The Crowned Captive
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Morana had not feared a beast quite so acutely in her life. Bears and wildcats could be dissuaded if one knew how to deal with them. These unholy monsters were of a completely different make. Captivated by their wicked beauty, Morana watched as two of the beasts leapt towards Rowan with a grace far more akin to that of a cat than a canine. Their bodies moved in a hauntingly beautiful arc, spearheading for him with pinpoint accuracy. Morana did not, could not move as the other two sprung for her, faces covered in haunting grins.

Some part of her mind, deep past the part watching death grow ever closer, felt the mare lurch beneath her. The forest around her moved in a flurry as the mare took off, weaving between the trees with ease and leaving the monsters behind. A scream tore unbidden from Morana’s throat as she saw a fifth beast leap from beside her. The mare leapt forward, threatening to throw Morana from the saddle. The beast clawed at her rump as she flew past, but she stayed upright and barrelled forward. Fear rising, she heard the pained scream of her captor chasing her as they fled. If he died, she was sure she would be next on the agenda. Terror addling her critical thinking, Morana found herself with her feet planted firmly on the ground and a fallen branch in her hands. Before she could convince herself otherwise, she was moving.

She erupted into the small clearing without knowing what she would find. Her stomach coiled sickeningly as she saw Rowan, hair torn free of its bindings, standing over a dead beast. Blood coated the front of his green tunic and his cloak was torn and dragging behind him. Another beast circled him, and he faced it, readying himself for its attack. As soon as his back was turned, the creature seemed to smile. From the darkness at his rear, another leapt forward, claws flaying flesh and its fangs fastening onto Rowan’s calf before Morana could scream a warning. He fell to one knee with a roar of pain, eyes wild but never leaving the beast in front of him. As it sunk onto its haunches, ready to deliver the death blow, Morana found herself flying forward. Her body moved faster than she ever thought possible, and she put her full force into the swing. Wood splintered and the creature yelped as Morana connected mid-air, throwing it from its path to Rowan’s throat. Faint surprise registered on his face, but his movements did not falter as he spun and sunk his dagger into the throat of the beast holding his leg.

The scuffle of leaves caused Morana to rip her eyes from Rowan and instead look at the beast she had interrupted. It prowled closer to her and she could now distinctly see slitted pupils, snake-like and terrifying. Its nostrils flared as if tasting her scent as it moved forward, and its muscles rippled with each movement. What animated the creature was not natural, not of this world. And with that realisation, Morana became sure there was never any chance of escaping them. She would fight, but she could never win.

Her eyes flickered to Rowan, for barely a second, to see him battered and bloody and being circled by two more creatures. As her eyes flickered forward once more, praying that these were the last of them, the creature in front of her lurched forward. There was no chance for sound to escape her lips as Morana was thrown backwards.

It was the chest of the creature that hit Morana first, its forelimbs extending to her shoulders and pushing her to the ground with punishing force. Claws dug into her flesh as teeth gnashed inches from her face. The breath was driven from her chest with the force, and the weight of the beast prevented it from rising again. The stink of death coated her airways and she felt herself try and retch. Panicked and hopeless, she drove the splintered stick she still held into the creature’s side, intending death with every ounce of her remaining strength. Claws and moist leathery skin pressed down on her, but no further movement came.

She struggled to draw in a breath, desperate for help. Clawing at the dead beast’s sides did nothing. Desperately, she craned her head to find Rowan, certain she would find him dead. By the grace of the gods, he was still upright, copper hair hanging over his face. One beast attempted to scramble away, black ichor gushing from a wound in its chest, and the other thrashed and stilled as Rowan crushed its neck with the strength of his arms alone. Blood and ichor soaked him, and his lips pulled back from his teeth in a sickening snarl. Primordial rage burned in those forest green eyes as they met Morana’s, and suddenly she was happy with suffocating beneath the beast. She closed her eyes, hearing a final yelp from the last not-wolf, and listened to the approaching footsteps as her head began to spin from lack of air.

