Feral For Her Freedom

The meeting with the Ones had finished rather quickly after my little poem. I knew Myrin was furious and no doubt had a list of horrible, agonizing punishments in store for me, however, I’d have to worry about that later. As of now, I was trying to get through the pain that accompanied every step I took. I felt as though I was walking across a floor covered in nails and glass.

I wouldn’t crawl.

I refused, no matter how much pain I experienced by walking. Myrin couldn’t force me to crawl, he could drag me around by my neck, but I’d never crawl.

So, I suffered every step, each footfall up until the mansion doors. The deceiving beauty of the house would never fool me about the horrors it concealed within.

The moment the doors were open I couldn’t help but feel as though I’d just walked into a castle. The marble flooring and engraved columns, the ornate furniture holding decorations that were sure to be costly. Everything was so open and with the heavy mahogany drapes with their golden tassels pulled back, the light was almost blinding.

Just for a second I was able to enjoy it because in the blink of an eye I was violently shoved onto the ground. I skittered a distance away on the freshly polished floor that unfortunately still hurt like hell to fall on it despite its smooth appearance. My hip throbbed at the impact, not yet recovered from the last incident.

From there all I could do was curl up and absorb the beating as best I could.

His shoe dug into my ribs as he kicked me. My teeth sang from the impact of his blows to my face. I did what I could to shield my skull from connecting with the floor any more than it had to. The rest of my body was not so lucky.

When the kicking finally subsided, I remained in my protective ball, my arms shielding my head and my knees tucked tightly into my chest. I gave it a few seconds before slowly uncurling, lowering my arms. My cheek felt so swollen, my cheekbone was no doubt shattered.

I pulled my hair away from my face, grimacing at the sight of metallic silver staining the white strands. A string of blood was stretched between my hair and lips as I drew the hair from my mouth and tucked it behind my ear.

My hair was now finally long enough to stay there.

I took in several deep breaths, but the audible sound of my wheezing betrayed how painful it was to do so. I glanced up at Myrin to see him run a hand through his crimson locks, his own chest heaving up and down though I wasn’t sure if it was in exhaustion or rage. Probably both, if I had to guess. His green eyes were untamed and agitated as they flew around, not looking at anything in particular as he thought.

I closed my eyes, knowing I’d be safe for a moment while he contemplated his next move. I had no doubt pain would be a main idea in whatever he came up with.

Eventually his silky voice flowed around me in the open space of the room. Luckily, no one was around to see my humiliation. Actually, luck had nothing to do with it, it was probably common sense that kept people away from Myrin, especially when he was in this mood.

“You like poems.”

I cracked my eyes open, looking at him from my position on the ground. My right cheek was pressed to the cool marble, my palms lying flat beside my head. I struggled to sit up, my arms were quaking very badly from supporting my weight and all I ended up doing was flipping onto my side and getting into a half sitting and half lounging position.

“Let me give you one.” The male circled around me, a predator stalking its trapped prey. “You’re an ignorant fool, to stubborn to see, that you’ll never be a match for me.”

I spat out the blood from my mouth, interrupting him and satisfied to see some of it stain his shoes.

He kicked me in the chest, sending me crashing onto my back, his foot pinned heavily on my chest. “You fight for no reason, refuse to conform,” he snarled out the words as I struggled to breathe through the pressure of his foot. “Why fight to stay cold, when you long to be warm?”

I wheezed, the sound a pathetic rasp.

He removed his foot, clasping his hands behind his back as he moved away, giving me space to roll onto my side and prop myself up on my elbows. “I have endless patience, so I’ll play this game. I’ll let you act wild, when soon you will be tame.” His shoes crossed through my line of vision, the click of them on the polished floor like a death rattle. “I don’t have to beat you, to make you comply, you’re already tired so just lay down your pride.” The foot came down heavily on my back.

My arms buckled against the weight and I was flattened onto the ground, my chin hitting the marble floor, the sound of the crack echoing throughout the spacious mansion.

“You hide your true self, the coward you are, with every sharp word, and every new scar.” I groaned as he increased the pressure, my spine bending to accommodate the weight. “This act of defiance has gone on long enough so just give it up, I’m calling your bluff.”

He gave me a moment to concede, my labored breaths filling the silence.

“You talk as though you’ve already won,” I gasped out, refusing to let him win, even if it was just a battle of words. “But the truth of the matter is, you’ve hardly begun.”

