linger a little too long (she can’t have any of the blame really on her) and now he has a grip on her. Teeth pierce the flesh in front of her shoulder, nearly lifting her off the ground, but she yelps in surprise and turns, snapping at anything (if at all) she can reach. She doesn’t aim to harm more than necessary, but to do enough damage to be let go so she has a second chance of escape.

Success found him as his teeth sank into the skin of her shoulder. She reacted swiftly, swinging her head to snap at him with a determined effort to escape his grasp. This was, of course, not the first time he had attempted to kidnap one of adult size. They often proved tricky, but the devil was confident in his capacity for devastation. Withal, the reddish female was still able to bite and tear away at several pieces of his flesh, picking parts of him at random with each throw of her skull and snap of her canines. The piebald killer did not care that she might injure him; the thirst to overthrow her was stronger than the need to turn away from his kill unscathed. So, Ithrik did not budge while she nipped at him with her warning marks. He drove his weight against her in an effort to bring her to the earth.

She catches flesh between her teeth when she snaps back at him but it’s short lived as she becomes frantic. It doesn’t matter that she’s pierced through skin and gotten blood, the grip his jaws on her shoulder only tightens and his weight pushes down against her. If she snaps again and gets something back, it’s still not enough, and soon her joints buckle beneath him. Her front legs slip on the earth and slide back, sending her head first to the ground. Her teeth clack together and a stronger metallic taste fills her mouth, though she doesn’t have time to discern where it really came from. The fall doesn’t slow her down, squirming to get her feet back up and out from underneath the monster.

The devil was successful in latching tight to the girl. She stumbles against his weight and falls to the ground, allowing him room to move over top of her. Still, she wriggles and attempts to pull away from him so that she might run, but he holds himself firmly and snaps his teeth in various portions of her body in hopes of slowing her movements some. Once she had been placed in a compromising position, he swung himself so that he could tower over her and position his lower half near the warmth of her rear. Ithrik shuddered violently against the feeling of her struggle and he drooled openly, hoping to be able to sate some of his desires with the use of her body. The devil attempted to wrap his limbs around her hips and latch his teeth to her nape to hold her still. The ginger-furred woman squirmed against him and he bucked his pelvis wildly at her, hoping only to strike against her frame. 

Her scrambling is met with angry teeth, her skin giving away to sharp punctures as he makes contact all over: her shoulder, ribs, leg, and a puncture through the ear that tears and bleeds the most. New warmth is met with a sudden chill as blood flows from her rust color fur, darkening and amplifying the underlying red. Squirming only makes him bite more, and her wounds ache and tear, and she slows when her energy begins to deplete rapidly. It isn’t clear, at first, what he wants, and Ocra doesn’t know what to do—let him do what damage he wants and leave her be or fight tooth and nail the entire way—but the decision is quickly snatched out of her grasp.
 
Teeth find their way back to her nape and he moves across her body, putting his full weight against her. She’s frozen in the moment, feeling her fur soak to his drool and his front limbs hooking roughly around her hips. Dark green eyes widen, her tail clamps firmly between her legs protectively, and she tries to launch forward out of his grasp. He clings to waist, teeth piercing the back of her neck, and she doesn’t succeed in doing anything other than causing more damage as he bucks against her without purchase.

The brute had grown tired of his folly attempts. Ithrik had not managed to sink inside of her, but he burned with a rage so fierce that it seemed he would never meet his mark. The thrusting slowed and he growled to announce his displeasure. Using his teeth, he aimed to latch them to the back of her nape and swing her toward the stony ground. If he was lucky, he would crack her skull and spool her brains onto the snowy mountain. Once she'd been knocked clean of consciousness, the devil would be able to properly have his way with her body. If he could not stop her from wriggling and squirming against his touch, Ithrik would have no such luck.

With an excessive fury, Ithrik yanked as swiftly as he could and waited in hopes that she would fall to blackness. Once the darkness had a hold of her, it would offer him more time; he only needed to prevent her from escaping. A crow swung overhead with a hollow caw and then disappeared, leaving the two on the mountain with only the horrors within and the fever of rage without.

The bucking becomes erratic and painful, feeling his intention jam at her over and over in frustration. For a few seconds, she thinks it is the wrong thing to do. If she makes him angrier, it’ll make it worse, but she can’t will herself to give up and let him have his way. If she just… holds out a little longer, he’ll loosen his grip and she can launch from her prison.
 