The weight lifted from her chest, and immediately sweet air rushed into her lungs. She gasped, chest aching as she drank in as much air as she could despite the stink. Her head spun sickeningly at the sudden rush of blood back. Rowan seemed not to care. The fae warrior grabbed her by her collar, hauling her up before she could work heads from tails, and snarling at her. With the heap of fallen creatures behind him, she began to realise they may not have been the most dangerous predators in the woods that night.

“What. Did. I. Say,” Rowan snapped, and Morana wished she could cower away from his wrath. Death on the horse would have been more pleasant. His jewelled dagger glinted in his clenched fist once more, retrieved from whatever carcass he had buried it in last. She prayed that death at its edge would be quick. “Is it so hard to stay on a damned horse?” He prodded further, his voice icy.

“A thank-you would be nice,” Morana whimpered, then slapped her hands over her mouth. The words left her lips before her brain could stop them. Fear and shock must have erased every logical thought because the look on her captor’s face only darkened.

“I will not, and will never, thank a prisoner.” His lip curled back, flashing those deadly fangs once more. No mocking grin spread across his face. No, this look was one that promised harm. Her blood chilled at the sight of his face, covered in blood and dirt, and the thought of how easily he could rip through flesh and skin with those teeth. He still stood despite his chest being flayed open. Killing her would be child’s play.

After a long moment, she forced herself to nod and looked away. Rowan snarled again, but the rage abated for a moment as he caught sight of the blood that oozed from the wounds on her shoulders. The pain had not hit, yet, but there was only so much longer fear could stave it away. She squinted her eyes shut as she felt him touch the deep gashes, flinching, but she felt no pain. When she finally found the confidence to open them once more, she gasped. As he murmured soundlessly in front of her, the edges of her flesh knitted together, leaving not even a scar. As Rowan finished, he stood and prowled away from her, inspecting the carnage. Morana swallowed and made another mental tally of just how powerful he must be.

Morana looked at the beast that had died on top of her, noting the only wound it had was the wood protruding from its side. Barely a sliver was embedded in its leathery skin, surely not enough to kill it. Yet it did not breathe, and its eyes stared into nothing. Rowan frowned at the same thing but did not seem to dally too long. A shrill whistle split the night, and a few seconds later his mare returned.

The furrows along her side were dee. Even the saddle had been deeply scored, and some of the saddle bags had been ripped open. Rowan cursed, and Morana watched as he healed the mare as well, still ignoring his own wounds. A long while passed before he stepped back. Only then did he tend to himself. Many minutes later, he turned, significantly paled in comparison to before the fight.

G”et on the horse, now, before I regain my sense and follow through on my previous threats,” Rowan barked, his eyes hard. Her sense finally returning, Morana wasted no time in hurrying over, the bruises on her back aching as she heaved herself onto the saddle. Rowan hauled himself on after her, and she did not miss the tenderness he did it with.

“What were those?” Morana finally asked. Her throat was horse from the screams which had torn from it, but she dared not to complain.

Rowan seemed to pause for a long moment before replying, whether from irritation or contemplation on how much he should reveal.

“Fae hounds,” he finally answered, his voice tight. “Specially bred hounds made for tracking and hunting down those important to their owners. Once they find a scent, they can never be swayed from their target except by death.”

“And you expected me to stay on a horse and outrun that?”

“I expected you to stay on the damned horse and draw half of them away. They never would have hurt you badly - they are built for holding their prey and killing everyone else. If I had killed the first two alone, it would have ended up a lot cleaner.”

“They attacked the horse! How well could I draw them away with her dead?!”

“She would have carried you as fast and far as needed if you just stayed on the damned thing! I am far from in the mood for questions, halfling.”

“Please correct me if I am wrong, but I don’t think that you are the one they are hunting! I believe I am entirely entitled to question the creatures that very nearly killed us.”

“Very nearly killed me. Stop talking before I make you stop taking.”

Morana swallowed, knowing she would get no further that night. She did not know how she would every sleep again knowing those things had followed her, would never have been escaped. And if Rowan was not the only one looking for her, then who else wanted her? Why was she suddenly so damned important when she had been so painfully alone her entire life?

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