Myrin removed his foot and nudged me with the tip of his shoe so that I rolled over on my back.

I stared up at the ceiling, a small smile twisting up my lips. “The fates will sing, of who is to be King. But I’ll spoil their story and tell you who gains glory.”

“Oh, do tell, Beastie,” Myrin drawled, standing above me so that all I could see was him.

My eyes narrowed. “I’ll tell you this Myrin, it won’t be you who wins. Oh no not remotely, you’ll be busy regretting your sins.”

Myrin’s eyes flashed and his foot came up and moved to crush my throat, but my hand shot up and caught it, surprising him. I twisted his ankle, an audible snap reverberating off the walls. Myrin was brought down onto his knees, half of his body collapsing on top of me.

“On ash and smoke,” I continued, shoving him off as a fire ignited within me, dark desires taking over. “I shall make you choke.” I flipped on top of Myrin, my own hand wrapping around his throat. He struggled against me but didn’t get far as my claws that I had not seen in months suddenly shot from my fingers and pierced his throat.

Myrin wasted no time pulling out a syringe from nowhere and plunging in deep into my neck. He looked at me, his chest heaving as he tried to breathe through my grip. He waited for an effect to take place, for his serum to cripple me like it did in the past.

I grinned viciously at him, flashing him my canines. My sharp teeth could easily tear out his throat and with his serum not working he seemed to realize the same thing. His eyes bulged and his hand came up to my wrist as he tried to pry my hand away. I simply grabbed his hand and sunk my nails deep into his flesh before yanking him up with me.

My strength and ability to shift had returned. In a flash I had him pinned against a wall. “I’ll tear you apart and rip out your heart.”

The male smashed his head into mine and I staggered back, my hands losing their hold. Myrin was on me in a flash, his mouth open and ready to bite me as he tackled me. It was a jarring impact as I met the floor with a heavy thud, the breath was knocked out of me. My quick reflexes stopped him from ripping into my throat as my hand shot out, splaying across his face and keeping him at bay from my beating life source.

Myrin maneuvered his face away from my hand and latched onto my fingers, sinking his fangs into my knuckles.

Prying at his mouth while trying to free my hand from his jaws and getting nowhere with my pulling, I delivered a side hook to his face. His teeth tore through my hand as I yanked it out from the side of his mouth. My hand wrapped around his throat forcing him back as I sat up with him straddling me.

I let go of him altogether and buried my hand in his chest, my hand closing around the beating organ. He froze above me, looking down at my hand that had disappeared through his rib cage. “I’ll drink your blood, then throw you into the mud.”

I squeezed his heart, puncturing it with my claws as a precursor of what was to come before removing my hand covered in blood and shoved his body to the floor. “Your bones will break.”

I slowly got to my feet, hovering over the male as I stalked towards him. He scrambled backwards on his hands, trying to buy himself time to heal, “with every move I make.”

I brought my heel down on his knee, satisfied to hear his howl of agony as it shattered under my foot. “And I’ll watch as the light drains from your eyes.” I crouched down, perching on his chest, and sliced a claw across his throat, red blooming in its wake.

He thrashed under me but there was nothing he could do. It was like I had the power of a god on my side. I was taking my revenge and I could not be stopped. “I cannot think of a more fitting demise,” I mused, cocking my head as I watched him drown in his own blood.

The crimson color matched his hair nicely. It was as if this was meant to be. “Your very last breath, such a beautiful sound,” I cooed at him, listening to the gasping of his breaths knowing it was becoming more difficult for him. “I can think of nothing that would be more profound.”

My hands hung lazily between my knees, my arms resting on their tops as I watched my tormentor die beneath me. “Your death shall be such a glorious thing.” I sang, brushing a hand through his hair, fixing it back into its neat style. I took it all in, his suffering, the realization in his eyes that he was going to die, and I would be the one to kill him.

Those green eyes that I’d never have to see again. That smooth voice never to infect my ears again. His sure movements and words, that sarcastic drawl and those barbed words never to strike at me again. There was just one thing missing.

I yanked open his blood soaked shirt sending buttons flying everywhere. I examined the sculpted planes of his chest and then pressed a claw into the bottom of his ribcage, carving lines into the flesh there.

Beastie’s Prey

My masterpiece needed a title, and I could think of nothing more fitting.

In one final movement I tore out his heart, ripping it from his body. Looking at it in my hand I delivered the final line of my poem. “And it won’t be you, but me who is King.”