His teeth release her nape and his humping slows; her eyes widen and stare forward, reveling in the face she can’t mess it up. There’s a second she thinks she has to get away and as she starts to spring back, teeth latch back onto her neck with a greater force than before. More of her skin is held in his grasp, anchoring her head to his and as he swings her in one direction, she can’t do anything but move with him. With no control over his body, he slams her hard into the ground. The side of her head hits in a way to put enough pressure, forcing her left eye to prolapse. Her right rolls back into her head, everything becoming white and loud. A ringing alarms in her ears and she loses all control of her body, falling limp on the ground with a groan while she teeters to the other side.
 
When he yanks her again, there is no resistance, flinging back with him as her body drags the ground.

There was a quick jerk and then the sound of her skull cracking against the earth like an egg against the counter top. Then, she was limp in his grasp. The hound dropped her to the earth and watched as she slumped, uselessly, to the ground. Flicking his tongue across the dark hairs of his muzzle, he breathed heavily over her, unable to quell the desire to eat. The devil moved himself over her and gripped her in his teeth to jostle her some; he needed to be sure that she would not wake and struggle against him once more.

Her left eye protruded from her skull and bulged. The vile creature did not hesitate to lower his head and grip it between his teeth, yanking it free from the socket. Ithrik held it in his mouth for several long seconds before he swallowed it whole and looked to the next optic in her skull. She would be of much better use to him if she could not see. Using his front paw, he sought to dig it free of her head, but could not get his claws to grip it well enough. Snorting, he leaned forward and sunk his nose in it, using his incisors to pluck it loose. The piebald devil bit hard and felt it soften, but he was able to pull it from the hollow. He favored this one and rolled it along his tongue before biting down, savoring the rich, fatty flavor that filled the back of his throat.

After eating, he circled around her fallen frame and positioned himself at her rear. That she was sprawled on the ground made it difficult, but Ithrik positioned himself well and plunged into her with force and vigor, bucking until he spilled his seed. When he had finished, he made a place for himself beside her and washed his limbs with a gentle caressing tongue.

When he is finished with her limp, bleeding, broken body, he leaves her in a heap. Her limbs are sprawled uncomfortably, her back and sides spotting with dried blood left in clumps. Her back end is bruised and oozing. Blood has left streaks from her eyes, down her cheeks and to the ground floor. Her lids are sunken into the socket where her eyes had once been.
 
The first thing she feels, at a distance, is the pain in her head. A headache wracks her brain, pulling her into consciousness, but there’s another pain in her head she can’t quite place in her swimming mind. The rest of her body begins to tune in and she groans, mouth opening slight to pull in her tongue that had been hanging out the side, coated in dried blood. Ocra moves a little and winces, then slowly moves her back legs from being sprawled out. The presence beside her goes unnoticed, for the time being, as a new pain begins to make itself known. Her fur, caked in dried blood, moves as she opens her mouth and hoarsely cries out.
 
As she slowly given control of her body, trying to decide what pain to address first, her front left foot moves and paws at her face. Her lids weakly move, revealing torn and inflamed tissue, still angry and oozing blood slowly but it takes a moment to register that her world is still dark and as she becomes more and more aware, it isn’t recovering. Ocra’s ears fall back against her head and she moves her front legs, shakily putting them beneath her and then staggering forward. “Wh-whu,” is all she can manage from a slurred voice, swinging her head around and narrowing the muzzles around her eyes as if squinting would help.
 
Her memory remains hazy, unable to figure out where she’d been last, and it takes several more seconds to remember she’d been attacked and assaulted. The pressure and soreness between her legs tells her she did not escape his advances but there are still more to sort out, but in that moment she needs to get away—as helpless as it feels. Ocra tries to stand a second time, her legs shaking, but she can secure her footing for more than a few seconds this time, before she attempts to take a few more steps with haste to get away.

It took some time for the girl to stir from her mangled state. It was in those first moments of realization that he lived for. It was almost as though the fear spiked in them when they first realized what had happened to them. Those moments felt too palpable for him; too difficult to pass. It was not often that he was able to linger long enough to witness them. When he could, he tried to linger as long as was possible.

The girl fumbled around for a minute. He could see her empty sockets squeeze together; empty eyelids crinkling on her face. It might have been comical if he had been in a better mood. They still oozed with tissue and blood, but most of it had caked to her face. As if the thought of the petrified blood reminded him, he flicked his eyes to her rear and smiled at the sight of his seed and her blood congealed against her hocks. He had done well to her and he ruffled the length of his fur in a shake before speaking to her in a rasped and hollow voice. “You'll fall and die,” he warned her.

She manages two steps, slow and painful. Everything hurts to move but she knows she needs to get out of here. The gravity hasn’t quite settled in with a hazy mind, still trying to blink in the absence spaces in her head. A shaky, sob of a breath escapes her as her weak limbs put her one more step forward the moment the devil speaks up. 

You’ll fall and die.

The voice triggers something in her and she shivers, a chill rippling down her spine. It latches on to what’s left and feeds its way into her mind. Her head swings in the direction of the voice as if she’ll see him. She isn’t sure she’s looking in the right place. Her entire body trembles from pain and the overwhelming reality creeping up on her.

”What did you do to me?!” she shouts, but winces as the pain doubles from shouting. Her head throbs and sudden movements shake the empty space, causing it all to rattle and grate her nerves. ”What is wrong with you!” she bellows, feet frozen in place. She doesn’t know if she believes what he says, that if she falls she’ll die. Did she nearly go off a cliff? Ocra swings her head away, as if to “look” around her, then she half snarls, half cries over the frustration. Whether she falls now, or later, she’s going to die. Without someone to aid her, she’ll never make it, but she can’t let him take anything else from her.

It was clear that she was distraught. He watched her, amused, as she shivered against the rough brush of his callous voice; how she swung her head wildly in an attempt to face her with two withered holes for eyes. She was pointed just to his right and he snickered at the lack of bearings that had fallen on her without her vision. Sad to most, the devil thought it nothing more than entertaining. He wondered just how well she would have been able to lure others in with her pathetic cries and shattered mentality. As if genius had struck him, the piebald hound rose to his feet and looked at her with an intent expression. It didn't matter that she was weighing her options, only that he had a very viable solution for her. Should she step from her line, he would be quick to lash against her with gnarled and rotten fangs.

Snorting, the devil inched closer to her and then lowered his skull some to avoid a reach from her teeth. Desperate women were always so fickle. “Try to run and I'll rape you until you're spilling cum from your ears,” he spat at her coldly. The fur along his neck and shoulder bristled possessively. As if to validate his claim, Ithrik swung himself round and jutted his muzzle forth to press his nose into her hocks. The fiend inhaled sharply and laughed. “It'll be hard for you to get anywhere without your eyes.”

Ithrik wondered if his nephew would enjoy her company as much as he had. Glancing toward where the younger wolf would be, he drew his tongue along his muzzle and released a plume of breath into the brisk winter air. Iliksis would not have been too far, he assumed. It would have been dark in a few short hours, and he was determined to find a place to hunker down with his new toy. Curling a lip to nip against the flesh of her hip, the hound glanced at where he should move next and made a mark. “You'll be a good girl and I won't stick you again,” he urged in a hiss. “But you act like a bad girl and I'll have to take something else.”

He rises to his feet and she turns to where (she thinks) the sound is coming from. Her senses are no better or stronger than the day before; if anything, they’re worse. Panic levels rising in her mind begin to drown out the others as she tries to focus, head pointed in one direction she thought him to be coming from. She misses the sound of him stepping closer until his scent strengthens nearby. It doesn’t help determine where he is other than close and a new tremble takes hold. Ocra snaps her teeth a few times to the left, and then the front of her. She snarls to her right but each time she’s met with mouthfuls of air and no indication of where he is.

Try to run and I’ll rape you until you’re spilling cum from your ears.

His voice crawls into her skin and she shudders violently as he shoves his muzzle against the tender flesh between her legs. Ocra helps in painful surprise and shuffled forward and tentative and scared feet, afraid an imminent tumble to her death is in front of her. He explains her predicament no differently than she’s already come to the conclusion. Survival isn’t a likely scenario, if he just lets her go, but it’s away from him.

She thinks of Xan, briefly. If she’s just caved to his childish ways, somehow turned it around, she wouldn’t be here. Or he’d at least be looking for her. No one knows who she is. No one is looking for her. Her pack, prior to coming to the teekon, knows she may not return. Not a soul will notice her absence.

After a few seconds, still frozen in place, she feels his teeth click together on her hip and she yelps, jumping forward. Instantly she scrambles but she hits the ground anyway, afraid of falling down a too steep incline or a cliff she’s standing too close to, but she only hunkers, hunched, on the ground, and angles her nose downward as he threatens her once more and the gravity of the situation begins to sink in.

The cogs seemed to shift inside of her skull as she mulled over his words. The quivering of her frame still brought a great joy to him, so he held himself close, hoping that he could feel each shudder that she made. Her fearful yips would go ignored. While he basked in the wreck he had created, Ithrik was tiring of staying too long on the mountain. He needed to get the girl back to Iliksis and begin using her, but he was certain that she would not want to go with him willingly. The devil would need to be persuasive in order to have her follow him. That, or he would need to make her reliant on what he had that she did not – not anymore.

She stumbled and floundered in an attempt to move her frame and he watched her with an apathetic expression on his features. Try as she might, she was made handicap by her lack of vision. Ithrik felt that his argument to stay would only be heightened by this. She had been made no better than a prey animal. The piebald fiend knew that he was not the only one who favored the taste of wolf meat and that her disability would cost her a life in due time. Unless, she stayed with him. Imagining how pleased Iliksis would have been to have a young girl around, he moved to nudge her forward.

“You stay with me. I will see for you and keep you from death,” he lied in a raspy voice. Of course, he would not be so quick to defend her from imminent demise, but he was interested to see how well she could assist him in further victims. “But if you run, you are likely to die in a very short time.” There were her options; she could take whichever one she pleased. One was a promise of life and the other an assured death.

She flinches every time he gets close enough to touch her, eliciting the desired shutter he moves for. It wracks her nerves, sending new waves of pain through each fresh wound. The throbbing in her head intensifies and everything seers ten times worse as he nudges her forward. The shove jolts her hunched form and she struggles to stand, taking a staggering step forward as if she’s about to topple over a cliff. Not knowing her surroundings stunts her movements and she hardly has the capacity to focus on what he’s saying.
 
Panic increases the rise and fall of her chest, violently shaky to overcome the new surge of fire. “Please,” she struggles to get out. The severity of her options (“options”) does little to change anything. She’d never wanted to end her life and she struggles to accept the fact now, even if she’s reminded of it over and over. He makes a promise to keep her alive and threatened her with harm and death otherwise. He’s taken so much from her in such a short amount of time.  “I ca-can't, it hurts,” she cries a hoarse voice, legs locked into place to stagger any further shoving.

The girl offered him a pitiful whine that expressed her inability to move forward. He could feel her holding fast to the earth when he pressed himself against her. It hurt her to move, but it would hurt more if they stayed on the mountain overnight. Her limbs would ache by morning, to the point that she would hardly be able to stand. The devil needed her in a secluded place so that he could tend to her and make her presentable to others. He needed her to move.
 
Scoffing, the piebald fiend nudged her with his nose and then moved to stand at her front. His tail raised, and he brushed it against her face repeatedly to give her an idea what he wanted to do. “Take my tail. If I lose it, you’ll be in trouble,” he growled coldly. The hound planned to lead her himself. Ithrik was pleased that he could take such a beautiful creature and share it with his nephew. The brute only planned to wait for a few moments before he would walk away from her and show her the true fear of being alone without her sight.

He nudges a second time and she holds fast to the ground, as best she can, but scoots a few inches against her will. She tenses and tries to keep in place but he proves to be much stronger, especially given her current state. After a moment, he moves away from her and she remains stiff until something—she realizes it is his tail a moment later—hits her several times in the face. She flinches, causing another wave of pain, and she turns away to avoid it hitting her again.
 
The next few seconds is spent battling from one thought to the next, weighing her options. If he leaves her, she dies. She doesn’t know where the ledges are and she isn’t familiar with this new ground anyway. If she goes with him, she is certain there is more torture waiting for her—and likely her death, too—but perhaps she can find some advantage in the meantime, some means of… escape (as futile as it sounds without her sight) and so she leans forward a little, taking the fur of his tail between her teeth as acceptance.